In Your Chains, Under Your Spell- Part I
Dhawan! Master X Reader
Summary: You've escaped been kidnapped, and you feel like shit. You also feel... something else. It doesn't help that the Doctor doesn't seem to care anymore. But the Master, who you've been sneaking away to secretly meet for quite some time, definitely does. Escaping to his TARDIS, you seek solace in a warm bath, and soon learn something about yourself that will change your relationship with the Timelord forever. Notes: To quote the Bride of Frankenstein... She's alive! I've finally escaped the trenches of a writing slump, and now I'm back with our favourite renegade Timelord (because lets be real, we've got quite some time where we need to keep ourselves entertained until we get anything new to sink our teeth into with Doctor Who!) This is the first part of what is shaping to be a three part series, one which will delve into some topics including consensual kidnapping, consensual mind manipulation/hypnosis/control, and a healthy dose of BDSM- because I watched a video essay on THAT book and got mad about it again. Smut will be littered throughout, though in this chapter there's mainly female masturbation. As ever, all fics are dedicated to my beloved @plethora-of-imagines
“You’re safe now, eh? No harm done.”
The Doctor was cheery as ever, fighting with the console scanner in her usual way, her back turned as you sat on the glowing steps to the upper walkway. The surge of adrenaline had left your system a pained and sluggish mess, yet your mind continued racing. Sure, no harm done that she’d have to do anything about. Bruises circled your wrists from handcuffs, the ache in your jaw from the force of the gag only just beginning to subside. The masked bandits that snatched you from the market had left no physical malady that couldn’t be healed with painkillers and time. But mentally, you felt… strange.
The day kept replaying in your head in sudden bursts, the echoes of their forceful touch spreading across your skin.
“Consider yourself lucky you got to stay away from the chaos. Sontarans can’t aim like they used to!”
The TARDIS let out a series of beeps, as if to tell the Timelady to stop talking. She muttered something under her breath, entering a series of numbers into a calculator wired into the surface of the machine. The two engaged in a battle of number punching and beeps, before the console seemed to relent, releasing a custard cream from the dispenser as a peace offering. All the while you fussed with your hands, picking at an invisible wound, unravelling a mental thread.
“I think I need a bath.” You finally announced, standing up from the stairs.
The Doctor turned to look at you, opening her mouth to speak, but you’d already disappeared into the depths of the corridors. On your way towards your quarters you bumped into Yaz, her own hair wet from the shower. You glanced down at her sweatshirt, a cartoonish souvenir from an adventure you’d missed for… reasons. She placed a caring hand on your shoulder.
“You alright?” She asked innocently. You just nodded.
“I need a bath.” You repeated. Yaz looked at you with sympathetic eyes.
“We were gonna start that film, the Doctor says she’s got this popcorn that changes flavour depending on what food you’re thinking of. I bet Ryan twenty quid she ends up thinking of something gross and ruins it for herself.” She gave your shoulder a squeeze. “Do you want us to wait?”
She was really trying, you thought. She was being far kinder than you deserved. You’d been much more distant from your traveling companions than usual as of late, missing more and more adventures with the Fam. Graham and Ryan had seemed resigned to your absences, and the Doctor barely seemed to notice.
“No, go ahead.” You replied, offering a small smile. “I need sleep tonight. I think I got hit pretty hard. Let me know what she thinks of in the morning, yeah?”
“Oh yeah. Good night then.” Yaz returned your smile before heading left towards the cinema wing. You swiftly made your way to your own room, locking the door behind you and pulling your phone from your pocket. Luckily your captors hadn’t taken it from you when they’d taken you, manhandling you towards their hideout. As you sat on the bed you unlocked the device, noticing the dirt caked beneath your nails as you sent a quick text.
“Got kidnapped today. Feeling rough and need a bath. Can I come over?”
You flopped backwards across the bed, letting the day sink in. The Doctor had been distracted and once again you’d paid the price. The Fam hadn’t said a word about how you’d failed to meet at the town square before the invasion had kicked into motion, and by that time you’d already endured several rounds of verbal beatings and been forced to watch your captors play three games of uno. You could still feel the phantom grip on your arms from their rough manhandling, the hot breath of their threats in the shell of your ear. You scrubbed your hands across your face, letting out a loud groan as you ruminated on yet another day feeling like you’d ran a marathon. This was becoming as much of a routine as your sneaking away. It was unsustainable.
Your phone pinged, pulling you from your spiral.
“Door’s open.”
Maybe today wouldn’t be so bad after all.
Shoving your phone back into your pocket, you opened the top drawer of your nightstand and reached for a small, unassuming compact mirror hidden beneath the carefully assembled pile of junk. The compact popped open with a click, a miniscule button hidden where the mirror should’ve been, your thumb pushing it down. It made a low beeping sound and a white light enveloped your body, shooting out from the centre of the compact and encasing you in its glow. The white light snatched you from where you stood, leaving nothing but the loose dirt from your shoes on the carpet in its wake.
The light spat you out and you landed back on your feet, your stomach lightly churning. The feeling never got any easier, no matter how many times you went through it. Especially now you felt like you’d been hit with a car. Your eyes adjusted to the dark room, its familiar hazy glow of red and purple similar to the Doctor's golden TARDIS.
“I hope you tipped your kidnappers well.” A voice behind you said. You felt your shoulders sink with relief and turned around.
“It’s not an easy career and the pay’s awful.”
The owner of the voice leant against the console, arms crossed against his chest as he looked you up and down, smirking at your visible dishevelment. A shimmering red cube pulsated on its axis, spiralling circles of long lost languages displayed as holograms behind his mess of brown hair. It was shorter and curlier than the last time you saw him. You liked it quite a bit.
“You really do look rough.”
“Hello to you too, Master” You replied, shuffling across the black floor and into a pair of waiting arms, the Timelords hands stroking circles down your back. After the day you’d had this was the best thing you could’ve asked for, the butterflies in your stomach still fluttering since the first time he’d held you. Except now they were contributing to your strange unease from earlier.
“Hi.” The Master said, and you felt a small kiss press against your hairline. You melted against his body, the Master embracing you against his chest, the familiar steady rhythm of four beating against his skin.
“I’m not interrupting your plans, am I? “ You asked, glancing upward. The Master shook his head, playing with the dirty ends of your hair and grimacing at the mud, trying to shake it from his fingers.
“Just a quiet night in. Plotting, scheming, generally being evil.”
“Does shaving go into plotting or scheming?” You grinned, bringing your fingertips to stroke down the edge of his newly clean shaven jaw.
“When did you do this?”
The Master involuntarily shivered at your touch.
“You like it?”
“Oh yes. It’s very evil. People will tremble for sure.”
The Master laughed, a warm sound that sent pleasure shooting down your spine.
“I missed you. You look really good.” You breathed, nose nuzzling into his neck.
“You don’t need to flatter me, I’ve already put the bubbles in.” The Master replied without bite. Your groan was one of satisfaction.
The Master looked down at you, a fondness in his eyes you couldn’t quite describe. You often thought the Master was like a cat. He’d stare at you for a while and slowly blink when he thought you weren't looking. You’d read somewhere that it was a cat's way of showing affection. You daren't ask him that directly, for fear of him never doing it again.
“Are you hurt?” He asked carefully, his voice softer than usual. His left arms grip on you tightened, his other hand raising to cup your cheek. His hold was tender, subtly turning your head from left to right. You suspected he was inspecting you for injuries.
“Just bruises,” you replied, pressing your cheek into his palm. “They grabbed me, dragged me into a van, then dragged me into a safehouse and tied me up. But apparently it could’ve been worse. I missed a Sontaran invasion.”
The Master rolled his eyes. “Their aim isn’t what it used to be.”
You couldn’t help but bark out a laugh.
“That’s what she said.” You replied, your lips making an involuntary grimace. The Master nodded.
“And did… she… say anything else?” He asked, his tone measured. He already knew the answer, and you already knew the question that was really being asked. It wasn’t the first time your adventures with the Doctor had resulted in you being put in peril. Yet every time, she failed to ask you about it. Sure, she commented, asked if you were ‘ok’. But she never pressed for details. You suspected she didn’t want to face them.
You shuffled uncomfortably, resting your palms on his chest to steady yourself. You enjoyed feeling the Masters hearts beat, resting your head against his chest and trying to get them to race by saying whatever you thought would get him going. Your visits were becoming more and more frequent, and it was beginning to show. You were slowly putting him together every time you escaped into the night and into his arms.
“What do you think? They’re doing a movie night, apparently they’ve got popcorn that changes flavour if you think of a food.”
“Wow, a PG movie and magic popcorn.” The Master whistled sarcastically.
“You’re missing out on all that excitement to sneak away and see little old me? I’m honoured.”
“I’m so tired I'd probably only be able to think of popcorn flavoured popcorn. You’re doing me a favor.” You grinned, drawing circles on his chest. “Can I stay? I already told them I was heading to bed.”
The Master sighed dramatically, his voice raising in pitch as he put on a lilting American accent.
“But alas, instead of going to her room and saying her prayers like a good girl, she climbed through the window to stay out past curfew with that no good bad boy of hers. I heard she’s missin’ family game night to play hookey with a felon.” He teased, earning him a playful smack to the chest.
“Ew, gross.” You groaned.
“They say she was never the same after discovering cigarettes, rock and roll music and those gosh darned creature features on the tv. I heard she says swear words now!”
“Master, stop it!” You giggled.
“I heard he stole her out of her bed and took her virtue, and now she wears leather jackets and gets tied up on the weekends for kicks!”
You both dissolved into a mess of laughter, the Master pulling you tightly to his side.
“One day, love, you won’t be the fifth member of a four piece." the Master declared as you rolled your eyes, recovering from your giggles. “I’ll take you from that miserable box and those useless friends and you’ll be all mine.”
“Promise?” You asked, only half teasing. The Master was being as serious as a double heart attack, which for him was as serious as it could get.
“If I have to wrap you in chains and kidnap you myself. I’ll make you mine.”
There it was again, the strange feeling. Only this time it didn’t feel as wrong. You swallowed the strange feeling, placing a gentle kiss to the edge of the Master's lips.
“I’m gonna check on that bath.”
Reluctantly, you pulled yourself out of his embrace, finding you’d become very comfortable in his arms. The Timelord tilted his head, as if he was trying to pull whatever you were thinking out of your mind and into his own. You once more disappeared into the labyrinth of the TARDIS corridors, the walls shifting and moving to guide you towards the sweet relief of a warm bath.
The Master had done as he’d said and more. The huge tub was piled high with bubbles and swirling steam, a mug of tea sat steeping on the small table beside it, and a plush black robe was laid out for you to change into once you were done. Your usual products were displayed in a line, in use order, and a hamper waited for your dirty clothes. You laughed to yourself, a warmth blooming in your chest- it was easy to forget he spent his free time terrorising the masses when he did things like this for you.
Sinking into the heat of the gargantuan bath was the best feeling of all, your bones screaming in distress once you finally took stock of your body. A light spattering of bruises littered your skin, hidden behind the grime, covering the ache. The day had taken more of a toll than you’d initially thought. Perhaps the adrenaline had clouded your senses.
Laying in the lagoonlike tub, you allowed yourself to think about that strange feeling once again.
It all came down to the moment you were snatched, the sensation of helplessness you’d felt in those seconds that stretched into an eternity. It was the way they’d held you, controlled you, one had even clutched his hand over your mouth to stop you screaming. You still screamed, but it was the feeling of suppression. And then those handcuffs, the forceful way they’d held your arms behind your back and pulled you to that chair, cuffing you in place before silencing you with a gag.
Unknowingly, you’d began to clench your thighs together, your hands creeping down towards your clit as you thought harder and harder about every detail, every dark desire painting a vivid picture. You were held, helpless, totally controlled. If the kidnappers hadn’t been stupid, and the Doctor hadn’t been there to stop the invasion, who knows how long they’d’ve kept you there. They could’ve done anything to you. Tied you up even further, just like The Master had said he would.
The thought of the Master made your clit throb, your fingers soon reaching to satisfy your ache as you remembered his words. Maybe he really would, you considered, the heat building in your core. All you’d have to do was ask, and he would. If he was a man of his word, which was to be debated yet in your case leaned towards yes, he’d snatch you away and chain you down, then you’d definitely be helpless. You’d be all his to do with as he liked. Shit, maybe he’d even hypnotise you. The thought made you moan like an animal, the water sloshing around you as you touched yourself. You shamelessly imagined his hands, those strong hands all over your body, groping and touching and caressing and dragging and gripping and holding… everywhere.
Maybe he’d sink his fingers into your free will, the same way you imagined it was his fingers sinking into you right now, and he’d make you nothing but a puppet on his string. Oh he would, he definitely would. The thought elicited a sinful moan, the water sloshing around you as you pumped into yourself faster and faster. He’d say those magical words and pull you into his control, and he’d steal you for his own. Owning your mind, keeping you prisoner, unable to be anything but his. He could even throw you over his shoulder and carry you away as you pretended to protest, or he’d knock you out with some sort of gas and cradle you like a bride, framing himself as your twisted saviour. Would he even use chains? Or would he SAY he would, and in the end tie you down with the softest, strongest silk invented?
You were reaching your breaking point, the heat in your core and the sweat on your brow becoming unbearable. Your mind continued to ponder, your heart racing at the thought of him following up on his promise. His words echoed, a mantra of pleasure as you reached your climax. Mine, he’d said. Mine. I’ll make you mine. You felt yourself fall into the abyss of release, crying his name as you came completely and utterly undone into the water.
You faced the reality of what you’d just done, your chest rising and falling as you removed your fingers and allowed the bath to wash away the result of your fantasising. You lay silently for a solid minute in the bubbles, wallowing in the waves, before reaching to dry your hands on a nearby towel and open your phone, typing a simple question into the search engine:
“What do I do after realising I liked being kidnapped and want my partner to do it again?”
