#doctor who hurt/comfort fic

[magiccath]

Secrets big and small

tenth doctor x GN!reader

Summary: in which you are forced to admit your feelings for the Doctor, even if you think he will leave you for it

A/N: For the absolute love of my life and favorite beta, thanks for dealing with me talking about this more than I wrote it

The Doctor poked his head out of the TARDIS, his nose twitching as he sniffed the air. After a few good inhales, he popped back inside the ship, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration. 

You waited by the ship's console, your hands planted firmly on your hips. The Doctor had promised you a beach vacation, and judging by his face, this wasn’t a beach. Sometimes you wondered how much control the Doctor actually had over the ship, considering it only landed in the places he intended about 25% of the time. 

“We’re not at a beach are we?” 

The Doctor ignored your question and moved over to the console, grabbing one of the many oddly shaped screens attached to the control panel. He pulled his glasses out of his suit pocket, perching the spectacles on the bridge of his nose. 

“Interesting…” He hummed, more to himself than you. 

“Where did we end up this time?” You asked, opening the door to peek outside. You knew better than to walk off without the Doctor, but a little look had never hurt you. 

The minute you opened the door you were met with the bustling noise of a street. All kinds of aliens walked by you, each one unique in their own way. 

“It would appear we landed on the planet Phact, but I’m not sure why.” 

You continued to stare out of the TARDIS wide-eyed, taking in all of the strange creatures before you. Your eyes followed an individual who walked by, a series of tentacles hanging out of his mouth.

“Is it safe?” you asked as an afterthought.

“As far as I know,” the Doctor shrugged, putting his glasses back in his pocket. He moved away from the console to stand at your side by the door. 

You looked over at him, debating if you should tell him that wasn’t exactly a reassuring thought. 

“Since we’re here…” he smiled cheekily, inclining his head toward the door. You laughed and rolled your eyes. The Doctor never could resist a good adventure. 

You followed him out the door, waiting momentarily as he locked the TARDIS up. 

“Remember that time you forgot to tell me it was rude to wear less than three layers on Titan 4?” you ask, watching him slip the key back into his endless coat pockets.

The Doctor shrugs, pushing his hands into his pockets and leaning toward you. “Yeah, what about it?”

“Is there anything I should know about this planet?” you raise your eyebrows questioningly.

The Doctor’s brow wrinkled as he thought about it, trying to remember his limited knowledge about Phact.

“I don’t think so,” he shrugged again, smiling softly. 

You scrunched your nose slightly, not sure you believed him. Still, you followed him.

The Doctor talked excitedly as the two of you walked through the city streets. Most of the time, you only understood half of the words he was saying. Frankly, you just enjoyed listening to him talk.

As you walked your eyes took in everything around you. It didn’t matter how long you traveled with the Doctor, it always seemed like there was more for you to learn and discover. 

The Doctor continued talking, waving his hands about in the air. Abruptly, he stopped to look at a nearby poster. You followed him, trying to peek over his shoulder to see what he was looking at. The Doctor shifted to the side so you could read the sign too, the TARDIS translation circuit making the writing legible to you.

“The 998th Olympic games?” you read aloud, your eyebrows furrowed. 

“That would explain all of the species here!” he smiled brightly, looking at the diverse crowd around you. 

You nodded in agreement, following his gaze. There really did appear to be all kinds of species from around the galaxy. 

“Want to go?” He whispered to you, raising his eyebrows mischievously. 

“We don’t have tickets. Or money.” 

The Doctor wiggled his eyebrows again, pulling the psychic paper out of his pocket. He shook it at you with a mischievous grin.

A smile took over your own face as you nodded, “alright then,” you said excitedly. You’d never been to the Olympics, let alone the space Olympics. 

The Doctor guided you through the crowd towards the giant area, holding your hand tightly so as not to lose you. You tried not to focus too much on the feeling of his hand wrapped around yours. He just didn’t want you to wander off, there wasn’t much else to it, right?

“Y’know I carried the Olympic torch once,” he smirked back at you, still guiding you through the crowds. 

“Why am I not surprised?” 

“What?” the Doctor asked, not catching your comment over the chatter of the crowd. You smiled softly and shook your head, deciding it was best not to repeat yourself.

The Doctor led you to the ticket line, waiting patiently for the guards to check your tickets and let you in. He bounced slightly on his feet, unable to stand still for too long.

“Are you sure this is going to work?” you asked anxiously, eyeing the copious amounts of security surrounding the arena.

“Of course!” the Doctor smiled brightly, rubbing the back of your hand with his thumb. The movement made both of you realize he was still holding your hand, even if he didn’t need to. With a small, hardly discernible blush, the Doctor slid his hand from yours. 

The line moved forward and the guard asked for your tickets. The Doctor winked at you before handing the psychic paper over with a confident smile. 

“Are you serious, mate?” The guard laughed dryly, looking between you and the Doctor. 

“Most of the time,” the Doctor’s confident smile didn’t waver. 

The guard sighed and leaned into his walkie-talkie, chattering softly to someone on the other end. You looked up at the Doctor with wide eyes, urging him to explain.

“Probably getting us a special escort or something,” he shrugged, turning the paper around to see what your fake tickets said. When his eyes landed on the paper his face instantly turned ghostly white.

“Doctor…” you growled softly. 

“W-we should probably run now,” he whispered back. Before you could react, the security guard pulled the two of you firmly to the side. 

“Doctor, what is going on?” You whispered as the guard led the two of you to a police car. At least, you assumed it was a police car. Unless flashing red and blue lights meant something else on other planets, it was definitely a police car. 

“I’m sorry,” the Doctor winced softly as the security guard guided the two of you to an officer. The cop looked you up and down before guiding you inside of the car.

“I would feel a lot better if you told me why.” 

You weren’t necessarily mad about the police car, it wasn’t the first time you had gotten arrested on the Doctor’s behalf. Usually, he was able to get you out of it. You were more frustrated that he wasn’t telling you what was happening. 

“Remember Titan 4?” he winced. 

“Doctor!” you snapped angrily, “I specifically asked you if I needed to know anything about this planet!” 

“Right, I know I’m sorry, I forgot,” he whispered, shaking his head softly. 

“How bad is it?” you sighed, looking down at your lap. 

“They’re not gonna kill us,” he shrugged with a sad smile. 

“What did we even do?”

“You can’t lie on Phact.” 

���Like, physically?” 

The Doctor grimaced, thinking the question through, “not exactly,” he offered. You waited for him to further explain. 

“They can tell telepathically if you lie and that ability extends to psychic paper.” 

“I gathered as such,” you sighed, “but that still doesn't explain why we’re in a cop car” 

“It’s illegal to lie.” 

“Seriously?” you gaped, “any kind of lie?” 

The Doctor nodded.

“Even if you tell your friend she looks fine when she really looks a mess 'cause you want to spare her feelings?”

The Doctor frowned but nodded again, more tentatively this time.

“That’s a horrible idea.” 

“Don’t tell them that.”

You sighed softly in agreement.

“I really am sorry,” he looked at you with those big, sad brown eyes of his. It was very, very hard to stay mad at him when he looked at you like that. It was your weakness.

“It’s fine,” you shook your head. “What are they going to do?” 

Before the Doctor could answer, the car stopped and a cop came around to help you out of the car. The officer led you inside a very space-looking police station to a very Earth-looking interrogation room. You sat next to the Doctor in metal fold-out chairs, a table separating you and the officer. At least they didn’t cuff you.

“Names,” the officer groaned, clicking his pen and hovering it over a yellow legal pad. He had the kind of face and demeanor that told you he would rather be anywhere else.

“The Doctor.” 

“Really funny, what’s your actual name?” the officer frowned. 

“That’s my name,” the Doctor pouted, offended that someone would think it wasn’t. You smiled softly to yourself, finding the Doctor’s disappointed frown adorable.

“Fine,” the officer groaned, scribbling it down on his paper. “Age?”

“904,” he said without blinking. You hid your widening smile with your hand. You were starting to feel a little bad for the police officer. 

“You’re how old?”

“904.”

“Species?”

“Gallifreyan.” 

“Never heard of them,” the officer shook his head, writing it down on his paper. “You lot must age differently,” he grumbled, more towards his paper than the two of you.

“Right, and you?” the officer asked, tilting his head in your direction. 

The Doctor nodded softly at you, urging you to comply with the officer’s wishes. You sighed and answered the same questions. The officer just seemed relieved to write down something less ridiculous. 

“Alright,” he slid the paper pad away from him before leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed “You have been charged with a first-class felony of deception. You will not be fined or executed. To be released from custody you must provide your biggest secret”

“That’s it?” you asked, it seemed a little too simple. The officer nodded, clearly fed up with you and the Doctor.

“Look, folks, let’s just make this easier for all of us and get on with it?”

The Doctor nodded his agreement, casting a nervous look over at you. You nodded back, trying to think of something you could say. You knew easily what your biggest secret was, but you knew you couldn’t say it out loud. Especially not in front of the Doctor. 

“I’m terrified of hospitals,” the Doctor said with a small frown. 

“That’s ironic,” you chuckled, assuming he was making a joke. The officer stared at him for a few minutes, probably thinking the same thing. 

“Checks out,” the officer sighed, writing “scared of hospitals” next to his other notes on the Doctor. “Weird secret, mate,” he added before turning his attention to you.

You fiddled anxiously before leaning back in your seat, your eyes trained on your hands. 

“Does he have to be here for it?” you asked softly. The Doctor looked at you confused, wondering what was so bad you didn’t want him to know. 

“I just admitted I'm terrified of hospitals as a doctor, it can't get worse than that,” he laughed.

“Does he?” you asked the officer, ignoring the Doctor. The cop looked between the two of you; the Doctor staring wide-eyed and open-mouthed at you, and you trying to act like he wasn’t there.

“Yes,” the officer challenged, leaning back in his seat again. You narrowed your eyes at him, wondering if he only said that to see how things would play out. 

“So, what’s your secret?” he smirked, confirming your suspicions. “I’ll know if you’re lying” 

You sighed, trying to steady your racing heart. You wanted to scream, maybe even cry. You wanted to blame the Doctor, even if it wasn’t really his fault. Even more, you wanted to wipe that stupid, smug smile off of the officer’s face.

You took one last look at the Doctor, smiling sadly at him. He looked back at you with confusion, unsure why you were looking at him as if it was the last time you’d ever see him. To you, it felt like it would be. He could never look at you the same, not after this.

“I’m in love with this idiot,” you sighed, cocking your head towards the Doctor. The silence that followed was deafening. While the Doctor’s brain struggled to process your words the officer sized you up, searching for any falsities in your statement. 

“What a strange pair,” the officer shook his head, leaning forward to write on his pad again. “In love with the other one”

You looked at those words scribbled on the thin, crappy paper and felt your heart clench. It was out there now, the Doctor knew. At the moment, you couldn’t think of anything worse. You would rather spend your entire life in prison than have had to admit that.

“You’re free to go,” the officer waved you off, more preoccupied with writing more things on his paper pad. It seemed so simple, yet one little secret had turned your world upside down.

You nodded solemnly and stood up, heading out the door. The Doctor wasn’t far behind you. 

The walk back to the TARDIS was really quiet, a stark contrast from a few short hours ago. You tried not to sulk too much as you walked through the busy streets back to the ship.

The Doctor unlocked the doors without a word, holding them open for you. You walked inside the ship for what you assumed was the last time. The Doctor followed, heading over to the console to mess with a few buttons. 

“I’ll pack my things,” you whispered, more to the floor than the Doctor. You moved towards the hallway that led to your room but the Doctor cut you off. 

“What?” 

“I’ll pack up,” your eyes remained trained on the floor, not wanting to look into his. You knew the Doctor wasn’t going to keep you around after this. It was glaringly clear that he didn’t have those feelings for you, that he couldn’t.

“Why would you do that?” he frowned, moving away from the console. 

“You’re kicking me out.” 

“I think I would know if I was.” He moved so he was standing in front of you, tilting his head down in an attempt to catch your eye. 

“It’s ok,” you shook your head, your eyes trained on your shoes, “I know you don’t want me around anymore.” 

“Is this about the whole secret thing?” the Doctor asked gently.

“I know you don’t feel the same, I never expected you to,” you shook your head, averting your gaze again. “I’d understand if you just wanted to drop me back at home.” 

“Is that what you want?” 

You shook your head, clearing your throat, “It’s not exactly about what I want is it?” 

The Doctor remained silent, his mind working for the right thing to say. He didn’t fully comprehend what was happening. 

“You’re under the assumption that I’m going to drop you because you love me?” He said softly, still trying to catch your eye. 

“Is that not what’s happening right now?” You frowned, confused. 

The Doctor laughed softly, moving away from you with one long stride. He ran his hands through his hair, tugging at the spiky strands. You continued to frown at him, confused by his demeanor. 

“I can establish a psychic block,” he explained, waving his hands about as he talked. You frowned, confused as to why he was talking about this now. “I told the officer a secret, but I didn’t tell him my greatest secret.”

He had the kind of look on his face he got when he was trying, and failing, to figure something out. It was a look you knew well at this point, you had just never been the cause of it. 

“There’s so much of you in my head,” he groaned, waving his hands by the sides of his face, “which is saying a lot 'cause I have more in my head than you will ever experience in your entire life.” 

You gaped at him, unsure what you were supposed to say in this scenario. Was this his secret?

“You take up so much space,” he emphasized exasperatedly, repeatedly running his hands through his hair. “Even when you’re not here I’m constantly thinking about you!” He leaned his hands against the console, hanging his head as he continued rambling.

You stared at him like he had grown a second head. No, three extra heads. And a tail. 

“I’m sorry, what?” you asked.

The Doctor moved back over to you, reaching out to cradle your face in his hands. He cupped your cheeks gently and bent his head forward so your foreheads connected. 

“You take up so much space,” he whispered, his breath fanning across your face. “And the fact that you can’t see that kills me, it really kills me.”

“Doctor-” you whispered in shock. In your mind, there was only ever one way that the Doctor could react to your feelings, and this certainly wasn’t it. “Are you saying what I think you are?” 

The Doctor laughed sharply, shaking his head against yours, “You’re clueless, y’know that?”

“You’re not much better,” you frowned back. “But that doesn’t answer my question.” Your heart thudded against your chest, threatening to beat right out of your body. The mere implication that the Doctor could have even a shred of feelings for you was sending your senses into overdrive.

“Yes, I am,” he whispered. That was all you needed. You knew it was hard for him to say things like this. He wasn’t exactly the “I love you” type. The fact that he had said this much already was a wonder. 

You didn’t really think about it, you just kissed him. His lips fit against yours perfectly and the kiss was over much sooner than either of you had wanted.

Your face was still cradled in his hands as the Doctor bent down to press another, quicker kiss against your lips, returning the act of affection. You smiled happily as he pulled back, looking up at him with pure adoration.

“Are you really afraid of hospitals though?” you asked, your eyebrows furrowed. 

“Terrified,” he shook his head.

#10th doctor x reader #10th doctor/reader #tenth doctor x reader #tenth doctor/reader #10th doctor #requests open #tenth doctor #the doctor/reader #the doctor x reader #the doctor #doctor who #doctor who fanfiction #doctor who fic #fanfiction #fanfic #hurt/comfort #fluff #angst with fluff #angst with comfort #angst with a happy ending #request #magiccath #david tennant

[lanawinterscigarettes]

Could you maybe write some hurt/comfort with the Ninth Doctor where he gives the reader a hug? Thank you very much

I absolutely can! sorry if this is pretty short, I decided to make what he's comforting the reader over pretty vague on purpose (and also apologies if he's ooc as I haven't really written for him before)

Comforting Touch (Ninth Doctor x reader)

Warnings: hurt/comfort, some angst (reader cries but it's not said over what), soft Ninth Doctor

Barely heard sobs filled the otherwise quiet room as you cried. Today was just not your day, it would seem.

Usually when you were this upset you would go see the Doctor for help, but the reasons why you were crying seemed so juveline and absurd, and you didn't want to bother him over something that didn't really matter.

It was almost as if your thoughts of insecurity had summoned him, because a few moments later you heard the sound of footsteps approaching.

You had your hands covering your face in a poor attempt to muffle your sounds of distress, but you were certain it was him. After all, who else could it be?

"Are you alright?" He asked in a gentle and quiet voice reserved only for you.

Shaking your head no, you opened your mouth in an effort to speak, so you could explain the problem, but all that came out was another broken sob.

The Doctor's face fell at the sound, and he immediately opened up his arms to you, bringing you in for a comforting hug. "Shh, shh. There, there. It's alright," he muttered in the most soothing tone he could muster, not wanting to upset you any further.

You pressed your face into his chest as you cried, tears streaming freely down your cheeks. The Doctor moved his hands down to your back as he held you, moving them along the tense muscles in slow and careful motions.

He didn't dare let go the entire time you were there for, wanting to make you feel as safe and loved as he possibly could. "It's okay, love. You're alright now."

Nodding your head at his words, you pulled away just enough so that you could look into his eyes. "Thank you," you whispered with gratitude, your tears having finally dried.

He smiled softly in response, giving you a caring look. "You're welcome, sweetheart."

Likes < reblogs | comments are greatly appreciated <3

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#gender neutral reader #gn reader #x gender neutral reader #x gn reader #doctor who #doctor who imagines #doctor who imagine #doctor who x reader #doctor who hurt/comfort #doctor who angst #doctor who fic #ninth doctor #ninth doctor imagines #ninth doctor imagine #ninth doctor x reader #ninth doctor fic #ninth doctor angst #9th doctor #9th doctor imagines #9th doctor imagine #9th doctor x reader #9th doctor fic #9th doctor angst

[newbie-whovian]

So sorry for this ask, but could you please do one for the Eleventh Doctor where the reader is on the autism spectrum and also has depression, and the Doctor discovers that the reader is really beginning to feel like she doesn’t belong on the TARDIS? The Doctor ends up confessing his love for her after the reader confesses that she doesn’t want to live anymore? Sorry if this doesn’t sound like something you’d like to write.

(so sorry for the wait! I'll be posting more consistently, I promise)

Stormclouds

Pairing: 11th Doctor x GN!Reader

Rating: T

Tags/TW: hurt/comfort, reader struggles with suicidal thoughts

You'd learned a long time ago that happiness was an exceedingly fickle thing.

Life had a habit, one that you'd noticed for years. It would tease you with something brilliant, something beautiful, and after long enough, when the clouds had finally parted, everything would fall apart. The thing that looked so beautiful from far away would suddenly feel far-fetched and even laughable, and the clouds would close in again.

:readmore:

When you met the Doctor, a voice from the back of your mind told you that you shouldn't accept his offer, that the universe would be treacherous and you would be better off on Earth. But the Doctor opened the TARDIS doors, and for a moment, everything was bright.

You travelled through space and time and it was everything you could have hoped for and more, until a trip went wrong.

The TARDIS materialized in the middle of a space battle, a massive dogfight with what had to be a thousand spaceships shooting at each other. The roar of the engines and the shriek of the blaster fire left you covering your ears and huddled in a chair, while the Doctor rushed around the console.

In an instant, he'd taken the TARDIS into the bridge of the command ship and rushed to the doors, sonic in hand. You followed him out of instinct, nearly falling to the floor as blaster fire rocked the ship. He began tearing apart a control panel, shoving piles of shredded wires into your arms.

In a few tense minutes, he'd disabled the command ship, sending out a signal (somehow) that deactivated the rest of the opposing fleet. You retreated inside the TARDIS as he (somehow) sorted out the rest, and the voice in the back of your mind returned, whispering that it'd been right all along.

There were trips after that, but those first few months of peace and calm had been a fluke, because for every one trip that turned out exactly as planned, there were at least five more trips that ended in disaster. You wondered if it was always like this, travelling with the Doctor, and you had to insist to yourself that it wasn't. But there was a feeling, creeping in and corroding each day - the feeling that everything was wrong and there was nothing you could do.

The universe was full of problems you couldn't solve, along with problems no one could solve, not even the Doctor. You were only one person, one human being, how could you do anything worthwhile? The feeling drowned out everything else.

The Doctor told you today that he had a wonderful trip planned, that the TARDIS was on its way to the largest forest in the universe, with trees hundreds of times taller than skyscrapers and bioluminescent birds.

You couldn't help but think that something would go wrong. When you were proved wrong and the TARDIS landed safely on a branch the size of a bridge, the feeling remained. Your mind was flooded with images of giant bloodthirsty hawks and venomous bugs, and you lamented that you couldn't even enjoy what the Doctor was trying to show you.

He tugged on his jacket and offered you a smile, gesturing to the doors. You returned his smile but it didn't quite reach your eyes. The two of you left the TARDIS to admire the forest, and if he'd noticed you were acting strangely, he didn't say anything. Deep down, you thanked him for it.

He began walking down the massive length of the branch, pointing out each bird he could see in the branches above and telling you what they were called. For a moment, you let yourself listen.

His voice turned into a hum in your ear as you continued to walk, staring down at the bark beneath your feet before stopping entirely. You took a deep breath that shuddered in your throat, and when he heard it, the Doctor stopped and turned to face you.

You looked up and saw the look on his face, and your heart plummeted in your chest. He looked concerned, not confounded or frustrated, but concerned. When he spoke your name, his voice was low and softer than you'd ever heard it.

He stepped closer and cupped your face in his hands, peering into your eyes. "What's the matter?" he asked. You tried to say something, anything, but your eyes started brimming with tears and your shaky exhale turned into a sob.

Your knees buckled underneath you and he held onto your elbow as you sunk to sit on the branch. Now that the dam had burst, tears streamed down your face and every breath you tried to take came with a hoarse cry. You couldn't remember the last time you'd cried like this, but instead of feeling cathartic, this felt like you were dying.

The Doctor tugged you to him, holding you in an enormous bear hug as you sobbed. He stroked your hair and spoke gently, "It's alright, I promise, everything's alright."

You made some attempt at cleaning your face, saying, "No it's not. It's really not-" Your voice broke off and you tried to look away. "I don't know why I'm here."

He took your chin in his hand and gently lifted your head. "You're here because you want to be, aren't you?" he asked, trying and failing to crack a smile, "What's wrong?"

You sniffed. "I dunno, everything is wrong, I'm wrong, everything goes wrong and I can't help. I stand out of the way while you do all the work and I'm useless-" you said, choking back another sob. You swiped your sleeve across your face and sniffed again before saying, "I don't know what I'm doing here, I'm always in the way. It was the same on Earth, I can't do anything right. I'm like a-" You cried softly, "I'm like a parasite-"

"No one talks about my friend like that," the Doctor said, stroking your cheek with his thumb. "You're incredible! You're lovely, and brilliant, I couldn't imagine traveling without you."

You covered your face with your hands and muttered, "You don't understand-" Your shoulders shook and your chest heaved with sobs. "That feels like a lie, it feels like- like you're just trying to be nice, and I can't help it, but I can't believe you- and I'm tired!" you cried, "I just want it to stop, I'm so tired of feeling like this. I just-"

You paused, sniffing and wiping the tears from your eyes. The Doctor peered at you, not daring to say a word.

You said, "I'm sorry," and the Doctor responded.

"You've got nothing to be sorry about, alright? Nothing at all, I promise," he said. You sniffed again and took a deep breath.

"It's just... A lot, all the time. It gets terrible like this, and I've- sometimes, I..." you said, swallowing a lump in your throat, "I think the world would be better off without me in it. I dunno, it- it feels like I'd be doing everyone a favor." You chuckled bitterly.

The Doctor spoke, slow and deliberate, refusing to break your gaze. "Please believe me when I say that the world would not be better off without you. I have been travelling for over a thousand years, and I have never met a person that didn't matter. You're extraordinary."

He touched his forehead to yours, cupping your face and taking a deep breath. "I can't imagine a world without you," he said, stating it like it confused him, "But if I can do anything about it, I'll make sure that any world with you in it is nice and safe, I promise I'll try my hardest."

He paused again before saying, "I also want you to know that I love you, and I'm here, even when it gets hard."

You froze. Your eyes flashed across his face, looking for any telltale signs of a lie, but as you looked, you found nothing but sincerity. A tiny smile crept onto your face.

He enveloped you in another bear hug, stroking your hair as you wrapped your arms around him. For the first time in a while, you felt content.

#11th doctor x reader #11th doctor x you #11th doctor #hurt/comfort #tw sui ideation #doctor who fic #doctor who #doctor who x reader #omg im so sorry burnout hit me like a truck #but im back #for better or for worse

[lastbluetardis]

Sacred New Beginnings (20/?)

Summary: James Noble thought he traded away his chance at love and a happy-ever-after when he signed a contract with a record label that turned him into an international celebrity. But a chance meeting in a dive bar may prove him wrong. Ten x Rose AU This Chapter: Teen, ~5600 words AO3 || Ch1 | Ch2 | Ch3 | Ch4 | Ch5 | Ch6 | Ch7 | Ch8 | Ch9 | Ch10 | Ch11 | Ch12 | Ch13 | Ch14 | Ch15 | Ch16 | Ch17 | Ch18 | Ch19 |

All hell breaks loose in the hallway: cameras flash, voices shout, and Rose is frozen at the door. James springs into action at once, flying to her side and swallowing the sudden nausea that threatens to buckle his knees.

How did they find him? How do they know where Rose lives? How do they know her name?

“Get back. Get inside,” he says woodenly, grabbing Rose’s arm and pulling her away from the cameras that are snapping dozens and dozens of photos. There’s a delivery person standing at the threshold, holding a travel tray of drinks and a bag of food. James takes them from him. “Thanks, mate.”

He utterly ignores the paparazzi, who are shouting his name and hers while asking all sorts of questions, and instead slams the door behind him.

Fucking hell. This is it; his worst nightmare is coming true. He’s been found, and Rose has been found, and now the entire world will know her name and her face and where she lives.

“How did they find me?” she whispers, her voice brittle.

She’s pale as a sheet, white as a ghost—or maybe he’s got that backwards?—and she’s clutching at the front of her robe, as though people are still trying to sneak a photo of her in such a state of undress. Righteous fury rises up in him, and he has half a mind to go out into the hallway and roar at the parasites who thought it proper behavior to snag a cheeky photo of himself and Rose during their private hours together. He wants to rage at them that they ought to be ashamed of themselves for any pictures they got of Rose in her dressing gown.

He drops the breakfast he no longer wants onto the kitchen island and stalks back to the bedroom for his phone. The sheets and pillows are rumpled from their morning activities, a mockery of the peace that’s been shattered to oblivion.

The moment he turns off the “do not disturb” setting on his phone, it blows up in his hand. All the notifications he’d seen and ignored from an hour earlier are from Donna, who tried to warn him about the circus in the corridor. Twitter and Instagram banners are warring with each other for the top spot as the newest notification, and he’s getting dozens of texts amidst the series of missed calls from his team.

He slumps down onto the mattress and rings Donna, but he’s vibrating with so much tension and energy that he springs to his feet a moment later and begins pacing.

His cousin answers within seconds. “You’re in a steaming, heaping pile of shit!”

“What happened?” he demands, voice cracking. “What the fuck happened?”

“I don’t know. Something must have happened in the middle of the night. We’re working on putting the pieces together. When I woke up this morning, I found all sorts of rumors and speculations that mentioned Rose by name.”

“They’re outside her fucking flat!” he snarls. “A whole fucking swarm of them!”

“I know,” Donna grits out. “New photos are emerging. Jesus Christ… in your bloody pants?!”

“I didn’t realize we were opening the door to the fucking wolves,” he seethes. “We just wanted to order breakfast. Rose opened the door. She opened the door in her dressing gown and everyone saw her like that and they took pictures and called her by name and… Fuck, Donna. What am I supposed to do?”

His legs give out, and he pulls on his hair until it hurts. It’s just like before, when he had awoken to an empty bed and a whirlwind of notifications that nude photographs of him had been leaked and gone viral across the internet. But it’s so much worse now because it’s Rose, the person who has become his best friend, the one good thing in his life, the person who deserves the absolute best from this world.

“I’m on my way to her flat right now.” Donna’s tone is painfully gentle, and it makes him want to snap at her. “So’s half your security team. How’s Rose? Is she all right? How’s she handling this?”

James is now painfully aware he left Rose all alone in the kitchen without saying anything at all to her. His chest hollows out and he’s desperate to be with her, to hold her close and apologize for everything that’s happening, to promise her he’ll fix this.

“Call me when you get here,” he says, then he ends the call and flies down the hall.

Rose is sitting on the couch, scrolling through her phone with her forehead in her hand. He aches for her, and he forces his anger to soften so he doesn’t make this worse for her.

She hears him approaching and glances up with an emotionless expression. Her voice is hollow when she says, “The game’s up. We’re everywhere.”

She hands her phone to him, and part of him doesn’t want to look, but he takes it anyway. It’s a Twitter page—she has a Twitter?—and it’s full of them. He grinds his teeth together when he sees her shocked face in the photos, dressed in nothing but a satiny pink dressing gown that barely disguises the fact she’s naked underneath. Then there’s him in his boxer-briefs and rumpled t-shirt, with mussed hair and swollen lips and a ring of red around his neck that makes it so painfully obvious they’d just had sex.

Fuck fuck fuck.

“Rose, I’m…” I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

Her phone buzzes in his hand before he can start reading any of the articles that are popping up across the Twitter feed.

“Everyone’s calling me,” she murmurs, taking her phone back from him and declining the call. “Friends. Coworkers. My boss.”

“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” he croaks, sinking to a crouch in front of her. He covers her trembling hands with his and brings them to his lips to press kiss after kiss to her knuckles. 

She nods absently but doesn’t say anything. The silence between them is stifling, so different from the lighthearted laughter of her bedroom that morning.

“Donna’s coming over, as is my security team. They’ll get rid of everyone outside.”

“What’s the point? They’ll just come back.”

Yes, they will. James doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know how to fix this, but the one thing he can do is take care of Rose right now. He knows all too well the state of shock she’s in, and when he’d been in her shoes, all he’d wanted was for someone to tell him exactly what to do and exactly what to say.

“Why don’t you get a shower?” he suggests, rising to his feet and tugging at her hands.

She doesn’t resist but also doesn’t speak, and he ignores the panic in his gut that’s telling him that everything is ruined, that everything he built with Rose is crumbling to ash.

“A nice, hot shower,” he says, guiding her through her bedroom and into the bathroom. He even goes so far as to turn the water on for her, testing the temperature until it’s just shy of scalding, exactly how she likes it.

Rose is staring straight ahead at nothing in particular. He brushes his arm down her sleeve and asks, “Can I take your robe off?”

“Oh. Right. Yeah. Sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” he promises, unlacing the feeble knot Rose had hastily made.

Rose covers his hands, and for the first time, she meets his gaze head-on. “Neither do you.”

He merely shrugs, but Rose catches his hand and squeezes. “James. Look at me.” He doesn’t want to, but he does nevertheless. Her eyes are so gentle that it makes something twist deep in his chest. “This isn’t your fault. Okay? It’s not your fault.”

She then wraps her arms around him, and he melts into her. They cling to each other, not speaking, but simply being present together. He tucks his face into the side of her neck, breathing her in, and trying to quiet the fears screaming at him that it’s all over.

“I’m sorry,” he rasps. “I never wanted this to happen. Not like this.”

“I know.”

They stay in the embrace for several moments longer, listening to the pitter-patter of the water beating down on the floor of her shower.

James eventually leaves her to wash up in peace, and when she’s done, he showers too. He doesn’t have any of his own soap or shampoo here, so when he’s finished, he smells exactly like Rose. It’s comforting enough to soothe the raw nerve from the morning’s events.

He dresses in the same clothes as yesterday, wishing he had something else to change into, and when he joins Rose in the kitchen, he’s relieved to see her picking at a croissant. Well, it looks more like she’s shredding it, but he convinces himself she swallowed down a few bites.

She offers a weak smile that he tries to return.

“Has Donna called?” he asks, jutting his chin to his phone.

Rose shakes her head. “People keep knockin’ on the door. Haven’t even looked to see who it is.”

“Good. Don’t open the door yet. Not until Donna and my team get here.” He rubs his fingers into his eyes. “Have you read any of the articles yet?”

“Some,” she admits. “It’s all the same: you’ve been datin’ a nobody called Rose Tyler for the past few weeks.”

“You’re not a nobody!” he squawks.

She snorts humorlessly. “Better than bein’ called a whore.”

“Excuse me?” His tone is icy as rage sparks through him.

She shrugs. “Some people think I’m a hired escort for you while you’re in London. Seems an even split of opinions, honestly. There’s a poll goin’ viral on Twitter about it.” She scrolls through her phone. “Girlfriend is winning over escort, 55% to 45%.”

“I hate people,” he growls under his breath. But then he sobers and says, “Try not to read anything on the internet. I know it’s tempting, but please don’t. It won’t do you any favors. People can be quite nasty under the mask of anonymity. They’ll say whatever they want to sell the story that’ll make them the most money. Some of my fans can be brutal too, thinking they know what’s best for me. Please just… just try to stay off Twitter.”

“Everyone’s followin’ me now, too. Ten thousand new followers and climbing. Five hundred and more DMs. It’s made Twitter unusable. I haven’t even checked Instagram yet.”

“Fuck,” he groans, beating the heels of his hands into his brow. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” she reminds him.

“Yes it is,” he snaps. “If you were dating a normal bloke, nothing like this would ever happen to you. It’s because it’s me that your life is being thrown upside down and torn apart for everyone to scrutinize. I’m a disease, infecting everyone around you, and it finally got to you now, too.”

“Well, tough. If I wanted to date a normal bloke, I’d date a normal bloke. But I decided I want you, you numpty, and you’re not responsible for anyone else’s behavior other than your own, so stop blaming yourself for everything that’s happening.”

James wants to keep arguing, even though he doesn’t know why. He doesn’t want to fight with Rose, but this sympathy, this acceptance, this forgiveness… it’s almost too much to bear. It’s easier to lash out, to put the blame on himself, to infuriate everyone else around him until they, too, blame him.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he instead mutters.

Her eyes flash with a hint of anger. Good. It’s time for the mask to fall away, time for her to stop seeing him as blameless.

But rather than condemn him as he expects, Rose says, “Don’t you dare accuse me of ignorance. I knew exactly what I was signing up for by being with you. And I won’t lie, it scares the hell out of me, but I decided ages ago that you’re worth it. So don’t treat me like a child who doesn’t know better, ‘cos I do.”

He snaps his mouth shut before he can say something incredibly stupid. And as though to save him from himself, his phone chimes from the kitchen island with the name Donna Noble printed in bright white letters.

“Are you here?” he asks without greeting.

“Obviously. We’ve got half your team here and the other half is at your house. We’ve got some police with us to help disperse the crowd. It’s a zoo out here.”

He can hear it: a cacophony of voices shouts indistinctly from the other end of the line, and he can hear several people barking at them to back up and clear some space.

“Should I come down…?”

“Don’t you dare,” she warns. “Stay exactly where you are. Who’s the landlord of the building, by the way? We should probably let them know of this fiasco.”

He sighs. “It’s Rose’s father. Well. Stepfather. Tyler Peters.”

Donna pauses for a beat, then says, “At least he’ll be easy to get ‘hold of. Right. Stay on the line with me ‘til we get upstairs.”

James listens to every chaotic second of Donna’s trek, from the shouts in the background to her telling people exactly where they can shove their cameras.

“Bloody hell, we can barely get through this corridor. Oi, move it! This is a fire hazard, this is! Back up back up back up back up, oi, hands to yourself!”

If he wasn’t so miserable, he might have laughed to hear his cousin yelling at everyone who came within two feet of her. Alas, he stays quiet and steps up to the door, ready to welcome her in.

“We’re here, knock knock knock.”

As she says the words, three hard bangs rattle the front door. He peeks behind his shoulder to make sure Rose is well out of sight before he cracks open the door. The moment he’s visible, the shouting grows louder and the paparazzi snag more photographs. A combination of some of his security team and police officers have forced them several meters away from the door, yet it’s still close enough for them to get some good shots.

Donna, River, and a junior agent named Adric steps into the flat before he slams the door shut again. Within moments, he’s being pulled into his cousin’s arms. He hugs her tight and rests his chin on her shoulder.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispers into his ear, giving him a squeeze.

He drops his arms from around her, prompting her to release him, and when he pivots towards Rose, he finds River perched on the couch next to her, speaking softly.

“The plan is to get you back to your house,” Donna says, shifting from concerned cousin to professional publicist in an instant. “Unless you wanted to go somewhere else?”

“I haven’t thought about it,” he says, “but I can’t leave Rose here.”

At the sound of her name, she locks eyes with him.

“You… you’re more than welcome to come home with me, but you don’t have to, if you’d prefer to be somewhere else. I don’t think you should stay here alone, but if that’s what you truly want, I can arrange for officers to stay here with you.”

She shakes her head. “No. I’m comin’ with you. I should… I’ll pack a bag.”

Rose stands and brushes past them to head down the hall, but he catches her hand and says, “Take your time. There’s no rush.”

With that, she heads to her bedroom, shutting the door behind her.

He sighs and scrubs his hands down his face. “This sucks.”

“Yeah, it does. Of all the ways I thought you’d be found out, this wasn’t it,” Donna admits.

“Did you figure out what happened?” he asks.

Donna hesitates for a moment, biting her lip.

“What? Tell me. I deserve to know who violated our privacy like this.”

“Please keep in mind that it was an accident,” she prefaces, but already he’s getting angry at this mystery person who leaked Rose’s identity to the whole world. “Apparently it was Rose’s mother.”

That stuns him enough that his anger is abruptly gone, replaced with confusion and a cloying emptiness in the pit of his stomach. He knew Jackie had despised his very essence, but he never would have thought she would’ve put her own daughter at risk…

“An accident?” he asks skeptically.

“A report went in to a magazine reporter in the middle of the night. Two girls who live here overheard Jackie Tyler say that her daughter was dating James Noble; she was quite upset about it, mind. I take it you didn’t make a good first impression?”

“Not the time, Donna,” he snaps.

She holds her hands up and lets that subject drop before she says, “The girls passed along the conversation as a tip. Early this morning, the magazine did some digging, trying to verify the information. That digging leaked to other tabloids, and it all snowballed ‘til everyone showed up here to find out for themselves.”

He groans and digs the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Great. Just fucking great. And what’s this about people thinking Rose is a hired escort?”

Donna rolls her eyes. “Elitist arseholes who don’t think she’s good enough for you since she’s not rich or famous.”

“Didn’t help they caught her in her dressing gown,” he mutters murderously.

Donna winces. “No, it didn’t. But this is fixable. The flurry of speculation will run its course over the weekend, and once it’s out of everyone’s system, you can start setting the record straight.”

“I don’t want to set the record straight, I want things to go back the way they were before!”

He’s well aware he’s whining like a child, but he can’t help it. It’s like if he just gets angry enough, things will go back to normal.

Never mind the fact that he’s tried that before, and it has never worked.

Rose emerges from her bedroom with a suitcase in her hand. She eyes them tentatively, as though catching on to the bitter mood that has settled over the kitchen, but says nothing. Instead, she sets her suitcase down and gathers up her laptop and a stack of papers and notebooks, which she shoves into a backpack.

“I’ve got to do some lesson planning,” she explains to nobody.

“Of course,” he says. “No problem.”

“Has there been any more news?” she asks, striving to keep her voice nonchalant.

“News?” he squeaks, then clears his throat to force his voice back to his normal register.

“About what happened? How it happened?” Rose peeks up at him through her lashes, gnawing on the corner of her thumb with such force he’s worried she’s about to rip her cuticle off.

He reaches out to thread his fingers through hers, tugging them away from her mouth as he lies, “No. Nothing yet.”

“Right. Good. Yeah.” She finishes packing up her school bag, then smooths her hand down her fuzzy blue cardigan. “Do I look all right? Is this okay?”

It’s only now that he realizes she applied a full face of makeup. The red of her lipstick makes her lips look more kissable than usual, and the arc of eyeliner makes her beautiful eyes utterly sparkle. His heart trips over its next beat.

“You’re perfect,” he promises, bending to kiss those ruby lips for a fraction of a heartbeat.

She smiles slightly into the kiss before she pulls back. “Don’t smudge it.”

“Yessir,” he says gravely, snapping off a silly salute.

She laughs, and for a moment, they both forget about the morning, and it’s just like any other day together. But then River approaches to usher them toward the door, and the illusion breaks.

As Rose shrugs into her coat, James excuses himself down the hall to her spare room-turned-library. He immediately goes to the shelf he remembers Rose saying housed her favorite books, and he picks two of them at random, then grabs two other random books from the bookcase she’d said held all the books she hasn’t read yet. He can’t give her peace, but he can try to give her the comfort that comes with losing oneself in a book.

Everyone’s waiting by the door, staring quizzically at him. Rose is the first to notice what he’s carrying, and her entire face softens.

“I… I thought maybe you’d want to do a bit of reading,” he blurts. “And I didn’t know if you’d like what I have on my bookshelves. So I thought… books.”

“Books,” she repeats quietly. Then she meets his eye and says, “I love books.”

He smiles, then draws in a deep breath. “Ready to face the wolves?”

“Awoo,” she halfheartedly replies.

James slips his free arm around her waist then nods to River to open the door. Several officers have created a barricade with their bodies, keeping the horde of reporters out of arm’s reach, but there’s nothing to be done about the cameras, which begin to click and flash the moment he and Rose emerge.

He bends down until his lips are at Rose’s ear and says, “Keep your eyes on the ground and keep walking. Don’t react. You’re doing brilliantly.”

She follows his instructions to the letter, keeping her head bowed while they slowly amble down the corridor and to the lifts, with the police officers and security agents creating a bubble of protection around himself and Rose.

The main foyer of the building is just as bad, and outside is even worse because now regular people have gathered by the hundreds to try to catch a glimpse of him and Rose. Everyone is shouting his name, and some are shouting hers, asking how they met, how she snagged him, how long they’ve been together. Some questions are less polite.

“Ignore them,” he whispers again, fuming at the sight of her crimson cheeks. “It’s okay. We’re almost to the car. We’ll be getting into the back seat. You first, behind the driver.”

He keeps his hand planted on her spine as they walk to the car, where the back doors are open for them.

“In you go. Slide all the way over. Take your time. No rush.”

Once Rose is settled into her seat, he climbs in beside her, mindful of the books he’s carrying. The din of fans and paparazzi lessens when the door shuts behind him, but the buzzing in his head is loud enough anyways.

It’s slow going for his driver to get some distance between the crowd, but after a few minutes, they speed for his house amidst the sparse morning traffic. James is disheartened to see another crowd of fans and reporters on his street, crowding around his driveway. More police officers and his security agents have formed a barricade, but it doesn’t help the screams and shouts of his name.

I need to get a new house. Somewhere secret. Somewhere easier to protect.

His heart sinks to see that his security team has set up an entire perimeter around his property to control the swarm of people wanting to stick their nose in his business. He led Rose out of one hell and into another.

A soft, warm hand slips across his, rubbing soothing lines along his knuckles. He clutches Rose’s hand as though it can anchor him to the present, keeping the swarm of darkness at bay.

Inch by inch, the driver pulls the car into his garage and closes the door behind them, giving him some privacy. They each get out of the car and step into the house, which feels cold and empty. He heads to the thermostat and cranks it up, wanting Rose to be as cozy as possible in his home, and sets her books onto his huge dining table.

“Right,” Donna says, breaking the brittle silence around them. “Not much else to do, is there? Let the story run its course. If you’re feeling cheeky, post a statement on social media, or a cute photo of the two of you. Or let the paparazzi shoot themselves in the foot; already your fans are getting hashtags trending, outraged on your behalf at the photos they took.”

Usually James is uplifted to hear about his fans being good people, but apathy is all he can manage. He’s been hollowed out, exhausted beyond mere physical fatigue.

“Thanks,” he says, pulling Donna in for another hug. “I think we want to lay low for a bit.”

He receives a nod of agreement from Rose.

“Fair enough. Oh, your mum’s on her way here. She heard about the news a few minutes ago and couldn’t get ‘hold of you, so she let me know.”

James frowns and stares at his phone, which he now realizes has been oddly silent for the duration of the car ride home. The screen stays black, no matter how many times he presses the power button. All the notifications blowing up the device must’ve drained the battery.

“Can I get you anything?” Donna asks. “Either of you? Rose? You doing okay?”

“I think so,” she answers. Rose glances at him, but he has nothing to offer her, so she returns her attention to Donna. “I think we’re okay here. We’ll just… I dunno… stay in.”

Donna casts her a sympathetic look, then she says to him, “Your security team is out in force, so are several local police officers. We think the crowd will die down a bit once they realize you’re being hermits for the weekend. But security will be vigilant. I trust you know better than to sneak off on your own anywhere?”

“Yeah, yeah, I know the drill.”

“One last piece of business,” Donna says. “As your publicist, I feel obligated to confirm the news that you and Rose are, in fact, dating. Is that all right? It’ll be as simple as that. No details, no photos, just an announcement.”

“Sure, fine, whatever,” he says, waving his hand at her. “You know best.”

“Damn right I do,” she says, but he can see the gentleness in her face that threatens to break the delicate grip he has on himself.

With one last comforting squeeze of his arm, Donna departs, leaving him and Rose alone. But are they really alone, when dozens upon dozens of his fans and paparazzi reporters are making a muffled commotion outside? Would it help if he goes outside and requests they leave him alone?

(He knows it won’t… he’s tried that before.)

So where does that leave him? He feels like he’s going to burst out of his skin. He’s radiating with so much tension that he’s not sure how he hasn’t detonated. Despite being the largest house he’s ever lived in, the space feels too small, too cramped, like there’s not enough air for him to breathe.

James begins to pace a frenetic circuit around his living room where he mindlessly picks things up and puts them down in a new location. Yes, redecorating, that’s exactly what he needs. He needs to move things, to do something, to put all his energy into not thinking about the sordid photos going viral and the gross accusations people are making about Rose and…

“Hey, slow down.”

Rose steps in front of him and takes the bookends—that admittedly shouldn’t be relocated off his bookcase—out of his hands and sets them on the coffee table. (Bookends don’t go on coffee tables, Rose, what are you thinking?)

“Talk to me,” she pleads.

“And say what, exactly? This whole morning has been a scene straight out of my fucking nightmares?”

“Yes, actually,” she says, and it surprises him enough that he pauses his agitated movements. “Stop trying to pretend everything’s okay, or that you’ll make it okay. ‘Cos it’s not okay. I’m not okay, and I don’t think you are either. But I want you to tell me that, rather than running from me.”

“I’m not running, I’m walking.” Rose pins him with a glare so fierce it steals the rest of his sarcasm straight from his tongue. He sighs and admits, “I’m not fun to be around when I get like this, so I’m trying really hard to be a half-way decent person at the moment.”

“I don’t want you to be a half-way decent person, I want you to be James.” She cradles his cheeks, forcing him to look down at her. “I want you to be my James.”

All the fight goes out of him and all the voices in his head shout on top of one another. He slumps, dipping his head until his forehead rests on hers, and it all spills out of him: how much he hates that this has happened, how much he loathes the paparazzi and some of his nosy fans, how much he wishes he’d been the one to answer her door, how scared he is that this will drive her away, how worried he is about her reputation, how angry he is at everyone who had a hand in outing them. Everything. Every nasty, gnarled thought, and when he finishes his tirade, he’s calmer. Whether that has to do with everything he’d said or the fact that Rose is rubbing his back and nuzzling her nose into his, he doesn’t know, and frankly he doesn’t care.

“There’s my James,” she says, pinching his waist playfully.

“Your James just… just… verbally shat all over you.”

Rose breaks into a giggle and muffles it by burying her face into his chest. He holds her tight and smiles secretly into her hair.

“Thank you,” he whispers. “And I know it’s not my fault, but I’m so sorry this happened.”

“I know. This certainly tops my ‘weirdest day of all times’ list.”

“Oh yeah? What used to hold the number one spot?”

She pulls back and gives him a cheeky grin. “The night a famous singer bought me a drink and asked me to dance.”

“Huh, kinda weird that happened to you twice now,” he teases.

She laughs aloud, and the sound is enough to loosen the knot of tension that continues to wrap around his chest. He ducks down to catch her lips in a sweet kiss.

They pull away after a few moments, and Rose rests her head on his chest, seemingly content to stand there with him. The silence is solemn, but not uncomfortable, and for a moment, James hopes that maybe this means they can come out of this mess unscathed and, more importantly, together.

“It was my mum,” Rose murmurs, the words so sudden that for a moment, James has no idea what she’s talking about.

But then he remembers his conversation with Donna, and swallows hard. “What?”

“My mum,” she repeats, not lifting her head from his chest. “She was so angry when she left last night, and she must’ve complained about it to Dad. And people overheard her. That’s how everyone found out.”

Rose sounds so miserable and dejected that he’s desperate to do anything to take that tone out of her voice.

“It was just a bit of bad luck,” he says, pulling back slightly to try to force her to look at him. She doesn’t; she keeps her eyes level with his chest. He places his fingers beneath her chin and nudges upward, and she finally meets his gaze. “It wasn’t your fault. And it wasn’t your mum’s fault. Those girls didn’t have to send a tip into the papers, but they did. So it wasn’t your fault.”

“But if I hadn’t introduced you to my mum like that…”

“Not. Your. Fault.” He interrupts her by resting his fingertips overtop her lips.

“Still feels like it,” she mumbles around the digits before moving his hand away from her mouth. “I haven’t been brave enough to talk to my mum yet, other than to tell her I’m safe. I dunno what to tell people. My boss is demanding a meeting with me first thing on Monday. And my friends want to know all the details. It’s exhausting. I dunno how you’ve done this for all these years. It’s been two hours, and I want to just… just…”

“Disappear?” he supplies, knowing exactly what she means.

She nods, and sighs.

“Want to know the secret? Distraction.” He darts his eyes around his living room, searching for anything that can get him and Rose out of their heads for a moment, and he lands on his television and gaming consoles. “Right. You and me. Mario Kart tournament.”

Rose pulls back, confusion written across her face. “…Mario Kart?”

“Mario Kart.” He flashes her a wink and clicks his tongue in a way that usually makes her laugh, but only pulls a half-smile from her.

“Sit,” he orders, half-guiding, half-pushing her to the sofa before he turns on his Wii console.

“Hey, you made fun of me for having a Wii,” she grumbles, but she’s smiling, so the words carry no bite.

“Excuse you, this is the next gen Wii,” he boasts, then he comes to sit down beside her with the controllers, which he pops into a steering-wheel-shaped attachment. “No changing the subject. Are you ready to get your arse handed to you in Mario Kart?”

He’s so relieved to see a broad, genuine smile steal across her face that he kisses her soundly. When she kisses him back with equal vigor, warmth blooms in his chest and his toes curl into the plush carpet.

She pulls back after many long seconds and grins devilishly at him. “Oh, you’re so on.”

#ficandchips #dwfic #doctor who #ten x rose #sacred new beginnings #ten x rose au #james x rose #romance #angst #hurt/comfort #my fic

[regenderate-fic]

On Stars and Second Chances

Fandom: Doctor Who Ships: Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler Characters: Tenth Doctor, Rose Tyler Rating: Teen Word Count: 8,311 Other Tags: Fix-It, Journey's End, Reunions, Rose Stays, No Tentoo, Dimension Cannon Audios, Hurt/Comfort, Injury

Read on AO3

It was done. The Earth had been saved, everyone had been returned home, and now the Doctor could finally step away from the console and let his focus go to what had been pulling at it for the last six hours: Rose.

She was back. Not only was she back, but she was here, in his TARDIS, chewing anxiously at her bottom lip, bright eyes flitting from the console to his face and back to the console again. And when she noticed him looking, she looked back, searching him the same way he was searching her. She'd found a new eyeshadow, he noted. And her hair was just a little longer than it had been when he'd seen her last. And—

Did she know how beautiful she was? He'd often wondered. Almost gotten up the courage to ask her, once or twice. 

“Doctor?”

The Doctor blinked. He'd been staring, hadn't he? Probably without blinking—he was always doing things like that. He couldn't help it. He'd thought he was never going to see her again. And he'd so desperately wanted to see her again. 

“Rose,” he whispered. 

There was no telling who moved first. All the Doctor knew was that one second, he was standing there, staring, and the next, Rose was pressed against his chest, squeezing the life out of him, and he was surely doing the same to her. It was just that she felt so real, so warm, and he'd been so cold for so long now. 

“I missed you,” he whispered, and the admission simultaneously was too much and far, far too little. 

“Yeah?” Rose moved back a little, just enough so that she and the Doctor could look at each other. He swallowed, then nodded.

“Yeah.”

The beginnings of a smile appeared at the edges of Rose’s lips. “I missed you too.”

The Doctor felt his own smile growing. He had missed her, more than anything, and what was worse, he'd forgotten all her little expressions, the way she looked when she was confident or nervous or excited or dejected. But having forgotten meant he had so much to rediscover—like the way even the barest beginnings of a smile on her face made him feel warm all over. It was brilliant. He'd never need a puffy coat again, not if Rose was with him. Not when her mere smile would keep him warm. Was that a cheesy thought? Never mind that. He was rambling, even if only in his head, and it was distracting him from the important thing. Which was Rose. Here. With him.

He felt caught in her gaze—he couldn’t stop looking, couldn’t stop smiling, and none of this was new, not really, but now it was mingled with the relief of seeing her again and the jubilance of universes saved and the pervasive, flat sadness of having dropped off all the people he cared about so they could go about their human lives (and the guilt, on top of that, that he was taking Rose away from her human life, permanently this time, after saying goodbye to her mum on Bad Wolf Bay). He didn’t know how to break away, didn’t know how to move on from this moment—did he even want to move on from this moment? 

“You’re sure you still want to stay with me?” he asked. 

“You’re sure you still—” She faltered. “You’re sure you still want me?”

“Yes,” the Doctor breathed. “Always. Yes, I want you here.” He wasn’t going to think about the human lifespan, wasn’t going to imagine the patterns wrinkles would eventually etch onto Rose’s skin. The universe (universes) had already given him far, far more than he had ever dreamed of. 

“Well, then, you’re not getting rid of me. Not in a million years.” Rose’s smile grew, her tongue poking out from between her teeth. 

Back before he’d lost Rose, the Doctor had frequently found himself holding back. Holding back information, but also holding back affection, holding back touch. And, specifically, he must’ve spent a good eighty-five percent of his energy stopping himself from throwing caution to the wind and just kissing her—especially when he was sure she was doing the exact same thing. He had thought, at the time, that it would keep him from becoming too attached. He had thought, at the time, that it would make it easier if (when) he lost her. 

He had been horribly, woefully wrong. 

And now, as he stood with her once more in his arms (exactly where she belonged), it dawned on him that he’d been given an improbable, impossible second chance, and he would, in fact, be wasting it if he went back to his old ways. Determined, now, not to waste it, he pulled her just a little bit closer, leaned his head forward so their foreheads were pressed together. She gasped, and the Doctor hesitated: there was no point if she wasn’t as enthusiastic as he was. But then her hand made its way up from his hip to the back of his neck, and he felt her breath warm against his mouth, and when their lips finally met, it was impossible to tell which of them had taken that final leap and finally, finally closed the infinitesimal gap between them. 

He wished he’d let this happen years ago. 

It was, in a word, sublime. Rose’s lips were warm and soft, and her hand had inched up into his hair, and his hands were splayed across her back, and even through her jacket he could feel how warm and strong and alive she was. Now that he was kissing her, he wasn’t sure he was ever going to be able to stop kissing her, which was probably bad news for all of time and space, but he was finding it hard to think about all that. Especially when Rose scraped her teeth against his bottom lip and he found himself, on instinct, letting his mouth open. She tasted sweet—how did she manage to taste sweet, after the day they’d had? Was she hiding breath mints or something in that jacket of hers? 

The Doctor would have pursued that train of thought a little further, but then the hand on his waist edged upwards, slipping under his suit jacket, and he had altogether more on his mind. He let his own hands slide down Rose’s back, fingers tangling in her belt loops, pulling her flush against him (as if she hadn’t been close enough already) (but, if you asked him, she hadn’t been). He moved from her hips up to her waist, intent on touching every bit of her while he had the chance, even though he was hoping to have many, many more chances. He let his hands brush along her sides, from her waist to her ribs—

Rose gasped. This was a sharp gasp, coupled with a break in the kiss, and so the Doctor was fairly sure this one was not a good sign. He stilled, and Rose drew away.

“All right?” he asked, trying not to sound too out of breath.

“Yeah.” Rose did sound out of breath. “Yeah, I’m—never better.” She did sound like she meant it, but the Doctor caught another wince as he moved his hands down, away from her ribs to her waist. He frowned. 

“Rose, are you hurt?”

“No, it’s—” Rose shook her head. “I sort of got slammed into a wall last week. Still healing.” 

“Rose, you should’ve said.” 

Rose raised her eyebrows. “What, when we were saving the world, or d’you mean when you were snogging me within an inch of my life?” 

The Doctor floundered. “Maybe… in between?”

“Oh, so when we were saying goodbye to all your friends? Or how about when I was crying on the beach about never seeing my mum again?” Rose shrugged. “Honestly, Doctor, I just didn’t think of it. So much has happened in the last week, I sort of forgot.”

“At least tell me you had someone look at it.”

“Sure, one of the Torchwood doctors.” 

The Doctor scoffed.

Rose rolled her eyes. “Honestly, Doctor, I’m fine.”

“Can I—” The Doctor gestured at her torso. “Can I take a look at it?”

“What, are you trying to get my shirt off?” She was clearly trying to distract him, and worse, it was working, if only because he continued to be completely mesmerized by her smile.

“No—” And then he thought about it. “Well, technically, yes, but only to see how badly you’re hurt.”

“It’s not that bad!”

“Even if it isn’t!” the Doctor insisted. “Rose, this ship has the best medical technology humanity has to offer. From any time, any place. We’ve got herbs from ancient Rome and radiography from the 45th century. Whatever the Torchwood doctors did, I promise the TARDIS can do better.”

“Oh, all right.” Rose’s hand slipped into the Doctor’s. “Do your worst.”

A few minutes later, Rose was sitting at the edge of the bed in the medical bay. The Doctor gathered a few supplies—painkillers and bandages, mostly—and pulled a stool up next to her. 

“Right,” he said. “May I?” He gestured to Rose’s jacket. She flinched away from him, and he jerked his hands back.

“Sorry,” Rose muttered. “Old habits.” She nodded. “Go ahead.” 

Slowly, carefully, the Doctor moved his hands towards the zipper of Rose’s blue leather jacket. She sat still, stiff, as he unzipped it. 

“This is a nice jacket,” the Doctor noted. The leather was soft, yet sturdy, and of course he was partial to a nice blue.

“Got it before my first jump,” Rose said. “Needed something practical.”

“So you've been wearing it—”

“Two years?” Rose guessed. “Hard to tell. Time isn’t exactly consistent, when you’re jumping between universes.”

The Doctor hummed acknowledgment as he pulled the jacket off Rose’s shoulders and down her arms. Underneath, Rose was wearing a plain pink T-shirt. The Doctor noticed some unfamiliar scarring on her arm, but whatever had caused that had caused it a while ago: the wound had healed into a criss-cross of pale, thin lines.

Rose had caught him looking. “Got scratched up trying to get out of a crashed car. Wasn’t as bad as it looks.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” The Doctor nodded to her torso. “Can I take a look at your ribs?”

“It’s why we’re here, isn’t it?”

The Doctor raised his eyebrows. “That’s not a yes.”

“Fine.” Rose tapped at his calf with her foot. “Go ahead.”

“Right.” He touched the hem of her shirt on her left. “Where are you hurt? Here?”

Rose nodded.

The Doctor began to pull up her shirt, doing everything he could to ignore the feeling of his fingers grazing her soft skin. Yes, he’d thought for a long time, years even, how Rose’s skin might feel against the backs of his fingers, but his fantasies had been predicated on entirely different circumstances. Rose deserved better than to think he was getting anything out of this: she was hurt, and she deserved someone who would help her with no strings attached. 

He stopped at the first sign of injury, a bloom of red and blue surrounded by the yellowish tinge of a mostly-healed bruise. It covered her entire side, disappearing beneath the rest of her shirt, and a wave of horror hit the Doctor as he realized how extensive the injury must have been to still look like this a week later. 

He glanced up at Rose. She was watching him with a detached sort of curiosity.

“All right?” he asked. 

She nodded.

He kept going. The bruising deepened as he got further up her side, hitting its darkest red just below the band of her bra. He was sort of surprised she was managing to wear a bra, considering how much pain she was surely in, but then again, what did he know? 

“Rose,” he breathed. “You’ve been going around like this for a week?”

“It’s not that bad,” Rose insisted.

“That might work on your mum,” the Doctor said, “but it’s not going to work on me.”

Rose sighed. “Doesn’t really work on my mum, either.”

“Rose, this is some serious bruising.” His eyes widened in horror. “I hugged you! Rose, why didn’t you say anything?”

“I—” Rose looked away. “I don’t know. Didn’t want to ruin the moment, I suppose.” 

The Doctor scoffed. “Are you telling me excruciating rib pain didn’t ruin the moment?”

“I told you! It’s not that bad!” 

“I told you! I don’t believe you!”

Rose looked back at him, then down at her bruises. “I don’t know. Didn’t seem to matter, just then.” She raised her gaze until her eyes met his. “Was sort of distracted.”

He suppressed his smile. This was serious business, no matter how happy Rose’s voice made him. “Still,” he said. “As your doctor, I’m prescribing rest.” He peered at the bruises. “And maybe an X-ray.” 

“I already had an X-ray,” Rose said. “Nothing’s broken, promise.”

The Doctor sniffed. “I don’t trust those Torchwood doctors.”

“Fine, then. Suppose you’d better do what you like.” Rose raised her eyebrows. “Considering you’re my doctor.”

Heat filled the Doctor’s cheeks at that. He sort of hoped Rose wouldn’t notice, but then again, who was he kidding? Of course she would. Indeed, she already had, if the smirk on her face was anything to go by. Maybe he could cover it up with a babble. 

“X-ray!” he exclaimed, jumping up to pull a machine down from the ceiling. It descended on a hinged metal arm as he spoke. “D’you know, X-rays have been around since the 18th century?” He tilted his head. “Well, longer than that, if you count all the other species who discovered them first. But still.” He tapped the machine. “This is state-of-the-art. Takes a picture in a millisecond, loads of safeguards, gorgeous detail, doesn’t get better than this.” 

“Has anyone ever told you you’re a bit geeky?” Rose asked. 

“Nope,” the Doctor said. “You’d be the first.” He positioned the machine over Rose’s ribs. “All right, smile for the camera.”

“How’s that supposed to help?” 

The Doctor shrugged. “Morale boost?”

Rose rolled her eyes. “D’you need me to lie down or anything?”

“Nope, should be good.” The Doctor grinned from behind the machine. “Very advanced technology.” He hit a button, and the picture began to print. “Brilliant.”

“What, you don’t need to leave the room?”

“Nah. Time Lord. Biological superiority.” She scoffed, which he cheerfully ignored as he plucked the picture from the machine and waved it like it was a Polaroid—technically completely unnecessary, considering the image was already crisp and clear, but half the fun was in the showmanship. “All right, let’s take a look.” 

He hopped onto the bed next to Rose, picture in hand. She leaned in to look as he traced the image with his finger. 

“Oh, all right,” he said, with a dramatic sigh for good measure. “Those Torchwood doctors were good for something after all.”

“No breaks?” Rose asked. 

“No breaks. Which means—” the Doctor jumped up— “We’ve just got to get you something to accellerate healing, maybe some painkillers—” he grabbed a couple bottles— “And lots and lots of rest.” He whirled around to face Rose. “Sound good?”

“Yeah, all right.” Rose nodded. “Yeah. Sounds good.” 

“So now,” the Doctor said, “as your doctor, I have to ask—when’s the last time you slept?”

“Oh, God.” Rose buried her face in her hands. “Don’t even ask.”

“Understood.” The Doctor stuck his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “How about food? You hungry?”

“Oh, God, starving,” Rose breathed. 

“How about chips?” the Doctor asked. 

A slow smile emerged on Rose’s face. “I could go for chips.”

“Brilliant. Chips it is.” The Doctor held out his hand. Rose took it without a moment’s hesitation, and he pulled her to her feet. Her shoulder bumped against his arm, and something about that small gesture brought him a peace he hadn’t felt in a long time.

They stepped out the TARDIS door together a few minutes later, just across the street from the chippy. They'd landed in the middle of London, a few days after everything; a few of the shops were still a bit banged up, but for the most part, people had gone back to business as usual. 

“Impressive resilience, the human race has,” the Doctor noted. 

“Amnesia, more like,” Rose said. She leaned her head against the Doctor’s shoulder. “Nice to see it all still here, though.”

He squeezed her hand. “We did it again.”

“We did, didn't we?” The smile in Rose’s voice was audible. “Sort of can't believe it.”

“Believe it or not, won't make it any less true.” They’d reached the chippy, and the Doctor pulled the door open for Rose. “After you.”

 “Still a gentleman, then,” she teased.

The shop was busy, but not so busy they couldn’t slide into a booth in the back. For half a second, it felt like nothing had changed: here were the Doctor and Rose, sitting across from each other, stealing chips from each other’s baskets just like always. But it was different—the Doctor was different, and Rose was different. She carried herself differently, and not just because of her injury. In fact, it seemed like she was carrying herself differently despite her injury: it was hard to quantify, but there was a new fluidity to her movements, a new confidence in her posture. There was something guarded about her, too, now they were out and about. She’d put the jacket back on and zipped it all the way up, and she looked up every time the door opened, even though it was invariably just another family or couple or group of raucous-but-harmless teenagers. 

The Doctor tapped his foot against her ankle under the table. She startled.

“All right?” he asked.

“Tired, is all.” Rose plucked a chip out of her basket. “And… it’s a bit weird, not having a universe-ending threat to worry about.”

“Lots of those, where you’ve been?”

Rose took a deep breath—although, the Doctor noticed, she stopped just short of filling her ribcage. “It took me two years to find you,” she said. “The dimension cannon, it didn’t exactly come ready-made with coordinates, or anything. At first, I was just jumping into random universes, looking for my—anything familiar—trying to figure out how close they were to yours.” She stared down at the chip in her hands. “The thing the Daleks did—the reality bomb—it was already hitting. Stars going out.” There was a pause. “So, yeah. Lots of universe-ending threats. We were lucky, today.”

The Doctor reached to cover Rose’s free hand with his own. “Rose, I'm so sorry.”

Rose shook her head. “I'm the one who couldn't stay put.”

“Do you think I didn't try?” the Doctor asked. “Rose, I burned up more than just the one sun looking for a gap. If I’d thought there was any chance—” He cut off. “I probably gave up just before it would've started working.”

“Might've taken longer,” Rose said. “From this side.” She shrugged. “My universe, we were just getting the fallout. This one was at the center. The theory at Torchwood was that all the universes I visited were just getting ripples from whatever was going on here.” She smiled. “‘Course, we were only assuming it was here. Would've been really unfortunate if I’d finally found you and the problem was somewhere else.”

“Nah, we would've figured it out.” The Doctor tapped his foot against hers. “Your dimension cannon with my TARDIS? Unstoppable.”

“The cannon’s hardly as good as a TARDIS. Can't even travel in time.” 

“Nah, I’d guess it's loads better for interdimensional travel. TARDIS isn't really made for that.” He winked. “Even if I make it look easy.”

Rose scoffed. “As if you make anything look easy in that contraption of yours.”

“Oi! I said earlier! It's meant to have six pilots!” The Doctor leaned back and crossed his arms. “You'll have to admit, I'm doing pretty well for trying to do a six-person job on my own.”

Rose grinned. “Oh, all right. Maybe you're not such a bad driver.”

“Thank you.” The Doctor plucked a chip from his basket and took an emphatic bite. He swallowed, then added, “I’d like to look at that cannon, by the way. For curiosity’s sake, and all that.”

“The main bit’s still in the other universe,” Rose said. “I just have the travel disc, and it won't do anything now the walls are up again. But you can look at it if you like.” She pulled the little silver-and-yellow button out of her pocket and held it up for a moment. Her eyes stayed on it as she held it out to the Doctor. The Doctor accepted it, his fingers brushing against hers for a second, then another, before he pulled away. 

“It's impressive work,” he said, turning it over in his hands. It was a simple device, a yellow disc set into a silver frame, but of course he knew how much work had to have gone into it. “I imagine Torchwood had the technology?”

Rose nodded. “We adjusted it a little. I mean, at first we were trying to make it work with the universes closed off—but we were also trying to make it punch a smaller hole. Didn't want to cause any problems or anything.” She paused. “The navigation system is all new, too. The original design was sort of hitching a ride from the Cybermen. Only went from that universe to this one. We spent months trying to figure out how to navigate between universes.”

“How'd you manage it?” the Doctor asked. 

“There’s always someone back at Torchwood controlling the thing.” Rose pulled something out of her pocket and dropped it on the table—it was her old phone, the Doctor realized, the one he'd done his “jiggery pokery” on way back when he and Rose had only just met. “Rigged this thing up to work as a communicator. So they can—could—keep in touch with me. The cannon records all the different patterns of whatever universe I’m in—timelines, geography, background radiation—and we compare it to all the other data from all the other universes. And then we can pick which patterns to look for in the next go round.” She tucked the phone back in her pocket. “It all gets pretty boring, after a while.”

The Doctor stared at her. 

“What?” 

“Nothing, just—” He shook his head. “Do you know how completely impossible this is? You not only managed to cross between universes—”

“That bit wasn’t me—”

“—you also figured out how to navigate between them, and how to find this specific universe—”

“Had loads of people working on that—”

“—and then you spent years traveling between universes until you found the one you were looking for.” 

“Had company for that too.”

“Rose Tyler,” the Doctor said, “don't you dare tell me you didn't do anything special. You were absolutely brilliant, and you won't convince me otherwise.”

Rose looked down at the table. A small smile was slowly emerging on her face, despite her teeth pulling at her bottom lip. She looked up through her eyelashes at the Doctor. “All right, then. Call me brilliant, if you like.”

The Doctor held her gaze. “You, Rose Tyler, are brilliant.”

Rose’s smile grew. 

The Doctor scanned the table. He'd only picked at his chips, but Rose had practically inhaled hers—he'd count that a success. 

“What do you say we get out of here?” He tapped Rose’s foot with his own again. “Get some sleep?”

On cue, Rose yawned. “Yeah. Sleep might be nice.”

The Doctor stood. He stacked both their baskets in one hand and held out his other to Rose. Her hand was in his immediately, and he pulled her to her feet. Together, they moved to return the baskets, then stepped back out onto the street. The cool evening air brushed against the Doctor’s face, and he found himself smiling down at Rose, who was, in turn, smiling up at him. He almost got lost in it again, but then he remembered they did, technically, need to get back to the TARDIS, and if they were looking at each other no one was going to be making sure they were going in the right direction and not about to trip on anything. So he forced himself to look away so they could have at least some hope of crossing the street safely. 

Really, though, it was probably the least danger they'd been in all day. 

And thankfully, that held true: in the thirty seconds it took them to cross the street, they weren’t hit by any cars, no wayward bicyclists; not even a stray alien crisis crossed their paths. The Doctor pushed open the TARDIS door and held it there, saying, “After you,” with a dramatic flourish of his free hand. 

Rose rolled her eyes at him, but she was smiling, and—at the risk of sounding cheesy—he sort of felt like anything was worth it if he got to see her smile. 

There was something special, about that step across the threshold, from a public street to the privacy of the console room. Everything felt quiet now, maybe even too quiet, despite the thrum of the TARDIS all around them. The Doctor looked at Rose, and Rose looked back, neither one speaking. 

Finally, Rose broke the silence.

“Doctor,” she said, her voice soft. “I—” She broke off. 

The Doctor tilted his head to the side. “What?”

Rose shook her head. “I don't even know. Think I just need a nap.”

“I’d wager you need a lot more than just a nap,” the Doctor said. “I won't hold it against you if the actual event could be better described as a hibernation.”

“Well, that's a relief.” Rose giggled. “Imagine, I come all this way only for you to drop me the first chance you get ‘cause I said I was going for a nap and didn’t get up for hours!”

“Nah,” the Doctor said. “I wouldn't drop you. Might get out the foghorn, mind, but—”

“Don't you dare.” 

“Oh, all right.” The Doctor smiled. “No foghorn.” He hesitated. “Actually, speaking of, your bedroom should still be there. Just how you left it.” 

Rose wrinkled her nose. “I shudder to think.”

“Oh, I mean—” The Doctor looked past her, his eyes focusing on one of the coral pillars holding up the ceiling. “I might've… cleaned up a bit. Just in case. But the room is still there. Still yours.”

“Thanks.” Rose stepped away as if she was going to go, but then she stopped, teetering for a long moment. “I—” She swallowed. “I don't know if I want to be alone.”

The Doctor found himself stammering. Not that he didn't want to help—but he didn't want to overstep, didn't want to overwhelm. “Oh, I mean—I could—you—” He forced himself to stop and take a breath. “I could come with you. If you like.”

“Is that—all right?”

The Doctor almost laughed. “Rose. After everything—I count myself lucky if you don't want to leave my sight.”

“Oh.” She took the step back towards him. Timidly, she held out her hand, and he took it. He expected her to lead him to the corridor, but instead she stood there for another moment, searching his face. He was about to open his mouth to say something—he wasn't sure what—but then she raised herself on tiptoe and pressed her lips against his. 

This kiss was different from the one they'd shared earlier: slower, more deliberate. It took the Doctor a moment to process, and by the time he remembered to kiss back, Rose was already pulling away, and he wound up chasing after her for a moment. It was strange, suddenly living in a world where Rose Tyler was not only there with him but also kissing him—but it was the best sort of strange. Like the apple grass on New Earth: a lovely meadow, and then an unexpected apple-flavored snack. 

“Right,” Rose said. She was still holding the Doctor’s hand, and now she swung it, back and forth between them. “Sleep.”

The Doctor gestured with his free hand. “Lead the way.” 

Rose’s room wasn't too deep into the TARDIS—down a corridor and to the right. She’d always liked being right by the kitchen, convenient for a midnight snack or quick breakfast, and she never would've put up with a longer walk to the console room. When she'd been gone, the TARDIS had tucked her room deeper in its recesses, but the Doctor had no doubt it would be back in its place now. 

And he was right: Rose found the room easily. The door slid open for her, and she stepped across the threshold, the Doctor in tow. 

She stopped short just inside. The Doctor watched as she took in the room: it was exactly the same as the one she'd left, with the pink bedspread, vanity covered in makeup, pictures of her mum and her friends and the Doctor plastered everywhere. Something about it was incongruous with Rose now—the Rose who stood next to him was older, a little neater, more guarded.

There were tears running down Rose’s face. Without a second thought, the Doctor tugged at her hand until she collapsed into his arms, her quiet tears escalating into full-blown sobs as he held her. If he hadn't had such a strong time sense, he might've said he didn't know how long he held her, how long she cried, but in actuality he was well aware that it had been six minutes and forty-three seconds when Rose pulled back, tear tracks etched onto her cheeks, and said, “It's only just started to feel real.”

“Which part?” the Doctor asked. 

“I don't know. All of it?” Rose rested her head against his chest. “I wanted to be back here for so long. I think I sort of got so used to looking, I didn't really think I’d ever be able to stop.” She took a deep, shuddering breath. “But I did it, didn't I? I can stop now.”

“Oh, Rose.” The Doctor traced gentle circles on her back, careful to steer extremely clear of her injured ribs. “You've been so brilliant.” He rested his cheek against her hair. “And it's time you had a rest.”

Rose sighed as she stepped away. “Might go for a shower first. I feel a bit greasy.” 

“Bathroom’s all set,” the Doctor said. 

“You'll still be here when I'm out?” Rose checked. 

“Might go wash up myself, actually,” the Doctor said. “But I'll come right back here after, promise.”

“You'd better.” Rose stepped forward to wrap her arms around his waist one more time. When she stepped away again, it was in the direction of her vanity. “The real question is, where did I used to keep my makeup wipes?” 

“Now, that I can’t help you with.”

“They’ll be around here somewhere. Probably long past expired—”

The Doctor shook his head. “Not on the TARDIS. The rooms you’re not using tend to get a bit frozen, timewise.”

Rose smiled. “Never mind, then.” She reached up to take off one earring, then the other, hanging both on her old jewelry holder, the one she’d brought from her flat after losing one too many earrings to the recesses of her makeup drawer. The Doctor had watched her take off her earrings in that same mirror countless times, usually waiting impatiently for her to be done so they could go play a game or watch a show together. She still shook her head in the exact same way to get her hair to settle back over her ears—still pressed her lips together while she searched for something in the drawers—still flashed him a grin as she held up her prize. 

“Found ‘em. See you in a few.” 

The Doctor grinned back. Rose disappeared into the bathroom, and he stepped back out into the corridor. His own room—with the associated washing-up facilities—tended to move around, but he had a hunch he wouldn’t have to look too hard to find it. Indeed, it was only a couple doors past Rose’s. 

He didn’t take long. Just long enough to scrub himself, and a few extra minutes to be sure he’d gotten all the dust out of his hair—fighting Daleks was dirty work, it turned out. He pulled on a random pair of flannel pajama bottoms (which regeneration had bought them? He didn’t remember. They weren’t quite his style) and a navy blue T-shirt and stepped back into the corridor.

Rose’s room was still empty when he returned, although he could hear the shower running through the bathroom door. He sat down on the bed to wait. He had to keep reminding himself that it was really her, that Rose was on the other side of that door. He’d spent more time than he liked to admit in this room on his own, organizing her clothes and her magazines and her souvenirs as if that would do anything to bring her back. But she had come back on her own, a reminder of his complete failure, but also a reminder that she was so incredibly determined, so persistent, so completely herself. She had never needed him; he was just lucky she kept coming back anyway. 

The water turned off, and the Doctor shifted towards the bathroom door. It was a couple more minutes before the door opened and a slightly damp Rose stepped out. Her makeup was gone, and her hair had gone a little wavy from the water. She was wearing a plain white vest top over lavender shorts—her ordinary sleepwear. A shy smile appeared on her face when she saw him. 

“Those are new,” she said, nodding to his trousers. 

He glanced down at his flannel-clad legs. “Old, more like. Don't even remember which regeneration they were for. I'm lucky they fit.”

“So you're telling me those trousers could be hundreds of years old?”

“Suppose they could, yeah.” He tapped the empty space next to him on the bed. “C'mon, sit.”

Rose lowered herself onto the bed next to him. Hastily, he stacked a couple pillows behind her so she could lean back against the headboard without hurting herself—she wavered, looking speculatively at him, until he tugged at her arm in a bid for her to come closer. She moved to sit against the pillows, and when he extended his arm to wrap around her shoulders, she practically fell into his side. Deep in his soul, something small seemed to click into place, something he hadn't even quite realized was out of place. There was just such a comfort in having Rose’s body nestled next to his. Her hair was putting a damp spot in his shirt, and he didn't even mind. He looked down at her and couldn’t help but smile.

“How’s your side?” he asked.

“Still fine.” Her eye roll was audible, but then, so was her smile. 

“Oi, it's not unreasonable to be worried,” the Doctor said. “A bruised rib can be serious!”

“But mine isn't,” Rose insisted. She looked up at him. “You checked it out, didn't you? And now I'm resting, just like you said.”

“Oh, all right.” The Doctor raised his eyebrows. “But I think I'm allowed to be worried, considering you seem to have spent the last two years being battered by cars and walls from across the multiverse.”

“Oi, you can talk. Blow up any buildings lately?” 

“Depends. Would you say a Dalek spaceship counts as a building?”

Rose gave him a look. He sighed.

“Fine, point taken.” 

Her responding smile was all but irresistible. And, the Doctor remembered, there was no real reason to resist. He lifted his free hand to trace her cheekbone with his thumb, pushing a bit of hair back and off her face. Her smile softened, and he ducked his head so he could kiss her. She kissed him back, gentler then he'd ever dared hope for. 

When she pulled away, it was with a furrowed brow. “How comes you're doing this now?”

The Doctor matched her frown. “Doing what?” 

“You know.” Rose waved a hand. “The kissing, and all that.”

“Oh.” The Doctor swallowed, mostly in an attempt to buy himself the time to formulate an answer. Finally, he took a stab at honesty, staring out at the pictures on Rose’s wall as he spoke. “I was so scared of losing you, before. I thought it might hurt less, if we were… less involved.” He looked down at Rose. “But when I did lose you, every single day I regretted not making the most of what we had while we had it. It was cowardly, and I'm sorry.”

“So—” Rose pushed herself further upright, angling herself to look him right in the eyes. “You want to be with me?”

“Rose Tyler.” The Doctor’s mouth was dry. Once he said the next bit, he couldn't ever go back. Although—who was he kidding? He'd hit the point of return a long time ago, with Rose. “Of course I want to be with you. I—” His voice broke. 

“What?”

He steeled himself. “I love you.”

Rose held his gaze. “Really?”

The Doctor nodded. “Extremely. Definitively. Very—”

And then she was kissing him. He was startled, at first, by the force of it, by her hand in his hair and her tongue running across his lower lip, but then she'd been waiting years for this, and so had he, and it was long past time they did something about it. It was a bit of an awkward angle—she was still sort of sitting next to him, and he had to twist his torso if he wanted to kiss her properly, and with her injuries she couldn’t quite do the same—but there was nothing that could ruin this moment for him. He kept having to remind himself that it was real, Rose was real, not a hologram this time, she was tangible and here and he could tell because he was kissing her. It was overwhelming in the best possible way. 

Rose pulled away. She was breathing heavily, and fear spiked through the Doctor—had he hurt her?

“All right?” he checked.

“Yeah, fine.” She flushed. “Better than fine. Just processing, is all.” Her bottom lip caught itself between her teeth. “Haven't exactly done this in a while.”

“What, dimension travel isn't full of people throwing themselves at you?”

“Not exactly.” Rose grimaced. “And the one time I flirted with somebody, he turned out to be a parallel version of me.”

The Doctor guffawed. “What, really?”

“And he was gay!” She swatted at the still-laughing Doctor. “Oi, it's not funny!”

“You're telling me that, of all the men in all the universes, the one you flirted with was your gay clone?” 

Rose rolled her eyes. “He's not a clone.”

“Fine. Your gay doppelgänger?”

“Well, when you put it that way—”

“See? Funny!”

“You know what? You can have this one.” Rose let her cheek rest on the Doctor’s shoulder. “My point is, I haven’t been doing a lot of kissing, these last few years. Got to readjust.”

“Well, I’m happy to help any way I can.”

Rose swatted at him again. He grinned.

“Say, how many different versions of yourself did you meet, anyway? Lots of Rose Tylers running around out there?”

“Not unless you count the cats and dogs,” Rose said. “Only two humans. Rob and Rosie.” She glanced up at the Doctor. “Rob and me snuck into Downing Street together. Rosie ran a cafe, and my mum walked in and Rosie tried to kick her out. And I wound up babysitting.” 

“What, like, she had a baby?” 

Rose nodded. “And his name was Jimmy. After Jimmy Stone!”

“Jimmy Stone, your ex?” the Doctor asked. Rose had never explained all the details of the whole Jimmy Stone saga to him, but the Doctor got the impression he hadn’t been all that great of a boyfriend.

“That’s the one.” Rose wrinkled her nose. “She seemed all right, though. Was doing well with the cafe. Jimmy, Senior was dead, but she had good friends, nice neighbors. ‘Course, I don’t know how many of them survived.”

“Survived?”

Rose glanced at the Doctor. “Stars going out, remember? In all these universes.” She picked at a loose thread on her shorts. “With Rosie’s, there was this planet, must’ve been flung from a dead solar system, and it was heading right for Earth. Was going to stop it rotating. Barely any warning or anything. And the dimension cannon was malfunctioning, too. I almost didn’t get out in time. And then it didn’t bring me back to Torchwood, it launched me into another universe with a whole other crisis.” She glanced at the Doctor. “Had a parallel half-sibling in that one. Danni. We traveled together for a while.” 

A dim sense of horror had settled over the Doctor. Rose had said the stars were going out, but he hadn’t really thought about it, hadn’t considered the physics of it. Stars—the Earth’s sun was a star, and so were all the other suns, and there were loads of stars that didn’t have planets but still pulled on the stars around it in all sorts of ways… he always said he was from the constellation Kasterborous, a constellation of seventeen suns, but he’d somehow never thought about the impact of even one of those suns disappearing. No star lasted forever, of course. And neither did any planet, nor any other piece of space. He and Rose had watched the sun expand swallow the Earth. But stars going out unexpectedly, all at once—that could be disastrous. Was disastrous, from the sound of it.

And Rose had been there. From universe to universe, she had seen the effects. The Doctor had seen all sorts of things, watched plenty of worlds end, seen entire species wiped out—he’d seen timelines unraveled, people’s births and deaths undone; indeed, he’d been the cause of plenty of it himself. But that had all been within this universe. He’d never seen universe after universe on the brink of collapse, never tried to save the same planet more than once. The stars going out… Rose loved the stars. The Doctor reached for her hand and interlaced their fingers, the same way he had earlier in the Dalek ship, the same way he had back in that shop elevator. Even all the way back in that shop, when Rose had been a stranger, when he’d been cold and angry and hurt, their hands had fit together. 

“Rose,” he said, his voice low. “I’m sorry.” 

Rose frowned. “What for?”

“You’ve gone through so much,” the Doctor said. “All those universes… all those stars. I’m sorry you had to do that.”

“It’s not like I could’ve done anything else.” Rose’s thumb rubbed absently at the back of his hand. “Even if I hadn’t been trying to get back to you. All those lives… someone had to help them. I knew if I could find you, you would.” She paused. “Anyway, it wasn’t all bad. In one of the universes I got to help the people on Earth make contact with an alien species. These aliens were taking all the salt out of the oceans, and no one on Earth could figure out what was going on. But it turned out they were just trying to survive, same as we were.”

The Doctor grinned. He was sure it was an extremely silly grin, but he couldn’t help it. “Have I told you how brilliant you are?”

“Might’ve said something to that effect, yeah.” Rose bumped her shoulder against his. “Anyway, you still haven’t said what you were up to. Made lots of new friends, did you?”

“Not so many,” the Doctor said. “Just the two, really. Martha and Donna. Donna showed up in the console room just after we said goodbye.”

“She—what?”

“She was being dosed with huon particles, turns out,” the Doctor explained. “The TARDIS, it runs on these particles—the details aren’t important. But it’s sort of like a magnet. She had the particles in her, and the TARDIS has the particles, and there she was in the TARDIS.” He shook his head. “I wasn’t exactly good company at the time. Asked if she wanted to come with me, she said no, invited me to dinner, I said yes, I went off and didn’t come back.”

“But you found her again?” 

The Doctor nodded. “Much later. She’d been looking for me. Well, you met her, you know some of the story.”

“Not so much,” Rose said. “She didn’t know most of it, in that other universe.”

“Nice job not telling her your name, by the way,” the Doctor added. “Added loads of suspense to that whole conversation.”

“Well, it’s no fun if the answer comes easy, is it?” Rose smirked. “Anyway, you clearly got there in the end.” She nudged him again. “What about Martha?” 

“Oh, Martha, she’s brilliant too. Met her in hospital, she was a med student, I was investigating—”

“So, what, you checked in as a patient just to see how people would react to your extra heart?”

Now the Doctor was smirking. “We all need a bit of a thrill now and then, don’t we?”

“Oh, shut up.” 

“We had a good few adventures together,” the Doctor said. “She left on her own, in the end. Went through a pretty awful year—and, well.” He wrinkled his nose. “She fancied me.”

Rose laughed. “Oh, and I bet you were awful to her.”

“I wasn’t awful!” 

“If you say so.”

“I wasn’t!” 

Rose shook her head. “I know better than anyone what it’s like when you show up in that box of yours and ask someone on an adventure.”

“It was completely platonic!” the Doctor protested. “She knew that! I told her that!”

“Loads of people say things are platonic when they’re flirting,” Rose pointed out. “I used to say all the time that we weren’t together. Doesn’t mean I wasn’t head over heels.”

“That was because your mum kept thinking I was some sort of predator,” the Doctor reminded her.

“All right, but still.” Rose gave him a look. “How soon was this after you lost me?”

“Not—not too long.”

“Oh, so you were moping the whole time?” 

The Doctor scoffed. “I didn’t mope. I’ve never moped.”

“You do,” Rose said. “Remember when I ate the last one of those little pastries you got from that little bakery in Oktoflan? You moped for a week. Even after we went and got more.”

“They weren’t as good the second time round.”

“You just think that because you’d gotten tired of them.”

“What does any of this have to do with Martha?”

“Oh, come on, Doctor,” Rose said. “You were moping. You met Martha. You asked her to come with you. You give her those sad puppy eyes—I’ve seen ‘em! You show her all of time and space—of course she fancied you! Who wouldn’t?”

The Doctor sputtered. “Donna didn’t!” 

Rose placed an affectionate kiss on his cheek. “You’re completely oblivious, you are.”

“Oi, I figured out you fancied me, didn’t I?”

“And how long did that take you?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” the Doctor said. “I was worried it was wishful thinking, at first.” He frowned. “Hang on. How long did you fancy me?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Rose parroted. “There was something about you grabbing my hand and telling me you could feel the earth turning?”

“What, that long? Never mind, then, I suppose I must be oblivious.”

Rose grinned. “It’s good to be back,” she said. “Been a while since I had anyone to make a mockery of, too. Unless you count Danni, I suppose, but that was different.”

“Suppose that’s all I’m good for, then. A bit of humor at my expense.”

“Yep, that’s it.” But the way Rose was curling into his side said otherwise. “You’re just here to be funny.” 

“You know what? I’ll take it.” The Doctor looked down at her. There was something vulnerable about her, now she was out of her dimension-hopping clothes, now she was no longer trying to project confidence into her every action and word. She was brilliant at it, brilliant at all that talking and running and world-saving, and he loved her all the more for it. But now she’d let her guard down, and there was something gorgeous about it, her tired eyes and soft smile as she peered up at him. Carefully, he kissed her forehead. “Say, weren’t you going to get some sleep now?”

“Oh, who needs sleep?” But even as she said it, Rose yawned massively.

The Doctor laughed. “Come on. .D’you want the light off?”

Rose shook her head. “That’s all right. Not a big fan of darkness, right about now.”

Another mark of her time away, then. “All right, then.” The Doctor lifted the covers over both their legs. He laid on his back, and Rose settled on her good side with her head on his chest, one arm around his waist. 

“You’ll still be here?” she asked. “When I wake up?”

“Only if you are,” the Doctor replied.

“Good enough for me.” Rose shifted to lie more securely in his arms. “Night, Doctor.” 

“Good night, Rose Tyler.” He let his hand run through her hair, drawing slow patterns on her scalp. It wasn’t long before her breaths evened out, and it wasn’t long after that that he, too, drifted off, perfectly content. 

#my fic #fanfiction #doctor who #tenrose #ten x rose #tenth doctor #rose tyler #journey's end #fix-it #rose stays #dimension cannon #hurt/comfort #long #i haven't posted in a million billion years i forgot all my tags

[deardiary17]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Doctor Who (2005) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler Characters: Rose Tyler, Tenth Doctor (Doctor Who)

Additional Tags: Hypothermia, Hurt/Comfort, Tender doctor, Fluff, feel good, I literally wrote this to make myself feel good, but you can enjoy this too!, this was supposed to be a short scene but it turned into a 20 pages story, rated T because Rose swears a bit Summary:

Rose gets sentenced to a death in a freezer. The Doctor is just in time to rescue her and nurse her back to health.

Rose hadn’t felt warmth for what felt like ages.

Her fingers and her toes went pale and bluish some time ago. The tip of her nose was numb and cold as an icicle, and she could swear that her eyes were covered in a thin film of ice, the one like on the windows when it was too cold. The Doctor would have probably called her silly for thinking this, but the Doctor didn’t have to know all of the thoughts in her brain, did he?

Rose sniffed miserably. She would have given her new trainers and her alien perfume collection (even the scent that changed according to her mood!)  just to hear him admonish her one more time.

It certainly would distract her from the alarming tingling sensation in her feet and her hands, and it would for sure stop the sad, dark pit of depression from forming in her soul. 

Rose exhaled with a shudder that was half from cold and half from fear that had been progressively creeping into her mind. It’s been what, an hour? An hour and a half? She wanted to check her wrist watch that she kept on wearing despite the Doctor’s nagging about how pointless it was. Only she couldn’t, not when the stupid aliens rendered her immobile by tying her hands to the ring in the wall.

So, Rose didn’t know how long it had been  since she was locked in the equivalent of a Cluxcconian freezer for trespassing the laws of modesty, but it felt like hours. Ridiculous. Barbaric. Middle ages-like. The Doctor didn’t warn her about the rules of the location they’d landed in. Either he had no idea - not that he’d ever admit being wrong or not knowing something, or he decided that it wasn’t important for Rose to be aware of.

Apparently, showing her shoulders off was peak impropriety. The people of Cluxcc all turned their eyes away upon seeing Rose ‘undressed’ at the National Fair Event, clicking their tongues at her appearance. Later on, she’d been trialled for public indecency and obscene behaviour at the local court. Well, it might have been a misjudgement on Rose’s part to struggle, insult the peacekeepers and the judge who accused her of numerous mortal sins despite her being a tourist, of course, but still.

Not knowing the law didn’t excuse her from being punished for breaking it, it seemed.

And so, Rose wasn’t given a lawyer or a defender of any kind, and the sentence was to be effective immediately - hence the freezer and the death by cold.

As Rose said, barbaric.

It was no wonder that there were no tourists at the fair, just lots and lots of people wearing clothes of a certain shade although they weren’t all covered by fabric. That was the reason why Rose didn’t think much of her own appearance - and she certainly didn’t think twice before wearing a cute blue tank top to the outing. The Doctor said that it was positively sweltering, after all.

She should have known.

Rose found the strength to execute a pathetic kick with her leg, quietly exclaiming:

“Fucking aliens from the fucking stone age. Cowards, the lot of you. I may well fucking die here, but the Doctor will rain his anger on you,” she sniffed again, coughed and tried to curl into a smaller ball as much as she could. “None of the stone age law for you all, and I bet he will make the governor eat the fucking law book, too.”

The Doctor would surely threaten to wash her tongue with a bar of soap if he heard that. Lord knows both the Doctor and the TARDIS didn’t tolerate swearing of any kind.

Even if Rose knew that the Doctor might not get there in time, that there was, indeed, a possibility of her dying there in the stupid alien ice box, she tried to stay calm and clear minded.

Well, as much as possible. 

Which wasn’t all that possible. Not when she felt herself literally going blue from the freezing air, not when it’s already been an hour something per her calculations, not when her arms were tied behind her back to the wall so that she couldn’t even walk and get warmer.

Not when her phone was confiscated by the peacekeepers, too.

Rose moaned, thumped the back of her head on the wall and kicked her legs again. Gosh, her bum didn’t even feel like it was hers because of the cold, and her mother’s words chose this moment to haunt her.

“Don’t sit on the stone, love! Or any cold surfaces. The consequences will drive you insane, they will. Lord knows I made this mistake once, never again!”

Yeah, well. It was not like Rose had any choice in sitting on the stone cold floor, was it?

She let out another shaky breath, puffing her lips. She could feel her growing number still, and on top of that she was starting to feel a bit sleepy. Rose knew it was a bad, bad sign. The last words were pronounced with the Doctor’s voice in her mind, following his exaggerated intonation patterns, and it made Rose chuckle.

Oh, Doctor.

He would surely blame himself into a dark, dank hole when she died. 

It was all quite depressing and unromantic, quite frankly. There were no visions of her life dancing in front of her eyes, no tears running down her cheeks (they were probably frozen inside her eyes by that moment), no nostalgic smile on her face due to sweet memories of her childhood and early teenagehood.

All Rose could think about was the Doctor and her mum. Oh, God, mum…she’d kill the Doctor for ‘not keeping her safe’ , no matter how stupid that sounded to Rose. She was quite capable of taking care of herself, and there was many a time it was Rose who helped the Doctor to weasel out of tight spots and not-so-fun shenanigans.

It was quite upsetting that this was going to be Rose’s last adventure. And that it wasn’t a pleasurable one; that she didn’t get to go out with the proverbial ‘bang’, or that she didn’t die by saving someone’s life, for a good cause.

Oh, God, thought Rose. She was going to die, and she was going to die alone, and it would be a vain, stupid death, and she’d be all alone to boot.

And her mum and the Doctor would be devastated, and he’d spiral into depression and avoid company, and her mum would be all alone with no one to check on her when she needed that, and…

Rose dropped her head in defeat. Her chin grazed her chest, and she suddenly realised that her teeth were chattering quite violently. Now, Rose knew that that was a good sign, the teeth chattering and the shivering, so she rejoiced in that.

Well, it was a matter of rejoicing if the Doctor was aware where she was and what happened to her, and it was a depressing thought if she were to spend longer suffering from the cold if her body was still fighting.

Rose scrunched her eyes shut forcefully, attempting once again to wriggle out of the ropes that were wrapped around her wrists in tight loops. She yelped when the ropes scratched at her now-cold skin, it felt as though her skin became paper-thin, susceptible to the tiniest of painful touches. Nevertheless, Rose persisted. She gritted her teeth, which was a feat of its own with how much they were chattering. 

It was all for nothing, though, she had to admit after several minutes of struggling. Panting, Rose leaned her head onto the wall behind her, and closed her eyes.

At least she had a bit of warmth running through her body now.

Her bum, though, felt mercilessly cold, and she mulled over the ideas of gynaecological problems lazily.

She’d have to be alive to deal with the consequences of this ice therapy. Right.

Rose chuckled again, then gasped as a particularly strong shiver ran down her spine. She wanted desperately to rub her palms to get some measure of comfort, but couldn’t. She kicked her leg again, cursing the aliens and their unethical laws, then closed her eyes.

The harsh, buzzing lights of the freezer seemed too much all of a sudden, and it felt better to block them by closing her eyes.

After that, it didn’t take long for her to not fall asleep but to drift into a half-asleep, half-awakened state. Rose was still annoyed by the lights’ incessant noises, and the cold air kept on biting on her uncovered arms and shoulders, but the brightness of the freezer was dulled at least.

The next thing Rose knew was the Doctor’s voice calling out to her urgently.

“Rose? Rose! Come on now, this is not the time and place for a nap,” he joked, or tried to, Rose thought, because his voice sounded too strained for humour.

Rose opened her eyes, and while she wanted to start jumping with joy upon seeing the Doctor’s dear, even if worried, face, and for being alive, everything suddenly felt like too much effort. Rose realised that she still was shivering, and quite violently, and that she absolutely couldn’t feel anything but cold in her hands and legs.

The Doctor took her face in his hands, holding it in-between his palms, and he was stroking her cheeks carefully. His touch felt like fire, and Rose swore that he felt like a furnace, she could almost feel the warmth radiating from his body. 

“Rose? Can you hear me? Do you know where you are?” the Doctor queried, sounding worried still. 

“Can understand you,” she replied, and although she felt clear in her head, her tongue refused to follow the order to form adequate words. “‘M just too,” she said, a shudder breaking her speech, “cold. Cold, Doctor.”

Rose was only trying to explain that she was okay, and honestly very happy to see him, but it came out as a lament.

The Doctor smiled. It was a tight, tense smile, but Rose hummed, elated, and smiled in return.

Or tried to. Her lips weren’t doing very well with the orders, either.

And then, the Doctor’s eyes focused on something behind her back and swore. Rose didn’t know the language, not at all, but for some reason it sounded like the Doctor was swearing.

It was a long sentence. 

Suddenly, he was out of her line of vision, and Rose yelped when she felt something touch her bound hands.

“Sorry, sorry, it won’t be long, I’ll have you out in a jiffy,” he soothed, and Rose exhaled harshly as he kept on working on freeing her hands. “Just a bit more, Rose, that’s a good girl,” he encouraged. One part of Rose rolled her eyes at his words, but the other, bigger part, preened, pleased at his kind praise.

Oh, this cold must have caused some brain damage if she was thinking this with the Doctor so close to her.

She bit her lower lip to prevent herself from letting out any more cries only to wince at how tender her lips felt. Oh, God, she hoped the Doctor would be quick at tearing the ropes.

A triumphant ‘aha!’ broke the frozen air around them, and the Doctor was manoeuvring her hands back into her lap.

“There we go,” he drawled out, genuinely happy, and started examining her fingers one by one. Rose cocked her head to the side, fascinated at the sudden contrast between her and the Doctor’s skin colour.

“I’m blue!” she cried, surprised.

The Doctor looked at her, smiled brilliantly and squeezed her fingers gently.

“It won’t last,” he reassured. “There’s no damage, no frostbite yet, they let me in just in time,” as he said that, his brow furrowed and his eyes darkened. Then, as quickly as the thunderous mood came over it, it was gone. “But you’re good, always a fighter, Rose Tyler, and will be good if I have any say in this.”

Rose just stared at him, wide-eyed and bewildered, confused by his ever-changing moods.

“Do you think you could stand up? The TARDIS awaits.”

Rose nodded eagerly and attempted to stand up on her own only to teeter to the left and almost tumble down as if she was drunk.

“Oh,” she let out, surprised. She didn’t feel drunk, so why was her coordination wacky?

The Doctor was there to catch her. “Alright. Up you go, then. The Doctor Express. Only the best driving experience for the VIP clients, and you, Rose Tyler, are the lucky VIP passenger tonight.”

Bless. Rose didn’t know if to go ‘awww’ on him or to snog him senselessly for attempting to keep her spirits up while she’s feeling so poorly. She went for a safe option.

“I want,” she started, then stumbled over her words, “the seat by the window.”

It worked.

The Doctor chortled, gave her the quickest hug possible, and then he was shedding his coat off him.

“Let’s get you warmed up. Blue is not the look I like on my companions,” he muttered as he wrapped the coat around her shoulders, placing one lapel across the other as he left none of her skin uncovered.

And oh. Oh, the jacket was mercifully warm. A blissful smile bloomed on her face. Rose felt drunk on happiness, some warmth and the Doctor’s presence, and so she blamed her lowered inhibitions on what she did next.

She burrowed her nose into the coat’s collar and took a non-subtle sniff. 

It smelled heavenly.

Like the Doctor did.

“Love this smell,” Rose murmured while the Doctor was busy picking her up and arranging her in his arms comfortably. “Smells so…you.”

The Doctor let out a short, sudden exhale but marched out of the freezer cell steadily, and Rose felt as if she was flying, flowing. His gait was smooth, even, and it was clear that he was trying to jostle her as little as possible while he was walking.

Rose sighed, hummed, happy to be with the Doctor again, and alive no less, and closed her eyes, leaning her head onto the Doctor’s collarbone.

Oh God, it felt as if she died and went to heaven. Here she was, cradled in the Doctor’s arms securely, under his undiluted attention, wearing his coat, travelling towards the TARDIS where he would surely make her feel squeaky-new again, possibly treat her to some indulgence…what could be better…

“Now, Rose, don’t go falling asleep on me,” the Doctor mock-admonished her. “Come on, now, you were doing such a bang-up job of staying alive before I found you. Don’t go slacking on me now.”

Rose whined, offended.

“‘M not sleeping! ‘M thinking.”

“And what is Rose Tyler thinking of?” the Doctor asked, his breath not even hitching between his steady walk, carrying her and talking.

“The TARDIS,” Rose lied smoothly. She couldn’t very well say that she was lusting after the Doctor’s undivided affection, could she?

“Oh. I see. Sorry, then,” the Doctor said, but he didn’t sound sorry, he sounded a bit anxious. Rose lazily wondered why. “Still, don’t you dare falling asleep, the TARDIS is waiting, and I promise that if you stay awake, I’ll make you some top-quality tea and even throw in some blueberry muffins on top,” he cajoled.

“Cheapskate,” Rose teased. “I knew you were holding those muffins away from me, and you never, never make tea,” she lamented as she slapped his chest slightly. 

The Doctor laughed, and Rose felt some tension chip off his mood.

The walk to the TARDIS was quiet and uneventful from there on. 

When the Doctor stepped through the TARDIS (the doors opened to him without the key, miraculously), it took no time for them to move from the console room to the med bay.

The Doctor deposited Rose onto the squishy cot of the med bay. He then rushed to the settings panel and made the TARDIS warm the air in the infirmary. Rose still felt chill resigning steadily in her body, and she clutched the coat’s lapels tighter to her chest. 

She never, ever wanted to part with the coat again.

It felt as though only a moment passed by before the Doctor appeared in Rose’s line of vision.

For some reason unfathomable to Rose, the Doctor looked properly worried this time.

“Rose?”

She raised her eyes to meet his.

“Hm?”

“Are you feeling alright? You have been away with the fairies, it seems.”

The Doctor smiled gently, sweetly, but Rose practically tasted the anxiety emanating from him.

She shook her head, and her hair, messed up because of her fighting with the aliens, got into her face. She blew at it, too tired to actually take her hands out of the sanctuary of the Doctor’s coat and tuck it behind her ears. 

Suddenly, the Doctor’s fingers were brushing Rose’s cheeks, and he tenderly swept the unruly hair away from her eyes.

The tips of his fingers lingered on her apple cheeks, and Rose couldn’t override her body, her soul’s desire to be comforted.

She leaned into the Doctor’s palms, nuzzling like a cat. She felt slightly - or not slightly - drunk, and brave, and so she didn’t think about the consequences of her actions at that time.

Consequences could all rot in hell for what Rose cared about, along with the nasty aliens who all but turned her into a frozen package of lasagna. 

“Rose? Rose?” the Doctor called out to her again, sounding properly nervous then. “Come on,” he urged, but Rose stayed passive, feeling pleasantly sleepy and mellow with her face cradled between the Doctor’s hands. 

Rose didn’t see it, but the Doctor nodded to himself resolutely. He then proceeded to take off his coat off her, and Rose whined, insulted that he would ever be so cruel to her.

“C-cold,” she moaned. The Doctor kept muttering something that sounded remotely like an apology, but all Rose cared about was the cold that was still biting at her skin.

“Rose,” the Doctor said sternly. Her head snapped up, and she looked into his eyes, not understanding the reason for his unexplained displeasure. He lowered his face to her eye level. “We must get you out of these clothes and into some warm ones. Come on,” he said as he unwrapped Rose’s fingers around his coat’s lapels. Rose sighed ruefully but dropped her head and allowed the Doctor to take the precious garment away.

She felt like crying.

Still, he persisted. In mere moments, he had her raise her hands up and took her top off. Not a single muscle moved on his face as he helped her into a cotton t-shirt and a fuzzy cardigan from her own wardrobe. Rose puzzled over about where the Doctor could possibly take her things from, but her thoughts stopped entirely when he crouched down in front of the cot and reached his hands to her jeans’ buttons. 

Rose gulped, unsure about the whole arrangement and its implications on their relationship, and then her eyes wandered to the left when she tried to remember what knickers she had on that morning.

Only to close her eyes and cringe when she remembered that she hadn't shaved her legs for five days.

Crikey. That’s not how she wanted the Doctor to see her.

Did Time Lords care about the hairy legs of their partners?

Rose cared a lot.

She frowned when she realised that the Doctor was talking to her, and she spaced out, again.

“Rose? Come on, up you go, look, the TARDIS has prepared your favourite pyjama bottoms,” he coaxed, helping her move her hips off the med bay bed. 

Rose obliged. She was pouting mere moments later, offended at the Doctor’s lack of interest in her knickers.

Turns out she had on a pretty, pink number on her that day, and he didn’t even bat an eye at her underwear.

Rose sniffed, feeling not only cold but properly miserable then.

The Doctor wasn’t interested in her that way, of course he wasn’t . 

Rose was ready to smack herself for fancying that the Doctor would react to her being half-naked. He wouldn’t, she knew that for sure now. Just friends, that’s who they were, and her cold-affected brain decided that they could be something more for some reason.

Rose slumped her shoulders as soon as the Doctor helped her out of her jeans and into her pyjama bottoms. His movements were clean, precise, medical even, and Rose pouted at her silly fantasies about the Doctor being attracted to her body.

Silly her.

“Rose? What’s wrong, are you feeling worse? Does it hurt somewhere?” the Doctor queried, placing his hands onto her shoulders and squeezing them slightly. 

Rose shook her head mulishly, deciding not to share her woes with him. Oh, she wanted to do so much. She wanted to shake him and demand to explain why he couldn’t love her, why he couldn’t reciprocate her feelings. Rose craved to know what it was about her that didn’t appeal to him romantically, physically, what was the reason for his firm lines about what was allowed between them.

Only Rose knew that, and boy, didn’t it make her feel like a right cow that she thought these thoughts about her sweet, kind, selfless, broken-hearted Doctor that moment.

She knew why he’d never be able to let go of his gone people’s rules, and she understood, deep in her heart, that her human lifespan was a painful reason for their never-ending ‘we are friend, not lovers’ stage.

Rose sighed again, properly downtrodden now.

The Doctor fretted.

“Rose? Are you sure nothing hurts? No, no, this won’t do, let me check you up,” he nodded to himself resolutely, then he dashed to one of the med bay’s cupboards and brought a thin penlight with him.

“I’m fine,” Rose protested.

“Even so, let me check,” the Doctor insisted and took her chin in his left arm, placing the penlight in front of her eyes. “Follow my finger, please.”

Rose exhaled, annoyed, but did as she was bidden. Maybe if the Doctor is satisfied with the results, he will sooner leave her alone to lick her wounded feelings privately.

But then, she didn’t want him to leave her alone. She still felt so cold, and shaken up by a close-call, and she certainly wouldn’t mind being comforted by the Doctor’s larger-than-life presence, by his incessant chatter, by him holding her hands…

“Good. You’re doing very good, Rose,” the Doctor praised her with a smile, pinching her cheek affectionately, and Rose couldn’t help but lower her face and blush furiously at his words. Oh, he was going to be the death of her, wasn't he?

“Slightly disoriented, and the reflexes are slow, but that’s to be expected,” he muttered under his breath, but Rose could hear him anyway. “No wonder, really, after you’d been there for two hours,” he added, looking at her intensely. Then, his demeanour changed suddenly, and he gave her a bright, cheerful smile. “Not to worry, Rose Tyler, I’ll have you up and running, feeling as good as new, in two shakes!”

And then, out of the blue, he hugged her tightly, pressing her to his body, and kissed the top of her head while stroking her back with his hands.

Huh.

Rose’s resolve to stay calm and slightly aloof melted away immediately. She leaned into the Doctor’s warm hug, basking in the comfort that the Doctor’s arms were giving her.

They spent the next moments in complete silence, just the sound of Rose’s occasional harsh breath intakes breaking the atmosphere.

Then, the Doctor gently broke away their hug and instructed:

“Lie down a moment here, Rose. Lemme do a full body scan. If you manage to stay awake, I promise you the most luxurious breakfast in bed you’ve ever received.”

Before Rose could protest that she didn’t want to sleep, he had her lying on the cot on her back. She sighed, resigned to her fate, and allowed him to put several patches onto her pulse points and take a quick, painless blood test (she couldn’t fathom why in the world he’d need it then). He also passed the dermal regenerator over both of her wrists, mending the damage from the rough ropes. Truth be told, and she’d eat a plate of burnt toasts before admitting this, Rose did feel sleepy all of a sudden. Her eyelids felt as if they were filled with lead, and her thoughts were somewhat slow and murky.

And so, to prove the Doctor wrong, Rose tried her best to stay conscious while he puttered around, running scans and tests. He reminded Rose of a ball of endless energy, and his moving made her feel dizzy.

She closed her eyes for a second.

“Rose? Rose, come on, you lazy girl, wake up. I’m almost done, promise, all you need to do is show me your fingers and toes,” the Doctor wheedled, arranging Rose’s slow, indeed lazy, body, in a sitting position. “Go on, sweetheart, move your fingers for me.”

The term of endearment almost made Rose’s heart burst from her chest. A massive wave of warmth attacked her chest, and all of her insides glowed bright yellow from being called that.

She felt heavenly.

And so, Rose obliged.

The smile that appeared on the Doctor’s face could have melted the ice caps of the Arctic.

“Good job. You’re doing great. Now, your toes.”

Again, Rose wiggled the fingers on her feet, and the Doctor cupped her cheeks in his palms, squeezing them affectionately. 

“Brilliant, Rose Tyler. Top-notch. Now, off to bed with you. Let’s get you some socks, though,” he offered and assisted her with putting her geese-patterned fuzzy socks on.

Rose was again surprised at how and when the socks appeared in the med bay. It must have been the TARDIS, though, she shrugged to herself mentally. 

“Right then. Up, up, up!” The Doctor demanded suddenly.

Rose found herself being carried bridal-style once more, and while she was sure that she could walk under her own steam, she didn’t protest.

If the Doctor was offering free rides and extra hugs, she wouldn’t turn him down.

Her earlier determination to stay cool and a bit distant chipped away under the Doctor’s tender, diligent care and his sweet words of endearment.

Several short moments later - the Tardis must’ve moved Rose’s room closer to the infirmary - the Doctor deposited Rose onto her own bed. 

She found great comfort in the colour and texture of her own bed, her own knitted, strawberry-patterned blanket, and sank into the bedsheets gratefully, pulling the blanket and the covers closer to herself.

The Doctor hovered near, tucking the blankets.

“Will you be alright for a few minutes? I’ll be back in a jiffy, I’ll just pop into the galley and make you something warming and nourishing. You need calories to warm up properly,” he explained and tucked a stray strand of her hair behind her ear.

Rose smiled and nodded eagerly, truly craving something warm and possibly sweet then. The Doctor muttered, “Yeah?”, leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to her forehead before shying away abruptly and disappearing through the door of her bedroom.

Rose must’ve dosed, lulled by the knowledge that she was finally warm and safe, and that the Doctor had called her a sweetheart before. She was startled out of her slumber by the Doctor’s sudden appearance by her side.

“Here, Rose. Drink this. This is…erm,” he trailed off, scratching the back of his head, uncertain, “this is a nourishing mix, chocolate flavoured, warm, full of calories, just what the doctor ordered.”

Rose smiled at his joke and took a sip through the straw. The drink tasted strangely at best: it was sweet and salty at the same time, barely resembling chocolate. The texture was off, feeling too thick, too powdery, and Rose scrunched her nose, unhappy.

“I don’t like it.”

The Doctor jumped to the drink’s defense.

“Come on, Rose. Think of the best breakfast in bed. And I’ll throw in a shopping trip, too. Remember the Golden Plaza on Troom in 2078? We’ll go there if you finish this and get better, I promise.”

Rose gave him a sour look, narrowing her eyes. His eyes were big, pleading, and he still exuded too much anxiety for her liking. She had enough energy to roll her eyes, but she went on and tried to finish the strange-tasting drink anyway.

"I want you to blow them up, Doctor,” Rose said, her voice raspy from too much cold. She felt extra angry about the stupid, cruel aliens who had put her into the freezer because her extremities started to warm up that moment, causing unpleasant tingles and needles to run down her body.

Rose cringed as she rode another wave of pins and needles, but kept on sipping strange concoction in her hands.

"Nah, you don't mean that. Not you. Not my Rose Tyler. Not a single cruel bone in her body, I swear. Let’s see how you feel about that once you're warm and healthy, yeah?" the Doctor cajoled as he raised one corner of the blanket up and pressed a hot water bottle onto her lower belly and her thighs. “There you go,” he drawled and tucked the blanket around her again. “I’m sure you’ll be more merciful once you feel better.”

Rose gave him a dirty look but said nothing.

“So, how did you find me? Did the TARDIS tell you that I was in danger?" she asked, genuinely curious.

The Doctor smiled again.

“No. I have a ‘Rose is in danger alarm’ , right here,” he explained, tapping his temple. “I felt that something was wrong three minutes after we’d got separated, the rest of time was spent by me trying to persuade the Cluxcconians to pardon you,” he said with an apologetic expression on his face. “Stubborn buggers, they are. Not surprisingly, though, they are sharp-set on precious stones. Thirty thumbnail-sized diamonds, and you were free and cleared of all the charges immediately.”

Rose choked on her drink.

“Thirty huge diamonds? Doctor, that’s incredibly expensive! How much that must’ve cost…Where the hell did you even find them?”

The Doctor placed a soothing hand on her back.

“Rose,” he implored. “There’s nothing more important and more precious to me than you,” he confessed. “I’ll always do anything to get you back, and I will pay any price to make sure that you’re safe.”

Rose gulped. Her throat suddenly felt dry, her tongue felt too big for her mouth, and she found herself unable to say anything.

The Doctor, however, moved on long before Rose could come up with a reply. He jumped up, fretting over the covers again, then snatched the cup from Rose’s hands to check how much she’d already drunk. 

“Five golden stars, Rose Tyler! Amazing, as always,” he applauded, and Rose blushed again, feeling a bit silly. He congratulated her as if she’d gone and won a Nobel Prize when in fact the only thing she did was drink the warming liquid.

Rose shook her head. That was the Doctor for you. Strange, mad, sometimes wildly inconsistent, but so invitingly…Doctor.

She reached out one of her hands to him, wanting to stop his mad hovering, and he accepted her hand in his immediately, as if he was pulled to her by a magnet.

“Thank you, Doctor,” Rose said, her voice wavering a little. “Just…thank you.”

The Doctor’s lips stretched in a slow, fond smile, and he squeezed her hand in reply.

They didn’t need any more words.

They understood.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

That night, Rose slept soundly, soothed by the TARDIS’s hum, comforted by the warmth of her bed and the non-cooling hot water bottle provided by the Doctor.

The next morning, true to his word, the Doctor brought a five-star breakfast to her room, complete with a small flower bouquet and a tiny basket of fresh blueberry muffins from their favourite pastry shop in 20th century France. 

She didn’t admit that she’d seen him fussing next to her through the night. Rose didn’t miss the butterfly-like touches to her cheeks, to her forehead; she didn’t miss the tell-tale holding of her wrist to count the number of her heart beats. He soothed the last of the chills that persisted in her body, stroking her back and murmuring something in that melodic language of his. Her slumber was deep, however, and she was pulled down by exhaustion to truly be awake and react to the Doctor’s diligent care.

It didn’t matter that she didn’t appreciate it or that she’d call the Doctor out on his fretting.

She’d never.

 ˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Two days later, after she was given a clear bill of health and after the chills and the slight weakness was finally gone, the Doctor took her to the Golden Plaza. She bought a pretty, heart-patterned cardigan per the Doctor’s recommendation and wore it to the next trip to the 23rd century Alps mere weeks later.

She’d never forget how warm and comforting that cardigan felt on her skin, and how delicious the blueberry muffins from the luxury breakfast in bed tasted the morning after she was rescued by the Doctor.

The end.

#another hurt/comfort fic? #what else is new sasha? #I will greatly appreciate reblogs if you liked the story #tenrose #ten x rose #tenth doctor #rose tyler #hypothermia #hurt/comfort #timepetals #doctor who

[aletterinthenameofsanity]

A Doctor being honest with his companions about his past & his trauma & his mistakes? And then said companions understanding and loving him anyway and him getting to understand that he doesn't have to be lonely anymore?

In MY Doctor Who fic?

More likely than you think!

#aletterinthenameofsanity #my fics #ao3 #eleventh doctor #doctor who #eleven x amy x rory #amy pond #rory williams #fanfic #my writing #writing update #who knew we were going to get another being honest and Dealing With The TraumaTM conversation #at this point it's kind of a trademark in my fics #this is what you come here for #hurt/comfort #also same joke can be made about 9/10-11 continuity #continuity? in my doctor who? say it ain't so #*claps hands* welcome to the Doctor Gets To Heal series!

[tenderlywicked]

Here's some fourteenth Doctor whump!

Now I can go back to writing a Doctor/Master BDSM fic :)

Summary: Letting go of residual energy is not as simple as Donna and Rose might believe.

#doctor who #fourteenth doctor #hurt/comfort #whump #emotional whump #doctor who 60th anniversary #the star beast #14th doctor #the doctor #doctor who fanfiction #dw fanfic #doctor who fic

[analieninabox]

ten x fem!reader

doc comforts the reader as she is struggling with trauma !!

EYYYY I’m backkkk!! ya girl just got back from a long break so I’m sorry if there are some of you who made requests and haven’t got them answered yet. I’ll do my best to get them all done lol. Anyways, enjoy the Fluff (little bit of angst but mainly fluff)

I honestly wasn’t sure what to do with trauma so I’m just writing that reader has a breakdown but without what happened being mentioned. I hope you like it! (Use of Y/N and Romantic Ten x Fem!reader)

A reminder that if anyone ever feels like seeking help with something, you’re not a burden to anyone :) doing what is best for yourself is important and sometimes asking for help is the best thing we can do. Love ya! xx

You slowly closed your eyes, bringing a hand over your face and dragging it down. The Doctor was under the console, chatting away while he worked on the Tardis. Oblivious to your pain as usual. You were starting to believe nobody noticed. Nobody cared.

There was a gaping hole inside your chest. It had been there for a while now, a void of emotions you didn’t want sitting over the space where your heart was supposed to be. Memories you’d tried to push down inside wouldn’t stay down, and were bubbling inside you ready to burst out and crack you until you spilled everywhere.

You kept your hands over your eyes, the pressure of your palms distracting you from your thoughts as bright colors erupted behind your eyelids.

The Doctor had always told you to come to him if you needed help with anything. He told you he’d always be there for you. Well, you needed help now. But you couldn’t bring yourself to say anything. For gods sake, you should be dealing with this by yourself not burdening him or anyone else with it.

The colors that swirled on your eyelids were interrupted in their dance by the feeling of two hands gently guiding yours downwards. You opened your eyes and met The Doctors brown, ancient ones. You opened your mouth to speak but all that came out was a strangled sort of noise.

You weren’t aware of the tears that had fallen down your cheeks until The Doctors hand was there wiping them away gently.

“Hey- Hey Y/N look at me. It’s okay I’m here you’re alright.”

He was crouched on the floor in front of you, meaning when you moved your head again to look at him your faces were only inches away from each-other. So close that you could point out every one of the barely visible freckles on his face. For a moment you felt calmer sitting there with him. His hand gently resting on your back as he breathed with you.

The moment seemed to last forever, and you promised yourself to carve the way his touch felt deep into your memory so as never to forget it. His other hand held yours, moving every so often to brush a stray tear away while whispering words of comfort that were lost on your ears. The only thing you could focus on was him. Perhaps that’s exactly what you needed.

Eventually the tears stopped coming and The Doctor gently shifted to sit beside you. You sniffed rather inelegantly, knowing what was to come.

“Would you like to tell me what’s wrong, Y/N?”

The Doctors voice was gentle, and you knew he thought you were probably bonkers. He’d probably think you were unstable and get you to leave or-

“Y/N, it’s alright love. Come here.”

The tears were back and he shifted so to put his arms around you. You froze for a moment before relaxing and letting yourself enjoy the hug. Your head rested on his chest, the sound of his two hearts soothing you. He was here. He wasn’t leaving you. He cared about you.

“I- I’ve been feelin’ awful lately..”

You finally managed words. Everything suddenly felt like too much and there was a feeling in your stomach like someone had wrapped a rope around it tightly.

“Things have just been building up really… memories of things that’ve happened to me coming back.”

He didn’t speak, letting you get your feelings out. Instead he shifted so he could look down at you. You still didn’t meet his eyes not wanting to face them incase it broke you.

“I just… I didn’t want to ask for help. Didn’t feel like it was anyones problem but mine. That- That I had to fix it myself.”

A shaky breath in and out leaving you feeling even more deprived of air than a moment ago. And then his lips were on your forehead, pressing a soft kiss to it, and his arms were holding you tighter to him.

“Oh my sweet Y/N… I’m here to help. Always have been. It’s one of the reasons why I travel, really. To help people. And if there’s anyone I’d love to help more than anything it’d be you.”

He paused and moved back again to look in your eyes. His face was serious.

“If you ever need anything… feel anything like this again… come to me. I’m your Doctor, remember?”

He flashed you a grin and you snorted. He watched you as you yet again wiped away tears, a small smile on his lips.

“Im always here when you need me. So don’t go bottling all this stuff up again, hm?”

You nodded and he stood up, pulling you up with him, and walking towards the console.

“Now, if you’re feeling up to it how about a trip to YnōvsK, planet of sunsets. Gorgeous place to visit. I’ve been meaning to go there for a while!”

He turned around to face you, hand on the lever that would send you both through the time vortex.

“What do you say?”

You smiled, and placed your hand over his.

“Sounds brilliant. Allonsy, Doctor!”

“Allonsy Y/N!”

————————-

A/N: by the way, this was so cringe at the end but god please ignore it (it reminds me of my 2014 era of ten imagines tbh). I hope you enjoyed it though and if you have anymore requests Theyre back open!

#imagines #doctor who #tenth doctor #doctor who headcanons #tenth doctor x you #tenth doctor x reader #angst with a happy ending #angst #hurt/comfort #whump fic #ten x reader

[thirdeyeblue]

Out on a snowy hike, the Doctor and Rose get lost and quickly find themselves in danger. With night upon them and temperatures dropping fast, staying warm becomes a matter of survival. 

Pairing: Tenth Doctor x Rose Tyler

Rating: Explicit

Length: 11k (one shot) 

Tags: Huddling For Warmth, First Time, Romance, Smut

[Ao3]

It's nearly twilight on the planet Karoa when the Doctor and Rose find themselves sprinting through a dense forest. 

They're heading back to the TARDIS after a long, snowy hike through the wilderness when the Doctor realizes he'd plotted their course wrong, leaving a deep and narrow river between them and the side of the forest where they initially landed. It wouldn't have been a big deal, but they were still quite far from the ship, and the sky was darkening quickly. 

Searching for the path they originally used to get across, they encounter a couple of adorable wolf pups snacking on some sort of bird-like carcass. Their smiles and awe are quickly wiped away when they find themselves pursued by the mother a moment later, a massive wolf with silvery-blue fur that spotted them from a distance.

 It's not long before the Doctor spots their best option: a log crossing straight over to the other side of the river. It's not very wide, but it looks to be grounded well enough. He looks over his shoulder, catching Rose's eyes with a profoundly sympathetic expression.

"It's the only way," he says quietly.

In the near distance, growls echo through the trees, deep, rumbling and sinister in the encroaching darkness and twisting trees. He takes her hand and clutches it with the purposeful squeeze of a man who isn't sure how to tell his friend just how much danger they're in because there could be more wolves en route… It could be an entire bloody _pack, _for all he knows. 

"We've got to get across," he insists, and this time, there's no mistaking the urgency or the fear in his voice. "Rose, I would carry you if I could. You know I would. You're just going to have to be careful."

Rose shivers, nodding shakily. "O-okay."

The Doctor smiles weakly. "You go first— I'll be right behind you to catch you if you slip."

"Promise?"

"Promise." 

The wolf has almost caught up to them now, her rumbling growls accompanied by the crunching sounds of paws trampling through leaves. He gives Rose a tug. "Come on."

Together, with hands linked, the pair makes a beeline for the log. Once they arrive, the Doctor gives the natural bridge a brief inspection, though they're almost immediately interrupted by a guttural growl from no more than ten meters off. 

Rose looks back at him with terrified eyes, and he wills another smile. His Rose is strong and brilliant. She can do this. He nods towards the log, and very carefully, they begin to make their way across. It's narrow, and the water rushing below is rather intimidating, but it's not too far of a distance. There's no way the wolf can cross it, at least not easily.

The mother snarls and gnashes her teeth as she advances on the pair. At this point, they're more than halfway across, and the Doctor reaches into his coat and removes his sonic screwdriver. Turning his head to point it at the beast, he apologizes under his breath before emitting a frequency that pulls an agonized screech from the animal, debilitating her for a crucial moment.

Rose glances over her shoulder at the sound as she's midway across the log. It's enough of a critical misstep that when she looks forward, she steps on a small patch of frozen moss, knocking her off-balance the same instant the Doctor is busy slipping his screwdriver into his pocket. 

With a scream, her body pitches right, and though her arms flail about in a bid to regain purchase, she loses the battle with gravity and plunges headfirst into the freezing depths below. The Doctor's hearts stop.

"Rose!" 

Thinking fast, he tosses his coat to the other side of the log, where it lands in the snow with a soft, crunching thud. He then dives straight into the water, following Rose without a second thought. 

The river's so cold it feels as though it's boiling against his skin — but he's able to tune the discomfort out completely, sustaining the bulk of his core temperature as he swims. 

Rose has already been pulled quite a ways down the river, head bobbing in and out of the water as she gasps for air and attempts to cry for help. She can't find stability in the rapids, but the Doctor isn't human, so if there's one thing to be grateful for in this moment of terror, it's how quickly he can come to his companion's rescue.

"Rose— Rose, I've got you." He gets an arm around her waist and holds her close, barely keeping them both afloat by kicking his legs. "Hold on!"

Arms cumbrous with soaking, freezing clothing wrap around his neck and cling tightly, quite literally for dear life, as he desperately searches the edge for anything he can use to pull them to safety. He uses almost all of his strength to keep her head above water, feeling his hearts break more and more with each choking cough and gasp she emits in bursts beside his ear. 

Thankfully, it only takes a moment before he spots erosion in the soil ahead, a spot where the tree roots are unearthed and exposed. He swims desperately for them, occasionally pulled beneath the water by Rose's inadvertent tugging and the violent current swirling around them. 

The first root he grasps breaks away from the ground. He doesn't waste much time or energy chastising himself for the risk, instead grabbing a sturdier root, drawing his remaining strength to hang on for all he's worth.

"Come on," he breathes, looking at his companion, who's now sopping wet, white as a sheet and overcome with heavy shivers. "Oh, Rose— you're alright— here, hold on to my neck — there you go. Hang on tight — that's it, now DO. NOT. LET. GO."

Thank the lucky stars she listens, using impressive strength in her weakened state to hold on as he works towards getting them out of the river.

Each time he reaches up and takes hold of a new root, he pulls them up a little higher, slowly drawing their bodies out of the water. He continues to climb with hands nearly numb, threatening to jeopardize his grip, but he powers through — even while he's repeatedly nicked by jagged bits of wood.

With no small effort, he eventually pulls up over the ledge, hoisting them both onto the snowy ground with a pained grunt. Hidden under the cover of dusk, he feels confident they've evaded the wolves. 

Quickly and carefully, he lowers Rose to her feet. Exposed again to the icy air, he can't help but notice how harsh the cold is. For her sake, he's desperate to get back to the log and retrieve his coat.

She's pale with a flushed face, muscles contracting in violent shivers as her body attempts to warm her with the chemical expenditure of rapid movement. It's frivolous, of course— no amount of shivering will counteract the abrupt loss of heat from being submerged in the river — but at least she's _able _to. For now, that's the best sign he could ask for other than a bloody sauna magically materializing in front of them. 

The Doctor swallows thickly, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. She gasps.

"D-D-D— Doc—"

"Shhhh." He gathers her close to his side, surreptitiously stealing glances in each direction to ensure they're no longer being pursued.

He breathes a quiet sigh when he sees that the coast is clear.

Thankfully, there's nothing on this side of the river—only trees, the soft sounds of water, and the distant but warm and familiar hum of his ship. They might be on the right side now, but they're not at all close. Again, he sighs, looking down at Rose's face. 

_Oh, Rose. _She's dazed to the point of appearing drugged, flushed and racked with heavy, shaking shivers as her body continues attempting to heat itself up in any way it can. Though the sight is alarming, and rightfully so, he's still relieved to see that she's maintained the motor skills necessary for her body to have such a response. That means he's still got time. 

His arm tightens around her waist.

"Come on, Rose," he murmurs, tightening his hold on her waist. "We're going to go and get you warm, alright?"

"I-I-I'm s-s-s-s-so c-c-cold," she chatters weakly, nearly keeling over with a shudder the Doctor feels coursing through her body, intense as an electric shock.

His hearts break a little more. All he wants to do is cloak her, hold her, protect her, anything, but they're both absolutely sopping wet. With the temperature's relentless descent, any attempts to reach the TARDIS could result in certain death— even if there weren't wolves awaiting them on the other side. 

His only hope for immediate relief is to get back his coat. They've floated a reasonable distance from where he tossed it, but it's still reasonably close, so he gives Rose another squeeze.

"I know, and I'm sorry— really, I'm_ so_ sorry— but we've got to keep moving."

"I c-c-c-can't, I-I—"

"Non-negotiable, Rose Tyler— you _can, _and you will. Just do as I do. Come on, that's it. One foot in front of the other. We're just a short ways out. There you go."

The Doctor's weakened legs are the only thing propelling them forward, supporting so much of Rose's weight that her movements aren't entirely unlike a marionette controlled by strings. He wants to run at a full sprint to where his coat lies in the snow, but he doesn't trust Rose to keep herself upright, and he's got to keep her moving. 

It takes several excruciating moments, but they finally reach the log, where the wolf has since thankfully abandoned her previous position. The Doctor keeps Rose balanced at his side and carefully uses his foot to lift his coat up from the frozen forest floor, using as much of his periphery as possible to make sure nothing's about to take a running leap at them. 

Once he gets the coat into his hand, he quickly wraps it around her, making sure it's snug before he pulls his sonic from the pocket.

 "I'm going to pick you up," he informs her quietly, and then he does just that, handling her as gently as possible. She's gone hypothermic. Any sudden movements could shock her already jeopardized system, potentially triggering cardiac arrest. 

He's light on his feet as he moves through the forest, keeping an eye out for danger and taking strategic steps to keep from jostling her too much. They appear safe, but he walks with reasonable caution, knowing that a timer and a warning loom over each step. 

Rose is in the throes of a medical emergency. If he can't find a suitable spot quickly, he'll have no choice but to set up a camp right on the forest floor. Even if he can regulate their combined temperatures for the duration of the evening without exhausting the limits of his physiology, they'll still be vulnerable and open to attack. His chances of survival are marginally better due to his species, but Rose is defenseless. 

With that in mind, he walks quickly as he can, keeping his eyes wide and focused as he searches for anything he can use to increase their odds of survival. The entire time he moves, he's talking to Rose, hoping to keep her conscious. She's half-delirious, speaking in a slurred, jumbled cadence. 

He tries not to dwell on the reality of her condition, on the fate that awaits them if he can't get her temperature up in time.

He shuts out the thought he might lose her, because he can't— and he _won't— _and that's that. 

Miraculously, after about ten minutes, he finds a network of caves on the side of a relatively shallow bluff. He realizes they'd passed the ridge during their initial trek and completely overlooked it, having never thought it relevant to take note of any potential shelters in the area.

Lesson learned.

Several of the little caves are high up in the rock, therefore impossible to reach safely. There's one cavern peeking out through a spindly thicket of dead ivy that looks promising.

It might be perfect, though it's not even tall enough for either of them to stand in. It looks secluded, and that's what matters. It's shelter. It's going to have to do.

"Alright, Rose— we're going to go right in here, alright?"

She trembles out a painful acknowledgment that sends a spike of anxiety through his chest.

Get it together, the Doctor thinks to himself. Rose needs you.

Ducking down, he helps Rose to her knees behind him. He does almost all of the work, carefully guiding her through the net-like curtain of dead plant life covering the cave's entrance, tugging it back over to protect them from the elements. Time Lord or not, he's bloody freezing, but he couldn't give a damn. This is the only hope he's got of saving Rose, and there's not a split second to spare. 

When finally they're both on the cave floor, he keeps his eyes riveted to his companion as he gets close to her and fishes around inside his coat pocket. It's dark, but with his stellar eyesight, he can see her paper-white skin, flushed cheeks, and the frozen puffs of air she exhales through the clicks of her chattering teeth.

"You're alright," he murmurs, heart aching at the sight of her. She looks like she's about to keel over, and though he'll most certainly be there to catch her if she does, his hands move like lightning through his pocket anyway. He's got to get her temperature up, and fast. "You're going to be just fine. Alright? We're just going to have a lie-down, and you're going to be absolutely perfect— just you watch, Rose Tyler."

Rose mumbles something he can't pretend to understand, so he nods and acknowledges it politely, yes-anding his friend to keep her aware while he removes a few essential items from his coat. 

"Oh, please, please, please," he whispers shakily to himself as he digs through his pocket, remembering something he'd picked up ages ago but wasn't sure he'd stashed away or not. He searches until, finally, his fingers grasp a small bundle of folded fabric, and he breathes out with such a relieved whoosh that his entire body slackens from it.

"Ha!" He celebrates with a grin, swiftly working to untie and unravel the little bundle before spreading it out on the cold cave floor. Inside the packet is a long, thin rectangle made of special material from Tazmelora, a soft but durable foam pad that rapidly begins to expand before his eyes. "Have a look at that, Rose — a bed! Not a proper one, of course — gonna be a bit tight, I'm afraid —but we'll make do."

It's _much _better than nothing. The pad retains heat exceptionally well, providing a soft buffer between their bodies and the unforgiving ground. He briefly admonishes himself for not searching for it as soon as they'd reached his coat, but having little time to spare standing around exposed to the elements, he cuts himself some slack. Besides, their hidden cave offers better shelter.

The last thing he pulls from his pocket is something he knew was on hand: a bundle of small pouches about the size of a box of sandwich bags. Instant hot compresses. He removes three of the pouches and puts the rest away, grasping all three at once and squeezing them until an almost bubble wrap-like pop snaps across the walls of their enclosed space. Brilliant.

He sets the compress on top of their little 'bed' as they inflate and reaches into his pocket one last time, flashing Rose an apologetic look — but her eyes are almost closed. He doesn’t have to search long before he finds a large bundle of gauze, which he removes and begins to unravel, cutting long strips away with his sonic and wrapping a good, thick layer around each compress before setting them back on the foam pad.

With everything else now out of the way, he begins to pull his clothes off with feverish celerity, starting with his suit jacket.

"Right then, Rose," he breathes, tossing each sodden article of clothing to the side as he removes it, a pile forming as each bit hits the ground with a wet shlop, "I'm terribly sorry to say this, but erm, I'm going to have to remove your clothes."

"O-o-o-o-k-kay," she chatters quietly as the Doctor sets his shoes to the side. 

He unbuttons his trousers and slips them from his freezing legs, then his pants, accomplishing his clothing removal with remarkable haste. Confident she can't see him, he kneels naked in front of Rose and carefully uses the sonic to cut her clothes from her body, not even thinking of stealing a peek outside of what's necessary. 

It's dark regardless, almost entirely black in the cave that houses them. He knows she likely isn't aware of what he's doing, because she doesn't say a word — only shivers unremittingly. 

After brushing the little pile of hot compresses to the side, he gently removes his coat from a weakly-protesting Rose and places his hands on her bare hips. Very carefully, he guides her onto their 'bed'.

"Shhh, just right here... Go on, I've got you… There you go." He smiles wide once he's got her down on the foam mat, and then he's back to business, pulling the coat up to her neck and tucking the heat packs inside.

He crawls behind her underneath the coat and distributes the heat sources around her body, strategically applying them to the best spots to raise her core temperature. He places one beneath her arm, then inserts one between her legs, gently pulling her thighs apart to press the warmth directly against her groin. 

She shudders upon contact, and he whispers an apology. Not certain she registers his words, he moves on, wrapping an arm around her waist and drawing her body to his until every inch of her back, bum, and legs are flush with his front. 

She's so freezing cold that the bite of skin-on-skin causes his jaw to clench, but he doesn't care, picking up and pressing the final compress to her chest and holding it there with the arm he wraps tightly around her. 

With everything else done, he can finally focus his energy on generating warmth to donate through the touch of their skin, holding her body snugly to his and gently whispering into her ear: 'It's alright, you're alright, everything is going to be just fine, I've got you'.

He doesn't concern himself with rubbing her arms or legs, knowing that doing so could encourage blood to flood back into her slowly-warming core and put undue stress on her heart and lungs. He's not interested in any increase to her risk of death.

They've already made it this far. He’s not about to lose her now. 

It's freezing outside, the last vestiges of daylight long bled from the sky, shrouding the cave in an all-encompassing night.

Beneath Janise Joplin's famed coat, however, warmth is beginning to take precedence over chill. Rose's shivers slowly morph from violent, tooth-clattering intensity to gentle, rolling vibrations that ripple beneath her skin. 

Thank you, the Doctor thinks over and over to no deity in particular._ Thank you, thank you, thank you._

He's blessed with the endurance of a Time Lord, but after their unforeseen swim, propelling the pair of them through the forest and situating them in the cave, warming himself and Rose takes a tremendous toll on his system. The sheer amount of energy he's had to expend to generate all that life-giving heat is almost cosmic. 

As such, it doesn't take long for him to grow exhausted behind her, but he staves off sleep long enough to ensure she's safely out of hypothermia, raising her temperature to 36.4 degrees celsius before he's even allowed himself a stable breath. 

She's fast asleep by that point, her heartbeat and breathing picking up until her levels are below average but slowly rising. Rising is good. He can work with that.

Tucking her head beneath his, the Doctor carefully removes the hot compresses from under her arm and between her legs. Confident they'll be adequately warm beneath the coat, he awkwardly shifts one of the compresses down to their feet, keeping the other two lying in front of her just for the extra warmth.

Without thinking, he presses a kiss to her hair, more relieved than he's been since the day he saved them from being sucked into a black hole. He's overwhelmed with gratitude as he holds her, overjoyed that he's managed to beat the odds once more.

He rides that joy into a deep sleep, blissfully wrapped around the woman he loves.

x

Rose hums, low and long, as she's slowly lifted from her slumber, aware of a warm presence around her.

At first, she's too tired to question it, but then she feels a soft, warm breath exhaled against her neck and wakes with a quiet gasp. Her eyes fly open to find herself greeted with a dark wall of stone, as well as a multicolored pile of… Hmm.

She squints, willing her eyes to focus on what she sees.

Jeans.

A pinstriped suit jacket.

A jumper.

Possibly her least attractive pair of knickers.

And that's just the stuff she's able to see. The stuff on top of the pile.

Everything else comes back to her in fuzzy fragments. The wolves, the river, the Doctor pulling them to safety and dragging them through the forest.

Only minutely is she able to recall the buzzing sound of the sonic as he'd cut through her clothes, the feeling of his body pressing against hers.

His… equally naked body.

And that's when she grasps the true nature of what's happening: she's naked on a cave floor being spooned by the Doctor.

Her heart palpitates as breathing suddenly becomes taxing because, oh wow, oh god. Never mind that it's been ages since she's been naked in front of another human— she's never even imagined being naked in front of him.

Err, well, except when she…

Never mind.

Despite her valiant efforts to force her breathing to remain level, she feels the arm around her waist squeezing her, then there's a face nuzzling the back of her neck, and oh, he's not hard, but he's pressing forward with his hips, and she can feel all of him— warm and thick against her backside.

"Mmm," he hums quietly, then squeezes her again. "Rose."

"D-Doctor?" she chirps, her voice a quiet falsetto.

The arm he's secured around her waist goes slack as he moves to press his hand over her belly, fingers splaying before he proceeds to rub slow circles into her skin. 

Though Rose is toasty-warm from head to toe beneath his coat, she shivers. She wonders just how conscious he is of what he's doing because, well... 

Point blank, she couldn't imagine a reality where he'd so willingly caress her this way. She can't just push him off of her, can she? She also isn't really sure what the right move is just yet. 

Would she even be able to?

Logic doesn't tend to factor in when one wakes to find themselves naked and being spooned by the man they adore.

He pushes forward with his hips again, and this time, Rose feels a pulse against her bum. Then another. Yeah, he's definitely getting hard now, and oh god, his hand is moving higher and higher up her torso, dragging a path across eager skin that's quick to respond to his touch.

If he isn't awake, he's probably about to be. With only mild panic, Rose believes he's doomed to jolt into full awareness as soon as he feels the pounding of her heart beneath his palm. With the way it's been thrumming in her ears, she's surprised it doesn't echo against the cave walls.

She can already feel herself trembling, and she wonders if he can feel it, too. Precious centimeters drift away beneath his slow-moving fingers, sparking every raring nerve and synapse until finally, he covers her breast. He hums quietly, almost _appreciatively, _cupping and squeezing the soft weight as goosebumps spread rapidly across her skin. 

Now she knows he's asleep. He's never touched her so intimately, and she's got a bit of a gut feeling that he wouldn't in the first place — particularly without asking. She knows she's going to have to put a stop to whatever's going on, but her brain is at sixes and sevens, and _ooh, _he's very hard now, grinding into her bum and moaning almost achingly into the back of her neck.

As he rocks against her, she bites back a whimper, internal muscles squeezing and clamping down on nothing, desperately seeking a presence that teases her just inches away. Her nails find the foam pad they're lying on and sink achingly into it, letting off some tension as her teeth find her bottom lip.

He does it again— _blimey— _she can feel how he's shaped; can tell exactly how big he is. Can just about taste what it'd be like to have him nestled deep inside her, secured and slipping through her sex, filling and withdrawing before filling her again. He nuzzles closer, bringing his mouth so close to her ear.

"Rose," he murmurs, voice like sweet silk, touching his lips to her neck and kissing her softly. "Needed… this." She feels him throb powerfully against her as he moves his hips. "Mmm..."

Her heart melts at the sound of him, all raw and vulnerable. At the same time, a profound rush of heat roars beneath her skin, something that simmers and settles somewhere low, deep, and increasingly riddled with urgency. Moisture collects in that spot, readying her body, flooding her where she's so very close to him — where he could slip right inside with just the tiniest adjustment.

If he wanted to. 

"Ooh," she moans, eyes squeezing shut, and she freezes again, panicked that she's allowed herself to respond in such a way when what she should be doing is stopping him. It's wrong, allowing this to go on— she knows it is— but she's scared. What if he's mortified? What if he blames_ her?_

"Rose." 

His mouth is at her ear, his voice deep and thick with sleep. He murmurs something soft, something _gorgeous, _but she's got no idea what it is— only that it's far too structured to be sleepy gibberish. There's an almost-Italian-but-also-sort-of-Arabic resonance to it, yet entirely unique; something she can't even pretend to know how to accurately describe. 

He slides his hand back down to her belly and presses her close as he nuzzles her neck, continuing to whisper to her, and that's when she realizes it must be his native tongue. It has to be.

Even in his sleep, it flows from his mouth like poetry. 

She can't understand a word of it, of course. All she knows is that it's so beautiful, so enchanting, so _alien, _and she feels herself get choked up, like she's sharing something remarkably private and intimate with this beautiful being she's grown to know and love so very much.

Grinding into her again, he continues to whisper that magical, extraterrestrial spell. He says her name. He moves his hand over her breast again. His cock pulses firmly with the movement of his hips. He exhales in a shudder right above her ear. 

She wants to have sex with him. She wants that very much. Wants to hear those same words in her ear while he fucks her; wants to feel them painted against her neck while she comes.

But she's got to stop him, because this isn't right. All of his sleepy touches and quiet words have made her very wet, almost uncomfortably so, and if he isn't even aware that he's been working her up like this, what right does she have to let him continue on in ignorance?

Right as she's working out a plan to extricate herself, the Doctor's hand slides up again. After running his fingers lightly over her breasts, he finds and begins to play with her nipples, moaning quietly as he uses his thumb on one and the tip of his middle finger on the other. Fuck. His erection slides against her again, _mmmf god damn it, _and she makes a quiet, strangled sound of need before she's got any hope of stopping herself.

As though he's been dipped in a vat of liquid nitrogen, the Doctor goes completely still and rigid behind her. 

She holds her breath, once again digging her nails into the mat beneath them as she attempts to will the cave to collapse on them before she has to face him.

"Rose…?"

She burrows a little further beneath his coat. She isn't sure what to say, but she knows that he knows she isn't really asleep— knows he can feel how each tattered breath she draws causes her entire body to quiver with anxiety.

She hears him pull a deep breath through his nose, and then he tenses again. His cock jumps against her, and so quietly, he groans.

Can he…

No.

Can he_ sense_ the state she's in?

He exhales a long and heavy shiver, a soft noise drifting from his throat as he does. Rose swallows thickly, feeling a little twitch between her legs because she realizes that he can sense it. He can, and all signs seem to indicate that he doesn't necessarily detest the conclusion he's just drawn…

His hand retreats from her breasts, lingering briefly on the nipples he's teased to stiff and pointed attention. Rose shivers and stifles a moan, and then he places that hand on her shoulder, clearing his throat softly.

"Rose," he says again. This time, his voice is quieter but deeper. There's strain laced through his words, and his hand is almost trembling against where he touches her. “D-... Do you…” She just barely hears him lick his lips. "Do you want…"

Her heart feels like it might rupture in her chest. She's not exactly an expert on the topic, but it doesn't feel that far-fetched to surmise that she's not the only one who's overcome with nerves…

Or arousal. 

There's been no decline in the intensity of his erection, which is still pressed firmly against her backside. If anything, it's gotten even harder, pulsing strongly and with more frequency— and the Doctor's voice and quivery breaths are nothing if not a full-on dead giveaway. 

Rose's nerves are a fizzy mess of effervescence, every bit of_ need_ and yes and _now, now, now taking precedence over modesty. _It suddenly feels very much like a matter of now or never (if not _life or death, _for god's sake), and if she doesn't speak up while they're caught in the web of this pivotal crossroads, she might never have this opportunity ever again. 

She takes one final breath to steel herself, sinking her nails into the pad again.

"You," she says with a sigh. "Always you." She pauses, closing her eyes. "Please."

The last word is added as though it's punctuating a prayer. It's everything she has to keep from crossing her fingers. 

For a moment, there's nothing. Not a word, not even a breath or a breeze. 

The world has gone still.

There are a few excruciating seconds where the Doctor removes his hand from her shoulder and begins to retreat backward, but Rose quickly realizes there's a purpose for his apparent departure. After adding a touch of distance between them, he props himself up on his elbow, pulling his coat back up from where it's been jostled from their shoulders.

Staying on his side, he tugs at Rose's shoulder in an attempt to guide her towards him.

At first, she thinks he's trying to roll her flat onto her back, so she follows suit, turning her upper body slowly. There's still that little bit of space between them.

When her shoulder comes into contact with his chest, she realizes he's only drawing her back until she's lying almost flat but half-supported against his torso. 

Everything happens very quickly then, with the way he positions her. He blindsides her, reaching down between their bodies and slipping his hand between her thighs from behind. Rose jumps with a little gasp, but he's quick, gently wrapping his fingers around her inner thigh and guiding her leg up and over his hip. At the same time, he tucks his lower half closer to her.

Rose's heartbeat stutters. With them positioned this way, she can feel every inch of him where he's slid into the space between the ground and her arse. Thankfully, with the way he's got her propped up, there's no risk of crushing his ever-important appendage— but that's the furthest thing from her mind.

Though she can't remember ever being so nervous, she turns her head towards the Time Lord, and their eyes lock.

Finally. She is_ finally_ looking up at him, gazing into those deep brown eyes as he fixes her with an open and vulnerable gaze. He's never looked at her this way before; this way that makes her chest grow heavy and her mouth go dry. There's darkness there and _need— _but there's also a complicated meshing of emotions running through those depths.

Quite right. Really, can she blame him?

She's just about to say something— offer some reassurance; maybe an out or an apology, she isn't sure— but then his fingers find her cheek, and his eyes find her lips, and it's not two seconds later that he's bending down and sliding his mouth over hers.

Bliss and adrenaline spread through Rose's blood like fire. His lips are cool and soft, and it's been so long, and it's him — her Doctor — and it's exceptional. He's as naked against her as she is against him, and his cock is hard against the back of her thigh, and oh good god, she needs him; needs to feel his body connect with hers in ways that go beyond the realms of silly crushes and fantasy.

As if it was ever just _that _anyway.

She's never loved anything or anyone more, and for the first time, she's never been so confident that he loves her too.

It's not because he's kissing her like she's utterly beloved. It's not because he's presumably getting ready to give in to her, take that leap; share his body with her. 

It's because, once again, he's saved her. Where he could just have easily given up on her, yet another comparably flimsy human succumbing to the fragility of her own biology, he risked everything to ensure her safety— even though it meant crossing lines he'd never dared to tread across before.

So many times, they've faced danger together and come dangerously close to losing. A number of those times, it was her fault, but he never even came close to telling her she had to go. That she couldn't stay; couldn't continue to travel with him.

In the end, all of their trials only served to bring them closer together. To make him care for her deeper, hold her closer.

The Doctor opens his mouth tentatively against hers and she follows, encouraging him; welcoming the slow, sweet slide of his tongue as it slicks past her lips. They both hum with affection at this newer, more profound form of intimacy, this lovely evolution of something so many have done before— but never them. 

Never together. 

His hand leaves her cheek and skims down her neck and chest with trailing fingers, briefly pausing to give each breast a light squeeze before venturing further. 

Rose feels another twitching pulse between her thighs, driving her to tug at his hip with her calf. Blimey, her body knows as well as she does that he's_ right there,_ hard and ready and just inches away. It would take nothing for him to bury his cock good and deep inside of her and fuck her like nobody had ever fucked her before. She wants it so badly that sweat begins to bead up on her forehead as an itty bitty little frustrated growl rolls from her throat.

The Doctor hums a chuckle into her mouth and smiles around their kiss, then his hand is even closer, drifting past her navel, then skimming through the soft thatch of hair she never imagined he'd see— let alone touch.

Her chest is nearly aching from the battering drum of her heartbeat. She holds her breath. He's right there, he's just… he's…

Oh, fuck. The Doctor dips through her folds to find her soaking wet, and mmm, his touch is electric against her soft flesh. He moans and she arches and a shrill little sound empties from her mouth into his, and then he's got her clit beneath his fingertips, slip-slip-stroking, and oh _fuck, _oh god— oh god.

Now that he's got her thoroughly enraptured, he rubs her with smooth, lazy circles while his tongue dances around in her mouth. It feels fantastic, but straightaway, it's clear that he's more interested in the act of touching her than he is in the goal [for now]. 

So often— as in, almost always— sex has been something of a fast affair for Rose. That's not to say she's never enjoyed it, but it was never treated like _this— _slow and steady, yet deeply passionate. And he's barely even done anything! 

Any bloke could get his tongue in her mouth and his hand between her legs, but this… This is so much more than that.

It's the period at the end of all of those tender smiles. It's the words he's never brought himself to say. It's the night they were almost pulled into a black hole, when she was almost positive he might join her in her bed, even just to comfort her, and didn't. 

It's everything they are. Everything they could be. It spills into her mouth like a vow, a sacred covenant, but she doesn't need him to say anything. She expects nothing of him. She only knows that she'll share every part of herself with him that he seeks, and she'll do so not only because she seeks the same but because she loves him. God, she does— and that is the _only _thing that matters.

Rose's soft sounds grow increasingly urgent as long fingers maintain a gentle pressure between her lower lips, working her clit attentively as it slips and swells beneath his touch. With heavy, labored breaths, she rocks into his hand as they move in perfect sync; as though they've practiced this before — or perhaps as though it was always meant to happen. 

When their mouths break apart, their lips are warm and wet, and it's superb, seeing the evidence of what they've been getting up to written all over the striking features of his face. It's an image that immediately fastens itself to Rose's memory as he partially bares his teeth, moving his hand lower so he can slip his fingers inside her.

"Doctor," she whines, dropping her head back as her eyes pinch shut. "Oh god, oh god..."

The Time Lord half-hums, half-moans as he pumps into her nice and slow, feeling his way through her sex with a careful sedulousness that makes Rose feel he adores the very ground she lays on. He's still fully hard against her backside, but to her surprise, he's practically shivering with nerves. 

She knows he's _danced, _but the longer they lie beneath his coat, she finds she can't imagine how long it's been for him. Though his movements demonstrate the skill of well-practiced hands, he somehow seems even more nervous than she is. 

Eyes opening slowly, her breath hitches at the way he's looking at her, gazing down as though he's looking upon the bright and cosmic resplendence of a supernova. His brown eyes are dark and shining, but they're gentle— like there's nowhere else he'd rather be than naked on that cave floor with her, taking his loving fill of her expressions while he fucks her with his fingers. 

It's been deliberate, she realizes; the way he's holding her back from getting too close to the edge. He's been so engrossed in the experience, the unhurriedness of it, the intimacy. Like her, he is so beside himself with awe that this is even happening that he doesn't care about any finish lines or nonexistent time constraints. This is about them, nothing else, and they'll take as much time as they need.

Still, his eyes. She can't look away. Neither can he. It seems impossible; like they've been put under a spell or challenged to the universe's most sexy staring contest — one in which blinking somehow doesn't go against the rules. 

Rose lifts her arm from where it's been lying across her torso, reaching up and sliding her fingers through his hair. It's gone a bit flat since the river washed it out, making it easy for her to really feel its thickness against her hand, and god, she wishes she'd done this ages ago. He makes a soft, needy little sound when, upon reaching the back of his head, she grips and tugs at the tresses.

Suddenly, he's pulling his fingers out to tease his way back up the seam of her, dropping a kiss to her forehead and gliding over her clit with full, white-hot determination.

There's no question of his intentions this time.

On the TARDIS, when she's alone in her bedroom and touching herself, she's always quiet, having grown a bit paranoid of what sounds might travel through the old timeship. 

Even when she's returned home for short visits, her mum is usually always home, so of course, she holds back. 

On top of all of that, she hadn't shagged anybody in eons; since before she met the Doctor. 

For over two years, she's been enjoying her pleasure alone and in semi-silence. 

Now, however… _so many _sounds fall from her lips, and they're sounds she's not used to making. 

She sounds older now. Breathier, needier, sexier — and the Doctor seems rather taken with it. All the little tells flitter across his face as he so freely gives her pleasure, and it's mystifying how smoldering hot it is, seeing his sexual side after all this time. Having the privilege of being the one he's choosing to indulge in this sort of thing with, to let go with.

Rose wouldn't miss it for the universe.

Now that he's no longer holding back, he brings her to the edge with exceptional finesse, massaging her swollen clit until her little pleading sounds cannot possibly further increase in pitch. She's rigid all over, and he whispers for her to breathe, that's it, then he kisses her, slowing his caresses. God. He's a master, he's extraordinary, he's perfect. 

Once his lips withdraw from hers, he goes right back to work on her, not missing a single beat.

Ribbons of tension string and tangle together all around the junction of her thighs until she's a hair's breadth away from much-needed release, slowly going quiet until her only sounds are tiny, shuddery little whimpers. Her eyes fall shut. 

It's clenching inside her, all throughout her lower body, preparing her for what's about to happen. It almost tickles maddeningly, like something big and intimidating clawing around and trying to get out, and fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck—

"Yes," the Doctor murmurs, lowering his forehead to hers. "Go on… Come for me, Rose. That's it…"

His words are the spark, and she breaks. It's indescribable how it erupts through her body, beginning with a burst of tingling warmth in her lower back that spreads and nearly overwhelms her. She's almost entirely silent, save for a few sharp little half-whimpers to ride the onset of each wave that crashes and cascades magical, billowing bliss.

As she comes, he continues to pet her, whispering in that same beautiful language she'd heard in his sleep as he kisses the tip of her nose, her cheek, and her lips. He does so until she goes from every muscle in her body tensing to dissolving into a pile of boneless, breathless relief in his arms.

After he's drained her orgasm of every ounce of its incredible power, his hand ceases to move between her legs, resting there as little more than a gentle presence. He smiles and bends his face down to her level, holding her gaze until he's practically nose-to-nose with her, and then he tilts his head to press his lips softly to hers.

His mouth doesn't demand much — merely savoring her; sharing in the beautiful surreality of what's unraveling between them. 

Rose's hand unclenches his hair and slides down to rest on his shoulder, lightly stroking his skin. He's warm and smooth beneath her hand, coated with a light sheen of sweat, causing her fingers to drag with little beats of friction.

For several moments, they share a lovely, languid snog, which Rose spirals into as though she's been put under the influence of an especially delightful drug. He dotes on her with such exquisite tenderness, as though he's imagined and dreamt of this, too. Wanted her the same way she’s wanted him. Not just as a shag but as a proper lover; someone to not only share his body with, but to love and be loved by. Her heart swells until her cup runneth over, because nothing could be better than this.

Except, perhaps, a bed — but Rose is a beggar who won't dare tempt the fate of choosing. This is good. This is perfect.

How could it be that this happened this way? Was it just time? Were they getting ready to break, waiting for that last bit of straw to drift atop the universe's most precarious pile? Because while the circumstances that led to this weren't exactly arousal-inducing, there isn't the slightest indication from the Time Lord that would suggest he doesn't want this every bit as much.

To solidify that point, his hand suddenly leaves its post between her legs, and he breaks their kiss, not bothering to pull very far back from her face before reaching up to taste the slick of her sex on his fingers.

His eyes glaze over before shutting slowly, and Rose can only watch with a baffled expression of both awe and mild embarrassment. She's tasted herself before out of sheer curiosity, and it was nothing to write home about— yet the Doctor definitely isn't putting on an act. She can tell by how his cock twitches and his breath shakes, and little tremors run throughout him, rippling in waves beneath his skin. He's enjoying it.

Dark brown eyes slowly flutter open as he catches her in the molten crossfire of his stare. He pulls his fingers from his mouth, slowly licking his lips clean as his hand moves right back down her body. 

Rose's heartbeat speeds up all over again: thump-thump-thump-thump.

Leaving a damp trail across her belly with the tips of his fingers, the Doctor pulls his hips back just enough to make room to wedge his hand between them. Every movement is fluid and smooth until Rose jumps when she feels his knuckles brush her arse, but she can feel exactly what he's doing; feel the telltale grasp of his length as he frees it from the space beneath her.

He looks away, but only for a second, glancing down her body to look between her still-spread legs. She feels another light brush, this time over the hair of her outer lips, and then he looks back into her eyes, holding her gaze intently. With a slow roll of his hips, he glides right up through her slit, splitting her sex with the firm, wet slide of his shaft. 

A sharp but hushed cry escapes her as he moans something deep and desperate, and it feels and sounds marvelous, and oh shit, this is it. It's not a joke or a drill. They're actually getting ready to do this. They're actually going to fuck.

The slightly awkward addition of his arm between their bodies is quickly remedied when his hand retreats, allowing her leg to comfortably rest back in its spot over his hip. Reaching between her thighs from the front this time, he presses his length snugly back between her soft folds and smiles almost shyly when she whimpers in response.

To keep from slipping off-target, he keeps his hand pressed lightly over them both, maintaining just the right amount of pressure as he slowly begins to rock his hips up towards her body. Up and back, up and back, he pushes his cock against her, slipping against her sex, enveloping smooth skin in slick heat as he lavishes her clit with long, magical strokes.

"Yesss," Rose moves her hips down as he pushes up, distinctly hearing how wet she is as she slides up and down over his length. "God, fuck… Ahhhh." She runs her fingers through his hair to cling to him again. 

"Doctor..."

He slightly increases the speed with which he slips against her, pulling heavy, uneven breaths, and fuck, he sounds so sexy like this that it makes her head spin. She needs him, wants him, and god, if he keeps teasing her…

"Please," she whispers. 

"Tell me," his voice rumbles achingly against the shell of her ear, strained with the way he holds back. "Tell me, Rose."

"Fuck me," she says. 

The Doctor practically purrs his assent, shifting just the tiniest bit. Rose swears she can feel her heart stop as he lines himself up right at her opening, and then he presses a light kiss right beneath her ear. "You're sure?"

His words are suddenly so quiet, so _diffident _that it makes her want to throw her arms around him. Is she sure. Unbelievable. She moves her hand around his head to cup his cheek, making sure he sees the certainty in her eyes.

"Yes."

The breath catches in his throat, and he swallows, giving one shaky nod. He takes a long, deep breath, then the next time he drives his hips up against her body, he finally sinks his cock into her. 

"Oo-ooh…" Rose arches involuntarily, allowing her head to drop to the side, because he's there, he's inside of her, and it's everything she could have possibly hoped for. Jesus. She can't even believe it. She can hardly process the weight of emotion and sensation and 'Oh my god, we're actually doing this'. She thinks she might start to cry. 

The Doctor moans and nuzzles her neck gently, tilting his head to drop his lips at the curve where it meets her shoulder. He brings his hand to her opposite cheek — the one nearly touching the mat — then he turns her face towards his, staring into her eyes.

"You feel amazing," he whispers, then captures her lips again. The kiss is lazy, and just a bit messy, and then they break apart slowly, reinstating eye contact. 

This gaze is something entirely new. It's honest, raw, and gorgeous, and they smile at each other— the first full-on, proper smiles they've shared since before the wolves. 

He kisses her one more time as he slides out, pauses, then thrusts deeply back inside of her.

Smiles give way to loosened jaws and hazy, unfocused eyes punctuated with soft gasps and moans. His hand glides over to her opposite shoulder to hold it for leverage, withdrawing, pausing, then plunging back into her tight heat.

"Oh…" Rose's eyes flutter closed. "God. Doctor…”

The Doctor sighs in what sounds like relief as he lays his forehead back over hers, and he begins to make love to her slowly, pushing up, then back, in, then out, only speeding up for the last couple inches of each thrust. His presence is heavy in her body, but it's lovely, and he feels so good— so _right—_all tucked inside of her like this, all slow plunges and sliding skin. They fit so well together. 

Everything about this, from sensation to position, is new to Rose — even the act of sex outdoors. It's been a while, of course, it has, but they rock together like they were made to do this, and thank god she didn't die in the cold — because she'd never get to experience this. She'd never know how nice the Doctor's cock felt inside her when she was wrapped around and clinging to him. 

Each time he pulls back, she misses his presence, but he quickly fills her again, giving her exactly what she needs, and it's so all-encompassing, so intrinsic. It feels significant, almost critical, as though the all-singing, all-dancing pleasure of the act is merely a by-product of their bodies' inherent, unspoken pleas to join together at last.

"Rose," he breathes as he drives into her with slow, firm thrusts, readjusting the arm he's been propped up on so he can slip it around her shoulders and hold her tightly against him._ "Blimey."_ His eyes close and his brows pinch together, then he moans breathlessly, beautifully, before he reaches down and begins to rub at her clit. "So good… That's it, just like that…"

This time, it's tiny, endless circles that he paints around her clit, stroking wetly over her nub in time with his rolling hips, and Rose's eyes slide back with a long, tortured moan. His coat has slipped enough to bare both of them from the chest up, but neither of them seems to care because their bodies are flushed pink and warm amidst their lovemaking. There's heat in abundance between them, and it's only growing hotter, especially as he tilts his hips just so, stroking even deeper with each push.

"Fuck," Rose gasps, feeling her lashes flutter. Every thrust fills her with everything he has, and she begins to whimper in seemingly endless repetition. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…"

Slowly, the Doctor increases his speed, continuing to work her clit with the tips of his fingers as he slips his cock into her with torturous determination. His hips now meet hers with a dull but audible beat of skin-on-skin, though it's drowned out by Rose's drawn-out, keening cries. She's getting close now, she's on the cusp, and the Doctor knows it. He grits his teeth through a rumbling groan and flicks his fingers over her clit as he whispers to her.

It's that language again,_ his_ language, soft and sweet and laced with sex, and it doesn't matter that Rose can't understand it — she feels it. She feels the meaning of his words, feels his intentions as her mouth drops open silently. She opens her eyes and meets his burning gaze once more.

He stares down at her as he pushes into her, his whispers growing faster and more urgent, words that transcend time and space as she finally comes apart beneath him, bending back with a cry as her climax washes over her in a flood of explosive heat. 

The Doctor's hands and hips reign in the intensity so he can extend her release for her, slowly talking her through it. A litany of soft, pretty words flows freely and quietly from his lips in his mother tongue, which he punctuates with a gentle kiss. 

The movement of his mouth is teeming with emotion as she drifts back from her high, catching her in a moment of such raw affection that she can't fight the tears that well in her eyes and spill over. He swipes them away when he finally pulls back, then he smiles.

"Hello," he chimes sweetly.

"Hi." She bites her lip and returns his smile almost bashfully, though she knows her face is probably an open book for how deliciously overwhelmed he's just made her. Him — the Doctor. Who's just bloody well gone and made love to her.

He hums a tiny chuckle, letting a few more seconds pass before he begins to shift their bodies again.

Rose is made from soft rubber at this point, so she allows herself to remain comfortably limp as he slips from her warmth and carefully lifts her leg from where it's been slung over his hip. His eyes stay fixed on her as he keeps her leg bent up close to her body, then maneuvers himself up over her, climbing in between her legs and propping himself up on one arm as he rearranges his coat back over them. 

He reaches between them and slides against her just once, and then he's lining himself again.

"Okay?" He raises his eyebrows. 

Rose finally releases her lip from between her teeth, winding her arms around his neck and beaming up at him. 

"Yeah."

He draws a deep breath, smiles, and nods.

"Okay."

Clearly remiss to waste another moment that doesn't involve shagging, he thrusts firmly back into her, driving straight to the hilt with a low, ragged moan that she matches. 

"Fuck," she whispers. 

"Yeah," he agrees, then he withdraws and enters her with a harder thrust, hissing through gritted teeth. His eyes flutter shut. "Oh, Rose."

She wraps her legs high around his hips, hoping he understands as she tugs him closer. "Please, Doctor…" 

His eyes open, and his pupils are blown wide as he slides his tongue across his lips. He lowers his face to hers for a kiss, then rests his forehead against hers, sliding a hand down to hold the back of her thigh. He's still for a moment as his thumb swipes back and forth across her skin, breathing heavily, taking a second to keep them suspended in time — one last pocket of serenity.

He kisses her again, just one more time, before he draws back and begins pounding ruthlessly into her. 

This time, his thrusts are all powerful, unrelenting intensity. It's breathtaking. He fucks her hard and fast while she holds onto him with everything she has, wailing so loudly that they might wake every blasted wolf in that forest, and she couldn't care less. She can die happy now, after being shagged like this.

The Doctor lifts himself up to look at her again. Somehow, even with the way he slams into her with reckless abandon, there's still a tenderness bleeding through his gaze that makes her stomach drop and her heartbeat falter. He squeezes her thigh and shifts so he's hooked his hand beneath her knee, holding her up and open to get a better angle, and fuck. Rose's mouth hangs open, a gateway for every primal, piercing sound he draws from her, because the way he fills her is unparalleled. It's intoxicating.

She can tell he's getting close, can see it in the haziness of his eyes, hear it in the grating of his moans. She can feel him growing increasingly taut above her, and she takes a second to memorize how utterly beautiful it is to see him like this, to watch him separate himself from all pretense and control in favor of surrendering to his desire for her. The visual is so spellbinding it feels forbidden to look upon, and along with the full, thick slide of his cock inside her, it's enough to push her right back to the precipice.

"Please," he breathes as his thrusts become increasingly unpolished, releasing her leg so he can reach down and play with her clit._ "Fuck,_ Rose — please..."

Within seconds, her orgasm crashes through her. The Doctor gasps, only having an instant to watch her before he finally starts to come, pulled over that perfect edge when he feels her clamping rhythmically around him. 

They cry out together, shaking and jerking from the force of it, and somewhere in the thicket of their shared release, she hears more of those words as he spills inside of her; those lovely, secretwords. They amplify the sensations tenfold, another marker for why this is so much more than just sex and more than any sex she's had before. It's otherworldly. 

When they come down, panting and spent, the Doctor's face is right over hers as she unclasps her legs from around his body. Still catching his breath, he smiles almost sheepishly.

"On my life, I didn't plan that," he says. "I fell asleep thinking I'd wake up to you screaming in horror."

Bubbling with waves of euphoric bliss, Rose bursts into laughter. "You're having me on. Like you thought I'd have any trouble waking up starkers with you."

"Oi," he protests with the least convincing glare ever, "I only meant to protect you! I never intended for it to lead to… to this."

Rose feels herself growing shy again. "But…" She swallows hard, feeling her pulse quickening. "You don't… Y'know. You don't regret it… Do you?"

His eyes widen, and he lifts himself up to really, properly look at her. "Oh, _blimey, _no. Not at all. I just feel it's imperative I inform you: I went into this with nothing but the utmost of honest, noble intentions." His expression softens, and Rose can feel the weight of his words when he says: "I can't even begin to tell you how scared I was of losing you, Rose Tyler."

Once again, her stomach drops, and her eyes begin to burn. She licks her lips. "I'm sorry I slipped."

He smiles tenderly at her. "I'm the one who got us lost. I'm sorry." His eyes flick to the side, arching a brow at the pile of clothes lying less than a meter away from them. "And I went and ruined your favorite trousers."

Rose turns her head, now adjusted to the light enough to see the pile properly. She smirks, looking back up at him. 

He narrows his eyes. "What?"

She giggles, playing with the now-dampened hair on his nape. "Nothing. S’just…”

"... Just what?"

"Nothing!"

_"Roooose," _he whines, looking exceptionally put out, and she relents.

"Oh, fine." She sighs. "I was just, you know, thinking…" She absentmindedly traces the hairline where it meets his neck. "If it means getting shagged like that," she smirks wickedly, "you could ruin everything I own if you wanted."

His eyes widen again, this time with pure, fiery intrigue. There's a pulse where he's still nestled deep, and she can _feel _him getting hard again inside her.

"Yeah?" he purrs, pressing himself a little deeper.

She nods. "Y-yeah."

A vast, smug grin practically splits his face, and Rose rolls her eyes.

"Shut up." She smacks his back, unable to wipe her own grin off her face. "Like you didn't know."

"Mmm." Now fully hard, he pulls his hips back and thrusts firmly into her, effectively wiping both of their smiles away so they can shiver and moan in laborious tandem. "I'll… erm. I'll certainly keep that in mind."

With a renewed surge of arousal, Rose starts to wrap her legs around him, but he shakes his head, reaching back to extricate himself from her grippy limbs. 

"Sorry," he says guiltily, slipping out of her again, knocking her arms from around his neck as he pushes himself up and back to sit on his haunches. "Not just yet."

With an incredulous gape, Rose pushes herself up on her elbows. _"What? _Why not?" 

"Later… minx. We've got to get back to the TARDIS while it's still safe." He smirks again, taking his coat from where it's fallen behind him and briskly sliding it over her until it's concealed her entire body. He pats her knee through the coat in the most annoyingly platonic move he's made all morning, then reaches over and begins gathering up the pieces of his suit. Slipping the sonic from his coat pocket and changing the setting, he begins the tedious process of drying everything.

Rose is so sexually frustrated that she hardly even allows herself to appreciate the view of the Doctor naked and kneeling in front of her; the way the planet's distant sun shining through the vines creates a corona around his body that makes him look like a bloody god. 

As if he needed any help with that.

"But it's hours before nightfall," she whines, feeling only slightly like a toddler.

"Yes," he concedes, "but I think you'll find, Rose Tyler, that sex is far more enjoyable when had somewhere that isn't a cave floor." His eyes flash to hers with a tinge of mischief, and then he returns to his task. "Somewhere nice and warm and soft… Somewhere like, oh, I don't know — my _bed, _perhaps?"

Images begin flooding Rose's mind in rapid succession. Shagging the Doctor in a bed. In the shower. On a counter. On the couch at her mum's. On the floor of her room. Her cheeks flush a vibrant, almost glowing red. 

They shag now.

"O-okay," she peeps.

The Doctor flashes another smirk, looking entirely too smug. "Okay?"

"Yeah."

"Good."

The next few minutes pass in silence but for the whirring of the sonic. While the Doctor dries up his clothes, Rose lies back and daydreams about the unbelievable possibilities of their future, worrying more than once that she's doomed to wake up and find this was all just a figment of her imagination.

Once he's dressed with everything packed back into his pockets, the Doctor fetches some twine and begins to wrap the coat around Rose, tying the string around her at several points until she's strung up like a Christmas roast. 

As they push the dried vines away from the mouth of the little cave and step out into the open air, he elects to leave her cut clothes behind, declaring that they'll need to come back a little better prepared in the future to commemorate their serendipitous first time.

"Off we go then?" He extends his arm, beaming down at her.

Rose loops her arm through his, returning his smile. 

"Please."

#since I keep forgetting you can do this with one shots on tumblr #fanfiction #ten x rose #tenrose smut #huddling for warmth #hurt/comfort #tenrose #doctor who #tenth doctor #rose tyler #fic #dwfic #one shot #rtd era #tropes #smut #ao3 #emotional sex #dw

[thisbluespirit]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Doctor Who (Big Finish Audio) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Eighth Doctor & Lucie Miller (Doctor Who) Characters: Lucie Miller (Doctor Who), Eighth Doctor (Doctor Who) Additional Tags: Ficlet, Tumblr Prompt, Flash Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Aftermath, War Summary:

Eight & Lucie, kiss in grief.

#fanfic #doctor who #big finish #eighth doctor #lucie miller #eight & lucie #gen #kiss prompt meme #ficlet #flash fic #pers-books #hurt/comfort

[lanawinterscigarettes]

Hiding Away (Clara Oswald x reader)

Summary: when you distance yourself due to insecurities over your body, Clara does her best to make you feel better

Warnings: hurt/comfort, some angst, reader has body image issues but it's not specified why

A/N: I've been feeling pretty down lately due to dysphoria so I decided to be self indulgent and write this to help comfort me. I kept the reasoning behind the reader's body image issues vague so anyone who has troubles or insecurities about how they look can read this. just know that I love and cherish each and every one of you that have difficulties with how you look, regardless of the reason. it's okay if you have trouble accepting your physical body as a part of who you are. you're not broken or any less of a person for it ❤

Clara hadn't seen you all day. In fact, she'd barely seen you the entire week, and while that wasn't entirely uncommon after a disasterous trip with the Doctor (you'd been attacked by the Daleks yet again) it was troubling to her just how little she saw of you.

That's how she ended up standing in front of the bedroom you had on the TARDIS. She really didn't want to pry, but she was starting to get concerned. Plus, she missed you.

Bringing her hand up to the door, she lightly tapped her knuckles against the wood before calling out softly. "Are you in there? It's been awhile since I've seen you and I'm a little worried."

She heard you call out a muffled "I'm fine" through the door. Clara waited in hopes that perhaps you'd elaborate, sighing to herself when you didn't.

"I'm going to come in, if that's alright with you?" She could've said it more as a command, but she posed her words as a question instead, so you'd feel a tad bit more comfortable with her sudden intrusion.

When she still got no answer, she turned the knob and slowly pushed open the door. The lights were out, but from what she could tell you were curled up in a ball on your bed, surrounded by a mountain of blankets.

Clara frowned at the sight, knowing it must be something truly bad to have you acting like this. "Sweetheart?" She called out tentatively as she walked over.

You let out a muffled grunt in response, peeking part of your face out a bit so she could see you. "Hi," you mumbled softly.

She gave you a gentle smile as she took as seat down on the edge of your bed. "Hello, darling. Are you alright?" She carefully asked, bringing her hand up to rest on what she assumed was your back, hoping to comfort you.

"Mm." You closed your eyes and muttered out a soft reply. "I haven't been feeling well recently. Been having problems with my body and how I look."

At your admission of what was really going on, Clara felt her heart break. So that was why you'd been hiding away. "Oh, sweetheart..." She whispered in a sorrowful tone as she knew exactly what you were talking about, even if you didn't say it in so many words. "Darling, I'm so sorry. May I touch you?"

She was careful in asking for your permission to touch you first, knowing how you'd sometimes rather to be comforted from a distance, but much to her delight you nodded your head before letting out a soft "Okay".

She nodded her head in turn before getting down on the bed next to you. As she pulled you close, she was careful not to shift or move your blanket off of you in any way, not wanting to raise your discomfort levels, even by accident.

You allowed her to cradle you close to her chest, nestling against her almost as if you were a small woodland creature who was trying to stay warm for the winter. "Thank you for being here. I really appreciate it," you spoke to her in a quiet voice. "I'm sorry for being so distant lately."

"It's alright, sweetheart. I understand completely, there's no need for you to apologize." Clara leaned her face down and pressed a loving kiss to where she thought your head might be. "I'll be here for as long as you may need me."

You felt as her hand moved up and down your back in a soothing nature while she added, "And just so you know, there's nothing 'wrong' with how you look. I know that might be difficult for you to believe right now, darling, but it's true."

Tears filled your eyes as you felt yourself become emotional. "Thank you..." You choked out while pressing your face into her chest. "Thank you, Clara.... I love you..."

The brunette felt her heart soar when you told her you loved her, even though you'd said it before numerous times. "And I love you," she reply before kissing your head again. "And I'll always be here for you if you need me. Okay?"

You didn't say anything else, but she knew you heard her from the way you grabbed her hand and held it close. The two of you stayed there like that for a good, long while, and even though it didn't diminish your awful feelings completely it did feel nice to have someone there to help take your mind off it, at least for a little while.

Likes < reblogs | comments are greatly appreciated <3

Main masterlist | Doctor Who masterlist | wanna be added to my taglist?

🏷 taglist: @theonetruepotato87 @sessa23

#gender neutral reader #x gender neutral reader #gn reader #x gn reader #doctor who #doctor who imagines #doctor who imagine #doctor who x reader #doctor who fic #doctor who angst #doctor who fluff #doctor who hurt/comfort #clara oswald #clara oswald imagines #clara oswald imagine #clara oswald x reader #clara oswald fic #clara oswald angst #clara oswald fluff

[gingerteaonthetardis]

Ok! So! Prompt time: emotional hurt/comfort + Malcolm x Hannah (or twelve x rose but it’s more fun to see Malcolm in this situation) BUT it’s Hannah (or Rose) who needs some serious comfort.

oh, i love this prompt!! so much!! i went with rose & tucker for this one because i had an idea come to me right away for them, hope you don't mind. also, please be advised that this fic involves grief over a canon character death.

enjoy!

to read on ao3, click here!

-

The morning of November 7th dawns cold and pale, with his mobile buzzing angrily toward the edge of his nightstand and no Rose beside him.

Now, Malcolm Tucker is not a romantic by even the most vigorous stretch of the imagination, but only one of those two things feels like an emergency.

He silences his mobile.

Sliding out of bed, he reaches for a jumper—a deep, rich shade of green he never would have picked for himself—and pads across the bedroom toward the hissing sound of the shower running.

One thing he's learned about Rose in the course of their… entanglement—is that she is not a morning person. Her aversion to alarm clocks is on par with his reaction to phone calls from Number 10 these days. As in, there's usually a lot of swearing involved, maybe some hives.

But if Rose being awake at this hour is unusual, her being conscious enough to shower is unheard of. Which makes it either a miracle on par with loaves and fishes, or a catastrophe.

"Rose?"

She gives no answer, or at least, not one that he can make out over the spray of water. But the door is cracked, and he pushes it open further to get a better look. It takes him several seconds to recognise why the air feels wrong: it's cold.

There's no steam billowing out from behind the curtain, and the unexpected draft indicates that the little porthole window behind her is open. An icy feeling slices through him, unrelated to the chill autumn air.

"Rose," he says again, a little more sharply. "Are you in there? Is this some kind of horror film set-up we're doing? You should know I've never seen Psycho."

There's confirmation of life in the sound of a sniffle, which could be a laugh but—his chest tightens—probably isn't.

"Don't come in," she mumbles.

"Why, have you got a knife?"

"That's not what h-happens in Psycho."

Mouth falling into a grim line at the unsteadiness of her voice, he reaches for the curtain.

"Okay, what the fuck is going—"

Shit. His heart does something his cardiologist probably would not like, and his hand falls limp at his side. Shit, and also fuck.

Because Rose is sitting in the very corner of the tub, down to her knickers and the ringer shirt he'd lent her to sleep in. She's curled up there, like she's trying to be a tiny ball instead of a person.

"Jesus Christ, have you lost your mind?" he snaps. "It's fucking freezing in here." When he reaches through the shower spray to touch her, he hisses at the temperature and withdraws. The water's cold, too. Frigid.

She bundles tighter into herself. "Just go, Malcolm, please."

His jaw locks.

Yeah, there's no way in hell he's going to just turn around and prance off to make his morning coffee while his… whatever-she-is has some kind of meltdown in his fucking shower that apparently requires subarctic temperatures.

"It's my bathroom, actually, so I think I'll stay, thanks," he shoots back, not bothering to regulate his tone.

For someone who has spent approximately twenty-three hours of every day in a state of unhinged stress for the last two decades, he is aware he should probably be hardened to the feeling by now. The two years he's been out of the business isn't nearly enough time for the conditioning to fade. But for some reason, seeing Rose in this condition has him reeling like it's his first press tour. His mouth takes off without his permission.

"I mean, talk about psycho. Is this some kind of new beauty routine I don't know about, like kiwi fucking facials and sperm hair treatments? 'Cause I have to say, I don't care for this particular trend. You'll freeze your perfectly lovely tits off, for one thing. And for another, you—Rose?"

He stops short, watching a tremble travel through her. It's like the ground during an earthquake, moments before a fissure opens—before damage becomes destruction. Unsalvageable.

She's trying not to cry. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"Okay, you're actually scaring me now," he says, voice going flat. "What's happening here? Do I need to call a doctor? A psychic?" Her chin jerks up, and she stares at him with reddened eyes. "A priest?"

"No." The word is harsh, but he doesn't give a shit, because she comes a little back to life as she says it. Her eyes flare up at him beneath clotted, dark lashes. "I'm n-not possessed. God. You're so—I just… need a minute, all right?"

"Well, I'm sorry, darling, I don't think you have a minute before hypothermia sets in. You're turning fucking blue."

She seems intent on ignoring him—or perhaps she's just ignoring reality in general—because she promptly buries her face in her arms again, where they're crossed over her bare knees.

He's not lying; there is a strange lavender cast to her toes, her kneecaps, the tips of her fingers. She looks like a wax doll version of herself. But if she won't do anything about it, it's apparently fucking up to him.

Sighing, he braves the frigid shower spray again to reach for the knob, turning it towards the heated side. A new rush of warmer water soaks his sleeve.

So much for his nice, cosy morning plans.

"Look, just tell me what's going on," he tells her slowly, reaching over her head to tug the window closed, "and then if you really want me to leave you to it, I will."

It takes her about a full minute under the spray to stop shivering—longer for some colour to return to her skin, and even longer than that to answer him.

He knows she's working on it by the flexing of her fingers and toes, the gentle rocking motion she makes as she attempts to build her courage. He knows all the signs. The words are just sitting in there like stones; she's just struggling to pick them up and actually say them. And hell if he hasn't been there before.

Finally, she lifts her head again. Her cheeks are ruddy, and he realises she's been crying for a long time.

"My dad's dead."

Totally lacking in emphasis, her words still hit him like a ton of bricks. A one-two-three punch of deadpan delivery.

"Shit." No, that's not right. His brain is full of fucking smoke alarms. "I'm sorry." Better.

"Yeah." The silence dangles for a second. "It's nothing to do with you."

That takes him out at the kneecaps, and suddenly he's sitting on the lip of the tub, catching his breath. What the hell? "I… didn't think it was." He hesitates before asking, "When?"

Her eyes close. "He died 27 years ago today."

"Jesus. Rose, why didn't you tell me?"

"When exactly was I s-supposed to slip it into conversation, Malcolm?" Her lids bat back open in a second, and she turns her most challenging glare on him. "When you made that stupid joke about daddy issues, was I supposed to go, 'Surprise! My dad did actually die when I was six months old, but please have sex with me anyway'? And then," she barrels on, "we decided we weren't, you know, serious or whatever, and I kept assuming it would… end eventually? But we just kept seeing each other and the date kept creeping up, and I ignored it, because it's not like you're my fucking boyfriend."

The whiplash of her cursing would probably make him laugh if he wasn't feeling so desperately miserable.

"And then I came over last night and you—and then I… decided to stay…" She shakes her head, damp strands of hair whipping against her cheek. There are blueish shadows under her eyes, violently contrasting with the red. "And I thought I could handle it and it would be fine, but then I woke up and I just—I couldn't… I just kept thinking—" and that's the last word that makes it out of her before her air supply seems to shut off. Her chest shudders and her eyes close, and he wants to peck out his own fucking liver for letting this entire awful situation come to be.

"You have to take a breath every now and then," he scolds instead. "Fuck's sake."

To his intense concern, that doesn't even earn him a withering look. Just a continuation of the weird hitching rhythm of her chest. Her hands clench tighter around her knees, dimpling the skin with pale half-moons. Looking at her is borderline unendurable.

He groans. "Fuck this." And then he swings around over the ledge of the tub, kicking his limbs inside, where they are immediately soaked.

It's a big enough tub—compared to the size of his flat, the shower stall is almost impractically decadent—but it's not really meant for two. A fact he is keenly aware of as he goes to his knees beside Rose's shivering, twitching body.

Careful, he takes her by the shoulders and turns her around, then he spreads his knees as far as he's able—thanking hell he didn't decide to change into denims before this—so she can sort of sit in between them. He pulls her in until her curved back touches his chest.

The cotton clinging to her is still too cool, and he is grateful for the hot spray that continues to fall around them. At least, if they're going to be wet through, they can still share some goddamned body heat.

It's with this goal in mind that he wraps his arms around her—his whole body, hunching in over the snarled knot of her form. Letting their breathing fall into a shared, slower rhythm. "That's it," he feels himself say, like he's down some tunnel, far away from himself. "Just breathe with me, there's a girl."

He doesn't know how long they sit there like that: long enough for his knees to begin aching, and for the air to go humid against his nose, soft with the smell of her hair.

Her shampoo is sunny, somehow. Citrus, with something fresh and green.

"This is fucking ridiculous," he mumbles eventually. "You should have told me."

"I—" she starts, but he squeezes.

"Yes, yes. I should have made it easier for you to tell me, I know," he grinds out. "I'm an arsehole. And I shouldn't have said that shite about our ages either, because it only called attention to what's basically obvious to anyone with one or more eyes in their head. Which is that you can do far, far fucking better than me."

The worst part, which he does not mention, is that he hadn't even fucking meant anything by that whole 'daddy issues' bit. It had just felt expected, somehow—after the zoo that was his trial and with the zombie horde dogging his steps post-acquittal, he'd felt like an acknowledgement had to be made in case some hack wearing a wire was sitting nearby, just waiting to turn her relative youth and incredible beauty into a new headline in a smear piece.

The disgraced former spin doctor desperately pawing at a woman half his age would undoubtedly make a good photo op. So instead, he'd been snotty and perverse. And now he's paying for it.

Worse, she's paying for it.

"You should, by the way," he adds, feeling her hand squeeze back, curled somewhere around his wrist. "I'm serious. Anyone would be better. A fucking dogcatcher with a furs shop. A monk. I could set you up with fucking Ollie Reeder, so long as you don't mind that he's gay."

To his relief, she actually snorts. It's a laugh, liquified and wobbly, but real. "Oh, shut up."

"And I… I'm sorry about your dad." He swallows, having to force down a new wave of panic—not to do with her, this time. It's all him.

He braids their fingers together, feeling like a fucking pansy and trying to focus on the drumming water against his back. He so rarely fears inadequacy, but this is one area in which he's failed again and again and again.

He's been reliably informed that he is not a comforting presence.

"I really am, darling," he adds weakly.

"It was a long time ago," she says. "I barely even remember him."

"That doesn't make it easier, does it?"

Half of him waits for her to stiffen or recoil, while the logical part of his brain is forced to admit that Rose would never. She's far too kind.

That's always been his issue, really. She's just so goddamn kind, and he could kick himself in the head for taxing that. Keeping her at arm's length when she obviously doesn't want to be, making her feel like the showerhead would be a better listener. Christ.

She breathes deep instead, and her body unfolds itself until her head is resting on his chest.

"No," she admits. A long exhale. "It really doesn't."

The air is properly foggy now. Her skin is pink where he can see it. But he doesn't let go of her, and she gives no indication of wanting him to. He can feel the grief subsiding in the air, sucked down the drain.

That's the way of it: it comes in waves. And when it's gone, you might not resemble who you were before it.

"Ollie Reeder," she says, some indefinable time later. "God. I would literally rather donate my vagina to the National Trust. That's repulsive."

He kisses her shoulder, wishing fleetingly that it was bare. "Accept my apology."

"You know you didn't actually apologise for anything," she scoffs, sounding more and more like herself. "Except for my dad which, according to a near-thirty-year-old police report, you had nothing to do with."

But he kisses her again, and again, and she sighs. He likes to think she does so at least a little bit because it feels nice.

"Of course I forgive you, dickhead." He puffs a laugh against her, tightening his grip, and she settles into it like a cat in a sunray. Fucking unbelievable. "I know we haven't… really talked about it properly, Malcolm, but I—I mean, I get it, you know?" Two of her fingers fiddle with his damp sleeve. "Neither of us is particularly trusting."

"Understatement of the millennium."

"But I want to," she goes on, words seizing his heart in his chest. Seriously, Dr. Jones is going to kill him at their next appointment. "Trust you, I mean. Is that stupid?"

Her bones under his hands feel strong and sturdy, and her flesh is as forgiving as the rest of her, and he finally allows himself to feel all the fear he's been keeping at bay since the moment they met on that street corner, two in the morning. It had felt like a colossal fuck-up waiting to happen, or like an undeserved stay of execution.

"Yes," he answers shortly. "Probably so." He clears his throat, the sound feeling too loud in the close space. "But at least we're on equal idiot footing."

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the motion of her cheeks, and when she tilts her head up to look at him, she's smiling. Blotchy and sweet.

Malcolm Tucker is not a romantic man. He's just fucking not. But he'd swear up and down in a court of law that he could get lost in Rose Tyler's gaze and be perfectly happy for it.

His fear fades into a background hum, suddenly fucking unimportant. He feels himself soften in ways he's still figuring out how to allow.

After a moment, her tongue slides between her teeth. "You've really never seen Psycho?"

He rolls his eyes with a groan. "What is with this generation and your relentless nostalgia?" he complains. "There are about five hundred brand new superhero movies to choose from and you want to watch some old—"

With her hands on his for balance, Rose pushes up a little, stretches her spine, and shuts him up with a kiss.

#hope you like! apologies for the wait! and also for any failures in grammar/editing due to my Extreme Brain Fog lmao <3 hugs #fic and chips #tuckerrose #malcolm tucker x rose tyler #ttoi x dw #dw fic #prompt fic #hurt/comfort #abbey writes #malcolm tucker #rose tyler #the thick of it #doctor who #i love them they're my fav rarepair ever ever ever

[fatelesschild]

Created for the @doctorroseficmarathon

Prompt: Hurt/comfort -  Find on AO3

The Bitter Pill

A Gallifreyan biological curiosity causes a severe medical emergency for the Doctor, leaving Rose to pick up the pieces.

~ ΘΣ ~

Extract:

Her gut instinct told her to just stab the needle in at a right angle, so she did, piercing the fabric of his trousers and causing the needle to disappear inside him. She pressed down the plunger, slowly and nervously, expecting any second for him to react somehow. He didn't. Once all the liquid was gone, she just held it there for a few moments, with no idea what to do next. Quite a few seconds passed before she pulled it out and moved to his swollen face, cupping his chin.

'Doctor, Doctor, can you hear me?' she asked, her voice shaking. 'Please, Doctor.'

He didn't react. She checked his pulse - she had no idea what it was supposed to be, but it seemed to be going at the same pace as hers, which for a two-hearted man didn't seem right. 'Doctor … please.'

He suddenly gasped.

'Oh, thank god,' she breathed, stroking back his hair impulsively. 'Wow, you really got me goin' there. Hi.'

He vaguely looked at her and opened his mouth, but only really on one side. 'Arrr,' he said in a drawl.

She frowned. 'Doctor?'

'Nuur,' he croaked.

'What?'

'Nah … nuh,' he managed.

This wasn't fatigue, she realised. The Doctor couldn't seem to talk. The swelling was rapidly going down, and she could see one side of his face was drooped, and the other only had slight twinges around his mouth and eye. Once again, she'd seen this before. Just before he died, Granddad Prentice had been like this in the hospital when she'd been nine years old. And that had been because ...

'You've had a stroke,' she realised. 'Oh god, I took so long that you've had a stroke.'

'Mmm nnn,' he said.

She swore, horrified. 'No …'

He stopped talking, clearly giving up. He was a little more focused now, his working eye fixed on her but completely unable to communicate. She stared at him, trying not to cry. He'd had a stroke. A stroke. This was beyond anything she knew. She'd watched plenty of Casualty with her mum, but this was an entirely different level. So much so …

'I dunno what to do,' she realised, gazing at him in sheer dread. 'What the hell do I do?'

He continued to look at her, his eyes shining.

#DW fanfic #doctor who #10th doctor #Tenth Doctor #tenrose #10rose #AO3 fanfic #oneshot #fatelesschildart #hurt/comfort #okay this is actually my favourite but don't tell anyone #doctorrose fic marathon #timepetals

[swinging-stars-from-satellites]

blessings list in the tags bouncing off @magpie-trove 💝

#snow here also!!!!!!!!! #my sister and i spent the whole weekend bingeing doctor who together which was fun #I'm finally actually home alone (no sis. no dog. it's nice n quiet) and about to make a cup of coffee #I've read some very good whump and hurt/comfort fics the past couple days #and I've been trying to read my Bible more. could still use prayer on that one though #i trimmed my fringe back into actual bangs again which is fun!! might need to trim them a bit more so they aren't annoying #my mom got my favorite flavor of la croix #i finally picked back up on the show I've been watching #however i think tonight i might sit down and watch see how they run. it looks good idk #tomorrow is middle school youth group and the middle schoolers are always fun #it's cold outside and warm inside (but not too warm) and I'm simmering some rather important Thoughts i think #Thoughts about my relationship with God #Thoughts about my relationship with and attitude toward my sister (God may have perhaps convicted me a bit via otgw) #Thoughts about things i want to write.... hmm yes Thoughts of many types and varying import #and now... for coffee :) #<3

[deardiary17]

“I’m sorry you’ve been feeling poorly,” the Doctor continued, not noticing her suspicious expression. “This will give you a reprieve from the nausea bouts, and in about two or three hours you’ll be feeling good enough for some food.” Rose felt herself turning green at the mention of the food. “Please, don’t talk about food,” she moaned and put a hand over her lips. The Doctor finally looked at her with sympathy. “Fair enough. But mark my words, Rose Tyler, you will change your opinion in three hours,” he promised with a smile. Rose found that she believed him easily.

#fic snippet #yay another hurt/comfort story #nine x rose #ninerose #ninth doctor #rose tyler #doctor who