So the heavy angst request is: Reader is with the doctor in the Mummy on the Orient Express episode and the Mummy gets the reader before the doctor figures out how to stop it. Because the Mummy is walking slowly there's enough time for "I don't blame you"s and for a goodbye
Slayyy, that sounds like a great idea! It’s definitely a good excuse to rewatch some old episodes 😏🔥
The ballad of the Witch and the Blue Box - Missy x Reader
Summary: Being the time lady’s companion is never a walk in the park. But when she leaves you in Medieval England before being taken to the vault, the Doctor brings her to the attention of a ballad he found written by some familiar...
Fandom: Doctor who
Warnings: Talk of Execution, mention of Violence.
Happy new year everyone! I do apologise for the impromptu hiatus. I got a new job and moved house! I'm back now and I'm back with this fic requested by @lotus-ignis who asked the following:
"I've finally had a concrete idea for a request! It's Missy x reader!
Okay, so, this would (kinda) be set during Missy's time in the vault. There's a sort of medieval ballad that has been found(? I'm really not sure how this works. They found the music sheet or something). And anyone who knows Missy can clearly tell it's about her. But why would someone in medieval times have written a love song/ballad about Missy?
Simple: Missy left her companion (reader) there when she was captured and aforementioned companion wrote it in the hopes that maybe Missy would come back for them if they said enough nice things (Say something nice), also they just really, really, really missed her and are really, really, really in love with her and that was their attempt at expressing it and not forgetting Missy.
Cue saving Missy's up til now unknown companion from medieval times, lest they get themselves executed for heresy or something xD
Is that good? Is it too much? Should I clarify anything? Can you work with this? If you can't, please tell me, I can just think up something new. I'm very good at coming up with ideas."
I hope you guys like this, I'm not sure if it was exactly what you wanted, but I had a blast writing this!
The Vault was quiet. Of course, it was always quiet, but today, something felt different. Not the usual, oppressive silence of imprisonment, heavy with resentment. No. This silence had a strange softness to it, almost meditative, as though the entire room were holding its breath. The air was still, dust motes turning lazily in the shafts of artificial light. Even the ever-present hum of the life-support systems seemed subdued, lulling the cavernous chamber into an illusion of serenity.
The place itself was almost cathedral-like in scale, if a cathedral had been built by mathematicians and jailers. A long, domed ceiling stretched overhead, shadow pooling in the recesses where curved stone met steel. The walls were lined with smooth Gallifreyan alloys, polished to an eerie sheen, broken only by panels glowing faintly with containment runes and monitors. At the centre lay the cell itself, a chamber within a chamber, hexagonal, glassy, impossible to mistake for anything but a prison no matter how prettily it gleamed. A chair, a table, a shelf stacked neatly with books the Doctor had smuggled in over the years: the trappings of civilisation in a cage.
For once, there was a kind of peace to it. A bittersweet calm, like the last note of a song hanging in the air after the music had stopped.
And then came the Doctor.
His approach was anything but calm. The click-clack of his shoes on the polished vinyl rang sharp and impatient, echoing down the sterile corridor. He cut through the silence like a blade, coat tails whipping behind him as he marched at a near-run, muttering half-formed thoughts under his breath. His shoulders were tight, movements jerky, every bit of him vibrating with urgency, as though the universe itself might collapse if he didn’t reach the Vault this very second.
At the great circular door he stopped, barely, and thrust the sonic into the lock with a flick of his wrist. The machine answered with its usual groan and hiss of shifting mechanisms, the seals disengaging with a low, reluctant sigh. Steam curled from the edges as the metal split apart, gears whining, and the vast weight of the door rolled slowly aside.
The Doctor stood before the threshold, pulse racing, the noise of his entrance clashing wildly against the calm that waited inside.
Missy sat at the piano, as she so often did, long fingers poised over the keys with deceptive grace. Her hands moved in fluid arcs, less delicate than deliberate, coaxing sound rather than caressing it. Notes spilled into the air in a slow cascade… not mournful, not joyful, but something caught between the two. A melody balanced on the knife-edge of feeling, rich and lingering, every chord carrying a weight it never quite resolved. It was the kind of music that seemed to circle itself endlessly, as though it could go on forever without ever truly finishing. Melancholic, perhaps, though even that word felt too small for the shape of the sound.
The Doctor stood in the doorway for a moment, caught in spite of himself. The music wound around him, delicate and unsettling, like smoke curling in the air. Missy’s fingers moved with a kind of predatory elegance, every note calculated. For a heartbeat, he allowed himself to listen. To watch.
And then, as though she could feel his gaze, Missy struck one final note, a solitary plink that hung in the air, and withdrew her hands with a theatrical flourish.
“I see you staring, Doctor.” She didn’t bother turning her head, her voice lilting with mockery. “You should work on your sneaking. Bit creaky on the entrance.”
The Doctor drew himself up, bristling. “I wasn’t sneaking. I don’t sneak. I stride. And occasionally I loom. There’s a very important distinction.”
Finally, Missy swivelled slowly in her chair, catlike amusement sharpening her features. She leaned her chin into her palm, eyes glittering. “Mmm. Looming. Yes, I could feel the brooding radiating off you from across the room. Nearly drowned out my left hand.” then she quickly added: “Nearly.”
He huffed, rolling his eyes, tugging his coat straight. “I’m not here to listen to your… recital. I’ve got something you might actually want to hear.”
“Oh? And here I was thinking you’d finally come to sweep me off my feet.” She arched an eyebrow, lips curving. “Say it, Doctor. Say you missed me.”
He ignored the bait… or tried to. His mouth twitched, just faintly. “Don’t flatter yourself. This isn’t about you.”
Her grin widened. “Then it must be about me.”
With a grunt, he plunged a hand into the depths of his coat and pulled free a battered, walkman-like device. He held it aloft, letting the suspense build as her eyes narrowed with curiosity.
“A historian in UNIT came across something unusual,” he began. “A ballad. Medieval. They dug it out of a parish archive. He brought it to me, asked if I could make sense of it. I did what any reasonable man would do.”
“You stole it.”
“I borrowed it,” the Doctor corrected, with pointed emphasis. “And I–well–had a look. Tried to reconstruct the tune. But imagine my surprise when I discovered…” He paused, enjoying the weight of the reveal. “…it had already been made. Long before UNIT, long before me.”
Missy tilted her head, intrigue finally cracking through her mask of boredom. The amusement softened into something else, more dangerous. “Oh, Doctor. You know how to dangle a mystery.”
He clicked play.
What followed was no ordinary relic of the past, but something achingly human, achingly tender. The first notes unfurled in gentle strands of sound. Lutes plucking steady, hopeful rhythms, panpipes weaving a wistful melody that seemed to sigh with every breath. Other woodwinds joined in, layering warmth over the tune, as if trying to cradle the singer’s voice and keep it from breaking apart. It was simple, almost rustic, yet there was a sincerity to it that pierced more deeply than any grand symphony.
Then the words came, and the longing in them was unmistakable. Each lyric trembled with devotion, a heart laid bare in the only way it knew how: through song. The voice sang of a woman with eyes like thunder, fierce, commanding, unforgettable, and a laugh like silver, a sound so bright it could cut through the darkest night. There was yearning in every syllable, the ache of someone left behind and desperate not to forget, desperate to be remembered in turn. Even the mention of her “flying blue tower” was wrapped in awe, less a strange impossibility and more a cherished detail, like describing a lover’s smile.
It was not simply music. It was a promise preserved across centuries: I loved you. I love you still. I will not let you vanish from the world, even if I must carve your name into melody itself.
Missy recognized that voice. Or rather — she recognized the hunger within it, the sharp devotion that clung even through loss and abandonment. It was the sort of love she had always laughed at, toyed with, pretended not to need. And yet, here it was, echoing out of the past to find her again.
When the final notes faded, the Doctor cleared his throat, trying for levity though his eyes were sharp.
“‘A woman with eyes like thunder and a laugh like silver.’ ‘Her flying blue tower.’” He let the words hang, deliberate, before tilting his head at her. “I wonder who that might have been about.”
***
At one point in time, you were Missy’s companion. Headstrong, sharp-willed, and just a little mad – exactly the sort of contradiction she adored. You hadn’t been born extraordinary. You hadn’t been marked by destiny. No – you’d been chosen, by her
Because once upon a time, you were nothing more than a kitchen hand. A ghost tucked away in the back of a tired old pub, in a town slowly crumbling in on itself as the economy sank and dreams withered. You smelled of oil and onions more often than not, your fingertips roughened by knives and scalds from pans. No one looked at you twice. No one expected you to become anything other than what you were.
The kitchen itself was a prison of clattering pans and fluorescent lighting, always sticky underfoot no matter how often it was mopped. The extractor fan wheezed and rattled like it was dying a slow death, never quite clearing the air of grease. Orders came in like clockwork, the same tired meals over and over, until you knew the ticket printer’s buzz better than you knew your own heartbeat. Time blurred there. Days bled into nights, nights into days, until you weren’t sure when one shift ended and another began.
You remembered the exact moment she came for you. It was a Monday afternoon — dead quiet, the kind of day when even the regulars couldn’t be bothered to shuffle in. You stood at your station, hidden at the very back of the kitchen as far from human contact as possible, chopping vegetables in a trance. The knife thudded rhythmically against the board. You might as well have been on autopilot, mind drifting somewhere far beyond the sour stink of lager and fryer oil.
“(Y/N),” came the familiar, nasally voice of your boss. You didn’t even need to look up to picture him: tall, weaselly, a perpetual sneer tugging at his lips. Despite being only a few years older than you, he carried himself like he was emperor of this greasy little empire. He leaned against the doorway now, watching you with the smug patience of a man about to ruin your day. “There’s a woman at table thirteen who wants to talk to you about her meal.”
You blinked, knife stilling mid-chop. “How do you know it’s me she wants?” you asked, already bristling.
His smirk widened. “Because it was about her pizza. And unless someone else has taken over your station without telling me, I know exactly who made it.”
You wanted to roll your eyes but instead you bit back the impulse, placing the knife carefully on the counter. He looked far too pleased with himself, as though delivering a customer complaint gave him a personal thrill. You wiped your hands on your apron, ignoring the grease-stains that never quite washed out, and stepped away from your station. The floor was tacky under your shoes as you crossed toward the pub’s front, the muffled chatter of patrons growing louder with each step.
And there she was. At table thirteen. Waiting.
You noticed her the moment you stepped out of the kitchen. It was impossible not to.
She sat at table thirteen as though she owned the place – no, as though she owned every place. The rest of the pub was a jumble of sticky tables and scuffed chairs, but she transformed it by simply existing. Her coat was the colour of deep plum wine, rich and expensive, and her dark hair was twisted into an elaborate updo, pinned in place with an extravagant piece of metal that caught the light like a crown. She looked like she had far too much money, far too much taste, to be anywhere near this dingy establishment.
Oh, if only you knew.
Your palms were slick as you made your way toward her, apron clinging uncomfortably to your front. This was the first time you’d ever been summoned by a customer, normally you lived your life tucked away in the kitchen, anonymous. But as her gaze locked onto you, there was no anonymity left.
Her eyes were a startling, icy blue, and when they met yours it felt like being pinned in place by a current of raw electricity. She didn’t just look at you, she seemed to peel you open, dissecting you without lifting a finger. She sprawled across the pub chair as though it were a throne, every movement languid and deliberate.
Your eyes flicked nervously to the untouched pizza in front of her. Not a bite taken. Strange. If this was about the food, shouldn’t she have at least tried it?
“Are you (Y/N)?” she asked, her voice lilting, head cocked to the side like a curious bird. There was mischief in her tone, but certainty too – she already knew the answer.
“Yea–wait–” you stammered, words tangling in your throat. “I actually… can’t tell you that. Data protection.”
Her lips curled into a sly smile. “Oh, relax,” she drawled, stretching the word as though it amused her. “I’m not here to complain. Honestly, do I look like I’d lower myself to argue about dough and cheese?” A dismissive flick of her hand. “I don’t even understand your human concepts of food. All that chewing. Ghastly.”
“Hu–?” you began, frowning, but she cut you off with a sharp wave of her fingers.
“Let’s not waste time.” Her tone shifted in an instant, the whimsy giving way to something clipped, commanding. “My name is Missy. I’m a Time Lady. From a planet you’ve never heard of. And I’ve been watching you.”
Your stomach flipped. “Me?”
“Yes, you, darling.” She leaned forward slightly, resting her chin on the back of her hand, eyes glittering. “Don’t look so shocked. I see you, stuck here in this little pit, chopping and stirring and sweating your days away. I see how small this place makes you feel. How tired it leaves you.” She gestured lazily at the room around you, the cracked wallpaper, the bored patrons, the smell of stale beer with a disdainful curl of her lip. “You’re worth more than this. So much more.”
The word “pet” slipped from her lips then, casual and sharp all at once, and it sent an involuntary shiver racing down your spine. No one had ever spoken to you like that — as though they knew you, saw you, and wanted you all at once. And it certainly didn’t hurt that she was… breathtaking.
Missy gestured for you to sit, and before you knew it, you had obeyed, sinking awkwardly into the uncomfortable pub chair opposite her. You felt clumsy under her gaze, but she seemed perfectly at home, as though this were all going exactly to plan.
“So.” She folded her hands together and fixed you with that unblinking stare. “Are you coming with me?”
Your throat went dry. “Where… where are we going?” you asked, voice barely steady.
Her mouth quirked, and for a moment you could almost believe it was affection. Almost. But then she leaned closer, her voice dropping into a purr that was half-promise, half-threat:
“Everywhere. And anywhere. And nowhere at all. Be warned, though, pet… I don’t ask twice.”
And that was that.
You and Missy: two unlikely travellers hurtling through the universe together. You didn’t remember saying yes so much as being swept into the storm that was her. One moment you were standing in that dreary pub, and the next you were running through alien cities of glass and light, through forests where the trees sang, through stars that burned too close and too bright. Every place you went seemed impossible, and yet she made it feel like the most natural thing in the world.
You saw things that human minds weren’t meant to hold. Colours that didn’t exist on any spectrum, moons that bloomed like flowers, planets where time bent back on itself. You laughed until you cried, and sometimes until you were terrified. And always, always, she was there beside you: Missy in her perfect plum coat, eyes alight with mischief, talking too fast, laughing too loudly, always one step ahead of whatever chaos she’d started.
At first, it was strictly professional. Or at least, that was what she claimed. You were her “assistant,” “apprentice,” “pet project.” But somewhere between near-death escapes and stolen moments between stars, it changed.
A brush of her hand that lingered too long. The way she’d call you “pet” in that low, amused voice, softer than usual, as if it meant something more. The way her gaze sometimes stayed on you long after the joke had finished.
You told yourself it was all in your head. But then there were the quiet moments — the rare ones when she’d stop moving, stop talking, and simply look at you. And there, in that silence, you saw something real. Something terrifyingly close to love.
Then came the day everything ended.
You’d landed in medieval England. A quick diversion, she’d said, just to “borrow” a certain artefact she’d misplaced centuries ago. You’d split up for what was meant to be an hour. It was barely ten minutes before the sky split open and the Time Lords came for her. You’d seen them– tall, impossible figures wrapped in light, and then she was gone. Just like that.
And you were left.
Left in a century not your own, with nothing but the echo of her laughter in your ears and the faint smell of ozone where her TARDIS had stood. She had promised, vaguely, carelessly, that she’d come back for you. “Don’t get into trouble,” she’d said with that wicked little smile. “You’re terribly fragile, and I’d hate to return to find you broken.”
You hadn’t believed her. Not really. But you hadn’t stopped waiting, either.
Days turned to months. Months into years. The world moved on, and you stayed still, clinging to the memory of her. The villagers whispered about you, the strange outsider who spoke like no one else, who knew too much. You stopped caring. You spent your nights staring at the stars, whispering to the one you knew she must be near.
And when the ache became too much, when your heart felt too full of her to bear it, you did the only thing you could. You wrote.
A ballad. Simple, beautiful, and true. You disguised it as a love song for a knightly heroine, a story of devotion and faith, so the villagers wouldn’t burn you for witchcraft or madness. But every word was for her.
Your witch. Your impossible woman in her flying blue box.
It wasn’t just a song. It was a promise. A plea. A way to make her real again, to keep her name alive when the world wanted to forget. Each verse was a memory, each note a heartbeat, and in every line you swore that if she ever returned, she would find you waiting.
***
“I don’t know what you mean, Doctor,” Missy said lightly, though her tone was tighter than usual. She didn’t look at him, didn’t dare to, instead turning back to the piano. Her fingers drifted over the keys, coaxing a single, soft note into the air. It lingered, hanging between them like the ghost of something unsaid.
The Doctor folded his arms, watching her carefully. He knew what she was saying. The way she played when she wanted to seem calm, the way her voice turned singsong just before it broke.
“Missy,” he said gruffly, stepping closer. “Let’s skip the theatre, shall we? Apart from the very real fact that there’s a human woman in danger. A human woman who was in your care, I might add: you and I both know this is more than that.”
Missy’s hands froze over the keys. For a moment, the silence felt like a living thing. Then she let out a brittle laugh, sharp and too bright. “‘Care’?” She sniffed “Oh, don’t be a bitch.”
The Doctor raised his brows. “You can mock me all you like, but I’ve seen the way you react when someone mentions her.”
“I react perfectly normally,” Missy replied, the edge of her Scottish accent curling through the words. “Humans are sentimental creatures. I merely find it… amusing.”
“Amusing,” he repeated flatly. “Right. That explains why your pulse jumped twenty beats when you heard that ballad. Why did you stop breathing halfway through it. Why you looked like someone had just walked over your grave.”
Missy’s lips twitched, just enough to betray the tension beneath. “Oh, Doctor, you’ve been watching me. How flattering. Don’t tell me this is jealousy, is it? You always were terrible at sharing.”
His jaw tightened, but he didn’t rise to the bait. “It’s not jealousy. It’s pity. You finally found someone who gave a damn about you, and you left her stranded a thousand years out of her depth.”
That hit. He saw it: the faintest flicker of something raw across her face before she masked it with a smirk. “You say that as if I’ve never done worse.”
“Yes,” he said quietly, “but not to someone you loved.”
Missy’s hands stilled on the keys again, the sound dying completely. The word loved seemed to hang there, thick as smoke.
“I don’t do love,” she said after a beat, voice low and cool. “Love is messy. Inefficient. A distraction from far better things.”
“Then why won’t you even look at me?”
Her head snapped up at that, eyes flashing. “Because you’re insufferable.”
He held her gaze. That look of quiet, infuriating patience he’d perfected over centuries. It was the one thing that always got under her skin.
“Fine,” he said at last, turning toward the door. “Don’t talk to me, then. I’ll investigate it myself. I’ll let you know what I find… if she’s still alive, that is.”
He’d taken barely two steps when her voice cut through the room, sharp and bright. “Fine! Okay, fine! I’m coming with you.”
The Doctor stopped but didn’t turn around. “And how exactly do you plan to do that?” he asked. “Last I checked, I can’t let you out of this vault.”
Missy rose from the piano bench in a fluid motion, every bit of her once again composed and dangerous. “Oh, I’m sure you could make an exception,” she purred. “For my dear companion. She’s probably aching without me.”
She punctuated it with a wink, and the Doctor grimaced, though it wasn’t entirely disgust. There was an irritation in him he couldn’t quite name, one that twisted somewhere between moral outrage and something pettier, smaller, more human.
He sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re impossible.”
Missy smiled sweetly. “And yet, you keep letting me out.”
He muttered something that sounded suspiciously like a curse in Old High Gallifreyan, then turned on his heel. “Don’t make me regret this,” he growled.
Missy’s grin widened. “Oh, Doctor. That’s the fun part.”
And though he would never admit it – not to her, nor to himself – there was a part of him that already did.
***
The TARDIS whooshed and screeched into a halt and Missy and The Doctor barreled out as confidently as they usually would. The air smelled faintly of burnt wood and horse manure that made Missy’s nose scrunch.
“Oh, I don’t miss the stench of earth.” Missy scowled as she tried – and failed to avoid the mud.
“I would like to remind you that you made the choice to come here first.” The Doctor sighed. But it was too late, Missy had already started walking down the mudded path.
***
The two of them had been walking for what felt like hours, the crisp bite of the medieval air tugging at their coats. The Doctor strode ahead with that long-legged urgency that meant trouble was close; Missy followed at a more leisurely pace, her boots clicking against the dirt path, eyes sweeping the horizon with a feline alertness.
When the faint hum of voices reached them, the Doctor slowed. Ahead, a cluster of thatched roofs and timber walls came into view. A settlement large enough to call itself a town, though still small enough to smell of woodsmoke and fear. The sound of a crowd swelled as they drew nearer, a restless, angry murmur that prickled against the skin.
The town square was packed. Dozens of villagers swarmed around a makeshift wooden platform at the centre — little more than a few planks nailed together, but it held their full attention like an altar. Missy and the Doctor exchanged a single look, the kind that said this can’t be good, before slipping through the throng.
They wove between bodies, the air thick with the tang of sweat, damp wool, and the acrid sweetness of burning torches. Missy’s eyes flicked across faces, hollowed by hunger, alight with righteous excitement. Mob justice. Lovely. She could almost taste the hypocrisy in the air.
A short, rounded man shuffled onto the platform, the hem of his beige robe dragging through the dirt. His sleeves swallowed his hands, and the hood of his garment shadowed his round, perspiring face. He raised his arms, palms open, and the crowd fell silent.
“God sees us all,” he began, his voice high and reedy, but filled with self-importance. “And is fair to us all. But God also brings us challenges.” He lingered on the word like it was a threat. “For some among us turn from His light, whisper to demons, consort with unholy spirits, and worship the false idols of the blue-box devil!”
There was a collective hiss of breath from the crowd. A murmur rippled through them, words like “heretic” and “witch” snaking through the air.
Missy tilted her head, a dangerous smile tugging at her lips. “Blue-box devil,” she whispered, amused. “How quaint.”
“That would be one way of putting it,” the Doctor muttered, jaw tightening.
The priest straightened, voice rising with performative fervour. “Bring in the prisoner!”
The crowd parted with a hungry sort of eagerness. Two men dragged a struggling woman onto the platform — wrists bound, hair tangled, clothes torn from resistance. The air seemed to still around Missy as her gaze locked on the prisoner.
The woman lifted her head, eyes wild, face streaked with dirt. And then she saw them — saw her.
Her struggling stilled, replaced by something that made Missy’s stomach twist in a way she despised: hope.
For a moment, the noise of the crowd faded away. Missy’s world narrowed to the woman on that platform, the familiar line of her jaw, the spark in her eyes, the way she stood, even in chains, like she was daring the world to strike her down.
Missy’s breath caught. Her fingers curled against her palm, nails digging into skin.
It was you.
The Doctor looked sideways, his expression softening when he saw Missy’s mask falter a fraction, but enough. “Missy…” he said quietly.
She didn’t answer. Her voice was gone, lost somewhere between her throat and her heart. Because in that instant, Missy remembered everything, your laughter echoing in the TARDIS corridors, your hand brushing hers over a console, your stubborn, maddening faith that she could be better.
She had failed, and for the first time, she regretted it.
Your eyes darted across the sea of faces: hostile, curious, frightened — but you held your chin high, refusing to let them see fear. If you were going to die, you’d do it on your terms, not theirs.
“I stand here accused!” you called out, projecting your voice as best you could with your wrists bound. “Accused of a heinous crime – falling in love…” You paused just long enough for dramatic effect, “…and writing an objectively excellent ballad about it.”
A ripple of confusion tore through the crowd. Someone coughed. Someone else muttered the word sorcery like he wasn’t entirely convinced it wasn’t just… poetry.
“So, yes,” you continued, shrugging as much as your restraints allowed, “I suppose I have been accused of lesbianism. Which isn’t entirely inaccurate, but also not entirely fair because, to be honest, ‘The L Word’ hasn’t been invented yet. That's a few more years.”
A few uncomfortable murmurs. A woman crossed herself. A man squinted like he was trying to figure out if ‘lesbianism’ was a type of crop blight.
You exhaled, a shaky, resigned breath. The humour faded from your voice as the weight of your situation settled over you like a shroud.
“Look… whatever you think I’ve done, I didn’t consort with demons. I didn’t sell my soul. I didn’t curse your cows. I just…” your voice faltered, eyes burning with unshed tears, “…I loved someone I shouldn’t have. Someone wonderful. Someone impossible.”
The priest sneered and the crowd murmured again. Harsher this time, sharper. They wanted a villain, not a confession of heartbreak.
And you realised there was no escape.
With a trembling breath, you slowly sank to your knees. The platform’s wooden boards were rough beneath you, biting into your shins. A hush fell over the square. This was it.
You closed your eyes, whispering a last, silent thought to the woman who had changed your life, wherever she was in time and space.
The crowd tensed–
“(Y/N)!”
The shout cracked through the square like a bolt of lightning.
Your eyes snapped open.
You knew that voice.
You’d know it in any century, any universe.
Your head snapped up so fast your neck twinged. And there she was.
Missy, in all her maddening, impossible glory, standing at the edge of the crowd like she owned the entire century. Her plum coat caught the torchlight, her hair perfectly coiffed despite the medieval humidity, her expression hovering somewhere between irritation and barely concealed relief.
Your breath caught.
Your heart stumbled.
“Missy?” you choked out, scarcely believing reality hadn’t finally splintered in your mind.
“The very same, poppet!” she called back, throwing her arms wide as if she were taking a bow on a stage. Her voice carried easily over the gasps and muttering of the villagers. “Try to look happier, I’ve just improved the view considerably.”
You began twisting against your ropes, desperate to free yourself, but the knots only dug deeper into your wrists.
Of course. Medieval peasants couldn’t wash properly, but by god, they knew how to tie you to a stake.
“What in God’s name are you doing here?” you demanded, breathless, part disbelief, part joy, part fury.
“Saving you, of course, dear!” Missy lifted her chin, all offended pride and flamboyance. “What did you think I was doing? Taking a light holiday? Browsing the Renaissance like it’s a farmers’ market?”
“You said you’d come back!” you shouted. The entire crowd recoiled at the sheer emotion in your voice. “You promised you’d come back!”
Missy froze.
Not physically, she would never give the world that satisfaction… but something in her eyes flickered. A softness. A crack.
“I say a lot of things,” she replied airily, waving a hand. But her voice wobbled. A tiny, trembling seam in the armour.
“You left me,” you whispered. “I waited. I waited for–”
“Oh, ugh, enough of this,” Missy snapped but the sharpness wasn’t anger. It was fear. Fear of feelings. Fear of you. Fear of the truth. She tore her gaze away from yours too quickly. “Doctor. Be useful.”
The Doctor, who had been awkwardly hovering behind her, heaved a long-suffering sigh. “Finally,” he muttered, flipping out his sonic screwdriver. “Everybody hold still. And nobody faint – especially you, Missy.”
“As if I would ever,” she scoffed.
The screwdriver whirred, blue light sparking across your restraints. With a crackle and a puff of smoke, the ropes fell apart.
The crowd shrieked and drew back, some falling to their knees and babbling about sorcery. You didn’t care. The moment you were free, you launched yourself off the platform.
Right into Missy’s arms.
She caught you—as if she’d been ready for it, as if she’d imagined it a hundred times and hated herself for every imagining. Her hands steadied you by your waist, her breath brushing your cheek, her heartbeat hammering against your ribs.
For a moment-just one-everything stilled.
Her forehead grazed yours.
Her thumb brushed your jaw in a ghost of a touch, so gentle it barely existed.
“I shouldn’t have left you,” she murmured so quietly only you could hear. “I know that now.”
You didn’t have time to respond. Because someone in the crowd screamed, “Witchcraft!” and threw a stone that whizzed past Missy’s ear.
Missy straightened instantly, her face snapping back into its sharp, wicked grin. “Right then! Time to go! Doctor, do keep up, I simply refuse to be burned today.”
“RUN!” the Doctor shouted.
The three of you tore through the crowd. Villagers shouted, stumbling after you with pitchforks, torches, and an enthusiasm that suggested they had been aching for a good witch hunt.
Missy grabbed your hand, pulling you alongside her with surprising protectiveness. “Honestly, poppet, getting arrested while I’m gone? I leave you alone for five minutes–”
“You were gone for years!”
“Details!”
A man lunged at you with a club; Missy twirled, planted a heel in his chest, and sent him flying into a chicken cart. “Oh, how I’ve missed recreational violence,” she purred.
“Less flirting, more running!” the Doctor barked, dodging a pitchfork.
“I can multitask!” Missy sang as she shoved another villager aside with her umbrella.
The TARDIS came into view at the far edge of the square, partially hidden behind a stack of barrels. The villagers surged closer, shouting, closing in–
Missy tightened her grip on your hand. “Stay with me,” she said under her breath. Not an order. Not a threat. A plea.
“Always,” you whispered back.
“DISGUSTING,” the Doctor muttered, sprinting for the TARDIS door.
You laughed breathlessly, half hysterical, but mostly joyful, as the three of you dove through the threshold, Missy slamming the doors shut behind you just as a torch bounced harmlessly off the blue exterior.
You were safe.
With her, finally.
***
Back in the TARDIS, the three of you stood around the console in a thick, sullen silence. The engines hummed softly beneath your feet, a steady, comforting rhythm that did nothing to soothe the chaos in your chest. The adrenaline from your near-death escape had long since burned away, leaving behind something rawer and far more dangerous.
You couldn’t stop looking at her.
Missy stood on the opposite side of the console, arms folded, posture loose but guarded, like a cat pretending not to care while keeping every exit in sight. She hadn’t looked at you properly since you’d escaped. Not really. And that hurt more than the ropes, more than the shouting crowd, more than the fire you’d almost been fed to.
Nine months. Give or take.
Nine months of waiting. Of hoping. Of telling yourself she’d come back because she said she would. Of wondering, in the darkest hours, whether you’d simply been another curiosity. Another discarded toy. Another name on a very long list of people Missy had ruined without a second thought.
The Doctor shifted, glancing between the two of you with a deepening frown. He cleared his throat. “Right. Well. This is… deeply uncomfortable.” He gestured vaguely. “I’m going to give you both a moment before someone says something they regret — and I have a feeling that’ll be me.”
Without waiting for a response, he retreated down the stairs, pointedly not looking back.
The silence he left behind was deafening.
You swallowed. “Missy,” you began, your voice wobbling despite your best efforts. Saying her name still felt like stepping onto thin ice.
She sighed dramatically, spinning on her heel. “If this is about me leaving you in the dust all that time ago,” she said briskly, “then allow me to apologise.” The words were right. The tone absolutely wasn’t. There was no remorse in it, only deflection, sharp and rehearsed.
Something inside you snapped.
“I thought I was never going to see you again,” you choked, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “Do you have any idea what that was like? I didn’t care that I wasn’t in my own time. I didn’t care that everything was wrong and dangerous and terrifying. I just–” Your voice broke. “I couldn’t find you. You could have been anywhere. Anywhen.”
Missy’s jaw tightened. She turned away, focusing intently on the console as though it had suddenly become the most fascinating object in the universe. “I didn’t think of it that way,” she said coolly. “And you must know I didn’t leave on purpose. Things were just… complicated.”
“Complicated?” You let out a hollow laugh. “You vanished. You promised you’d come back and then you were just gone. That’s not complicated, Missy. That’s abandonment.”
She flinched. Just barely– but you saw it.
You opened your mouth, ready to finally say everything you’d swallowed for months — the anger, the heartbreak, the fear - when she cut you off with a mock-meek tilt of her head and a saccharine coo:
“Say something nice.”
You stared at her. “Missy–”
Silence fell again, heavier this time. She didn’t interrupt you. Didn’t joke. Didn’t sneer. Her shoulders sagged, just a fraction, like gravity had finally caught up to her.
“It’s true,” she said quietly. “I left you. I left you when you needed me most.” The admission seemed to cost her something. “And I won’t say this to just anyone — so don’t you dare tell the Doctor, but I was wrong.”
That got your attention.
She finally looked at you then, really looked. Her voice softened, losing its sharp theatrical edge. “Hearing that song… the one you wrote.” She stepped closer, tentative in a way you’d never seen from her before. Her hands came to rest on your shoulders, warm and grounding, and despite yourself, you melted into her touch. “No one has ever done that for me. No one has ever waited. Or loved so loudly it echoed through centuries.”
You searched her face. “Okay,” you whispered. “So what does that mean?”
Her breath hitched. “It means…” She laughed softly, bitter and fond all at once. “I accept your feelings, (Y/N). I felt them too, from the moment I met you in that miserable little pub. And they only grew. And now they’re rather inconveniently large.” She looked away again, almost ashamed. “Too large. I fear they may be more than I can bear.”
You reached out, cupping her face and gently turning her back toward you. She didn’t resist.
The space between you fizzed, charged, electric, trembling with everything left unsaid. Her breath mingled with yours. Her eyes searched your face like she was afraid you might vanish again.
“You don’t have to bear them alone,” you said softly.
For once, Missy didn’t have a clever retort.
She leaned in, forehead resting against yours, voice barely a whisper. “Don’t make me regret this.”
You smiled, heart aching and full all at once. “Never.”
And for the first time since you’d met her, Missy let herself stay still… with you.
Sometimes, All it Takes is a Mysterious Fog to Push You in the Right Direction - Kate Lethbridge Stewart x Reader PART 3
Howdy Doody all, this is the third and final part of @itsonlydana's request:
"Hi! Loved the Kate fic so ofc I'll jump in with a request! Could you write Kate and the reader on a mission? Nothing too dangerous but something that gets them both a bit frightened enough to act on their feelings?"
Now, I did go a little overboard, I will say. Without spoiling anything, what happens ended up being a little more than 'Nothing too dangerous' but what can I say? I love some angsty lesbians and I love making Kate Lethbridge-Stewart cry.
Anyway I hope you enjoy this wild ride!
PART 1 PART 2
Content warnings: Scary Monsters and Snogging.
Word Count: 3.5k
Requests are open!
The following morning, you and Kate stood outside The Lamb Inn, shoulder to shoulder in the damp chill of the Scottish dawn. The air was sharp enough to sting your lungs, and your breath fogged in front of you in short puffs. Two early mornings in a row were already testing your endurance – and from the look of her, Kate wasn’t exactly thriving either.
She stood rigid, like she’d been up for hours already, a takeaway coffee clutched in one gloved hand, her eyes flicking between her watch and the gravel path beyond. No coat — just her standard UNIT blazer and a steely kind of resolve that seemed to be the only thing keeping her upright.
You narrowed your eyes at the coffee. “I don’t suppose you thought to get me one?”
Kate didn’t even glance at you. “Oh. I assumed you were still pretending you don’t need caffeine to function.”
You scoffed. “When have I ever turned down coffee?”
Kate blinked once. “Fair point.”
There was a brief pause. Then she exhaled, slow and unusually audible, her shoulders dropping just slightly.
“Apologies,” she added, quieter now. “It’s been… a bit of a morning.”
You looked at her again. There was something softer around the edges of her now, a crack in the armour. Not vulnerability exactly, but something adjacent.
“You okay?”
“I’m fine,” she said, too quickly. Then added, with a dry note of humour, “Just tired enough to miscalculate your caffeine dependency. I’ll make it up to you.”
You smiled fondly at her, warmth bubbling under your skin, but before you could say a word, Kate casually flicked the now-empty coffee cup into the nearby bin with surgical precision.
“Right then,” she said crisply, smoothing her jacket as if resetting herself. “Shall we get a move on?”
You nodded, matching her pace as the two of you began down the narrow, gravel-lined path leading toward the tree line. “Yeah. Probably best we get ahead of it. Though…” you glanced sideways, trying not to sound too concerned, “How are you feeling about… all of this?”
Kate didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she tilted her head back, squinting at the weak morning sun as it clawed its way through the clouds. Her hands stayed tucked in her pockets. Her mouth tightened just slightly.
“To be completely honest?” she said at last, voice quieter than usual. “I don’t know what to expect. If it were a Zygon infiltration or some cloaked alien lifeform trying to hijack the airwaves, I’d know where to begin. Protocols. Contingencies. Containment.” She shook her head. “But this?”
She stopped walking for a moment and turned to face you. “It’s fog. Sentient or not, that’s hard to quantify. We can’t negotiate with it. We can’t track its movement with satellites. And we don’t know what it wants – if it wants anything at all.”
You saw it then: the faintest tremor in her hand as she brushed her fringe from her eyes. A flicker of real, human fear — not for herself, but for the civilians caught in the crossfire. For her team. For you.
Kate didn’t often let the cracks show. When she did, it wasn’t weakness; it was trust.
Her jaw clenched. “God, listen to me,” she muttered, half to herself. “I’m rambling.”
“You’re not.”
She gave a small, hollow laugh and looked away again, the corner of her mouth twitching in quiet frustration. “This isn’t exactly how I wanted to start the day. Field commander losing her nerve. Not a great motivational speech, is it?”
“It’s honest,” you said gently. “And it means you’re not just barking orders and pretending you’ve got it all figured out. That’s something, Kate. That’s you.”
She hesitated. Then looked at you, properly, fully. And it knocked the breath out of your lungs.
“Just…” Her voice was softer now, barely more than a breath. “I need you to know, if I’ve seemed sharp with you, or distant lately, it’s not you. God knows it’s not you.”
Your heart stuttered.
“I know,” you replied, voice hoarse.
A beat of silence passed between you. Charged, lingering, unsaid things suspended in the air like mist.
Kate blinked, clearing her throat and turning away. Her spine straightened, and the field commander mask slipped smoothly back into place.
“Well.” Her voice was brisk again, but it couldn’t quite hide the softness that had crept into her edges. “We’ve got a sentient weather pattern to interrogate. Let’s get on with it, shall we?”
Kate took off at her usual brisk pace, her boots clicking confidently against the uneven cobblestones as she led the way down the winding village path. You lingered for a moment, letting your eyes drink in the surroundings.
The street was a patchwork of stories. Not just built, but grown over time. Each house leaned slightly differently, their rooftops staggered like a row of thoughtful old men in conversation. Stone cottages hugged the curve of the lane, walls painted in shades of cream, moss-green, and the occasional brave robin’s-egg blue, their paint faded just enough to suggest stubbornness rather than neglect.
There was a kind of gentle defiance in the way the buildings stood, not identical, but harmonious. Like they belonged to each other through sheer force of memory.
Window boxes spilled over with flowers, not the manicured kind you’d find in city gardens, but wild, colorful clusters that smelled of rain and earth and stubbornness. Petunias, lavender, bright little nasturtiums in rusty reds and golds. Each box arranged like the person behind it had a point to prove about beauty. Some had little gnomes tucked into the greenery, others handmade wooden signs in Gaelic or cheeky welcome messages painted in fading letters.
You passed a tiny bakery with smoke curling from the chimney, the scent of fresh bread curling around the eaves like an embrace. A wool shop sat snugly beside it, skeins of hand-dyed yarn hanging in the window like soft rainbows.
It wasn’t a village that had been designed. It had been lived into, added to over time, shaped by the hands that built it, argued in it, fell in love in it.
“Would you live here?” you asked, picking up the pace until you were shoulder-to-shoulder with Kate, the two of you strolling in step along the crooked village path.
“Me?” she scoffed gently. “Oh, goodness no. I’d go absolutely mad.” She gestured vaguely at the rows of flowers and curling chimney smoke. “It’s charming for about five minutes, and then I’d be craving the chaos of London traffic and a decent flat white.”
You smirked. “God forbid you go a week without someone trying to hack into UNIT’s server.”
“Exactly.” She gave you a sidelong look. “Besides, my children would never forgive me. Too far away. And I don’t think I’m quite ready to be the mysterious woman in tweed who lives in a cottage and talks to her roses.”
“See, I would.” You said it without really thinking, your voice softening. “I like places with neighbours who know each other’s names. It reminds me of home.”
“Is that why I always find you chatting away in the corridors with someone new?” Kate drawled, her eyes narrowing with dry amusement. “You’re UNIT’s unofficial morale officer. I swear, you could charm a Dalek into small talk.”
You snorted. “I’m friendly, that’s all.”
“You’re a menace, is what you are.” Her voice had that signature affectionate sharpness. “Actually… now that I mention it — what were you, Donna, and Shirley cackling about in the labs yesterday? You looked like a trio of schoolgirls caught with stolen biscuits.”
You felt a wave of heat rise to your cheeks. “Oh… that?” You coughed, very unconvincingly. “Do you know what?I can’t even remember, to be honest.”
Kate quirked an eyebrow. “Mmmhmm. That was the least convincing lie I’ve heard all week.” She let out a loud, theatrical sigh. “Fine. Keep your secrets. I won’t pry–”
Her hand suddenly flew to your shoulder, fingers tightening just enough to stop you in your tracks. You turned your head–and your breath caught.
There it was.
The forest.
Thick and dark, like it had grown there not from roots but from secrets. The treeline loomed like a wall, moss clinging to the bark, mist curling at its feet like smoke from a warning fire. It was silent – too silent – as though the birds knew better than to sing here.
Gone was the teasing. Kate’s posture changed in an instant, her body tense, jaw set. Her hand dropped from your shoulder as she stepped forward slightly, scanning the treeline with a calculating gaze.
“This must be it,” she said, voice quiet, clipped. Her fingers hovered near the zip of her coat, almost like muscle memory, a habit from days she’d gone into far worse.
You swallowed. Whatever this place was, it didn’t want to be found. And yet, here you both were, side by side at the edge of it.
“I think it might be best if we split up,” Kate said quietly, eyes fixed on the dense canopy overhead. Her voice had that clipped, focused edge — the one she used when she was thinking twelve steps ahead.
You blinked at her. “It’s a fog that may or may not be sentient,” you retorted. “With what’s been described as a monster inside it. Do you really think that’s a good idea?” You gestured broadly at the dark undergrowth, already curling with mist. “What if that’s exactly what it wants us to do?”
Kate hesitated. Just for a second. Then she gave a small, accepting nod. “Very well. We’ll stick together.”
You watched her reach into her coat pocket and pull out her phone. You did the same, thumb finding the flashlight icon. A thin beam of light cut through the haze.
The forest was worse than you’d expected.
Branches snarled together above like a cage, filtering the grey light into shadowy veins across the ground. The path beneath your feet was stone, but cracked and slick with rot and moss — barely walkable. It must’ve been abandoned for years. Everywhere you looked, nature had reclaimed the land with a vengeful determination. Vines choked signposts. Roots twisted through the brickwork. The air smelled like earth and mildew; thick, damp, and old.
Wind howled low between the trees, but it wasn’t cold. The fog moved strangely, like it breathed.
You glanced over. “I wonder if people used to–”
Kate wasn’t there.
You stopped mid-step, heart slamming against your ribs. “Kate?”
Nothing.
You spun in a tight circle. No crunch of boots on gravel. No rustle of her coat. Just fog, curling like fingers through the trees.
She had been right beside you seconds ago.
“KATE!”
You ran forward, flashlight bobbing, sweeping through the grey nothing. “Where are you?!”
“(Y/N)!” Her voice – faint but real – tore through the stillness like a knife. She sounded panicked.
You took off in the direction of her voice, lungs burning, legs pounding the uneven path beneath you. “KATE!”
No answer.
Fear rose in your throat like bile. You pushed harder, branches slapping your arms, flashlight beam jittering with each step.
Then, suddenly, your voice broke. Your scream came out like a rasp. Breathless and paper-thin.
“Kate!” It barely escaped your throat. You coughed, wheezed. Why was it so hard to breathe?
The fog thickened with each step. Denser, heavier, like walking through smoke and oil. Light didn’t travel far. You couldn’t even see the treetops anymore. The forest floor disappeared in a thick soup of grey, your torchlight swallowed before it even touched the ground.
Then… you saw her.
Just ahead – at the very edge of your vision – stood Kate. Rigid. Pale. Her expression frozen in abject terror. You stumbled toward her, sobbing now, your chest heaving with relief and exhaustion.
She didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Her mouth hung slightly open, her eyes wide, glassy and vacant. Her entire body was stiff, like someone had turned her to stone.
You slowed.
Then her image… flickered.
One second she was there – the next, she dissolved into mist like smoke caught in wind.
Gone.
No footsteps. No sound. No Kate.
You stopped. Frozen. Dread bloomed like frost in your chest.
And then you heard it.
A low, guttural growl.
It vibrated in the air. Deep and wet, like something exhaling through layers of muscle and teeth. It wasn’t human. It wasn’t animal. It sounded ancient.
You turned slowly.
And saw it.
The monster emerged from the fog like a nightmare being born. Taller than a grizzly bear, its body was coated in thick, wet fur the colour of ash and ink, matted with something black and glistening. Its back hunched grotesquely, like it had been twisted in its creation, bones stretching in the wrong places. Its limbs were too long, arms dragging low, tipped with claws like rusted scythes. Its legs bent backwards like a deer’s, but stronger, more purposeful, made for pouncing.
Its head was worst of all.
Canine, almost, but grotesquely distorted. A wide mouth with rows of jagged teeth too large for its skull, lips peeling back as it snarled. Two massive ears stood alert at the top of its skull, twitching. But the eyes –
God, the eyes.
Sickly yellow, shot through with red veins, unblinking. They radiated intelligence. Hunger. And something else.
Recognition.
It saw you. Not just as prey… but as someone – What was worse?
You took one trembling step back. And it reared to its full height.
It towered above the trees. Its growl turned into a screech, a sound like metal being torn in half. Birds exploded from the treetops. The fog rolled forward with it, curling around you like it wanted to claim you.
And then you knew.
You were going to die.
You closed your eyes and braced for the end. Breath caught, heart still, muscles locked in place. The air buzzed with something primal. It felt like the world itself was holding its breath, waiting to swallow you whole.
But death didn’t come.
Instead, impact. Something strong and solid slammed into your waist, dragging you backwards with such force it knocked the breath clean from your lungs. Your feet skidded against moss-slick stone, the creature’s roar still echoing behind you as the world spun.
Arms tightened around your middle. Firm, certain, and impossibly human. You gasped, clinging instinctively to whatever held you, your eyes flying open.
And there she was.
Kate.
Face flushed, chest heaving, eyes blazing with focus. The cold air clung to the strands of hair that had escaped her ponytail, and the fog framed her like something out of a fever dream. Her grip was unrelenting – protective – like she wasn’t going to let go for anything.
You didn’t move. Couldn’t.
For a moment, all you could do was stare at her, your body still vibrating with the adrenaline of nearly dying and the devastating, electrifying realisation that she had just saved you.
Not because she had to.
Because she couldn’t bear not to.
You could see it in her eyes before she even said a word.
The tough, composed Chief-In-Commander and backbone of UNIT – was coming undone. Her perfect brown eyes were glassy with tears that she hadn’t yet let fall, her expression strained, eyebrows drawn so tightly together you thought they might never smooth out again.
She took a single, trembling breath. That was all it took. The tears broke free.
“I couldn’t see you,” she managed, her voice cracking like glass underfoot. “I turned around and you were just… gone. I called out. I screamed for you. And then I saw you, chasing after the fog, and it felt like…like I was watching you run into your death and there wasn’t a thing I could do to stop it.”
Her voice fractured, raw with panic still laced in its depths.
“I thought you were gone,” she whispered, and her body gave a sharp little shudder. “Properly gone. Not just lost in the woods, not just ‘off comms,’ but gone. And I–”
She faltered, biting her trembling lip. You could see the effort it took for her to keep upright, the exhaustion and fear radiating off her in waves. Her polished posture, always so meticulously in control, was beginning to unravel. Shoulders caving inward, arms crossing her chest like she was trying to physically hold herself together.
“The thought of losing you…” Her chest rose sharply, and then fell again. Her voice dropped to a bare whisper, broken and honest in a way you’d never seen from her. “It gutted me. I’ve faced it all: Cybermen, Zygons, Sontarans – you name it. And I’ve always known the risks. Always accepted them. But the thought of losing you… I– I just couldn’t breathe.”
Her words hit you like a blow. She was spiraling, and trying not to. Desperately fighting to keep control of the moment even as her heart cracked wide open.
“I didn’t realise it until lately but… God, I’m so fond of you. And not in a polite way. Not in a safe way. You’re the first thing I think about when I wake up and the last thing I think about before I go to sleep.” Her hand went to her mouth, as if she could catch the words before they escaped. “It’s unprofessional, I know it is. But it’s true. I–”
You didn’t let her finish.
You moved on instinct, surging forward and wrapping your arms around her shoulders, pulling her in tight against you. She fell into your embrace like she’d been waiting for it, like she didn’t quite believe she was allowed until you gave her permission. Her arms went around your waist, holding you like a lifeline.
“I love you,” she breathed against your neck. “I love you so much, it terrifies me.”
And then she pulled back. Just an inch. Just enough to try and regain control.
“I’m sorry,” she said, eyes wide, voice shaking with too many layers to count. “That was so inappropriate. I don’t know what came over me. It’s the adrenaline… the moment. I’ve compromised everything and I shouldn’t have. I’m your superior officer, I should never–”
You cut her off with your mouth.
The kiss was urgent, fiery, and electric. You cupped her jaw with trembling hands, holding her in place as you kissed her like you’d been starving for her for months… years. She gasped into it, stunned for a half-second before answering you with a low, desperate moan that vibrated through her throat.
She shuffled forward, pressing you back against the nearest tree, her hands on your waist, strong and possessive and reverent all at once. You were half-certain your knees would’ve buckled if you weren’t sitting down. Her body pressed to yours, every inch of her radiating heat, control, want.
You moved your hands to the nape of her neck, fingers curling into the fine, soft hairs there, and she groaned into your mouth. The sound shot through your spine like lightning. When your tongue traced lightly over her bottom lip, she didn’t hesitate. She opened to you like she was surrendering something sacred, deepening the kiss with a hunger that was entirely at odds with her usually composed exterior.
And god, did she taste like resolve and coffee and something all her own. Something you couldn’t get enough of.
When she finally pulled back, it was only Slightly, her breath shaky against your lips. Her forehead pressed to yours, grounding both of you in the breathless silence. Her hands hadn’t left your waist.
“I thought you didn’t feel that way,” you whispered, smiling through the adrenaline and relief. “I was so sure you didn’t feel that way. But you do… You do.”
You kissed her again, this time a little slower, lips moulding to hers like you were memorising the shape.
Kate smiled against your mouth, and when she pulled away, her voice was hoarse but warm.
“It’s been… exhausting,” she murmured, eyes trailing over you like she was seeing you for the first time. “Trying to be professional. Pretending I didn’t look forward to seeing you in that breakroom, with your little Natural history Museum cup. Pretending I didn’t notice every time you smile, whether it be at whatever pathetically uncharming attempt to flirt or a joke Donna might have made. Pretending I didn’t think about you every damn day.”
Your breath hitched at the confession, heat crawling down your spine. You held her gaze, your fingers still tangled in her hair.
“I love you too, Kate,” you said, your voice steady despite the thundering in your chest. “I think I have for a while.”
She let out a breath, almost a laugh, and cupped your cheek with one hand, her thumb tracing slow, reverent circles there.
“I’m glad,” she whispered. “Though it’s a shame we couldn’t have fallen into each other’s arms somewhere more romantic.”
You both laughed — quietly, dryly, a touch of hysteria still laced between your breaths. But neither of you moved.
Then the silence shifted. And your eyes widened.
“The monster,” you said, the world rushing back in a heartbeat.
I've finally had a concrete idea for a request! It's Missy x reader!
Okay, so, this would (kinda) be set during Missy's time in the vault. There's a sort of medieval ballad that has been found(? I'm really not sure how this works. They found the music sheet or something). And anyone who knows Missy can clearly tell it's about her. But why would someone in medieval times have written a love song/ballad about Missy?
Simple: Missy left her companion (reader) there when she was captured and aforementioned companion wrote it in the hopes that maybe Missy would come back for them if they said enough nice things (Say something nice), also they just really, really, really missed her and are really, really, really in love with her and that was their attempt at expressing it and not forgetting Missy.
Cue saving Missy's up til now unknown companion from medieval times, lest they get themselves executed for heresy or something xD
Is that good? Is it too much? Should I clarify anything? Can you work with this?
If you can't, please tell me, I can just think up something new. I'm very good at coming up with ideas.
Ooh. What a juicy idea, I’ll get to work on that ASAP! 😌✨
Sometimes, all it Takes is a Mysterious Fog to Push You in The Right Direction - Kate Lethbridge-Stewart x Reader PART 2
Greetings! Welcome to part 2 of this - what seems to be a whole series. I kind of wanted to add some more yearning in this part. So There'll be another sort of cliffhanger to this. Part, but do not fret, I'm hoping to bring out the Third (and Hopefully) final part of this series tomorrow.
One of my favourite parts of writing these Doctor Who fics, is creating my own monsters. So I hope you all enjoy me going a bit ham on the creature creation. Please hire me bbc omg.
Anyway, in case you forgot, this was requested by @itsonlydana who asked:
"Hi! Loved the Kate fic so ofc I'll jump in with a request! Could you write Kate and the reader on a mission? Nothing too dangerous but something that gets them both a bit frightened enough to act on their feelings?"
Anyway, I hope you enjoy this fic as much as I enjoyed writing it :)
PART 1 PART 3
Content Warnings: Talk of Death and scary monsters
Word Count: 2.2k
Requests are Open!
The car door clicked open, and the sharp sting of Scottish air hit you like a clean slap to the face. You stepped out with a quiet sigh, your boots crunching softly against gravel as the wind tugged at your coat.
After the stale heat of the two-hour drive, the cold was bracing, welcome, even. A wake-up call after a long, quiet morning.
Kate closed her door beside you, her breath misting faintly in the air. She looked around the small car park of the inn with that typical calculating gaze, scanning the area like it was a potential battlefield. Even here, in the middle of nowhere, her posture was perfectly composed, jacket fastened, scarf tied just so, not a hair out of place.
You pulled your wheelie case from the boot, letting it trail beside you with a low clack on the uneven stones. The two of you stood side by side, shoulders nearly brushing, the silence stretching comfortably between you. The drive had passed in a haze of radio static, brief pleasantries, and long stretches of nothing, neither of you particularly talkative before caffeine.
Kate took a deep breath of the Highland air and exhaled slowly. “Right,” she said, voice low and steady. “Shall we check in, get something to eat… and find enough coffee to make us feel human again?”
You glanced at her, avoiding direct eye contact a little too obviously. “That sounds like a good plan, ma’am.”
Kate turned toward you, arching a brow just slightly. “Oh, come now,” she said, a faint smile tugging at one corner of her mouth. “Do call me Kate while we’re here. We’re not exactly at HQ, and I can’t be bothered with protocol–not before breakfast, at least.”
You hesitated for half a second–just long enough for her to notice. She always noticed.
“Very well… Kate,” you said, the name tasting unfamiliar and a little dangerous on your tongue.
She gave you a quiet nod of approval, then turned toward the inn’s entrance, her tone shifting back toward neutral. “Good. Let’s get checked in. Then we’ll meet with the local team, take a look at the maps, and assess where the fog’s most active.”
All business again. But the warmth in her voice hadn’t entirely vanished.
You followed a step behind her, grateful for the chill in the air. It was the only thing keeping your face from overheating.
You stepped through the wooden door of The Lamb Inn, the sign above the entrance slightly faded, the painted lettering cracked with age but still proud. From the outside, it wasn’t much to look at, just weathered stone walls, a heavy timber frame, and windows that flickered with soft, amber light.
But the moment you crossed the threshold, warmth enveloped you like a thick blanket.
The scent hit you first; woodsmoke, old whisky, and something vaguely sweet, like baked apples and cinnamon. Inside, the inn looked like it had been pulled from the pages of a storybook: low wooden beams, worn smooth from centuries of hands and heads brushing past them; honey-golden floorboards that creaked comfortably underfoot; and a roaring fire snapping in a great stone hearth, casting shadows that danced across the walls.
A few mismatched armchairs huddled near the fire, their fabric faded but inviting. Tables were scattered throughout the room, each one candlelit and surrounded by carved wooden chairs with tartan cushions worn soft with age. The pubgoers inside barely glanced up, locals, most likely. One man was nursing a pint and reading a battered newspaper, while a couple in the corner shared a quiet conversation between bites of steaming stew. Laughter came from a small group near the back, their voices warm and full of the kind of familiarity you only find in places like this.
You made your way to the bar, where an older gentleman stood behind the counter, drying a glass with a clean but well-used rag. His face was lined, but kindly, framed by a halo of unruly white hair. He looked up as you approached, giving you a nod of quiet welcome.
“Good morning, sir,” Kate said as she approached the bar, her voice crisp but polite,. “We’ve a reservation under the name UNIT.”
The innkeeper glanced up from his glass polishing, eyes flicking over the two of you with quiet scrutiny. The moment he heard the name, something in his expression shifted. Not joy, exactly, but unmistakable relief.
“Ah. Right. Thank God,” he said, setting the glass aside with a soft clink. His Scottish accent was thick and unhurried, the kind that spoke of a man who’d likely never lived more than ten miles from where he was standing. “Didn’t think you’d actually come, to be honest. We’ve been at our wits’ end here.”
Kate gave him a measured nod, her eyes narrowing just slightly. “Well, we’re here now. Best we don’t waste time.”
She turned to you, already switching into field mode with seamless ease.
“(Y/N), leave your case behind the bar and get your laptop up and running,” she instructed, calm and precise. “I want notes from the moment we begin: details, anomalies, anything that stands out.”
“Yes, Kate,” you said, nodding briskly as you stepped forward to unclip your bag.
The innkeeper gestured toward the hearth. “We’ve got a table free by the fire if you want to settle in, bit warmer over there. I’ll fetch you a cuppa, get you properly defrosted.”
“Much appreciated,” Kate said with a nod that somehow still felt like a command. Then, more softly, to you: “Let’s see what we’re dealing with.”
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“This is Callum,” the innkeeper said, his tone brisk but not unkind as he laid a firm hand on the shoulder of the boy sitting beside him, at the table. “He says he’s seen the fog.”
You and Kate both turned to look. The lad couldn’t have been more than seventeen – pale, hunched slightly inward, his hands gripping the hem of his jacket like it was the only thing anchoring him to the room. His eyes darted between you both, wide and bloodshot, like he hadn’t slept properly since whatever he’d seen.
You swallowed hard. Whatever had happened out there, it had stayed with him.
Kate stepped forward, folding her hands lightly in front of her. Her tone dropped an octave – softer, more deliberate. “All right, Callum,” she said gently. “Let’s start from the beginning. Just tell us what you saw.”
Her voice had that unshakable calm to it, like she wasn’t afraid of whatever he was about to say. Like nothing could rattle her. You admired that about her more than you could put into words. Admired it to the point it made your chest ache.
Callum drew a shaky breath.
“I was walking home from the pub last Friday… it was late, maybe midnight,” he said. “The air started changing. Got thick, wet… harder to see. I knew about the warnings, but I didn’t think, I thought it was just one of those Urban Legends you know?”
He paused, his voice cracking on the next sentence. “That’s when I heard my dad.”
You and Kate exchanged a glance, hers razor-sharp, yours likely full of concern.
“I see,” Kate began, but Callum pressed on, words tumbling now like he couldn’t keep them in.
“My dad died last August. Heart attack. We buried him on the hill just outside town. So when I heard him calling my name…” His voice trailed off and he swallowed hard. “It was him. I swear to God. I followed the voice up past the mill, down the path. Into the trees.”
The room seemed to grow colder.
“But the deeper I went,” he continued, “the more wrong it felt. My dad’s voice… it changed. It started to sound like–” he hesitated, eyes flicking to Kate, “like something pretending to be him. It turned guttural. Like something out of Jurassic Park, all snarls and growling. That’s when I ran.”
You felt a chill prickle down your spine. You turned, instinctively, to look at Kate.
She was frozen for half a heartbeat. No dramatic reaction, no outburst. Just still. Focused. Which was, in her case, the closest thing to not knowing what to do.
That scared you more than anything Callum had said.
“And this forest,” she said, voice composed again, “where is it exactly?”
“Up the path,” Callum answered, pointing northward through the front window. “Just beyond the old stone wall.”
Kate nodded once. Then she stood, smoothing her coat in that quiet, deliberate way she always did when making a decision. She clapped her hands lightly against her thighs, one of her many very British habits and looked between you and the boy.
“My colleague and I will get settled in, then review our next steps,” she said. “We’ll begin the investigation tomorrow, at first light.”
She turned without another word, her posture as composed as ever. But as she passed you, you caught it – a tiny twitch at the corner of her mouth. Barely there. Most people wouldn’t have noticed it. But you always noticed the smallest changes in her.
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The room did not have one bed.
Thank God.
Instead, there were two twin beds – technically separate, but so close together they may as well have been holding hands. A single night’s shift in sleep position and your knees would brush hers under the blanket. You could manage that. Two nights. You had to.
You sat down on the edge of the mattress, pulling out your laptop with a sigh, the screen glowing faintly in the dim room. Your notes stared back at you, still as frustratingly inconclusive as when you’d first typed them.
Kate hovered near, then leaned slightly over your shoulder, her perfume hitting your senses all at once. Cool, clean, and distinctly her. Her voice came low, close to your ear.
“Any joy?”
You shook your head. “Not really. I’ve never seen anything like this. It’s not… technological. It’s not even behaving like a traditional lifeform. Just fog. Creeping fog.”
Kate let out a soft groan and rubbed her face with both hands. “Give me an alien invasion with laser cannons any day. At least those you can negotiate with.”
“Maybe it’s not the fog,” you offered, glancing sideways at her. “Maybe something’s in it. Using it.”
That got her attention. She stilled, eyes sharpening. “Go on.”
You gestured vaguely toward your screen. “Whatever this is, it’s luring people in, using something deeply personal. Familiar voices, emotions… grief. Maybe it’s not the fog that’s sentient. Maybe the fog’s just the bait.”
Kate tilted her head slightly, considering. Her pacing resumed, the kind of tight, thoughtful pacing she always did when something was beginning to click into place. “Then the question becomes: what benefits from luring people into the forest, never to come out again?”
You sighed. “That’s what we’ll find out tomorrow. But for tonight… maybe we stop chasing ghosts for a few hours.”
Kate raised an eyebrow. “Are you suggesting I relax?”
“I’m suggesting we eat the stew that the very grumpy but kind innkeeper left outside the door.”
Her lips curled in a rare, soft smile. “He was only nice to us because we’re solving his mystery.”
“Sure. But a stew’s a stew, Kate,” you said with a shrug, standing. “Eat with me.”
Her voice dropped a note, quiet and sincere. “Okay.”
That one word… just one… made your heart stutter. There was something in her tone. Something almost vulnerable.
You swallowed and stepped closer. “Kate.”
She hummed in response, eyes already on you.
“It’s going to be okay. We’ll figure this out. We always do.”
“I know we will.” Her voice was gentle, full of something unspoken. She turned to face you fully, and for a moment, the room felt smaller. “I know that because I have one of UNIT’s best scientific officers with me.”
Your breath caught. You hadn’t expected that. Not the compliment, but the way she said it. Soft. Personal. Pride woven into it like thread through silk.
You managed a half-smile, your chest full to the brim. “Careful, you’re starting to sound like you actually like working with me.”
Kate’s eyes crinkled slightly at the corners, the tiniest laugh escaping her, that honking, unguarded laugh that you secretly adored. That you’d missed hearing, more than you realised.
And then something shifted.
You don’t know who leaned in first. Maybe it was you. Maybe it was her. Maybe it was gravity. But suddenly, you were standing closer. Inches. Breaths. You could feel the warmth of her body, even in this chilly room. Her eyes met yours, unreadable, searching, but she didn’t step away.
You tilted your head, the tension thick between you. Her gaze flickered down, briefly, to your mouth.
You felt your breath hitch. So did hers.
The space between you was electric, unbearable, the kind of moment where the world slowed down, everything else falling silent. Her lips parted slightly. Her hand twitched, just once, like she was thinking of reaching for you.
And then–
A knock rattled at the door.
Kate blinked, the moment cracking like glass.
You stepped back, pulse pounding.
She cleared her throat, the cool, collected mask sliding back into place with practiced ease. “That’ll be the bloody stew,” she said, her voice carefully even, but not before you caught the faintest blush rising along her cheekbones.
You turned toward the door, breathless. Your Heart Hammering in your chest.
Sometimes, All It Takes is A Mysterious Fog to Push you in the Right Direction - Kate Lethbridge Stewart x Reader PART 1
Helloooo! how are we all? This fic was requested by the lovely @itsonlydana who asked the following:
"Hi! Loved the Kate fic so ofc I'll jump in with a request! Could you write Kate and the reader on a mission? Nothing too dangerous but something that gets them both a bit frightened enough to act on their feelings?"
I did get carried away with this one, I actually don't think I have written a fic so fast in my life. I also hope you don't mind, I've split this into two parts, the second part will be out tomorrow.
I love writing for Kate so much, this gal deserves so much love xoxo
PART 2 PART 3
Content warnings: A bit of swearing, Mentions of Sex
Word count: 3.1k
Requests are Open!
Some say that work-based crushes are born out of boredom. That when you’re stuck in the same place for long enough, your mind starts inventing possibilities where none exist. Others argue they’re the product of proximity…something that thrives only within the confines of fluorescent lights and shared deadlines. That if you saw them on the street, as a stranger, you wouldn’t even look twice.
But that was never the way you felt about Kate.
You’d been with UNIT for just under five years, a fairly respectable tenure as Chief Scientific Officer No. 54: a title that sounded much more glamorous than it felt. Yes, there were bursts of danger. But the majority of your work was spent behind a desk, staring at data streams and drafting incident reports, waiting for the next breach in reality to interrupt your lunch.
You met Kate during your interview. Back then, she wasn’t Commander-in-Chief. She held your position. Well, held it like it had been designed for her and no one else. Sharp-eyed, reserved, authoritative without ever needing to raise her voice. You remember how composed she was even then, how impossible it was not to be drawn to the quiet gravity of her presence.
Since then, you’d worked together on nearly everything. Field assignments, research initiatives, diplomatic nightmares. When she was promoted, and later when you stepped into her old role, the partnership didn’t break. It only changed shape. You orbited each other constantly, bound by duty, yes…but also something subtler. Something you never dared name.
Because what you felt for Kate Lethbridge-Stewart was not boredom. It wasn’t some convenient fantasy cooked up by a lonely brain. It was reverence. It was hunger. It was every unspoken thought you buried beneath layers of professionalism and silence.
You admired her fiercely. Her determination, yes, but also the quiet way she carried grief, like a stone in her coat pocket. The way she always chose the hard right over the easy wrong. The way she spoke with precision, not cruelty. The way she never buckled under pressure but still let the weight of leadership crease her in private, in the rare moments she let her guard down. You saw the lines at the corners of her mouth that deepened when she was trying not to show fear. The slight tremble in her hand after a near-miss. You saw it all.
And God, you loved her for it.
You loved the way her brow furrowed when she was reading something dense, no doubt, probably in Latin, or a diplomatic briefing no one else could decipher. You loved how she never wasted words, how she could silence a room with a single look. You even loved her silences…how they didn’t press against you like awkwardness, but wrapped around you like safety.
Some say a crush is a lack of information, but for you, it was the opposite. The more you learned about Kate, the deeper you fell. Every conversation, every sideways glance across a lab table or an incident room or a late-night strategy meeting, only served to push you further into the quiet, aching truth of it all:
You were hopelessly in love with her.
And it was agony.
Because she was your superior. Because there were rules. Because Kate wasn’t someone who opened herself easily, and you would never be the kind of person to push her. So you swallowed it down, again and again. You convinced yourself it was enough just to be near her. Just to hear her voice in the next room. Just to make her tea the way she liked it when the days ran long. Just to walk beside her into danger and trust that she’d walk back out with you.
But sometimes, when the day wound down and the corridors emptied and it was just the two of you left behind in that flickering low light, you let yourself look.
And sometimes she looked back.
And it meant nothing, of course. It couldn’t. There was no way she could ever feel the same.
Not about you.
And yet…you wanted. Desperately. Painfully.
To sit beside her without reason.
To brush your fingers over hers and not have to pretend it was accidental.
To know her not just in briefing rooms and battlefields, but in the quiet, slow spaces.
To tell her everything and hear her say your name like it meant something more.
But all you had was the ache.
And the silence.
And the wish.
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“(Y/N) (L/N), are you with us?”
Kate’s voice, calm, clipped, and unerringly direct cut through your wandering thoughts like a scalpel. You blinked, sitting upright a little too quickly in your chair in the main conference room at UNIT headquarters.
The morning briefing was well underway, but your brain had only caught fragments. You’d been drifting like that all week. Lost somewhere between scientific reports and the way Kate’s voice always made your stomach tighten. This morning, it was particularly bad. You’d been staring at the slide presentation without taking in a single word. You weren’t thinking about fog, or tactical response units, or missing persons.
You were thinking about Kate. Again.
“Yes, of course I am, ma’am,” you said, sitting straighter and forcing a thin, professional smile.
Kate gave you a long look over the rim of her tablet. Her expression was unreadable, but the pause that followed was unmistakably pointed.
“Right,” she said slowly, lowering the tablet. “Then what, pray tell, was I just talking about?”
Shit.
You scrambled, reaching blindly into the fog of your own memory for anything that might pass as a halfway intelligent answer. “Erm… Scotland?”
That earned you a deadpan blink. “Close enough,” she said, dry as ever. She pinched the bridge of her nose, exhaling through it with impressive restraint. “All right. We’ll try this again. But, (L/N), I’m going to need you to actually pay attention this time. Preferably with both eyes open and your brain in the room.”
A blush crept across your cheeks. A proper, full-blooded, soul-burning kind of embarrassment. You nodded, eyes fixed on the table.
“Yes, ma’am,” you murmured.
Kate arched a brow. “Thank you. Now, let’s see if we can stay on track before I have to send someone to poke you every five minutes.”
The corner of her mouth twitched. Not quite a smile, but something close. Just enough to let you know you weren’t in trouble, not really. But also that she noticed.
“As I was saying,” Kate continued, voice smoothing back into briefing mode, “our Intelligence team has reported an anomalous fog in the Scottish Highlands. Remote area, patchy civilian data, but the key detail is this: people enter the fog and don’t come back out. No signs of struggle, no remains. Just…gone.”
You kept your eyes on her now, nodding slightly, your heartbeat finally slowing to something that resembled normal.
“We’ll need your team to focus on the properties of the fog,” she said, tapping her tablet and pulling up images, satellite overlays, thermal scans, chemical data. “Atmospheric analysis, neurotoxic potential, alien residue. Whatever angle you can cover. Assume it’s not natural. Assume it’s hostile.”
“Understood,” you said, managing to find your voice again.
Kate gave you a brisk nod. “We’ll also need medics briefed and standing by. If we do recover any of the missing, I don’t want us caught scrambling. I want full decontamination procedures and trauma protocols in place.”
You gave a small, two-fingered salute. “On it.”
“Right,” Kate said, setting down the tablet with a decisive tap. “Meeting adjourned.”
She didn’t linger. Her heels echoed sharply on the stone floor as she walked out, spine straight, pace purposeful. You watched her go, jaw tight with the effort of staying composed.
“You,” came a teasing voice beside you, “are in so much trouble.”
You didn’t need to look up to know it was Shirley Bingham–your desk neighbour, fellow Scientific Officer, and professional pain in your arse.
“I know, I know” you groaned, slumping back in your chair with a dramatic sigh. “I’ve been completely out of it lately. I don’t know what’s come over me.”
“Well…” Shirley drawled, spinning lazily in her wheelchair to face you fully, “I don’t know what’s come over you, but I’ve got a pretty good idea who you want to ‘come’ over you.”
You choked on your own breath.
“Shirley!” you hissed, smacking her arm. She just grinned, utterly unbothered.
“What?” she said, eyes sparkling. “I’m just saying what we’re all definitely not supposed to say out loud.”
“Is it that obvious?” you asked quietly, slightly horrified.
Shirley gave a little shrug, suddenly gentler. “No, Don’t worry. I just happen to be able to pick up on these kinds of things. It also helps that I sit next to you every day. I can tell when you’re thinking about quantum rift convergence… and when you’re just pretending to because you’re actually staring at Kate’s shoulder blades.”
You buried your face in your hands with a groan.
“I’m not doing anything about it,” you said, half-defensive, half-defeated. “She doesn’t feel that way. And even if by some miracle she did, you know how much paperwork that would generate? Not to mention all the HR meetings that would come after.
Shirley tilted her head thoughtfully. “Mmm, yeah. Nothing gets the heart racing like a ‘Romantic Relationship Declaration Form A17-B.’ So sexy.”
You shot her a look. “Exactly.”
“But,” she said, stretching out the word like she was plotting something, “perhaps… a little field mission to the Scottish Highlands could shake things loose?”
You blinked. “Scotland? Since when am I going to Scotland?”
She shrugged again, all faux innocence. “No one said you were. Yet. But Kate always goes on the field missions. You think she’s going to let some interdimensional fog hoover up civilians without having eyes on the ground?”
“She’s not bringing me,” you said flatly.
“Oh puh-lease, she brings you to everything. You’re like her favourite handbag! stylish, functional, a little emotionally repressed…”
You gave her another look, this time with extra betrayal.
“Look,” Shirley said, leaning in conspiratorially, “all I’m saying is: remote location, spooky forest, long nights, questionable heating, maybe even… a hotel with only one bed—”
“Oh my god, Shirley, this isn’t one of your spicy little romance books.”
“Yet,” she said with a wink.
You groaned, dragging a hand through your hair. “Scotland. Land of haggis, midges, and aggressively friendly locals. I can’t think of anywhere less romantic.”
“Oh. My. God!”
You flinched at the unmistakable sound of Donna Noble’s voice booming directly over your head. You didn’t even have time to look up before she was already leaning across your desk like a nosy aunt at Christmas.
“Are you talking about who I think you’re talking about?”
Your heart stopped. “Donna!” you hissed, half-whisper, half-plea. “Will you please keep it down?”
“No!” she shot back with theatrical offence, hands flying to her hips. “Not when you’re sat here talking about your massive crush on Kate Lethbridge-Stewart and didn’t think to tell me?!”
You buried your face in your hands. Beside you, Shirley gave Donna a single, smug nod like the two of them were part of some psychic gossip network you never signed up for.
“Oh, I knew it!” Donna cried, turning to Shirley like she’d just won a reality show. “I knew something was going on between those two! The way she looks at her! The way you look at her! It’s like some kind of sexy UNIT soap opera!”
“There is nothing going on between us,” you muttered into your palms, wishing you could sink into the floor and be consumed by the Earth. “Please stop talking.”
“Oh don’t be shy now!” Donna grinned, eyes glittering with mischief. “Come on–‘Kate and (Y/N), sitting in a tree–’”
“Donna, no–”
“K-I-S-S-I-N-G!” Shirley chimed in cheerfully, utterly betraying you as she and Donna began giggling like a pair of teenagers at a sleepover.
You glanced around in horror–several heads were turning. A few curious UNIT personnel had started listening.
“I work here!” you hissed, desperate. “I have a clearance level!”
Donna was practically bouncing on the balls of her feet now, clearly thriving. “Bet she’s all stiff upper lip in public, but in private? I bet she’s an animal.”
“Donna!” you squeaked, voice cracking from sheer secondhand shame.
Shirley leaned over to you, mock-whispering, “You’re so red right now, I could toast marshmallows on you.”
You sank down in your chair, face flaming, wishing for a convenient temporal rift to open beneath your desk and swallow you whole. Honestly, you’d take Weeping Angels over this any day.
Donna gave you a playful nudge. “Oh come on, love, we’re just messing. But seriously…do something about it. You two’ve been dancing around each other like awkward teenagers at a school disco. One of you has to make a move before I lose my mind and lock you in a containment room together.”
“Not true.” You grumbled.
“What,” came a low, unimpressed voice behind you, “is with all the giggling?”
You froze. The colour drained from your face as you slowly turned, heart plummeting directly into your shoes. Please say she didn’t hear any of that.
Kate stood at the end of the row, arms folded across her chest, a single brow raised in that infuriating, elegant way that somehow managed to convey both amusement and deep, unspoken disappointment. Her tone wasn’t sharp, Just Precise.
“Oh–uh, nothing, ma’am,” you blurted, far too quickly. “Just a bit of… team morale.”
Kate’s eyes flicked briefly to Donna–who was now pretending to study her nails–and then to Shirley, who offered an innocent smile that practically screamed guilty. Then, finally, her gaze settled back on you.
“I see,” she said flatly, clearly seeing everything.
You dared not move.
“Well then,” Kate continued, tone still cool but unreadable. “Since morale is clearly in excellent health, I’ll be borrowing (Y/N) for a moment. My office. Now.”
She didn’t wait for a reply. She simply turned on her heel with military precision and walked off, the echo of her heels clicking across the stone floor like a countdown to your execution.
You stood up, far too stiffly, knocking a pen off your desk in the process. You didn’t even bother to pick it up. Behind you, Donna and Shirley exchanged a look so theatrical you could feel it burning into your back.
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You stepped into Kate’s office, closing the door gently behind you. The soft click echoed louder than it should’ve. Every step toward the chair opposite her desk felt heavier than the last.
You sat down, spine straight, heart thudding like a traitor in your chest.
There were a million thoughts crashing into each other in your head: panic that you were about to be properly dressed down, worry about the fog assignment, dread over what horrors might be lurking in the Scottish countryside.
But mostly…Kate.
Kate, sitting in front of you with her hands folded neatly, a frown softening the usually composed set of her mouth. Her expression was unreadable, but not unkind.
“(Y/N),” she said, and sighed. Tired, controlled. “Where have you been these past few weeks?”
You blinked. “I’ve been here, ma’am.”
She didn’t smile.
“Not physically,” she said, her tone tightening just slightly. “For heaven’s sake…”
Kate looked up for a brief moment, eyes fluttering closed as if appealing to the ceiling for patience…or strength.
“I’m concerned,” she said plainly, voice lowering into something quieter. Not harsh. Not cold. But measured. “Your reports are behind. You’ve missed two briefings entirely and barely spoken in the ones you’ve attended, today, it seemed like you’d rather be anywhere but there. Your work–what I have seen–has been rushed, scattered. I haven’t seen you in the breakroom for a week. I don’t even think I’ve heard you laugh.”
Your heart twisted. It wasn’t just disappointment in her voice–it was worry. That particular quiet kind that Kate Lethbridge-Stewart deployed like a scalpel: efficient, precise, and almost impossible to protect yourself against.
“I don’t want to put you on a support plan,” she said. “I know what you’re capable of. You’re better than this.” Her voice softened slightly, but she didn’t let it unravel. “But I’m running out of ways to help you if you won’t tell me what’s wrong, darling.”
Your breath caught at the term. Darling. It wasn’t unusual, not with Kate, her clipped, upper-class inflections occasionally slipped affectionate, understated phrases into conversations. But it still hit you like a live wire every time.
You couldn’t meet her eyes.
“I…” You swallowed hard. “I’m really sorry, Kate.”
She sat back slightly. You almost never called her by her first name.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you admitted. “It’s just been an off week. And I know–UNIT doesn’t do off weeks. It won’t happen again.”
She studied you carefully, expression unreadable again. That was always the unnerving part. Kate never lost her composure, not even when she was being kind. Especially not then.
You hated disappointing her. You hated knowing she’d noticed the way you’d been slipping and that she cared enough to call you in for it. It was unbearable.
You hesitated. Then, quietly: “Is there any way I can make it up to you?”
There was a pause. Kate tapped her fingers once against the desk, thoughtful but not impatient. Her eyes never left yours.
Then: “Come to Scotland.”
You blinked. “Sorry?”
Oh no.
“I could use someone with your expertise on-site,” she said, tone businesslike, as if she hadn’t just turned your internal organs to mist. “If there’s any scientific explanation for that fog, I want it found. And frankly, if anyone can cut through whatever anomaly is hiding in that forest, it’s you.”
You opened your mouth, unsure whether to thank her or argue.
“And,” she added, eyes flicking toward her hands before returning to you, “I think we’re long overdue for a proper catch-up.”
Her lips lifted–just slightly. A hint of a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Not yet.
Your pulse thundered in your ears. You forced a nod, trying to make your face do something resembling a calm expression. “I’d be glad to, ma’am.” You saluted, a little too formally. A weak attempt at control. Anything to hide the way your heart was currently attempting to punch its way out of your chest.
Kate gave you a slow nod. “Good. Pack for two nights. Bring your field kit. We leave in the morning.”
You rose to your feet, praying your legs wouldn’t betray you, and turned to go.
“Oh,” she said lightly, just before you opened the door. “And (Y/N)?”
You turned back.
“It’s all right to have off weeks,” she said. “You don’t have to keep it together all the time.”
Then she looked back down at her desk like nothing had happened.
You nodded once more—then escaped into the corridor, your cheeks burning, your lungs forgotten somewhere in your ribcage.
Hi! Loved the Kate fic so ofc I'll jump in with a request! Could you write Kate and the reader on a mission? Nothing too dangerous but something that gets them both a bit frightened enough to act on their feelings?
Well! What's this? Two Fics in one day!? Now this wasn't a request per se. It was based off this post by @buggyboba
Now, this did take me a little longer than three days, but I did sit at my laptop for a very long time with an ungodly amount of caffeine. 😌 I really hope you guys enjoy this cuz I love Kate so so so much, she makes me so gay man, so if you guys like what you see, please please roll in those requests. I love writing for her teehee!
Anyhoo, the general summary for this fic is:
You are trapped in the wish world. You have been noticing the cracks in reality for a while, hoping and praying for a way out. But then there's Kate Lethbridge Stewart, who no longer remembers the life you two once shared, but as time twists and memories fade, love may be the only force strong enough to break the illusion and bring the real Kate back. She just has to remember you...
trigger warnings: Slight mention of misogyny.
Word count: 2.9k
Requests are open!
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
The clock behind you pulsed steadily, each beat a quiet hammer against the back of your skull. It wasn’t just sound; it was rhythm. Inescapable. Relentless. A dull melody that threaded through your spine and took root behind your eyes, steady as a heartbeat you couldn’t turn off.
How long had you been sitting here? Not just today… but every day. Every day that stretched backward into a foggy, indistinct haze. At this desk. In this room. Filing reports no one would ever read. Answering phones that never really rang. Doing… what? God only knew. You certainly didn’t anymore.
Time had become meaningless. It slipped through your fingers like sand soaked in oil, heavy, sticky, impossible to grasp. There was no real past here, no future. Just the present, on an endless loop. And all around you, people moved like clockwork, colleagues who smiled too easily, spoke in hollow tones, laughed at nothing. They were comfortable. Content. As if they didn’t remember.
But you did.
You remembered standing in the battlefield mud with your UNIT badge pressed against your chest. You remembered shouting over gunfire, over the screech of time fracturing, standing shoulder to shoulder with people who knew what was at stake. You remembered facing down Sutekh himself—the god of death—and living to tell the tale.
And now?
Now you were trapped in a windowless 1950s office that smelled of damp paper and stale coffee. The lights buzzed faintly overhead, flickering like dying stars. The walls were a sickly yellow, the same shade as old teeth, and the posters on them encouraged workplace unity in bright block letters, Smile! You’re part of the United National Insurance Team!
It was a joke. A cosmic one. And no one else seemed to be laughing. No one else seemed to notice. You were the only crack in the porcelain.
It tore at your heart. Because this world wasn’t real—but it was winning.
Then there was Kate.
Kate Stewart. Once the iron spine of UNIT, a commander who stood unflinching in the face of monsters, time distortions, and death itself. She’d held the line when the world tilted sideways. And now?
Now she worked in Data and Statistical Oversight?
At least she wasn’t a caged housewife, like how a lot of the women from this world ended up. That would’ve been easier, in some way. At least then it would’ve felt like parody. But no, the cruelty of this world was more precise than that. Most of the women from the old UNIT days had been reduced to faceless desk clerks, their names forgotten even by themselves. And Kate had simply adapted.
She still walked with that clipped, professional air. Still spoke with authority. But it was hollow. Empty. Like a shadow cast by a woman you used to know. Her hair was tied back in a severe knot that didn’t suit her, and she wore glasses now, thick-rimmed and practical. You remembered the way she used to complain about them, half-laughing, how she said they made her feel “like her father’s ghost.” She used to leave her hair loose when she could, just a bit of softness in the storm, she’d told you once. She Hated looking old.
And on top of that, she was wearing tweed. Of all things. A blazer the colour of damp earth, high-buttoned and scratchy-looking. It hung on her like a costume, like the world had dressed her up in someone else’s idea of who she ought to be.
But none of that was what broke you.
It was her eyes.
The way she looked at you. When she bothered to look at all. Not cold. Not angry. Just… indifferent. Like you were a stranger she vaguely recognized from payroll. Like all the years, all the nights spent whispering promises in the dark, the arguments, the mission briefings, the moment you asked her to marry you…all of it had been quietly erased.
Now, when she passed by your desk, she offered only a polite nod. Sometimes she asked you about a report…something meaningless, numbers on a spreadsheet neither of you cared about. That would be the extent of your day’s interaction. That… and the hollow ringing in your chest afterward.
It felt like grief, only sharper. A private apocalypse no one else could see.
You had fought beside her. Slept beside her. Loved her.
And now she was just your boss.
And once upon a time, not so long ago…she was meant to be your wife.
☪︎ ִ ࣪𖤐 𐦍 ☾𖤓
May was shaping up to be a long month, between one thing and another. Each day just seemed to bleed into the next, like ink in water. One meaningless report after another, god. It felt like time was punishing you over and over again.
But one such day, on a random Tuesday, you had decided that you had nothing to lose. If you could get Kate to remember you, even just a little, maybe even a single crack in the mask…then maybe, just maybe, the rest of UNIT would follow. Maybe the spell would break. You could do it, you could risk being found out for the good of this world.
Mostly for Kate.
You realized you’d sooner rip out your own tonsils with a rusty spoon than spend another night sleeping alone. The ache of her absence was unbearable. How, You longed for her touch with a desperation that bordered on madness.
It had all come to a head when you overheard the man who once went by Colonel Ibrahim speaking with “John Smith” about her, about Kate. They spoke as if she were some tired old spinster in need of being strapped down into marriage. John had even joked about taking her out for Chinese food, like she was some lonely charity case.
It made your blood boil.
Didn’t they know? She wasn’t some forgotten crone. She was brilliant. Strong. Beautiful. She was yours.
…Just not right now.
You hadn’t liked Ibrahim even before UNIT fell, back when he’d sneak glances at her during briefings, when he thought no one noticed. But now? Now that he was actually trying, openly circling her like she was fair game?
despised him.
The plan was simple…at least, it had to be. At exactly 12:00 p.m., Mr. Smith would arrive, right on schedule. That would be your moment. You’d ask Kate to speak with you in her office under the pretense of a work issue, nothing unusual, nothing to raise suspicion.
And then, once you had her alone, you’d bring out the blanket. The one she’d crocheted for your birthday. The last birthday you’d shared before all this. She’d see it, and she’d have to remember. She’d feel it in her hands, see the pattern she chose just for you, and it would all come flooding back! Who you were, who she was, who you were together.
And then… everything would be alright again.
Wouldn’t it?
So, at 11:55, you sat patiently at your desk. You had memorised everything perfectly, you knew that Kate would walk past you and stand at her usual spot, overlooking the whole–for lack of a better term–Unit of people.
So, at exactly 11:55, you sat patiently at your desk, every detail of the plan etched into your mind. You’d rehearsed it over and over—down to the second. You knew Kate would pass by, just as she always did, stopping at her usual spot to survey the whole –for lack of a better term– ‘unit’ unit of people.
Then John would walk in.
11:59 ticked by and no sign of him.
Come on Smith, don’t be late today, not today of all days.
“Cutting it fine.” You heard Kate’s elegant voice cut through your thoughts. “Another minute and you’d have been late.”
You breathed a sigh of relief as Mr Smith walked through the door.
“Yes, but I did stay late yesterday.” Mr Smith said, checking his watch.
“Time carries no favourites.” Kate retorted.
Time carries no favourites, now is the time.
You shot out of your seat before you could think twice, your body moving on instinct, as if your heart had taken control and left your brain behind. Every nerve buzzed beneath your skin as you strode across the office, your eyes locked on her.
Kate.
She turned the moment she sensed your approach, her expression unreadable.
“Ma’am,” you said, the word catching in your throat. “We have an issue.”
Her brow arched ever so slightly. “An issue? And what might that be, Miss (L/N)?”
Your pulse stuttered. She said your name.
She recognized you…didn’t she?
You forced a small smile, trying to keep your voice steady. “It’s nothing too serious. I just need to speak with you about it… in your office.”
For a moment, she simply studied you. There was something flickering behind her eyes: confusion? Suspicion? Recognition?
Then she gave a crisp nod. “Very well. Follow me.”
And just like that, she turned and walked away, leaving you to trail behind with your heart thundering in your chest and hope clawing its way up your throat like it could choke you.
☪︎ ִ ࣪𖤐 𐦍 ☾𖤓
You stepped into Kate’s office, the door clicking shut behind you with a soft finality that felt louder than it should have. The air in the room was heavier. It hummed with expectation, or maybe just your own panic.
Kate leaned casually against the edge of her desk, arms folded, one brow arched in silent challenge. Her expression was calm, almost bored, but her eyes watched you closely, like she was trying to work out whether this was a waste of her time.
Go on, then, her posture seemed to say.
Your throat tightened.
You took a breath. Shaky, shallow and fumbled with your bag, hands already trembling as you began to dig through it. The fabric caught on the zipper, on your fingers, on your nerves. You couldn’t afford to look at her. Not yet. Not until you had it in your hands.
The blanket.
“Do you remember this?”
“Miss (L/N) I don’t think this is-”
“You made this for me,” you said softly, holding the blanket out like an offering. Your voice shook with the weight of memory. “Six months ago, for my birthday. I remember because I told you there was no way you’d finish it in time. You just gave me that look– the one that meant watch me, and somehow, you did it. I still don’t know how. You barely slept that week.”
You took a step closer, heart pounding.
“I remember the exact moment you gave it to me. We were in our little townhouse, the one near the Thames, the one you insisted on because it had that ridiculous garden we never took care of. You handed it to me all wrapped in tissue paper and you looked so proud. Not because it was perfect, but because you knew what it meant. Because you made it. For me.”
Your voice cracked then, but you pushed through.
“We had a life, Kate. A real life. I used to fall asleep beside you with your arm around me and wake up to you mumbling about UNIT meetings before coffee. We fought over silly things like laundry and takeaway orders and whether or not I should keep my boots in the hallway.”
Your throat tightened, but you met her eyes. She still hadn’t said a word.
“Don’t you remember any of that? Don’t you remember us?”
A beat. Then, quieter:
“You were my wife, Kate. You said ‘I do.’ I put a ring on your finger. You held my hand when the sky cracked open and time bled out of it. And I held yours when your father’s name was dragged through the mud. We were partners in every way that mattered.”
Silence.
You searched her face. Desperate, breath hitching, hoping for some flicker of recognition, anything to prove she was still in there. For the briefest moment, her expression wavered. Something almost surfaced.
But then it was gone.
And your heart dropped.
You drew in a ragged breath, chest tightening. Maybe this was it. Maybe this was the part where she dismissed you entirely, called security, or worse, reported you for memory deviation. Maybe you’d get carted off for “reprogramming,” handed over to the Rani or whatever her stupid, smug name was, dragged into some white room and unmade like everyone else. You weren’t quite sure what happened to those who went to her but, one thing you did know for sure was that they never returned.
Still, you stood your ground, clutching the last piece of the world you remembered.
The last piece of her.
That was that then. You exhaled slowly, the moment gone, the weight of disappointment settling like lead in your chest. With trembling fingers, you bent to fold the blanket and began slipping it back into your bag, trying not to let the sting rise to your eyes.
And then, you felt her.
A sudden rush of movement, barely a whisper of breath before she was there.
Kate.
She moved so fast it startled you. One second she was across the room, composed and aloof, and the next she was in front of you, hands cradling your face like it was the most fragile, sacred thing she’d ever held. Her eyes searched yours, wild and wide and wet.
And then, she kissed you.
She kissed you.
Hard.
Her lips crashed into yours with all the force of memory, of something broken suddenly snapping back into place. Your back hit the wall with a solid thud, her hands tightening as if afraid you’d vanish between blinks.
The kiss was nothing like those cautious, careful ones you’d shared in conference rooms between missions or whispered goodnights on your pillow. This was desperate. Raw. Starved. She kissed you like a drowning woman breaking the surface. Her mouth moved over yours feverishly, tasting every corner like she was trying to remember it and never forget again.
And you kissed her back like your world depended on it…because maybe it did.
Her hands slid down to your waist, gripping firmly, anchoring you to her like you were the only thing keeping her steady. You could feel the shake in her fingers, how tightly she clung to you. As if letting go might send you both spiraling back into that other world where none of this existed.
You brought your hands up, fingers trembling, and traced the line of her collarbone, grazing the soft skin exposed just above her blouse. She gasped. Moaned, quietly and you felt the sound like lightning in your chest. Your lips left hers, just for a moment, and you tilted your head to press open-mouthed kisses to the side of her neck. Her skin was warm, flushed, and still carried that faint floral scent, one you’d always teased her for insisting wasn’t perfume.
But it was. It was her.
She made a soft, broken noise in the back of her throat and tilted her head to give you more access, her breath catching when your teeth grazed the pulse point just below her jaw.
Your hands moved to the buttons of her blouse, hesitant at first, but she didn’t stop you. Instead, she brought one hand beneath your chin and gently tilted your face back up to hers, guiding your lips back to hers with a kind of reverence. Like she needed this. Needed you.
And then she kissed you again and again and again, as if making up for every lost day, every stolen hour where she hadn’t known who you were. Her hands were everywhere now, moving over your arms, your back, your sides, her touch mapping you out like she was trying to learn you all over again.
And maybe she was.
Every sigh, every brush of fingers, every desperate press of mouth to skin was a memory reawakening. A fire being relit.
You could feel her heartbeat through her chest. Fast. Unsteady. Just like yours.
There were no words now. Just the sound of breath and rustling fabric and the soft, stunned moans you never thought you’d hear again. She kissed you like she wanted to burn the world down just to build it again around you.
And for the first time in what felt like forever, the walls of that fake world outside the door didn’t matter. Time didn’t matter.
Only this.
Only her.
Only you.
The creak of a floorboard cut through the haze, and the two of you sprang apart like teenagers caught behind the bike sheds. Breathless. Disheveled. Hearts pounding in sync.
You stared at her, lips parted, eyes wide. “Kate…” you began, your voice barely a whisper. “Do you– has it–?”
Kate held your gaze and gave a small, soft nod. “Yes,” she said simply. “Of course I remember you. How could I possibly forget?”
You swallowed hard. “But all this time… you ignored me. You looked right through me.”
Her expression shifted, eyes flickering with something fragile and pained. “I thought you had forgotten me,” she said, gently. “And I couldn’t bear the thought of reaching out only to find… nothing. I had to act like you were a stranger, because if I was wrong–if it was just me–it would have shattered me.”
Her hand reached up, cupping your face again with such tenderness it almost undid you. “But you remembered. You fought for us. And I’ll never stop being grateful for that.”
“Kate…” you breathed, leaning into her touch.
She gave a soft smile– small, a little sad, but sure. “Love,” she said, “has an annoying habit of surviving the impossible. Ours certainly does.”
You managed a quiet laugh, more tears than joy. “So… what now?”
Kate straightened slightly, her soldier’s posture returning, though her hand never left yours. “Now?” she said, voice firm and resolute. “Now we do what we’ve always done.”
Helloooo my darlings, this fic was requested by anon who asked the following:
"Can you write a Rani / reader fic that takes place during wish world and that the doubt police (or whatever they're called) take you to her as she requested?"
I've never written for the Rani before so please bear with me. This was quite the challenge but a good challenge. I quite enjoy writing fics for kind of evil characters (or shall I say, evil women) I'm also working on a Missy X Reader that is very nearly done so look out of that!
Word Count: 1.4k
Warnings: Arresting? Idk
Requests are open!
In the wish world, everyone was blissfully content… except you.
From the beginning, something gnawed at the edge of your mind. It was subtle, persistent. A flicker in your peripheral vision, a sense of dissonance behind the harmony. Doubt began as a whisper, a gentle itch just beneath your thoughts. It gnawed at you each time you passed another flawlessly arranged street, every time you lifted an identical cup, plate, or neatly labeled recycling bin. It was all too clean. Too ordered. Too intentional.
Real life never looks this perfect.
Perhaps that was what made you stand out… like a sore thumb in a world of seamless smiles. All those bright, too-big hellos from faces you could’ve sworn you’d seen in another life, seemed oh so plastic.
And you could tell.
You had no idea who had tattled on you. Perhaps it was the barista who noticed you didn’t say thank you loud enough. Or the neighbor whose lawn you kept forgetting to compliment. Someone had seen the doubt in your eyes and decided that was enough.
Or maybe you were just unpleasant to be around.
It happened on a crisp Sunday morning, the kind the Wish World specialized in, sunlight gently filtering through gauzy curtains, birds chirping in soft, manufactured harmony. You were just reaching for your morning cup when the front door exploded inward with a metallic crack. Splinters flew. The smell of ozone and sterilized plastic hit you before you even registered the black-gloved hands grabbing your arms.
The Doubt Police. Cold-eyed, as always, even as they slammed you to the ground.
You barely had time to shout before they’d locked restraints around your wrists. No explanation. No rights. Just the synthetic voice of one of them saying, “Noncompliant thought pattern confirmed. The Rani has requested your presence.”
And then the world you already didn’t trust was gone in a blur of sound and speed, and you were dragged into the belly of something far worse than you’d imagined.
·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·
You were marched down a corridor that seemed to stretch endlessly in both directions, its structure unsettling in a way you couldn’t quite place at first. The walls glistened slightly under the soft, sterile lights, smooth and pale, with subtle ridges and curves that gave the sickening impression of ribs, or vertebrae, just beneath the surface. It wasn’t made of bones… not exactly. But it looked close. Too close. As though the architecture itself had once been alive.
Your footsteps echoed dully, swallowed by the strange acoustics of the place. The Doubt Officers flanked you in silence, their faces impassive, their footsteps in perfect unison.
Halfway down the corridor, something shimmered ahead of you – a hazy distortion in the air, like heat rising off pavement, but vertical and pulsing faintly with light.
“Step through this, please,” one of the officers said, gesturing toward the ripple in space.
You eyed it warily. “What is it?” you asked, skepticism thick in your voice.
“You have already expressed enough doubt as it is. Step over, please,” the officer repeated, voice unchanging.
You hesitated, but only for a moment. Then you stepped forward, crossing the invisible threshold.
A strange warping sound filled your ears like a bend in reality itself, humming and stretching through your skull. The air turned thick and cold, just for a breath. Then, in the blink of an eye, you were on the other side.
The corridor had changed. Or maybe you had. One of the officers was already waiting there, ready and wordless, taking you firmly by the arm and guiding you through a new passage, this one darker and much quieter, toward the main control room. Toward her.
The Rani. Eerily beautiful, in the way a storm might be beautiful. Impossible to ignore, charged with danger. Her long black hair, glossy as ink, cascaded in smooth waves, though most of it had been swept up into her usual intricate updo – precise, elegant, almost sculptural. Not a strand out of place. It was the kind of hairstyle that spoke of control, of calculation. Like everything about her, it was deliberate.
It scared you. It scared you in a way you had never felt before. The woman standing in front of you had the power to do whatever she pleased, to you. This was her world. You had heard of stories of people being brought towards the Rani and never heard of again.
The Rani stepped forward from the panel of which she was standing, eyes trained on you. They felt like they were cutting through you. With each step, her perfect gaze held yours until she was right in front of you.
“You may leave us now.” She said to all that was in the room, all aside from the old woman who was a few paced behind her. “(Y/N).” She drawled. “Is that right?”
You nodded, eyes falling to the floor.
“Use your words, darling.” The Rani’s voice purred like silk over a blade. Her gloved fingers long, cool, and precise, grasped your chin, tilting it up until your eyes were forced to meet hers.
You swallowed hard. That close, her gaze was impossible to escape: dark, analytical, laced with something far more dangerous than curiosity. Interest.
“Yes,” you said shakily, the word barely holding shape as it left your mouth.
A slow smile touched her lips. Satisfied, but faintly disappointed, as if you were a promising experiment not quite performing to its full potential.
“Good.”
She turned on her heel with effortless grace, the sharp click of her boots echoing against the metal as she strode back toward the raised platform from which she’d descended.
“I expected you to be a bit more… how do you say… spirited? But I suppose that’s just me. Always the optimist.”
You bristled, the chill of her absence almost more unbearable than her touch. “Well, excuse me if I’m not exactly jumping for joy after being dragged from my home and brought to the woman who holds my fate in her very-manicured hands.”
She paused mid-step. Turned her head slightly. And then she laughed—a soft, breathy sound that was more dangerous than a scream.
Mischief flickered in her eyes, vanishing so quickly it left you wondering if you’d imagined it.
“Very well,” she murmured, stalking back toward you with slow, deliberate steps. “But you might find yourself jumping for joy soon enough… once I show you what I have planned for you, my sweet.”
She was suddenly close again—too close. Her breath danced against your skin as she leaned in, lips brushing the shell of your ear with maddening precision. You could feel the shape of her smile even before you saw it.
A chill slid down your spine. Your knees threatened to give.
“I don’t—” you began, but the words faltered into the air between you. You couldn’t focus. Her presence swallowed thought. Her scent. Something sharp and spiced, wrapped around you like smoke.
The Rani’s hand drifted lightly across your jaw, a featherlight caress that burned all the same. She leaned in, her lips just a breath from your neck.
You let out a shaky breath. It made her grin.
“Oh, darling,” she whispered, almost reverently. “I didn’t bring you here to punish you.”
She spoke the next words against your skin, her voice a decadent murmur.
“I’m here to recruit you.”
Your heart jumped violently. You pulled back half a step, blinking as if to clear a fog from your head. “Excuse me?” you managed. “Why would you want me?”
The Rani tilted her head, eyes gleaming with something between amusement and hunger.
“Oh, my dear.” She giggled, a soft, patronising sound that sent heat curling low in your stomach. “You have no idea how important you are.”
She reached for your hand, not to pull, but to trace, slowly, deliberately, down your wrist to the pulse point she clearly felt throbbing.
“I’ve been watching you for so long. The cracks in the illusion, the way you see things others don’t. It’s delicious.”
She leaned in again, and this time her nose grazed yours. Every inch of her radiated intent. Power. Promise.
“Together,” she breathed, “we could do so much more than survive this world. We could rule it. Mold it. Break it and rebuild it in our image.”
Her lips hovered barely an inch from yours now.
“Why don’t you join me,” she whispered, “and see just how unstoppable we could be?”
I'm cooked, I briefly caught sight of a magic card, announced to my roommate "Oh those are Missy's hands, its from the missy deck" And then we both immediately stopped and I was like "Oh I'm gay gay." You know you are down bad when you can identify her by her hands.
Regeneration. It's a lottery - 12th Doctor x Reader
Well Howdy Doody fella's I hope you all are slaying cuz I sure am. This Fic was requested by the amazing @ding-dong-big-schlong who asked the following:
"Yo yo you yo
So I loved that smut request you did for me, I was wondering if I could request another??👀 (it’s ovulation week) anyway it’s not even really FOR the smut, I just have kinda a funny scenario/situation in my head
Imagine reader having an “old man kink” (as in just generally is attracted to older blokes), and when 11 regenerates into 12, omg in just imagining him being kinda insecure and embarrassed at looking older and worried the reader will reject him for it, but it just ends up spurring them on more and he doesn’t expect THAT reaction lmaoooo
Like imagine him asking “how do I look” and the reader being all “you’d look better with your clothes on the floor” or smth and him getting sooooooo flustered 😂😂😂"
Now this is not the short Drabble I meant it to be (It never really is, is it?) It is in fact one of, if not the longest fic I have written to date. It also came out sliiiightly more angsty than I meant for it to be. But, that being said, there are still some funny moments. it's just like 6k words of The Doctor being in love with the reader.
This takes place during the events of 'Hold Your Breath.' But I'd say you don't need to familiarise yourself with the episode, but it *enhances* the experience imo.
This is also the first time I have ever written for 12 so I hope I got his voice and character right. A lot of the Fics I've read of him, have him all sad and mean, which fit his character better tbh. I thought I'd spice things up and just make him sad and soft ✌️
I'd recommend to all those who know me in real life, give this one a miss. I'd like to be able to look ya'll in the eye.
Oh! And I'm also writing my first big boy, multi fic! It's going to be a Kate Stewart x reader, now, I'm a little rusty on writing longer fan fictions, so like I'm potentially looking for some beta readers. So if you love everybody's favourite Milfy commander as much as I do, you should totally send me a message xoxo
One other thing, its been a hot minute since I've written any kind of smut, so perhaps that means I need a bit more practice wink wink nudge nudge.
Keep those requests coming, I love to hear you guys' ideas so much! :)
Wordcount: 6.4k
Warnings: Self esteem issues, a little bit of dropping the 'F' bomb and pure unbridled smut.
Requests are open!
Regeneration was a lottery.
Too right it was. One moment, you were looking at a twenty-something, quiffed up, dreamboat that looked like he just walked out of a straight out of a 2010s boyband. The next… well, no one quite knew how to explain the shift from that, to the man he could see before him.
Gone was the youthful charm, replaced by a man who looked three decades older, with a wild mop of silver curls, eyes like deep wells, and a stare that could see straight through you.
And god did he miss being a ‘dreamboat’. The Doctor wasn’t one for the meaningless, shallow notion of ‘flirting’-- at least not when it came to getting what he wanted. Manipulation through charm was always beneath him, for the most part. But in his eleventh form? He could do just that. It was just so effortless to him, that Incarnation had a face that could launch a thousand blushes, a sparkle in his eye and enough boyish charm to disarm the most skeptical of hearts. It didn’t matter the person; Human, Alien, Royalty or Rock Star, Hell, Even the great Marilyn Monroe had the hots for him at one point.
But none of that mattered to him…
What mattered was you. You'd met The Doctor during that very incarnation, after a particularly difficult, long day at the cafe where you worked. You were cleaning down counters, flushing out the coffee machine, counting down those last few seconds, and just when you thought that you had seen it all, you heard a rat-atat-tat on the glass. You had glanced up and there he was, The Doctor, hair wild and windswept, suit torn at the shoulder and slightly sweaty, streaked with dirt and grime. You arched an eyebrow at him, unimpressed. What could this disheveled and unreasonably good looking stranger possibly want at this time of the evening? You shook your head to silently tell him that you were, in fact, closed.
The Doctor never cared much for rules, and he knew you didn’t either.
Was it the deviously charming smile he gave you? Was it the promise of something much bigger than a cafe in a small seaside town? Or perhaps, it was the otherworldly wisdom he had that put you in mind of an old University professor?
You didn’t care, you took his hand and promised to follow wherever he led.
There was always something there. The Doctor knew that his childish demeanor mixed in with his sharp dress sense and, let's face it- the floppy hair, did something to his companions- ie Amy Pond. Yet, there was more there. It was more than mere attraction, there was genuine love.
That’s what you both assumed it was anyway.
It all started with a slight brush of the hand, a smile when one of you thought the other wasn’t looking, the sudden race of the heart when he would pull you close, it all added up to one thing: attraction, pure unadulterated, attraction. What then?
Yes, of course, what then?
There was only one thing that you could possibly do in that situation: Keep that shit to yourself. So that's exactly what both did, but keeping feelings bottled up are a hell of a lot easier said than done… especially when, on nearly every single blasted adventure, you somehow ended up crammed together in some ridiculously confined space.
By that point you wondered if the universe had an agenda…
But, like all good things, perhaps this should come to an end? Regeneration waits for no one and nothing. The Doctor Liked You. Really Liked you but that was always the risk of falling for a human. A human wouldn’t understand the complicated concept of regeneration.
What if you didn’t like the person he had become? What if you upped and decided that you didn’t want to go on adventures with him any more? People have left him for less, of course but with you it would feel much different.
You were different. According to the Doctor, perhaps a change of appearance would be the opposite of detrimental, perhaps it might even strengthen your relationship.
There was only one way to find out.
▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄
FLASH
In an instant, the Doctor’s face shifted. One life melting into another in a blinding swirl of energy that ended as soon as it started. You yelped and stumbled back, heart racing, barely able to process what you were seeing.
“Kidneys!” he shouted, grimacing and clutching his side. “I’ve got new kidneys!” He began to pace around you in disoriented circles, barely registering your presence.
“I don’t like the colour,” he muttered, frowning as the thought struck him again.
“The colour… of your kidneys?” you asked, voice small and shaky, blinking through tears that hadn’t fully dried, from moments ago, when you’d begged the Doctor not to change.
Emotional whiplash is what you might call that.
The TARDIS lurched, juddering and shaking. The TARDIS experienced Turbulence all the time, yes. But not like this. You clutched to the side as the two of you were hurled from side to side.
“Whats Happening?” You cried, breathing shallowly.
“We’re probably crashing.” The New Doctor responded, with a hint of panic that was covered up remarkably well. Oh, he was Scottish now.
Sexy.
No. Shut up.
“Into what?”
“Stay clam.” He spoke again, moving around the console flipping random switches. That was a sure sign that despite his bright expression and his sure words, he did, in fact, not know what he was doing. “Just one question.”
“Yeah?”
“Do you happen to know how to fly this thing?”
Oh. My. God.
▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄
The good news was, you hadn’t died, the bad news was, you did crash. Flying straight out of a dinosaur’s throat, while the TARDIS was covered in Tyranosaurus spit and you, mildly concussed by your head being smacked against the side of the console upon impact, things weren’t looking great.
The worst of it was, you didn’t recognise the man who stood before you.
Sure, to some capacity he was easy on the eyes, in a very… different way than he was less than twelve hours before, but this Doctor was brash, harsh and his brain was scrambled from the regeneration. It wasn’t something that you were accustomed to experiencing. He mentioned the notion of regeneration once, he said it was ‘Like dying a hundred times and being reborn as a stranger to yourself. Just when you begin to understand who you are, you become someone else.’
You had no idea what that was like.
And so, with a Dinosaur roaming around the streets of Victorian London and an out of control Doctor, you took refuge in Madame Vastra and her wonderful wife, Jenny’s, home. While in the dim coolness of it, you watched as Vastra carefully tried to, send him to sleep. She had muttered under her breath, something along the lines of “Here we go again.” To Jenny.
What could she have possibly meant by that? You thought. How many other ‘Dashing’ faces had he had before? And more importantly, how long would he have this one?
A long time, you hoped.
▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄
“It’s simply misunderstandable to me. I don’t know what it is!”
You and Jenny were pressed close to the door of the guest bedroom, barely breathing as you strained to hear muffled voices between the Doctor and Vastra from beyond. The hallway silent and still, save for the soft brush of your shoulders against the door as you squirmed at the sound of the Doctor’s voice raised. You were positioned in a way that made the both of you face each other. Neither of you said a word during the exchange – None were needed. You could see it in her eyes, just as it burned in yours: Two humans, mundane and simple, entangled in something from somewhere that wasn’t here. And yet, you loved them so.
It was a confusing string of thoughts and desires that got squashed by the logical part of your brain.
It made no sense. How could it? To the both of you, a storm of emotions churned beneath your skin – longing, fear, disbelief, the sharp ache of knowing what you felt should be impossible. Every rational thought tried to bury it, to force it down into the dark where it could be forgotten, dismissed as a foolish infatuation.
But it wasn’t, was it?
“And who invented this room?”
The door slammed open, and you and Jenny tumbled through the doorway, you, straight into the Doctor’s chest. You felt blush creep up your cheeks and hoped he didn’t see, but by the looks of things, he was more interested in the logistics of the room than whatever you were doing. Harsh.
“Doctor Please.” You grabbed his forearms softly and brought him closer to the bed, “You have to lie down.”
But the Doctor wasn’t having it, he pulled away from your touch. Something in your heart ached from the rejection, so you kept your hands to yourself. “It doesn’t make any sense.” he gestured wildly to the bed. “Look, it’s only got a bed in it.”
He’d gone insane, what next? The better question being: How were you going to take a Rogue Dinosaur back to where it belonged if the man that had for all intents and purposes brought it here, couldn’t wrap his head around the concept of a bedroom.
“That’s because it's a BedROOM.” you huffed. “It’s for sleeping in.”
“Okay.” The Doctor started flailing all over again. “What do you do when you’re awake?”
“You leave the room.” Jenny jumped in. At this point all three of you were slowly shepherding him towards the bed.
The Doctor’s gaze darted frantically between you all. “So you have a whole room for not being awake in?.”
Yes.
“But what's the point?” He pushed past you and ran to the other side of the room, with a little trot, still completely frantic. “And don’t look in that mirror, its absolutely furious.”
“Doctor Please!” Your voice cut through his rambling. “You have to sit down, you keep passing out!”
“Allow me.” Madame Vastra sauntered up to the Doctor, taking his hands in her own. He didn’t flinch away like he did with you. You tried now to let that upset you. He silently brought him to the bed.
What was she-?
Vastra placed her fingers to his temples, a moment of silence befell all of you, and then with a thwack he fell to the bed, perfectly unconscious.
“So what now?” You asked.
It seemed like Vastra had ignored you, she turned to her wife, calmly. “Jenny Dear, I will be in my chambers, would you be kind enough to fetch my veil?”
Jenny’s eyes knitted together in confusion. “Why? Are we expecting strangers?”
Vastra’s eyes slowly and bitterly came into contact with your own. She looked like she was staring straight into your soul. “It would seem.” She held your gaze perfectly. “There’s already one here.”
You exhaled when she strode out of the room, heels click clacking on the floor. “What Have I done wrong?” You asked, with mild panic.
Jenny curtsied politely, almost sympathetically. “Forgive her Ma’am.” She said, picking her next words carefully. “She has not met many of the Doctor’s companions, I fear she might have the wrong idea with you.”
The brunette stepped closer to you, taking your hands in her own. “She will learn that you mean no harm, and that your love and care for the Doctor stretches beyond the way he looks.”
A blush crept up your face as you gave the Doctor’s sleeping form one last look. “Yes.” was all you could manage to say.
“Good, well I’ll be off then. The wife doesn’t like to be kept waiting.” The brunette smiled at you before turning to step out of the room.
“But where did he get that face?” You asked absent mindedly. “Why does it have lines on it? It’s brand new.”
“It’s still him ma’am.”
“Yes.”
“You saw him change.”
“Yes- I Know, I know that. I just-”
“Good.” Jenny said with a smile. “And, I for one think that, you still feel the same way for him now, as you did yesterday.”
“Yes.”
Jenny didn’t say another word after that, she didn’t need to. She curtsied one more time before excusing herself to hers and her wife’s chambers. She would let you know when you were next needed.
If you were needed at all that was. The look that Vastra gave you was as if you were the gum underneath her perfectly sculpted heels.
As you sat on the bed, completely alone with the Doctor. He looked so peaceful now, chest rising and falling in an even pattern. You cocked your head slightly at the sight with a small smile playing on your lips. You hadn’t seen him like this before. He was always running around, eyes bright and full of sparkle. What kind of person would he be now?
Upon a further look, you noticed the lines, mapping across his face. Each one, longer and deeper than the last, yet they fit him. It was as if even though he looked so different, you could pick him out in a crowd of thousands.
Then there was that little wrinkle in the middle of his furrowed brow. You chuckled silently, he looked beautiful, in a strange way. A way that you couldn’t quite put your finger on, you querked an eyebrow at him and a warm pool formed in your lower abdomen. You swallowed as you tried to will it away.
Your hand moved, almost with a mind of its own and touched one of his unruly grey curls. Your breath hitched as you ran a hand through it.
It was still him.
And he was beautiful.
Your eyes flickered down to his lips and back to his hair, taking in the entirety of his face. “Doctor.” You Murmured his name for the first time in what felt like weeks. It felt so right on your tongue, he felt right. That was knowledge that you were completely comfortable in. Did he feel it too? You adjusted the covers over him ever so slightly and pressed your palm against his hand. A gesture that felt like it had been done a thousand times over.
“Ma’am?” You heard Jenny’s voice again, from the doorway. “She’s ready for you.”
▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄
“And then, what happened?” Madame Vastra asked. She sat across from you in a large, spoon-shaped bamboo armchair, its smooth curves catching the soft light. Jenny stood beside her, hands folded neatly in front of her, a quiet presence. The conservatory glowed with a warm, golden hue, sunlight filtering through the glass and casting gentle shadows. Elegant Greek statues and serene stone fountains were arranged tastefully among vibrant, exotic plants, filling the spacious room with a sense of civilised tranquility.
It only offended you slightly that Vastra wore her veil over her face. It was not merely an insult but a mark of suspicion.
I have to prove it to her. The thought whispered through your mind. I have to prove to her that I do truly care for him.
But you couldn’t stop yourself from asking.
“Why are you wearing your veil?” You Murmured Brokenly.
“And then?” She asked again through gritted teeth.
You sighed. No explanation then. “And then.” You mimicked her tone through gritted teeth. “We got swallowed by a giant dinosaur.” You slouched in your seat like a stroppy teenager. “You probably noticed.”
So much for proving to her.
Jenny asked another question, and then another. You didn’t quite fully understand what she was asking you, yet you answered anyway, like your mind was on auto pilot.
After the questions were over. Madame Vastra leaned forward so that she had your full attention. You couldn’t see her properly through her veil but her gaze was burning through you.
“Do you know what has just happened to the Doctor?” She asked, pointedly.
You Nodded.
“Tell me.” She knew. Of course she knew, she was just simply testing you.
“He told me about it once. He told me it was called ‘Regeneration’. He said it was like a renewal.” You said, keeping your face as neutral as you could.
“And yet, you have such a cynical smile.”
“What.” you instinctively leaned back sharply. “I’m not- how can you tell?”
“I am… accustomed to seeing through a veil.” She placed her hands neatly in her lap. “But you are not the one to be asking questions today.” She cleared her throat, making a small scene of it. It was to get your attention, and she had it. “What is your intention with the Doctor?”
Your eyes widened, almost to say excuse me? You didn’t quite know what to expect from a chat from Madame Vastra, but you definitely didn’t expect it to be reminiscent of a teenage boy sat in front of his new girlfriend’s father and him asking “What are your intentions with my daughter?”
Jenny must have noticed your reaction because she nudged Vastra with her elbow. Vastra gave her wife a “What did I do?” look momentarily, but then turned back to you, only slight apologetically. “Forgive me. I was insensitive there. I only mean to understand you.”
“I understand.” You rasped. “I don’t know.” Another moment of silence. “I like him.”
“Do you like him now?” Vastra turned her head sideways like a curious bird. “He is different to the person he once was.”
Another test.
“He’s not different.” You remained as calm as you could. “You said so yourself. He just looks different. He just doesn’t look young anymore.”
“You think the Doctor is young.” Vastra snapped, her tone changing almost instantly. You had really done it now.
“He looked like your dashing young gentleman friend, your lover even.”
“Vastra I’m-”
“He is the Doctor.” She hissed. “He has walked this universe for centuries, untold, he has seen stars fall to dust.”
You looked over at Jenny wide eyed, she gave you a look to be quiet.
“You might as well flirt with a mountain range.” She continued, teeth bared. Nostrils flaring. You had only met the woman once in your time with the Doctor but never had she shown this kind of outrage. “He flirted with you, yes. But you and I both know that you loved it. He looked young and pretty. Now, who do you think that was for?”
“I don’t-”
“Everyone. I wear a veil as he wore a face for the same reason. Do you know what the reason is?”
You shook your head. You did not want to open your mouth for fear of saying the wrong thing again.
“Acceptance.” She spat out. “Jenny and I are Married, but for acceptance, we maintain a pretence, in public, that she is my maid. Do you understand what that is like? The Doctor no longer has the face he had yesterday or the day before that, so now things will be much more difficult for him. And I will say this in the most polite way I can muster; he does not need for you to decide that now he isn’t what you want him to be and leave him.”
You frowned, the accusation tore into you. “Are you judging me?” It was your turn to snarl at her.
Vastra sighed, as she relaxed slightly – but not completely. “He regenerated in front of you. The young man disappeared, the veil lifted. He trusted you.” She turned to her wife, a language only they both understood. “I just hope that he’s right.”
▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄
After that exhilarating interrogation, you were dismissed back to the bedroom where the Doctor lay. Jenny had told you that there was a guest room in the west wing. She mentioned something about not having guests very often, so while you were seeing the doctor, she made up the bed. You'd have rathered spend the night with him.
Not in that way, but yes in that way.
You shook the thought out of your head, before you turned to the door of the room. You knocked softly. “Doctor?” You asked softly. “I’m coming in, okay?”
You stepped into the room and your eyes immediately fell to the bed. The doctor was gone. He had clearly awoken at some point while you were down stairs. But where could he have gone?
“You there.” A voice. Not harsh, not loud but scared.
You whipped around, straight into the eyes of your beloved Doctor. He stood upright, dressed, not in that night shirt he had on before you left, but in a long black army coat with a matching pair of trousers with a shirt buttoned all the way to the top. He looked much more lucid now, no sign of shouting or flailing or distaste for bedrooms.
It was your Doctor. He was back. You smiled brightly at him, taking a single step toward him. He didn’t move, but he also didn’t move away. That was all the permission you needed to take another step, then another until you were faced to face with him. Close. Close enough to feel the heat radiating from his skin.
Tentatively, you reached up and brushed your fingers along his cheek. At the contact, his breath hitched. His eyes fluttered shut, and he exhaled. Quiet, strained, like he’d been holding something in for far too long. The sound made your stomach twist, your pulse quicken.
“Do you remember who I am?” You whispered desperately, your voice radiating with need.
His eyes fluttered open, dark and unreadable, but then:
“Yes.” he breathed. His hand closed gently around yours, his fingers ghosting across your skin with a reverence that felt like worship. He said your name like it hurt to hold it in — soft, desperate, sacred.
You choked out a breathless moan, nearly a whimper, your gaze, flickering down to his lips then back up to his eyes. They were so familiar, aching, kind.
“What do you see?” he murmured again. “When you look at me?”
Your jaw tensed, voice rough with restraint. “What am I meant to see?”
“It’s still me.” His voice was low, velvet and raw. “I am the same person. I can’t change how I look, I wish I could, but it’s still me. If you don’t like me anymore I understand, but please.” He didn’t touch you, not yet. He stood there, trembling on the edge of control. “I need you to know that I Love you. I always have.”
The air between you crackled like a live wire.
You surged forward and kissed him.
The Doctor growled low. His hands found your waist, it was urgent, grounding. He pulled you against him like he could bear another second of distance, not after what felt like years of looking, longing, needing. Your fingers threaded through his soft, silken hair and you felt him groan into your mouth.
He spun you around, pressing you back against the wall. It was sudden and it was hungry. The impact of your back hitting the wood startled a gasp from your lips which was swallowed instantly by another kiss. It was burning and all consuming, your lips moving in perfect unison. You cradled the back of his head as you gave his bottom lip a toothless bite.
Soft, kind, gentle. You could spend hours on his lips alone. Feeling him, really feeling him. You could spend days in his arms, feeling his tight embrace. You could spend a lifetime with him. You could-
“(Y/N)!” He exclaimed, pushing himself away from you, instinctively touching his lips. A wave of panic flashed against his features. Your face dropped. Did he regret what you just did? Was he about to tell you that this was all a mistake? He breathed shallowly and went straight back to darting around the room like he did over an hour ago. “That- I’m sorry.”
“Sorry?” You didn’t step forward this time. You just stayed frozen in place. “What on earth do you have to be sorry for?”
“I-I-I, you, I shouldn’t have done that.” He stammered, words tripping over themselves. As his eyes shifted around the room, looking everywhere but you. “I was being hasty. That wasn’t the right thing to do.”
“Doctor. I kissed you.” You responded with a raised eyebrow.
“Oh.” He swallowed, you could practically see the cogs turning in his head. “What did you do that for?”
You facepalmed. “I thought you liked me. That’s why I did it.”
The Doctor relaxed, then slowly made his way back to you. He paused when he was close, a flicker of hesitation in his eyes, but then he wrapped his arms around your waist once more, pulling you into a soft embrace.
“I know that you can tell I’m different.” He looked down at you as he spoke, considering his words very carefully. “I have seen that face so many times before. It's ‘disappointment’ they feel, that I don’t look like the man they once fell in love with. I am not the man I was twelve hours ago, but I also am. I don’t expect you to understand and I also don’t expect you to still feel the same way you may or may not have before I was…me, now.” His gaze broke from you as he looked up, frustrated with himself. “God, you humans are so simple, with your silly little ‘concepts’”
You tried very hard not to be offended by that comment.
“Doctor.” You Blurted. There was a beat before he looked back at you. God, you could get lost in those eyes. “The thing is, I don’t remember telling you that I was disappointed. I don’t know who’s been in your life before me but all I can tell you is that I am not disappointed. I don’t care that your face has more lines on it and I don’t care that you look a little older. In fact, I think it makes you look sexier. I’ve wanted this since I met you.”
The Doctor was ready with an excuse. “But I-” He stopped, the comment you just made just settled in his brain. “You, think what?”
A mischievous grin crept across your face. “I think you heard me loud and clear.”
The Doctor let out a breathless, awkward laugh as she looked up anxiously, with a big bright smile spread across his cheeks. He looked adorable. The All-Amazing, All-Powerful Doctor, blushing and smiling at your silly little comment. It made you giggle slightly, giggles turned to laughing and soon the two of you were honking out belly laughs that overlapped each other, filling the room with complete joy.
“So.” He said, between laughs. He looked back down at you, a sparkle glinted in his eye. “What do you think of the new clothes?” He stepped back, giving a little turn so you could see the whole outfit.
“I think.” You began. You tapped your finger against your chin, pondering, eyes focused on him. “That they’ll look better on the floor.”
The Doctor stopped dead in his tracks. His mouth parted as if to speak, then closed again in silent confusion, the flustered look settling right back in. He stood, mouth agape for a few more moments, waiting for you to say something, anything else.
Your head tilted playfully, a wicked expression darkened your features.
When the Doctor had calmed his unruly blush, he cleared his throat, and brought his searing gaze back to you. “Well.” He said, gruffly. “In that case.”
Before you had a moment to react, his lips were on yours again, this time it was urgent and familiar. His arms wrapped around you so tightly, it felt like he might never let go. Your hands moved to his face, Tracing every line, every crease, every wrinkle, memorising the story etched into his skin. Your heart surged, caught somewhere between joy and desire.
“I’ve wanted you.” You breathed, the words tumbling out of you like a confession torn from the deepest crevice of your chest.. “I’ve wanted you since I met you- since the cafe. I knew, from the moment I looked at you.” Your voice trembled, heavy with the weight of the longing that had only grown harder to contain. It wasn’t just want; it was ‘need’. The space between you felt unbearably charged, his presence pressing into every corner of your awareness. “Doctor.” You whined, voice breaking, desperate as his breath ghosted your lips.
“I can’t-” The Doctor rasped. His continued scepticism of your affection broke you. Still, you let him speak. “The novelty will rub off.” He glanced back down at you. “You and I Both know that.”
That didn’t stop you – in fact, it only spurred you on. Lust clouded your expression as you locked eyes with him again.
“Let me show you then.” You husked. “Let me show you just how much you mean to me.”
You stepped forward with purpose, pushing him back until his shoulders met the wall with a dull thud. Your palm pressed firmly against the center of his chest, holding him in place, not that he was trying to get away. His breath hitched as he watched you through half-lidded eyes, caught between anticipation and surrender.
You leaned in slowly, brushing a soft, deliberate kiss against his lips, more a tease than affection. Then another, just beneath his jaw. And another, lower, on the sensitive skin of his throat. You let your mouth trail down, your lips mapping him in fleeting, open-mouthed kisses that grew bolder, wetter, more possessive.
A low moan escaped him as your teeth grazed his neck, a sharp nip followed by a soothing kiss. His hips bucked slightly toward you, but you kept him pinned. Your other hand drifted downward, confident and unhurried, tugging at his belt with a cheeky ease. The clink of the buckle echoed in the charged silence, followed by the soft rustle of fabric as you undid his trousers and eased them down.
Your hand slipped into his underwear without hesitation, wrapping around the hard length of him. You palmed him slowly, savoring the weight, the heat, the way he twitched under your touch. His head tilted back against the wall, lips parted, breath growing shallow and quick. Still, not a word, just the soft, ragged sound of his need.
Then, you pulled away from his neck, your lips leaving his flushed skin with a final lingering kiss. With deliberate slowness, you lowered yourself to your knees, your eyes never leaving his. You settled between his legs, now at eye level with the evidence of just how much he wanted you. Your hand gave a teasing stroke as you looked up at him, your mouth just inches away.
He stared down at you, chest heaving, completely silent, except for the breathy sound of his anticipation. He didn’t need to speak. His body said more than enough.
With a hungry smile, you hooked your fingers into the waistband of his trousers and pushed them down just far enough to free him. Your hand curled around his cock, stroking him slowly, teasing him to full hardness as you watched his reactions with keen interest. His jaw clenched, his breath hitched, and when you looked up at him through your lashes, he looked wrecked already.
You leaned in and pressed a languid lick along the length of him, your tongue tracing a slow path from base to tip. He let out a sharp breath as you reached the head and wrapped your lips around it, taking him into your mouth with deliberate, aching slowness.
The Doctor’s head fell back against the wall with a soft thud, his eyes fluttering shut. A moan escaped him, low, raw, and helpless.
You began to move, lips gliding down and back in a steady rhythm, your hand stroking what your mouth couldn’t reach. The slick, wet sound of your saliva coated each motion, making it messier, filthier, better. His hips rolled forward instinctively, chasing the warmth of your mouth, unable to help himself.
You took him deeper, your throat tightening as you gagged around him just enough to make a delicious sound, one that had the Doctor moaning softly, his hands tangling in your hair. He tugged, not to guide, but to ground himself, as though anchoring himself to the moment.
“Just like that,” he breathed, voice breaking with pleasure. “Your mouth feels so fucking good on me, sweetheart.”
His words sent a fresh wave of heat pooling between your thighs. You moaned around him, the vibration making him shudder. Your tongue flicked and swirled around him, lavishing every inch with attention as your pace quickened just enough to make him tremble.
He whispered something… mumbled, incoherent, but you didn’t need to understand. You could feel it, the way his thighs tensed, the way his grip tightened ever so slightly. And then, with a stuttering gasp, he came, hot and thick on your tongue.
You swallowed around him, not breaking eye contact as you pulled back slowly, licking your lips as you let him slip from your mouth. His chest was heaving, his eyes dark and stunned with pleasure, completely undone by you.
You wiped the last of him that escaped from the corner of your lips and rose slowly, you let his eyes follow you. You had never seen an expression quite like this before. A quiet before the storm.
And boy, did you have a great storm awaiting you.
“Do you believe me now?” You asked, hushed, like a kid awaiting praise from a school teacher. The Doctor didn’t say a word, his mouth lay agape, surprised, transfixed.
“I don’t care how many times I have to say it. I love you. I love you so much it kills me.” You pleaded, “I’ll show you. I’ll show you a thousand times if I have to. I don’t give a shit what you look like. It's still you.”
Tears began to prick your vision as you quickly wiped them away. “Jesus, say something please.”
“You like an older man do you?” The Doctor murmured, a dark joke playing on his lips along with a smug smirk.
“I think that was made perfectly clear.” You quipped. “You’ve aged like fine wine, Doctor.”
He laughed at that. A proper head back, coming deep within the stomach chortle. For the first time in a while, you saw his smile, twice in fact. A proper, kind smile. It was infectious, kind, iridescent. You wanted to make him smile always.
And so, The Doctor stepped out of his trousers that were already undone from a few minutes ago, as well as the coat, vulnerability cloaked only in the intensity of his gaze. He stepped forward without a word, his hands warm and steady as he lifted you into his arms. You clung to him instinctively, your breath catching as he laid you down onto the bed with a tenderness that nearly shattered you.
“Clothes on the floor.” he joked, “Well most of them anyway.”
That made you giggle.
“You’re sure?” He asked softly, after a moment of silence, his accent a low murmur that sent heat curling through your spine. His eyes, those stormy, ancient eyes, searched your face for any flicker of hesitation.
“I’m sure,” you whispered.
That was all he needed.
He kissed you gently at first, reverently, like you were something sacred. His mouth moved against yours with quiet urgency, his hand sliding up your thigh, slow and measured, as though memorising every inch of you. He pushed your skirt up, lips never leaving yours, and hooked his fingers around the edge of your panties, pulling them down with a purposeful tug.
His fingers found your folds, already slick, and he paused, just briefly, to look at you, the corner of his mouth twitching in something like awe. Then he slid one finger inside you, then a second, the stretch sending pleasure ricocheting through your body as he began to pump slowly.
“Doctor—” you moaned, hips rising to meet his hand. “That feels—ah!”
He huffed a breathless laugh, gaze darkening as he watched your reactions with rapt fascination. “I know it does. I can feel you,” he growled, voice thick with want. “You’re practically singing for me.”
You arched into his touch, voice trembling. “No, Doctor, I need you. I need you inside me. Please.”
He stilled, staring at you like you’d just told him that Darleks were robots.
“Say no more,” he whispered, but the way he said it, gravelled and reverent, made it sound like a promise, not a command.
He stripped the shirt from your body and undid your bra with deft fingers, then quickly shrugged off his own. His hands traced the curves of your torso, pausing reverently over your breasts, his nails grazing lightly over your skin. Each touch left you breathless, raw, alive.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, almost to himself, as though he couldn’t quite believe you were real. “All this time… and still, you take my breath away.”
All his usual sharpness, his walls were gone. He was unguarded here, with you. Only this remained: a man who had seen too much, lost too much… and somehow still loved.
He crawled between your legs with careful deliberation, and you wrapped them around his waist, pulling him close. When he finally pushed inside you, both of you gasped, your bodies meeting with a perfect, aching familiarity. You felt full, whole, and utterly claimed.
You mewled as he began to move, slow and grinding, drawing out every sensation like he never wanted it to end. The sound of your pleasure made his breath hitch, and he leaned forward to rest his forehead against yours, utterly still for a moment.
“I’ve got you,” he sighed, voice breaking with emotion. “Always. You hear me? I’ve always got you.”
Your bodies moved in tandem, as though made to fit this way. He didn’t look away once, not even when your breath stuttered and you broke apart around him, your orgasm cresting like a wave. He watched you, mesmerised, chasing you through it as if your pleasure was the only thing that mattered.
He moaned softly, lips brushing yours, as he followed you over the edge. And still, even in that final moment, his eyes never left yours.
Silence befell the both of you. A mixture of what was left unsaid for the past few months. Your chest, still fluttering. You wrapped your arms around him, bringing him closer. “What now?” You asked, a hint of worry churning in your gut.
“Now.” He said, a grin spreading from ear to ear. “We go and catch a dinosaur.”
Can you write a Rani / reader fic that takes place during wish world and that the doubt police (or whatever they're called) take you to her as she requested?
Hey! I can so totally, do that! Hehe can’t wait to get started ^^
