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succubusphan · 1 year ago

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Two Man Team - Chapter 6

Summary: This is the story of two struggling friends who after many trials and tribulations find their way back to each other and build the life they've always dreamed of.

Or how Phil changed his life by talking to random strangers on the internet.

Rating: E

Tags/warnings: Friends to lovers, Friends with benefits, mental health issues (mainly anxiety), Slow burn, Dan is a psych student. Canon divergence (the timeline is altered and some things never happened), Slutty Phil, Angst with a happy ending. The fic spans many years.

Author's Note: Written for the OSPBB 2023 @oldschoolpbb. Thank you @effingmeteors for being my life saviour and beta as usual and to my artist Lin @anironsidh.

Edits and the art will be added at some point, we are busy bees.

POSTING EVERY DAY UNTIL IT'S COMPLETED.

Total Word Count: 75k ish

Read on Ao3

CHAPTER 6: The Winner Takes It All

2012

They didn’t speak or text until mid-January, when Dan just showed up at Phil’s flat one day, dark circles so deep that reminded him of Jack Skellington. He looked sick.

Phil stood there in silence, not knowing what to do until Dan pulled him into a hug and started crying.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, wrapping his arms around Dan.

“Everything,” Dan muttered, his voice cracking. “Can I sleep here tonight?”

“Uh, sure,” Phil said, feeling weird about it. Both because he didn’t know where they stood at the moment and because Dan had never asked that before, he’d always just stayed.

They walked inside and Phil started making tea, not because he wanted one but because he needed to collect himself. “So… what’s been going on with you?” He asked, his back still turned to Dan.

“I can’t do anything right,” Dan said, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. “I can’t stick to my schedule, I’m drowning in the material and I feel like everyone hates me right now.”

Phil let out a little frustrated sigh and turned to look at Dan. “I don’t hate you, Dan. I can’t speak for everyone, but I don’t,” he said. “Have you discussed it with your therapist?” Phil added before Dan could say anything.

“I haven’t been in over a month,” Dan said, avoiding his eyes and picking at his jeans. “I haven’t left my room either.”

Phil pressed his lips into a line but tried to be as gentle as possible, it was evident that Dan was still trying to calm himself down. “Why would you do that? Even therapists have therapists, you said it yourself years ago.”

“He said that I’m depressed and I don’t agree. I think this is just how I am. I’ve always struggled with the simplest of tasks, I’ve always been low. It’s just who I am.” Dan looked up, his eyes red and swollen; he’d been crying far longer than he’d been at Phil’s.

“What are the symptoms of depression?” Phil asked, knowing that he couldn’t argue on this, he needed to make Dan reach the conclusion on his own.

“Sadness, hopelessness, anger or frustration, even over small things, loss of interest in normal things like sex or hobbies, insomnia or sleeping too much, lack of energy, loss of appetite, anxiety, brain fog… Feelings of worthlessness or guilt, fixating on past failures - or self-blame,” he said, his face slowly transforming as he went over the symptoms.

Phil hummed. “That does sound familiar, don’t you think?”

“I guess…” Dan admitted.

“So?” Phil pressed. “Why don’t you go to therapy?”

Dan frowned. “For the same reason that you haven’t gotten help for your anxiety disorder,” he said, a bit too harshly, but continuing in a calmer tone after a deep breath. “I guess I’m not ready yet.”

“That’s fair,” Phil said, ignoring the biting comment. “We need to come up with a plan of action then. I have always managed my anxiety with different methods, you were the one who came up with most of them. I’m meditating at the moment and it’s helping a bit - with the sleeping issues at least, have you tried it?”

Dan shook his head no. “I don’t think I can meditate myself out of depression, to be honest.”

“I know that, don’t be silly,” Phil waved him off. “I’m saying that you need a depression plan and that you can meditate when you feel anxious. You said they come together sometimes, right?”

Dan nodded. “Yeah, I do have some anxiety but it’s not my main issue.”

“Alright. What is your biggest problem right now?”

“Sleeping and getting to class.”

Phil added the tea bags into the mugs and poured the water over them, having the sugar and milk at the ready. He walked over to the coffee table and pulled a small notebook and a pen from the storage space under it. “So, you need to wake up at 8 to make it in time to Stats, you can study at Starbucks or the library for two hours and go to Personality. If you are too tired then, you can go back and take a nap before Intervention but I think you should drop Cognition and you can try again next semester.”

“But I’m doing well at Cognition. Cognitive Neuroscience is the hard one,” Dan said with a small smile, his eyebrows raised.

“Oh, right,” Phil said, slapping his forehead. “I always get them mixed.”

Dan raised his eyebrows at Phil but didn’t say a word.

“What? What’s that face?”

“You remember what classes I’m taking and when,” Dan said in wonder.

“Of course I do,” Phil scoffed. “I helped you plan your schedule.”

“I don’t know, I didn’t think you’d remember. Nobody remembers.”

“I remember,” Phil said with a small smile. He gave the notebook to Dan and went to get the mugs before the tea got too strong to drink. He added the sugar and milk, putting them back in their respective places and carried the mugs to the coffee table. “Here,” he said, handing the mug to Dan and sitting at his side.

“Thanks,” Dan said and took a sip and set the notebook on the sofa between them. “Just how I like it.”

Phil ignored the comment and grabbed the notebook, starting another page. They needed a more global approach. “So… you have Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays off in the morning. Let’s set some ground rules in general. Weekdays bed before 2am and wake up no later than 10.30. Also, be productive until 5 on weekdays. Anything you didn’t do during the week, finish it during the weekend and that’s when you take a break. You can sleep in until 1 on the weekends at least. What do you think?”

“Sounds good. I have a huge pile of laundry though.”

Phil huffed a laugh. “Do laundry here during the weekend and you can finish any homework while the washer runs. But you are doing the laundry, not me. And no mixing colours, I’m still wearing pink boxers.”

Dan snorted. “Ok, Dad.” He looked out the window for a moment and turned back to Phil. “What are we doing for your birth?”

“Are you coming?” Phil asked, raising one eyebrow at Dan.

“Of course I am!” Dan said, blushing just a little.

“Alright,” Phil smiled. “Small party here I guess but I have to go back home to celebrate with my family - and Richard and the others want to hang out the week after that.”

Dan laughed. “Why is your birthday always a month long affair?”

“Because my birth is an important date to commemorate. I’m important.”

“You are,” said Dan.

The sound of jingling keys at the door announced Mark before his melodic voice came through the hall. “Hey, love. I finally found some decent oranges for break- oh. Hi, Dan!” Mark said.

Phil rushed to help with the shop, grabbing the bags from Mark’s hands and setting them on the kitchen counter.

“It’s so nice to see you again, what brings you over?” Mark asked Dan, casually pressing a quick kiss to Phil’s lips and pulling him closer by the hips ever so slightly.

Phil mumbled a hello and gave Mark a wide-eyed look before peering at Dan out of the corner of his eye. He looked upset, perhaps even mad at the display. “Sorry,” Phil said, not really knowing why he was apologising or the reason Mark chose that particular moment to kiss him.

Dan shrugged and shook his head, his lips moving as he attempted to form words but no sound came out.

Dan was left speechless for the first time since Phil had met him.

Mark smiled widely, ignoring the others’ reactions. “Are you staying over for dinner, darling?” he asked Dan.

“Uh, sure,” Dan said.

“No laundry today?” Mark teased.

Phil shot him a look, Mark was going for something here, but he didn’t know what exactly or why. Dan had never mentioned doing his laundry at their flat in front of Mark so this made it evident that Phil had relayed this information to him. “No, we were just catching up. Why? Did you want to help out?” He ended the sentence with a tight smile, trying to silently tell Mark to quit it already.

“A tempting offer, but I think I’ll stick to cooking, you are the laundry specialist after all.”

“Ok. You do that, Dan and I will continue our conversation in my bedroom,” Phil said, and guided Dan away from the conflict. Once in his room, he shut the door and let out a deep sigh. “I’m sorry about that.”

“No, it’s alright. I don’t want to intrude,” Dan said without even taking a seat. “I’m so sorry for showing up unannounced. Obviously you want to enjoy your night with your boyfriend - I should go.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Phil rushed to say when Dan took a step towards the door.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Dan bit back, his voice rising with every word. “He hasn’t been your boyfriend since like 2009, he’s just the person you sleep with, live with, cook with and basically do everything with.”

“It’s not like that,” Phil said defensively, as he started to pace around the room. He felt like he’d been caught cheating even though he didn’t even have a boyfriend. He had a fuck buddy and a buddy he wanted to fuck but who didn’t reciprocate, none of which wanted to actually date him.

“What is it like then?” Dan snapped.

Phil froze and turned on the spot, feeling the fire coming out of his eyes. Dan had some nerve to be upset by a kiss when he hadn’t made any attempts to be exclusive with Phil or even to continue with any sort of intimacy, or even their friendship for that matter. He had become a ghost in Phil’s life and now he was upset that Phil had a smidge of attention from someone else. “You’re right, maybe you should leave. Take the plans we wrote down and work on that, and if you need to call someone at 3 am try Sam. See if they care to take your calls.”

Dan took a step back, looking as if he’d been slapped. He wasn’t used to Phil saying no to him. Phil was always there for Dan, unlike Dan who liked to come and go out of his life as he pleased. “Phil, I’m sorry.”

“Ok,” Phil said in a robotic tone.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Dan admitted.

“Neither do I,” Phil conceded. “Just go, we’ll talk soon.”

“I still want to celebrate your birthday - if you still want to,” Dan mumbled. “Just us two.”

Phil resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Text me when you’ve calmed down. And stick to the plan. Get your shit together.”

“I will. I promise,” Dan said, rushing out of the room, grabbing the lists they’d made and his backpack on the way out, barely mumbling a bye to Mark and Phil.

Phil let out a deep sigh and massaged his temples. Life was exhausting. He tried to calm down fully but he was still angry with Mark. He considered just sleeping it off, but the headache wouldn’t go away so he marched into the kitchen. “Why the fuck did you do that?”

“Do what?” Mark asked and Phil resisted the urge to slap him.

“What do you think?” Phil snapped back.

Mark shrugged. “You’ve never been upset about me kissing you.”

“I need you to stop pretending that you did that innocently or I’m going to lose my fucking mind.”

Mark dropped the spatula on the counter and turned around, leaning back against it. “Fine. I’m fucking tired of seeing you upset over Dan. He likes to play games with you. He strings you along and doesn’t want to commit to a relationship. It’s like he wants your attention but also Sam’s and when he doesn’t need you, he just disappears.”

“Huh, Well -” Phil sputtered. “That’s none of your business. And he’s not playing games, he’s just confused and depressed.”

“Who isn’t? We all have problems. I just wanted to see if he cared or not, and he did, but why? Is he jealous because he has feelings for you or is it some sort of ego boost for him?”

Phil paused for a moment. “He’s not a bad person, Mark,” he said. “And what ego? He barely has any self-esteem. He was bullied his entire childhood and - he had a lot more going on than you know, but I’m not going to betray his trust to justify him. You just don’t know the full story.”

“I don’t think he’s a bad person, but he’s neglecting your friendship and ruining any chances of getting with you, if that’s what he wants.” Mark reached towards Phil, pulling him into a soft hug and setting his chin on Phil’s shoulder. “I just don’t want to see you hurt.”

“It’s fine. I can handle it myself,” Phil mumbled.

“I know, you are all grown up, but I’ve never seen you so… interested in someone.”

Phil silently thanked Mark for not calling it what it was. Phil had never been actually in love with anyone, not really, not until Dan. It was not supposed to be this way; he wasn’t supposed to catch feelings for his friend and he was supposed to find someone who valued him and wanted to be his boyfriend. Maybe… “Do you think it’s my fault?”

“What is?”

“Nobody has ever been in love with me. Or even had feelings. It’s like I’m unlovable. I’ve been out there for years, I’ve dated so many guys for three months at a time and all of them wouldn’t even spit on me if I was on fire.”

Mark snorted. “I would spit on you.”

Phil snorted. “Only because you’re a kinky bastard.”

“True but also because you are my friend,” Mark said. “I love you, even if it’s not the way you need to be loved and I’ll always care about your feelings. You’ve always known where I stood because I like to be upfront and honest which is something Dan is not doing.”

“Well, you’re older than me and very mature and he is four years younger and has a lot to work on.”

“Yeah, I forget that sometimes,” Mark admitted. “Tell him I apologised for making things awkward when you see him. We can celebrate your birthday when you come home.”

“Were you listening behind the door?” Phil asked, finally looking into Mark’s eyes.

“No, love. You were being loud and the walls are not that thick in this flat.”

---

Things started to pick up after that. Dan surprised him with tickets to a Muse concert and brought him a cake and a bouquet of stuffed piranha plants from the Super Mario games. He also dropped by on the weekends and stuck to the schedule they had thought of.

The semester started to look up for him and they continued to post solo videos as well as a few collabs. In a way, filming a ‘Day In the Life’ brought them closer together than they had been in a while. They even had a sleepover the night before, shared breakfast and visited their favourite places, sparking memories of the day they met.

Phil wanted to promote a small play Dan would be doing as he slowly got back into theatre, but Dan was terrified that the crazy fans, who were starting to follow them around and just mysteriously pop into the places they frequented, would ruin everything or cause a scene. Theatre was a hobby for Dan but he took it fairly seriously and he didn’t want the other actors to resent him or think that he was making a mockery out of the play.

Even though Dan was not ready to start having regular therapy sessions yet, he still went ever so often when he felt like he needed to make adjustments in his life. It was recommended to him that he keep a journal to put his thoughts into order and also remember anything else he needed to bring up on the next appointment. That just turned into the spark that started a new fire: Dan’s newfound love for creative writing resulted in a variety of short stories that Phil was always happy to proofread and support. He was at Dan’s side every step of the way, in the same manner that he was always front and centre in the crowd of every play, even when the stories were not so interesting to him, he loved to see Dan thrive.

In June, just as summer was beginning, they went on their first free trip thanks to YouTube. The deal was that they would get a free trip to Jamaica and new digital cameras to take pictures and film vlogs as promotion. It sounded almost too good to be true, but thankfully it was a real contract. The vacation was a blast, they recorded a bunch of content, had every expense covered and hung out with a group of youtubers, most of which thought that they were a couple, but were cool about it.

The only downside, if there was even one, was that it was a bit weird to be filmed at all times because everyone was vlogging and Dan and Phil were just a bit more popular than the rest of them so any footage they could sneak into their videos would drive traffic to their channel. The phandom was quite dedicated.

The Phandom. Dan had accidentally named their fandom after saying that their ship - which was apparently a thing already - should be called Phan. Dan was equally excited to be important enough to be shipped with Phil and a bit weirded out about it. Still, he often oscillated between casually encouraging the shipping with jokes and getting weirdly defensive about it, going as far as to tweet someone “FYI I like vagina.” To be fair, that was more in response to the allegations that he was gay. Dan had not figured out his sexuality yet, and sometimes Phil thought he didn’t want to anyway, it was easier to ignore it, but when constantly proved for an answer, he’d snapped.

Phil didn’t appreciate the speculations either but at least he didn’t make a Tumblr sideblog to argue with the fans. Phil’s approach to life was to mostly ignore people since giving them attention would only make it worse. People went a little too crazy on the internet and he didn’t want any part of it.

By the time September rolled around, things really started to come to a head. Charlie was still being a bitch, basically, constantly rounding other youtubers to bad mouth Dan, to speculate about his sexuality, and ended up threatening Dan. Unhappy about the lack of attention Dan was giving him, Charlie dropped the covert accusations and resorted to outright calling Dan out for being gay.

It broke Phil’s heart to read Dan’s replies, so he texted him to ask how he wanted Phil to reply as well, but Dan asked him to be quiet. Instead, Dan tweeted that he was honestly scared of Charlie's behaviour, hinting at him being potentially mentally unstable, making his claims about Dan’s sexuality unreliable while trying to appear calm and collected himself, but Phil knew better; this was Dan’s worst nightmare. There was not a chance that Dan was unbothered about the speculations.

After that, Dan continued to post videos regularly, go to uni and do the occasional play, but at any given chance, he would put physical and emotional distance between he and Phil. They still collabed semi frequently but even when filming Pinof 4, it was very evident that Dan didn’t want to even sit close to him. Overall it went well, or as good as they could have expected and the fans liked it, but they could tell that something was a bit off. When Phil saw all the edits, he briefly regretted leaving him calling Dan special in the video, but Dan said it was fine.

To tackle his love/hate relationship with the Phandom, Dan posted his ‘Fandoms’ video in October, making light of the situation, spinning it as a relatable story yet still including a soft call out, almost like a beg for a semblance of respect for his humanity beyond being an entertainer, but it didn’t work. Phil could see how everything was weighing down on Dan but Dan said he was fine and tried to push through. It was not every day that you could be paid to film videos in your room, get free stuff and get a following.

Not everything was bad though, being a youtuber came with real opportunities. In fact, they were hired by the BBC to film a Christmas Special, which went amazing and opened the door to negotiate for a spot on Radio 1 the following year. Dan had seemed excited to join him, even though the offer had been extended only to Phil initially, but Phil had made it clear that they were a package deal and that was the parameter set for future negotiations.

The thing is… Dan had been pushing himself for quite a while. Everything he did had become a chore, something that he no longer wanted to do, he didn’t want any of it, not even uni, or that’s what he told Phil. One day, just like Dan had come into his life and offered his friendship, he took it all away.

He moved out of his dorm, no longer reached out to Phil or barely answered when Phil initiated, stopped posting YouTube videos without a warning, and above all, he abandoned Phil in every way possible.

Phil understood, or he tried to understand, but he was heartbroken - and the public fallout was evident. People were constantly asking where Dan was and what had happened between them, if they had broken up (those were the phan truthers), but Phil was not going to let that stop him. With Mark supporting him every step of the way, Phil went to his first Vidcon, started doing liveshows and prepared to move to London, putting every cent that he had saved to pay rent upfront, because, obviously, being a youtuber was not great on paper to rent a fucking flat in London. Fuck, sometimes he hated Dan, but more than anything, he hated himself. He had given Dan every opportunity even though Mark had warned him about it, but he’d wanted to believe that Dan would never hurt him like that.

The truth was that Dan didn’t love him back, didn’t want to be his friend - apparently (Phil could only guess since Dan never gave him an explanation) - and didn’t want to be associated with him privately or publicly. It was as if their friendship and everything they’d built together meant nothing at all. The Sam situation and the messiness had been only the start of the rift between them and by the end of it, it was the least of their problems.

#succubusphan fics #phanfic #phanfiction #phan #dan and phil #phan au #ospbb 2023

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alabyte · 1 year ago

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Awww thanks for the tag @zaana !!

Your favorite member of TBB is: Сan't choose between Crosshair and Tech. Let's stuck for both!

Because: I like complex characters that need to be analyzed. Crosshair is an example of such a character, whose actions and motives cause debate and diametrically opposed opinions among people, aimed either at blaming or justifying. Tech, in turn, is the standard of a character who does not cause controversy, but is much more complex and deep than many people think. “I may process emotions and thoughts differently, but I don’t feel less than you.”

You identify the most with: Absolutely cursed fusion of Crosshair, Tech and Omega somehow

Because: a) “I was left behind for the sake of other person” is a sore subject of mine, I’m literally dying over this theme in Crosshair’s story, my heart aches for him; b) *adjusts glasses* Let's just say that human emotions baffle me too. And social situations. And people and relationships between them. c) The youngest child in the family. No comments required.

Your favorite minor character from the show: Howzer!

Because: Howser is literally the personification of everything that differentiates clones and droids: principles, fortitude, faith in his brothers and devotion to what is right. His personality is very tangible, I love it.

A TBB-centric piece or post of yours that you are most proud of: «If you want to cry, then I will cry too» aka twins comforting reunion hug probably

Because: In fact, behind this art there is a very long and very emotional story, which I carefully love and cherish with all my heart. AND BECAUSE THEY DESERVE THEIR REUNION, DAMMIT

Link: Boop!

A TBB-centric piece of art that slaps so hard you enjoy (and why): OH BOY HERE WE GO. а) Tech in the middle of a snowy wasteland next to an unmarked grave with a long, dark history behind it by @heksahela . I'm not okay. I haven't been okay for six months now. I love it but I'm not okay. b) "The last sight" Tech doodle by @aka-lorterian . I feel so many feelings every time I look at this art. Literally to the point of heartache. c) Torture on Mount Tantiss by @beetlecrest . Can we talk about how it's illegal to do something so emotionally destructive???? I love it but why am I crying d) The entire "happy on Pabu" series by @thattoothpick, but especially the one where Crosshair is resting on a tree. Crosshair's smile! Happy Omega! They are all finally ok!!!!! e) Reunion hug by @99aceace ! MORE TWINS HUGS! f) All of @zaana art literally all of it

Links: one two three four five six

A TBB-centric fanfic that gives you life you enjoy (and why): I rarely read fanfiction, actually. :( But the guys who write it - you are incredible! I admire you all every day, you are infinitely cool

Links: -

A TBB headcanon or trope that is 100% canon to you: Ah my batch twins brainrot :D Tech and Crosshair are twins, maybe not in the most literal sense, but psychologically and mentally. The two are very close and understand each other very well.

Color(s) you think would suit if Crosshair gets "Mercenary" armor: I think a lot about orange, because in Mandalorian culture it signifies the desire for life, and among the Batch it symbolizes freedom from the Empire. But I think there will be quite a bit of orange. Regarding primary colors... Purple? Maybe a little gray too

One thing you NEED to see happen in Season 3: Unpopular opinion, but Echo and Wrecker both disagree with Hunter on anything. I'm ready to accept Tech's death, I'm ready to accept that Crosshair will have to get out of Mount Tantiss himself, but I need to see a change in vector where they will have to find new solutions together. No pressure tags! @heksahela @amorfista @niobiumao3 @thecoffeelorian @theartgremlin @thebispaceace @crashqueenxx @nobody-expects-the-inquisitorius + all tagged above if not tagged before + anyone who wants to join!

Fellow Zealots of The Bad Batch, Unite!

Please share your answers to these questions and pass them on to some of your Bad Batch-loving buds!

Your favorite member of TBB is:

Because:

You identify the most with:

Because:

Your favorite minor character from the show:

Because:

A TBB-centric piece or post of yours that you are most proud of:

Because:

Link so that we can appreciate it:

A TBB-centric piece of art that slaps so hard you enjoy (and why):

Link:

A TBB-centric fanfic that gives you life you enjoy (and why):

Link:

A TBB headcanon or trope that is 100% canon to you:

Color(s) you think would suit if Crosshair gets "Mercenary" armor:

One thing you NEED to see happen in Season 3:

@wwheeljack @wrenkenstein @floundrickthewayfarer @raevulsix @enigmatist17 @slenderboo @echojedis @nika6q @zaana @wiseowl18 @toastyrobos @eclec-tech @jigget @destril @niobiumao3

#that took A LOT OF TIME #the bad batch #star wars

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gaiuswrites · 4 years ago

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World's Best

Pairing: Frankie Morales x fem!Reader

Summary: Not every day is easy. Frankie makes it better.

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 2.2k~

Warnings/tags: smut, vague-ish descriptions of depression/mental health, hurt/comfort, fluff

Notes: Do y'all ever get into a funk and then attempt to write yourself out of one? Well, this is the v self-indulgent product of said instance heh. I have tagged a random assortment of potentionally interested people but obvi no pressure? idk? :) Sending so much love and well wishes to you guys. x

Masterlist | Read it on Ao3!

A sea of knotted sheets spans between you—as tangled as your legs—too tired, too leaden to unweave. The fan rotates in the corner, blowing stale air your way every few clicks. You dangle a foot off the bed, skin prickling as the weak breeze sweeps over you and a bead of sweat licks from your knee to slope down your calf. Morning sun leaks through the window— the finch perched on the tree just outside it chirping once, twice, before flitting off.

You’ve been reading the Sunday paper for a solid twenty minutes—which, in all honesty, is an overstatement; you started and quickly abandoned the Sudoku after a measly ten, and you’ve been staring at the same sentence in the local section for the other half, blinklessly hovering over the fine print.

You’re not here today. Not all of you.

There’s this sinking feeling, hollowing you out and unmaking you. It’s as if something unseeable is oozing over you - dripping - something treacle, something thick. You’re far away from yourself—far from the cornflower blue walls and the framed photos hanging on them—the happy faces in the pictures smiling back at you— far from the plants basking in the tines of filtered light by the sill, far from the body lying beside you.

You’re not always this way. Not every day drags like an inky smear, your mind meandering sluggishly in circles, holding you hostage in a prison of your own making; but you can’t say it’s foreign to you either. It’s old, familiar—like that sweater in your closet you’ve had for centuries and rarely wear, but can’t bring yourself to get rid of. You know it well, this slog—you have unwillingly memorized it’s sodden intricacies, and today you feel it. You feel every single one of your days—each grey hour— weighing heavy on your very bones.

heavy heavy

heavier, still.

If you’re not careful, you’ll sink straight through the mattress. You’ll nestle deep into the springs and make a home in the down. You’ll sleep there until you become it. Comfortable. Catatonic.

Frankie sips his coffee. He doesn’t look up from the email he’s skimming. “What’s wrong?”

The baritone of your boyfriend’s voice sucks you back to the present—to the tick of the clock marking the seconds, the whir of the fan. The paper crinkles as you lay it to your chest—big eyes feigning ignorance as you blink up at him, chewing your lip. “Hmm?”

“Baby, I know that face.”

“What face?”

“The one you’ve got on,” he replies, “that’s your ‘I’m-upset-and-I’m-trying-to-hide-it’ face.’”

“I-” you frown, “no it’s not.” Gingerly, you pat a hand around your temple, your cheek, as if you could see your expression through touch.

“Uh huh.” Frankie rolls his digit upon the mousepad, clicking and scrolling down the webpage, and your vision glazes over again—ugly thoughts fogging up the panels of your mind—

“You gonna talk to me about it?”

You blink, swallowing, “nothing to talk about.” You flap the paper, ironing out the pleats, and scan for that pesky paragraph you never managed to finish.

“Mhm,” he replies absentmindedly, bringing the mug to his lips and drinking with an all too obvious slurp.

“Really, I’m fine,” you say weakly. You’re not that convincing—you barely convince yourself.

“Sure, sweetheart. If you say so.”

He’s too casual; he’s letting it all go too easily and God, he’s gotten good at this—at coaxing the truth out of you. He doesn’t even have to try any more. He’s so kind and open and sincere, all he has to do is crack the door ajar—tempt you with an inch of space, with only a sliver of leeway—and immediately you want to plunge through it and chase after him, like a dog and a bone.

He makes you want to share; not because of what he says, but by everything he doesn’t—the welcoming gaps he leaves you with, the gaps you’re urged to fill. This happens every time—it’s pretty damn annoying, actually. You’re so miserably predictable. After three and a half years together, sometimes you think Frankie might know you better than you know yourself.

A scary thought—wonderful, too.

“I’m just-” You run a hand over your face, pressing into the bridge of your nose and you grunt, frustrated. Exhausted. “I’m just tired.”

Frankie settles his coffee cup on the hill of his sternum, closing his laptop quietly. He swivels his head to you, hair mussing into the wall.

“Of anything in particular?” he asks, linen soft.

“No, yes—I don’t know,” you heave—an errant thing fluttering around in your chest as you fold the newspaper, letting it float to the floor with a splat. “It’s just-” you worry the inside of your cheek raw, fumbling with the blur of your emotions. You shake your head. “It’s just a bad brain day.” Your voice is small as you slump into him, letting your body go limp.

“I’m sorry I get like this. I’m okay—I’ll be okay,” you mumble, face burrowed into his arm. He smells summered, like sweat and heat and the promise of long days fading into even longer nights, and you take a heady drag, inhaling his scent.

You hear him sigh, stretching as he sets the mug and computer down on the side table. He shifts back to you, snaking an arm under your body as you coil your own around his center, hugging him close.

“You know, it’s alright if you’re not,” Frankie murmurs into your hair, planting a kiss at the crown of your head. “And you know you don’t have to hide from me when you aren’t.” His thumb finds your arm, the chewed nail bed scratching soothing circles along your skin.

Your gut somersaults, flipping and purring, and all you can do is press your lips to the cottoned shoulder of his tee shirt—the one with the holes in the collar and motor oil stain on the hem; all you can do is tighten your grasp, wringing around his cozy waist.

“And you know that nothing you say is gonna scare me away, right? I’m always going to be here for you.” Frankie gives your forearm a reassuring squeeze.

God, this man.

You nuzzle further into his chest—snuggled and swaddled in the safety of his warmth—and you mumble something incoherent, muffled against his relaxed body. His beard catches on your fly-aways as he dips to hear you better. “What was that honey?”

“I said,” you crane your neck, lifting out of his side, “you really are the ‘world’s best uncle’.”

A ripple of confusion twists over his features before you bat your eyes up to meet his, shooting a glance over to that exact phrase wrapping itself around the ceramic cup beside him.

You got stuck with it at some terrible white elephant exchange last Christmas. It’s fucking tacky and aggressively large—not even you - you, in all your caffeine dependency - can chug that much coffee fast enough in one sitting without it going cold— and neither of you have any nieces or nephews to speak of…

Naturally, it’s become your favorite mug.

Frankie barks out a laugh, his stomach flexing against your grasp. “Oh yeah? Is that all I am?” he smirks, a glint of mischievousness reflecting in his irises as he bores down at you.

You quirk an eyebrow, a coy tug blooming across your lips. “I dunno,” you drawl sweetly, “you going to prove me otherwise?”

His face is split into a grin now, wide and aching and unnecessarily endearing. His hair is a mess, wavy tufts jutting out every which way, and his eyelids are still puffy from what little slumber he was lucky enough to get in your hot, cramped apartment.

You really can’t keep putting it off—you need to buy an AC unit.

His focus dances from your eyes to your mouth, breath hitching as he watches you skip your tongue over the plush mound there. “I just might,” he growls playfully, maneuvering you onto your back with one broad swoop, pinning you to the bed.

He makes love to you like a man unburdened - untouched - by time. He fucks into you slowly, unhurriedly—at a pace that’s mind numbingly measured and patient. Frankie devastates you, dragging himself through your walls from head to hilt, letting you feel every ridge, every vein of him; filling you up so impossibly well—his thick cock sauntering in and out, and in and out again. Each roll of his hips makes you gasp, his blunt tip brushing against that deep, uncharted chasm within you that tempts you into oblivion. Your legs are locked around him, crossed at the ankles, and the perspiration at the pits of your knees slicks his sides.

Frankie’s palms dimple the fitted sheet as he brackets your head, burying himself into the crook of your neck. He moans—hot breath ghosting over the prickled skin there, babbling disjointed strings of guttural praise into your ear.

Fuck baby—fuck you feel good

How’d I get so lucky, how’d I-

God, you’re a— fuck

You’ve got the perfect pussy—made for me

Made for me, made for me, made for-

You turn your head and capture his mouth with your own, whimpering into him as he nips at your bottom lip and bites. You scrape your fingers through his scalp, pulling at his locks, and Frankie whines a tortured noise—giving an especially hard thrust that pries a yelp from your throat. He rears his head back, catching your gaze, a concerned line creased into his brow. “Y-You okay?”

“No- nono, yes Frankie. Again, right there,” you beg, lashes fluttering.

He darkens—the timbre of his voice made husky and raw as he drinks in the sights and sounds of you mewling for him, splayed and needy. “You like that?” Frankie drives into you again, sharp and searing as he bottoms out, the smattering of curls at the base of him soaked with your gloss. “You need it hard, baby? You want it rough?”

You whimper, clawing desperately at the nape of his neck. “I just—I just want you, all of you,” you pant as you hold his stare—the gorgeous, chestnut gleam of it—and the wordless expression that crests over his features makes you want to cry. The precious indent in his cheek, the stubble littering his jaw, his sculpted nose and clever lips, the sad rings under his eyes—the grooves he thinks you don’t notice, the grooves he tries to mask by always taking care of you, always putting you first, even when he shouldn’t.

Fuck, he’s so beautiful—he’s so beautiful you could weep.

“You have me,” he rasps breathlessly, bowing to meet you in a messy whirl of tongue and teeth before breaking away—forcing himself up off his hands and back onto his shins. He hooks an elbow under your knee, letting the other frame the outside of his hip. “I’m right here—you have me, you have me-”

Frankie’s hips are frantic now, pulsing in short, strong bursts as he grinds into you. He dips a hand to your center, pad of his thumb working erratic, sloppy flicks over the sensitive nub of your swollen clit. Your feet arch, the muscles there constricting as the tension in you mounts.

“Babe.” You’re whining now, vulnerable and shaking and fuck, you’re going to come apart—any moment now, any unbearable second, you’ll snap. “F-Frankie, baby oh god—”

You clamp a hand over your mouth, eyes screwing shut as you shatter. Like a vase crashing onto kitchen tile, you break into a million jagged fragments. Your cunt seizes, legs spasming against him as he fucks you through your orgasm, and it doesn’t take long for the tight contractions of your heat to yank him right off that same ledge. The both of you—tumbling and fracturing into terrible, perfect shards—to be intermingled and scattered among each other’s glass pieces.

Indiscernible. The same.

When you glue yourself back together again, you will find parts of him there - here, within you - filling your jigsawed cracks like golden ore.

Frankie slips out of you with a squelch and a huffed groan, collapsing to the mattress in a panting heap. His cum dribbles from your apex and you shiver at the feeling of it—at the feeling of him, warm and wet and lingering inside you. He rests his cheek on your breast while you both catch your breath—rising, falling. Waxing, waning. Two pitter-pattering hearts beating in time.

The sheets have been sloughed, lazy and forgotten, to a crumpled pile on the wood floor and the steam once rising from the mug on the nightstand has long since disappeared. It’s too muggy for you two to be this entwined—his leg draped over you, a big arm slung across your belly—but neither of you dare move. Neither of you have the energy, never mind the desire.

The clock whispers in the morning quiet.

A new bird claims the branch the finch left—she sings now, roosting there in the birch.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur sleepily, drawing patterns into the valley of his spine, mapping out his freckles and moles and scars. “Thank you,” you say. Thank you for putting up with me, thank you for understanding me, thank you for listening even when I cannot speak. “I love you so much.”

Gently, silently, Frankie tilts his head, bristled hair peppering your flesh as he mattes your skin with his lips; laving along your breasts, across your clavicle and up the plain of your neck—each kiss a response, each kiss a truth.

You don’t have to apologize

You don’t have to thank me

I love you

I’m right here

I love you

tags:

@pedros-mustache @roxypeanut @frannyzooey @djarinsbeskar @read-and-rec @keeper0fthestars @krissology @greatcircle79

#frankie x reader #frankie morales x reader #frankie x you #frankie morales x you #triple frontier fic #frankie morales #frankie catfish morales #francisco morales #pedro pascal #fanfic #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal fanfic #hurt/comfort #triple frontier

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writefightandflightclub · 4 years ago

Text

Disarming (Santi x fem!reader)

Summary: you and Santi - good friends- are Best Man and Maid of Honour at Frankie’s wedding, and guess what? There’s only one bed!

What is this? This is 5/10 one-shots/blurbs for my “friends to lovers” event. The prompt is “We can share a room, right? It’s only for a weekend”, requested by @woakiees. Another double trope extravaganza! Hadley, I’m so pleased you suggested Santi for this one, as he immediately came to mind when I was writing this prompt :D Thank you so much for requesting! <3

If you’d like to read/keep track of the other fics, I’m keeping an up-to-date friends to lovers list in my pinned post.

Author’s note: Apparently I get carried away EVERY time I write Santi. WHY AM I LIKE THIS?! :-/

Word count: 7.5k. I’M SO SORRY. PLEASE FORGIVE ME.

Rating: 18+ ONLY (minors out, please, do not read or interact)

Warnings: it gets angsty in the middle. Reader has nightmare- comfort offered. Mentions of reader being “hurt” in the past but vague and unspecified. They have a fight. One or two alcohol mentions- no actual consumption. Food mention. Swearing. Steam leading into smut but not explicit- mentions of masturbation, erections, making-out, one brief allusion to choking kink. Let me know if I missed anything.

Tagging: @isvvc-pvscvl @casifer-is-king (loads of the tags aren’t working :-/)

GIF: @nathan-bateman

From the first moment you met Santi, you had simply fallen into step with him. It was effortless, and so, as soon as you found yourself by his side, you stayed there. What’s more, that’s exactly where he wanted you to be.

Despite the man’s hard, no-nonsense edge -which you also appreciated- he was warm and charming. It was easy to connect with him, in a way it hadn’t often been for you. For him too - or so the boys told you - the way you surpassed his defences was a rare thing. It shouldn’t have worked, perhaps. Usually, he was slow to trust and you were quick to love, but on this occasion none of that seemed to apply, the two of you tumbling squarely into a fast-friendship; one deeper and more intense, perhaps, than its duration might suggest. Still, despite the boys’ inferences that you would quickly become an item, and Santi’s continual attempts to blur the lines between this and… something more, “friends” is what you have remained.

You had felt it immediately with him. Something different. You simply... flowed. You fit. It was immediately evident, even on that first night, in the way you orbited around one another, setting up an impromptu beer pong of all things. You moved together with a fluidity and a precision that seems almost tactical- as though you too had run countless manoeuvres in the field with him. You could read him and understand him as though you had drilled his habits and patterns and idiosyncrasies over and over; learning him. However, he was never that much effort - the two of you came naturally to each other, little learning required. You knew each other with your gut.

At that fateful party, when you each escaped to the back porch steps for some air at a serendipitous moment, the conversation had immediately flowed, and not only as a result of his natural, disarming charm. The silence even came easily rightaway – a comfortable thing, the space between you stuffed with contentment, rather than the feeling of a gaping vacuum, needlessly filled. It turned out his best friend was dating yours (the pair to be wed this very weekend) but that almost seemed like the cherry on top, rather than the thing bringing you to each other.

Safe to say, what was true then is true now. You get on so well. You find him fun and easy and generous and you love the man dearly.

…Most of the time.

Those other times, though? Santiago “Pope” Garcia can be a pain in your ass. But that’s another reason you love him, you guess. Keeps things interesting.

“Please don’t kill me,” Santi says sheepishly, and it’s obvious to you he’s laying on the charm - actively trying to be as disarming as possible as he saunters over from the reception desk. For a moment, despite all his training, he looks as though he believes you could pull it off, too.

Your annoyance is already prepped; locked and loaded, as he pads squarely towards the banquette where you are sat - amidst a sea of luggage. You’ve been observing his attempts to charm the desk clerk with interest (his efforts, you surmise, at least partially effectual), and judging from the slight level of desperation in his efforts, you can already tell he fucked up somehow.

“What did you do?” you say impatiently, even as a smile twitches at the corner of your lips.

“I booked all the rooms we needed, for all of the wedding guests, right? 13 rooms here, and all 10 at the hotel across town. 4 more in guesthouses,” he recaps. “Got Frankie and Mila a great deal too, remember?”

You remember. And yet, you fold your arms across your chest, looking up at him incredulously. Okay then. Rolling with your attitude, the man takes a different tack. He sits next to you. Smiles. Leans in. Pats your thigh. He’s trying to disarm you too, you realise. It’s going to take more than that - you’re not some flimsy desk clerk who will form a puddle and bat your eyes at the first sign of his charm.

“Well, funny story. I may have forgotten to book our rooms,” he blurts.

Oh? Oh, great. Yeah. This is a grand fuck-up. The whole damn town is booked-out. It’s a small town. No longer amused, your nostrils flare in annoyance as you tug in a slow breath, schooling your tone just a little before you speak. “You what?” Okay, you didn’t manage to school it all that much.

“Look, I already sort of fixed it,” he smooths. That explains the flirting with the clerk. Although, you think, glancing back at her. She’s pretty. That partially explains the flirting with the clerk, then, you mentally correct. “There’s just one, teeny-tiny issue.”

You raise your eyebrows and widen your eyes. Well?

“We’re gonna have to share a room.”

You blink at him a few times, in surprise. Well, it’s not ideal. For a number of reasons. But you can think of worse things, truth be told. And he’s not wrong. It is a solution. Still, on his reveal, a succession of emotions and micro-assessments are bounced back and forth between your eyes and his, until you land on resigned annoyance, exhaling a long sigh. That is, until Frankie appears in the lobby, swanning in like he’s walking on air. He probably is, given that he’s getting married this weekend. His face splits with a smile so wide you reckon it should be painful to maintain, and you stand to greet him as he heads over.

You’re glad he’s happy. It means that you and Santi, as Maid of Honour and Best man, respectively, are doing a fantastic job of deflecting all of the stress away from the happy couple. Indeed, that assessment certainly feels true – you do feel stressed. Still, the two of you immediately paint your faces with masking smiles; though, in fairness, it’s hard not to smile while looking at Frankie – his obvious joy is infectious.

Frankie wraps you both in a hug, then rubs his palms together like an excited kid. “I don’t have much time. Just gonna say a quick hello to my parents. Apparently, my mom’s already started crying? Can you two sort some extra tissues for the ceremony or something? Oh, and is everything okay with the rooms?”

“With this guy? Are you kidding?”, you say before you think, throwing your thumb towards Santi. Immediately, his eyes submit a powerful plea to you to keep schtum- it is written all over his face that he doesn’t want to let Frankie down. Not even in the smallest of ways.

Frankie would find his little error funny, probably. But he can find it funny after the ceremony. “Everything is A-OK! This guy? He has every single detail taken care of.”

Frankie grins, his eyes narrowing proudly at Santi as he slaps him on the back, laying profuse thanks on the two of you; then, he floats away again, as if on a cloud. Santi’s brown eyes are big with gratitude when you look at him again, and you can’t help but weaken. You’ll admit, it’s really not that bad of a fuck-up. Besides, you’re tired. Between the drive out here, the wedding rehearsal, and a never-ending list of errands, the day has been long. You just want to get to the room, and maybe even clock a snooze before the rehearsal dinner tonight.

“Fine,” you agree, albeit through gritted teeth. “We can share a damn room.”

Santi looks visibly relieved, and squeezes your shoulder in thanks. You’d even been nice enough not to bite his head off. “Yeah. We can share a room, right? It’s only for a weekend.” Suddenly, he doesn’t sound quite as certain.

“Sure. I mean, what could possibly go wrong?” you smile nervously.

He returns your smile and swivels, heading back towards the desk.

“Oh, wait!” you call after him. “Is it a double or a twin?” you ask in horror. Sharing a room is one thing, but sharing a bed?

He turns, looking over his shoulder. “Doesn’t matter!”, he winks. “Whatever it is, we’re gonna have to take it.”

Oh. Oh dear.

You’re inclined to agree -you don’t have many options- but when you catch yourself stealing a glance at the man’s shapely butt as he walks back to the desk, you begin to chew your bottom-lip nervously.

Right. Ha.

What could possibly go wrong?

**********************

It turns out, sharing a room with Santi is resoundingly not bad at all. In fact, at first, it’s as easy as everything else is with him - even between your hurried preparations for the evening, unpacking, shuttling items to the relevant members of the wedding party, and calling down to reception several times to check the logistics for the rehearsal dinner. Even getting dressed, you find an easy flow as you each flit in and out of the bathroom, dancing around each other with ease and only a hint of friendly bickering.

Santi’s respectful too- always knocking and announcing himself before entering a space, and averting his gaze when he needs to, given that you’re rushing around and undressing. You even manage to ignore the fact there’s only one bed for the longest time, parking that specific panic for later. Even then, he has already made reception send up extra pillows and blankets, forming a barricade in the middle of the bed so you two can comfortably separate.

Thankfully, you are so busy that the idea of sharing a bed with Santi doesn’t even cross your mind until you’re finally ready, dressed in your finery. When you step out of the bathroom, Santi -sat on the edge of said bed- stands up, thrusting his hands into his suit trousers as he takes the sight of you in, pulling the material taut -in a rather pleasing way- across his hips and thighs. He ends up slightly slack-jawed for a moment as his eyes trail over you, brewing with a gentle, self-conscious heat. “Fuck,” he says softly, his voice gruff. “You look…” a little gulp trails down his throat as you give him a little twirl. “…hot”, he says, his eyebrow ticking up on the last beat.

“Wait until you see my bridesmaid dress,” you smile, and he returns it easily, those gorgeous creases appearing around his eyes.

Unconsciously, you lick your lips. You can’t help but wonder, vaguely, what it would be like to push him down on to the mattress. Maybe straddle him. Fuck, you should have known this would be a bad idea. A heat rising in your face at that thought of that, you distract yourself by lifting his suit jacket from the back of the chair, holding it out for him as he slips it on to his shoulders, and feeling the luxurious texture of it beneath your fingers.

It’s a grey suit, tailored, and it hugs him in all the right places. The cool colour is perfect against his warm-toned brown skin, and brings out the salt in his salt-and-pepper curls, and in the rough rasp of grey flecked through his stubble.

You try desperately not to notice how good he looks, but this may be your greatest challenge yet.

“Come on,” you encourage, nodding towards the door. “We better head down.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, half-heartedly. The way his eyes are subtly roving over you, though, he looks like he has something entirely different in mind for dinner.

“You’re probably going to spend all night being chased by the single bridesmaids,” you add casually as you collect your purse, and apply a final dab of lipstick in front of the mirror. You’ve already clocked a few members of the wedding party eyeing him up, and you don’t exactly blame them for being thirsty. Besides, Santi is a huge flirt; so perhaps he’ll be the one doing the chasing. You wouldn’t be surprised if he ended the night with his tongue thrust deep in someone’s throat, which -you assume- is typical Santi fashion.

“Isn’t it traditional, anyway,” he smirks cheekily, applying a splash of cologne, “for the Best Man to hook-up with one of the bridesmaids?”

Lord, does he have to smell so… edible.

“Got news for you, man. You fucked up. You can’t exactly bring a girl back to your room now, can you?!” you tease, nodding back towards your shared bed, a wall of pillows already arranged down the middle. You mean it to come out in good-humour, but you can’t scrub the hint of jealousy from your tone entirely.

You feel so silly for being jealous of whomever he may hook-up with. After all, Santi is always the one testing the boundaries of friendship with you. It’s not like he’s ever made a secret of the fact he’s attracted to you- and you are the one here will a firm line in the sand. A line you simply won’t cross with him. Can’t cross. You want to - of course you do, but after being hurt in the past, you have simply built-up far too many defences; or, more accurately, just the right amount of defences, you think, to protect you. So, no matter how disarming the man is, you simply have to keep your guard up; because if he breached your walls, you know everything else would come tumbling so easily down.

You had fallen so easily into friendship with him, and you are certain that you would fall just as recklessly in love with him.

You’re not ready for that.

You can’t take being hurt again. Besides; Santi? He’s an incredible friend. He’s tenaciously loyal and dedicated to his squad. But when it comes to love, and sex, you doubt whether serious is even his thing - and you’re too afraid to ask.

“You ready to do this?” he asks, with a wink.

“Yep,” you nod. “Let’s roll,” and with that, you turn, heading for the hallway.

“Princesa- that dress really highlights your ass,” he praises as he tags along behind you.

“Thank you, it’s true,” you smile devilishly, already beginning to let your guard down, just a little. He’s simply so disarming. “Speaking of, Garcia – did you get your trousers a size too small on purpose?”

“Oh, you noticed?” he retorts, smugly, guiding you through the door with a hand on the small of your back.

Okay. Sometimes you flirt back. After all – look at him.

Especially in that damn suit.

***********************************

The rehearsal dinner goes swell. Frankie and Mila are a picture-perfect, loved-up couple, and they grin their way through the evening as if they slept with coat hangers in their mouths. The speeches are well-received, including Will’s, thus setting a high bar for you and Santi tomorrow. (You may be biased, but Santi’s is ten times funnier, and it’s going to kill, in your opinion.) There are no dramas through the evening- logistical or familial, and thanks to you and Santi overseeing everything with a military precision, it looks as though -so far- it is shaping up to be the perfect wedding weekend.

Finally, once your duties are over for the night, you are able to let your hair down a little, so to speak, and enjoy the food and company on offer. Still, with a big day ahead tomorrow, things wind down relatively early, and -having lost track of Santi at some point- you find yourself back at the shared room a little while before him. You usually burn out more quickly than he does in social situations, but even taking that into consideration, you begin to fret about where he has gotten to. With the way he was flirting his way through the party, though, it doesn’t take a genius to guess what (or who) might be keeping him up.

You try to sleep but you can’t, your mind going to the worst places, so, by the time Santi does return -softly cracking the door, and padding in with his shoes in his hands so as not to wake you- you have stewed in your own thoughts long enough to have become a little cranky. A little… green-eyed.

“Hey,” he greets in surprise when he enters, immediately noticing the soft lamp glow, and seeing you still sitting up in the bed, mindlessly watching the flicker of the tv on mute.

“Hey,” you return, your voice noticeably strained. “Have a fun time?” You find yourself wishing you weren’t sharing a room, then you wouldn’t have to know what he got up to.

“Yeah,” he replies softly, slipping off his jacket and laying it over the back of a chair. “Did you? How come you’re still up? Thought for sure you’d be wiped out by now.”

So, he did think of you, then?

“Couldn’t sleep,” you reply neutrally, fixing your eyes dead ahead as he begins to slip out of his trousers and shirt too, until he’s dressed in only his tight black boxers. Next, he takes off his watch and sets it at the bedside, and you notice that he smells of perfume. A cloying, floral scent that makes you feel a little sick.

“Just gonna have a quick shower and then I’ll slip in with you, okay?” he says, his voice slow and deep and muted, matching the soft light.

You still don’t look at him. You can’t.

“Do what you want. You usually do,” you bite, the words tasting bitter as soon as they have left your lips, and tears of regret pooling as your anger dissolves.

You don’t blame him if he was with someone – you really don’t. You’re simply angry at yourself; because you wish you could be that person, and you can’t for the life of you seem to find a way.

“Okay. What was that for?” he bristles, reacting defensively, turning towards you. And perhaps it’s because it’s late and he’s tired, or because certain demons feel safer coming out under the cover of darkness, but he doesn’t stop there. Especially when all he gets from you is a stony, pointed silence. “You know what? Actually, no. You don’t get to do this”, he hisses, and it is the first time you’ve ever heard him direct any genuine anger at you.

It doesn’t half sting.

“Do what?” you ask, but you already know the answer.

“You don’t get to be mad when I give my attention to someone who actually wants it,” his voice is hushed, but his words rattle through you as if he had yelled them. “I don’t have to explain myself to you. Guess what, I’m not yours.”

“That’s not fair”, you snap back, and then things are quickly escalating.

“Isn’t it?” he asks, rasping a hand over his stubble in distress. “I mean, come on. Shit. You know that I want more but I…” he exhales a disgruntled laugh. “You shoot me down, which is your prerogative, honestly, but you can’t have it both ways. You can’t knock me back all the time and then be pissed off when I look elsewhere.”

You meet his face, the planes of it shadowed and angled harshly with anger, suddenly so unfamiliar to you, and it causes your eyes to bloom with tears. You two look the opposite of Frankie and Mila; of a picture-perfect couple. But you’re not even a couple at all, are you?

You see him try. To blunt the emotion which is bubbling up. To soften. But he has uncorked something he now can’t put back in. “Fuck, I just wish that….” he pinches his lips together and shakes his head, planting his hands on his hips and looking at the floor. “If you don’t want me, just put me out of my fucking misery. Just say it. Just fucking tell me.”

Your heart shatters into a thousand pieces at the thought you make him miserable. At the way his voice breaks. At the way he thinks you don’t want him. Maybe you were wrong, thinking that you could be friends at all. Thinking that could be enough for him.

Your lower lip trembles, and your fingers clutch the edge of the blanket. “I… I can’t tell you that. I can’t tell you that I don’t want you, Santi.”

You can’t because it isn’t true. It could not be further from the truth, in fact.

He puffs out air, an exasperated sound, his hand raising up to tangle in his grizzled curls. Raising his voice a little more. “Let me guess. You can’t tell me the other thing either?”

“I.. I..” You try, but no words will come. You simply shake your head, swallowing a sob, your eyes almost brimming over.

He nods. He nods, his mouth slanted down. “Great. Got it,” he huffs.

You hate this. You hate how much you’re hurting him.

“Santi,” you breathe weakly, but it is too weak to blunt the force of his emotion. To halt his trajectory, and so, resigned, he turns towards the bathroom, grabbing-up a fresh white towel from the counter. Before he closes the door, he turns to you once more, now speaking softly, his eyes as sad as yours. “You know,” he says, his index finger sawing back-and-forth over the stubble at his chin. “For the record, I wasn’t with anyone else. I can’t even fucking think about anyone else but you. I was late back to the room because I couldn’t face it.” His voice becomes small and pained. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to just curl up next to you and act like I don’t care.” His eyebrow ticks up, and he adds, with a final flourish. “Guess I should have taken a lesson from you.”

Oh, how it stings, pain flowering in your chest like a bruise, but you hold yourself together until he’s out of sight. Then, when he’s gone, you immediately cave in on yourself, falling on to your side and screwing your eyes shut, clamping your hand over your mouth so that he can’t hear you crying as wet tears spill onto your pillow.

When he comes back into the room, after a long shower, you simply screw your eyes shut and pretend to be asleep. You hear him sigh heavily, and mumble something to himself under his breath, before dragging a few pillows and a spare blanket down on to the floor.

A few more silent tears roll over the bridge of your nose.

You guess you wouldn’t be sharing a bed with him after all.

***********************

You wake panicked in the night, sitting bolt upright in the bed. A cold wash of sweat over your skin chills you, even though you feel like you’re burning-up.

Immediately, you reach for him, for Santi, calling his name even as your fear strangles the sound in your throat. Your heart is thudding, and your breaths are sawing in and out of you, but your grasping hands find nothing to your side but pillows and blanket.

Unfortunately, you are used to this occurrence, and you quickly realise it was “only” a nightmare. Still, the feelings and images it conjured linger in your body, and around you in the shifting, seemingly fluid shadows of the room.

With a release of tension, you whimper, leaning forward and cradling your head in your trembling hands, and you try to ground yourself. To steady your breath and your heartbeat, like you’ve practiced. As you do so, the shadows to your left shift and change, and, even in the pitch-black you can feel him, a safe and warm presence, instantly travelling to your side, his weight dipping the mattress. His soothing, sandy voice filtering through the shadows and cutting back the tendrils of your nightmare like a Disney prince hacking through cursed vines.

You vaguely remember that he’s mad at you - but you can’t help it. Can’t help asking. “Hold me?” you plead, desperately afraid that he won’t.

Still, without questions or hesitation, you feel the wall of remaining pillows coming down, the defences around you quite literally being dismantled – a figurative wall between you shifting away along with it. He shushes you, and you focus on his voice, until he is close enough that the scent of him wraps around you, before his arms follow closely after.

You reach for him in return. You reach for him in every way possible.

“It’s just a nightmare,” he soothes. “I’m here, baby. I’ve got you,” and there is pain in his voice on your behalf, as if he tries to bear the burden of it for you.

“Closer,” you plead, and before you know it, he is shifting you on to your side, slotting his sturdy yet soft body around you, not caring that you feel clammy and hot against his bare skin. He simply loops his arms and draws your back, closer to his chest, becoming your big spoon.

He calms you, hands enveloping yours and bundling them against your chest, his nose nuzzling into your hair, and his deep steady breaths slowing your breathing as you let his calm and his rhythms overcome you. He holds you, until the feelings pass, not caring how long it takes – and with any anger from before apparently forgotten.

This pain is all too familiar to him, you know. It something that Santi understands. It is your own and it is not the same as his, true, but you know it is familiar enough that he will feel the ache of it echoing in his own chest. You know that he is accustomed enough to bearing his own pain, that when yours is too heavy to carry, he will help you hold it for a while. And so, he holds you, while you are a tender thing, bruised and afraid, and he keeps you safe; with all your walls down, all of your defences collapsed, he becomes your fortress.

You never thought that letting yourself be so vulnerable could allow you to feel quite as safe as this.

As you lie together, Santi continues to usher soft reassurances into your ear, his words like charms and incantations to ward off the ghosts which haunt you. And, after a series of slow, stretched moments, you become more settled, and Santi feels you relax against him.

After a few moments more, he eventually whispers a small question into your hair. In the dark, the question feels safe to come out, perhaps.

“Do you always call for me when you…?” he trails off, thinking better of it. “I’m sorry- forget it, you don’t have to answer that.”

You don’t. You know you don’t. You don’t even truthfully know the answer. It’s likely that you do call for him, though how would you know, when you’re usually alone? But, there is something else you can tell him, while it is safe to come out in the dark. Something you want to tell him, before you build your walls all the way back up.

“Santi,” you begin, timidly, and his fingers skim softly up and down your arms, encouraging you to go on. “I-I’ve been hurt before. And, I want to be with you. I want to let you in but… I’m. I’m not ready. I’m trying so hard but I… I can’t.”

There is a long beat, and you realise he has held in a breath only when he releases it all at once, fanning hot across the back of your neck.

You are afraid. Afraid of what he might say, in response – what he might feel, but you think, maybe, it might be something like relief? And, Santi squeezes you, just a little tighter. A little closer. “Don’t worry about that now, okay?” he soothes, his voice feather soft. “Just… know one thing, okay, Princesa? Whenever you are ready? I’m waiting.”

This time your heart fills with a different emotion, all the spaces in it flooded with contentment, Santi’s words followed by a perfect, happy silence.

A soft smile blooms on your face.

It was not a confession of waiting impatiently, you understand, but an invitation to take your time to arrive at him. He’s not trying to bring down your defences at all, is he? He’s waiting for you to open the door, and invite him in. He’s waiting until you are ready. He simply needed to know that you are on your way, even if your footsteps are getting you there slowly.

For now, though, the thought of it is too much. More than you’re ready for.

So, you simply let him hold you.

To disarm you further.

To walk yourself a little closer toward where you want to be. With him; by his side.

****************************************

In the morning, you wake up tangled around each other, Santi’s arm wrapped securely around your back and your head settled on his chest. He is still snoring lightly – cutely - when you awake, and so, as the night prior comes flooding back to you, you hastily try to extricate yourself from him; even if his bare skin feels so good against yours that you never want to move. You’re apparently not so subtle- or he’s a helluva light-sleeper – as, just when you pull away, Santi wakes up, quickly rushing to prove his innocence.

“You had a nightmare,” he croaks, still trying to peel his eyes open. “You asked me to- “.

“-I know. I remember,” you reassure, sitting up in bed, the blankets tugged to your chest. Santi shuffles, opting to assume the same position on his own side, mirroring you, rubbing his eyes.

You’re still not sure whether to apologise to him or thank him. Or maybe even to wait for an apology from him? Christ. Maybe all of those things or none of them, who even knows? You mentally spin a wheel and land on a casual “Uh. Thank you, for…. You know.”

“Anytime,” he says, turning his head to the side and looking at you earnestly. As if your bickering -your jealousy and his outburst- is all but forgotten. What’s more, you know that he means it.

Admiringly, your eyes wander over him, enjoying a side of him you’ve never quite seen before. Apparently, he’s even more handsome in the morning, with an even thicker, darkened brush of stubble, his grizzled curls dishevelled, and his swooping eyelids still heavy from sleep. Combined, it gives him a sultry, bedroom look. Feeling an involuntary rush of heat in the pit of you, your gaze drops to his corded neck, where, given the special occasion, he has substituted his dog tags for a silver chain, drawing your gaze down over his smooth, brown chest.

Your skin now cooling in the conditioned air of the room, you long for his body heat again, recalling how it felt to be held by him and wishing you had lingered a little longer while you could. Even with your interrupted sleep last night, you have somehow woken feeling refreshed, as though you had slept unreasonably deeply in his arms, reaching a whole new level of contentment - as though you just fit together, perhaps. As though it comes naturally for you to be held by him, and for him to hold you.

There is a silence and it isn’t awkward exactly; more… pregnant, with possibilities. Possibilities you see brewing with a gentle heat in his eyes. So, tearing yourself abruptly away from that line of thought, you lift your phone up from the nightstand, and note that there isn’t long before your alarms sound anyway.

Operation Wedding Day is go.

That should be enough of a distraction for you, shouldn’t it?

“You ready for this, Best Man?” you ask him, with a gentle quirk of your lips.

“Sure. Are you ready, Maid of Honour?”

Ready. Are you ready?

Thoughts of last night swirl in your head.

Well – as Santi flashes you a tentative, disarming smile, with hooded eyes, you certainly feel like you’re getting there. Like soon you could be ready.

“Sure. Let’s get this show on the road.”

“Atta girl,” he encourages, folding his arms behind his head as you jump out of bed.

You suddenly don’t care that you’re in nothing but your underwear, as you stretch out your body and track towards the bathroom. “I’ll shower first?”

“We’re sharing a bed,” he teases. “Sure you don’t want to share a shower too?”

You scoff, flashing a mischievous smile right back at him. You’ve always had a soft spot for his flirting, but you feel like -after all that transpired last night- you truly see if for what it is now. You realise why it has never felt like he’s pressuring you - not once. He’s simply reminding you, that as soon as you call for him, he’ll be there. That he’s waiting, when you’re ready.

Reminding you, that as soon as your walls drop, he’ll be your fortress.

“I don’t think you’re gonna get quite that lucky this morning, Garcia.”

You do linger in the doorway, just a little longer than necessary though, so that he can get a better look at you. He’d never look without permission – he proved that yesterday, when you were in various states of disarray- but this time, sensing your invitation, his eyes graze over you slowly, keenly. So, when he strategically moves his hands from behind his head to hide the tenting covers, you don’t mind at all.

You smile devilishly as you slip into the bathroom, closing the door behind you. You’re not sure if he will… take care of himself out in the room – how could you know? But, feeling inspired, you certainly do so in the shower, and it’s a pretty great wake-up call before you face the wedding day.

Maybe sharing a room isn’t so bad. Maybe you could even get used to it.

*********************************************

Frankie and Mila get hitched without a hitch.

Santi goes to the ends of the earth to make sure that Frankie has the best day possible- and at some points, he goes even further than that. His speech was moving and flawless, and pretty fucking funny; even if you are a little (or a lot) biased. Not a dry eye in the house, just as you predicted.

The man adores Frankie with his whole heart, and you could barely hold back the glow of admiration as you listened to him, feeling like it might burst from your chest like a beam of gold sunlight. You felt it especially strongly every time his eyes met yours during the course of the speech, and you couldn’t help but smile yourself stupid each time he did so. And, of course, you were overjoyed to see your best friend have the day of her dreams, with the man of her dreams. If you do say so yourself, you think your speech was pretty killer too.

Suffice to say, you ate until your belly was full, loved until your heart hurt, laughed until your sides ached, and danced until your feet ached.

Tonight, unlike last night, you and Santi retire to your shared room at the same time, your arm linked into his, and your shoes carried in your hand to spare your sore feet – there’s a reason you never normally wear shoes like this. Without your heels though, you keep tripping over the hem of your dress almost every few paces, causing you to giggle and Santi to steady you with a warm, rich chuckle, sometimes throwing you an extra hand to assist you.

You look over at him, furtively, as he recounts some of the more choice moments from the day, immensely enjoying the simple pleasure of hearing him talk and smile and laugh. Seeing him happy. Of course, enjoying how he looks too, you have to admit - even more handsome than he did yesterday (somehow) in midnight blue dress pants, and a white, crisp shirt, now tieless. He’s only grown sexier as the evening drew on too, now with a wide open-collar and rolled up sleeves to accommodate all of the dancing; or, at least, as much dancing as his knees could handle, until he’d simply opted to sit to the side and watch you boogie, his eyes apparently transfixed on you and only you - the advances of the other bridesmaids be damned.

There is something that hits different about the way he looked at you today. His admiration shining deeper than usual. Less like a casual lust, and more like something… serious. You’re not sure why you doubted it before, exactly. Why you have been so inordinately afraid that he might hurt you. You broadly figured him for a smash and dash type of man, which is fine, but you have every reason to believe that he wants more with you.

After all, Santi can be deeply and tenaciously loyal. He has dedicated himself to things deeply and unwaveringly several times over in his life. To his country, to his missions, to his morals, to his squad. And there’s something about the way he looked at you today, you think, that suggests he might dedicate himself to you with the same tenacity. Something far deeper than appreciating how you look in this bridesmaid dress (and oh boy do you look hot). It’s more like the way he looks at Frankie. A little different to that, obviously. But you’re realising he looks at you like he’d never let you down. Not even in the smallest of ways. Like he’d rather go to the ends of the earth -or beyond- than do that.

At least… you think so.

You are sure about one thing though. The way he looks at you? It’s thoroughly disarming.

And so, you arrive at your shared room, utterly wiped out from the day (and night), yet still somehow buzzing with an energy. A gentle suffusing heat under your skin as you watch Santi walk inside and kick off his shoes at the end of the bed, before turning back towards you.

You have entered a few paces behind him, after nearly tripping on your gown all over again by the door, but now, you are quite steady on your feet - aside from that slight, nervous tremble in your quaking legs as he looks at you like that. As Santi looks you up and down, eyes skimming over the contours of your dress and hence everywhere it hugs your figure. Evidently, he likes what he sees.

“Wow,” he breathes, his brown eyes shining as if he’s looking at you for the first time that day, even if his gaze has barely left you all night. “I know it’s the bride’s day, but you look fuckin’ smokin’, sweetie.”

“You think so?” you ask humbly, suddenly feeling unreasonably shy. Flustered even.

“Yeah. I think so,” he nods, positively certain. “Shit, you’re so beautiful.”

You look at him. You look at him in a way which suggests an answer in your eyes instead of a question. A clear intention in your body, instead of uncertainty. But he doesn’t push you. He doesn’t assume. He doesn’t make a move. Instead, his mouth tugs up into a lopsided smile, offering you a lazy flash of teeth, and he shoves his thumbs into his belt loops.

“Well, we’re officially off the clock now, so I’m calling it. Well done, Maid of Honour. Think we nailed it? Made a pretty damn good team?”

A smile lights your face. You did. You flowed. You fit. It was easy.

Fuck. It feels so easy. Why had you ever thought this would be hard?

You nibble on your lip, eyeing him with intention, and a hard swallow trails down his throat in response.

“Off the clock, hmm?” you say breathily. “No more titles or duties? Huh. That’s a real shame.”

“How so?” he asks, his eyes devouring you alive, but his body fixed resolutely in place. Transfixed to the spot.

“Because it’s traditional for the Best Man to get with one of the bridesmaids, isn’t it?”

A slow, disbelieving smile inches over his face, and he looks at his feet, a little bashful. “Gross tradition. Kinda sexist,” he says, and your gaze fixates on his full, curving lips. On his hands, poised and broad at his belt.

“So, you don’t want to make out then?” you ask in your most sultry voice, mere breath.

The man huffs out a quick, broken exhale. “Fuck me. You know I do, sweetie. But only if you’re ready.”

Ready. Are you ready?

“Santiago,” you say, with conviction, your eyes dancing between his. “I’m ready.”

Santi searches your face one last time, just to be certain. He’s sure, of course – has been for a long time, but he needs to know that you truly want this. That you want this now. So, he looks at you, and he finds nothing but permission. Even so, after so long, he still can’t quite believe it. He would go to the ends of the earth to keep you safe – or beyond – and, so dammit, he will ask you again.

“C-can I..” he begins, and his voice already sounds choked; hollowed out with need. “Fuck, Princesa, can I kiss you?”

Too long. Too long without moving. Without touching. Too long.

If you were suddenly ready, his kiss becomes even more suddenly overdue.

“You’d better,” you encourage, feeling like vapour. “Unless you want me to do it first.”

With permission granted, you expect him to be on you, with a surge. All at once. But Santi has been patiently waiting for you long enough. He can wait just a little longer, and, when he subtly tips his chin up, ever so slightly, and when he near growls “come here then, honey,” somehow, it is perfect. Somehow, it is a thousand times hotter that he makes you come to him.

You lift the hem of your dress, and you pad delicately towards him, feeling like you are wading through molten honey to get to him, the air thick and sweet.

“That’s it. Come here, baby,” he encourages, with a curl of his index finger beckoning you to him, his voice curling in the pit of you, making you feel weak in the best way possible. Making you feel spent before he’s even done so much as brush you with his hand or his lips.

You close the remaining distance with your steps, the anticipation too much, and your legs feeling so weak from the reckless lust and the light, liquid softness in his eyes. By this point, you are begging for his arms to reach out and clasp you- to hold you up; make you secure and safe in him. You are begging for his lips to sink down on to yours. But he makes you wait, through a few more slow, stretched moments. Makes you inch your mouth closer and closer until your lips are almost skimming his. He makes you wait until you are moaning his name into the air before he has even touched you.

“Santi.”

And, if there’s one thing you know for sure, it’s that when you call for him, he is always there to take care of you.

You know he will take care of you.

With that, his name a plea, he swoops his broad, large hand up until he is holding you, his fingers closing around your jaw and your throat, trailing down your neck. His touch is painfully gentle, but in a way that makes you want him to squeeze, a little harder. In a way that makes you push yourself ever so subtly into his hand. A way that draws a silken moan from deep in your chest, and Santi is moved to dip the pad of his thumb into your mouth, where it meets your wet and willing warmth. When your tongue skims him, humming as you taste his saltiness, that seems to be the final straw, a wrecked groan sounding from his throat, and finally he surges on to your lips, leading with his tongue, thrusting into your open mouth and drinking down every sound and moan he can draw from you, his stubble rough against you. You don’t care if he leaves you raw.

It’s tender, and it’s gentle, but Santi knows all about control, and you can tell he’s holding back. His hands are lethal, and he knows just how to kill you softly; but, you are certain, that if you want more of his power, he’ll give it to you. That he’ll take care of you however you like.

So, he kisses you more deeply, harder, and you go near limp against him until one of his arms wraps at the back of your head and one at the small of your back, making you feel a feeble thing, waning in his arms as his large hands support you. Except; you’re not feeble though. You’re not by a long shot, and you know exactly what you want.

“Santi,” you suspire, letting him walk you back against the wall, pressing his bulging arousal into you as more wrangled sounds and little grunts slip from his parted lips.

“Yeah, baby?” he asks, already sounding wrecked for you.

“There’s only one shower. Wanna share?!”

Even as he releases an endlessly eager, disbelieving breath, his eyes keenly search your face, checking you are ready. He watches, enraptured, as your lips curl into a deliciously sinful smile.

“You know. We don’t have to rush this,” he insists, even as he shivers with need, closing his eyes and biting his lip when you angle your hips to brush the tenting bulge at his crotch, ever so fleetingly, his hips bucking into you immediately in pursuit of more pressure.

“I know,” you say coolly, your body an undercurrent of frenzy, but your mind calm and sure. You push him back, with your palms to his chest, making room for you to about-turn into the bathroom, shimmying off your dress as you go and letting it waft to the floor like a sigh. Looking at him over your shoulder, with lust-blown eyes, you leave Santi stood there, entirely dumbfounded, as you reveal all of yourself to him.

You retreat, but once the water is running you call out to him, wondering where he has got to. “Take a hint, Garcia. If you’re ready? I’m waiting.”

And, he doesn’t waste another second before joining you.

THE END

(BONUS: Outfit inspo, if you wanna imagine him in the suits a lil better 😉)

#santiago garcia x reader #santiago pope garcia x reader #triple frontier #oscar isaac

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stargaze-issei · 4 years ago

Text

— "𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐦𝐞" (𝐛. 𝐤𝐚𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐢 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭; bakugou and you had been dating for so long, but always had to hide it. he hates hiding you, he hates seeing you sad, and you don’t know how much more you can take.

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞; a little bit of angst at first, but then fluff.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬; bc… him.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭; 2.0k

it had been a long day at your agency, longer than usual at least. a lot of little incidents in your patrol areas, meetings, reports waiting for you to give them a final look. you checked the watch on your desk, almost midnight. by then, only the guards must have been in the building. a long, heavy sigh left your lips. you still had work to do, but the urge to go home was bigger, so after taking your things, you drove home, eager to see your boyfriend. bakugou mananged to get himself the title of number one hero four years after graduation, surpassing even all might himself. seeing him achieve his dreams filled your heart with love and pride, though it still hurt not being able to share those feelings with the world.

on your second year at u.a., katsuki asked you on a date after months of notorious flirting, no one was really surprised, in fact, among your class, everyone was happy because of your influence in the boy. your honey moon period was interrupted a few months later, on what was class a’s last sports festival. as third years already, all the attention was laid on you and your classmates. hundreds of pro heroes expecting to catch the most promising graduates, and your last chance to show you worthy. on every phase, you and bakugou would share knowing glances, secret winks at each other, little reassuring smiles from you and calming head nods from him. with all those cameras making you the center of attention, it wasn’t too hard for people to figure out what was going on between both of you. you ended sixth, only surpassed by uraraka, kirishima, todoroki, midoriya and bakugou, and were really happy with your performance. that same night, after a celebration with all your friends at the dorm, you went into your boyfriend’s room.

he was laying in bed, reading a book, but still reached out to pull you into bed. “mind if i use your computer?” you asked, him humming in agreement, too focused to pay you more attention. first you checked your personal account, when nothing entertainment surge there, you opened your official hero account. as you expected, the festival just endign a few hours ago, the tags were exploding. your face completely change when you started to read.

“so, are we just ignoring the fact that Y/N of all people was making eyes at bakugou the ENTIRE TIME?? keep it in your pants geez”.

“i’m sorry but if you think that bakuy/n thing wasn’t a stunt, you’re wrong”.

“guys. it’s as simple as looking at y/n, and then looking at ✨bakugou✨”.

“yeah it’s a no for me, like ok they’re friends but don’t make it fucking disgusting”.

and you could keep going. most of them were about how someone as great as katsuki could never lay his eyes on you, fewer were about how he was too aggressive and violent for you, and some were just people hating on both of you. tears gather in your eyes, was this what everyone thought? you knew from the beginning the difference between bakugou katsuki and you, who was lucky to even had made it that far, but you didn’t realise just how big the difference was. katsuki immediately felt something was off, so he left his book aside and grabbed your hand.

“i…” was all you managed to say before bursting in tears. bakugou hugged you as fast as he could, whispering softly calming words and leaving small kisses in your head. slowly, he took away the computer to see what made you so upset. blood starting to boil in his veins, his whole self shaking in pure rage. he got up, leaving you in the bed, still a little teary.

“i’m going to kick those losers to the moon, who the fuck are they to say those things? fucking bastards, i’ll shove their words so up thei–” he was walking back and forward in the small space of his room, stopped only when he saw you crying even harder.

“am i really th–that unworthy of you?” the voice crack made his heart break “i know i’m not perfect but i really thought that… that…” bakugou kneeled before you, looking at you dead in the eye. his hands gently reached your wet cheeks.

“don’t say dumb shit, dumbass. you are the most perfect person on this fucking planet, no one, not even youself, can say shit about that, ya’ hear me?” he did his best to calm himself down, knowing that you needed his comfort more than ever.

he took away the laptop before going into bed with you, holding you tightly in his arms. you were still crying, completely unable to get those words out of your mind. you loved katsuki, that you were sure, and he made clear several times that he loved you too, why didn’t people understand that? why it wasn’t enough?.

the next day, aizawa told both of you that in order to keep your mental health, at least until you graduate, to not make it official. he explained how sometimes, pro heroes had to keep their private life in check just to make things a little easier, as unfair as it sounds. so you waited, you graduate and held the impulse of kissing your boyfriend, hugging him, even look at him. it’s okay, only a few more days. katsuki sign a contract for two years with best jeanist, the number three hero at the time. you, on the other hand, had been offered to work with the lurkers, a team conformed by edgeshot, their leader, kamui woods and mt. lady, signing a similar contract to your boyfriend’s. you were overflowed with happiness, your dream had come true, finally you could call yourself a pro hero. you weren’t an intern, you were their equal.

“look, you are a great hero, but you are just starting” edgeshot had call you into his office, the manager of public interactions was next to him, talking to you “i did my research, and i’m going to have to ask you to keep this relationship of yours with ground zero a secret. you have so much potential, you need to leave a good impression or your hardwork would be for nothing.” you looked at your boss, seeing the uncomfortable look on his face. no one liked to ask those things, but sometimes there were sacrifices to be made.

“i have to talk with him first” was all you could say.

it killed you. not being able to love katsuki, to live a secret. most of the time all you wanted to do was scream in the middle of the street, where everyone could hear you. you loved bakugou katsuki, and he loved you, you wanted to spend you whole life with him, without hiding, without lies, without wondering if you were good enough for him. but it couldn’t be. now, four years later, both of you with your own agencies and a steady career, it still couldn’t be. again and again, no matter how many advisors you hired, everyone reached the same conclusion.

katsuki was waiting for you in the couch, watching a movie. instantly, you crawled to his arms, searching for reassurance. at least he was still the same.

“oi, are you okay?” even if his voice came out harshly, you knew he worried.

“i’m tired” you hid your face in his neck, intertwining your legs with his. you didn’t want to cry, but it was impossible to keep all the tears from falling.

“look at me” he said, lifting your face from your chin “what is it?” his eyes creeped inside yours, you hated making him worry, he lived the exact same things you did, but there you were the only one crying.

“i’m tired of this, bakugou” to hear his last name coming from you froze him in his place, what? tired of what? of him? you wanted to break up? “i can’t do it anymore” the way you grabbed his hand gave him confusing signs. “i want to go out with you, to hold your hand in public, i wanna kiss you and hug you whenever i want to, fuck, i want a normal relationship”

oh. it was that. bakugou sighed, a bit relieved. he understood, it was hard on him too, but at the same time, was all both of you knew. your relationship never had a normal phase, he couldn’t even remember the last date you had. how could he miss something he never had? of course, you were different. for some reason, the media had always been harsher on you. if it wasn’t your love life, it was your hero costume, or the way you did your job, how you didn’t have children, that forever tired face you got, they’d always find a new thing to complain. but you had your own fanbase, a lot of people who supported you, not for nothing you were the number four hero. being honest, katsuki didn’t know what to say. he hated seeing you like that, after all those years.

“let’s go out” he talked while getting up from the couch, lifting you with him “put on something comfy, hurry” when he saw you staring blankly at him, he took you from your legs as a bag of potatos “dammit, woman”.

once you got out of your surprise, you did as you were told after your boyfriend left you on the bed. his eyes glowed with a different shine, one that had disappeared a long time ago.

you got in his car, him driving. katsuki seemed happy, and that eased your anxiety. after a while, he parked in the middle of town. despite of the hour, there was a lot of people there, just as he expected.

“we can’t do this” you said, still a bit doubtful.

“of course we can, i’m going out with my girlfriend, i’m going to hold her hand, and i’m going to kiss her whenever the fuck i want, because she’s the baddest bitch out there and doesn’t deserves to be hidden from anyone”.

he said that. your heart raced, your cheeks heated up, what was going on? your belly had a thousand butterflies trying to escape. he said that. for the first time in five years, you kissed him without double thinking. a kiss filled with loved, confidence, feelings you couldn’t even describe.

he got out of the car first and opened your door, reaching out a hand. you were together in this, whatever happened wouldn’t be as bad, because you had him. there wasn’t anything else you needed but bakugou katsuki.

he explained what he planned while driving, you were going to go to every store you wanted, holding hands, sharing kisses. you were going to take pictures and share them with the world. you wanted an ice cream? then both of you would walk the entire tokyo to get you one, not minding the looks, the whispering. this was you and him.

and you did, you spent the most awesome night together, phones exploding with calls of both of you agencies. it didn’t matter.

you ended in a viewpoint, sitting in the back of your car watching the sun rise. a blanket provided the warm lacking from you bodies, even though you were cuddling. every time bakugou was at peace with you, unconsciously started to sing under his breath, in a really low voice. feeling his chest under your skin, his fingers tangled in your head, hearing his deep melodic voice. that’s how you wanted to spend your life.

“marry me” he said, his heart didn’t even race its pace. he was so calm, because he knew that your love was mutual. “c'mon, dumbass, marry me”.

“i love you” was all that left your mouth. he took it as a yes, and he was right. a soft smile curved in his lips, you were his, and he was entirely yours.

#katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki #katsuki bnha #bakugou imagine #bakugou headcanons #bnha x reader #bnha bakugou #mha imagines #mha bakugou #mha x reader #bakugou x reader #boku no hero academia #my hero acadamy #bnha fic #mha fluff #bakugou fluff #bakugou angst #– star's; originals! [❀]

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alicanta77 · 4 years ago

Text

Finale: Glitter and Gold

Pairing: princess!y/n x prince!Chenle

Themes: royalty au, fluff, angst

Warnings: arranged marriage, violence, war, character death, injury, descriptions of injury and blood

Words: 11.5k

Inspiration: BTS - Blood, Sweat and Tears - orchestral cover

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Finale

tag list: @hiqhkey @jaeshatshop @lebrookestore @honei-n @cheonsa1004 @haechans-sunflower @crispy-chan @rvse-hvvck @chezzontop

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Note: This is it! The final chapter of Royal Blooded! I want to say a MASSIVE thank you to everyone who has read and supported this story. The first chapter of this story was published before I had 100 followers on here, and now, as we celebrate the finale, we have over 1500. I have grown so much throughout the 9 months of my life that I spent creating this world, and every word of support, every message, every ask about it means so much to me. I’m a little emotional that it’s ending because of how long I spent on it and how much I put into it, but I am so excited to look forwards at everything that’s coming next. Thank you for the love on this, and enjoy the finale!

Felix xox

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~ 6 months later ~

You held your head high as you walked towards the throne room. You had your main servant walking behind you and two guards escorting you on either side. Your shoes made small tapping noises on the stone floor with every step you took and your clothes and hair gently flowed in time to the repetitive movement. Your lady in waiting was smoothing out your dress as you moved, trying to make everything look perfect. You paused as she quickly adjusted one final piece of hair before giving you a loving smile and hug and wishing you well.

Your chest felt tight with nerves and you took a deep breath. Your dress was beautiful, the most expensive one you owned and you were made up to look more beautiful than you think you ever had before. Your mother had bought this dress for you and, as soon as you had seen it your jaw had dropped, the scarlet red colour complimented your skin tone perfectly and the gold details that swirled around to form the shape of dragons were captivating.

You knew that a dress like this would only be wearable on a day like today, the most important day of your life.

You approached the grand doors, nodding at the two knights guarding the entrance with a smile, both of whom bowed back before moving their spears and opening the grand doors for you.

The throne room appeared in all its glory. The metal chandelier hung from the ceiling, dangling above the engraved stone floors that were currently stood on by the entire court. The court and knights of your kingdom were all in neat rows on the left of the room, framed by the sculpted columns that ran up the walls, engraved with detailed patterns. On the right side of the great hall stood another court entirely. One which you had met once and had recently had the pleasure of getting to know better. Their red and gold emblems were proudly on display on their cloaks, letting everyone who saw them know that they were the court of the royal kingdom of Shanghai.

You remembered doing this over a year and a half ago, only then you had been meeting Chenle for the first time. If someone had told you just how much he would come to mean to you in such a short amount of time, you would never have believed them. You had thought it would take you years to fall for the boy you were arranged to marry, but life is funny like that. You look back now and you don’t see him as the boy you were arranged to love, but rather the boy you were destined to.

However, even with all this going on around you, you couldn’t take your eyes off the boy waiting for you at the end of the hall. He too was dressed in his finest clothes, the dark green and silver colours of your kingdom decorating his outfit. As you walked down the hall, dressed in the representative colours of Shanghai, his face split into the largest smile you had ever seen.

His eyes never left your face as you moved closer to him with every step, in fact, it took all of Chenle’s self restraint not to run towards you right there and then. You finally reached the front and Chenle offered a hand to help you up the few steps.

You accepted, your hands slotting together as if they were jigsaw pieces. You lifted your dress with your left hand, making sure not to step on it and accidentally rip it or, god forbid, face plant. You would never recover from the embarrassment if that happened.

Luckily you made it up the three stairs without any problems, but now you faced the challenge of speaking. You knew Chenle was going to speak first so you had time to mentally prepare yourself, but deep down you felt an overwhelming sense of serenity. You knew that you would be fine. You had been taking public speaking classes since you were young and you’d addressed more people than this in one go before. Just as with the stairs, you knew that nothing would happen, but your mind went to the worst case scenario. You just wanted this day to be perfect, after all, you were only doing it once.

You and Chenle tore your eyes away from each other as you turned your attention to the front, where your childhood tutor, now a well respected member of the court and keeper of the archives, was about to speak.

“We are gathered here today for the wedding and coronation of Prince Chenle and Princess y/n.”

~ flashback ~

“Will you marry me?”

The words left Chenle’s lips and it was as if they kick started your brain into action. You threw yourself at him, his arms catching you as the two of you hit the ground in a heap.

“Yes.” You cried repeatedly. “Yes, with all my heart.”

Chenle rolled the two of you over so that you were lying on top of him, the laughter that was emitting from the two of you radiated pure happiness. You sat up, kneeling next to Chenle as he gently grabbed your hand.

He held you so softly, his thumb gently caressing the back of your palm as he slipped the diamond onto your finger. A second passed in which the two of you stared at the jewel, the symbol of a silent promise to love each other until the end of time.

You looked up at him, eyes shining and his hands came up to cup your face. He pulled you in and you kissed him with everything you had.

You’d lost count of the amount of time you’d kissed Chenle, but this was different. This held so much more to it. It was as if it was a kiss that made all the other kisses on the planet seem pathetic. Love exploded between the two of you, your love, the kind of love that would last a lifetime.

You both pulled away, the need to breath breaking the captivating spell that Chenle had cast on you with that kiss. He leant down, resting his forehead on yours as you both closed your eyes and enjoyed being so close to the one you adored.

“I love you so much.” He whispered, afraid that if his words were any louder they would shatter the perfect moment.

“I love you more.” You whispered back, grinning as you heard Chenle chuckle quietly.

He pulled his forehead off yours only to replace it with his lips for a soft kiss.

“That’s not possible.”

~ flashback ends ~

The great hall was decorated with banners of both your kingdom and Shanghai. Ever since the engagement announcement, the castle had been in full on planning mode, preparing everything for this day to be perfect. There had been banquets, feasts and balls thrown in your honour, with gifts from kingdoms far and wide coming to the two of you in congratulations.

Word had been sent to Chenle’s family in Shanghai and they had announced that they would be coming to visit for the wedding. You had never felt happier than when you saw the smile on Chenle’s face when he was told he was going to see his family. His parents and three older brothers, Kun, Sicheng and Renjun, were all leaving Shanghai to attend, and they were planning on staying with you for a couple of days either side of the monumental event.

However, the good news about Chenle’s family came with bad news about yours. Your mother was frail, ill and barely eating anymore. She spent her days drowning herself in work so she didn’t have to focus on the cold empty space in her bed beside her. For the past 6 months she had worked diligently and done everything she could, but one night she came into your bedroom and quietly asked to speak to you and Chenle.

She told you that she didn’t think she could do it anymore, she didn’t think she could rule the kingdom. She explained that she had only managed to take on all the duties because she had had her husband, your father, by her side. But he wasn’t here anymore, and she couldn’t go on with the burden, it was simply too much for her to bear.

After a long and heavy conversation, your mother announced the next morning that she would soon be stepping down from ruling, and allowing you and Chenle to ascend to the thrones. She addressed her people, admitting to them that she was unfit to govern them and that she felt it was unfair to keep herself on the throne and deny them a better pair of rulers. She then proceeded to inform them that the wedding would be combined with the coronation so that you would be married and crowned on the same day.

You would be lying if you said that this hadn’t had an effect on you. You were already feeling the stress of your title, and you had been working closely with a group of advisors and your mother to introduce you to the world of being Queen. But, still, you were terrified. What if you weren’t a good ruler? What if you made a bad choice for your people? What if this affects your relationship with Chenle? You wouldn’t even get a chance to get used to being married before the role of King and Queen would be thrust upon you. But you forced yourself to ignore the growing voice in your head that filled your being with doubt. You had been preparing for this day your entire life, and now that it was here, you refused to let down those people who had helped you along the way. You would do your best, and make them proud.

So here you were. Standing next to the man you loved, about to promise your everything to him forever. Even though you had been filled to the brim with nerves before entering, as soon as you had locked eyes with Chenle, all of that had melted away. You knew that, as long as you had him by your side, the two of you could handle anything.

While the wedding was only attended to by family and members of the court, the celebrations ran throughout the entire kingdom, with all your people overjoyed at the beautiful ceremony.

You listened as the officiant went through the traditional wedding procedure, both you and Chenle replying with the rehearsed statements. His hand never left yours and you couldn’t express how relieved you were that it didn’t. The physical reassurance that he was there grounded you.

You turned to face each other, holding your joined hands out for the gold ribbon to be wrapped around them. The officiant continued to speak, his words about unity and strength reminding you of your father’s speech when Chenle first arrived with his family. So many things about this day were taking you back to the beginning, and the similarities were making you miss your father more than anything.

You felt a small squeeze on your hand and looked into Chenle’s soft brown eyes. He gave you a nod, one so minute that it would be unnoticeable to anyone who wasn’t you. You repeated the move to him, another reassurance that the two of you were there for each other, no matter what.

The officiant moved on to the vows, Chenle going first before you followed, saying the words you had recently memorised. Due to you both being royals, you couldn’t write personal vows and you had to stick to the scripture, but that didn’t mean that you didn’t mean every word. You meant it with your whole body when you promised to stand by him for as long as you lived, to look after him as best you could, and to support and love him no matter what. And from the look in your soon to be husband’s face, he meant every word he said too.

“Chenle, do you take y/n as your wife?”

“I do.” He spoke, sincerity strong in his voice and you didn’t bother to fight the smile that grew across your face at his certain words. The only thing you didn’t know, was that Chenle had never been so sure of anything in his life.

“Y/n, do you take Chenle as your husband?”

“I do.” You repeated Chenle’s answer, your voice just as steady and sure as his had been, your mindset reflecting that as well.

You were still scared out of your mind at what was going to happen after today, but the thought of having Chenle by your side for the rest of your life, that didn’t scare you at all. No, that thought was the most comforting thing on the planet.

And that thought was just about to become your reality.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

Chenle wasted absolutely no time, moving forwards before the officiant had even finished speaking, gently grabbing your face and pulling you in for a kiss. You smiled into the kiss, your hands coming up to rest on his waist.

The kiss wasn’t long, the awareness that your families and courts were watching you not quite having left your mind. But it held everything, the past years that you had known each other, your entire journey together into who you were now was told in the few seconds that Chenle’s lips pressed against yours. The clapping and cheers brought the two of you fully back to reality as you pulled back. You leaned back in for an even shorter kiss, officially sealing the eternal bond between the two of you.

“I love you.” You whispered, Chenle chuckling.

“That was my line.” You opened your eyes to look at him and he smiled down at you. “But I love you too.”

You both pulled away, as the claps gradually died down and the ceremony began to progress. The two of you barely had time to register the giant step you had just taken before you were being instructed to kneel in front of the thrones and the crowns were held above your head.

You were sure that it had taken longer than you realised, but you were so wrapped up in the feeling of loving Chenle, and how much he loved you, that it felt as though not even thirty seconds had passed.

And yet, here you were, repeating yet another set of responses that you had been taught, promising to protect and fairly govern the people, vowing to follow the example set by those who ruled before you and do whatever you can to live according to the traditions and customs of your kingdom.

As the final vows left both your lips, you felt the gold crown land on your head, the heaviness of the metal it was made out of, and the title it represent, weighing you down already.

“I crown you King Chenle. I crown you Queen y/n.”

With those words, you pulled your legs underneath you and stood, turning around to face the people of your courts. Chenle reached for your hand once again, this time you interlinked your fingers, intertwining your hands as a physical sign of the link between your kingdoms.

The throne room erupted in cheers and clapping once again, this time to an almost deafening volume. You and Chenle began to walk back down the middle, waving and smiling at those closest to you as you passed. You walked all the way out of the throne room and straight onto the balcony, ready to greet your people as their official rulers.

---

You stood just outside the balcony together waiting for the words that would signal the two of you to step outside. You hadn’t spoken to anyone yet, just waiting for you final duties of the day so that you could celebrate with your friends and families.

“Did you feel as though that went really quickly?” Chenle asked out of nowhere, making you jump slightly at the sudden noise before your eyes widened in agreement.

“It did! Leading up to the ceremony felt like an eternity, but then as soon as the ceremony began, it went in a flash. I’m not sure I was even there for half of it.” You muttered the last part, but Chenle’s sharp hearing caught your words none the less and he chuckled whilst muttering out a softer reply.

“Me neither. It kind of feels as though it hasn’t happened yet.”

“Exactly.” You didn’t realise how nervous you had still been until the realisation that you were both feeling the same way. You both fell into silence, it was comfortable but it still felt as though there was a lot that the two of you were leaving unsaid.

“You know-” Chenle paused his words to swallow his nerves, he hadn’t been this nervous around since the two of you met. “I’m starting to remember why I was so nervous for this marriage when I met you.”

You looked at him, the short distance between you suddenly feeling like a million miles.

“Me too.” You admitted softly. “It doesn’t matter how long we’ve known each other, there’s still a pressure for this marriage to be successful and for our kingdom to flourish.”

Chenle whispered a quiet “Yeah”, showing you that he was feeling exactly the same way.

“Chenle?” His eyes shot up from his feet to yours and you could see the nerves bubbling in them. He was chewing on the inside of his cheek and you took a step forward to grab on of the hands that he had behind his back. “Listen to me, I thought you weren’t nervous at all. Honestly, I thought I was the only one freaking out.”

“Trust me you weren’t.” Chenle said dryly, moving slightly so that he was facing you full on.

“I know that now, but I didn’t when I really needed to.”

“What are you saying?” Chenle asked, his brows creasing with worry at your soft words. He knew you only spoke with this tone of voice when you had something important to say to him.

“I’m saying we need to communicate. We need to tell each other the truth, talk about how we feel, both the good things, and the bad. We’re in this together, and that means we don’t need to be perfect for each other. We just need to be there.”

Chenle nodded, a small smile finally making it’s way onto his face as he pulled you closer by the hand that was already in his. His arms came to wrap around your shoulders and you fell into his arms for a hug. You felt his scent overcome you and drown your senses and you let out a deep sigh, feeling some of your worries and concerns leaving you with it.

“You’re right. I know you are and I promise to tell you when I’m stressing out of my mind or nervous to the point where my knees are shaking, especially if I can’t tell anyone else. We’re married now so that means you’re stuck with me no matter what.” Chenle looked down at you, grinning that signature grin of his that you fell in love with until a look of shock suddenly shot across his face. “Holy shit, we’re married!”

You stared at him in confusion.

“What did you think the wedding ceremony meant?” You asked him as Chenle waved you off.

“No, no, I mean, I knew we were married but I guess it’s starting to sink in that we’re really married. Like I get to have you by my side forever...” Chenle trailed off, his eyes never leaving your face.

You leaned up to him, pressing your lips together softly, before pulling back slightly and whispering:

“Well you better get used to it, because it’s you and me for the rest of time now.”

A trumpet riff interrupted your moment, signalling that your time was almost upon you. You and Chenle got into position just as the doors in front of you opened and you prepared to greet your people.

You walked out into the sunlight, the sound of cheers and shouts overwhelming you as you waved to the citizens you had just promised to govern. Chenle’s hand found you once more, holding onto it tightly and pulling you slightly closer as he waved with his free hand. His grip remained tight, and you squeezed it reassuringly leaning in so that only he could hear before saying “I got you” and he seemed to relax. His grip loosened slightly and his smile faded into a genuine expression of joy and awe and you grinned, knowing that you loved him more than anything else on this planet.

The announcer lifted his hand, calling for momentary silence as he uttered the words that were followed by the largest cheer and celebration of them all.

“May I present, for the first time, the King and Queen of Ivairis!”

---

You laughed as Chenle twirled you around in time to the music, before pulling you back in and dipping you gently. You’d lost track of how long the celebrations had been going on for, but the music and lights had hypnotised you into staying longer and longer to enjoy the night.

You’d had the pleasure of meeting Chenle’s brothers as well. Kun was first in line for the throne, he was also married and honestly was the epitome of a perfect heir. Sicheng was second in line for the throne and, before you had met you had been slightly intimidated by him. After meeting him, however you had learnt he was one of the nicest people and so easy to get along with. Family was everything to him, and he spent most of his time working with new recruits for the Shanghai army.

Renjun was closest in age to Chenle, with only a year and a half separating them, and it was clear that they were closest to each other. Chenle had previously confided in you that, since he had three brothers, he hadn’t had much attention from his parents when he was young, and it was Renjun who was there for him. It was Renjun who had essentially shown him how to learn to grow up. Their casual bickering provided you with huge amounts of entertainment, but it was clear that they cherished each other dearly, and Renjun was so proud of everything Chenle had accomplished here.

The most bittersweet moment however, came when Chenle’s father approached you and asked to dance. He had the same kind smile on his face that he always wore and you easily agreed. He led you out onto the dance floor, just as he did the day Chenle first arrived at Ivairis.

“You two have come a long way since the last time we met.” King Zhong commented, a twinkle in his eyes that made you smile.

“You gave me some good advice.” You admitted to him. “When you came here, and we danced you told me: don’t rush this. And that was the best piece of advice anyone has ever given me. I feel like I married my best friend.”

King Zhong smiled down at you, blinking twice as he tried to figure out the best way to say his next words.

“Y/n-” You looked up at him as he paused, before swallowing and continuing. “I know how much you must have wanted your father to be here, he was such a brilliant man and I’m so sorry he couldn’t be with us today.”

“Me too.” You whispered, just loud enough to be heard over the music and people chatting in the background.

“I know that no one else will say this to you, so I will.” You looked up once again, to see him looking down at you with an expression that reminded you so much of your own father that it brought tears to your eyes. “I’m proud of you.”

You felt even more tears gather rapidly in your eyes at that, and you blinked repeatedly to keep them at bay. Chenle’s father’s hands came up to rest on your shoulders and hugged you. You hugged him back, feeling the fatherly warmth from his hug calm you down slightly.

“Thank you.” You said as he pulled back and smiled at you. He nodded at you, patting you on the head gently before the two of you continued to dance. You couldn’t quite describe the comfort that his words had brought you. Deep down you knew your father would be proud of you and all you had accomplished, you just wish he had been here to see it happen.

The song that was playing came to a stop, and you stepped away to clap for the musicians. You and Chenle’s father smiled at each other, before you excused yourself to the sides, needing a short break. You stood quietly and just observed the scene in front of you. There were countless members of the courts of Shanghai and Ivairis dancing together, you saw Chenle’s parents dancing in the middle as well, Renjun was speaking to Jisung by the side, saying something that caused Jisung to stare at the older boy with his eyes wide in amazement. Over on the other side of the hall were Taeyong, Jaehyun, Sicheng and Kun, all immersed in deep conversation and you could see both Jaemin and Jeno heading over to join the conversation. In fact you could see everyone except for-

“Hi love.” You felt a soft kiss on your cheek as you turned to your left and saw how Chenle had snuck up on you without you noticing.

“Hi.” You replied, smiling up at him.

“I was thinking, do you remember the celebration when we came back from the battle against Odin’s kingdom?” You nodded at his words and he carried on. “Well, what would you say about going back into the town again? Not just us though, opening the doors to the palace and courtyard and bringing the musicians outside so that the court and citizens can all celebrate as one?”

“Chenle...” You breathed. “I think that’s an amazing idea.”

His face split into a wide grin at your words and you both immediately moved to put his plan into action. You split up to find different guards who were on the doors, and explain to them what you would like to do. They seemed slightly hesitant, as this had never been done before, but they couldn’t disagree with their new King and Queen so they did exactly as you asked. You walked back into the hall, finding Chenle there waiting for you and the door remained open after you had arrived.

You slipped your hand into Chenle’s and he squeezed it gently, while signalling the musicians to stop playing. An air of confusion came over the room as every single pair of eyes came to rest on the two of you.

“Whenever we have a celebration, it seems to be split in two, with a chosen few celebrating in the castle, and the rest down in the town. The Queen and I would like to change this.”

“Indeed.” You took over from Chenle, your voice strong as you addressed the courts. “The whole emphasis of this marriage and alliance is on unity, and so, as we stand united in two different kingdoms, we will also stand united with all our people. We would like to invite you to join us as we go into the lower town for the rest of the night.”

There were a few murmurs amongst the crowd, but most people nodded and smiled in agreement, understanding your point on unity. You gestured for the musicians to come first, allowing them to be set up amongst the others playing in the lower towns before the rest of you began to move. You and Chenle were amongst the last people to leave, with only Jisung behind you.

He was grinning at the two of you like the Cheshire cat, shaking his head slightly as he chuckled.

“What is it?” Chenle asked his friend, rolling his eyes jokingly.

“Only the two of you would do something like this. In your first few hours as King and Queen, you break up an age-old tradition because of the separation and divide it causes. Only you would realise that and take the step to do something about it.” Jisung shrugged, brushing off his own words as if they were meaningless, but you knew he knew how much they meant to Chenle and yourself. If your marriage was supposed to bring unity, you had to make sure that you were making sure that it did. “Come on then, let’s go dance!”

He stepped in between the two of you, throwing his arms over each of your shoulders as the three of you burst out into laughter and headed into the lower town together, ready to dance the night away.

---

Both you and Chenle relied heavily on advisors during your first months of ruling. You mother stepped down and completely away from royal duties and, even though you felt as though you needed her guidance at times, you couldn’t ask her for help. She barely remembered who you were anymore, much less how to rule a kingdom. You visited her everyday, as did Chenle, and each time hurt more than the last. Watching the clouds pass over your mother’s mind as she struggles to place the face of the child who she cared for and loved all her life, was an indescribable pain.

She always remembered you eventually, something that you counted yourself very lucky for. You remember sitting by her bed, holding her hand as you spoke to her late one evening, telling her about a successful conclusion that you had come to during a council meeting that day.

“You’re doing so well my dear.” She spoke, her voice gravelly as if her throat was constantly dry.

“I’m trying.” You replied, forcing a smile on your face so that she wouldn’t see how tired you were. “I’ll make you proud.”

Your mother tightened her grip on your hand, encouraging you to look her in the eyes as she spoke again.

“You already have.”

She passed away that night.

You were almost relieved that her suffering was over, but her loss hit both you and Chenle very hard. She had become a second mother to him, and you knew how much he loved her. The night you both lost her, you stayed together, hugging each other and crying, just allowing yourselves to be vulnerable before you had to put on another strong appearance for your people when you appeared for the funeral.

Her funeral was identical to your fathers. She was laid, in her best clothes, softly in a long boat, decorated with flowers and pushed down along the river. You held Chenle’s shaking hand in your own as you both whispered your goodbyes into the lanterns and let them fly off into the sky. Allowing your mother to finally be reunited with the man she loved.

You walked back into your shared room, breathing out a heavy sigh as the doors closed behind you and you could finally drop the act you’d been holding all day. Sitting in those meetings, talking with different noblemen of the court about petty details, you had never felt more alone.

You were struggling to come to terms with the fact that you held the entire responsibility of this kingdom on your shoulders, and you didn’t have your parents to show you how to do it anymore. You rested your back against your door, and allowed your knees to give out and for you to sink to the floor.

Once you softly hit the ground you just sat there. You didn’t cry, you didn’t speak, you didn’t move. You just sat there, listening to the sounds of the kingdom around you. You shut your eyes, allowing yourself to get lost in your mind as time passed you by.

A knock on your door forced you to open your eyes and pull yourself back into reality. You stood up and quickly opened your door, finding one of your main advisors there with the paperwork for tomorrow’s sessions. You thanked him, accepting the documents and closed the door once more.

You stepped further into your room, placing the papers down on the desk you had before turning around, planning to lie down on your bed, but your gaze was caught by a figure standing on your balcony.

He had his back to you and was leaning over, but you knew without needing to see his face that it was Chenle. From the way that he was hunched over the balcony to the way he rolled his scarred shoulder every so often to keep the injured muscle moving, you knew he was deep in thought. You debated whether you should go out to see him, wondering if it was best to just leave him thinking, and eventually you turned away, deciding to leave him to his thoughts.

You pulled off your shoes, removed your jewellery and combed through your hair with your fingers. You looked at the small pile of jewellery on your dresser, before reaching down slowly and picking up the silver ring that bared the royal seal of Ivairis. Your bottom lip began to tremble as your mind was flooded with memories of your parents and your childhood. From your mother gently tying up your hair in the mornings, to your father bringing you along to meetings and you hiding behind his legs.

You dropped the ring, your head falling into your hands as you finally let the tears fall. Your breath shortened as you quietly sobbed into your hands, hiccuping as you tried to catch your breath. You needed to see Chenle. You stood up, whirling around to run out to the balcony, but instead you were greeted with him standing in front of you. He had come back inside, and you had been so lost in your sadness that you hadn’t realised.

The two of you stood there, staring at each other, both having red eyes and countless tear tracks down your faces. Chenle said nothing, and instead just opened his arms and you ran into them, the force of your bodies colliding making him take a step back to steady the two of you, but it didn’t matter.

You completely broke down, sobbing into his shoulder as Chenle tried to console you. He gently stroked your head with one hand, the other resting comfortably on your waist as he whispered soft words of comfort into your ear. It didn’t seem to be helping as your crying wasn’t stopping at all.

Chenle’s voice broke more as he tried to talk and all it took was you tightening your grip on him for him to give up on trying to hold it together. He buried his face into your shoulder and let the grief overcome him, crying for the people who took him in and gave him a home.

You both held onto each other for dear life, as if the other would slip through your fingers if you let go for a second. It took a while for you to calm down, feeling as though you only stopped crying because you ran out of tears. You brought your hand up to the back of Chenle’s head, running your fingers through his hair and placing a feather light kiss to his temple.

Even after the two of you calmed down, the sadness was still there, drowning your every thought.

“I’m not ready to be Queen.” You admitted, your voice so quiet, as if you were scared for the words to come out. “I thought I’d have more time, I thought I’d be able to get used to the idea of doing it by myself but I’m not. I’m not ready for any of this, I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“I’m not ready either.” Chenle croaked back, his voice sore from the amount of crying he had done already that night. “My parents may still be alive, but they aren’t here, they aren’t close and I can’t contact them easily enough to ask for help when I need it. I just feel... isolated.” Chenle voice broke once again as he pushed his head further into your shoulder.

“Me too. I’ve never felt this alone.” You whispered, not trusting your voice to speak any louder.

This time Chenle didn’t reply, instead just silently nodding as he held you close. You both understood that you didn’t need advice, or a solution. At least, not yet, right now, all you needed, was to tell the other how you felt. Finally saying the words, admitting the overwhelming emotions that had been weighing you down for the past few months, had already made you feel lighter.

He pulled his head out from your shoulder to rest his forehead on yours. You breathed out, leaning into him as he kept his comforting grip on you. Your eyes were closed, as your mind focused on the one fact that Chenle was standing right there with you, and he understood how you felt.

“I’m sorry.” His quiet whisper making you open your eyes in confusion.

“What for?” You asked and Chenle sighed, as if he was preparing to get something off his chest.

“For not telling you. We made a deal on our wedding day to always be honest with each other about how we were feeling, and I didn’t tell you, and now we’re both here breaking down...”

“Chenle... I’m sorry too. You weren’t the only one keeping things to yourself.” You swallowed, before finally pulling your forehead off his and losing at him straight on. “We aren’t used to this. And I don’t just mean being King and Queen, I mean all of it. We aren’t used to being married, we aren’t used to be sole rulers, we aren’t used to being alone. We had just got married when we then got crowned what felt like five minutes after.”

“We need to figure out who we are as a King and Queen, and who we are as husband and wife. And they don’t necessarily need to be the same people.” You nodded at Chenle’s words before adding onto them with your own.

“There’s so much pressure on this, and I think a lot of that is coming from us. We need to take a step back from being this groundbreaking alliance, and just be us. Chenle and y/n, just two people in love, not the King and Queen of Ivairis whose wedding united lands for generations to come. We don’t need to be our titles, we just need to be-”

“Us.” Chenle finished and you nodded. “And we need to mean it this time. We can’t just say that we’re going to be honest and open with each other and then keep things to ourselves. We’re a team. It’s you and me y/n, and nothing is going to change that.”

You leaned up, closing the small distance between the two of you and pressing your lips to his. He kissed you back, sighing into it slightly before you both pulled away. The kiss was short, but it was enough. It was a promise.

You weren’t just these young kids in love anymore, trying to figure out the best way to spend time with their crush. You were grown adults, married, ruling a kingdom, but no matter how far you went, or how much you grew, you knew that Chenle would always be by your side. You knew that now better than ever.

And for the first time in a long while, neither of you felt alone.

---

You and Chenle kept to your promise, coming to talk to each other, to trust the other to be vulnerable with the smallest of details. Whether it was a certain knight in training being a bit arrogant, or a trade deal you were unsure was worth you signing off on, you shared it with each other. Your close bond as husband and wife translated into your royal duties and you found yourselves settling into a good rhythm as King and Queen.

But nothing good lasts forever.

You and Chenle stayed late after a particularly gruelling council session. The repairs to the outlying villages were almost complete, and the bandit attacks had decreased to them being almost non-existent. A few more supplies were being organised to be sent down, and Chenle was still keen on the idea of training some of the people in the outlying villagers so that, if a bandit attack does happen, they can defend themselves. However, a couple of council members were arguing that it would be a waste of resources to train them, which resulted in a lengthy discussion that lasted for much longer than planned.

With both you and Chenle in agreement however, there was not much that the council men could do against it once the decision had been made. They would send some knights down to the outlying villages to train the few they could, and then that knowledge would be passed down from generation to generation, with knights arriving every once in a while to help out and make sure the correct technique was being practiced.

You quickly instructed a messenger to deliver this note the following morning, thinking that nobody needs to be disturbed this late. The two of you were looking over the plans, deciding on the knights who would go when the doors to the great hall burst open and a scout of yours came running in.

“Mark, what’s wrong?” Chenle asked worriedly, noticing the look of panic on the older boy’s face.

“Fayre’s kingdom, your majesty. They heard of the Queen’s mother passing and that the two of you ascended to the throne and they think you’ll be weak. They’re planning to attack Ivairis with the full force of their army.” Mark relayed the bad news, breathing heavily as he tried to recover from his rush to the palace.

“Oh god.” You breathed, your hand coming to your face in shock. This was not good. Fayre was one of the strongest and bloodthirsty kings around, and if he wanted Ivairis, chances were he wouldn’t stop until he had it.

You and Chenle shared one look and knew that you had to act fast. Chenle called for the guards to bring in his closest knights, two scouts and a messenger, while you whirled on Mark to ask him more questions.

“When did their army leave?”

“Three days ago, I rushed to get back here to warn you before them.”

“Thank you Mark, you may have saved us by doing that. If they left three days ago, they still have at least two before they reach us here, meaning we could send our army out to meet them somewhere we choose.” You thought out loud, Mark rapidly nodding his head next to you.

Chenle reappeared out of nowhere, you not even having noticed he’d left in your state of panic. His arms held a bunch of rolled up papers that depicted the maps of the surrounding lands.

“I’m way ahead of you.” He said, placing them all on the round table in front of you as you rolled them out and moved them into position.

You were lining up details to get a larger picture when the people Chenle had summoned began to arrive. Jisung came first, the head of the royal guard was always ready to be called for his job, with both Jeno and Taeyong close behind. The two scouts, Yangyang and Shotaro came next, with Jaemin close behind and Jaehyun and the other messenger Xiaojun arrived last.

You didn’t both to tell them to take a seat or to greet them, the stakes were simply too high. Instead you just told them the news straight away, not wasting time by sugarcoating it or easing into it at all.

“Fayre is planning to attack Ivairis.”

You heard a chorus of worried inhales of breath, signalling the panic that the rest of the group were feeling. You nodded at Mark, allowing him to explain the rest of the details.

“They left their kingdom three days ago and were travelling south, aiming to take this route here to avoid getting spotted by the Ivairis patrol. As far as I’m aware, this plan wasn’t changed, meaning that, as long as nothing disrupts their route, they should reach Ivairis by sunset in two days time and will likely attack the following morning.”

“Our best shot is heading out to meet them somewhere, like we did with Odin’s kingdom.” Jisung spoke first, the rest nodding in agreement. “I would place my bets on somewhere like here.” He reached forwards and circled a certain spot on the map. “It’s not sheltered, so there’s no chance for a surprise attack. While that limits our chances of coming up with one ourselves, Fayre destroys his enemies by drawing them in and then having a second plan up his sleeve.”

“Jisung’s right.” Taeyong said, all eyes flicking towards him as he spoke. “We can’t try to outsmart him by using his own tactics against him, that’s how people get killed. We need to force him into a situation where he has to fight us on our terms, that’s our best shot.”

“Xiaojun-” Chenle called out, the boy’s head shooting up at his king’s voice. “I need you to send word to Shanghai, tell them of the severity of the situation and that we need reinforcements as soon as possible.” Xiaojun nodded, quickly making a note of the battle location before disappearing.

You turned to the other two scouts.

“Yangyang, Shotaro, you need to scout the army. Get us a rough idea of numbers and see if there’s any weak spots. There won’t be enough time for you to report back to us here so you’ll need to tell the army when they arrive at the battle location, understand?” Both of the boys nodded at your words, before heading back out of the door to go do as you asked.

“What about me?” Mark asked, but you shook your head.

“You’ve done enough Mark.” You said, not allowing him to put himself in danger again.

“But they trust me, I could find out more insider information, I-”

“No, Mark.” Chenle cut him off. “Y/n’s right, you’ve done more than enough. Without you we would never stand a chance, that’s for sure. Plus as soon as we meet them they will know that we had a man on the inside, and it won’t take long for them to figure out it’s you. We can’t put you in that danger.”

Mark nodded, understanding your decision before you both thanked him again and allowed him to go for the night.

“What about us?” Jaehyun asked and Chenle turned to look at the remaining knights, his face grave.

“Be ready to prepare the troops in the morning. We’re going to war.”

---

One night. That was all it took for your world to be thrown upside down. In one night you had gone from council meetings and rebuilding the outlying villages to sending the man you loved off to war. You were standing in your joint room, watching as he finished getting dressed just as the first rays of light were appearing through the window. You walked towards him, silently taking the necklace out of his hands and fastening it yourself.

He turned around to face you but you didn’t take your gaze off the jewellery he was wearing. He wore it everyday, a simple necklace with two seals on it. One being the royal seal of Shanghai and the other being the royal seal of Ivairis. The symbol of his two nations. Chenle noticed you avoiding his gaze and brought his hands to your face, gently cupping your jaw and guiding you to look at him.

He leant in, placing a kiss on your forehead and your hand gripped at the fabric around his waist.

“If things aren’t going well-”

“Stop.” You said, not wanting to hear about what would happen if they lost this war. If they lost, Chenle would be dead, and you didn’t want to think about the possibility of that happening.

“Listen.” Chenle commanded softly. “If things aren’t going well, I’ll send a Shanghai messenger back here. You need to get as many of our people as you can, and take them with you to Shanghai. I made sure Xiaojun mentioned in the message the possibility of that happening and I know they would look after you. They reassured us we always have a home there, and I know that would apply to you if I don’t come back from this.” Your hands tightened their grip around his shirt at his words. “If anything happens to me... I need to know that you’ll be safe.”

You nodded silently and Chenle breathed a sigh of relief at your agreement, moving his hands from your face to around your shoulders to hug you close as you did the same around his waist. You buried your face in his chest, breathing in as much of him as you could before you had to let him go.

You walked with him through the castle, your hand held tightly in his as you both approached the main doors. You knew that beyond those doors stood your entire army, waiting for their king to lead them into battle. You suddenly stopped moving, causing Chenle to turn back in confusion.

You stared at him for a second, trying to find the right words to say before just throwing your arms around his neck and hugging him as tightly as you could. Chenle caught you, wrapping his own arms around your waist and squeezing his eyes shut as he tried to make this fleeting moment last forever.

“Come back to me.” You whispered.

“I promise.”

---

It had been a month.

An entire month and the only sign you’d had that they were still alive were the two letters from the Shanghai reinforcements sending word to you that they had arrived at the battlefield to help. The knowledge that they had extra men fighting with them was reassuring, but not hearing a single word from Chenle, not knowing if he was even alive, for a whole month was tearing you apart.

The entire kingdom had been in a state of fear. The outlying villages had been told to be prepared to move into the citadel in case the battle was lost so that they could barricade themselves in and be protected. Every citizen had their nerves on fire for the past month as they all waited for any kind of news.

You had been in the weekly review of the tax collection when the sound of horses hooves caught your attention. The entire table froze, knowing that, one way or another, the battle was over. The doors to the great hall burst open and Mark appeared, nodding at you, a relieved expression on his face.

“It’s them.”

You dropped the paper in your hand, standing up and running out of the hall. You ran down the corridors, Mark by your side and you didn’t stop for anything. Various other members of the court and servants in the castle joined you as they all were eager to welcome the knights home, but all you cared about was finding Chenle.

You burst out of the front doors just in time to see the last of the knights trickle back in. Your jaw dropped, nothing could have prepared you for the sight in front of you.

Out of all the knights who went to battle, only around a fifth of them made it back. Your eyes did a desperate scan of the faces of the live men. You saw Taeyong, who had his left arm in a makeshift sling, Jaehyun and Jaemin were carrying an unresponsive Jeno between them, the large red stain on Jeno’s shirt giving away that he was seriously injured, and Jisung was standing further down the steps in front of you.

You couldn’t see Chenle anywhere.

Jisung took a few steps towards you, limping heavily, and you rushed down to him, throwing your arms around him in a hug.

He caught you with a grunt and you tried to apologise but the words got stuck in your throat. You were shaking slightly in his hold but Jisung still hugged you tightly, relieved to be back home.

“We won.” He whispered, and you nodded slowly at his words before pulling back.

“At what cost?” You asked, too scared to directly voice the question that was plaguing your mind.

Did Chenle survive?

“He’s alive. The last I saw him, he was alive.” Jisung answered your unasked question, a small ounce of relief flooding your system, but it didn’t nothing to calm the furious fear at the fact that nobody knew where he was.

You took a couple of steps back to find all the knights looking at you for your words. You found that you didn’t even know what to say to them, how could you comfort someone who has been through the ordeal they have?

You cleared your throat before addressing the men in front of you.

“Our brave knights. There are no words to describe how thankful we are to you for everything you have done for us. You bravery and sacrifice will never be forgotten. Today, we will have our traditional victory procession, and I would like to add a moment at the end, for anyone to address anything they would wish to. And to speak to or about anyone they may have lost. Please go to the court physician and your people in Ivairis are eternally indebted to you.” Your voice broke slightly at the end and the knights all nodded at you in appreciation.

They each headed inside one by one, only Jisung, Jaehyun, Jaemin and Jeno remained. A few members of the medical team rushed out, taking Jeno’s limp body from Jaehyun and Jaemin and carrying him inside, shouting out various treatments. Jaehyun squeezed your shoulder as he went inside, the exhaustion clear on his face. Jaemin stepped up but paused for a minute and turned to face you.

“Thank you, for adding that opportunity at the end. We lost a lot of men out there and I know people will want to address it.”

With that he headed inside, leaving just you and Jisung standing there looking at each other. Jisung opened his mouth to speak but you got there first.

“Go to the court physician Jisung. Please get yourself checked out and your wounds treated first.”

He closed his mouth, nodding at you before moving past you and entering the castle. You turned you gaze on the now empty courtyard, the men having cleared out and the horses having been retrieved. You took a few shaky breaths, waiting a few extra seconds, staring wistfully at the gate, praying that by some miracle Chenle would come riding through. But he didn’t. So you shut your eyes, took a deep breath, and turned back into the castle, the doors closing behind you.

---

The victory procession was bittersweet. The knights were acknowledged for their hard work and struggles, and nobody tried to deny that this had been a heart wrenching battle. The celebrations were half hearted however, the entire kingdom feeling the loss of so many knights and the king that they were all missing. The toasts at the end brought tears to your eyes as the knight took it in turns to remember their fallen friends.

And through it all, anyone could tell that the entire kingdom was terrified that their king wouldn’t come back. The king who every citizen had grown to love and admire. The king who set an example for all future kings, who acted as a king should, the king who you were lucky enough to call your husband, your love.

You removed your final piece of jewellery, staring at yourself in the mirror as you tried to figure out the whirlpool of emotions in your head. The knock at your bedroom door made your head snap towards it as you called out for whoever it was to enter. Jisung’s head poked around the door, and you couldn’t help but feel slightly disappointed.

You had known Jisung almost your entire life, and you had never seen him look this broken. He took a couple of steps into your room before looking questioningly at your bed, asking silently for permission. You gestured for him to sit, moving over to join him yourself.

“I think I should tell you what I know.”

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak quite yet.

“It was the final day. We knew it was coming to an end, we could all feel it. It’s hard to describe but there’s a difference in the air. On the final night, the king names someone he wants to be in charge of the army in case...” Jisung swallowed as he continued trying to get the words out. “In case he’s killed. Chenle chose me. The next morning, just before we went out, Chenle told me to do whatever I could to get this back to you.”

It was only then that you noticed Jisung had been holding something ever since he stepped foot into your room. He lifted up the object and you recognised it immediately. He placed it gently in your hands, watching as you turned it over in your fingers.

It was Chenle’s necklace.

“I didn’t see him after that.” Jisung’s voice brought you to tear your eyes away from the necklace in your lap and look back up at him. “I lost sight of him in battle. I know it sounds like he didn’t make it but- we scoured every inch of the battlefield after we won, there was no sign of Chenle among the bodies, nor was he taken captive by Fayre either because we searched their base. Aspen was missing too. Chenle is out there, alive and trying to make his way back here to you. And he will, he has to.”

You let your eyes flicker back down to Chenle’s necklace for a second before looking back up at Jisung.

“Thank you.” You whispered. “It’s been a long day, you should get some sleep.”

Jisung nodded, standing quickly and heading back out the same door he entered through. You didn’t from move your position, instead sitting in the same spot for the next few hours, turning the seals over and over in your fingers, wondering if Chenle would ever find his way back.

---

You were sat in the throne room, having just finished a meeting with the keeper of the archives to document the battle. Labelling Chenle as missing was something you had hoped you would never have to do, but there you were, drawing your signature on that very slip of paper. You really understood your mother’s words now when she said that she only felt as though she could rule when she had the person she loved by her side.

Because you didn’t just feel alone without Chenle, you felt completely and utterly lost.

A guard appears, telling you that there is a messenger for you, and you gesture for them to be let in. Yangyang strolls through the door, and you can’t help the small smile that appears on your face at sight of his much larger, contagious one.

“I have good news!” He announced, making you raise your eyebrows. “News of the victory travelled fast around kingdoms both close by and far away, and any thoughts off attacking Ivairis have been wiped off the map. Between the strength of our army and the alliance with Shanghai, the kingdom is almost invincible.”

You let out a breath of disbelief, smiling lightly at the boy in front of you as the news settled. Ivairis was safe. You asked Yangyang to spread the news around the kingdom, allow everyone to revel in the announcement and he gladly agreed before running out of the room so fast he left the door open.

You chuckled slightly at the sight of him, but the smile on your face faded quickly as the thought of Chenle travelled through your head. Another two weeks had passed but he was still missing. Nobody had heard a word from or about him since the final day in battle, and the fear that you were never going to see him again had become your natural state of mind.

You looked out of the window on your left, staring down at the rose buses and stone bench that sat there. You felt all the memories rush through your head of the times you and Chenle had sat on that very bench. You still remembered walking past it in the first few days of Chenle arriving, when you had given him a tour around the grounds. Though he would deny it within an inch of his life, Chenle had a soft spot for flowers and loved nothing more than spending a day surrounded with flowers of all different kinds.

You sighed out once more, closing your eyes to stop the tears that were threatening to fall.

“You promised you’d come back to me...” You spoke to the empty room, your voice wavering heavily.

You rested your head on the glass, lost in your own mind when a voice cut through. Your eyes shot open and you whirled around to be greeted with the person you thought you would never see again, the person you loved more than anything else in this world, more than life itself.

“Have I ever broken my promises?”

Chenle.

The world stopped when you saw him. You didn’t blink, didn’t move, didn’t even breathe, terrified that if you did, the image of him would disappear and you would be left with the reality that didn’t have him in it.

He took a step forward, standing in front of you and reaching up to tuck a stay piece of hair behind your ear. You lifted a shaky hand to his face, pressing your palm against his cheek and taking in the fact that he was stood in front of you.

“Chenle...” You whispered, trying to convince yourself that this was real life.

He nodded at your words, tears filling his eyes at the sight of you after so long. When it sunk in it hit you like a ton of bricks. You threw your arms around him and broke down, sobbing into his shoulder.

“Oh my god, Chenle. You made it back.” You cried, holding him tighter that you ever had before.

“Of course I did, I could never leave you like that.” He whispered, his quiet voice a stark contrast to your broken one.

His arms were securely around your waist, capturing you next to his being. You could feel that he was smaller, having lost weight when he was lost and trying to get back. He had dirt in his hair, and various bruises and other minor injuries that you could see, but he was here. He was here, in your arms, alive.

You pulled back, bringing one hand to rest on his cheek as you pressed your foreheads together.

“I love you so much.” You breathed, the tears still steadily falling down your cheeks.

“I love you more.” He replied, relaxing in the knowledge that he was home. He was standing in your arms, surrounded by his kingdom.

Chenle was home.

---

~ 10 years later ~

“So we are in agreement?” You asked the court, looking around the round table and seeing all the other heads of the men and women present nodding at your words. “Well in that case, we can call it a day here. Thank you for your input.”

You stood, smiling at the people in front of you as they all left the room.

“Ten years and council meetings are still as dull as the first one.” You muttered to yourself.

“I hear that.” A voice replied, making your eyes shoot up. You found yourself looking at your husband, who was leaning against the door with a cheeky grin on his face. “But if we want to set a good example, we should probably pretend they are.”

You shook your head, chuckling to yourself at his words. The sound of light footsteps running down the hall caused you and Chenle to send each other a knowing look.

The doors to the great hall opened once more and in ran two little children.

“Daddy, look I won!” You son yelled happily, grabbing Chenle’s hand and pointing towards the doorway where a panting Jisung stood, leaning on the door frame for support.

“Really Jisung? Two children under the age of 6 can outrun you?” Chenle asked, his eyebrows raised judgmentally.

“Look.” Jisung spat, pointing a finger accusingly at the two of you. “If the two of you hadn’t had twins with Chenle’s bluntness and y/n determination, I would be fine. But these two are like the mixture of you two, it’s terrifying.”

“Well, Jisung I hate to break it to you, but that is how children work. They tend to be a mixture of their parents.” You replied dryly, reaching down to hug your daughter as she held on to your leg, catching her breath.

“You know... we made a deal that we would have three.” Chenle reminded you, wiggling his eyebrows at you as you burst out into laughter at Jisung’s disgusted expression.

“Okay, that’s my cue to leave. Just remember, there are young children here.”

Jisung gestured to the twins that were standing close to you, before saying a quick goodbye, which your twins shouted back even louder, as he headed off to the next training session.

“Is everything sorted?” Chenle asked you, trying to stop your son from attempting to sit on the documents on the table.

“Yes, everything was agreed upon today. Starting from tomorrow, we are in an official peace treaty with all the surrounding lands. There are plans to share combat tactics, and resources if any kingdom needs it. We’re about to enter a new era.” You told him, the smile on your face growing at your words.

“That’s amazing, I’m so proud of you.” He breathed, his voice lowering for the last part as he grabbed your hand.

You intertwined your fingers with his. “I’m proud of us. We did this together.”

Chenle smiled at you, the signature smile of his that always took you back to the shy boy who you toured around the rose garden. You reach out with your other hand, your daughter grabbing it as Chenle took a hold of your son and together you walked out to stand on the battlements. Neither of your children were tall enough to see over the stone walls, so you both picked them up, allowing them to sit and see the view.

“One day, you’ll be the ones to rule this kingdom.” Chenle told them, watching as their eyes lit up in amazement. “And you’ll do it with a very special someone by your side.”

You smiled out at the view, the roofs of houses, the market stalls, the training grounds... you could see your entire kingdom from up here. Your entire home.

“Tell us the story again of how you and Mummy met?” Your daughter asked, looking up at her father with wide eyes.

Chenle began the tale, pointing out to the view as he did. He had got in the habit of telling them this story to put them to sleep, and since then they had asked for it constantly, the way he changed certain words to make it sound like a fairytale had made it their favourite.

He told the story of a magical land that became his home and the evil kings and dragons that he and Uncle Jisung had fought to protect it, all while his fairy queen, which was you, stood bravely behind the walls sheltering and looking after the people.

You listened to his calming voice tell the legendary tale and couldn’t stop the smile that spread across your face as you watched your family. You thought about how your life had turned out, all the ups and downs and challenges that you had faced, but you never faced them alone. Chenle was right there with you, ready to tackle any problem that the two of you may encounter. You turned your gaze out to your kingdom, the wealthy and prosperous civilisation that the two of you had grown together, yet it only meant everything it did because of the man you shared it with.

You remembered your conversation with Chenle before he proposed, the two of you talking about the life you could possibly have if you weren’t royals. You discussed all the things you would change, and how it would be different. But, standing here now, looking over your kingdom, with your family by your side, you knew one thing for certain.

You wouldn’t change a thing.

197 notes · View notes

bugsbucky · 5 years ago

Text

Wrong Side of The Bed

Bucky Barnes x Reader (Platonic)

Request: Could I request one where Bucky is in a bad mood and accidentally snaps at reader who is very shy and timid and she spends the day in her room and won't even come out for dinner? Fluffy ending if possible?

Warnings: language, Bucky snaps under pressure, angst, fluff :)

Word Count: 1,438

Authors Notes: thank you so much for the request anon!!! Hope this exceeds your imagine :) thank you very much for reading.

Requested by: Anonymous

The compound was very quiet as you took light steps towards the common room, nibbling your thumb nail on the journey. It was around 8am and still early, most of the team were away on missions or still asleep. There were just a few left at the compound to house sit; you, Bucky, Tony and Bruce. They spent most of their time in the lab working on some unnamed scientific projects so you were more often than not left to your own devices around the home.

As you stepped into the open kitchen, you froze in your place. Bucky was leaning on the counter with his head propped up in his hand, spooning big mouthfuls of cereal in his mouth, milk dripping off the spoon and disappearing into his beard. You tried to make yourself invisible and as quiet as possible as you walked around the counter and poured some coffee.

“What, you’re not even gonna say good morning?” Bucky scoffed from his seat. With glossy eyes, you turned to look at him, astonished he would speak to you like that because he never has in the past.

“Go- good morning Sergeant Barnes.” your voice was cracked and quiet as you spoke. A shy and timid young individual not used to being called out like that. You could tell today wasn’t going to be a good day just by the scowl etched on Bucky’s face. He had deep bags under his eyes and you were wondering if he was okay.

“Good morning peeps!” Tony sighed walking in and seeing the thunderous look on Bucky’s face. “Good morning to you grump.”

“Fuck off Tony.” your heart thudded painfully in your chest by his tone. This was definitely a different side to Bucky, one you have not seen yet. Tony left with his coffee and walked into the common room to fiddle with the large TV mounted on the wall.

“Um Bucky, would you like some more coffee?” you asked quietly, the liquid splashing inside the pot from your shaking hands.

“NO!” his voice boomed through the quiet kitchen. “Does it look like I’m an incapable old man who can’t make his own coffee?”

“Of course not, I just thought I would offer to-”

"JUST DROP IT Y/N! I'm so sick of you acting like my fuckin' caretaker, always following me around like some weird... you know what. Forget it." Bucky roared inches from your face. Throwing his cup against the tiled wall behind you, shattering the porcelain into pieces.

You flinched by his sudden outburst, covering your face. You didn’t mean to make him angry. But your question had somehow triggered him and now you were leaning against the cupboard fiddling with the hem of your shirt awkwardly. Tears already spilling.

You were shy by nature. So being screamed at by the man you most respected caused you to turn to mush. Your legs were jelly and your chin wobbled when Tony rushed in to see what was going on. Eyes widened in shock from the mess on the floor and the state of you.

"Y/N? Are you okay? Did he- did he hurt you?" Tony asked reluctantly. Knowing full well that Bucky would never, ever hurt you. But by your trembling state he had to make sure.

"Fine." Your voice cracked. Blinking harshly to will away the tears wanting to overflow. "I'm just..." You pushed away from the unit, pointing towards the door. Your wobbly legs carried you back to your room. Your mind clouded in a thick fog. You knew you were walking but it felt like you were floating.

***

Bucky regretted his outburst. You were one of the sweetest and most angelic people on the team, you weren’t rowdy like the others. He was laying on his back in his bed staring up at the ceiling with his hands under his head. He woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning, no sleep last night from the realistic nightmare that plagued his dreams. Bucky was tired and exhausted, physically and mentally.

To calm himself down, Bucky decided to take a hot shower. They always made him feel a little bit better, he would certainly need to change his ugly mood before he could apologize to you. He walked into his conjoined bathroom and turned the shower on, stripping himself of his clothes and standing under the raining shower head, letting the hot water trickle down over his face and down his chest. Droplets racing against each other, his hands ran through his damp locks as he shook your distressed state from his mind. *** You spent the day huddled up on your bed, skipping dinner and cuddling your large teddy bear Bucky had bought you for your birthday. The bears were a comfort since you were scared of thunderstorms. Your eyes were red from crying and your cheeks were still wet as you made no effort to wipe them. The rain pelted against the window panes and the sky was dark with rain clouds. You gently placed your bear on the floor and got up to close your blinds, slipping into your most comfortable pair of pyjamas and dimmed the lights, you climbed under the duvet and looked for something to watch on Netflix.

You’re not sure what time it was, or how much time had passed when a knock on your door jolted you awake suddenly. The netflix logo screen staring back at you from afar.

“Come in.” you croaked, your voice tired from sleep and crying yourself to death earlier. Bucky’s hulking figure walked in, a guilty and puppy dog look on his face. You took a second to marvel at his incredible physique. A tight white shirt pulled across his chest, showcasing his incredible pecs that you often found yourself blushing at every time you saw them, matched perfectly with his grey sweatpants and white socks.

This was not the time Y/N. He yelled at you, remember?

“Hey doll. Can I talk to you?” Bucky asked sheepishly. He looked tired, but calmer.

“Of course.” you patted the empty spot next to you on the bed and Bucky smiled, taking a few strides over towards your bed and making himself comfortable. You sat up, crossing your legs and faced him. His shower gel permeated your room, overtaking the vanilla scented candle on your nightstand.

“I uh…” he shook his head and clicked his tongue. His tongue poking through his dry lips to wet them. “I’m really really sorry for what I said to you today. I hope you know I meant none of it. I was and am just so tired, no sleep.” he explained and you worried your lip with your teeth, taking bits of skin off from the surface. Bucky became worried when you didn’t speak but instead acting anxious and nervous around him. He knew he scared you earlier but he needed you to know he would never hurt you.

“I’m really sorry I scared you earlier doll. I promise I didn’t mean to, it really did just get on top of me and I promise I’ll never do that again. I’m the biggest idiot.” a lopsided smile appeared on his face and you couldn’t help but mimic the action.

“I’m really sorry that I made you angry.” you said in barely a whisper, dipping your head in shame. Bucky sat up and pulled you into his lap, your head resting against his chest above his heart as his fingers trailed through your hair.

“I want to make something clear…” his chest vibrated against your face as he spoke. “You did NOT make me angry. You did nothing but show your kindness towards me and you did not deserve those words thrown at you doll and I am seriously so sorry. You’re such an angel and I couldn’t stop thinking about you the whole day.” You craned your neck upwards and smiled. Bucky sought confidence and kissed your forehead as a blush petted your cheeks adorably. “Why are you such a sweetheart, doll? You should kick my ass.”

You giggled and Bucky hugged you tighter. “I accept your apology.” Bucky smiled at that, and pressed another kiss to your forehead, this time his lips lingered a little longer.

“I’ll make it up to you, I promise. Do you wanna watch a movie?” you nodded your head enthusiastically and went to move off his lap when his arms tightened, eliciting a giggle from you. “I’m gonna go grab us some snacks and drinks and then I’m gonna cradle you in my arms.”

Your adorable shy giggle pulled at his heart strings and he would keep his promise and absolutely make it up to you in whatever way he could.

Tags: @jobean12-blog @marvelgirl7 @godofplumsandthunder @hawksmagnolia @deanthedemon @crushedbyhyperbole @jamesbarnesappreciationclub @littleredstarfish

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elareine · 4 years ago

Note

If you could, can you please write JayTim or RoyTim (whichever one you want) trying to be romantic and woo Tim (maybe with some puns, I love puns), but Tim is a bit oblivious towards it, because the other is so cool, therefore they must be trying to make friends and be nice with him and nothing more. So when he does finally realize its an italicized "Oh" moment.

Hi lovely!! Thank you for waiting so patiently for this fill. I... ended up making it JayRoyTim, I hope that's okay? It just fit so well, but I can totally write something else with JayTim or RoyTim for you if you want :)

Also, it turned out to be about pick-up lines more than wooing, sorry. I might’ve gone overboard with googling the puns. It's long enough that I put it on ao3, too. What's your username on there? Then I'll gift it to you.

if you were a transformer (you’d be optimus fine)

“Well, here I am.”

Tim looks up, utterly confused. “I didn’t call for you, but… that’s… great?”

Roy waggles his eyebrows. It looks faintly disturbing. Redheads should maybe not do that. Or, actually, Tim revises mentally, thinking of literally every other redhead Dick ever dated—that’s just Roy. “What are your other two wishes?”

“Coffee and some silence to finish working this case?”

Roy looks weirdly deflated at that, but he does get him some coffee. Tim soon forgets about it.

—

(“How’d it go?”

“Does obliviousness run in the family?”

“Yes. Yes it does. Have you met Bruce?”

“…okay, fair. Your turn next.”)

—

“Jason? What’re you doing here?”

Sure, Jason and Roy have been spending a lot more time in Gotham lately. Something to do with a case, Tim assumes. Maybe even with the one that they worked on together in Star City five months ago?

Anyway. They’ve been around, is what Tim is saying. Not at the manor, but at Tim’s apartment and his workspace, cause apparently it’s not worth rebuilding their safe house after it went up in flames, and Bruce and Damian are too often at Dick’s place. He’s not exactly surprised to see either of them anymore. (Pleased, yes. But not surprised.) However, Tim has no fucking clue why Jason is currently grinning at him from the other side of the library desk.

At least Tim has the good sense to check his name tag before he gasps: “Jason?”

“Oh, hey, Tim.” Jason’s grinning. “Guess you figured out my new job, huh?”

“Yeah.” Tim shakes his head. “Color me surprised.” So this is what Jason’s spending his days doing. He’s gotta be shadowing someone, right? Tim’ll ask him tonight.

“I’ve always liked this place.” Jason’s gaze is far away for a moment. Tim badly wants to know what he’s remembering. Then the older man seems to come back to himself and gives Tim a weird—maybe angry?—look. “It’s a good thing I’m a librarian, too, cause I’m totally checking you out.”

“Alright, I can take a hint.” Tim grabs his book and demonstratively walks over to the self-service scanners. Really. How rude.

—

(“Are you telling me he managed to resist you in your cardigan?”

“Apparently.”

“Aww. C’mere, babe.”)

—

So Roy blows things up all the time. No, really, Tim now totally understands why Dick was so happy when he heard the duo is camping out at Tim’s place for a change. His older brother even gave Tim a thumbs-up, for God’s sake. He must’ve known.

Cause yeah, there’s at least one explosion every two days. Or Roy dropping something cause he’s too focused on what he’s thinking to remember what his hands are doing. Or something dropping on him. Jason seems used to it; he just catches whatever it is or laughs at Roy. Tim… is starting to learn to do the same, actually. Whatever Roy comes up with at that moment is usually worth it, and besides, he’s kinda adorable.

Aaaaaaanyway. (He’s using that word a lot in his own thoughts right now. Almost as if he’s avoiding thinking about something. Hmm.) Tim’s not surprised when Roy walks into a room, stumbles, and slaps a hand over his eyes with a dramatic exclamation.

Tim, in shorts and not much else cause he got drenched in pollen earlier, just raises an eyebrow. “Alright, Roy?”

“Nope.” Roy’s hand is still covering his face, but Tim can still see his grin underneath. “I’m gonna need your name and phone number for insurance purposes.”

“Roy. You have both of these things,” Tim explains slowly, wondering if Roy sustained a brain injury or accidentally dosed himself on something. “And why insurance?”

“I was blinded by your beauty.”

God. Sometimes Tim wonders about the original Titans and their socialization for the two dudes if this is how they think making friends works. Then again, Kori, Donna, and Dick probably appreciated constant compliments about their beauty. It all makes sense. Roy must be so used to it that he even uses those same methods when someone unexceptional like Tim is around.

He smiles gamely. “I’m looking forward to hearing that phone call. Must be almost as great as the time Bruce tried to convince his insurance company that Clark dropping on his car wasn’t an act of God because God is demonstrably not a Kryptonian. Neither was the giant ape punching Clark out.”

Roy drops his hand at that. “…Batman did what?”

—

(“You were doing so well, too.”

“I knoooow. How much more obvious can we get?”

“I dunno, but I intend to try.”)

—

“Do you like Star Wars? Because Yoda only one for me!”

“Haha. No. Star Trek or die.” Tim’s answer is automatic. He’s had these discussions soooo many times with Kon before. Of course Jason also goes for the space cowboy soap opera.

Besides, Jason’s boyfriend is standing right next to him. He doesn’t mean to sound flirtatious with Tim. Or maybe he does, and it’s just good fun? Or maybe teasing him? Tim can’t figure it out, but he knows he doesn’t like the weird hollow feeling he gets in his stomach when he thinks about it, so he changes the topic.

And makes both of them sit down to watch some classic Captain Kirk, of course.

—

(“Should I be insulted by that pick up line?”

“Nah. There aren’t that many lines that imply a polycule, though.”

A kiss. “Alright.”)

—

One of the things Jason and Tim have in common is their predilection for motorbikes and fiddling around with them. Not that makes them unique in the batclan; Tim has never spent days quietly working side-by-side with Dick, though, the way he does with Jason. They started out with separate projects. Then Jason saw this vintage Ducati at an abandoned warehouse he was about to blow up and, well… Would be a shame, right? Tim just happens to have had one of these before—regrettably lost to one of Harley’s exploding baseball bats—so he offers his expertise.

It’s not because it means bending over the engine with Jason, closer than they ever are, their hands brushing when they hand each other instruments. It’s not.

Roy doesn’t join them. He’s too polite to say so, but he finds normal cars and bikes boring af. Doesn’t stop him from popping his head into the garage and whistling when he sees that they are shirtless and covered in grease. It’s a damn good look on Jason, so Tim can’t fault him for that.

Roy follows it up with a: “Are you a parking ticket? Cause you got fine written all over you.”

Tim can’t help it; he blushes at the suggestive tone. Those two never stop flirting with each other, do they? So far, he has managed to avoid stumbling over them while they’re making out (not that they’re making that easy—the kitchen? Really?), and he’d like to keep avoiding that, thank you very much. He’s already feeling guilty enough for his fantasies as it is.

“Uh. I should clean up,” he mumbles and flees.

—

(“Dammit.”

“…do you think that was a rejection?”

“Nah. He was definitely checking me out before you came and fucked it up.”

“That’s saying something if you noticed it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”)

—

So Tim has magically acquired cat ears and a very fluffy tail. Don’t ask. They’re gonna go away in eight hours, and until then, he’s gonna stay in the cave and work himself to distraction. Jason seems intent on keeping him company, though.

(It’s nice. Tim loves hanging out with Jason—that’s not the problem. The issue is that Tim is looking ridiculous, and Jason is being nice about it, and none of this is helping his stupid crush go away.)

They’re absently chatting about nothing until Jason says: “Kinda a pity you’re a cat, though.”

Tim looks up. Huh? Admittedly, he never pegged Jason as the type to go for catboys (though maybe… he did hang out with Kyle… perhaps it’s just that he definitely doesn’t go for Tims), but that’s still a weird pronouncement.

Jason is grinning. “If you were a chicken, you’d be impeccable.” He pauses. “Wait. Like even more than you already are. Uh.”

Tim sighs. Great. And now Jason is making fun of him again. “Whatever.”

—

(“A chicken?”

“Shut up. I panicked.” A sigh. “He was so cute with these ears.”

“…yeah, he was.”)

—

“You must be tired. You’ve been running through my mind all night.”

“I’m not tired,” Tim says automatically. Why does everyone keep asking him that tonight? Surely the shadows under his eyes can’t be that bad? He used concealer!

Something in Roy’s expression softens. “Aww. C’mere.” He pats the space on the couch next to him, and when Tim sits down, Roy pulls him half of on top of him and into a hug. “Relax for a bit, little bird.”

Tim sinks into the embrace, boneless all of a sudden. Roy just has that effect on him. Tim vaguely remembers thinking of him as his oldest brother’s cool friend and then Jason’s cool boyfriend, kind of a fuckboy but clearly good for Jay.

Now? Now, Roy just makes him feel safe.

—

(“So you spent the night on the couch just so he could sleep in your arms?”

“Yeah. Totally worth it.”

“Duh.”

“I just wish we could do that with him every night. Bet he fits perfectly between us.”

“Yeah.”

A pause.

“We might have to up the ante or switch tactics.”)

—

They’re talking about their favorite books—Tim doesn’t read as much as Jason does, but they discovered a shared love of sci-fi weeks ago—when Tim says: “Actually, that book kinda reminds me of you.”

“Oh?”

“Overly dramatic but good.”

Jason makes an offended noise, and Tim grins.

“I’m not sure which part I should argue about first.” Jason pretends to think.

Tim is always down to tell Jason that fuck his self-perception—Jason is a good man, one of the best Tim knows; that also feels too revealing right now. Instead, he gets up from their comfortable position on the couch and grabs the first stack on the table, carrying them over to the shelves to replace the gaps. “What kind of book would I be?”

“Babe, if you were words on a page, you’d be fine print.”

“Annoying and no one reads it?” Tim asks without turning around, trying to ignore the babe. That’s. That’s gotta be a slip of the tongue, right? Force of habit from spending so much time with Roy?

“No, fine,” and the emphasis is clear this time. Jason continues before Tim can reply: “Though if we’re talking books…”

Tim whirls around. “Save it. You don’t have to make fun of me just because I—“He swallows down the words.

Jason looks alarmed. “Tim—“

As if he can smell trouble, Roy chooses that moment to enter the room. Tim has barely heard him approach, Jesus. He doesn’t want to have this argument in front of Roy, though, so he just stands there in the middle of the room. Jason, too, has stopped speaking.

Roy, of course, takes one look at the awkwardness and decides to make it worse. Or more confusing.

“Did you just come out of the oven?” he asks.

“As this isn’t Hansel and Gretel, no, I didn’t.” Tim checks his shirt, just in case this is an actual conversation opener and not just a weird attempt at a distraction. “Do I have soot on me?”

“Nope.” Roy shakes his head, and he’s smiling that smile again, the one Tim is startled to recognize, the one he thought is reserved only for Jason— “Because you’re hot.”

And finally, Tim gets it. “Me?”

“Yes, Tim.” Roy’s moving in closer. “You.”

There’s a soft touch to Tim’s shoulder, and Tim whirls around, expecting Jason to be mad, cause his boyfriend is—is hitting on Tim, right, that’s what’s happening, Jason can’t be happy—

Jason is smiling down at him. His hand is still resting on Tim’s shoulder, but it slides down to his collar bone, a gentle presence as he murmurs: “You’re so beautiful that you made forget my pick up line.”

Oh. Oh.

Tim says the first thing he can think of: “Are you a raisin?”

Jason starts grinning. “I’m not even gonna qualify that with an answer.”

Tim smiles back. “Cause you’re raising my hopes for a kiss right about now.”

And he gets one. And then another, and then Roy joins in, kissing Tim’s neck and then his mouth and—Yeah.

They’re too busy for any more pick up lines right now.

#elareine writes #jayroytim

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alwaysachorusgirl · 3 years ago

Text

Adoption Day

Pairing: Frederick Chilton x Female Reader

Word Count: 2089

For: Covers the Animal Shelter square for @adarafaelbarba 's fall moodboard bingo

TW: very brief mention of past childhood abuse and animal abandonment, but other than that, it's mostly fluff

Dedication: This is for the world's best cat mom, @madamsnape921 ,because it's her birthday! Go send her some birthday love today!

Author's Note: Jumping back a little in the Cat Daddy Frederick timeline to cover Buttercup's adoption story. Per my previously established continuity, this would take place in January, right after New Year's, and prior to "Not According to Plan"

Tags: @itsjustmyfantasyroom @prurientpuddlejumper @thatesqcrush @welcometothemxdhouse @raulesparza4eva @teamsladsandgents @rosequcrtz

The winter wind howled outside the window and snow drifted across the windowpanes, but inside Frederick Chilton’s ornate home you were safe and warm. No, our home, I live here now, you thought to yourself. You were still getting used to thinking of it as your home, too. You were unpacking the last of the boxes from your recent move. A fire was roaring in the living room fireplace, giving the room a cozy, comforting glow. You inhaled the aroma of the hearty vegetable stew that was cooking in the crockpot in the kitchen, and your stomach growled. You were going to need to take a dinner break soon, and as if he was reading your mind, Frederick entered the room and came over to where you were placing your books on the expansive built-in shelves.

“How goes it with the books? Do you need more shelf space? I can always move somethings into my office if you need more.”

“Thank you, Frederick, but don’t worry; I think I have more than enough. I am, however, getting rather hungry. I think it’s time we ate dinner, don’t you?

“I couldn’t agree more, my love, shall I set the table?” he asked, taking your hand, and helping you to your feet.

“Thank you, Frederick, that would be lovely.”

*****************

“This stew is fantastic, my love! We’ll most certainly have to use this recipe again.”

When you didn’t respond right away, Frederick started to worry and reached for your hand. “Darling?”

“Oh! Sorry! I zoned out for a moment, must be more tired than I thought; Thank you, Frederick, I have a whole slew of crock pot recipes that are perfect for cold winter days.”

“Y/N, are you alright? Have I done something wrong? Is it the house? Is there something you’re not happy with?”

“What? Oh, Frederick, no!” You squeezed his reassuringly. “You haven’t done anything wrong, my love, and the house is perfectly fine. It’s just…” you paused, not sure how to broach your thoughts.

“What is it? Whatever you need, I’ll make sure you have it! Cost is no object!”

You took a breath and tried to collect your thoughts. You loved cats, but your previous apartment had not allowed pets. You had promised yourself that when you eventually moved you would be a cat mom again. It had been far too long. But it was something that you and Frederick hadn’t discussed yet, and you had no idea what his feelings were on the subject.

“What did you think about getting a cat?” You blurted out, bracing yourself for what you were sure was going to be an argument.

It was now Frederick’s turn to go silent, taken aback by your unexpected query. He mulled it over in his head before answering.

“Honestly, my love, I’ve never thought about it before. I never had a pet of any kind growing up. My parents did not allow animals in the house.”

“Oh, Frederick, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know.” In theory, you knew you probably should have guessed that. You knew that Frederick’s father had been a hard, cruel man, and had been abusive toward Frederick and his mother. Frederick’s mother had been so worn down by it that she eventually shutdown, mentally and emotionally, and neglected to protect her son when he needed it the most. Of course, they hadn’t allowed pets, they hadn’t even allowed their son to have a normal childhood, or an ounce of happiness.

“My darling, you have nothing to apologize for,” said Frederick, placing soft kisses on the back of your hand. “If it’s a cat you want, then a cat you shall have. I’ll do some research after we finish here. Cats need supplies, right? Food, litter, toys, those fancy cat trees, cute little sweaters?”

****************

After dinner you and Frederick sat side-by-side on the couch with your laptops, him researching what kind of supplies you going to need to buy, and you were looking at your local SPCA’s website.

“Good god, I had no idea how many different types of cat litter there were!”

“Oh, Frederick, if you think that’s bad, wait until you see how competitive the cat food market is. Hmm…that’s interesting…”

“What is it?” asked Frederick, looking over at your laptop.

“This listing here,” you said, pointing at a blank gray box. “There should be a picture here, like there is for the other listings, but it’s blank. It says it’s supposed to be a 2-month-old black female…. hang on; I have an idea.”

You grabbed your phone off the coffee table and scrolled through your contacts until you found the name you were looking for. You hit “Call” and waited.

“Hello?” A voice finally picked up on the other end.

“Joanne! Hi! It’s Y/N. How are you?”

“I’m great, how are you? It’s been ages since the last time we hung out.”

“I’m good, and you’re right; it has been too long. Is this a good time to talk?”

“Sure! What’s up?”

“Do you still work for the county SPCA?”

“Oh, you bet I do! Oh my god, are you finally in the market to adopt?”

“Yes, I am, and I have a question about one of the cat listings on the website. The one that’s missing a picture?”

“Yes, I just noticed that a few hours ago. Our website person put that up prematurely. The kitten was just spayed, and normally we wait until the animal has had adequate recovery time before we add them to the site, but accidents happen. Last I checked, the little one is recovering nicely and should be ready to interact a couple days. She’s the sweetest thing. Someone dumped her in a cardboard box at our front door. She had a leg injury, but that’s also healing up. She loves to play, loves to cuddle, and I’ll think she’ll thrive in a good home. Would you like to make an appointment to see her?”

“Yes, I would! What time slots do you have available?”

*******************

A few days later, you and Frederick walked arm in arm into the county SPCA. Frederick had rush-ordered all the supplies you thought you’d need and then some. You both excited and nervous. You’d already taken a huge step by moving in together, and now you were adopting a pet. You looked over at Frederick and noticed the uncertainty in his eyes. He also seemed leaning on his cane for support. He always seemed to do that when he was unsure about something. You gave his arm a gentle squeeze and kissed his cheek.

“It’s going to be okay, Frederick, you’re to be a wonderful cat dad. I believe in you.”

Frederick blushed and placed a soft kiss on your temple.

“Thank you, my love, I appreciate your faith in me, even though I’m still not sure what’s done to deserve it, or you.”

Before you could respond to that, Joanne came out her office and rushed toward you.

“Y/N! It’s so good to see you!”

“It’s good to see you, too, Joanne.” You enveloped her in a big hug and then motioned to Frederick. “Joanne, this is Dr. Frederick Chilton, my Frederick.”

Frederick gave you the most loving of looks, and nearly melted into a puddle at your feet at sound of you referring to him as “your Frederick.”

“Nice to meet you, Dr. Chilton,” said Joanne, extending her hand.

“And you,” he replied, shaking hands.

“Well, I suppose you want to meet the little one; right this way!”

You and Frederick followed Joanne to cat section of the shelter. You walked past several cats, each one trying to get your attention from their enclosures. If you had your way, you’d take them all home, but you didn’t think Frederick was quite ready for that yet; but maybe one day…

“Here she is, “announced Joanne, stopping in front of one of the enclosures. A tiny black, fluffy kitten was inside, and her eyes lit up when she saw you. She was immediately on her feet, and you noticed she still had a slight limp in her injured leg, but she was full of energy and mewing incessantly. Joanne opened the door and carefully lifted her out. You reached out to take her, but the impatient kitten leapt out of Joanne’s hands and into your waiting arms.

“Oh! Hello! Hi baby, hi sweetheart,” you cooed.

“Mew, mew, mew!”

You looked into her eyes, and it was love at first sight. You did your best to hold onto her, shifting and adjusting your arms to accommodate her constant movement and attempts to climb up your shoulder. You gave her a little scratch between her ears and kissed her head. She was perfect.

“Mew! Mew!”

“Yes, baby, it’s okay, I’ve got you, I’ve got you.”

Frederick stood there watching you with the kitten, completely dumbstruck. Just when he thought he couldn’t fall anymore in love with you, you had to go and surprise him. You were a natural cat mom, cradling the tiny ball of fluff and talking to her like she was a human. He saw the kitten rub her nose against your chin and looked like she was giving you kisses. He also saw the look of pure love and joy on your face, and he lived for that, wanted to see that every day. He didn’t know anything about raising a cat, but for you, he would try.

**************

Joanne led you to a visitor’s room so that you and Frederick could spend some quality time getting to know the kitten. Frederick removed his coat and offered to take the kitten so that you could take off yours. You demonstrated how to hold the kitten and then handed her to Frederick. He held her close to chest and sat down.

“Mew?” the kitten looked up at him, confused as to who this new person was.

“It’s alright, little one, I’ve got you,” he tried to reassure her. A lock of his normally perfectly quaffed hair suddenly flopped in his face, and the kitten’s eyes grew wide.

“Mew?” she raised a paw and tentatively batted at Frederick’s hair. “Mew…”

“Oh, that’s adorable,” you said, plopping down next to them on a bean bag chair. You saw the smile on his face and nudged him with your elbow. “See? She likes you. And I think she wants to play.” You looked around the room and saw the toy boxes, filled with various dog and cat toys, but then something else caught your eye. “Frederick?”

“Yes, my love?”

“Hand her back to me and take off your scarf, please.”

He did as he was told. You carefully placed the kitten on the carpet and proceeded to dangle the scarf in front if her. Her eyes went wide again, and then she crouched, wiggled her backside, and pounced. Her little paws batted at the scarf, then she would roll around kick at it with her hind legs.

“It certainly looks like she’s enjoying herself,” Frederick chuckled. “So, what are we going to call her?”

“I was thinking ‘Buttercup”,” you said matter-of-factly.

“I am not the least bit surprised,” he replied, immediately picking up on your reference. He looked at the kitten. “Well, what do you think about that little one?”

“Mew?”

“Your name,” you told her, “Buttercup, do you like it?”

“Mew, mew.” She forgot about the scarf and crawled into your lap, kneading you with her paws.

“I think she likes it.” You threw Frederick a smile.

“Yes, I quite think she does. I have an idea, how about a story? Would you like that Buttercup?”

“Mew.” She replied with a yawn,

“Darling, if you check your bag, I believe you’ll find a book there.”

You checked your purse, and sure enough, in the largest section was a children’s book, one that you instantly recognized from your own childhood.

“If You Give A Mouse A Cookie?”

“It came highly recommended by the lady at the bookstore.”

“It’s perfect, Frederick.” You handed him the book and leaned your head against his knee. As he began to read, Buttercup curled up in your lap and shut her eyes, she was soon fast asleep, purring away. When he finished reading, Frederick caressed your cheek with hand to get your attention.

“So, shall we go find Joanne and make it official?”

“Yes,” you replied, gazing down at Buttercup, “If we don’t take her home today, I think I’ll cry.”

“Then let’s go fill out the paperwork and bring her home.”

#frederick chilton x reader #frederick chilton x female reader #frederick chilton #cat daddy frederick #frederick chilton imagines #hannibal #hannibal fanfiction #adarafaelbarbaseptmeberbingo #my writing

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loupettes · 3 years ago

Text

Some Ten/Rose domestic fluff for the DoctorRose Fic Marathon, mostly to soothe my mental health but who doesn’t need more Ten/Rose in their lives?

T W E N T Y O N E

SUMMARY: Ten/Rose. It's Rose's twenty-first birthday, and she's invited the Doctor along to a party thrown by her mum. A night of pub celebrations, boisterous friends and family gatherings, quizzes, a little bit of jealousy and some hard truths ahead, the Doctor must grit and bear the domesticity for his best friend — well, the love of his life. If only there was something to make it worthwhile..

TAGS: fluff, domestic, romance, jealousy, pub quizzes, everyone loves Rose Tyler (the Doctor being top of that list), mutual pining, longing, etc etc

Read on AO3: twenty one

***

“See you’ve found a way to pass the time,” she muttered once Laura was out of earshot, slipping her arm out from his and grabbing the napkin from the bar. She looked at it distacefully for a moment, before she passed the napkin to him.

“Enduring terrible flirting and being come on to is just one of the many things I’m voluntarily subjecting myself to to be here with you tonight.”

“How hard that must be for you.”

He couldn’t put his finger on why, exactly, she seemed irritated, and when Laura put the drink in front of her and begrudgingly took the tenner from the Doctor, Rose seemed to only sadden as she swirled her straw around in her drink.

“Just didn’t think you were interested in this sort of stuff, s’all,” she shrugged.

He frowned; he assumed she must have meant flirting. “I’m not.”

Rose looked at her drink for a moment, a pinch in her brow that he couldn’t translate. It wasn’t indifference, it wasn’t even the irritation she was projecting on her voice, but he wasn’t fond of it, he knew that much.

“Only got eyes for you, promise.”

***

It was one of those days, the ones he hadn’t really ever had to subject himself to in his many years of life, and he calls them ‘obligatory domestics’. The kinds of days where he needs to drop Rose off so she can do a bit of ‘life admin’: check in on her grandparents, nip to primark to get some basics, cash her birthday cheques, all that sort of stuff.

And then, of course, there were the days he needed to attend parties.

Now, he wasn’t a party person. Awkward small talk, terrible music — depending on the decade, of course — dreadful finger food, that annoying needless obligation to stay and ‘enjoy yourself’ when all you really wanted to do was leave. This was one of those days where Rose had a party to attend, and had asked him to just drop her off back at home for the night and they could get back to travelling the next day.

The problem was, it was her birthday party.

Now, if it were his birthday — if he even had a birthday — then he wouldn’t exactly call it a mark for celebration. Not even at the turn of a new century, and he most certainly wouldn’t call turning a thousand a celebration, which he was sure was coming up soon. And the funny thing was, Rose didn’t feel the need to celebrate birthdays, either. Well, unless they were somebody else’s; she would go out of her way to make that day astronomically special for them. So when she had turned to him last week, when they were out enjoying a milkshake in a diner on Panvorix, and told him, regrettably, that her mum wanted to throw her a birthday party with her friends and family for her twenty-first, which he was sure meant something to humans, he wondered whether he really needed to be there.

But, and this is where he finds it difficult: he somehow knew she wanted him there. She hadn’t explicitly said so, she had just sort of shrugged and said ‘you can come, too, although I doubt you’ll want to’. But other than that, she had talked about it as though she was going to go, not they. And if he only paid attention to her words and what she was saying, like he thought most humans — and, well, every other species in existence — did, then he would have felt no obligation whatsoever to join her. But these humans, and especially the British, have this odd sort of way of communicating where they would say one thing with words but also without them, and usually, the things they weren’t saying was quite different to the things that they were. And it seemed as though this was the case with Rose. Her lack of eye contact, the slight reddening in her neck, the indifference that he just knew wasn’t as indifferent as she would have liked it to be. She’d slurped her milkshake and changed the subject and that was that — no need to dwell. But once she had gone to bed that night, he wondered. He tinkered away in the control room and tried to interpret all those little things and he just couldn’t, so he gave up and decided to take her for her word. So he told himself, if she brings it up again, if she asks-but-doesn’t-ask him to come, then he’ll go with her. Otherwise, he’ll leave her with her mum for the night and come back for her the next day as she asked.

That was until Jackie called.

“You’re coming,” she had said flatly, and she had said it in such a frighteningly threatening way that he only nodded and agreed.

Rose had seemed most happy when he had said they were getting to her mum’s for midday on Saturday. She had quickly tried to hide it, and once more he got the impression that she was only acting nonchalant. But he wasn't quite sure, so he double checked just to be safe.

“You sure you want me there?”

She had frowned, and again shrugged without looking at him. “Course, you’re my best mate.”

And so here he was. Waiting in the control room for her, in a blue suit this time, while she packed her things in an overnight bag.

Today was her actual birthday. Her mum had called her all excited, wishing her a happy birthday — even though she was about to see her in a couple of hours. The Doctor had made her a cup of tea and said happy birthday, too, but Rose’s cheeks had flushed pink and he took that to mean that was enough making-a-fuss over her birthday for the day. Other than that, he hadn’t seen her all morning, and so when she entered the control room freshly showered and now in her jeans and a hoodie, her backpack slung over her shoulders, she grinned quite sheepishly and said,

“Hello.”

“Hello,” he echoed, a little less nervously. “All packed and ready, then?”

“I am indeed,” she nodded, and skipped over to him with a bit more gusto. “You mentally prepared?”

‘Oh, absolutely not.”

“Me neither,” she chuckled, and tugged on his arm. “You didn’t see mum on my eighteenth — she gets several octaves higher, just to warn you.”

He shuddered. “Well, lucky for you— and me, I suppose— my capacity to detect high pitches gets less and less with each passing century.”

“That’s good to know.”

After they had gone to Nando’s for lunch, Jackie had asked the Doctor to join her and help set up at the pub while Rose got ready back at the flat with a couple of her mates. He hadn’t been in love with the idea — a few hours alone with Jackie filling him in on the gossip of somebody called ‘Bev’ while various 90s pop songs echoed through the room, that was — and she certainly did like to talk when she was excited. They had pinned a few ‘Happy 21st Birthday!’ banners around the room, chucked a lot of small plastic ‘21’s across the floor and the bar, and, by the time Rose called to say she was on her way, the room had filled with quite a lot of people indeed. Some family members he was sure he had met before, little kids of cousins he definitely hadn’t, and a few of Rose’s friends who seemed to know her family quite well. It was the first time that day he had sort of warmed, seeing that Rose had grown up with such a loving group of friends and extended family, and he even loosened just a little as he chatted to a few while they waited for Rose to turn up.

“Everybody, she’s at the bottom of the road!” Jackie called out loudly, when she received a text from Shareen. At that, people picked up nearby birthday poppers and whistles, getting to their feet with excited and anticipatory smiles — the Doctor even had a confetti cannon himself ready to go for when she walked in.

But of course, when she did walk in, he couldn’t do anything at all except look at her.

As people called out excited ‘happy birthday!'s and set off their poppers, the Doctor found himself completely anchored to the spot while the room only burst with colour and into life. He had always found her quite beautiful, especially when she was giggling away or saying something particularly clever, and he had even found himself breathless once or twice to watch her. But tonight, goodness — he wasn’t convinced he had two bloody hearts because neither one was beating and certainly neither of them were supplying oxygen to the rest of his body.

It was her smile, without a doubt. It was different somehow, like an old smile he was sure she must have used before she met him, to see all these familiar faces of her loved ones. That, and her cheeks were dusted a delightful pink, a little shy he knew she must have been to have so many people around her for her. Her hair was wavy for once, and she wore a black dress that the Doctor was momentarily ashamed to find himself looking at; the way it sculpted her curves and defined the most enchanting silhouette, cut mid-thigh and exposing her legs — and he was especially ashamed for his gaze to linger on those, but she was simply so exquisite, everywhere, that he soon felt instead the same overwhelming awe he gets when he studies a painting, ones in which the colours tell a compelling story and the shapes express feelings that words could not completely.

He still hadn’t managed to find his breath by the time she caught his eye, and he found himself desperately trying to cling to coherent thoughts when she nervously made her way over to him.

“Hello,” she said again when she got to him, pausing for a moment before she reached up on her toes to give him a hug. He had just enough semblance of normality to return the gesture, albeit weakly — still trying to process his thoughts as he was.

Tell her!

“Happy birthday,” he whispered instead, and he heard her giggle by his ear before she released him, and there was a moment where he could have told her just how breathtaking she looked, but of course, he didn’t.

Instead, she scratched her arm and looked around the room. “Thanks for helping mum set all this up.”

“Oh, right—” he cleared his throat “— sure, no probs.”

“You’ll have to fill me in on all the gossip later.”

“Don’t worry, I took notes.”

She chuckled, and her eyes softened as she looked at him, taking him in, and they seemed to even darken somehow, which sent an odd sort of sense of affirmation through him — he was right not to shave today, then.

“Listen, er—” she began, her brow creasing in awkwardness, and she started scratching her arm again. He watched her curiously, wondering what she was about to say and feeling strangely nervous, all of a sudden. “Please don’t — I mean, thank you for coming, it— I just wanted to say please don’t stay, if you don’t want to— if you’re feeling awkward or anything just feel free to, you know—”

“Rose, it’s alright,” he grinned, putting his hands in his pockets. “I’ll be alright.”

“I know, I just didn’t want the last of the Time Lords to perish here in this pub in Southwark out of boredom.”

“Yeah, would be a dreadful end to their race I must admit.”

“Not one for the textbooks,” she giggled. “Nor one I’d particularly like on my conscience, either.”

“Blimey, you’re right — lot riding on the entertainment this evening, then.”

“Well in that case, I should remind you that mum planned this party.”

“Oh,” he groaned, and sighed defeatedly while she only continued to chuckle. “It’s just a couple of hours. I can do it.”

He sort of regretted saying that. Well, no, he definitely regretted saying that.

He’d spent the first hour or so meeting Rose’s family, and then after that getting to know five or six of Rose’s friends, sat around in a booth. They were all friendly enough, inviting him in as one of their own and of course, he thought, Rose’s friends would be charming, since they were Rose’s friends after all.

And then there was Callum, he thinks his name was, and at first the Doctor was able to maintain a calm composure despite his irritability when the lad put his arm around Rose, but after twenty minutes or so and he still hadn’t moved, the Doctor started to sincerely regret his decision to come here tonight and wondered whether he could quietly slip away and narrowly avoid some other, less painful end. But then Rose would give him that look, that smile that just seemed to settle him if only for the fact that it was hers. And so he stayed, listening to stories of their school days and joining in with their laughter until it became just a little too much, when Callum started whispering things to Rose when nobody else was paying attention. Rose didn’t seem particularly bothered by him, nor was she giving off any signs that she was uncomfortable, but he certainly seemed to have more of an agenda than she, and just enough that it pissed the Doctor off enough for him to excuse himself to get a drink instead.

“Just a Coke, thanks,” he said as he reached the bar, but the bartender looked back at him apologetically.

“Pepsi alright?” she said.

His shoulders slumped in disappointment because why would he want a Pepsi if he was ordering a Coke—

“Just kidding,” she grinned, reaching down for a glass and picking up a glass bottle of Coke. “Wouldn’t do that to you.”

“Oh,” he only half smiled, and loosened his tie just a little to finally just be able to breathe. “Well, that’s a relief.”

“You look like you could use something stronger, though.”

“Do I?” he frowned, somewhat surprised but not entirely that he must look exhausted to others. It was exhausting, realising that he was far too in love for his own good. But the bartender didn’t look like she thought that, not at all, as she grinned over to him.

“Parties don’t really seem like your sort of thing.”

He shook his head, resting his elbows on the bar. “No, not really.”

“So what is your thing, then?”

Earth wasn’t quite ready for the question to be answered with ‘time travel, mostly’, so he flustered a little in search of an answer more reasonable for the time period. “I tried soap carving, once. That was fun.”

She looked back at him completely confused for a moment, and he only added the admission to the long list of things he was regretting about this evening, before she gave him a friendly smile.

“Not something I would have expected you to say.”

When the Doctor only shook his head in hopeless exasperation, she grinned,

“I’m Laura, by the way.”

“John,” he retorted, as she placed the Coke in front of him.

“Nice to meet you John — this one’s on me.”

It took him a second to realise she had just bought him a drink — of Coke — but a common gesture nonetheless he was sure indicated flirting. “Oh— er, thanks.”

She nodded, but didn’t turn to serve any of the other guests, not that it was all that busy up at the bar, anyway. “So, John. Did you, er, come here with anyone tonight?”

As dreadful to admit as it was, he couldn’t say that he had. And it seemed so odd to him to think about, because he went everywhere with Rose, but he had never been anywhere with her. It wasn’t really something he had ever considered, whether he would like to start going places with Rose as his and he as hers, but now, as he thought about Rose with that slimy little git behind him, he rather wished that he didn’t have to fret. Not about the dreadful moment she tells him tonight that she’s going back to Callum's, and not about any other time in the future she would admit to having fallen in love with somebody else. It wasn’t a possessive thing, he didn’t want for nobody else to want her because she was his, but he wanted to just love her and be free to; no more of this pining and hiding and instead just be able to say that he was so terribly in love with her and that wasn’t going to change, no matter how much he wanted it to. Except he highly doubted she would want that, this nine-bloody-hundred-year-old alien who had murdered and cowered to be hopelessly devoted to her when she didn’t exactly ask for it. So, he swallowed, feeling his hearts sink in defeat as he did.

“No. Just me.”

Laura’s lips curled in triumph, and she leant in a little bit closer. “In that case, what are you doing tonight?”

If he was just that little bit less in love, he might have been tempted, he had to admit. But he was far beyond the point now of needing a distraction to this dreadful torment, he was much too in love with Rose to even be able to be distracted in the first place. Yet, he couldn’t quite find his voice to decline, so he only started to fluster as he broke eye contact, and took a sip of his drink in the meantime.

“Tell you what,” she smirked, taking a napkin from the bar and began to scribble something on it. “I finish at eleven-thirty. Here’s my number, just in case.”

As he helplessly watched her, he felt somebody put their arm through his as they approached the bar from behind, and was somewhat mortified to find Rose appear beside him. She looked quite peculiar indeed, an expression he had seen a couple of times aimed directly at the woman in front of her, and he glanced down in confusion when she placed her other hand on his arm.

“Malibu and Coke, please.”

Laura looked over to her, then down to her arm, then back up with a look that only seemed to mirror Rose’s. “Got any ID?”

Rose scoffed. “This is my party, you know.”

“Can’t serve you unless you’ve got ID.”

“Tell you what—” the Doctor interrupted, reaching into his pocket for the psychic paper as he heard Rose about to counter “—this one’s on me. Can’t have the birthday girl paying for her own drinks.”

Laura only looked back at him in disillusionment, her eyes flickered back to Rose. “Okay, but it was just you I was buying the drink for.”

Rose scoffed incredulously, and wrapped her arms around the Doctor’s only tighter as the two women seemed to be engaging in a fight without actually fighting. Or from what he could tell, anyway.

“Enduring terrible flirting and being come on to is just one of the many things I’m voluntarily subjecting myself to to be here with you tonight.”

“How hard that must be for you.”

“Just didn’t think you were interested in this sort of stuff, s’all,” she shrugged.

He frowned; he assumed she must have meant flirting. “I’m not.”

“Only got eyes for you, promise.”

She seemed to only laugh in spite of herself at his words, and seemed to receive his joke — although he couldn’t be certain he had meant it to be one. She looked up at him through those devilishly long eyelashes of hers and he tried desperately to think of just about anything to say to change the subject.

“Having a nice night?”

Rose pulled up a bar stool and hoisted herself up, wiggling about to get comfortable. “S’been nice, yeah. So many mates I haven't seen in forever — not since we all went to get our GCSEs.”

He gazed to the side of her in thought. “Five years ago, that must be now?”

She raised her eyebrow, but didn’t smile. “Yeah. Can’t believe it.”

She started poking at the ice in her drink now, but not consciously. She was distracted, seemingly saddened by the thoughts running through her mind. He watched her hand, her nails recently painted, wearing the ring her mum had got her for her birthday.

“I’m twenty-one,” she almost whimpered.

“Wait till you get to nine-hundred.”

He was relieved to hear her laugh, a real one, and she glanced at him with kind eyes, her eyes, not those strangely woeful ones she looked at her glass with. “Yeah. If ever I’m feeling old, I’ll just think about you instead.”

“There are some benefits to being ancient, then.”

She giggled, and it only seemed to tickle her more until he saw her completely, Rose as he knew her returned back to him. It relieved him, and he realised he had stiffened to see her so glum. She glanced once more down at the napkin and he sighed, unsure exactly what she was thinking, before something told him to lift up her glass and place it underneath instead. She turned to him with a shy smile, her lips thin as she tried to hide whatever emotion was surfacing, and she was unable to hold his gaze for long when she leaned against him to nudge his arm with hers. An apology, he guessed, and he himself tittered in response. She was less saddened certainly, but her silence was not quite unburdened, so he sought,

“What’s on your mind?”

“Hmm?”

“You,” he said softly. “I know you don’t like your birthday, but something’s up.”

She once more gave him one of those thin smiles, a smile he recognised was one she was trying to put on for him but unsuccessfully — he knew her, afterall. She sighed, and shook her head.

“Everyone’s… it’s just so strange. Being back, after having been away. Things have just… happened. Like Charlie’s had a baby, can’t believe it. She’s younger than me.”

So that was it. He felt an odd sense of guilt in the centre of his chest that only sank lower, and he realised she had only been confronted with how much she had missed since travelling with him. How much she was missing out on, and how much he had taken from her while he only wanted to keep her for himself. But he didn’t suppose she needed his self-loathing tonight, so instead, he frowned as he thought.

“Charlie’s your…” he began, trying to remember as he scanned the room.

“Cousin.”

“Right,” he nodded. He was surprised to find her watching him with a gentle smile when he looked back at her. “What?”

“Nothing,” she grinned, sheepishly, looking down briefly as her smile only grew less so and slightly more endeared, might he say, instead. “Just you, trying to learn all my family and friends.”

“Trying being the keyword there — there’s a lot of them.”

“I know, but it’s funny,” she teased, that tongue sticking out of her teeth that he had to quickly avert his gaze from, “You can remember something complex and yet still get lost remembering the names of my family.”

“My mind sadly is not a TARDIS,” he jibed, and she chortled delightfully into her glasses as she took a sip. “Everytime I have to remember one of your cousin’s names, I have to forget about something else. I’ve forgotten Einstein’s special relativity equation to remember you have an Aunt called Jeanette.”

“Well, that's a bummer for relativity, because my Aunt’s called June.”

He frowned at her, momentarily fooled, before he rolled his eyes. “No she’s not.”

Rose scoffed with her mouth agape in shock. “Yes she is!”

As she giggled away, he vaguely recalled meeting a month, before his eyes widened and he blinked in defeat.

“Blimey, right then.”

Rose put her drink back down on the bar and struggled to contain her giggles and, goodness, he simply couldn’t look away. Her eyes scrunched shut, her nose wrinkled and smile so bright, she was impossibly beautiful when she was like this, her laughter sounding so pure and so wonderfully joyous. He wasn’t convinced she was laughing solely at his complete inability to remember anything remotely related to something so important as her family, because he only imagined it to be quite disappointing, but he wasn’t about to step in and stop her, especially not when he felt his own smile begin to grow at seeing her this way. She shook her head and opened her eyes as her giggles subsided but smile remained and she looked at him in the most breathtaking way and he could feel himself falling, needing to physically stop himself from leaning in closer to her.

There was a moment, one terribly long agonising moment, where he thought he might just falter. Despite everything inside him begging him not to, he found himself unable to hear himself when her eyes locked with his in such a way, in fact, the only thing that was able to prevent him from kissing her was knowing how terribly awkward it would be when she pulls back, wondering what on Earth he was thinking to presume she would want him to kiss her. So he swallowed, and looked away, back down at his drink and he took another sip.

Thankfully, before he had a chance to make a fool of himself and try to string a sentence together, he was interrupted by a voice sounding from a microphone behind them. They both turned, and, over at the corner of the pub stood two of Rose’s girlfriends, both of whom he remembered were with them at the table earlier, standing with a few pieces of card in their hands.

“Ahem — can we have everyone’s attention, please?” one of them — he was sure her name was Grace — announced, a smug anticipatory smile donned her slightly flushed face, and the room went quiet a moment before the music turned down, too. “Hi! Good evening, everyone! So, in case you aren’t all aware yet, today is our very own Rosie Tyler’s twenty-first birthday!”

The room broke into applause, a few cheers and the odd wolf whistle as many turned to look at Rose beside him.

He teased quietly only to her, “Rosie?”

“Shut up,” she muttered as she elbowed him, but couldn’t stop grinning despite herself. “Little gits know I hate being called Rosie.”

“So before we get started, a very happy birthday to you!” the other girl — Cara, was it? There goes Euler’s equation, he surrendered — said into the microphone. “We hope you’re having a great night, and we love you—”

“Even if she did nick my GHDs.”

Rose snorted when Grace stuck her tongue out at her. “I did not! I just forgot to give them back to you!”

“Hmm, how convenient— anyway,” Grace stressed, and the room was chuckling to their playful teasing. “We thought we might play a little game, before we start the, er, slideshow in a bit—”

“Oh, god,” Rose muttered under her breath, and the Doctor sniggered quietly.

“— just a quick ‘How well do you know Rose Tyler’ quiz. No teams, no competition, strictly for embarrassment purposes alone.”

“Get me out of here,” Rose whispered to him, but he stayed firmly put.

“Oh, absolutely not. I’m staying for this.”

“Then I’m going to fly your ship myself and leave you here stranded.”

“Fine by me, I want to see all those pictures you’ve been so adamant remain hidden away in a box every time we go round to your mum’s.”

She groaned, and hid her face in her palms.

“So, without further ado: question one.” Grace paused for dramatic effect, reading the words on her paper with a teasing smile. “What was the name of Rose’s first boyfriend?”

“Oh my god, my mum’s here—”

“Jimmy!” one of her friends shouted, and the Doctor felt Rose bury her face against his arm.

“No,” she whispered, about the same time Grace called out,

“Incorrect!”

“Craig David!” a male voice shouted, and Rose groaned loudly as the room went quiet.

“That is correct!”

The Doctor scoffed next to her as the rest of the room erupted into laughter. “Oh, come on.”

“Rose absolutely believed she and Craig David were meant to be back in year six, and told everyone they were boyfriend and girlfriend,” Cara giggled, and the Doctor only chuckled to hear Rose repeatedly whispering ‘Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god’ into his arm.

“Had to get her a poster!” Jackie called with a squeal of delight.

“Get me— you’re a Time Lord for god’s sake, go back in time and stop this from all happening!” Rose urged.

“Not a chance.”

“Question two!” And once more, the room went quiet in anticipation. “And a little less embarrassing, maybe—”

“Thank God,” Rose mumbled. At that point, he couldn’t really stop himself from giving her arm a gentle stroke.

“— Which film was Rose obsessed with at the beginning of secondary school?”

“Easy! Back to the Future!” another one of her friends called out.

The Doctor scoffed, “You’re kidding?”

Rose pulled away, then, unashamed. “Marty Mcfly, hottest fictional character in the world, I stand by it.”

“If I dress up in that puffer vest and the TARDIS gets her act together to disguise as a DeLorean, are we just playing out your secondary school fantasy?”

“Why do you think you had me so hooked with ‘did I mention it also travels in time’?”

“And that is correct!” Grace called, and just on queue, The Power of Love began to play through the speakers. Rose shook her head, and broke into a timid but unabashed smile.

“How many gigawatts to travel in time, Rose?” Grace called.

“One point twenty-one!” she volleyed, unashamed.

“Is that all? I’ll remember that for next time,” the Doctor whispered, and she elbowed him with a smirk.

“Question three — and sorry, Jackie — but why did Rose get two weeks of detention in year eleven?”

“Oh my god no!”

“Two weeks!” The Doctor kept his exclamation hushed, and once more Rose turned back around to face the other side of the bar, but he tugged on her arm to bring her back around, leaving her unable to hide her embarrassment and red hot cheeks.

“For skipping maths to snog Jimmy in the art room!”

“Rose!” Jackie gasped loudly as the room cheered.

“This is the worst thing that has ever happened in my life ever,” she groaned to the Doctor, and he only found her that much more gorgeous as she looked so delightfully mortified.

“That is correct!”

Rose whimpered quietly to the Doctor as the rest of the room erupted into laughter, “Please do that thing again where you make me forget all of my memories.”

“The snog wasn’t that great, then?”

She shuddered. “Far too much tongue.”

“How delightful,” he chuckled, feeling a peculiar sense of victory.

“Question four!” Grace called, and waited for the room to settle. “Which medal did Rose win in the county gymnastics?”

“The bronze!” the Doctor called, surprised but unashamed for calling out himself, and the room roared in cheer and a thunderous applause broke out.

“And quite right!” Cara hailed into the microphone, and Rose bumped arms with the Doctor.

“Was only the bronze,” she mumbled.

“Hey!” he denounced, “The bronze is bloody excellent!”

Her smile was thin and bashful and begged to be attended to; he responded without thinking by pulling her into his side and she wrapped her arms around his waist.

“Okay, okay, our last and final question—” somebody at one of the nearby tables began to perform a drum roll as Grace paused to read the card “— What did Rose do on her eighteenth birthday?”

“Get absolutely hammered?” someone suggested, and by the way Rose only hid herself further into his chest and shook her head, he imagined they were right.

“More detail needed!” Grace called.

“My whole family’s here,” she whimpered quietly.

“How PG are we keeping it?” one of the boys from the table they were all sitting at earlier shouted, and they giggled amongst themselves.

“Oh god, was it that bad?” he whispered to her, but she just kept shaking her head.

“More PG than your eighteenth, Liam,” Cara pointed out, to which Liam held his hands up in his surrender.

“Didn’t you throw up at Tottenham Court Road bus stop?”

“That was not me!” Rose called out, releasing her hold on the Doctor. He folded his arms, now very aware that the rest of the room was looking at them. “That was Shareen!”

Shareen gasped somewhere in the crowd. “You little grass!” She slammed her hand down on the table and stood up. “And for that, I’m breaking my silence — on Rose’s eighteenth birthday, she got drunk and performed ‘Steps, Tragedy’ up on a table on Carnaby Street in front of the entire street with accompanying dance moves — and she fell down at the end.”

“And we have the video to play to you all later!” Cara beamed, just as the room erupted into an excited cheer.

Rose shrieked in protest, her cheeks burning red and the Doctor only cackled at the image of Rose drunkenly bearing her heart and soul out to what he knew was her favourite girl band of the 90s, so he could only imagine how animated that performance must have been. People had got to their feet, cheering and clapping as Rose hid her face in her palms and Tragedy began to blare through the speakers. Some chanted along, some were too lost in their own giggling and retelling of old anecdotes, and some flocked to Rose to give her gleeful hugs and cheer her on. But something about it saddened him all of a sudden, watching as Rose was swallowed up by the love of her friends so fierce and unashamed, a dull and remorseful ache somewhere in his chest that he couldn’t quite place but certainly didn’t like.

He turned back around and spotted Laura, now leaning against the back bar, and he caught her eye.

“I’ll take that stronger drink, now.”

She glanced over at Rose, now completely lost to the crowd, then back at him, and nodded.

He didn’t drink often, not at all, so he insisted only on a single, handing Laura a fiver and telling her to keep the change. He got to his feet, grabbed his jacket, and slipped quietly outside and into the pub garden.

The night was pleasant, the stars for once visible over London, but he imagined most might not catch them so clearly amidst the surrounding light pollution. There were strings of warm fairy lights hanging from the brick wall that surrounded the quite large garden, a few pub benches dotted around with even less people quietly chatting amongst themselves over a beer and the odd cigarette. What encouraged him the most was the quiet, the peacefulness that greeted him as he stepped out of the pub, sitting down on one of the vacant tables just under a tree with yet more fairy lights hanging from it.

He sighed deeply, but he found he wasn’t quite fully able to breathe in all the way, like something caged his chest and prevented it from fully expanding. He took a sip of the — what he discovered was — whiskey and shuddered to feel its heat trickle down his throat, settling something that had been rising in his body all night. He looked down at his hands, quivering now although he was not cold, and swallowed thickly.

He was in love, he had known that for a long time. But tonight he had realised how terribly irrevocable it was, how awfully trapped he had made himself in his dreadful and unavoidable addiction to her, how he had known this was going to be devastating and he was going to regret it but yet hadn’t cared. And now here he sat, alone as he always was and always would be, wondering just how he might survive this in the end.

It wasn’t that he worried about the day she would no longer be with him, although that wasn’t a thought he liked to entertain. It was this horrible ache, a dullness in his bones, a contradiction to the life she inspired within him. It was twisted, it was confusing, and it was devastating.

He looked up at the stars, a universe above him that he knew and yet didn’t. Taking another sip of his whiskey, and following another subsequent involuntary shudder, he closed his eyes to the return of that hollowness in his chest. The vacuum above felt infinitely small in comparison, and he knew there was no fighting it’s torture except to grit and bear it for as long as she stayed with him, and even longer than that.

He didn’t shudder when he took a third sip of his drink.

He had been so lost in his thoughts for so long that he only realised the environment had altered when a figure sat beside him. There were less people now he realised, only one or two at a table a few away from his, but none of that seemed to matter when he saw it was Rose who had sat down next to him.

“You alright?” she asked.

“Hmm?”

She shivered, and looked down at his drink. “Bit too much back in there, yeah?”

He couldn't reply at first, but his lie found his tongue at the time that he swallowed. “Na, it’s been alright. Just needed five outside in the quiet.”

Rose grinned, a warm smile he knew well, and shivered once more. The goosebumps began to line her skin, soft hairs rising on her arms, and he glanced down at her things to see the same pattern emerging there. He unbuttoned his jacket and slipped it off, attentively hanging it over her shoulders and she looked down with a smile, pulling it tighter around her.

“Thanks,” she whispered, a soft sound that settled on the air and he closed his eyes to it, trying to still what it did to his hearts. Once more, he breathed deeply, now that he could as she sat close to him, and when he opened his eyes on his exhale he saw her looking down at the table, mulling over something in her mind.

“Are you alright?” he murmured, and she closed her eyes to that.

“Mmm. Just needed to step out — don’t like havin’ all the attention on me, you know that.”

Funny, he thought, if she knew just how much she claimed all of his attention, his thoughts and dreams, his hopes and longings, even down to his physiology and heartbeat, she would flee.

Her legs had started to bounce — anxiously or because they were cold, he didn’t know — but he found himself looking at a mole on her thigh, one he of course had never seen before. He closed his eyes once more in a desperate plea to try and stop the thoughts from drowning him, of how much he wanted to see every piece of her, to know all her moles and the feel of her skin under his fingers, to learn her and know her in a way nobody else did or ever could possibly again.

“Y’know, I remember the first time you met all my family, when we were huddled in my mum’s living room watching the telly,” she grinned, and her voice encouraged him to avert his gaze, and, thankfully, his thoughts. “Said you didn’t do domestics and all that.”

“I still don’t,” he pointed out, and she sniggered. “I have no idea how I keep finding myself in these situations so often.”

“I think you like them, really.”

“I like you, there’s a difference.”

She chuckled, “So if I’m understanding you correctly, the last of the Time Lords bends to nobody’s will except mine?”

“You understood that correctly, yes.”

Her gleeful hum in response was enough for him to let her believe he was exaggerating. After a minute or two, she spoke again.

“I used to come here all the time. Most Thursdays after work. Sometimes it’d be all of us — it was quite central for where we all worked — and sometimes it’d just be me and Mickey.”

He grimaced as she rubbed salt into the wound unknowingly. He was reluctant to admit to himself just how many hours he had spent thinking about them, of their dates in the park and stolen kisses in her lunch break, of nights spent together and mornings in love. He glanced back down at the mole on her leg and knew of course he wasn’t going to know her as nobody else did, he never could even if he did ever give in to his hearts.

“It’s like a different life,” she sighed. “I always thought this sort of stuff would hit you in your thirties, lookin’ back over your school days and realising how much had changed since then. But I’m twenty-one, and it feels like a completely different me and it was only two years ago!”

He was still while she spoke what was on her mind. He didn’t get the feeling that she regretted it so much, and he was a little relieved at that. But he thought perhaps it was more the speed of time passing that stunned her, her perspective of it all shifting and she wasn’t quite ready for it. As a Time Lord, he so wished he could slow it down for her, make it just that little bit more manageable because, truthfully, it terrified him sometimes, too.

“It’s only that you fill your life with so much that it feels that way,” he tried, and she sniffed in the cold. “It feels a bit like time passed you by because, well, it has. You didn’t even see it go, you were far too busy moving and adapting but it passed, at the same rate it always does. But you didn’t.”

She frowned, and gave him a lopsided smile. “I suppose you would give me some nonsensical explanation of time that oddly makes sense.”

“It’s what I’m here for.”

“Really?” She scrunched her nose. “I thought you were here to protect time.”

“Whoever told you that?”

She rolled her eyes with a more symmetrical smile now, her hands moving to cover her face as she attempted to hide just how funny she found his joke. “If it’s this bad at twenty-one, must be bloody awful for you.”

He inhaled sharply, making her giggle more. “The trick is not to think about it.”

“Take each day as it comes,” she reflected, and he hummed beside her in agreement. “They were right, all those adults. Everytime they said to live each day to the fullest.”

“That they were.”

And then she seemed to sadden again. After a moment, and with a quiver to her voice, she whispered,

“If only it didn’t make time pass faster that way.”

He nodded slowly in agreement, although he protested she be thinking such morose concepts on her twenty-first birthday. She began to pick at the skin around her nails, the nail polish on her thumb had chipped and he knew she must have been doing this all night, then.

“Why don’t you like your own birthdays?” he asked, realising that he never had.

She shrugged. “I used to love my birthdays. Birthday cakes, party bags, trips to the London Fields Lido and all that stuff.”

“Then what changed?”

She hesitated, and frowned. He waited while she thought, but he realised at some point she wasn’t searching for the answer, she was only debating whether to give it to him. Eventually, she swallowed, and spoke flatly,

“I met a Time Lord.”

And there it was. He felt his thoughts click into place, then, that strange sadness about her all day that he hadn’t quite been able to interpret finally making sense. It was, truthfully, his biggest regret, although he should have seen it coming, and he only gritted his teeth at his own negligence.

“Rose—”

“No, but think about it,” she insisted, and for once he found himself wanting to listen to her, to hear her worries about something he considered constantly. She seemed too intent on bearing herself to him here, in this garden, on this night, and he could only let her. “Every day I get older—”

“You’re twenty-one, that’s hardly you getting older—”

“But it is!” she retorted, a strange smile that wasn’t a smile by any means only holding back her tears now and he didn't know how they had got here, but his hearts ached to see her like this nonetheless. Her mouth hung open as if to say something else, but she seemed unable to and only let out a small croak instead.

“Hey,” he murmured, and he took the opportunity to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, curling his fingers as he dared himself to brush her cheek. “I do not want you to miss out on any of this because you’re afraid of getting older next to me.”

“M’not afraid of getting older,” she contended plainly. “I’m afraid of leaving you all alone.”

His breath was uneven as he exhaled, but he didn’t think she would have detected it. He dropped his hand back down to the table, and she sniffed wetly, seemingly annoyed by herself for some reason. She bit down on her bottom lip with her eyes closed before she opened them to find his, holding his gaze firm. He saw all of her, then, the things she didn’t want him to see in her eyes even in this light, and he knew she must be seeing all of him, too.

Because it consumed him to learn that this was how she felt. That she regretted each passing day because it was one less day — not that she got to spend with him, but that he had left to spend with somebody. The dreadful wringing of his chest at that, at knowing how much of her life and how many of her days she was spending in fear for his inevitable loneliness when that was only his worry, his concern. Rose wasn’t supposed to feel any of that, much less break her own heart every day, and he realised he must have been doing a terrible job at keeping those worries and concerns to himself. Rose only ever wanted everybody else to be okay, and now, on her twenty-first birthday, she was furious with her own mortality for getting in the way, stopping somebody she cared for so deeply from hurting.

So he had no alternative, really, when he leaned in to her this time. He just about had enough control to pause, give her the chance to pull away if she so wanted, and it seemed as though time completely stopped as he did. He could hear her breathing shallow, see the goosebumps line her neck and he took that moment, those few seconds, to learn her as he had wanted. His eyes found another mole on her collarbone, and upwards, the pulse in her neck at having him this close to her. A quiet and strained whimper on her lips, a plea, and then the feel of those lips against his.

He had always wondered how she would taste. The time he had kissed her on Satellite Five, he had only done so to take the time vortex from her, and for that his senses were mostly dulled. Now, as time slowly began to resume once more, he couldn’t taste a thing either; all he could do was feel. This overwhelming relief surging through him, his hearts beating as they should to feel this alive, and, for a moment, an assertion that nothing could tamper with his hope.

And then she gasped; her mouth opened and that’s when he could finally taste her. And he did, the tip of his tongue finally tasted home as it explored the texture of hers and everything he was learning about her he already knew. Because she was familiar, she was her, he knew her lips already and running his tongue along them told him nothing new about them but yet wanted more even still, to know how her bottom lip felt between his teeth, and he was a quick learner, picking up on the sensitive spots that would draw her moans and which of them would catch her breath in her throat.

His heightened senses had thus far only proven to be most valuable, until now, because she consumed all of him to a point where it was too much, and he had to break away, just to focus. But she didn’t hesitate to keep going, so keen was she on tasting him too, and she trailed her kisses across his cheek and along his jaw and this was new, feeling her learn him with her own senses, the moans she drew out herself at certain points on his skin.

“Rose,” he breathed, a plea and a promise in itself, and she brought their lips back together once more.

She began to shift without breaking their kiss and he felt her move one of her legs over him, soft chuckles she released onto his lips as she fumbled onto his lap on the most uncomfortable bench he could remember sitting on. But he quickly lost all conscious recognition of the world outside him, outside them, when he felt her hands move to cup his neck before her fingers slowly trailed up and through his hair. Her lips curled when he groaned and a second later so did she when she ran her nails back down. Their kiss was broken when her head rolled back to the feel of his hands on her thighs, sliding up to her waist where they held her hips close to his and in their respite, his lips found her neck and he sucked, just over her pulse, her breath catching in response. He felt her hands loosen as they became less conscious of their actions and more reflexive to her feelings and he felt her pulse drum fervently beneath his lips. With a final nip to her skin, he released her, the darkened bruise forming he could see even under this light, and pride raptured his veins to have finally claimed just a part of her as his. But then the trouble was he wanted to claim all of her as his, if she would let him, and by the way she rocked into his hold when he pulled away only confirmed that she would. As her lips began their descent once more down onto his skin, pressing sweet and messy kisses down the bridge of his nose and to his lips, he realised he couldn’t find the trouble in it at all.

He deftly slipped his jacket off her shoulders and shuddered at the speed in which her goosebumps prickled beneath his fingers, before he dragged them slowly across her shoulders and down her back, as far as her dress would allow. One hand stayed where it was, exploring the planes of her shoulder blades as they contracted with the movement of her hands, and the other travelled south and to the small of her back where he pressed, gently, until she arched into him. That move released another sound from her lips, much lower this time, much deeper and hungrier and his was only lustful in response. She tore her lips from his to bow her head to his shoulder, pausing only to catch her breath with the intent of resuming, so he peppered his kisses this time further down her neck, softening as they pressed across her shoulder until he felt her lips on his neck, her teeth grazing his skin as she matched the mark made on hers. He shivered to know she was doing the same, marking him, and he moaned into her skin as he allowed her to.

“I want you,” she breathed, he was sure she was trying to sound firm but her need strained her request. “But not here.”

He remained still as his surroundings began to settle into their rightful place and he remembered where they were. He was in no way ready to pull back, but he couldn't exactly keep going, so instead he kept his eyes closed as he followed the trail of his hands on her body, slowly tracing the curves and dips of her frame. She didn’t move either, but it seemed she too was focused only on his hands, as she had since stopped exploring him herself. To feel her in this way, to roam freely as he wished while she remained compliant and willing above him, prevented him from asking if she was sure she wanted him, and if was even a little bit more level-headed than he was at the moment, he would ask if she had really thought this through.

But all he could seem to focus on was her words, the sound of her telling him she wanted him. After that, nothing else mattered.

“Doctor,” she whispered again, and he opened his eyes to find that mole on her collarbone beneath him. He swallowed, and with considerable difficulty, and pressed his lips to it before he finally pulled away.

She cleared her throat and started to shift off of him and he spotted the other table glance over in their direction. Right, he thought, scratching the back of his neck and neatning his — he was sure — disheveled hair. Public decency, must remember that one.

Rose was grinning sheepishly by the time she settled down next to him, and for a moment, neither looked at the other. He swallowed, now that he was finally able to, and ran his palms over his trousers to neaten them down just a little. Rose tugged on the hem of her dress to bring it a bit further down her thighs and he swallowed again to see her legs bare, having only very recently felt them beneath his hands, and the tips of his fingers tingled at the memory.

Rose let out a breathy laugh, then, and he glanced over to her just at the time she looked up at him. She drank him in, her eyes flickering across his face, but he couldn’t quite do the same; he found himself transfixed only on her eyes.

“C’mere” she grinned, licking her thumb and rubbing it across his cheek. “You’ve got lipstick all over you.”

He nodded, before he gestured to her. “Funnily enough, so do you.”

She pressed her fingers to the side of her lips and giggled while he fumbled around in his suit pockets for some makeup wipes, and then she brought them down to her neck to press gently into the bruise beginning to form over her pulse.

“Bit more worried about everyone seeing that.”

He raised his eyebrow. “Didn’t hear any complaints from you when I was giving it to you.”

“Nope,” she affirmed smugly. She tugged at the wipes when he pulled them out, taking one and began cleaning up his face. “Think I’ve got some concealer in my bag, anyway.”

“Your bag’s inside.”

“Bugger,” she cursed, and he chuckled. “Reckon you could go and grab it for me before anyone sees?”

He pointed to his neck. “I think we just have to own this one, Rose.”

“It’s a lot easier to own it when everyone doesn’t know you.”

“It’s only you they know.”

“Right,” she beamed, “so you won’t have a problem going and getting my bag then, will you?”

“Bugger,” he cursed, and she chuckled.

He watched her, then, the golden lights shimmering in her eyes as she smiled, her lips still a little swollen and hair messier now. She wasn’t aware of him watching her, he didn’t think, so she was caught off guard when he began to smooth down the strands, running his fingers softly through her hair to bring back a bit of order. As he did, his gaze remained fixed on her, the shy way she kept herself still and allowed him to sort her out, to fix her back up as if she needed fixing in the first place.

“You are…” he tried, but the word was lost on his lips. He had no way of surmising her beauty at that moment, and he supposed that's why people looked to poetry or song in times where words weren’t adequate to suffice.

Perhaps she didn’t need any of that, because she seemed to understand exactly what he was trying to say, or at least the depth of it. She took his hand then, which had since frozen in his quest to articulate just how captivating she was, and brought it to her lips. She kissed each of his fingers deliberately, carefully, attentively, her eyes closed as she spoke the words caught in her throat on his skin and all he could do was listen.

God, she was divine. He felt the way his hearts completely responded to her alone, their slight quickening as her lips brushed his skin and the harder they beat for her when she released him. He was sure they had a song about them, her song, and he could have them converse with her for as long as he lived.

“What are you thinking?” she murmured, and he had been mostly — no, completely — unaware of her watching him. He wasn’t quite ready yet to translate his hearts’ intent, so instead he leaned back into her, touching his lips to the corner of hers to kiss her where he was hesitant to pull back, captured instead by a sweetness that lingered on her skin. When her lips curled beneath his, he finally did pull away; not too far though, just enough for her to hear the words he didn’t speak.

Neither said anything, for a while. Not through their searching for something to say, but simply because this was unlike them to be so close and they were familiarising themselves with it.

He was falling in love with it.

“You know,” she whispered with a smile, “I don’t think I’ve ever known you to say so little.”

“Would you prefer it if I were babbling away instead?”

“God, no,” she chuckled as he pulled away. “Think I can safely say that’s one of my preferred ways you’ve made use of your tongue.”

He raised his eyebrow and her cheeks flushed pink furiously.

“Oh my god, no! I didn’t mean— not that!”

He raised his other eyebrow and, after quickly searching his eyes, she raised hers.

“Wow, okay so maybe that, if you’re—”

He chuckled, and kissed her shoulder before climbing to his feet. “I’m going to go and get your bag.”

“Or—” she grabbed his hand to stop him “— how about we both go back to the TARDIS and pick up where we left off?”

He snorted. “No chance am I missing your drunken Steps performance.”

“Not even for a good shag?”

He stilled to hear her say it, and only then did it occur to him that that was where this was heading. It was sobering, but he couldn’t say in any way it was repellent — not at all — only completely unbelievable.

“Oh god—” she slapped her hands to her face “—you didn’t— that’s not what.. what you— oh my god you didn’t say that’s what you wanted—”

“Rose,” he stressed, although gently, pulling her hand away as he crouched down in front of her. He tried to look at her, peering up from underneath her, but she wouldn’t look back at him. “I don’t think we’d be fooling anybody if I said I didn’t want that, too.”

She nodded firmly, still unable to look him in the eye. He rubbed his thumb over her fingers as they rested firmly in his, still a little nervous was she while he was completely certain.

“But it’s not all I want.”

“Yeah?” she said as she chewed her bottom lip. He nodded, and she paused for a moment, hesitant, before she spoke. “But…”

And then it was lost on her, either the rest of that sentence or her confidence to say it. Her fingers began to fidget in his, and he loosened his hold but not entirely, simply only allowing her the freedom to dwell without letting her drift entirely.

“But what?” he probed.

She looked even further down now, her chin tucked to her chest. “Wither and die, and all that.”

Ah yes, he grimaced. That.

The truth was, of course that’s all he could think about. And he regretted saying that to her every day since he had, because it shouldn’t have been her problem and yet he had made it her problem. By only showing her how much it anguished him, she had taken it upon herself to fix it for him, only to realise that she couldn’t. Nobody could, and for that, she couldn’t simply rest and allow herself to be happy while he only awaited misery. He wondered, then, if that was why she was so hesitant — not because she didn’t want this with all her heart, but because he had given her reason to believe he was petrified for his own survival, for a future of solitude without her but it was specifically that last part that tortured him now.

Without her. How could she possibly begin to resolve her heartache when she worried tirelessly over something she couldn’t control? He had to unburden her, assure her that he wasn’t scared for him, when truthfully he felt sick by his awaited grief. So for that, he bent his head to kiss her knee, and swore to inherit all her anxieties himself and free her of them.

“I know you’re a whole twenty-one-years-old now, but I don’t see you withering anytime soon.”

She didn’t laugh, but he still smiled reassuringly, intent on fulfilling his promise.

“But I will, one day,” she countered, and he fought back a sigh.

“Are you always this miserable on your birthday?”

“Doctor!” she pleaded, but she was beginning to smile despite herself. “This is serious!”

The worst part was that he had had this exact argument with himself, time and time again, only he was normally on her side himself. But it had all changed when he had heard her tell him she wanted him; up until then, those arguments with himself were a response to the very hypothetical situation she might want him, but now that she actually did, he found himself quite unable to see her side now.

“Alright, alright,” he held up his hands in defeat. “You’re right.”

She didn’t exactly bask in it, but he knew he wasn’t about to give up anytime soon. So he perched himself down next to her, the picnic bench groaning as he settled his weight. A silence extended between them and he watched as Rose played with her ring, fiddling about with it in the interlude as she tried to find her words. But as the silence passed and she remained quiet, he realised perhaps she had nothing to say unprompted, so he asked a question he was sure he never would in the hope that she might finally release herself.

“What do you want?” he whispered.

She hesitated even still, before her breath carried her answer in a sigh. “You.”

He could have her say it over and over again and never tire of it; perhaps that serenely restful truth caused the words to tumble from his lips so desperately. “You have me. Christ knows why you want me out of anyone else in the whole bloody universe, but whatever you want is yours.”

Perhaps it was the slight inflection on just the right word, or perhaps it was all of them together, but he felt her somewhat loosen beside him. Determined though he was, he was misplaced to hear himself say it, something he only ever imagined might terrify her now only somehow consoling her.

“This is… mad,” she shuddered with a smile. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted this?”

“I can take an educated guess.”

“And you really want this too?”

He shrugged. “Probably— I don’t know, haven’t really thought it through.”

She whacked his arm with a chuckle she couldn’t quite suppress. “Oh my god—“

“Rose,” he whispered, urged perhaps, and she all but stilled completely to hear him say her name in such a way. He turned to look at her but she had closed her eyes, so he took her hand, small and fragile and soft as it was, and started to settle the ache in his fingers by running them across her skin. So warm, even if she didn’t think so in the cool April chill, and the softness against his, coarse and tired, was sublime.

“Why me?”

“Why you, what?”

“You said I could have anyone in the whole universe, well what about you? You’re a Time Lord,” she breathed the name of his race with such wonderment while he only regretted it, but he kept still. “And you’re the last one! You have literally all of time and space to choose from, why would you choose somebody with such a short life span— somebody who you can’t exactly share the rest of your life with or even a substantial part of it. Sixty years, that’s all I have! That’s all we’ll have!”

“This is a bit like talking about breaking up before you’ve even gotten together,” he pointed out, and she grinned again despite herself at that, and it only seemed to frustrate her that he joked when she searched for an answer much more reassuring. But the fact was, it would seem she had thought about this, and perhaps had even used it to convince herself he didn’t want her in return, which was utterly absurd to him. Joking with her wasn’t seeming to do the trick, lightening the mood in the hopes of lightening her worry was proving to serve no end to her own perceived stalemate, and she wasn’t just taking him at his word and allowing herself this.

So he bent his head to kiss the ball of her shoulder and he lingered there, breathing her in, unable to stop himself from kissing the same spot again. He needed saving from this, he realised, because kissing her seemed entirely unpreventable since he had allowed himself to only minutes ago, and right now she needed his reassurance.

“I’ve seen it all, Rose. Nine hundred years of travelling, I’ve met some spectacular people. But you have something on me that I can’t describe, and I know for a fact it’s irreversibly binding. I know, because I feel it in the way you smile, the sound of your laugh, I know I don’t stand a chance when you say my name as you giggle and I’m a complete lost cause when you touch me in any way. What I’m trying to say is I’ve met so many people in this universe, from so many corners of it across so many ages and none of them have ever given me something so completely tangible to hold on to.” He frowned, realising how he must sound completely bonkers, and he wasn’t exactly the greatest romantic of his time, but he really was limited by his words in describing what she was to him, so he settled instead on one final, simple sentiment. “You’re everything.”

He sniffed, because it sounded so terribly feeble and uninspired, and pulled away. She had been watching him as he spoke his mind, perhaps thinking he was an absolute nutter, but her palm touched his cheek and she leant forwards, brushing her lips to his and only holding on to time, savouring each passing second in this point in time and he felt how overwhelming it was, even to him. All the seconds passed, all the ones following it were immeasurable, literally, and for only a few of them, just one or two, they kissed. When she pulled away, he found himself wondering how he could possibly not chase more of those seconds.

“And don’t even get me started on that,” he breathed, and she giggled delightfully.

“You know, when you told me you were coming tonight, I thought maybe I might be lucky enough to hear you tell me I look beautiful—“

“Which I still haven’t done,” he chastised.

“— I never imagined any of this might happen, not for a second.”

“You didn’t?” he retaliated. “I was spending my day hoping that I could just survive it — and I have to say, there was a moment when your mother was telling me about Bev’s one night stand where I really, honestly, thought I might not.”

“And yet, you stayed,” she grinned, somewhat smugly and a little sweetly. “And you hate domestics!”

“I could get used to them,” he shrugged, and she only looked back at him in surprise. “Well, okay, I could learn how to tolerate them.”

“For me?” she said, still a little in disbelief.

“I told you, anything in the universe, time and space, all of it, is yours,” he assured. “If that includes family gatherings and ‘life admin’ days, then so be it.”

“Christmas dinner?”

“I’m there.”

“Even Mum’s fiftieth birthday bash?”

“Even that.”

“Christenings, baby showers, all that stuff, too?”

“If Charlie pops out any more kids, you bet I’ll be meeting them all.”

Rose scoffed, “Who are you and what have you done to the Doctor!”

“S’what you’ve done to me,” he corrected.

“It’s what domestics have done to you.”

“No, no, it’s definitely you.”

The sound of these giggles in particular, the ones where she was endearingly timid as he all but worshiped her, were entrancing; a new world he had yet to explore lay in their sound and he was a traveller, after all. It was far too tempting, she was far too tempting, and her darkened eyes as she looked at him here and now held a map to a path unknown, a whole universe in itself and he was ready to be lost in this one.

Her eyes flickered to his lips and she licked hers almost straight after, before she met his gaze once more and they were somehow even darker now. He found himself falling before he had even let go; their noses touched and her hand on his thigh sparked, and this was ridiculous, it was completely without sense that it all should feel like this. How many times had he fallen in love, how many moments had passed like this one and yet none of them were like this one, nobody looked as she looked at him, nobody’s touch was as devilishly hypnotic and never before had his hearts drummed so mercilessly for a moment in time to pass and yet remain—

“Rose!”

They both tore away to the sound of her name being called from the door, and all at once it came back: the sounds of merriment inside, the rustle of the leaves above them, the very harsh reminder that they weren’t alone.

“We’ve been looking all over for you, your mum wants to do a speech.”

“Oh, god,” Rose groaned as Shareen trudged over to them. But her steps slowed as she got closer, until she stopped completely just before them, her mouth open as she realised what she had interrupted.

He wished, with everything he had really, to be anywhere else but here.

“Oh my god, are you two—“ she gasped, narrowing her eyes at them before she pointed at their necks. “What! is that a— have you two got hickeys?”

Rose fidgeted excessively, pulling her dress down as much as she could before slapping her hand to her neck. “Shareen— please can you go get my bag?”

She scoffed indignantly and folded her arms. “Concealer ain’t gonna cover that up— what did you do to her!” she teased at the Doctor, and he only hung his head low and desperately willed for this to be over.

“Shareen,” Rose groaned. “Please, c’mon— I got two bloody weeks of detention covering for you when it was both of us skipping science to snog our boyfriends!”

The Doctor scratched his neck and shuddered to realise he was now in a situation akin to snogging his high school girlfriend when he should be in science class. He’d always wanted the human experience but this was not so high up on his list.

“As your mate, it’s my duty to have you completely mortified on your twenty-first — but—“ she insisted, when Rose began to protest “— as your best mate, I’m going to do you this favour and help you cover up the fact that you were out here neckin’ with a bloke none of us have really met before.”

The Doctor leapt to his feet, finally deciding to remove himself from this dreadful situation, but Shareen put her hand on his chest to stop him instead.

“Nope— you stay here, you look even worse than she does,” she smirked, before turning back to Rose with a wicked grin. “Give me two mins, but if your mum finds you in the meantime then I can’t help you.”

“Nobody could,” the Doctor muttered, mostly to himself, but Shareen caught it and giggled in agreement, before she turned to head back into the pub.

“I take it back,” he insisted as Rose got to her feet, too. “None of it, you can have none of it.”

“Nope,” she grinned. She took his tie in her hand and began to fiddle with it, but the look in her eye told him she was doing this deliberately, the little minx, and, worse yet, she knew exactly what it was doing to him. But she released him from it, this torture of being in a very public place when he so very much wished that they weren’t, and stood on her tiptoes to wrap her arms around his neck and pull him down for a chaste kiss, smiling into his lips as she whispered, “No taking it back now, Time Lord.”

And it was worth it, he thought, to see a smile he hadn’t seen before. Well, that and the way she had called him “Time Lord” in a way that sent shivers down his spine. But her smile now was one where she was so completely happy and at ease, and he was quite happy indeed to bear the weight of her concerns if it meant she could enjoy her time alive.

He supposed, then, for her twenty-first birthday, he might have given her time itself.

#ten x rose #tenth doctor #rose tyler #dw fic #loup.fic #doctor who #ficandchips #oh god these two

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