#doctorroseprompts

Paring: Tenth Doctor x Rose Tyler
Rating: G
Word count: 800
Tags: Angst, Angst, Angst

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Written for the nonne prompt found on @doctorroseprompts​ - “Look at me - Just breathe, okay?”

Sorry about the angst. So sorry. I might just write another ficlet for this prompt because this is hard, even for me. Hehe.

His lungs were like balloons squeezed too hard, too fast, that burst to shreds to release the air the wouldn’t fit through the hole. He felt them. Full, swollen, compressed inside a ribcage that as nowhere big enough. His throat, narrow, dry, that could only gulp down small intakes of fresh air that only made his failing organs strain harder against his ribs, grow heavier, bigger, absorb his hearts into a viscous paste of flesh and hinder their wild beating. Soon, his lungs would explode. And his hearts would stop to beat.

His jaw hung low, his tongue darted out to moisturize cracked lip, his stomach heaved, a vain attempt to chase the surplus of air, his abdomen contracted, a futile exertion to force a breath out, but it was no use. Not with that kind of prison. A thick straitjacket, the straps pulled so tight he couldn’t feel his hands any longer, apart from the thousands and thousands of fire ants crawling up his fingers, up his arms, up his shoulders, up his head. A head swarming with a loud buzz, like angry bees droning through the tiniest blood vessel. It might have been the lack of blood circulation, or the lack of oxygen feeding his brain. Both, neither. It meant the same. The only words his last thought had hooked into. She’s gone. Those were the only words he could hold on to.

The pain started, soon. Not much, at first, just a tickle at the back of his neck. But it grew, fast, exponential. A headache that sprouted in the depths of his brain, a sickness that seized his stomach and made it push harder in violent retaliation against the lungs he knew were starting to crack under the pressure. She’s gone. Why were these the words he was thinking of when they only turned the pain to torture, he didn’t know. A thought of she, a fleeting image of blond hair and full smile, and a desperate moan echoed in his throat without getting out. A thought of gone, a tears fell from his eyes, depriving him of the few oxygen he had left in his dying body.

And then, he felt it. The cold hand on his cheek - maybe the hand was warm and his cheek burning. The sound of a murmur - maybe it was a scream and his ears were beating too loud with the blood rushing through his veins. A pressure between his hearts, between his lungs - maybe it was nothing, just the feel of his organs finally giving up.

“Look at me.”

His eyes shot open and were met with the blurry picture of she. Same blond hair, same smile. Deep brown irises that looked at him without the panic he was sure reflected in his, without the pain his cried profusely to wet his cheeks and his dry lips. Her hand, splayed over his chest, drawing circles like spells that stopped his ribcage from collapsing over itself.

“Look at me. Just breathe, okay?”

He blinked, hard, and forced his chest to follow the up and down of her hand. He latched onto her words, those words he desperately needed to replace the truth hammering against his skull. She’s gone. Breathe. She’s gone. Look at me. She’s… Breathe. Just breathe.

The pain faded, little by little, just as his lungs deflated, little by little. A seething breath, scorching, that had boiled for far too long in the confines of his ribs, but that was slowly expelled through his constricted throat. He was able to take in some fresh air, a small shot of oxygen that was just enough to keep certain death away. Just enough to reignite the system that must have shut down in his sleep again. The more he breathed, like she had told him to, the less he saw her face, the less he heard her words, the less he felt her hand.

Soon, he was breathing again. He hurried to untangled his limbs from the sticky web of sheets and covers glued to his body, covered in sweat and tears and drool, kicking them away his his feet in a fit of anger, with a fit of coughs, letting the cold air roll on his skin.

A nightmare, again. Or so the lingering taste of horror on the tip of his tongue and the images flashing before his eyes, the excruciating love soaring between his hearts and the sorrow imbibed in his stomach proved. But just a nightmare.

She’s gone.

No.

Breathe.

He rolled to the side and buried his nose in the pillow next to his. Breathe. He did. He breathed, and breathed, let the sweet smell fill his nose and soothe his aching lungs.

Paring: Giacomo Casanova x Fanny Price
Chapter: 1/?
Rating: Mature
Word count: 2990
Tags: Slow Burn, Fluff, First Meetings, First Kiss, First Time

Summary:

When he decided to come to England, it was for the women.
It wasn’t to sell the Italian dresses he didn’t make.
It wasn’t to drink champagne in posh garden parties he didn’t like.
It most definitely wasn’t to fall in love with a woman he didn’t want.

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New Teninch story I’ve started working on because I’ve wanted to do this for far too long!
I know it’s not the most popular pairing, but I love it and I wanted to give it a try!

Tagging both @doctorrosepromptsand@timepetalscollective should this fit in any of the ongoing prompts!

I hope you’ll like it! :-)

The hunting horn had blown. The moment he had stepped through the gate of the imposing mansion, the game had started. The first part of the game was setting up the rules. Making sure everyone knew he was a player, better yet, he was the man who would dominate the game. Make sure everyone knew he was the best hunter and would not let go of his preys, no matter how fierce or how cantankerous the opponents.

He had won the first round already. Pretend he was a wealthy Italian fabric merchant to slither his way into the garden, who unfortunately happened to have lost his invitation letter. The natural talent he possessed with his tongue and his charm were his best trumps, of course. His perfectly tailored costume, rich blue silk sewn with gold, white lace collar pinned with a jeweled brooch, knee-length leather boots were just helpful accessories. Outer evidence of a small fortune he only owned in the pompous discourses he had crafted for such occasions. Luxury clothes and precious adornments were but mere illusions. A few of his words were worth more than whatever money he could convince anyone he possessed. His mouth made him rich. His attitude made him respectable. His clothes only gave him the look.

Two young women walked past him, brushed against his arm, giggling and throwing the kind of decent smile high-society girls were taught to smile, but a smile that hid so much more. He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, a grin pulling at the corner of his lips, and picked up a crystal flute from the table. Just half a glass of posh champagne he would nurse until he would find the perfect prey. Obviously, it wouldn’t take long. He would have thought British girls to be more… Moderate. Elegant. Smarter, and maybe colder. Obviously, he had been wrong. Or so he thought.

Oh, they were classier, he couldn’t deny that. Well-mannered, well-dressed, well-behaved. But he saw it. He felt it. In the way they tried not to look at him but their eyes burnt his body under the heat of a single of their fleeting glances. In the way their fingers slightly tightened around their glass when he walked past them, as if they were struggling to keep their hands from reaching out to him. In the way they shifted in their seats, or shifted on their feet, like little animals who knew they could get bit and dragged into a den, but who would have gladly let themselves be caught. In all of those ways, none of them were better than all the frivolous Italian women who would have sold their mothers and properties just to get a chance to be naked in his bed.

So, he began to seduce. That one woman, with a red corset that puffed out into a large skirt, glorious breasts pushed up so high and so tight her pendant was trapped between the two mounds of flesh. He rather liked it. He didn’t even have to speak. A wink from one of his piercing blue eyes, a tug on a lapel of his jacket, a small bow and a devastating smile. There went his first dance. The first occasion to get a proper feel of British flesh, his long fingers digging into her hip, her supple chest brushing against his despite the expected and required distance between their bodies, the round swell of her bottom under his little finger, just enough of a contact to map out a derriere that was probably just as glorious as her devant. She fluttered her eyelids at him, looked at him through thick eyelashes, a light blush on her cheeks, and he decided he could do better. She was well-endowed, yes, but her face was common. Not particularly pretty, nor special enough to spark his interest. Not yet anyway. He’d have to wait until the end of the hunt and find out which weakened prey he’d pick - he would stop at three, no need to make himself too noticed.

“Remember the name, Mia Signorina,” he whispered in her ear as he let go of her waist on the last note of the song. “Casanova.”

Oh he loved it, how women swooned when he spoke those few words, rolled his letters and made the vowels last - the moment he had set foot on British soil, he had found out his tongue could not only talk his way in and out of things, but could also speak a foreign language. It made it all too easy.

“Ciao Lady, you sure look like, la perfetta stronza, today,” he greeted the older woman who had been ogling his backside for far too long - and chuckled under his breath when she had to fan her rubicon face, most certainly oblivious to the meaning of his words. “Very nice bosom, though too flabby and too vulgar, I don’t even want to think about the rest. Definitely not doable. Buona giornata, eh?”

It seemed her husband had been watching them from afar, because he briskly walked to them when the wife began to shout at him, rise from her chair and threaten him with her pointy umbrella. She was turning even redder, but knew it had nothing to do with either his charm or his backside, this time.

“This eccentric foreigner told me…” she started when her husband asked what was the commotion about in a bark.

“Advised you on your sense of fashion,” he was quick to interrupt with a fake laugh and a dismissive bending of his wrist, the kind of gesture he was sure those British expected from an extroverted Italian designer. “I truly am sorry, Sir, but look. The pompom under the chestline is much too loose, you can see the string about to break. The dress might have suited her a few years ago, but it is now too small and doesn’t hug her shapes in the right places, which makes her look più grassa than she is, and also rather ridiculous. I would suggest adding a ribbon of taffeta here, change that old-fashioned pompom, and have it entirely retailored. Or you could ask me for a brand new dress, of course, I would be more than happy to take her measurements and have my stilistas in Venezia come up with a better model. Half-price, for a gentiluomo like you. Truth be told, where I’m from, such a depraved appearance would be condemned by law, so let’s make a deal. Give me a hundred pounds right now, I’ll take the measurements after the party and your Lady can have her brand new dress by the end of the week.”

“A hundred pounds?” the husband huffed, his eyes travelling from his wife’s dress he had to admit had seen better days but still looked fashionable and reasonably fitted, and this foreigner who tutted and shook his head at his wife, taking in her appearance with sighs of discomfiture. “That’s certainly expensive.”

“The dress I’ll give you is worth thrice that sum,” he smiled, thumbing a lapel of his costume tu push it towards him. “Italian quality fabric, the most renowned couturiers you’ll ever find, a dress your wife can wear until the rest of her days. It’s an investment, but a good one. A hundred pounds, and you leave it all to me. Next wedding, your wife will shine brighter than the bride.”

“I… Suppose it’s been a while since my Lady was gifted with a new dress,” he shrugged, reaching inside his pocket to take out a roll of banknotes.

“I’ll give you the matching shoes for twenty more of these,” he raised an eyebrow - he knew he already had the wife swooning with the promise of that dess, and he congratulated himself inwardly when she purposefully stared at her husband.

“Fine,” he gave up, handing him a thick stack of notes.

“I shall meet you later, Signora,” he bowed, the notes quickly shoved inside the deepest pocket he could find. “My apologies if I chose the wrong words and made myself unclear earlier, English is a rather tricky language. Buona giornata.”

He saluted her with one last bow of courtesy and a charming smile - he knew she was perfectly aware he had meant the offensive words, but he also knew he had just bought her a brand new dress, or so she thought, so she simply smiled back and went away. Those British weren’t shy with money, it seemed. Maybe he could fill his purse by the end of the day and buy himself a first-class ticket for his return to Italy.

Feeling lighter despite the hundred notes protectively shielded in a folded layer of his puff-sleeved shirt, he swanned off in the direction of another young woman who could definitely win her way between his sheets or in a bush somewhere in the back of the luxurious gardens. His first real prey was in his line of sight. The woman with the red dress had just been a mere swim in the shallow pond to taste the waters. But that Lady with the emerald skirt and slightly lighter green corset was most definitely the occasion to make the big jump. Deliciously shaped and the face of Venezian beauty, with that added British grace that made her… Well he didn’t know what that made her, exactly, but he was sure it made him uncomfortably tight in the pants he had worn for the occasion   No full mast before the ship sails , he had to remind himself. Seduce first. That was part of the game.

“Ma ciao, bellissima,” he crooned, leaning against his cane crowned with a silver lion head, crossing an ankle above the other. “Allow me to compliment you on your choice of dress. This is by far the best I’ve seen today, it fits your body rather spectacularly. Molto bella.”

“I am married,” she answered, tugging on her shawl to cover her bare sternum.

“So?” he grinned with a raised eyebrow, almost delighted to be faced with a new challenge. “Can’t a uomo flatter a Lady who deserves it? I’m sure your husband has never told you how beautiful eyes you have, nor how elegant your gait is. I wanted to meet British class and beauty, and I’ve just met British perfection.”

“My husband often compliments me on my looks, thank you very much, Sir…?”

“Casanova,” he introduced himself with pomp, bowing to give the back of her hand a distant smack of his lips. “Forgive my audace, but would you mind if I readjusted some parts of your dress? I am a tailor, you see, dress designer in Venezia, and I’ve spotted a few things that could be improved. Don’t get me wrong, you look positively stunning, Signora, I put the blame on those English dressmakers. They lack the talent and imagination Italian couturiers have. Give me un minuto, and you’ll make all your friends jealous. You could be the queen of the party.”

“I already am,” she pointed out, her features not growing annoyed, but growing suspicious. “These are my gardens, Sir Casanova. My party. Forgive my asking, but I do not remember my husband telling me there would be an Italian tailor invited. Who introduced you?”

“Why, Sir Bellingham, of course,” he lied, citing a name he had heard after stepping into the party. “We met a while ago in Venezia, he told me he’d find me a suitable market for my designer dresses in England, and he invited me to this party to meet my first clients. See that Lady over there? Already bought one of my dresses, you can ask her. Le mie scuse, my Lady, but if you’re not interested in what my talents have to offer, I should go on with my business. Thank you ever so much for the invitation and the fine champagne. Ciao, brutta.”

He clicked his heels together with one last bow of courtesy and hurried to get away, fast enough to deprive her of the time she’d need to realize he was a fraud, slow enough not to arouse any more suspicion from any others. Well, some of those British girls were tough. Nothing like the Italian women he had courted seduced within mere minutes for the better part of his life. It might not have been the best enterprise to try his luck with a married woman who also happened to be the hostess, he reckoned, but still. In his country, he would already be bunching her skirt up to her hips and ravishing her against a tree - no, better not to think about ravishing women against trees just yet. His frustration was a fantastic remedy to his condition, anyway. He had to fight this frustration. He had to keep playing. He had lost a round, not the game. Yet. Because if all the beautiful British women were as uptight and sober as this one, he doubted he’d ever get to shove his pants down his knees, especially not in such ridiculously posh parties. He would give it one more try, maybe two, but if it kept going that way he would rather flee to the neighbouring town and find a brothel. He hadn’t come all this way, travelled several countries and crossed a sea to be disappointed and frustrated.

So, he kept going on his search for a prey. His previous failures made him more careful, however. Spot the rings, spot the husbands, spot those who looked at him as if they knew he didn’t belong. It made the hunt harder. Made him a predator that had to stay hidden in the shadows rather than run and hunt in the open. He had become a prey himself, in a way. He didn’t like it.

He walked for several minutes among the groups of people, occupied his hands with another glass of champagne he didn’t drink, picked up a few nibbles on the tables to pretend he knew what he was doing, only to discard them in the many plant pots disseminated around in the clean-cut grass. And then he spotted her. The perfect prey.

She was alone, sitting on one of the steps that let to the entrance to an appurtenance, isolated from the main hubbub of the party. No ring on her finger. A dress that looked much less elaborated that the others, a dull beige when all the others sported bright colours, a pale maroon tunic going askew on her shoulders. Rather disheveled, compared to the neat hairstyles and carefully pinned hats the other women wore. If he managed to seduce that one, it wouldn’t be one of his greatest achievements, nor one of his greatest prides. But then he saw her face, and an odd feeling coursed through him. A shiver of… Something. He didn’t know what it was, but he knew perfectly well his heart hadn’t beaten harder in his crotch like it usually did when he looked at a woman, but louder in his chest. She wasn’t even beautiful. Pretty, at most, with her blond curls, her full mouth, her round nose. A woman like a hundred many others he had made his bed creak with. No, not like a hundred others. Like a few others, only. Because he felt it from where he was standing, smelled it, tasted it. That young woman with that innocent sad face was a virgin. He didn’t particularly enjoy virgins. He liked his women like he loved his sex. Bold, mature, liberated. That blonde was none of that. The exact opposite, even. Shy, inexperienced, reserved.

Her deep whiskey eyes met his, her thick lips stretched into a small smile, her hand tightened on her tunic. And he saw in her eyes something akin to what he was feeling himself. The feeling that she didn’t belong here, the feeling of isolation, the feeling that she was pretending. Without knowing why, he realized she was a bit like him. A poor girl lost in a world of wealth who had had to learn the rules by herself rather than being taught. A girl that had been thrown into a cage full of hyenas, waiting for her to die to feast on her cadaver and make her disappear, like a nuisance that needed to be erased from the surface of this Earth. He saw it in the way the others looked at her. He heard it in the murmurs behind him. He felt it in the cloud of tension that thickened the closer he got to her. He was in the same kind of cage. Except he’d been lucky enough to be blessed with talents to help him fight off his enemies and fend off his demons. She obviously hadn’t.

“Hello, Sir,” she greeted him with a bow of the head - it was only then he realized his steps had taken him to her, quite against his most sensible reflections. “Please excuse my ignorance, but I don’t remember seeing you before.”

He had never really seen her before either, he thought. Because as he looked down at her face and into her eyes, he was suddenly struck by her beauty. Unconventional beauty, certo, but beauty nonetheless. Before he knew it, he was taking her hand in a gentle hold and brushing his lips against her skin. It terrified him to understand he wasn’t doing it to drag her into an empty room ten minutes later, steal her virginity against a cupboard and ditch her when he’d be done. He was doing it because he wanted to do it. No underlying purpose. He peered at her through his eyelashes, lips still hovering above the back of her hand, and he saw the way she nibbled her lip with an embarrassed grin.

“Più bella cosa, you’ll wish you had never seen me at all,” he said softly, pushing himself up straight with the help of his cane. “Call me… Giacomo.”

Paring: Tenth Doctor x Rose Tyler
Rating: G
Word count: 550
Tags: Fluff, A bit of Angst

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Written for the @doctorroseprompts​ weekly drabble: Hold

I hope you’ll enjoy it!

There would come a time, holding would stop being enough. And there would come a time, holding would start getting too much.

It had started with innocent hand-holding - if he wanted to be perfectly honest with himself, which he didn’t, he would have had to admit even hand-holding had never been quite innocent. The first time their fingers had twined, the first time he had felt the affection under her skin and the comfort that came with a simple brush of her thumb. That was the first time he had felt it. The guilt. The guilt to feel his stomach swoop and his hearts stutter, the guilt to see their hands so tightly tangled he had been unable to properly feel and see where his started, where hers ended. Not as separate body parts, but as a whole. And when her fingers detached from his, he always felt like part of him was ripped away. But he could deal with it. He knew their hands would find their way back to each other, sooner or later.

And then, the hugs had started, and whatever pretense of innocence he could muster with hand-holding became a mere fantasy. When he held her close, when he felt her chest against his, her heart hidden under the layers of clothes and skin and bones, he felt alive. It was her heartbeat he was feeling, but somehow, the notion that they were two separate bodies didn’t make sense. No, he was alive because her heart was beating. And that was precisely why holding her tight, hugging her close, melting deep in her body was growing dangerous. Because when she stepped back, he always felt like he was dying a little. But he could deal with it. He knew their bodies would eventually find each other again, and she would breathe new life into it.

Because he knew how hugging felt, hand-holding was never enough. Not enough contact, not enough heat, not enough feelings. He needed the hugs.

And then, they had kissed. Many times, many different ways, many places. But the constant with those kisses was the way they held. Sometimes it was just a gentle palm on a cheek, sometimes it was a crushing embrace, both amazing, both terrifying. But they always held each other close. And that was when the hugs began to feel like they weren’t enough. He needed more. What more meant, he didn’t know.

Until they found themselves tangled between the sheets and he realized what his body and his mind needed. More, as in her naked body against him, and her beautiful mind wrapped around his. He realized simple holding wasn’t enough any longer. He also realized holding had been too much, way too much, ever since they had held hands for the first time. He had given in. He had given up. And when she’d be gone from his life forever, he knew he would remember the comfort of her fingers around him, the life of her heart against his, the love of her mind through his. He would remember, and blame himself. It was too much.

But in that moment, as she kissed him, hugged him, clasped her fingers around his, he decided he didn’t care much. She wasn’t gone, yet. It wasn’t too much, yet. Barely just enough. No, not even enough.

Paring: Tenth Doctor x Rose Tyler
Chapter: 2/2
Rating: Explicit
Word count: 2700
Tags: Temporary Disabalities, Borderline PWP, Fluff, Light Bondage, Very NSFW

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Second and last part of this story, for the @doctorroseprompts​ Hurt/Comfort!

Mind the tags, it really is NSFW!

Without a warning, he shuffled away and broke every kind of contact with her body. He remembered she had mentioned that fantasy she had, once. Not really a fantasy, merely a modest adventure she wanted to try and that they’d never embarked on - not for lack of opportunity, rather for lack of sufficient restraint on both their part. They just never resisted each other long enough to think about engaging into even a modicum of something different from either angry shagging against a wall. And when they took it slower, when they made love in front of the fireplace in the library or in their bed, they just never resisted the temptation to stare into each other’s eyes so they could share the words their moans forbade them to speak. But now. Now, he could.

Rose tensed when she heard him move away from the bed, then heard  light ruffle of clothes, then felt the mattress dip slightly on her left side. She knew where he wanted to go with this, and while part of her was still a bit miffed at his carelessness, she couldn’t help the thrilled shiver that ran down her spine. She was almost tempted to reach out for him, to touch him, to fill the gap her blindness had carved in the wall of her perceptions, but then the tip of his tongue dragged along the shell of her ear and she gave up on the idea. He sucked her lobe in his mouth, and he was gone again.

The only thing she could do was to guess where he would touch her next. She had never felt so much erotic tension before. His finger drew a line on the patch of skin showing between the hem of her tee-shirt and her belt, and he was gone again. He pressed a kiss in the crook of her elbow, and he was gone again. He bit her lip, and he was gone again. He didn’t reappear for a full minute. The silence was only broken by her heavy breath, and his - he probably didn’t realize how hard he was breathing, almot ragged already, almost too deep and too loud. A minute was all it took for her body to steadily tense, muscles pulled taut, teeth grinding, gooseflesh spreading like wildfire over her skin everywhere she thought his hands were hovering. Everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

More sounds, more movements she could imagine happening around her without really knowing what he was doing. And suddenly, his large hand picked up both her wrists, pulled them up above her head, and the cold silk of his was tied around them, locking them around the headboard. He kissed both her palms, caressed her forearms, and he was gone again. Not for long. Just long enough for her heartbeat to turn erratic and a fire to burn its way down her loins. She had never been more powerless than in that moment. She couldn’t see, couldn’t touch. She could speak, but he wouldn’t hear. She couldn’t hear, but he wouldn’t speak. He could read her lips, but he could just as well pretend he wasn’t and she’d have no way of knowing. It was oddly… Satisfying. To let him possess to the last shred of control. To let him decide what to do. Liberating, in a way.

His spikes of hair tickled the underside of her jaw, and a groan was ripped from her throat when his mouth wrapped around her nipple over the layers of clothes. Not a direct contact, but enough to feel the moist heat of his tongue, enough for pleasure to spark and shoot down to fuel the heat of her arousal. When the fabric grew damp, he switched to the other, his thumb replacing his mouth to keep its attention awake. Her chest rose from the bed to seek more contact, a sigh of pleasure breaking free, but he wasn’t pleased by her eagerness. He bit her soft flesh in reprisal, and he was gone again. Really gone, the mattress taking back its original shape, his weight vanished, his heat replaced by a wisp of cold air. She still heard him, walk about the room, another quiet ruffle of clothes, a low rumble followed by a sharp metallic click. She wasn’t sure she liked this sound.

Soon, maybe too soon, she sensed him straddling her hips, and if she wasn’t mistaking what she was feeling against her skin above the line of her jeans, the ruffle she had heard was the one of his boxers falling to the carpet. Her hands unconsciously pulled on their bind, the desire to touch, to make sure with her own fingers, to feel, turning into a consuming need. If there was one sound he was still capable of, it was tutting. And he did. Just before he slipped a hand under her tee-shirt, splayed fingers on her stomach, and the awkward clicking sound reached her ears again. The fabric was pulled high, a swish of breeze rolling up her skin to the underside of her breast, and the same sound was heard. Scissors. Cutting through her tee-shirt, the back of his hand resting protectively under the blades should she be tempted to push her chest up. But now she knew. She nestled deeper into the cover and remained perfectly still, hoping he would get the message. He did. His hand disappeared and she could almost see his lips drawing into a grin. Her abdomen rippled slightly, the cold blade finally meeting her skin, and she had been right. She loved it. The cold against the hot, the hard against the soft, the not-quite danger against the weak, the sharp sound against the silence. The mere minute it took for the garment to curtain out on her sides, the sleeves having suffered the same fate, and expose the bra still covering her breast managed to fan her arousal better than a whole ten minutes of their usual foreplay. And then, with three meticulous snap of his scissors, he cut the two straps and the middle of the lacy piece. She felt like a flower whose petals were slowly picked off.

He raked his nails over her sternum, down, down, swiping off the tatters of the bra that joined the remnants of her tee-shirt. Her breath hitched in her throat when he bent forward to capture a nipple between his teeth again, caught the other between his knuckles, and teased them with his tongue, his lips, his breath, until they stood almost painfully erect atop her mouds of pale flesh. By the time he decided that was enough, she was almost ashamed by the wetness that had gathered in her knickers. Thankfully, he silently agreed to remedy the situation.

She released a breath, heavy, shaky, his hands drawing snakes down her stomach until they reached the buckle of her belt and deftly undid it. The two buttons followed, then the fly, and he shuffled down her legs all while pulling at the garment, along with her knickers. She heard the way he clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth, heard the deep inhale he took and almost heard his tongue run over his lips.

“Oh, God, fuck.”

She knew it was useless, but given how he suddenly wrapped his hands behind her knees and pushed them up, spread them out, she couldn’t help that curse. She didn’t think he had ever exposed her like that. She didn’t mind, if the throb between her legs and the renewed wetness she felt trickling down her opening were any clues. No, what she minded was the complete lack of stimulation. He did nothing, for a long moment. Almost too long. She grew too impatient, her nerves turning to scorching ashes, and she rolled her hips. She cursed again, loud and desperate, when what she believed to be the tip of his cock slid between her folds and bumped against her clit - and God, if it was, it seemed he was enjoying the ride, too. She felt his weight shift - he probably shuffled back on his knees so she wouldn’t try to seek for contact again - and she could only wait. His breath caressed her skin, first, somewhere on the inside of her left thigh. She felt the same on her right. Then a poke of his tongue on the left again, that he repeated on the right. Then his tongue ran along the dip between her folds and the juncture of her leg, and it did the same to the right. She knew he could tease, and she usually loved it, but the sensations were so much more powerful and consuming in that moment that she was starting to hate it. Her breath probably betrayed her, or the quiver of her muscles, or maybe the almost pained frown on her features. He finally licked his way up from her opening to her clit, and that about did it. About. Oh, it didn’t take much more, because he knew her by heart. He knew what she wanted, and he knew what she needed. He plunged his index deep into her, and sucked her clit into his mouth, hard, the taut tip of his tongue circling the bud over the bud, once, his fingertip pressing against the rougher patch of her heat, twice. Her arousal peaked and the headboard cracked in protest, her hands pulling on the tie to anchor her body, arching away from the bed, only supported by her feet and her her shoulders.

He didn’t hear her shout his name, but he felt her inner muscles squeeze his finger in, saw her body thrash, tasted the juices that flowed from her when he withdrew his finger. He loved it, to see her surrender to him, bound to their bed, at his mercy. He loved it even more to know she trusted him enough to indulge in that kind of fantasy that had left him indifferent at first, but that he was seriously starting to consider doing again, very soon, very often. His cock twitched hard at the sight of her flushed body, the heavy rise and fall of her chest, her white knuckles firmly grasping his favourite tie. She was beautiful. He was disappointed he couldn’t voice his affection and his love, but he believed she knew anyway. So, he shifted up her body, up to her chest, careful not to crush her with his weight, and he slipped two of his fingers into her mouth after giving it a full kiss. He let her twirl her tongue around them for a moment, enjoying the rumble of her moan that echoed in his bones. And then, he used those fingers to draw a question mark on her warm and reddened sternum. He hoped she would understand. She nodded forcefully. She did.

In a sudden surge of possessive behaviour, strength heightened by his arousal, he pulled on the knot of the tie to help her higher up against the headboard. His lungs constricted painfully in his chest and his hand squeezed his leaking cock, once, twice, dragged its tip up her chin, and he filled her awaiting mouth with a quick thrust. He didn’t even want to imagine what kind of sound he would have made if he could use his voice. His fingers tangled into her hair, his thumb pressed against her temples, palms cinching her cheeks to push her jaw down as low as he could - though he made sure to watch for any sign of pain or too extreme discomfort, he refused to hurt her. Her tongue worked fast against his underside, her lips thick around his cock, her mouth hot and wet and tight. She suddenly moaned around him, loud, or so the rippling echoes that pulsed down to his balls had him think. A single moan, that sliced a dent in the already tight coil of his arousal snaking in his loins. It felt too good. He wouldn’t last. He thrust hard into her mouth, once more, twice more, and he hurried to slip his cock out of her mouth before what thin thread of his control was left would break. He fumbled around to find the pair of scissors he had discarded to the side, feverish hands cutting through the silk of his tie above the knot until she was set half-free.

He flipped her around, rolled an arm around her waist to huddle her up to her knees, and slammed his hips against her rear to bury himself to the hilt in her wet heat. His fingers found her clit to rub it in tight circles, the chopped rhythm and the despair of his thrusts making it quite clear he wouldn’t last much longer. She fell on her arms, curved her back, squeezed her muscles around him. He threw his head back, biting his lower lip hard in the vain hope to keep his orgasm at bay just a while longer, just long enough so she would come before him, but it was no use. He didn’t want to fight it, not when this was bound to be the best orgasm he had ever experienced. So he let it sweep him away. His hips jerked against her bum and his fingers scratched through the coarse hair at the apex of her sex, his breath coming out in choked puffs as his cock throbbed and pulsed its long and powerful release in her dripping wetness. It lasted, seconds, how many he didn’t know because he hadn’t enough brain left to count, but he knew it lasted.

He wanted nothing more than to let himself fall over her and try to survive the intensity of his release, but she hadn’t come. He needed her to come. He found the strength to withdraw his softening cock from her and replaced it with two fingers he hurried to pump, fast and hard, in and out, his quivering thumb brushing random pattern against her clit. Thankfully, she was close, and it didn’t take long before the small of her back arched up, before she pressed back against his fingers and came around them, and he had to sigh in relief at the feel of her own release.

He snatched the tatters of the tee-shirt before she could fall down on them, pressed a kiss to the swell of her bum, made a quick job of wiping the heavy combination of fluids dripping on the inside of her thighs. With his shaking hands, he managed fetch the scissors and cut through the knot of the tie to free her of her bindings.

He winced at the sight of the bruises spreading from her wrists to the base of her thumbs - nothing he couldn’t fix later, but still, he was scared he might have gone too hard on her. He apologized with a trail of soft kisses he sowed over each dark colour spreading over pale skin, fleeting caresses all over her body, butterfly kisses peppered on her face. He wanted nothing more than to have his voice back and tell her he was sorry. Nothing more than tell her how much he loved her.

Her blind eyes looked at him as she snuggled to his side, and a smile tugged on her lips. She cupped his face again, a gentle hold, and articulated a few words again.

“I know. I’m fine. I love you, too.”

He smiled, too, even though she couldn’t see him yet. He cupped her left breast in his palm, and pressed his lips hard against the back of his hand. He hoped she could feel it. He knew she did, when she mirrored his actions over his right heart.

“Slip it off,” she mouthed, just before she kissed his lips again and buried her face in the crook of his neck.

He toed the plaid at the foot of the bed and caught it to throw it over they bodies, entwined in a warm and comfortable embrace. He would sleep it off. And when they both woke up, he would make sure to apologize. Twice again.

Paring: Tenth Doctor x Rose Tyler
Chapter: ½
Rating: Explicit
Word count: 1200
Tags: Temporary Disabalities, Borderline PWP, Fluff

Read on AO3

Started this work for the Hurt/Comfort prompt, from @doctorroseprompts!
Second chapter should be uploaded very soon!

The panic he saw on her face made his stomach heave, and he rushed to her side to wrap a solid arm around her waist. Her eyes were wide open, trying to look everywhere at once without ever landing on anything, not even on him. A fleeting gaze, unfocused irises that had lost their lively whiskey colour and were now almost as pale as the white that surrounded them. She was blind. Momentarily, thank the Heavens, but she was blind. And he was deaf. And mute. Communication was bound to be a problem. A very big, very annoying problem. Especially since Rose was talking to him, or so her jaw and mouth proved, but he hadn’t been focused enough to read her words.

He winced when she clutched the lapels of his jacket and shook him forcefully, her panic turning to anger, tears falling from her eyes, mouth feverishly speaking words he couldn’t decipher. He hurried to press a finger across her lips to stop her, brought two of her fingers to his own lips, then to his ear, before he clasped her hands around his face and shook his head forcefully. He could only hope she would understand. I can’t hear. I can’t speak.

The way her shoulders sagged, almost imperceptibly, was enough to reassure him she had, but the anger and the terror written on her face did nothing to assuage his guilt. He knew this wouldn’t last for more than a few hours, but she didn’t. She was stuck in the dark, and he had no way to soothe her fears. The faster they’d get back to the Tardis, the sooner he’d be able to explain. Not that he expected her to forgive him for his awful blunder, but at least she’d know this wasn’t permanent. He could only hold her hand, like he always did when he wanted to comfort her, gentle and soft, hoping his calm and composure would induce her own.

He looked around for a while, taking in the forest of tall trees drawing a maze of narrow corridors, the spongy grass from which large roots sprouted, the many potholes and clods of wet earth. They had managed to dodge them on their way inside the forest, but he doubted Rose would be able to walk back safely on her own. He couldn’t risk a sprained ankle, or any other injury for that matter, so he did what he thought was best. He scooped her up in his arms and secured a tight hold behind her knees and shoulders. She seemed to understand, thankfully didn’t protest, and locked her hands behind his neck. The Tardis wasn’t very far, and he walked briskly through the rows of trees, huddling her close to his chest so he wouldn’t lose his balance or inadvertently let her legs knock on the trunks. Mere minutes later, he was kicking the door of his ship open and carefully set her down on a jumpseat before he went to a computer on the console. He flicked a switch on, reached for a keyboard and quickly typed a few words he deemed to be the most important.

“It’s temporary,” a metallic voice echoed in the console room - and he risked a glance at her to see her body visibly sag on the seat. “Sense paralysis. There was a plant I thought this planet didn’t have. Released spores that locked the senses we were using the most. I was talking and listening to your hum. You must have been staring at something. It will only last a couple of hours.”

He looked at her over his shoulder again, and a sketch of a smile ghosted over his lips when she lifted a thumb towards him.

“Sorry,” he typed on his machine - and she threw a dismissive hand at him, as if she didn’t really hold it against him. “We should sleep it off.”

He saw her nod and he went to her to gently take her hand and pull her back to her feet. He kept her close as they made their way to their bedroom, lest she’d trip over her own feet or walk into a wall - he knew just how hard it was to lose such an important sense and he noticed in the way she unconsciously leant against his side that she needed him. He helped sit her down on the side of the mattress, unlaced his shoes and toed them off along with his socks, shed his jacket and threw it on the desk chair, loosened his tie and slid it off his neck. He expected to already be in bed when he turned around, but she was angrily pulling at her own laces she always insisted should be tied into a double knot - she refused to risk stepping onto an undone shoelace should they have to run for their lives, which wasn’t necessarily a pointless thing. He quickly knelt before her and she jumped slightly when he wrapped his fingers around her feverish one, stopping her frantic attempts at untying laces that only made it worse.

He could imagine her annoyed sigh all too well, and he grinned as she let her body fall back on the mattress. He took his time to untie the laces of her hiking shoes, the right first, then the left, then tugged on her socks. She playfully nudged his shoulder with her toes and he laughed soundlessly before he planted a kiss on the sole of her foot and rose to crash next to her. He was pleasantly surprised when she rolled on her side to face him - approximately face him, her eyes only level with his mouth. She found out soon enough when she tried to kiss him and the bridge of her nose met the tip of his chin. He helped her shuffle up and smiled against her kiss, until she spoke against his lips, her voice echoing through his flesh and her hot breath rolling on his skin. Surely, she hadn’t forgotten he couldn’t hear her already. He pulled back a little, and she understood. Her fingers groped around his face to clasp his cheeks, and she made sure to articulate the word, syllable by syllable, and he read it on her lips.

“Apologize.”

He would have moaned deep in his throat if he had been able to. She drew him into a kiss - a snog- and grabbed a fistful of his hair at the back of his neck, tongue slipping into his mouth and teeth biting into his lip. Well, that certainly was an interesting alternative to sleeping it off. And who was he to refuse an apology she deserved, anyway?

Paring: TenToo x Rose Tyler
Rating: Mature
Word count: 2200
Tags: Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Smutty-ish

Summary:

That’s it. He’s getting old. And he doesn’t like it.
Thankfully, Rose does.

Read onAO3

Tagging@doctorrosepromptsand@timepetalscollective for the second chapter of this little TenToo x Rose fluffy work!

Kept it under Mature because it’s far less smutty than I expected it to be!

“Rose, please,” he whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut as he nimble fingers reached into his pants.

“Please what?” she smiled at his reflection through the mirror. “Stop, or don’t stop?”

“Stop,” he answered before she gave his erection a squeeze and kissed the side of his neck. “Okay, maybe don’t. But I won’t be blamed if we’re, ah, late.”

“Fine with me,” she giggled as she withdrew her hand just to take his and lead him back to the bedroom. “Now lie down and let me do my thing, handsome.”

“Handsome,” he snorted, plopping down on the mattress as asked, shuffling back to nestle his head in a pillow. “As if you believed that. Seriously, Rose, this is all pointless. I’m a fat wrinkled apple. You won’t change my mind.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t try,” she grinned, toeing off her heels and getting rid of her tight skirt. “Now shut it, old fart, and let your wife prove you wrong.”

He wanted to roll his eyes, but couldn’t detach them from her. She still had this power to hypnotize him at all times, but more specifically when she was undressing. He had trouble accepting the epitome of perfection that she was could already be forty-six years of age, because to him, she was as beautiful as the day he had fallen in love with her for the first time. He watched, enthralled, her deft fingers unbutton her blouse, pull it down her arms, drop it to the side, that one insolent smile tugging at her lips.

“Since when does my wife wear red lace?” he asked, eying the underwear ensemble he had never seen before.

“It’s your birthday next week,” she explained as she joined him on the bed and straddled his waist with an elegant throw of her leg - her flexibility, among many other things, was still something he particularly enjoyed. “Wanted this to be a surprise, but you know how much I hate brand new underwear. Wanted to wear it once to get used to it for the big day. Guess I’ll have to find another surprise. So, Doctor, shall I begin with my… Presentation?”

“Like I have a choice,” he sighed, his hands finding their way to her hips out of habits.

“No you don’t, indeed. Part one. Me.”

“You? What do you mean, you?”

Her only answer was a soft smile. She reached behind her back to unclasp her bra, shrugged it off her shoulders and discarded it to the side, glad to see his sweet chocolate eyes darken almost imperceptibly. She laced her fingers with his and brought his hands to her breasts, splaying his them over the mounds of creamy flesh. Without really thinking about it, he did what he usually did. He caressed their swell, weighed them in his palms, brushed the pads of his thumbs over her nipples. She breathed out a groan and momentarily shut her eyes to enjoy his touch, but remembered she had to carry on with her presentation. She caught his wrists and pulled them down so his fingers trailed down her abdomen to settle on her lower belly.

“See?” she said softly, ignoring the gooseflesh that spread to her skin under his warm hands.

“See what?” he raised an eyebrow as he caressed her body he knew by heart, trying to spot something out of the ordinary.

“Forty-six, four kids, Doctor,” she smiled, mirroring the patterns of his gentle strokes over his chest. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not as fit as I used to be either. Saggy boobs, little fat belly, a few stretch marks.”

“Nonsense,” he protested with a vehement shake of the head as he rose into a sitting position to hug her body close to his. “You’re as beautiful as ever, love, just as gorgeous.”

“Then why can’t you accept that I still think you’re as handsome as ever, Doctor?”

“Because I’m vain?”

“Well, at least we’re getting somewhere,” she giggled, giving his jaw a playful bite. “Now, part two. You.”

She pushed him back on the bed and shifted higher up his waist, smirking at the gasp that fled past his lips when she ground over his lap in retaliation for his sigh of defeat. She buried her fingers through his mane of brown spikes that felt just a tad stickier than usual, thank the many layers of gel he had used, but the result was the same. She knew he husband, and she knew he loved it when she played with his hair, pulled on his strands and scratched her nails on his scalp. Sure enough, at the first tug he closed his eyes, and at the first scrape he bit into his lip. She found the grey spot he had tried to bury among the brown - how he had even believed he would have been able to hide it, she didn’t know. The tuft stood out almost comically, like a single white petunia planted in a large bed of red ones. But only the colour was different. It felt the same under her fingers, just as soft and thick as the rest, just as rewarding when she pulled on it and he answered with a moan.

She could see all the years they had spent together in that grey hair, all that time she had been blessed with with this beautiful man on her side. Twenty years into their marriage, four beautiful children, and when she looked at him she still saw the man she had fallen in love all those years ago. She loved the grey hair because it reminded her time was a precious thing and should not be wasted.

“Don’t touch that horror,” he whined, shaking his head to divert her fingers away from the patch of silver hair. “I’ll have it dyed tomorrow.”

“I like it,” she said as she clenched her fingers tighter around his spikes, using her hold to pull his head back and lick her way up his throat to suck the soft patch of skin under his jaw into her mouth. “I think it’s important. When I look at it, I remember the chance I’ve been given to spend my life with you. I remember I love you more than life itself, and I remember you love me. I want to see it everyday. I want to see it and remember. Don’t dye it, please. I like it.”

She pulled on his hair again to turn the objection she felt coming into another one of his throaty moans and kept going. She trailed her fingers down his sternum, traced the edges of his pectorals that had softened over the years, teased his nipples with her fingertips and watched his face. Like she expected, his eyelids fluttered shut and his mouth pinched, the tendons in his neck straining under the skin. She kept a hand over his chest to continue with her ministrations, and brought the other back to his face. She ran her index over the crinkles at the corner of his eyes that spread out to his temples, followed the curve of the hollow of his cheek, swept over the prominent dimple dug into his skin, pressed against the wrinkle that fell from the edge of his mouth. As far as she could remember, the corners of his mouth had always had a tendency to be pulled down by a mysterious gravity. The years had only made it more visible. Deeper, longer. She replaced her finger with her lips and tweaked a hardened nipple between her knuckles.

“I like to think I contributed to those wrinkles,” she murmured against his skin, shifting down his body to rub her center against the erection she still felt under the layers of clothes. “When I pleasure you, you always make the same face.”

“What face?” he grunted, prying an eye open to see her smirk at him.

“That one,” she said just as she slid her hand down his body to grab his length through his trousers - the face he made that came with his groan perfectly illustrated what she meant, and it seemed he realized. “But I also like to think… Those wrinkles show just how much you’ve smiled for the past twenty years. When I see those wrinkles, I see your happiness. I remember all those times we’ve laughed and smiled and shared our love. The day we got married and you couldn’t keep that stupid grin away from your face. The day I told you I was pregnant for the first time and you couldn’t stop laughing like a loony. The day our first daughter was born and you couldn’t stop crying. I love your face, because when I look a you, I see my handsome husband, and I remember why I’m happy.”

She knew that, after this, he would never dare to think his wrinkles made him ugly again, lest he’d hurt her feelings. She knew he was vain, but she also knew he was vain mostly because he didn’t want he to think he was growing unattractive. She hoped that was enough to convince him she still thought he was the most beautiful man she had ever seen - the lack of protest was already a good sign.

She heard him suck in a gasp when she shuffled down his leg, grinding down hard on his crotch before she did, and she stole one last deep kiss from him before she went on a journey south. Her mouth followed the shallow line between his pectorals, planting wet, open-kisses on the way down, until she reached the soft curve of his belly.

“Hm, not much to say about this,” she smiled, cushioning her cheek against the flesh, drawing little heart shapes with a fingertip over his side. “But I like it. And you can’t do anything about that, darling, because you can’t judge what I like. There’s plenty of things I love that you hate.”

“You love sappy novels and pear pies,” he huffed as she scraped her teeth over the underside of his bellybutton. “Not very reassuring, given your more than questionable tastes, love.”

“‘Kay, let’s put it that way, then,” she nodded, cradling her chin in the palm of her hand as she lazily rubbed his hardness. “You love me and you trust me, yes? So, if I say I like it, you have to believe me. Isn’t that right, Doctor?”

“I…” he started, but had to swallow when she finally tugged on his trousers and underwear to gather them around his knees. “I suppose.”

“Sorry?” she teased, kneeling between his thighs before she wrapped her fingers around his hard base and squeezed hard, just to steal to the last thread of his coherence and win the fight.

“Yeah, ‘kay, I believe you,” he whimpered as his hips jerked up to follow her movements. “I mean, ah, it’s just a bit a fat, right? And it’s kinda, God, your fault, so…”

“Exactly.”

She didn’t wait for another reaction on his part and bowed her head to take him into her mouth - the only efficient way she had ever found to keep his gob under control. It didn’t stop him from moaning and cursing and growling his pleasure, but at least that hadn’t changed. She knew exactly how to get him there, knew every little thing he loved and every little sound he made depending on how she touched him. It was comforting, in a way. To know her husband was exactly the same as he’d ever been, no matter how much he thought he’d morphed into something he loathed. She could only hope he understood she still loved him just as much. Hope he accepted she did.

It didn’t take long before she heard the low groan he usually made at the pinnacle of his pleasure and felt his fingers tangle in her hair as his back arched from the bed and his toes curled into the sheet. She brought him down from his high with gentle caresses and a few kisses pressed on the swell of the belly he didn’t like, then plopped down next to him to wrap her arms around his chest heaving with the remnants of his pants. She nuzzled his cheek with the tip of her nose, dropping a few more kisses on his jaw, brushing a hand through his hair.

“You’re beautiful, my Doctor,” she murmured, watching his softening features, a glint of adoration and a gleam of affection in the depth of her eyes. “You’ll always be.”

“You’ll always be, too, my Rose,” he answered softly, content to bask in the love and the warmth of his perfect wife. “I love you.”

“I know, darling. I love you, too. And I love your belly.”

“Don’t push it,” he grinned, poking the soft spot above her hip where he knew she was ticklish.

“Sorry, couldn’t resist. Now, get your old ass up, we really need to go. And you have quite the belly to drag behind.”

“I take back what I said, I hate you.”

His hearts only soared with more love when she patted the soft lump with a cheeky grin and climbed off the bed.

Paring: John Smith x Rose Tyler
Chapter: 2/?
Rating: T
Word count: 1900
Tags: Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn, University AU

Read on AO3

Tagging@doctorrosepromptsand@timepetalscollective for the second chapter of this University AU!

He grinned proudly as he tore the cardboard of the parcel he had received on his desk, taking out a heavy book he had ordered. He had spent his own money on something he would never use, just for the sake of retaliation - and because he couldn’t wait to see her furious face again. The motivation was clear. Get his revenge for that cheap short she had aimed at him the week before. It was simple, efficient, and not evil enough to risk much more than a glare and another fit of anger. Oh, he couldn’t wait.

He tucked his book under his arm and walked out of his office, unable to wipe the smug smile from his features. You’ll get your stupid book, he thought as he walked into one of the humanities corridors that sprouted from the mail hall, greeting a few of his own students on the way. He had never been to her office before - not for lack of interest, because he had wanted to visit her for two years, but for lack of any precise reason that would leave her wondering why he had even bothered when they had a phone and emails. Phone and emails had this one disadvantage he couldn’t see her, skirt and high heels and tight blouse, but well. He always managed to find a good spot at the canteen to make up for all those times he didn’t visit her - namely, that one table behind the plastic plant that shielded him from her, but from where he had a very good view of her legs under the table.

He knocked on her door, grinned even brighter when she answered, and stepped into her office with the firm intention to thoroughly enjoy her rage. He was momentarily struck by the size of the office, less than half the size of his, and he realized a lighter budget was not the only bad thing about the humanities. Especially since, being the literary person that she was, piles and piles of books were stacked against the walls, precarious towers that would all tumble down if she picked but one of them.

She was wearing that light pink blouse that day, one of his favourite, and he was disappointed he couldn’t see what skirt she had paired it with. No. He wasn’t there to watch her legs. Revenge, he remembered.

“Doctor Smith, what can I do for you?” she greeted with a smile, taking off the black glasses perched on the bridge of her nose - he would have liked to tell her to leave them on, because he didn’t think he had seen anything sexier in his whole life, but he managed to keep that thought for himself.

“Doctor Tyler,” he nodded, shutting the door behind him with a kick of his heel. “I got you a little something I thought you might like. Remember that book we, er, argued about last week?”

“Yeah, I do, thanks for reminding me,” she sighed, leaning back in her chair, tucking a temple of her glasses in her cleavage. “So?”

“Well, I kinda felt bad, you know, I got this brand new, amazingcentrifuge and you’re left with nothing,” he said - he made sure to sound falsely saddened and offered an ironic smile of compassion. “So, I got you the book.”

“Did you?”

He nodded with a grin, the delighted flutters of thrill blooming in his stomach at her surprise and immediate softening. Oh, she really wanted that book. And she was genuinely happy he had bought it. It made it even better. The downfall would be rough.

“Here it is, new edition and all,” he said, letting the book plop down on the desk, putting its title on prominent display. “Cost me fifty quids, but well, I’ve got a centrifuge worth a few thousands so I thought… You know, consolation prize.”

“It’s in French,” she noted with a frown as she flipped through the pages. “All in French.”

“Oh, is it?”

He faked an outraged gasp, and started to ramble about how it hadn’t been made clear enough on the website, and how they would hear about it and he would get his money back because it was unacceptable to pay that much for a few pages in a wrong language. Of course, he was jubilating at her momentary perplexity, but on the inside only. Well, probably a bit on the outside too, because she raised an eyebrow and smiled, the kind of amused smile that had him observe her with a hint of suspicion. She wasn’t disillusioned, like he had hoped she’d be. She looked… Pleased. Now, that wasn’t part of the plan. Something must have gone wrong somewhere.

“Thank you very much, Doctor Smith,” she simply shrugged, shoving the book in a drawer. “That you would go to such extents is proof of your repentance.”

“But it’s in French,” he pointed out, frustrated that she wouldn’t make any more comments about it when he had expected, and even hoped for a tantrum.

“Yes, it is,” she smiled, slipping her glasses back on the tip of her nose - ah, that looked much better. “Good thing I speak French.”

“You… You do?” he asked as he watched his plan crumble down to ashes along with his confidence.

“Of course I do, majored in French literature, did one of my thesis about Molière. Why the disappointment? At least you didn’t spend your money on a silly joke. I can actually use it. Gonna need to do a few extra hours to translate what my student needs, but all in all, this is better than nothing. So, thanks.”

“Oh, good, then, very good,” he could only nod, trying hard not to let the his abatement show on his face. “I could send it back and order the good one, though, I really…”

“Don’t sweat it, Doctor Smith,” she grinned as she handed him a small file of papers. “I know what you wanted to do. Sorry it didn’t work.”

“No idea what you’re talking about, I just wanted to help you.”

“Right. Now, I have work to do, so…”

He nodded with a sigh of defeat, but it was when he started to turn on his feet that he absent-mindedly read the title written in sharp little letters on the top of file. A title he knew all too well.

“Wait, what’s this?” he asked as he sifted through the sheets to make sure it was what he thought it was.

“Your article about nuclear fission in subaquatic rift currents was good, but your whole theory doesn’t look very professional,” she started to explain much too matter-of-factly compared to the scornful twitch that pulled on her lips. “You’ll find annotations and corrections. It might be science, but if you can’t spell all your gibberish properly, you won’t get published. You can leave it as it is, of course, but I doubt you’ll go far with subacquatickrifts.”

“You went through the trouble of reading my article just to taunt me on stupid grammar?” he huffed, both angry and embarrassed to see so much red painted over the pages.

“Spelling, Doctor Smith. The grammar isn’t that good either, though, you’ll find a few notes about that too. Page three, you say one thing and the exact opposite two lines further. It matters when you’re talking about potentially deadly stuff, just saying.”

“This is a paper I am still working on, I typed my notes at two in the morning, okay? How did you even get this, you snoop, I only posted it to my personal drive.”

“And on the staff Intranet. It appeared in the news stream, under the glorious title, hm, what was it? Oh yes, FML this fissions my ass. Thanks for the laugh, by the way.”

“No, I didn’t, I can’t have! It wasn’t even on the page yesterday when I logged in, and the latest news posted dates back to three weeks ago.”

“Don’t get your pink panties in a wad, your ass suffers enough as it is, it seems.”

“Just tell me how you found it, for God’s sake!” he huffed, angrily rolling the file in his fist as if he wanted to whack her head with it.

“The Intranet,” she repeated, undaunted by the way he braced himself against the edge of the desk to bend towards her, menacing and eyes shooting thunderbolts. “I knew you’d posted it by accident, so I saved a copy and deleted the post to spare you the embarrassment. But you know what, you’re right. Not my problem. I’ll just post it again and you can deal with it yourself. Now stop fissioningmy own ass with your childish enterprises and go back to your toy to grow your mushrooms. Might want to stop by your computer first, though. People don’t need to know about your current anal health.”

He watched, powerless, her fingers type words he couldn’t read and click several times on her mouse. Surely, she wouldn’t… But then, she cocked her head at him with a bright smile and mouthed a done. Obviously, she would. And she had. Yes, he had been looking for trouble and willingly tugged on the Devil’s tail, but that didn’t prevent anger from boiling in his veins. If anyone else found this article, under that title, he wouldn’t bet much on his reputation for the coming weeks. He’d need to invest in earplugs rather than in books to mute the sneers and laughs that would bury him under mountains of shame.

“Go to Hell, Doctor Tyler,” he seethed, shoving the rumpled sheets in his pocket. “I won’t argue with someone who can’t differentiate between mushrooms and microbiological cultures!”

“Fine, just go, then,” she shrugged as she planted her fingers on her keyboard and waited for him to actually go. “Thanks for the book again, that was very thoughtful of you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to prepare for my next course. You’re welcome to attend, it’s about latin etymology, you might learn a thing or two about spelling subaquatic.”

“I know how to spell subaquatic, I wrote this in a rush, alright? I just… Nevermind. Have a nice day, Doctor Tyler. Enjoy your stupid book.”

He stormed out of her office before he could drown in her sickening smugness and rushed back to his office, his highest priority now consisting in deleting any trace of the humiliation eulogy this post was. He sat behind his computer and hurried to log in, opened the page he was looking for and scrolled through it to find the subject of the offence. Sure enough, there it was, posted under his name, but it seemed Doctor Tyler had deemed necessary to add an attachment. Introduction to Latin Etymology. He made a face at his screen and erased the article from the database with a few clicks. She was saucy, that woman. He loved it. Still, he would need to up the ante and hit harder if he wanted a chance at winning.

The email bell chimed again. His face blanched as he read the message she had sent him and his hands went to his fly.

I didn’t say pink panties by accident, BTW. Lovely underwear, Doctor Smith. Dr. T.

He zipped up his fly and fell back in his chair with a groan.

Paring: TenToo x Rose Tyler
Rating: Mature
Word count: 1800
Tags: Fluff, Domestic Fluff

Summary:

That’s it. He’s getting old. And he doesn’t like it.
Thankfully, Rose does.

Read onAO3

Another fluffy TenToo x Rose piece!
Will probably be a two chap. explicit story, but I’m leaving it to one mature chapter for now!

Tagging@timepetalscollectiveand@doctorroseprompts in case this fits into a prompt!

“Doctor, I swear to God if you don’t get out of that bathroom now I’ll kick the door open.”

He barely heard her threat, barely peered at the door behind him through the mirror. It was true he had spent far too long in the bathroom, but he had a very good reason. Several reasons. First, to keep her from witnessing a small-scale panic attack that might have had pulled a tear or two from his eyes. Second, to find a way to hide it, so she wouldn’t see the horror of it.

Well, it didn’t lookhorrible, but it certainly felthorrible. That was it. The very first obvious sign that this rubbish human body was aging, and all the rest it implied. According to the small plastic card Rose insisted he should always keep in his pocket, he would turn fifty a few days later. To a Time Lord, fifty was nothing but a quick blink of an eye, a flutter of an eyelid. To a human, that fifty marked the beginning of the second half of their pathetically short lives. He was old. Very old. Older than he’d ever been before, even as a Time Lord. Ancient, almost.

He wasn’t scared of dying, because he had long accepted this body wouldn’t last. He was simply scared of aging. Scared the changes in his body would somehow… Make him too different from the Doctor Rose had fallen in love with. It might be too awkward to her. She had started to love him when she thought he’d always remain the same lanky man with wonky features and long spikes of brown hair. But now. Now, he certainly was different from that ideal she had married.

There was the few pounds he had managed to pack on for indulging in way too many of the meals she prepared him every night, and all those unhealthy lunches she put in his bag before he left for work. And then, his lower lip had gotten just a bit poutier, his left eye a bit bulgier, his crinkles a bit deeper. And then, this morning, he had found out about that one thing he dreaded. He could contract his abdomen when she was looking, just to make it look a bit flatter. He could smile and make faces to hide his growing wrinkles and softening features, just to pretend time wasn’t taking its toll.

But there was nothing he could currently do to hide the tiny tuft of silver hair growing among the mane of brown. He had tried to sculpt the hair around to bury it, but it hadn’t worked. He had tried to trim the top to make it less visible, but it hadn’t worked. He was trying to paint them back to their original colour with careful strokes of his fingers covered in a thick layer of her eyeshade, but it wasn’t working that well either.

“Doctor, I’m coming in, yeah?” she said behind the door - and it flew open before he could protest.

She stared at him, raised eyebrow and fists firmly planted on her hips - how had she managed to keep such a slender waist when his was but a long gone memory, he didn’t know. She spotted the tubes and boxes of hair gel on the counter, the comb full of hair, his fingers dirty with black power, the contents of her toilet bag all gathered in the sink.

“What on Earth are you doing with my makeup?” she asked, picking up his wrist to watch his fingers from up close.

“I’m not, I mean, I’m not using your makeup to… Makeup,” he stuttered, hurrying to wash his hands with a blob of soap. “I was looking for your hairbrush and… It just all fell and I’m trying to… Nevermind, it’s nothing. I’m done anyway. We should go.”

But of course, she had seen the hair products, the comb, the awful quantity of shiny gel plastered all over the top of his head. She only smiled, suddenly much less irritated, and handed him a towel.

“I like it, you know,” Rose pointed out, purposefully glancing at his hair.

“You like what?” he shrugged as he shoved all of the products in the bag and set it back on the shelf.

“Your hair,” she simply answered. “It’s beautiful. The good kind of grey, silver and all shiny.”

“I do not have grey hair yet, thank you very much,” he huffed, though the blush spreading on his cheeks did a poor job at backing up his claim.

“You’ve had gray hair for ages, Doctor,” she giggled, running her fingers through the short strands at the back of neck. “It started there.”

She gently tugged on a spike going astray just behind his ear. She trailed her fingers around, until they reached the slightly flat area of his skull and scratched her nails on another patch of hair.

“Then here,” she continued - and she rolled an arm around his waist as she did, pressing into his back and staring at his reflection through the mirror. “And that one, it appeared two weeks ago.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he muttered, swatting her hand away from his head.

“Because I like it,” she repeated, pinching the light swell of his abdomen in retaliation. “I like everything about you. I like that you’re human. I like that you’re growing old with me, like you promised. You thought I wouldn’t notice? Your breath when you try to hide your belly, or your forced smiles when you try to hide the crinkles at the corner of your mouth?”

“You… You did?”

“You’re my husband, you plonker, of course I noticed. And guess what, you’re not smiling twenty-four seven, and sometimes you have to breathe like everyone does. I see it, Doctor. I’ve been seeing it for months. I said nothing because I love it. I love you, slight overweight, grey hair and wrinkles included. I just want you to be yourself.”

“Well I hate myself right now,” he mumbled, trying to get free of her hold she wouldn’t loosen. “Look at me, Rose. I’m fat and hideous and so old.”

“Fat, yes, alarmingly so,” she agreed.

He frowned at those words, but rolled his eyes when she grinned at him from above his shoulder and snatched the hem of his shirt from his trousers. He grumbled when she ran her hand in circles over the small lump that, she had to admit, was slightly overreaching above his belt. But she loved it. Its warmth, its softness, its thin layer of coarse hair that disappeared under the waistline of his pants. All those things she had learnt to love about this human the first day they had spent together, and all those things she still loved despite his most vehement protests.

“And hideous, too,” she smiled, pressing her lips on the side of his neck. “But you’ve always been hideous, it just didn’t happen overnight. And old. Gosh, you are so old, I think you’re on the brink of death already.”

“It’s not funny, Rose, look at me.”

“I look at you, my Doctor, I always look at you.”

“You should have told me, then,” he groaned, still miffed that she had been seeing these things for ages when he only had noticed them a few weeks before.

“Tell you, then what? What would you have done about it? Go on a diet and dye your hair? Buy a pass to the gym and get botox in your face?”

“Well, if that’s what it takes to be the same as before, yeah, I would do that.”

“Do you honestly believe I would ever love you less because you’ve grown a tiny belly?” she asked in a murmur, so sincere he almost believed she meant that question - impossible, though, because that would imply he didn’t trust her, and she knew just how much he did. “Or love you less because you’ve got a few wrinkles or gray hair, or weak knees and cranky fingers? That such ridiculous things of your appearance would ever change how I feel for my husband and the father of my children? Do you, Doctor? Because that means I haven’t loved you properly.”

“It’s not about love, Rose, it’s about you finding your husband attractive,” he retorted, swatting her hand away from his belly, now revealed by the few buttons she had undone. “And, excuse me, but you never compliment me on my hair or my body anymore.”

Her fingers went back to his shirt at those words, but instead of carefully undoing the remaining buttons, she ripped the two hems apart, little plastic pucks raining down on the tiles. She pulled it down his arms with a harsh shove, staring at him through the mirror, looking at her own hands mapping the contours of his broad shoulders, trailing down his pectorals, down to his abdomen, down, downer. Her fingertips slipped under his belt, quickly, just enough to see his bright chocolate eyes darken and, quite ironically, the wrinkles at the corners of his mouth deepen as he pinched his lips to keep a moan in.

“Rose, the kids…” he started, briefly closing his eyes when her nails grazed the coarse hair at the juncture of his legs.

“Are gone already. Our eldest has her licence now and this is her birthday. She took my car.”

“We’ll be late, we…”

“Don’t try to change the subject, Mister,” she scolded, biting her lips into the soft skin of his shoulder. “Do you want to know something, Doctor?”

“What?” he sighed - both because he was just a bit annoyed, but mostly because he was starting to really appreciate how her body was pressing against his.

“Maybe I don’t compliment you on your body anymore…”

“Ah, see?” he interrupted with a sad grin of victory.

“But you don’t tell me you love me anymore,” she continued, unfazed by his intervention. “The last time was… I don’t know, a year ago, on our anniversary?”

“Of course I tell you I love you, don’t be silly Rose,” he protested, stopping her wrists when she began to move her hands again. “I tell you that everyday.”

“Nope,” she smiled as she broke free from his hold and unbuckled his belt. “But that’s alright. Because I know you do. So I thought… You knew I still find you attractive, too, just like I know you still love me. Because I do. You’re handsome, Doctor, every single part of you. Obviously I haven’t made myself clear enough. I shall remedy that, don’t you think?”

“Rose, love, we’ll be late,” he repeated, bracing himself against the sink, her deft fingers zipping his fly down and popping the button off.

“They can wait. I have a beautiful husband to love, right now.”

Paring: John Smith x Rose Tyler
Chapter: 1/?
Rating: T
Word count: 1200
Tags: Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn, University AU

Read on AO3

Tagging@doctorrosepromptsand@timepetalscollective for this University AU!
This is just a short prologue, if people like it the next chapters will be longer! :)

They had never been friends. Just colleagues, crossing paths in the corridors, exchanging shallow greetings and indifferent smiles. Nothing particularly surprising about it, given the everlasting rivalry that existed between them. Well, not between them, per se, but between their faculties. Things had been fine for the past few months - and by fine, he meant that there had been no real confrontation, apart from the usual taunts and cheap shots, which clearly pointed to a semblance of entente cordiale. Until the budget meeting, three short days before. That start of the war.

He had won the first battle when he had secured the better part of the budget for his own faculties, and left her with a thin envelope that would never be enough for the project she had defended before the president of the university. He had to admit, the science faculties always had the upper hand over the others, and while he had felt a flutter of guilt at her obvious rage, he had also been delighted to know he’d be given the centrifuge he had been asking for for weeks. Not his fault science required money, after all. A centrifuge was so much better than revamping a library and buying stupid books about obscure notions and pointless theories no one understood anyway. Science mattered. Literature, much less so.

He leaned back in his desk chair and grinned at the order slip tacked on the edge of his computer screen, unfazed by the obscene string of numbers that read the price of his new toy - though he would make sure not to call this extravagant equipment a toy but when he was alone. Or maybe when she, and only she, would be around, just to see the fury on her face. That could be fun. And he rather liked her face when she was furious. How her eyes burnt and her full lips pinched. He rather liked her. Period.  How she pinned him on the spot with a stare and made his stomach twist with her threats. The thrill she sent down his spine when she smiled at him, no matter how vicious and spiteful the smile was. The fire she sent through his veins when she turned her back to him and swaggered off on her high heels, in her tight skirt. He would never admit it, of course. Never. She was the enemy, and he refused to lose the upcoming battles because of a ridiculous smile and an ostentatious skirt.

A bell chimed from his speakers and a small window popped up on his screen, signaling a new email.

“Speak of the Devil,” he muttered under his breath as he read the name of the sender.

Sent you a student. Hope your toy is worth it. Dr. T.

He barely had time to start typing an answer, to ask what she had meant by those enigmatic words, that a sharp knock echoed on the door.

“Come in,” he called out, readjusting his tie and wiping his annoyed frown from his features.

A student stepped into his office, fingers clenched around a piece of paper, obviously distressed - he noticed the half-dried tears on her pale cheeks and the way she anxiously nibbled her lip.

“Doctor Smith,” she greeted, pulling on the straps of her backpack, daring to take a few steps towards him. “I’ve been told you have that book, and I could borrow it.”

“What book?” he asked, then took the paper she handed him - a paper that read a title about literary concepts he had never heard of before and was quite unable to understand.

“Doctor Tyler told me you had it, and I need it for a very important paper,” she said, hope written all over her face.

“I don’t have it, no,” he shook his head, giving the piece of paper back. “I don’t know why she’d tell you that, surely she must know…”

He stopped in the middle of his sentence and swallowed the curse he wanted to grunt. The little… He offered a shrug of apology and crossed his fingers over his desk, trying to keep his composure and calm intact despite the disappointment he could feel oozing from the desperate student.

“I’m sorry, I don’t have it,” he repeated with a smile of compassion. “Better double-check with the library, eh?”

“Nah, they don’t have it. Nevermind. Thanks anyway.”

He kept his smile hanging on his lips until the door closed, and his face contorted in anger as he hurried to pick up his phone and dial her number.

“What the Hell was that about, Doctor Tyler?” he grumbled into his phone after she greeted him with a merry hello.

“Oh, I’m sorry, didn’t you have the book, Doctor Smith?” she answered - and he could feel the pride and thrill of vengeance in her voice.

“Why would I have such a ridiculous book? That student was almost crying, for God’s sake, that was cruel, even for you.”

“Well, you see, that book was on the list I gave the library to weeks ago, but guess what?” she said, her tone growing just a tad more irritated. “Not enough budget, what a surprise! All those expensive books my students need and can’t buy? They should be in the library right now, but a childish scientist thought it better to invest in a useless toy that costs a fortune.”

“It is not a toy!” he cried out into the phone, slamming his palm on his armrest - now wasn’t the time to tease her about the toy dimension of the equipment, he believed. “It is a first class centrifuge I need for very serious experiments! Just go back to your prehistoric literature and write a poem to the president if don’t agree with his decision!”

“Fine!” she almost shouted back. “Do me a favour and centrifuge your stupid brain, maybe some good will come out of it!”

“Fine! Have a nice day, Doctor Tyler!”

He smashed his phone down on the desk and directed an obscene gesture at the name still displayed on his screen, his other hand feverishly running through his spikes of hair. God, how that woman could get on his nerves. Just for a stupid book about stupid things only stupid people could understand. He groaned loudly and let his head fall on his keyboard with a dull thump.

The bell chimed again a short moment later, and he peeked at the screen to see a new message had popped up, under the nonsensical string of letters he must have sent by inadvertance when his forehead had crashed on his keyboard.

You need to read some books about anger management, Doctor Smith. Oh wait. We don’t have the books.

He blew a resolved sigh through his nose and straightened in his chair, staring at the cynical message. Fine. Doctor Tyler wanted to wage war on him, then so be it. She would get her war. But he was determined to win.

Paring: John Smith x Rose Tyler
Chapter: 6/?
Rating: T
Word count: 2100
Tags: Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn, University AU

Read on AO3

Tagging@doctorroseprompts for the sixth chapter of this University AU! :)

He stared at the small vial sitting on his desk and he let his hands hover over his keyboard. All it would take was one finger pressing down on one key. Maybe it was too soon. It had just been a week since they’d made peace. Well, peace. She had threatened to kill him only once in seven days, so that was an improvement. A formidable improvement, even. Improvement enough to call their current relationship peaceful. To be fair, it wasn’t his fault chemicals had exploded in the room in which he was supposed to give a class. Not anymore than being delocalized to one of her rooms was.

Of course, there had been a mix-up and she had been furious to find her room occupied, with nowhere else to go to talk about her rubbish Latin - or whatever her lesson was about. Not his fault. But she still had thrown a tantrum - he loved her tantrums - and sworn she would get his head. Maybe she wouldn’t have, if he hadn’t thrown a board pen at her face and told her to sod off. Still, not his fault. Not really.

He read the email he had written again, looked at the vial again. Maybe she had already forgotten about the incident. And if she hadn’t, well, that could be a good apology gift. He had planned for this vial to mean something else, but desperate times call for desperate measures, he supposed. He wasn’t desperate, per se, but but he couldn’t deny he would love to spend more quality time with her, no board pens and death threats involved.

He looked at his vial one last time and hit the key. Come what may.

Would you like to eat me at the canteen in half an hour? I have something nice to give you and I’m quite sure you’ll like it. Dr Smith

She grinned at the message that popped open on her screen and stifled a snort.  After what had happened two days before, she was sure he must have spent at least an hour writing this and an hour more pondering whether he should send it at all. She knew him so well, it almost scared her. But she also knew herself, and she knew there was no way she could let that opportunity to tease him fly by. How he had missed the mistake after reading the sentence a hundred times, she didn’t know. But he had missed it.

That’s a bold offer from someone who owes me an apology. But okay, we can try to hide behind your plant, second row on the left. Hope you won’t be as loud as you were on Wednesday, though. See you there. Dr Tyler

He blinked as he read her answer. Definitely not what he had expected. He had ranked no answer in his list of possibilities first. Sod off, second. No, third. A sexually connoted joke about a single missing word, now, that had come last. Hadn’t come at all, if he was honest with himself.

He tried to rub his blush from his cheeks and tried to think of an answer. He could shrug it off as a ridiculous mistake, or he could taunt her about her lack of inventiveness. Or he could keep the joke going - give her something she wouldn’t expect either. He knew it wasn’t a good idea, because he was enjoying it too much, and not in the proper way. He had this image of Doctor Tyler floating around his thoughts, and he knew indulging in dirty jokes of the kind wouldn’t do wonders to his infatuation. Still, maybe that was an open door he could walk through.

Maybe she was trying to seduce him. After all, she did seem to fixate a lot on his attributes. He could only hope she wasn’t interested in said attributes alone and that he had something to do with it - if she was interested at all, that might just have been hazardous interpretation on his side.

He grinned at his screen and typed an answer. If she was trying to seduce him with her jokes, no reason why he couldn’t do the same. If it was just a silly game she liked, it could not hurt much more than feelings he wasn’t sure he even felt. If it meant more to her, well, playing along could make her understand he was interested, too.

If I get too loud, science room B47 is soundproof. And I’m the only one to have the keys. Dr Smith

This time, she couldn’t help the laugh that rose in her throat. She couldn’t help the blush that rose on her cheeks either. She realized she didn’t know him as well as she had first believed. He could be bold. Bold and funny. She knew she liked him - when he wasn’t making her life a living Hell - but this… This was a side of him she had never really seen before. She liked it. Really liked it. She wondered if he had meant something more than a simple taunt, sending this message. It was unusual, coming from him. The ever serious Doctor she had rarely seen laugh or smile - probably because when they met it was to jump at each other’s throats and scream, most of the times. She had always thought he was much too different from her to consider hanging out with him, but maybe she had been wrong. Maybe she could actually enjoy his company.

She typed her answer, sent it, and turned off her computer.

Good to know. Maybe the science department does have a few perks. See you. Dr Tyler

He smirked at the message, turned off his computer and snatched his lunch box in his bag before he hurried to the canteen. He didn’t know if he could consider this impromptu meeting a date, but it sure felt like it to him. Share a lunch with his favorite Doctor. He even had a gift. Oh, he couldn’t wait to see her face when he’d tell her what is was. The face she’d make would be his answer. He hoped. Hoped she would smile and thank him and maybe take his hand and kiss his cheek. He could only hope.

He spotted her immediately behind the large plant, on the small table meant for two, and he realized she had really known about this table all along. He was horrified that she had probably seen him spy on her on several occasions, but he simply couldn’t point it out, lest he’d spontaneously combust. Better to play it casual. Casual was good.

“Nice spot, isn’t it?” he beamed at her as he dropped his lunch box on the table and plopped down on the plastic chair.

“Doctor Smith,” she greeted around a chip she was nibbling. “Nice spot indeed, I wondered what was so good about it you spent half a lifetime behind that plant. D’you mind if I finish my chicken before I eat you?”

His fork bounced on the tiled floor, and he was quite sure his face reappeared from under the table redder than it had ever been. If she dared make such comments face to face, not hidden behind a computer screen, he doubted his composure would survive. He doubted he would survive.

“I, huh, I mean, please, do,” he stuttered, flipping the lead of his box open with shaky hands. “That’s not the reason why I asked you…”

“Out?” she grinned at his blush and the way he stabbed a tomato. “Well, I say out… I just had to cross two corridors. Inside.”

“I asked you for lunch,” he hurried to correct, stuffing a salad leaf into his mouth. “That’s not the kind of place I would take a woman on a date, Doctor Tyler.”

“Oh, and where would you take her, then?”

“Dunno. B47?”

He instantly regretted the squeak - because it most definitely didn’t sound like a letter and two numbers - that fell from his lips and looked down at the content of his box, suddenly fascinated by the shape of a piece of cheese.

“Of course, where was my head,” she laughed, gently kicking his shin under the table. “So, you mentioned a gift?”

“Hm, quite right.” he nodded, glad she was the one to take the conversation to safer territories - if there ever was a safe territory with that woman at all.

He reached into his pocket and took out his precious vial, carefully putting it down next to her plate. She picked it up, examined the brownish liquid with a suspicious eye.

“Go on, open it,” he urged between bites.

“Is that another one of your horrible jokes?” she couldn’t help asking, not really reassured by its colour. “It’s not diluted mice crap or fermented piss?”

“You have an awfully vulgar vocab for someone of your stature, Doctor Tyler,” he grinned, wiping the corners of his mouth with his napkin - if she did want to kiss him on the cheek, he wanted to be sure she wouldn’t hesitate because of a bit of salad or a drip of vinegar. “But no, I promise it isn’t. Just smell it, will you?”

“If I puke, I swear I’m doing it in your lunchbox,” she warned, flicking the lid open with her thumb.

She brought the vial to her nose, not really knowing what to do with the grin plastered all  over his daft face, and she took a sniff. Her eyes widened at the smell of it, and his grin bloomed into a full-blown beam.

“Damn, that smells nice,” she acknowledged, running a finger on the opening to gather the fragrance on her fingertip. “Where did you get that?”

“Homemade perfume,” he announced proudly - though she would have expected a smugness way beyond the limits of common decency, he looked merely pleased, which she found rather impressive and maybe just a bit charming. “I noticed how you liked yours, so I made some research and… Tada!”

“What’s in this?” she asked, taking another long inhale of the sweet smell.

“Lilac, blueberries and, sorry to say, roses. Took me over two months to find the perfect balance between the three and find out how long I needed to centrifuge the ingredients to get the adequate fragrance potency. Do you like it, then?”

“I do, I really do, this is amazing, John. But why? I mean, I really appreciate the gesture, I’m just wondering why you’d go the trouble at all.”

“I’m… Good with dates?”

“Dates, as in…?”

“As in today is the twenty-third of March, and it’s been precisely five years since we started working together. That was my first day in this university, and you were the only one who bothered to show me around. You helped me settle in, you answered all my questions, and you even said…”

“Better to have a hot science geek as a neighbour than a decaying bald dinosaur,” she finished for him with a smile. “Yeah, I remember that.”

“And I never really thanked you for your help, so I thought… You know, small gift. It’s not much, and I think I’ll need a thousand bottles more of this to properly make up for everything I put you through, but it’s a start isn’t it?”

She chuckled at his embarrassed shrug, rose from her chair and her hand landed in a friendly hold on the side of his neck.

“Thank you”, she said softly after she pressed a quick kiss much too close to his mouth.

“Well, thank you.”

How his you’re welcome had turned into a thank you and made him feel like a proper arse, he didn’t know. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to let Doctor Tyler’s lips anywhere near him, in the end.

Paring: John Smith x Rose Tyler
Chapter: 4/?
Rating: T
Word count: 2100
Tags: Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn, University AU

Read on AO3

Tagging@doctorroseprompts for the fourth chapter of this University AU! :)

Hope you’re ready for it. Coming in five minutes, we can go together. Just need to get my prints. Dr Smith

She frowned at the message that popped up in the corner of her screen and gulped down her small sip of boiling coffee. She had no idea where they needed to go, and she didn’t know much more about the nature of that it. She checked her schedule of the day on her computer, but there was nothing out of the ordinary about her planning - same boring classes given to first year postgraduates, same annoying photocopying sessions, same nerve-wracking research for her article. Nothing that justified such a message and a visit from her archenemy. He must have gotten the wrong date, or better yet, the wrong person. She wasn’t exactly in the mood to deal with that contemptuous man. It was just thatkind of day. An alarm clock that didn’t ring, a shower with no hot water, a car that broke down in the middle of a busy avenue. The last thing she needed was an insufferable git over her back.

She shrugged it off as a simple miscommunication and leaned back into her chair. Hopefully, time would fly. She usually wasn’t in any hurry to go back to her cold and empty flat, but that day was an exception. She was sure her exhaustion showed, no matter how well she had hidden the black circles under eyes with her miracle foundation. She was just as sure she looked completely dishevelled, that her clothes didn’t match, and she was almost certain she had forgotten to put her eyeliner under her left eye. Yes, it was most probable she looked like a downright mess that morning. It didn’t matter. Just two lessons in an auditorium so big no one would clearly see her face, and then she’d scurry back into her office and lock the door. That was a good plan.

The mail bell chimed again, and while she expected another message from the same Doctor, the name of a very different sender appeared on the screen. A certain President Marshall.

“Are you shitting me?” she cursed through a whisper, eyes roaming over the message and a big ball of anxiety settling low in her stomach.

Dear staff,

I hereby confirm the annual meeting about the extracurricular trip budget will take place this morning at 9:00 in conference room 2.

Friendly reminder to all, no pipe dreams, part of this budget was allocated to the science faculty earlier this year and the funds are limited. History and languages will be favoured over physics and biology, but every proposition will be carefully studied.

Please do not forget to mail students about cancelled lessons.

I’ll see you all in 15 minutes. Good luck everyone!

P. Marshall

Her head shot up at the sound of the door opening, and she gaped at him. Doctor Smith, full formal suit with a matching tie, old chucks turned into black polished shoes, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, a full stack of copies cradled against his chest and a computer case dangling in his hand.

“Doctor Tyler,” he greeted with a smile - a smile that disappeared when he noticed her appearance, replaced by pinched lips to keep a laugh in. “Oh my, did you get hit by a truck this morning?. That must have hurt.”

“Shut up, Smith, now is really not the time,” she snapped as she feverishly sifted through the papers in her drawer in the vain hope of finding something, anything that could save her.

“Quite right,” he nodded, clearing his throat to chase the persistent tickle that wanted to turn into a giggle. “I thought you’d have prepared better, you know, given I already won the main department budget. My centrifuge works perfectly well, by the way, thanks for asking.”

“I didn’t ask about your bloody toy, and shut the Hell up, I need to think.”

She looked at the time, realized there was only a few minutes left before they’d have to go, and realized there was no point in going to the meeting at all. She had nothing. She groaned into her palms as he put his copies down on her desk and plopped down on the chair with a grin she wanted nothing more but to erase it from his stupid face with a slap.

“Shame you didn’t know about the meeting, isn’t it?” he chuckled, proudly rubbing a hand over his stack of paper. “What city would you have chosen?”

“Don’t know. Milan, probably, they have the most amazing Latin section I know of,” she shrugged, staring at the desk as if she could picture her chances turning to ashes. “We did Exeter last year, because there wasn’t enough budget for that kind of activities, but…. Wait, hold on a minute.”

She squinted at him suspiciously, and her suspicions were only confirmed when his lips twitched and his grin faltered.

“How come you know I didn’t know about it, Doctor Smith?” she asked, much calmer on the outside than on the inside - inside, she was positively boiling and ready to explode.

“I meant, you forgot,” he hurried to correct, though it was obvious from his nervous shrug he had betrayed himself. “Or didn’t get the email, or didn’t read it. How should I know?”

He seemed to shrink on his chair when she rose from her own seat and leant towards him, eyes shooting daggers and whole body oozing anger. He tried to look away, but she was pinning him. He loved it when she looked furious, but that day, he believed he might have gone a step too far. She knew he had something to do with it and she wasn’t about to let him survive this, by the looks of it.

“Do you really think I would have forgotten about this?’ she seethed, dangerously close to his face. “That I would have missed the opportunity to get something I deserve so much more than you do?”

“Probably not,” he shook his head - and he was quick to put his computer case between his feet, should she decide to snatch it away from him and throw it against the wall. “But like I said, maybe you didn’t read the email.”

“I read all my emails, just like every goddamned professor in this university, and you know it.”

“Then you didn’t get it, so what? I’m not to blame, alright?”

“I receive every useless email about broken toilets and painted doors but I don’t receive the one about this bloody annual meeting?” she chuckled bitterly. “Quite a coincidence, isn’t it?”

“Well it is,” he huffed as a meager defense, folding his arms over his chest.

“Really? A coincidence? Come on Smith, say it. This is your doing again.”

He opened his mouth, closed it, crossed his hands over his stack of paper, opened it again. But no words came out. Either he insisted it wasn’t his fault when she was perfectly aware it was, or he admitted he might have played his part in this scheme when he was perfectly aware she would hate him for the rest of his days and beyond. He didn’t know which was the most dangerous. The worse was, to see the anger and the sadness in her eyes made him feel something he had never felt before - not when it came to the war they waged anyway. Guilt. Because this time, he knew she really deserved it more than he did. Of course, he would never confess that. And a faculty trip to Tokyo he had been planning for weeks was still involved, so part of him was very much eager to fight for it. But then…

She blinked several times as if to dry a tear or two and her knuckles whitened almost imperceptibly, fingers pressing hard against the wood.

“I’ve had a very shite morning, Doctor Smith,” she said with a dejected sigh before she let herself fall back down on her chair. “Please, just tell me it was you so I don’t have to believe a bloody email ruined the last chance I had of getting something out of this sodden university.”

He took off his glasses with one hand a fiddled with a corner of a page, doing his best not to look at her.

“No one received an email about this meeting, actually,” he started, carefully picking his words so it all wouldn’t end in a bloodbath. “It was decided at the half-term meeting three months ago. The meeting you couldn’t attend because you were on sick leave. But everyone else was there. For whatever reason, the President asked me to tell you about it, as if we’re mates or something, but I…. Forgot.”

“Forgot, or chose not to tell me just to rob me of the opportunity? Again?”

“I did want to tell you,” he assured her, hoping she would see the truth in his words. “I just… Wanted to wait a little so you’d have less time to prepare. You know you’ve always been better than me for this kind of stuff, and I thought it would be good to have a bit of a head start. And then, I really forgot.”

“So, you mean to tell me that during those three long months you’ve been working on your project, it didn’t occur to you just once that it would be good to, maybe, I don’t know, bloody tell me about it?” she stated much too calmly to his liking, her frustration obviously ramping up into the kind of quiet anger he knew didn’t bode well. “Tell you what, if you don’t want to play by the rules, then fine, we’ll both play by myrules.”

“How do you mean, yourrules, Doctor Tyler?” he asked, shuffling nervously on his seat.

“Fear not, I am a woman of fairness and equality. Unlike you, it seems”

He watched, just a bit scared, as she rose from her chair and offered a mischievous smile he was quite sure wasn’t meant to be reassuring. She took a sip of her coffee, winking at him above the ridge of the cup, then slowly brought it up over his stack of copies.

“No reason why you can have notes when I don’t.”

He jumped from his chair with a loud shriek when he understood what her intention was, but it was too late. It was just a drip, at first, but a drip that turned into a steady stream splashing over the neat piles until it was swimming in a pool of hot coffee.

“Are you out of your mind?” he barked as he shoved her away, mindlessly wiping the top with the back of his sleeve. “I don’t have time to get more copies, you’ve just ruined half of my presentation, stupid woman!”

“And your suit,” she grinned, purposefully looking at the soaked deep blue material of his jacket. “Now, we all know Doctor Smith is useless without his notes, don’t we? All you ever do during your presentations is read. Boring. This will add some spice, won’t it?”

“I still have my slides, you won’t get away with this, Tyler!”

“Your slides? What slides?”

He looked up from the disastrous mess his papers had melted into and gasped, glancing down between his feet to make sure it wasn’t his computer case in her hands. He found out it was. She must have stolen it from him while he was busy trying to save bits and pieces of his notes - she hadn’t been wrong when she had said he was useless without his notes. So, if he didn’t get his computer back with his precious slides… He didn’t want to think about it.

“Doctor Tyler, this is my property and I demand you give it back, right now,” he ordered, pointing a threatening finger at her, a hard scowl spread over his features.

She simply raised an eyebrow, shoved the case inside a drawer, turned the key in the locket to secure it, and offered the key in the crook of her palm. Just as he was about to snatch it back from her, she threw it through her open window and faked a moan of apology.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Doctor, it appears I’ve lost the key,” she smiled, mockingly tugging on her drawer to make sure it was properly locked. “I’m afraid we don’t have enough time to look for it, you’ll have to do without it. But surely the brilliant Doctor Smith doesn’t need slides to convince the committee of the utmost importance of a trip to Backwater-Upon-Moron to learn more about, what was it, ass fissioning?”

“You’ll pay for this, Doctor Tyler,” he growled, a low rumble in his throat. “I spent hours and hours on this and you’ve just ruined all of it.”

“You ruined it all for me the moment you decided not to tell me,” she shot back, picking up the soaked papers to throw them in her bin. “That’s all you ever do, ruin my career, ruin my faculty, day after day, you just stand in my way and make sure nothing good ever happens to me! I’m tired of you and your bloody childish pride and ambitions!”

“They are not childish….”

“You want to wank at night, oh yes, I’m so good at what I do, I’m the best, look at me, ‘m Mister Clever Scientist, king to the humanities peasants,” she continued in a high-pitched voice, as if she hadn’t heard his interruption, “then please, wank away all you want, but don’t expect me to give you a hand. I’m going to this meeting, and I’ll give it my best shot just because I don’t want to make it easy for you. Now get the Hell away from here and tell the President I’ll be five minutes late.”

“You can tell him yourself, some ginormous head case told me I’m not good at delivering messages,” he muttered, kicking the chair back under the desk. “I meant it, by the way. I really wanted to tell you. You’d better give me my computer back after the meeting, Doctor Tyler.”

“Sure, just find the keys, Doctor Smith. Now go.”

“With pleasure. Nutter.”

He made sure to slam the door on his way out, before he leaned against it, a heavy sigh flowing out of his mouth. She made sure to throw her empty cup of coffee at the door, before she leaned back in her chair, a tired moan flowing out of her mouth. Well, at least, neither of them would get what they wanted at that meeting, he believed. And, well, at least, both of them would make a poor impression on the committee, she believed.

He pondered for a moment if he ought to go at all. No notes, no slides, mouth full of anger and head full of resentment. No use in going. And Doctor Tyler was right, anyway. She deserved that budget more than he did. She was right. He should have played fair and square from the beginning, told her about the meeting and give her a chance, just like everyone else had, but he hadn’t. Because of him, she wouldn’t get her chance to go to Milan with her students, just like she hadn’t gotten her chance to get a few lousy books. He understood why she hated him. And she was right to.

Instead of taking the elevator to the conference room, he kept walking towards his office. That was a battle he didn’t want to fight, much less to win.

She pondered for a moment if she ought to go at all. No notes, no slides, blood boiling with frustration and head full of furious thoughts. No use in going. And Doctor Smith would go anyway. Even without his stuff, she knew he would be better than she could ever be. She had nothing. If he had played fair and square, she would have had her chances, she could have presented something worth at least part of that budget, but he hadn’t. Because of him, she wouldn’t get her chance to o to Milan with her students, or anywhere else for that matter. Just like she hadn’t gotten her chance to get a few books and a modicum of money to revamp the department. She wanted to hate him, but she couldn’t. She could blame him for not telling her about the meeting, but she knew he hadn’t lied, and just forgotten. Just another vile trick that had turned sour. And she had ruined his chances, too. He had worked hard for this, and she had destroyed all of it. She understood why he was angry. And he was right to.

Instead of preparing a sketch of ideas she could present at the meeting, she crossed her arms over her desk and buried her face in the crook of an elbow. That was a battle she didn’t want to fight, much less to win.

Read it on AO3

“Time Lords don’t get sick, Rose.”  The Doctor looked at his wife, trying his best to sniffle as discretely as possible.

“Of course they don’t,” Rose said placatingly, though she was mentally rolling her eyes at her husband’s childish protests. “You’re merely experiencing a slight soreness of the upper throat, combined with a dull throbbing in your left temple, and a nose that has caught the runs of its own accord.”

The Doctor nodded.  Finally, Rose was beginning to understand his plight.  “In other words, you’ve caught a cold.”  He frowned, opening his mouth to retaliate, when runny mucus began dripping from his nose.  Rose was ready with a tissue, which he grabbed unceremoniously and swiped away the offending bogies.

“Oh, this is rubbish,” he muttered, crumpling the sticky tissue into a ball.  “Stuck with twenty-first century medication, as a human no less, and your lot hasn’t even cured the common cold.”

“Still like to insult species when you’re stressed, then,” Rose said tersely.  “Into the kitchen with you, there’ll be some chicken soup.  Should help clear your sinuses.  God knows I’ll breathe better when you do,” she added under her breath.  Had the Doctor been able to think clearly, he would have heard the underlying tension in his wife’s comment, but as it were, he didn’t and so he shuffled along behind her to the kitchen.

Though he’d meant to follow her directly, the Doctor was slower than Rose and she had already begun heating the soup over the stovetop.  In the final minute before she ladled the soup into a bowl, the Doctor had wiped his nose another three times and had nearly drifted off to sleep.

“I’m not making you soup if you’re gonna use it as a pillow,” Rose gently pulled the Doctor upright.  “You need to get some liquids in ya, replace what you lost last night.  Or don’t you remember me pulling your face from the toilet?”

The Doctor vaguely remembered the coolness of porcelain against his cheek.  Not saying anything, he stared at the soup.

“Now, despite your retching last night, I think you’re doing better today.  Mostly because I don’t think that retching was part of the rest of this.  But that’s not gonna last if you don’t eat anything,” Rose continued firmly.  “And it’ll be worse if you heave on an empty stomach, besides.”

The Doctor nodded mutely, trying to clear his throat.  Giving up on that, he looked from Rose to the soup, picking up the spoon.  The hot soup trickled down his throat without any effort on his part, soothing the soreness.  Each mouthful brought the same temporary relief and before he knew it, the bowl was empty.

All that remained was a pressure in his head, resistant against the pain relievers Rose had given him after finishing the soup.

“You’ve got to give the medication time to work,” Rose lightly admonished his negative thinking.  “It’s not instantaneous, ya know.”

The Doctor nodded.  He stood, shuffling into the sitting room where he turned on the telly. He tuned it to an old movie they’d seen dozens of times and set the volume so that it was barely audible.  Rose joined him on the sofa.  She frowned and shifted experimentally before lifting up the pillow, under which were a dozen sweets wrappers.  At least now she knew why the Doctor had thrown up the night before.  It had probably been simply a coincidence that his body had decided to get a cold the day after he’d overindulged in the leftover Halloween sweets.

Rose gently held the Doctor’s head in her lap as he slept and she watched the film, a forty-second century remake of the Casablancasequel, though most of her attention was stolen by the sleeping Doctor.  She comforted him through every restless move and wiped his nose as it ran, though he remained obliviously unconscious.  Perhaps Time Lords never got sick, but biological metacrisis part-Time Lord part-humans were a different matter.  Ten years on, and this was their life together.  Short and human as it may have been, in sickness and in health, they were still the Doctor and Rose Tyler together, in their TARDIS, like they should be.

mentions of Halloween candy binging, so tagging @doctorroseprompts b/c it kinda fits their anon prompt