what’s love but a second-hand emotion (i) [roberts!master x reader]
nonny asked: “I’d like to request a Dhawan!Master x reader fic (preferably they/them pronouns for the reader) that’s set in the timeline where their relationship has become tenuous, maybe set after the Roberts!Master fic. Maybe the reader has been gone for a couple weeks and the Master doesn’t look for them and acts like he doesn’t care but then gets a message from River that the reader has been injured by one of his enemies and is in critical condition? Angst with a happy ending? I want to see what you think his reaction to his partner nearly dying after he’s treated them coldly and cruelly. I adore your writing btw! Your fics are so well written and I love the angst in your Master x reader fics!!”
dearest gentle nonny, as you wish….
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what’s love but a second-hand emotion (i)
pg
roberts!master x reader, river song
summary: “You’re a fucking lightweight, kid.”
disclaimer: not my characters, this has been a disclaimer
an: chapter title from ‘what’s love got to do with it’ by tina turner
an2: is this a saw trap or is this just the master’s wacky world famous rehabilitation center? you decide! roberts & dhawan will be included with this piece so enjoy
an3: may you all know my biggest fear is the OOC phenomenon, so do let me know if it occurs
WARNING: evil master-type violence and treachery, you've been warned
River drags you forth towards the Doctor’s TARDIS with the help of her inhuman strength, gun smoking at her side. The ship is not too far now, yet the raw-skinned creatures hunted you with relentless compulsion, mounted upon stallion-esque creatures that shared similar muscle designs and make. Both the stallion and rider were protected by their helmets, bone armor impossible to penetrate with River’s blaster unless at close range.
The Doctor’s wife pulls you into an obscure cavern up the way, pushing your injured body upright against the cove as she reloads her weapon.
“I told you not to fondle the trophies!” River scolds furiously, “It was a simple command; you’re out of line and have been! Now you’re left floundering like an idiot for it; I hope you're proud!”
“Oh, spare me,” you pant uselessly, pressing your palm against your mutilated abdomen, an anguished gasp falling from your lips.
“You owe me; carting you around like this has been more trouble than it’s worth!” River says, blaster clicking into place, squaring her shoulders for what is to come.
“We’d have to live through this first,” you point out, faintly. “And there’s no need to act so superior; your husband is far more meddlesome than I could ever be.”
River scoffs, “Oh, I beg to differ. This excursion of yours comes to a close now, do you hear me? I refuse to take part in this another second.”
“Riv – ”
But River is there, and then she’s gone, and you’re propped up against a wall all by your lonesome, hearing her blaster near and then far, then the joining of your aggressors.
Your legs quake beneath you, breath coming shorter as you try to will your strength to hold you up. There’s no actual excuse for your carelessness; little reasoning is involved. More a provoking obsession. It’s happened, and it’s done, and you’re not playing by the rules any longer.
Blood spittles from your lips, and you grin, tight but somewhat exhilarated too. The vial of immortality the Master had concocted can surely mend this blemish with minimal damage afforded, the dose he had gifted to you so long ago. He was all but a different beast, then, one who had offered to love you and love you and love you.
You’ve wondered, not the validity of his love, you know he means and keeps it despite, but if he chooses this still. If this fight within him is regret, simple and unfolding. A promise made that he cannot shape or contain; an artifact too slippery in his fluctuating hands. Perhaps level ground would be found in demanding, foot on the pulse, no grasping.
To hold is to squeeze, and to squeeze is to suffocate, immutably. You’ve never once asked the Master to regulate your bond; the expectations were never clear for a reason. You were never meant to suffer for it, either of you. And he may not know – no. No, he does not know, clearly. He knows only to suffer.
You cough unexpectedly; must be blood in your lungs then, your body’s ragged, rattling attempt to clear the airway. You slip and slide down the sturdy wall, propping your back, legs folding beneath you, sure to cramp with the unnatural angle.
You want to cry out, to vie for River’s attention, to let her know. The state you find yourself dissolving into feels quite upsetting, gone too far now. You wonder if the Master tastes consequence and laughs, if he tap dances towards death with a smile.
but you can’t die
Not now. You’re not dead. You exist somewhere in the future; you must. He’s sure of it. He’s brought you back from the brink once, pathetic human you were, stepping in front of a bullet for him, and all you got was a kiss.
but you’re dying
You shudder violently, cold, bloody, and numb.
‘i don’t fancy you.’
‘careful, tuts. you’re really not gonna like me when i decide i don’t like you’
‘you are so full of yourself; just go and help her! i may not have reached out for you specifically, but here you are, every repugnant and renegade bone in you! so, you’d best put yourself to use, or i swear to god – ”
‘lady, i think i’ve just about had enough of you.’
Eyes downcast, you first register sleeves, rolled up over formidable arms. They look firm, steady as they move, with halo-white fuzz covering golden skin.
“You’re a fucking lightweight, kid.”
Your eyes travel upward, searching for the face to the voice, roaming over a fitted buttoned-down with robust, flattering shoulders. White, a white shirt, and the face to meet your open ogling….
He stalls you stone dead.
“Hear me now?” the Master says. His white hair is blinding beneath the blaring light, his eyes razor-sharp, his mouth set with moderate distaste.
You blink dumbly, croaking, “Master?”
“That’s the name,” the Master says, “you wear it out. I am not... fond of that.”
His chilled blue eyes punctuate his meaning more than his words, seething whilst wrapped in the calmest demeanors.
You try again. “I’m – ”
“You don’t talk,” the Master commands, thumb and forefinger grasping your chin harshly, shaking you minutely with the force of his hold. “You don’t get to. You say another word; I’ll sew it shut just like the rest of you.”
Without another warning, you feel immense, excruciating pressure pushed into your abdomen. You cry out wildly, the pain searing like a rabid pulse, limbs curling and hands spreading out, grasping, grasping. You find his fingers, dug deep into your stitches, and you pry him away. The Master relents, his mouth curling. Momentarily, he searches around you, finding a bloodied towel and bringing it up to wipe his bloodied hands. He throws the garment haphazardly, and it lands, smack, on your bare shoulder.
It’s meant to demean you, and you can only gasp for the surrounding air, no strength afforded to aid you in much else.
The Master does not move, observing you in thoughtful, measured silence, reveling in your outright pain.
“Don’t worry, the stitches will hold,” the Master says once your breathing returns to a normal pace. “I want you to feel it. Maybe, in a few days, you’ll deserve the easy route. Depends on how well you follow orders.”
You open your mouth, resolved to demand answers, only one glacial expression fixed upon his pristine features halts further intent.
The Master’s face barely changes, but his eyes gleam throughout, flickers of antipathy, attention fixed upon your face, voractious by how quickly you learn restraint.
okay…. extension to the previous ask abt virgin!reader because i cant stop thinking about it…
reader doesn’t realize the master and missy are coming onto them at first because. oblivious!! and when they’re finishing they accidentally slip in a love confession amidst sobs and the master and missy have no idea how to react at first. ough
The Master and Missy would tease them about their obliviousness, really sort of tease and insult, like "oh, I knew humans were stupid, but come on pet don't be that stupid please it's embarrassing, for you or course, not me...though it is mildly cute sometimes." sort of thing.
The first time?!? Reader is down bad, crying and choking out, mumbled affection and the one phrase neither of them know how to handle. I feel it would end badly, the insult would not be playful anymore. Reader would absolutely not get aftercare the first time if they said they loved them, because they would sort of just "you don't love me idiot, get out." Or like "it's just your stupid instincts, don't say that."
Poor reader would not have a good time, but after they would know exactly how to keep Reader under their thumb, until the feelings turned as real as they could for them.
But like imagine after weeks of awkwardness and shit, them getting clingy out of no where.
Of course! I still like to write for the Master, I just don't do it as often anymore!
I'm almost done taking my big scary exams so then I will have more time to write. But I'm always gonna preface things with: I take FOREVER sometimes to write my asks/requests. Like I've randomly posted asks that are almost a year old before. So it may not be fast 😅
Hello, could you write something with prompts 7 and 10 from the prompt list with Dhawan!master x fem reader please?
Don't Shut Me Down
Dhawan!Master x Fem!Reader
A/n: hi! there you go, a little drabble with prompts 7 & 10! happy easter to those who celebrate. <3 consider this my easter gift for all of you lol.
Pairing: Dhawan!Master x fem!Reader
Summary: you wake up in the middle of the night, only to notice the master's not next to you. you investigate.
Word count: 0.9k
Content warning(s)/notes: none. just a lot of fluff! <3
You pressed the palms of your hand against your eyes and let out a grunt. You didn't even have to open your eyes to realise that the radiating source of warmth next to you had vanished. You turned your body to the bedside table and glanced at the clock. 3:49 am.
The Master and you had been sharing his (now yours too, you supposed) bedroom for a few months. Somewhere between the aftermaths of adventures and off-days, you'd accidentally established a habit of spending a lot of time in his bedroom.
It had started off with seeking comfort after nightmares. Then you found yourself wanting to catch a glimpse of the things that made him who he was, as he was as closed as an iron gate on the topic of his home planet. Lastly, it had evolved into yearning for his presence.
When the nature of your relationship evolved into something more serious, The Master was the one who suggested you move your stuff from your TARDIS-assigned bedroom to his. He'd made it sound like a casual comment, rather than something big, as if it felt natural to both of you.
Most nights, the Time Lord crawled into bed too, even though his physiology, quite literally, didn't need sleep. The fact that he'd gone out of bed was therefore a bit alarming to you. Either he was working on an extremely well-detailed scheme he didn't want to involve you in, or he was sulking. You'd hoped it wasn't the latter.
With a lot of difficulty, groaning and yawning, you managed to get out of bed. You opened the door, no sign of The Master in near rooms either. Immediately you felt the ship guiding you to wherever your partner was.
You walked into the observatory. The first thing you noticed was the chilly air inside, maybe you should’ve put on a dressing down. From the see-through roof, you had a breathtaking view of space (he must've parked the ship somewhere else again when you were sleeping soundly).
Those small shining stars, now bright, were scattered everywhere. And there he was, The Master, sat at a bench, but it wasn't the big, smug and fearless version of him. Instead, he looks almost… lost, defeated.
You didn't dare overstep his boundaries. Your arms leaned on the door. The Master seemed to be stargazing, though he had that absent look like he was disconnected from reality. He had a book on his lap, probably his way of getting through this night.
“Long enough to have gone through half of Gallifrey's so-called ancient history.” He slammed the thick book shut. His face turned, his eyes travelling to yours.
“No snooping in my mind, remember?” You pouted and crossed your arms, “I thought we'd agreed on that.”
He scoffed, though there was that faint evidence of a smile on his face. “Your mind is loud, my dear. Not my fault it practically screams to me in a room full of quiet.”
You'd try to store that useful piece of information in your mind for next time. Your arms loosened and dropped down next to your hips. You took a few steps until you were just behind the bench. Without warning, you settled down on the bench next to him.
The Master was a hard egg to crack; it was the first thing you'd learned when you started accompanying his adventures. Talking to him, coaxing things out of him, was something he loathed. Instead, you did the opposite. For a while, in the middle of the night, you sat there with him. There was no talking, no asking questions, nothing. The Master's eyebrows furrowed, though he didn't comment on your strategy here, he understood. This was a sole reminder to him that you were there, and you wouldn't disappear on him if you were able to help it.
After some time, your sleepiness got the best of you. Your head started leaning on his shoulder. The Master tensed, but softened as he realised what was going on. He wrapped an arm over your waist. “Tired?” He murmured.
You snorted slightly, “You make a very comfortable pillow, you know.”
“Ah, wonderful. That's exactly as far as my romantic partner abilities go,” The Master scoffed.
You'd accepted that he probably won't talk to you about what's bothering him tonight. Maybe he will at another time. There's a comfort in knowing that at least you can reduce the clogging wheels in his mind. “Come back to bed.”
He gave you a knowing look, which told you everything. He was not coming back to bed voluntarily.
You tried again, “… Please?”
That seemed to do it. His lips twitched obviously. “Fine. Only because you asked so nicely.”
His arm on your waist travelled to the back of your knees, and the other arm to your back. You didn't notice your eyes were closing slowly as he lifted you up. By the time he'd settled returned to the bedroom, settled on the bed, you dozed off.
The only evidence that this moment had happened was in the morning when you woke up. He had stroked your hair carefully, kissed the top of your head and murmured a faint thank you.
