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•nova (she/her) • Currently writing for the 13th Doctor, Missy, and Dwahan!master. Masterlist

[whosscruffylooking]

A Study in Enmity Chapter V

James Moriarty x Fem!Reader Taglist Form | Previous | Next | word count: 3.2k warnings: loss of a parent, grief, complicated parental relationships, implied child neglect, resentment, unhealthy coping mechanisms a/n: i love our deeply unwell and emotionally stunted babies, who only know how to cope through their overwhelming lust for one another.

You stand at the door in your nightgown, the letter in your hands, reading the same line over and over.

Your father, Bucephalus Hodge, was killed this afternoon. My condolences. — Edie.

That is all.

No elaboration. No comfort. Just the fact of it, delivered in her clean, unhurried hand, as though it were a matter of administrative tidiness. As though she had simply seen to something that needed seeing to, and now it was done.

You are not certain how long you have been standing here.

The night air moves against your bare arms. The field beyond the open door stretches dark and still, and you look out into it the way you might look into water — not seeing it, only aware of its depth.

"What is it?"

Sherlock appears at your shoulder, voice tinged with the careful quiet of someone who already suspects the answer is not a small one.

You do not turn. You do not speak. You only loosen your fingers, and he understands, taking the letter from your hand with a gentleness that would have undone you if you had been paying attention.

You are not paying attention.

Somewhere behind you, footsteps descend the stairs — not in any rush at first, then quickening as they read the room. James. You know his tread by now without needing to look, know the particular rhythm of it the way you know things you have never meant to learn.

Your ears are ringing.

Your vision has blurred at the edges, the doorframe and the dark field beyond it bleeding together into something that does not quite resolve.

"What on earth—" James's voice arrives mid-sentence, still roughened by sleep, and then stops.

The rustle of paper as Sherlock passes him the letter.

Silence.

Then the kind of silence that has weight to it. The kind that presses.

You go on looking at the field.

Edie.

Of all the people who might have written. Of all the hands this news might have arrived in. It had to be hers — composed and correct and faintly, impossibly, kind, as though she had every right to be the one to tell you. As though she had simply been there, at the end, in the place that was never yours, and had done what needed doing because someone had to and it had always fallen to her.

She had his ear in life.

She kept his counsel.

She sat at his shoulder while you sat across a dining hall and learned, slowly and without ever intending to, to stop waiting for him to look your way.

And now, it seems, she was there at the last of him too.

Something shifts in your chest. Not grief, exactly. Not yet. Something deeper and less clean than grief — the ache of mourning a man you never fully had. Of losing something that was already, in every way that counted, lost.

You had always told yourself there would be time.

Not for forgiveness. Not for anything so neat as that. Only time — the vague, unexamined possibility of it, sitting somewhere ahead of you like a door left ajar, one you had always meant to approach and never quite did. One you had grown so accustomed to deferring that you had stopped noticing it was there at all.

It is not there anymore.

And the cruelest part — the part already pressing against the inside of your ribs with a persistence you cannot ignore much longer — is that she knew.

Edie knew where he was. How he was. What his last hours looked like.

You did not.

You had not even known to ask.

She had been given every piece of him you were never offered, and now she has given you this — the last piece, the final accounting — in four words and a signature, and you cannot even be angry at the manner of it because she is not wrong to have been the one to send it. That is what makes it impossible to bear. She was simply there, in all the ways you were not, and there is no one to blame for it — least of all her — and that absence is its own particular kind of torment.

Behind you, James says your name.

Not a question. Not a prompt. Just your name, placed quietly into the dark, as though to remind you that you are still here. Still standing. Still in possession of it.

You do not turn around.

If you turn around, you will have to be somewhere. You will have to be in a room, in a body, in a moment that is actually happening. As long as you go on looking at the field you can remain just slightly outside of it…a step removed from the full weight of what is in that letter, from the fact that the door is gone and you never opened it, and you never will.

You hear Sherlock's quiet footsteps retreat. The hushed click of a door further down the hall. And then there is only the night air and the distant dark and the sound of James moving closer, until you feel the warmth of him at your back.

His hand finds your shoulder first. A palm. A steady, wordless press of it, the kind that asks for nothing and offers what it can.

Then he exhales — as though he is breathing on your behalf — and his arms come around you properly, both of them, folding you in with a care so entirely unlike everything sharp in him that it nearly breaks you where you stand. His mouth finds your shoulder, and he tucks his head against your neck. It is not graceful, not performed, nothing like the James Moriarty who deploys charm the way other men deploy weaponry. This is something else entirely. Something that has no use for cleverness.

He simply holds you.

And something in you, some taut and exhausted part of you that has been braced since the moment you read that letter, since long before that, since the first time you learned that fathers did not always look the way they were meant to, releases.

You close your eyes.

You take the first full breath you have managed since Edie's handwriting swam into focus, and it shudders a little on the way in, and you let it. You can feel the slow, steady rhythm of his breathing against your back. In and out. Patient. Present. The most uncomplicated thing in the world.

Then, so quietly you might almost have imagined it:

"I'm sorry."

The words arrive muffled against your shoulder, pressed there rather than spoken, as though he could not quite bring himself to release them into open air.

You say nothing.

He does not rush you.

"I'm so dreadfully sorry."

This time it is not the death he is apologising for. You both know that. It is the rest of it — the dining hall, the years of careful distance, the letter, the clean unhurried handwriting of a woman who was permitted to be present in all the ways you were not. He is sorry for the shape your life with your father took. For the door that has closed on any possibility of a different ending. For every version of that ending you will never now be able to choose.

That is what he is sorry for.

Your throat tightens.

"Tell me what you need."

No wit, no angle, no careful management of how the words land. Just the question, pressed against your shoulder with the same quiet firmness as the rest of him, and the unmistakable willingness to mean it entirely.

"Whatever it is," he adds, softer still. "I will do it."

You open your mouth. Close it again.

What do you need.

You need the door to still exist. You need the years back, or at least some portion of them — enough to have stood in that hallway at Oxford and chosen differently. Said something different. Been braver, or angrier, or simply more present than you ever allowed yourself to be. You need it not to be Edie's handwriting on that letter. You need to stop hearing her voice in your head, that maddeningly composed voice delivering the news as though it were a footnote, as though your father's death were a task she had simply had the efficiency to complete.

You need to stop thinking.

"Make me stop thinking," you beg.

His lips press again to your shoulder, then travel slowly to the curve of your neck. You tilt your head to one side without quite deciding to, and he takes the invitation — his mouth finding the top of your spine, the soft place behind your ear, warm and entirely without expectation. Your fingers find his where they rest at your waist and curl between them, holding on.

A long moment passes.

Then his lips return to your shoulder, and he speaks against your skin, low and careful, as though the words are something he has been turning over for some time and has only now decided to say aloud.

"Come to bed with me." A pause, brief and honest. "Let me hold you."

An offer, plain and open, from a man who has spent the better part of your acquaintance deploying words like instruments, and has chosen, tonight, to simply mean them.

You turn in his arms then.

You look at him — at the tiredness in his face, the careful way he is watching you, the complete and uncharacteristic absence of anything guarded in his expression — and you feel something loosen in your chest that you had not known was still held tight.

"Alright," you say quietly.

It is the smallest word. It carries everything.

He takes your hand and leads you away from the open door and the dark field and the letter lying on the floor. Away from Edie's handwriting and the years you did not get and the grief that will still be there in the morning, patient as it always is.

But morning is not now.

Now there is only the warmth of his hand around yours, and the quiet of the house, and the particular mercy of not having to be alone inside this.

You let him lead you.

For once in your life, simply looked after.

Simply enough.

The first thing you are aware of is light.

Not the thin, reluctant grey of early morning, but proper light… the kind that indicates the day has been going on without you for some time and has simply been waiting for you to catch up. It falls in long pale strips across the bedclothes, across the unfamiliar ceiling, across the empty space beside you where the sheets are cool to the touch.

You lie still for a moment, taking stock.

The grief is still there. Of course it is. It has simply settled overnight, the way deep water settles after something has been thrown into it — calmer at the surface now, but no less present beneath. You are aware of it the way you are aware of the weight of the blankets, or the cold of the room against your face: constantly, without drama.

You push yourself upright.

The room is quiet. The door is closed. On the small table beside the bed, someone has left a glass of water and, beside it, a single folded note.

You reach for it.

Don't go anywhere. — J.

You set it down and reach for the water instead, and you are still drinking when the door opens and James appears in the frame, coat off, shirtsleeves rolled to the forearm, looking entirely too composed for a man who held you while you fell apart less than twelve hours ago.

"You're awake," he observes as though this is the only thing that needed to go right today, and it has.

"Where did you go?"

"Downstairs." He steps into the room and closes the door behind him with quiet care, the way you might close a door in a house where something fragile is resting. "Sherlock and his mother are out for a walk. I have had the run of the kitchen, which I used with varying success." A pause. "There is also a bath."

You look at him.

"I drew it," he adds, with the slight defensive air of a man who is unused to performing domestic kindnesses and would prefer not to make too much of it. "It will get cold if you leave it long."

"You drew me a bath."

He gives you a look. "I said...it will get cold."

The bathroom is small and warm, filled with steam that has left a haze at the edges of everything and turned the mirror to pale fog. The bath is full, and someone…James…has found, from some corner of Appleton Manor's many pantries, a jar of something that smells faintly of lavender and has turned the water a pale, milky white.

You stand in the doorway and look at it for a moment.

Then at him.

"I suppose I'll leave you to it," he assumes, and there is something almost uncertain in it, something that does not quite know what comes next — which is, you think, the most human you have ever seen him.

"Stay." The word is out before you have decided to say it. "Please." A breath. "I dread the thought of being alone right now."

He looks almost startled. Not by the asking, but by what it costs you to ask it. He knows what it costs you. He nods once, says nothing, and turns his back while you undress and lower yourself into the water.

"Alright," you say quietly.

He turns.

He looks at you for a moment — just a moment, no more — and in that moment you see him make a particular effort to be a gentleman, which is not an effort James Moriarty is accustomed to making. The water keeps what it keeps. But there is enough. Enough to make his jaw tighten slightly. Enough to make him look away first, which he does, clearing his throat and dragging the small wooden stool from the corner with rather more focus than the task requires.

He sits.

You reach for the soap.

His hand finds yours before you get there.

"Let me."

Somewhere between a question and a command…the register he occupies when he means something and has no interest in embellishing it.

You let go of the soap.

You lean back.

He begins at your neck, the soap moving in slow, unhurried passes, and you feel the warmth of his hand through it — present and deliberate, every movement considered. You tilt your head to one side. Then the other. He follows without being asked. His touch is careful in a way that has nothing careful about it, the kind of care that takes a sacrifice to maintain.

He moves to your arms, one at a time, from shoulder to wrist and back again, and goosebumps rise in the wake of his hands despite the heat of the water. You do not remark on this. Neither does he.

Then his hands move to your collarbone.

Your breathing quickens.

He notices. Of course he notices. He notices everything, catalogues everything, and he does not stop. His hands move lower, slow and certain, over the rise of your chest, and the breath you take is not entirely steady and neither of you pretends it is. The steam presses close around you both. The water laps gently at the sides of the tub.

He stands from the stool then, and kneels beside the bath instead, bringing himself level with you, and the change in proximity does something immediate to the quality of the air between you. His hands move beneath the surface, up and then down the length of your legs, and you watch his face as he works — the focus in it, the restraint in it, the way his eyes move over you with each gradual pass of his hands as though you are something he is learning by heart and intends to remember.

He sets the soap aside.

He cups the warm water in both hands and begins to rinse you, patient and thorough, and you watch the water run in rivulets over your collarbone and think: you have never been looked at quite like this. Not with this quality of attention. Not as though being permitted to care for you is something he considers a privilege.

His thumb traces your collarbone.

Slowly. As though it is the only thing in the world worth doing.

Then it travels up the line of your throat, and his hand curves around the back of your neck, warm and certain, and he tilts your face up toward his.

He kisses you.

It is not the kiss of a man taking something. It is the kiss of a man offering everything he has and waiting to see if it will be received. Tender at first, almost unbearably so and then deeper, when your wet hands find his hair and pull him closer, deeper and full of all the things neither of you has said aloud yet and both of you have known for some time.

He sighs against your mouth.

When he draws back it is only a fraction, only enough to speak, his lips still grazing yours with every word.

"You are allowed whatever you need today." A pause, purposeful and gracious. "Comfort. Company. Space." Another pause. "Distraction."

The last word lands with perfect, devastating precision. The acknowledgment straightforward, that he knows what exists between you and is not pretending otherwise. That whatever you need from him today he will give without condition or account.

Your fingers curl into the front of his shirt.

He does not need to be told twice.

He reaches for the hem and pulls the shirt over his head in one motion, dropping it somewhere behind him without looking. Then he is stepping out of his trousers, and the water rises as he folds himself into the bath, his legs bracketing yours, his hands finding your waist beneath the surface and drawing you forward until you are settled in his lap with a sureness that feels less like an invitation and more like a homecoming.

The water settles around you both.

He pushes the wet hair from your face with both hands, tucking it back behind your ears the way he has done before in darker moments, and then he simply looks at you.

There is nothing guarded in his face right now. Nothing held at the careful distance he usually maintains between himself and the world. Only him. Only James, in a bath full of lavender-clouded water in a house that belongs to neither of you, looking at you as though you are the most significant thing he has encountered in a life that has, by any measure, not been short of significant things.

"I've got you," he says. The same three words as last night. Quieter now. And this time, somehow, more certain.

You rest your forehead against his.

Outside, the morning continues without you. The grief will be there when you are ready for it — it always is. The world will want things from you soon enough.

But not yet.

Not now.

Now there is only this: the warmth of the water, the warmth of him, and the hard-won peace of being, for once, entirely held.

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[fabulouspotatosister]

kabisado

[ka.bi.sá.du.] (tagalog, bisaya) familiar, memorized, known by heart. title from kabisado by iv of spades

summary: when you love someone, you notice things about them. sometimes, the things you notice are the things they want to hide the most. or the reverse comfort doctor sickfic of my dreams word count: 6,838 (oh my goodddd lmao)

gif credit: @panda-pal

a/n: HI GUYS!! how are you all doing?? i hope you're doing lovely whenever you read this. this fic was inspired by some Blorbo Brainstorming i was having with a mutual and lovely lovely friend of mine @sleepyeyed (u r so amazing btw THANK YOU for inspiring this) and then boom! this fic was born! i wasn't planning on having it be this long tbh but it kind of got away from me... as it tends to do these days... lol and i thought this was gonna be a less than 2k word fic. haha. anyway i hope you enjoy! barely edited (like everything i post), so keep watch for typos or anything. also note: the reader is not referred to with any gendered pronouns but they are wearing heels and a dress, and also they're shorter than the doctor! ok i'm done enjoy

—

Travelling with the Doctor didn't often have you regretting your choices in footwear. You're a sensible person; when you first began your adventures with him, you'd started off in comfortable sneakers and sandals. Now, you take after your interdimensional travelling companion and run about in a tough, sensible pair of boots.

So why had you, today of all days, with the TARDIS floor tilting at a sixty-degree angle, decided to wear heels?

"Hang on!" the Doctor shouts. He grabs desperately at a group of levers on the console. His black bowtie hangs loose around his neck, fancy tuxedo coat swinging with the swaying motion of the ship. "This maneuver's gonna be a tricky one!"

"You don't say!" you shout back, your elbows hooked precariously around one of the railings around the console. One of your heeled feet dangles through the railing and off of the console platform. The TARDIS gives another tremendous shudder, and your heel slips off your dangling foot, landing with a thump underneath the console. Great, you think glumly, I'll have to pick that up later when the TARDIS isn't actively crashing.

A bespectacled man struggles to his feet next to you. His own immaculately tailored suit is a mess from all the chaos, shiny pinstriped fabric absolutely wrinkled and rumpled. Four wide eyes stare at you helplessly from behind segmented glasses. His name is Galdron, you remember. "Are you absolutely sure you know what he's doing?" he asks, over the din.

"Isn't this a time machine?" his companion asks. They're hanging on for dear life onto the railing too, their glittery robe draped formless over their scaly shoulders — that's Nymbriel. "Can't we just — I don't know — time travel to after the crash?"

Right. Aliens in fancy black-tie outfits. Just an hour ago, you'd been on the Odon Interplanetary Cruise, enjoying a lovely arrangement by the Feryqui Philharmonic Orchestra, sipping on Lobarian sparkling champagne — a rare peaceful trip for you and the Doctor where you're not running for your lives for once. Well, it was peaceful, up until a group of salvage bandits had raided the ship and damaged its hyperdrive core. Radiation started leaking throughout the ship, which meant everyone had to evacuate to their escape pods — unless you had a ship of your own parked in the vehicle bay.

Lucky for you, you had the TARDIS. Not so lucky for Galdron and Nymbriel, who didn't manage to get on the admittedly very few escape pods. So you'd hiked up your nice dress up to your knees, grabbed the both of them, and herded them into the TARDIS.

Cut to now. The Doctor twirls through the turbulence with a whoop, moving rapidly from one section of the console to another. The smile stretching across his gleeful face is huge, and despite the very clear and present danger you're in, you find yourself grinning too. It's one of the many things you love about the Doctor — around him, you forget about needing a safety net. Just one look at his ecstatic smile in the face of imminent danger, and somehow you stop worrying.

And yes, best to get that out of the way quickly. Nearly one-thousand-year-old space alien from the lost planet of the Time Lords, and you're in love with him. That's not the most important thing right now. The TARDIS turning and tumbling all over the corridors of the Odon cruise ship probably takes higher priority. Probably.

"Not how it works!" you yell in reply. The whole room tilts sideways a couple more degrees, and you readjust your grip on the railing. The insides of your elbows are getting sweaty. What are they called again? The Doctor had mentioned them once on a trip to the New New York Hospital… "Unless you want to find yourself phased through the middle of a shipwreck!"

"Correctamundo!" the Doctor cries. He dances over to where you are, pushing a couple of buttons and slamming a lever down, leaning backward to flash you a smile. Impossibly, you smile back. "The Odon's engines are — were, given the state of things — running on the extra-fancy stuff you need for FTL travel. The radiation leaking through the cruise ship is making it impossible to get a lock on the Vortex. So I'm getting us out manually! But until then — really do hang on this time!"

The entire console room shakes violently. Your elbows tremble, your hold on the railing slips, and with a cry, you fall —

An arm reaches out to wind around your waist before your body can slam into the TARDIS console. The Doctor pulls you to his side with a grunt of effort, glancing to you with a shaky grin.

"Gotcha," he breathes. "Didn't I tell you to hang on?"

You blink up at him, astonished. Time, for a moment, seems to warp and slow. He's not usually this close. You can feel his heartbeats thundering against your back in double, no, quadruple time. He smells like orange and honey and some other sweet thing — is he wearing cologne? Is that a thing that he does? Or does he just smell like that?

And another thing you notice — the Doctor is really, really warm. Warmer than normal. Which is strange, but nice and comforting, actually, given the situation at hand.

"Yeah, don't go on about it," you stutter, when your voice comes back to you. You sound a little strangled. You choose to ignore that. "What do we do now?"

We, not you, not me, us. "Great question!" The Doctor smiles, kindly, the kind you get when you know he's proud of you. Your chest goes all melty at the sight. His arm tightens around your waist and he nods his chin over to a set of levers on the hexagonal console panel in front of you, arranged in a line. "See those levers? When I give the signal, pull them in this specific order, alright? Red-yellow-grey-black-black! Got it?"

You brace yourself against the console. "What signal?"

"You won't miss it!"

The Doctor cranks a handle upwards — the lights beside it light up in order, one, two, three, four, five… he groans as he pushes it to a stop, just before the last two lights can turn on. The TARDIS's humming intensifies, growing louder and louder, and he looks up at you with a satisfied smile. His eyes are wide with the thrill, a little manic, and… red around the edges?

You don't have much time to think about it before the TARDIS heaves one tremendous lurch. In that instant, the Doctor yanks the handle all the way around, the final two lights flash to life, and he bellows, "Now!"

Red-yellow-grey-black-black! You reach out and slam the levers down in that order — and suddenly, you're weightless. The TARDIS's walls blur, the whole room rotates on its axis, and the spinning motion is really very disorienting — your hands tighten around the last black lever for some extra support. You hear Nymbriel scream at the top of their lungs. In the corner of your eye, Galdron wraps his arms around one of the chairs nestled by the outer computer panels. But throughout the chaos, the Doctor's arm is still anchored around you.

You're in the safest place in the universe, there in his arms. You know that. He's not letting go for anything.

So your thudding heart stills as the TARDIS does. Its frenzied motion begins to slacken, the room swaying into stillness like a ship gently buoyed by the waves into calmer waters. Its humming grows softer, winding down from an insistent drone to gentle ambience, giving way to silence from all of you onboard.

There's quiet, for a little bit. The world narrows down to the Doctor's warmth against you, his arm hooked securely around your waist, his stuttering breathing as he calms down from the rush of piloting the TARDIS. He looks down at you with a breathless grin.

"Job well done," he says softly. He pulls you in closer ever so slightly to press his lips gently to your temple. They leave a scorching brand there. "Thank you."

"Yeah, I thought so," you squeak. "You too."

The Doctor unwraps his arm from your body — you're a little disappointed at the loss of contact, but only a little, you promise — and zips off to the opposite side of the console, grabbing its attached screen and swinging it over to him. "Check on our other passengers, will you?"

Your knees are a little wobbly, but you manage to hobble your way over to where Galdron is hugging the back of the chair. His eyes are screwed shut, his glasses askew, and he's mumbling what sounds like a prayer to himself under his breath. "Oh heavenly Seer above, keep me — us, keep us, safe from harm, protect us from all manner of evil —"

"Galdron?" You lay a hand on his shoulder. "You can open your eyes now."

He opens his eyes with a shriek. Each of his four eyes blink from top left to bottom right before meeting yours. "We haven't died?"

"No, we haven't," you say, gesturing to the Doctor. He glances up with a quick wave before returning to furiously pressing buttons. "We're out of the Odon now, I think. Drifting. You're safe."

Galdron heaves a heavy sigh, his whole body melting into the chair. "Thank Toctis. And thank you, Doctor, for getting us away from there."

"Don't thank me just yet!" the Doctor says, squinting at the screen. He slaps it and it flickers, its display casting moving lights over his pale face. Hang on… pale? The Doctor's no sun-kissed beauty, but even he doesn't normally look that pallid. "We're not completely out of the woods yet. Well, I say woods, but I really mean thicket. Still can't get a lock on the Vortex, not just yet — we'll have to wait for the explosion to pass."

Nymbria staggers over to you and holds Galdron's shoulder for support. His hand comes up to rest on their green-skinned palm. "Explosion?" they ask, bewildered.

"Yep, explosion," the Doctor replies.

The TARDIS pitches sideways. A brilliant orange light beams through the ship's frosted police box doors. Nymbria cries out, wrapping their arms around Galdron's shoulders. You wince and lock your elbows around the railing again until the room stops shaking.

"That one. Drive core releasing all of its energy, which is what I meant by thicket. Thicket of radiation, blocking navigation like a ship in the fog. Okay!" The Doctor claps his hands together, rubbing his palms, and raises his eyebrows at the pair of shivering aliens. "You're safe now, I promise. Just need a time and a place to take you home."

Nymbria's fingers twitch. "T-Tegga, fifth century," they stutter. "Approximately two years after the Greatest War."

The Doctor's grin widens. His lips are wobbling, struggling to hold the shape of his smile. You frown as you remove your elbows — sweaty inner elbows, what are those called again — from the railing. "Specific, I like it! Always helps to be specific with directions. Nymbria — lovely name, by the way — if you could come over here, just need to do some confirming secondary checks…"

Nymbria glances down at Galdron, who blinks his four eyes at them encouragingly. They somewhat hesitantly unclasp their clawed fingers from around Galdron's shoulders and tiptoe over to the Doctor at the console.

"He never does secondary checks." You cross your arms. "Usually it's up-up-and-away with him. He must really like you two."

"I would hope so," Galdron sighs. He twists in the seat. "Thank you — we're very lucky to have met you. Toctis knows what would have happened to us if you hadn't shown up."

You huff a laugh and adjust your balance on one bare foot. "Don't thank me, thank him," you say, pursing your lips in the Doctor's direction. He swings the screen around to show Nymbria something, and they start excitedly chittering away. "I'm not the one with the time-travelling spaceship."

"That's true, but you did lead us to it," Galdron laughs good-naturedly. "The Doctor — how long have you been travelling with him?"

"Um," you reply, eloquently. Exactly how long is a little hard to tell. Time is strange onboard the TARDIS, flowing and ebbing in anamoalous, inscrutable ways. When you can't really see the passage of time, it almost stops existing, in a way. And when nearly every day is a brand new adventure, who cares what day it is? "A couple years? Something like that."

Galdron nods. "I see. You know him well. You work together splendidly. Reminds me a little of Nymbria and I." He sighs, turning his gaze to Nymbria standing by the console. They're focused on the monitor, jewel-toned eyes staring unblinkingly. He smiles wistfully. "I notice everything they do. You do the same for him."

You very nearly lose your already precarious balance on your single, heeled foot. Does he know? Has he, with his multiple eyes, seen right through you already? Figured out the meaning of your attentive stares? You cough, bending down carefully to slip your other heel off.

"I don't know about everything," you mutter, but despite your denial, your gaze travels to the Doctor. Without the chaos of a travelling TARDIS, it's easier to really look at him. His face is screwed up in concentration, brows furrowed and mouth twisted as he taps out coordinates. His eyes are narrowed, focused, but shiny and red around the edges. A shine on his ashen skin catches the cool lights of the console room — he reaches up and wicks it away with the back of his palm.

You tilt your head, not noticing Galdron's curious glance at you.

"Right, Tegga, fifth century, post-Greatest War, coming right up," the Doctor announces cheerfully. He waltzes over to the main lever — as you like to call it, since it's the one he always throws directly before takeoff — and pushes it down. A grinding, wheezing noise fills the room, the central column rising and falling in time with the rotation of the time rotor.

This was always your favorite part — travelling through space was always fun, but time? Being able to travel through it as you pleased? It's magical. You can feel the tension leave your body as the TARDIS slips through the Vortex. Your chest expands with what feels like a little bit of awe and a lot of gratefulness. You stare at the Doctor, watching the way his green eyes twinkle with joy, dancing around the console.

No safety net. Definitely nothing to catch you from falling.

The central column slides to a halt with a soft chime. The time rotor slows to a crawl. The Doctor springs away from the console, moving his coat aside to put his hands in his pockets, satisfied.

"One of my smoother landings," he says, proudly.

As if on cue, the TARDIS shakes, vibrating violently like a plane touching down on the ground. With a startled shout, the Doctor loses his footing, his knees buckling, long legs folding under his weight.

It's a good thing you aren't wearing your heels anymore — you dart forward and catch the Doctor's elbow, your fingers clutching at the fabric of his jacket. Your other hand shoots out to grab his hand and intertwine it desperately in yours. He wobbles, nearly topples over completely, but you hold him steady.

"Gotcha," you tease, and the Doctor blinks at you, eyes wide. "Are you okay?"

The Doctor blinks at you again, mouth agape. He closes it, then opens it as if to say something, then closes it again. "Never better," he says eventually, swaying lightly in your grasp. "I thought for certain we had landed. The TARDIS must’ve gone all caddywompus. One more round of turbulence for the road, I suppose. But I'm fine. Totally. No doubt."

He shakes you off with a wide, shaky grin. You flex your fingers around the air, a knot in your stomach slowly starting to form.

The Doctor bounds away to throw open the main doors. The corridor leading up to them brightens with soft, golden sunlight, and a warm wind whistles its way inside. The faint sounds of a bustling cityscape trickle through the open doors.

"Thank you! Oh, thank you!" Nymbria gasps, already running through them with a gleeful shout.

Galdron chuckles, pushing himself out of the chair. "They're excited to be home," he says, "we've had maybe enough excitement for a lifetime. Thank you, Doctor."

"Oh, it's nothing." The Doctor waves his hands flippantly. He tilts and leans on the doorframe, gesturing outside. "My pleasure. Happy to help."

Galdron tips his glasses at him — but before he leaves, he turns to face you, clasping your hands. His hands engulf yours as he squeezes them gratefully.

"Your Doctor," he says, and you try to ignore the way your stomach does a funny little flip at the word your, "take care of him, alright?"

"Oh!" you blurt. Your fingers twitch again in Galdron's palms. You sneak a glance at the Doctor, leaning against the TARDIS doorway. He heaves a great, stuttering sigh. If he sees you looking he doesn't notice. "Yeah. I will."

Galdron's four eyes crinkle kindly, and he lets your hands go. With another nod of thanks at the Doctor, he shuffles out of the TARDIS, and the doors swing closed behind him.

"I'd say that went well," the Doctor chirps.

You squint your eyes at him. "Are you really okay?"

"Oh, absolutely," he answers quickly. A little too quickly. His leaning against the doorframe is starting to turn more into sagging. "King of okay, I declared myself once. Not much for royalty, but you know…"

You quickly ball your hands into fists to stop them from shaking. You're not sure what the knot in your stomach is, twisting and folding all over itself, whether its anger or worry. You decide it can be a little bit of both. "Be honest with me, Doctor," you say, with all the seriousness you can muster, "are you sick?"

The Doctor makes a face, somewhere in-between "are you kidding me" and "I can't believe you would say such a thing". "Sick?" he asks, incredulously, his wan face scrunched up in confusion. "No, no, I can't be sick. Not with this biology. I haven't been sick in —" he checks the watch on the back of his wrist — "a long while, and that's a technical term. Not sure what you're talking about."

He says that, but his whole body seems like its melting. The faint hint of a warm flush blooms across his cheeks, sweat glinting across his skin. All of his weight shifts dodgily on the leg leaning right against the doorframe —

"See? Hundred percent okay," he says. Then his knee gives out.

You rush forward to catch him for the second time in an hour. This time, your hands catch against his chest before he can slump to the floor. They slip down to his waist, and you wrap an arm around it, holding him upright. Holding him close, you realize he's sweltering, the front of his dress shirt damp with sweat.

The knot in your stomach tightens. "What was that about okay?" you ask.

"You heard me," he grinds out. He screws his eyes shut and makes a strange, strangled noise — not quite pain but not discomfort either. When he opens them again they're shiny and unfocused. "King of okay. Okay, that doesn't sound right anymore. How's alright? I'm alright, I really am —"

His blabbering denial fades into the background. You should feel embarrassed. Once again, the Doctor's a lot closer than he normally would be. One of your arms is wrapped around his waist and the other's pressed secure against his chest. The smell of honey almost seeps from his pores, making the air sticky with the scent of sweetness.

But you're pretty much the only thing keeping him from collapsing to the floor now. He's warm in your hold and growing heavier by the second. You can feel his hearts under your fingertips beating faster than they should be. So any kind of shame you might feel, any flustering of the butterflies in your stomach, gets absolutely blasted away by the intense, single-minded urge to just take care of your Doctor.

Huh. Maybe Galdron was onto something. You file a mental note to try to get in contact with him to thank him later.

"…and really, illness, it's incredibly last century," the Doctor continues, his voice fading back in. "You know there's whole galaxies that have eradicated most sicknesses now. Cure-alls on every corner of every planet. 'Course, they fetch a pretty penny for them, but —"

"Doctor," you interrupt.

He turns his head to look down at you. Whatever expression you have on your face makes him jerk his head back. "Yes? What is it?"

You shake your head at him. "No."

The Doctor frowns. "No? What do you mean —"

"I meant no, you are not fine," you intone, adjusting your hold on him. He goes still in your grasp. "You're coming with me."

"Coming where — whoa!"

The Doctor yelps when you start dragging him towards the staircase leading up to the second level of the console room. Incredibly, you manage to haul him up the steps and through one of the tall octagonal doorways. It's no easy feat — you're not quite as tall as him, the gangly tangle of limbs that he is, but you do indeed manage.

"Old girl," you call out, walking through the TARDIS's hallways. "Could you help me out a little?"

A low hum finds its way into your ears. You like to think she's speaking to you when she does that, even if you can't really understand her.

"Don't do that," the Doctor grumbles. He's trying his best to walk on his own — stubborn as an ox, you think — and he's keeping his chin up, although it looks like it's taking some effort.

"Do what?" you ask. The Doctor grumbles again, under his breath, his head tipping back so he can glare at the ceiling.

"Not you," he mutters, "her. She's gonna spoil you."

You could really do with being spoiled by the TARDIS, to be fair. The Doctor's continuing to sag in your arms. The knot in your stomach tightens for a third, vicious time — this could be really, really bad. If, perish the thought, he passed out, you would have no idea what to do. To be fair, you have no idea what to do right now, but sick and disoriented is a lot better than unconscious and unresponsive.

The clean smell of alcohol and antiseptics grows stronger in the air. You must be close to the medbay. The Doctor stirs, head lolling against your shoulder.

"There's fine," he says quietly. "Dropping off quite a bit… just stuff me in there and I'll have a healing coma and then be right as rain in a couple of hours."

He shoots you a weak smile. You could do that. He'd probably be alright. He's not even human; what would the harm be in dropping him off to heal in his own alien way?

Your heart twists violently in your chest at the thought of him asleep, all alone, with no one to watch over him.

Yeah. That would be the harm.

"Yeah, no," you tell him. His expression loosens in surprise. "No chance. Come on, we're nearly there."

The TARDIS, bless her inter-dimensional soul (and she's got a soul, you're sure of it), seems like she's put your room close. The doors to your room slide open soundlessly. Instantly, the knots inside you start to loosen in the comfortable space. Your home away from home — more like your actual home, at this point, with how long you've spent on the TARDIS.

The Doctor's nearly pliant in your arms now. It's easy to set him down onto your bed. He sinks into the sheets, melting into the covers… then he straightens up suddenly, blinking quickly, as if he can blink away the daze thats fallen over his eyes.

"There's really no need," he says. The words stumble over each other. "Look, I'm really fine, so fine you wouldn't even believe, so there's no need to fuss over me…" His eyes go hazy for a moment, and he chuckles. "Hehe, fine, I've been told I'm fine, is that true? Anyway…"

Well, it is, but you're not about to go on about it. Not when he's like this. You clamber onto the bed, nice fancy dress and all, and sit beside him. You hold your hands out and raise your eyebrows expectantly. "Can I?"

"Can you what?"

"Touch you," you continue. You tap the sides of your neck. "Check your temperature."

The Doctor stares, eyes half-lidded. He's trying to stay here, present in the moment, with you. You can tell by the way his expression pinches and he shakes his head, trying to clear it from the fuzz that's undoubtedly filling it. Eventually, he nods.

You rest the back of your palm against his forehead and — goodness, he's scorching. If you felt this temperature on another person you'd be fearing for their life — but then again, Time Lord, not exactly human. Still, you can't help the hiss that escapes your lips.

The Doctor winces in sympathy. "Sorry. I'm alright."

"Stop that," you sigh. Your move your hand away from his forehead, then cup the Doctor's cheeks in your palms. They're so incredibly warm, but you smile and bear it. "Can you just let me take care of you? Please?"

The Doctor blinks again. A little shocked, a little owlishly, lashes fluttering under the flushed cheeks under your palms. His lips form around the shape of a silent protest before he swallows it away.

"Okay," he says instead, simply. He sounds embarrassed to hear the words come out of his mouth. "Just this once."

"If you keep this up it's going to be more than just once," you snipe, but there's no venom there. The Doctor even huffs a weak chuckle, tilting his head to the side, as if to say touché. You stand up off the bed, smoothing down your dress. "Are you gonna be okay while I go and get some stuff? I'll only be a few minutes."

The Doctor pitches sideways. His head lands on the pile of pillows you'd left on the bed before you boarded the Odon. "You can do loads in a few minutes. Suck a mint, buy a sledge, have a fast bath."

"Make a cup of tea?" you offer.

His eyes widen, a droopy smile spreading across his face. "Yeeees, a cuppa, I'd like that, thanks," he slurs. "I'll wait. I'm good at that, waiting. I think."

You lean down, and reach out to brush his floppy hair out of his face. His eyes flutter closed, the same droopy smile growing even wider, if you can believe it. "No, you aren't."

"No, I'm not," he agrees, with a tiny laugh. "Won't move an inch though. Promise."

With another brush of his cheek (quite possibly the only chance you'll get to touch him like that), you set off to grab your aforementioned stuff. The TARDIS continues to spoil you, or at least you think she does; the first room you see when you leave your room is the wardrobe, even though it's supposed to be a lot farther away, and a lot further down. You pick up a loose, comfy-looking knit sweater and sling it over your shoulder. The kitchen appears right beside it, and you do end up making the Doctor his cup of tea with a random teabag you take off the shelves that smells a lot like pears. The medbay, impossibly, welcomes you next, and a cabinet door swings open to reveal a row of four immaculately arranged pills.

Thank you, old girl, you think. You hope the TARDIS, with her telepathic interface, can hear you.

"I'm back," you call softly, coming back into your room. "Got the stuff. I — oh."

The Doctor has, true to his word, not moved an inch. He's still lying on his side, his lanky body flopped onto your pile of pillows in a position that doesn't really look very comfortable. It looks as if he's moved a little though, the edge of a blanket held loosely in his hand, like he's tried to pull it over himself and given up halfway through. Or fallen asleep. Or both.

You feel… impossibly fond. There's a warmth in your chest, that is hopefully not a fever, and you can't stop a soft laugh from bubbling out of you. There he is, last of the Time Lords, the Oncoming Storm, Predator of the Daleks, asleep in your bed. He's adorable. His face is slack and peaceful, mouth hanging open a touch, maybe the hint of a snore if you listen hard enough.

"Doctor," you whisper, slowly sitting next to him. "I got your tea."

The Doctor cracks one eye open with a disgruntled little noise. "Hm? Oh. Lovely."

He slowly pushes himself upright. His hair's flattened, sticking out at an angle, and you have to stifle the giggle that threatens to escape you. He reaches out for the steaming cup of tea in your hands — you pull it back and he whines, the poor thing, sea glass fever-bright eyes staring at you sad and confused.

"Sorry." You set the cup of tea and the pills down on your bedside table. You rest your hands on his shoulders, feeling the heat rolling off him in waves. "Black tie can't be comfortable like this. I got you something to wear; that first, and then tea, okay?"

The Doctor nods. More accurately, his head bobs in the faint impression of a nod, but you get it anyway. You pull his bowtie off his neck and set it gently on the bed beside you (he bobs his head approvingly at your handling of his precious bow tie). You help him take off his coat, maneuvering his unwieldy arms out of the tuxedo coat's sleeves, and drop it on the floor (that article of clothing he cares less about, and does not get a head bob of judgement).

Next, you've got to take off his dress shirt oh god you've got to take off his dress shirt. Sure, travelling with the Doctor was a constant thrill, filled with adventure and near-endless brushes with death. This was something else entirely — the unshakeable urge to take care of him trembles a little, the butterflies in your stomach creeping through. You? Unbuttoning the Doctor's shirt? Oh no you're going to see him bare chested?

You don't realize you've frozen until the Doctor calls your name.

"You okay?" he asks, soft. The way he does when you're scared. You're not scared, not exactly, but it's a pretty close analogue.

You shake your head at him, smothering a smile under pursed lips. Still always so worried, even when he doesn't need to be. "We've gotta get this off so you can get changed," you say, your fingers hovering over the buttons of his shirt.

"You didn't answer my question," he presses. He lifts his hand to wrap it around yours, squeezes it. And still always so… him. Nothing escapes him. Well, maybe except some things, but whatever. "Come on."

You sigh. Squeeze his hand back. Will that single-minded itch to be his caretaker to come back, if only to rid you of your embarrassment. "I don't think I'm the priority right now," you murmur.

The Doctor blinks at you blearily. Swallows a little nervously. "'Course you are. Always are. Always to me."

You can't reply. What do you say to that? What can you say? The courage to unbutton his shirt finds you then, with his muttered admission. You try your best not to think about how this is the Doctor like you've never seen him before; sure, he's been injured, poisoned, what have you, but in front of you here, he's vulnerable. Letting you care for him instead of pushing you away, dealing with his pain alone, the way you know he does. You've seen him, in those quiet, charged moments, hurt bleeding from him like blood from a wound — before he sees you looking and tamps it away with a grin and a magic trick.

Shirt fully unbuttoned, you ease his arms out of the sleeves. It's not just his face that's flushed, but his chest and arms as well The skin on his shoulders is dry and flaking, but when you look closer the rashes have a pattern. They run across his skin like scales, normal skin separated with striations of redness. They disappear from your sight when you pull the shirt over his head, but you make another mental note to see if the medbay has any ointments that can help with that.

"How are you feeling?" you ask, smoothing over the fabric of his sweater. It absolutely swamps him, although he does look much more comfortable. You hand him his tea, too, which he accepts with a smile.

"Tired," he groans, "which is new. I'm all achy and warm, too, which is also new. Relatively new. It's all firsts today for this body."

"I'm sorry," you start, but the Doctor shakes his head.

"No, no, don't be sorry," he says, gently. "Nothing to be sorry about." He takes a sip of his tea and his eyes flutter shut. When they open again they're slightly clearer, a small spark lighting up within them. "Lovely cup of tea, thank you, just what I needed — I've got an approximately forty degree Celsius fever —" He must notice the way your jaw snaps open, because he holds his free hand up, calming — "don't worry, Time Lord, my brain's not gonna boil; strange rash over my shoulders and back; muscle weakness, general feeling of lethargy. Ooh. Think I've got it."

"What?" You shuffle closer to him. He doesn't move away.

"They're from Tegga, of course," he huffs. He smacks an open palm against his forehead. "Of course! Ezampalkeonsians!"

You shake your head. "Sorry?"

"Ezampalkeonosians," the Doctor repeats, dragging out every syllable. "Nymbriel's species, second most abundant on the planet of Tegga. Architects, builders, aaand, most importantly for my ill self, asymptomatic carriers of the Palkea virus."

"Nymbriel was sick?" Thinking back on them now, you can't imagine it — but then again, Nymbriel was a lizard person, so who knows what sick even looks like for them.

"Oh, you'd never know." The Doctor's voice slows, drops into a lower register, like even the discovery took a lot out of him. "They're all sick, it just doesn't bother them. Bothers me, though. Bothers me a lot. Eugh."

It bothers you, too, seeing the Doctor like this — though you suppose he's figured that out by now, by the way he's staring at your face.

A few seconds pass. The Doctor sips his tea loudly, breaking the silence. "Could you pass me those pills, please?"

"Fair warning, I have no idea what these do," you warn, handing him the pills.

"Me too!" he chirps. He rolls them around in his hand, then throws them back all at once and downs them with a large gulp of tea. "I'll probably be fine. TARDIS wouldn't give them to you if they didn't help."

Still somewhat flabbergasted at the speed at which he downed his medicine, you wordlessly take his tea cup from him and set it aside. Beside you, the Doctor yawns — yawns! — stretching his arms out and wrapping them around himself.

"Cold?"

"Just the opposite." A shiver runs through him and he pulls the sleeves of his sweater over his hands. "Chills. I'll have to add that to the list of symptoms. Not sure if this is communicable to humans, so you'd best stay away if you don't want to catch this…"

You laugh, finding the blanket he'd tried earlier to pull over himself and gently wrapping it around his shoulders. The warm fondness in your chest expands at the sight of him bundled in blankets, his eyes once again starting to droop. "I think it's a little late for that, Doctor. I'm here for the long run. If I catch it, I catch it. I'm willing to take that risk."

Looking up at you through eyes that can barely stay open, the Doctor smiles. It's small, and slight, but there, and just as bright. "You're worried," he breathes, as if it's some kind of universe-shattering revelation.

Your face twists in confusion. "You didn't think I would be? Come on." The words escape you before you even have the time to process them, or rethink them, or regret them. "Kind of comes with the whole loving you thing, you know."

Oh.

…Ah.

What the hell did you just say?

Now you have the time to process, regret, and rethink what you've just said, in that order.

You could have said literally anything else, been more vague, used the word care instead of love — but no, you've decided to confess, and incredibly casually too at that. This wasn't how you thought it was going to go. You didn't think it was going to ever happen, mostly, just a far-flung dream. But you always thought it was going to be grander, more dramatic. Not like this, with the Doctor in your bed, sick as a dog.

"We don't — we don't have to talk about it," you stammer. "Or even acknowledge it! It's nothing."

The Doctor's just… blinking at you. Quiet. Thinking. If you look hard enough maybe you can see the gears turning in his big Time Lord brain.

"You noticed," he says simply.

"Yeah. I don't know." The words spill out, tumbling. "I know how you usually are. I guess… I notice when you aren't."

"Okay," he says. Okay? The shame starts to slither in then, wriggling into that fondness in your heart. You're almost silently praying for him to just drop it, for his fever-addled mind to forget all about it.

But then the corners of his lips quirk upwards, and he's smiling again, and it feels like the sun shining on your face. Your force yourself to meet his eyes. They're still a little hazy, but he's… he looks happy.

"You love me," he murmurs, a dopey smile spreading wider on his face.

You do. You do. You can't help it, your own anxious smile twitching on your lips. The nervous energy has to go somewhere, it does — the caution might as well belong to the wind at this point — and you lean in to press your lips to his tepid forehead.

The Doctor jolts away, tugging his blanket with him. "No, no, don't do that," he protests, "I said I don't want you catching it."

"And I said the thing about risk," you shoot back, reaching out to pull the blanket wrapped around his shoulders, fitting them snugly in place. "And about loving you." Doubt grips at the warmth sitting in your chest. "Which is… okay, I hope."

He says your name — quiet, gentle, a promise and a prayer all wrapped up in a few syllables. "Oh, it's more than okay, dear," he whispers, dazed. "It's fantastic."

Just like that, the doubt disappears like it was never even there.

The Doctor leans back, flopping down onto your bed. He's all tucked in and cozy now, and drifting away, his eyes sliding just barely closed, chest rising and falling with deeper and deeper breaths. You shift to leave him to sleep — but his arm shoots out from beneath his blanket, quick as a bullet, gripping the hem of your dress.

"Don't go," he pleads, the end of his words pitching upwards like a question. His eyes are barely open now, but so sad. "Stay. Stay. With me. Please."

Like you were ever going to say no. You climb into your bed, burrowing yourself underneath the blankets, and take the Doctor into your arms. He curls up against you, slotting neatly onto every curve of your body. You tuck his head under your chin and he snuggles closer, nuzzling his face against your chest.

You should feel embarrassed. You might have been. You don't. Instead, you're wholly content. You're not letting go for anything.

"Thank you for taking care of me," he whispers. Tenderly, he presses his lips to your collarbone, and oh, the burn it leaves on your heart will probably stay there forever.

You don't get a chance to reply before you feel his breathing begin to slow to a crawl. The TARDIS turns down the lights for you, dimming them slowly, as the Doctor drifts off into sleep. The steady beat of his hearts relaxes, follows the tempo of the TARDIS's humming and warbling, and that starts to pull you under too.

In that moment, tucked in your arms, the Doctor realizes he's got a safety net — it's you, ready to catch him when he's falling, like he's been for you for quite a while now.

if you've read this far i hope you enjoyed! have a lovely rest of ur day <3 feel free to check out my masterlist for more hehe

[fabulouspotatosister]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

now on ao3 if that's more your reading speed <3

[aenslem]

Call me by my name. Master. DOCTOR WHO | Spyfall part II

[fabulouspotatosister]

and it wasn’t quite you

summary: after receiving a mysterious distress call, the doctor decides to go undercover as john smith, a new physics teacher. you, his loyal companion, have the unenviable job of being his caretaker. all you can hope is that your own feelings don’t get in the way.

part six: trial by fire

[the countdown to midnight.]

word count: 5,430 [part zero] [part one] [part two] [part three] [part four] [part five] [interlude] [part six: you are here] [part seven] [part eight] [part nine] [part ten] [more to come] [tw for self-harming behavior, physical violence, use of a gun]

gif credit: @panda-pal

a/n: hey guys it's here, the next part!! i'll admit this took a little longer than i would have liked but i had a bit of a stuck period working on this. but i think i'm back! i hope! anyway this one is a bit of a doozy and i hope you enjoy! as always be warned for typos and such, barely any editing, i'm releasing this into the world like a wild animal. no editing we die like... uh... i shan't say...

—

[12 hours before transmission.]

You broke your promise to John the very next morning.

You broke your promise the minute he woke up, head splitting from a migraine, still cradled in your arms. He asked what happened. Of course he didn't remember. Why would he? You could have brought up what he said, how he said he loved you, how he begged you not to run away from this, from him.

Instead you told him everything else. And you watched his face fall at the mention of Lily standing him up. Watched as he pushed himself, unsteady, out of your arms, with a hushed apology for bothering you under his breath. Watched as he stumbled out of the bedroom, leaving you to sit alone on his bed. Your legs ached, your back hurt, and your fingers were sore from how you'd been running your hands through his hair for nearly the whole night.

You weren't sure why you'd stayed at all. Something in you still felt… disconnected, from your fight with him. Like some part of your soul had snapped off. Left you emptier than before. Like there was just a gaping, aching void where your heart should have been.

You'd talk about it in the morning, you'd said. You promised. Wrapped your pinky around his like a child and told him what he wanted to hear. Held him through the night until the alcohol had loosened its grip on him and he fell into a dreamless sleep. That night had passed like a blur, fuzzed into nothing like TV static. The naive actions of an fool in love. And what an fool you were. Still are. You're a fool wasting their time hoping for the impossible, for an impossible man to love you back.

Today, you wake up before the sun rises. There's a stillness in the moment before the night turns to morning. It's in this stillness that you perform the morning routine you've concocted in this domestic reality. You set the plates and the cups and paint the perfect image of normality, all before the first rays of sunlight can pierce through and warm the cold evening air. But you've been painting the image as fast as you can, as early as you can, because you can't bear to have to be in it a second longer. Especially not with John in it.

There's a small part of you that misses it. Misses him, God forbid, the warmth of his company, and his smile peeking out at you from over his mug of tea. The mug of tea you're preparing right now, with his favorite blend sitting at the bottom in a neat little bag. But then the feeling disappears into the yawning chasm in your chest and turns into kindling for the steady heat that lives there.

Idiot, says the voice in your brain. You exhale a heavy breath, and tip the hot water of the kettle into his mug. Stop that. Stop wanting, stop hoping, just stop.

You hear a door creak behind you.

You freeze. The boiling water keeps trickling out of the kettle.

"This is a surprise."

You don't turn around. Can't, really, not with this invisible, heavy force gripping you in place.

"Haven't seen you since my bender, not really," John says quietly. "But you're still making me tea."

The hot water continues to flow. It fills up the mug to the brim.

"It's the bequeathal tonight," he says. He's trying to keep his voice light. Your throat is tight, your breaths thin and shallow. "I've got to be at the academy early today. I thought you might want to…"

He trails off. Something lights up in your mind at the mention of the bequeathal. Something important. The mug is just about to overflow.

You can barely make out the expression on his face, out of the corner of your eye. He's silent, for a moment. You know he's studying you like the Doctor would. Trying to translate your silence into something he can understand.

"Listen, you don't have to say anything if you don't want to. Lord knows you've barely said a word to me this whole week." You can feel him moving closer to you. Out of the corner of your eye, you see him standing by the dinner table. "And I don't know what I did, or what I said, but I'm sorry. I truly am."

He's sorry.

The surface of the water warps with tension.

Well, what does it matter if he's sorry?

You barely notice as the boiling water spills over the lip of the mug, flowing out and spilling into a pool onto the counter. You barely notice it flowing closer to your hand, clenched and trembling on the countertop, nails digging crescents into the palm of your hand. You don't notice the heat as it licks over your skin, warmth spreading across your fingers.

This is all his fault anyway.

"What the —!"

Firm hands wrench the kettle from your grip and set it down on the countertop with a thud before gripping your wrist and taking your hand off the counter. You blink, and suddenly John's right in front of you.

"What were you doing?" he asks, his face twisted in concern.

You haven't looked him in the eyes in days. His eyes are wide, his gaze steady but panicked as his grasp holds firm around your burned hand.

"Tea," you mumble.

"Yeah, tea, I know, I saw," he says. "Didn't you notice the mug overflowing?"

"I didn't…" You're missing something important, something big. But no matter how hard you try to think, there isn't anything there.

John huffs. His eyebrows pinch together in worry. With one smooth motion, he flips your hand over, baring your tender skin to the air. He sucks in a breath through his teeth at the sight, tugging at your wrist to bring it closer to his face. The skin on the heel of your palm has already begun to turn red. "Doesn't look too bad. Water must not have been boiling all the way…"

Something prickles at the base of your neck, like static electricity. "What are you doing?"

"…this'll probably blister… hm?" John glances up at you, frowning. "Oh. Examining." He gives your palm an experimental poke. "Hurts?"

You stare at your hand. It should. It doesn't. "I'm fine."

John makes a face, in between a frown and a grimace. "You always say that," he says, a touch of bitterness lingering on his words.

A retort starts climbing up your throat — Because I am fine, thanks very much, and I'd rather you stop fussing about me — but before it can make its way past your lips, John's fingers around your wrist tighten. Slowly, gently, he presses his lips against the reddened skin of your palm. The kiss is gone as quick as it comes, but there's a heaviness to it. A reverence you can't quite explain. He kisses your palm like it'll fix you.

A million years ago and miles away, the Doctor does the same thing to your wounded forearm, and it does. His hands glow with a strange, golden light, glittering dust falling from his skin and swirling through the air like fireflies. You protest, say it's not worth it, you're not worth it.

But the Doctor just smiles, that infuriatingly gentle smile, and says, "Of course you are." Like it's the easiest thing in the universe. Like he's not giving up some of his life to fix something that'll heal with time. Like you matter to him more than a friend should. Like he loves you.

And ever since that drunken night, you know he does.

A million years ago and miles away you don't pull away.

You wrench your wrist out of John's grasp with a violent yank. He yelps, stumbles forwards and catches himself on the edge of the still damp countertop.

"I'll take care of it," you snap. "I said I'm fine."

John looks up at you. His eyes are still wide, but the panic is gone — instead his sea glass eyes are misty, hazy with unshed tears. His hand that had been holding yours twitches once, twice, before he clenches it tight into a fist and brings it to his chest.

"I'm sorry," he says, and there it is again, that static dancing against your skin.

What does it matter if he's sorry?

He looks so pitiful.

This is all his fault.

"Sure," you mutter, your voice flat.

John flinches. You've never seen him do that before. You've seen the Doctor wince, his face flickering with unreadable emotions at certain moments, but he's never flinched before. He's moved back like you've hit him, mouth hanging open in shock. He swallows.

You should feel guilty. You don't. You don't feel anything.

Anything?

You hold your hand close to your chest, rub your knuckles against your sternum. Nothing. Just that same, flickering, simmering heat. Something like a bell rings in the back of your mind, insistent. Important. But when you try to grasp at it there isn't anything there, just a pulling feeling of urgency. You've forgotten something, you know it. You just don't know what.

And it doesn't matter.

And it doesn't matter. You shake your head and push past John. He jumps out of your path, his eyes tracking you as you turn the handle on the faucet and run your hand underneath the cold water. Or at least, it should be cold. You only feel the steady stream cascading over your skin, the water soothing your burned palm.

"See?" you say, airily. "All better."

"All better," John repeats, unbelieving, and for a moment there he sounds like the Doctor. Your Doctor. "Will you… at least let me look at it again, when I get back? Please?"

"Okay," you reply, but your voice sounds miles away. "See you."

The water keeps flowing over your hand. Your fingers are pruning, wrinkling, skin crumpling with the moisture. He's leaving you again. He's always leaving you. He left you that morning and he's always leaving you in the dark and you're going to be alone again, aren't you? Like you always are. Second best to everything.

Beside you, ceramic scrapes against granite. John sets down his mug with a soft clink. Pale brown liquid swirls inside it, round and round and round and…

"Hey," he murmurs, leaning down to try and look at you. You keep staring at the drain on the bottom of the sink. Round and round and round. His hands are twitching at his sides. "I'm here to help, okay? Please try to remember that."

Please try to remember.

The tea is still swirling as he leaves. You hear the rustle of his coat as he pulls it over his shoulders, the creak of the door as it swings open. You don't watch him leave like you used to. The door shuts gently behind him.

And you're alone again.

Something stirs under your skin. It whispers, tugs at your awareness, pulls it away from you.

Always alone. Always hoping like a fool for him to stay. Why would he ever stay? Even like this, he leaves. Leaves you to be with someone else. Leaves you to be with her.

Finally, the simmering heat flares bright and piercing in your chest. Your hand jolts away from the rushing water. It almost knocks you over — the drumming inside your chest intensifying, accelerating, the heat pumping from your chest and rolling through the rest of your body, molten like lava. Slowly, but surely, it drags itself through your blood, leaving burn marks in its wake.

What's it like to be abandoned?

It tastes like fire. It tastes like smoke, in your lungs, choking you. Drowning you. Pushing you deeper and deeper until the rest of the world disappears into fog.

But it's like a light in the darkness, like a lifeboat in a storm, because it's nothing like the emptiness in your heart. It's something you can cling to.

So that's what this is, you think numbly. Help me, Doctor.

It’s the final thing that crosses your mind.

—

Anger is easy. It doesn't discriminate. Think of forest fires — when infernos of flame consume entire homes, habitats, does it see a difference between tree or flower? No. It only sees fuel. Anything in its path serves as sustenance for the hungry blaze, burned away until only ashes are left.

It's so much easier, isn't it, to let the flames fester, to let every breath of precious air feed the anger inside you. It's so much easier than the ache of sadness that settles in your bones and leaves you exhausted.

You don't know how you walked so far. The tall walls of the academy loom up at you, bricks flecked with snow, shiny in the silver moonlight. Your feet are cold and aching. Your toes curl into the chilled pavement. The rest of the world feels muffled. You hear the sound of music in the distance, raucous laughter rising above the rest of the noise.

You follow the sound past rows of classrooms, past the academy grounds, into the gymnasium. No one notices you walk in. The room is dim, sparkling lights strung up across the ceiling like stars, balloons littering the floor and reflecting strobing lights. Everyone looks happy. Teens in groups, giggling and dancing with each other, clad in shiny suits and poofy ballgowns.

But that's not why you're here. No, something's pulled you out of the fog, hasn't it? And called you here.

Your gaze flits over the crowd of schoolchildren until it catches a face you know all too well, a face you'd recognize anywhere in the universe. Lanky and awkward but a tangle of joy, bundled up in the same coat he'd worn when he left your flat.

The Doctor. Your Doctor.

No, John. That's John. He's laughing loudly. His eyes crinkle into half-moons in joy. His lips spread into a handsome smile. He reaches out to take someone's hands, lead them to the middle of the gymnasium floor. His fingers wrap around delicate wrists, pull the other person laughing soft and dainty onto the dance floor. Your vision narrows, tunneling into focus on a single target.

Lily stumbles with a breathless laugh into John's arms. She's looking up at him, her eyes sparkling, beautifully coiffed hair spilling over her shoulders like shining waterfalls. She's beautiful. She's nothing like you. She's beautiful and she's in his arms, dancing and laughing with him.

You aren't. You should be.

She's laughing. Lily's laughing, and it sounds like bells. Peals of laughter ringing like alarms in your head. Alarm bells. There's something you're missing. Laughing with John. You watch him smile at her, wrap his arms around her waist. He wraps his arms around her with a comfortable ease that only stokes the coals in your stomach. The back of your neck prickles again.

Electricity jumps between every neuron in your body until it becomes action. Your body moves before your mind — wherever it is now — can catch up, propelled by the roiling storm inside you. You don't know you're even running until your bare feet hit the ground hard, pushing you forward, your muscles burning.

She's right there, touching John, when it should be you, shouldn't it? It should be you there, dancing with him, with your impossible man, but it isn't. And she's in the way.

You lunge.

Your hand connects with flesh — it could have been a slap, a push, a clawing thing. It doesn't matter what you did. What matters is that Lily Nettington is falling on the ground, like a scared little thing, and that she isn't holding John anymore. She tumbles to the floor in a heap of satin and tulle.

"What are you even —" Lily gasps. She's wheezing, perfectly manicured hand clutched to her chest, her dress ruffled and spilling around her. "What the hell—?"

"You," someone snarls. It's a low and guttural sound, one clawed from the depths of someones throat. They sound like an animal. Is that you? "This is your fault."

"How is this my fault? What's wrong with you?" she shrieks. She lifts her frantic gaze to John. He's standing still as a statue. "Do something!"

John blinks at you rapidly. His gaze can't quite settle on one place, his eyes flickering between Lily, prone on the ground, and you. He looks like prey, his green eyes blown wide like a deer in the headlights. The music's stopped, the deep, thumping bass tones giving way to a tense silence. They're afraid, you realize. Of me?

You stomp onto the hem of Lily's dress and she yelps, trying to skitter backwards on hands and elbows. She doesn't get very far. Your foot's holding her firmly in place. She squirms and wriggles, beads of sweat forming on her perfect skin, rolling down and soaking the collar of her pretty dress. Pleasure twinges onto your cheeks and you feel your lips stretch into a wide smile — then you laugh, a great, harsh, barking noise.

"You have… no idea," you heave, stepping over Lily's satin high heels, crouching down to meet her eyes. They're glistening with tears, quivering with fear as you stare at her, unblinking. Watching like a hawk in case she moves. She swallows, her head tilting, eyes darting to ask for help — and your hand shoots out to grab the fabric of her neckline.

"Just you and me now," you hiss. Your nails have caught against her skin, not hard enough to draw blood. Not yet. "Look at me."

A gasp ripples through the room. Then the world tilts off its axis — fingers dig roughly into your shoulders and haul you away from her, from your target. No! NO! You try to thrash out of the grip but it refuses to release you, tugging you upward, your legs kicking uselessly off of Lily's dress.

"Get off me!" you yell. "Get off—"

"No!" someone shouts. You snarl and throw your shoulder forwards, ripping yourself out of the vice grip that took you away from your target — and it's John, pulling you away from the edge, because of course it's him. Who else to take away from what you really need?

What is it you really need, anyway? He's saying something, shouting, but you can barely hear it over the growling rolling through the air, roaring into your ears. Your throat feels so raw. Him? To hurt Lily? Go on! Do it! Do it!

The thoughts muddling up your mind swirl together into a furious amalgamation. Anger is so easy. There he is, with his sad eyes, the man you love, the man you'd do anything for, the man who's held you through the end of the universe, and you hate him. You hate him.

A scream rips its away out of your hoarse throat, and you hurl yourself forward.

You barely notice the collision. Balloons fly into the air as you both collapse on the floor. John lands on his back — he barely has the time to even wince before you're climbing on top of him. The whole world whites out for a moment — you blindly reach out, grab, and squeeze at the first thing you wrap your fingers around. There's a strangled gasp, choking breaths, as you dig your thumbs even further into soft flesh. There's nothing else except pain, raw suffering, and you need to make someone else feel it.

That's it, the voice in your head goads. Hurt him. Hurt him the way he's hurt you, left you suffocating and drowning for your affection for him.

He looks so pitiful underneath you, your hands wrapped around the column of his neck. His eyes wide and pleading and afraid. You can feel his pulse underneath your fingers, his heart racing in double, triple time. His hands scrabble at your forearms, but you can't feel them, even as his nails dig into your skin.

"No," he gasps, "stop —"

Stop? Why would you stop? Why should you stop?

"Please — please," John rasps. "This isn't you. Please."

His eyes start to fill with tears, his eyelids fluttering, and your hands slip.

For a second, your vision sharpens, clears. You're in your pajamas, wrapped in your cardigan. You're barefoot, the soles of your feet aching and cold like you've just walked for miles. You're in the academy gymnasium. Everyone is staring at you. You're on top of John. You've been choking him.

Oh God, you've been choking the Doctor.

What have you done?

Your fingers loosen, and John splutters, gasps lungfuls of air. Your own lungs feel empty, starved of air, but you can't breathe. You hurt him. You hurt him, and you're a monster, why would you even do that —

Violent footsteps thunder in your direction. It's the academy's security guard. You think his name is Bowen. He's a friendly guy, works the nights, so you've never seen him on your own shifts. He runs up to you, looking incredibly confused, Lily in tow.

Lily. She's holding onto Bowen's arm, pulling him along. You must look absolutely insane, straddling John, your hands still centimeters away from the vulnerable hollow of his throat.

"There they are," Lily cries, pointing at you with a delicate finger. "Absolutely mad, they are! Just burst in here and attacked me and my boyfriend over here —"

Boyfriend?

You can feel the anger pulling at you again, crackling to life under your skin. It threatens to consume you, swallow you whole, turn you into that awful, horrible monster again with no thoughts, only rage. But you lift your shaking head to look at Lily again, still whimpering at Bowen, and she meets your eyes.

Something else glints through her eyes for a spell. It's not fear, or disgust. It's fascination.

There's a flash of matte black at Bowen's belt. Standard issue firearm for a security guard. Nothing you've ever touched in your life, not ever, not even through all your travels with the Doctor. The Doctor wasn't a fan of guns. If there was a problem, he would out-think it, not shoot it. But thinking — thinking is extraordinarily difficult right now, with the strange tugging at the back of your neck that's trying to drag you back into that animalistic state.

So you do the only thing that comes to mind, as Bowen's gun beams in the strobing lights.

You clamber off of John — he shouts after you, struggling to stand — and grab the gun — !

Then point it straight at Lily Nettington.

"What's happening to me?" you warble.

"What the hell are you doing?" John shouts. He careens into view in front of you, scrambling to get in between you and Lily. Your numb heart beats at the sight. Always the protector, even when he shouldn't be. Another reason why you... "Stop it!"

Lily just looks at you through her curled eyelashes.

And then she smiles, all teeth and gums.

"It works," she mouths, with an air of triumph. An incredulous laugh shakes through her body. "I can't believe it… but of course… why wouldn't…"

John moves to stand in front of her, his arms raised in surrender. The gun wavers in your trembling hands. You'd never hurt him — oh, but you have, sneers the voice in the back of your mind, haven't you now? Look at the marks on his neck…

"Stop it, please," John pleads. He takes a small step forward, his raised arms lowering, beckoning hands outstretched. "It's okay. Just give me the gun, yeah? No one needs to get hurt. Just let me help you."

I wanna help.

You want to ask how. How he can help you when he can't even fathom what you're going through. You want to yell, cry, anything. But you catch a glimpse of Lily's eyes, staring at you, unblinking — and you freeze solid.

Lily smiles again. A crack across glass. Slowly, she raises a hand to her head, two fingers pressed against her forehead.

The barrel of the gun is pressed against your temple before you can even scream.

John darts forward, bellows something — maybe your name — but the all of the sound has blurred into inaudible static. Something is wrong. You admit it now, shaking, pointing a gun at your own head. Something is wrong and has been wrong with you for a very, very long time, and you have no idea how to fix it.

You can't take your eyes off of Lily. She's a vision in her silken dress, mouthing silent words but you can them in your brain, vibrating from a single point in the back of your neck. Tickling your mind.

Hi there, pretty, she sneers. Should've known it would be you and not him. You're weak. Easy to slip by your defenses. Turn your feelings for him into… well, this.

You grit your teeth. Your fingers curl around the trigger.

Thank you, Lily says in your mind. She sounds so sincere. It's terrifying. A little less terrifying than forcing yourself at gunpoint. Really. You've made my little experiment so easy.

Another shout of your name breaks you from her gaze. John's struggling in Bowen's arms, his hands pinned behind his back. "No, let me go!" he pleads. You think he's crying now, but you're not sure underneath the flashing lights of the gymnasium. "Let me go, let me help them! Please!"

I'm here to help, okay? Please try to remember that.

Please try to remember…

You look up. There's a large clock on the walk of the gymnasium, for timing sports games and events. Seconds tick by on its LED screen. Only a few minutes to midnight. Deliriously, you think of Cinderella, running out of time at the ball, with only a few minutes until the magic fails and she can never get home. Home. You think of the TARDIS, and her wheezing song, calling you to sleep, giving you comfort. You think of the Doctor, and how magical he is, and how if you die here you'll lose him forever. He'll be human the rest of his days, his true self stuck in that fobwatch you carry every day. You'll never get to go home.

I'm sorry. I couldn't protect you. I tried, I really did.

I love you, Doctor.

Lily startles. Your iron grip on the gun slips, and your body folds, crumpling onto itself.

The gun clatters some distance away — then a quick foot deftly kicks it across the room. Strong arms catch you before you can fully collapse, wrap around you, keep you stable. John's face swims into view above you. He looks more scared than he's ever been in his entire life. His face is ashen, lips parted and trembling, his pretty eyes blinking away tears.

So he is crying.

You've never seen this face really, properly scared before. You never want to see it again. With the way your mind feels like its fading into smoke, you probably never will.

Don't cry, you want to say. Not over silly old me. Instead you reach up with a trembling hand to cup his cheek. Wipe away a stray tear with your thumb.

Maybe you are keeping him safe, you wonder. Maybe here, human, he can live out his life free from the burdens of his past. Sure, he won't be the Doctor anymore, but maybe — just maybe — he'll be happy. As safe as he can be, with no way to even tell he's a Time Lord. And he'll forget about you one day.

"I won't," John blubbers, gripping your hand on his cheek. "No, I won't forget, I can't. You're gonna be okay, you're gonna —"

You didn't say anything.

John gasps, a stuttering breath, his chest caving into himself. "No, you didn't, what's —"

A heavy weight in your cardigan pocket dips, and then the air around you starts to sing.

You know this song. Thank you, old girl, you think, as the TARDIS materializes, an otherworldly wind blowing all of the balloons away from it in a perfect circle.. It lands with a tremendous sound, like a deep, ringing bell, standing tall and proud in the middle of the gymnasium.

"What's that, what's going on," John mumbles. The words don't even come out as a question anymore. "What is that?"

You stroke his cheek again. Guide it so he's not looking at the TARDIS, he's looking at you. Even holding him like this — you bite back the urge that starts to scrape through your consciousness telling you to just grab him. Has it always been so difficult to be gentle?

"Look at me —" John does as you say, his eyes locked onto yours. His frantic eyes settle just a touch. "I'm sorry. You've got to run."

John shakes his head, squeezes his eyes shut. "No, I'm not leaving you, not until I can help —!"

"You can't help me," you say. He's right there. Do something! A tremor passes through your body, your muscles spasming uncontrollably — you wrench your twitching hand, already curling into a clawed grasp, away from his cheek and stuff it into the pocket of your cardigan.

You pull out the silver fob watch and push it into his hands. John stares at it, damp eyes transfixed.

Another shiver washes over you like a tidal wave and you groan. You can hear the click click click of Lily's high heels as she walks closer to you, the presence of her mind starting to eclipse your brief moment of sanity. You have to keep fighting — you shove yourself against John, knocking yourself out of his arms. You land on your elbows, hard. The pain that shoots up your joints is enough to keep her whispers at bay.

"You don't deserve this, John, I'm sorry," you whisper, your voice hoarse. And he really doesn't. This poor, innocent man, living in the body of the man you love. You don't know what's going to happen to him. "You take the watch, and then you run into that box, okay?"

John grips the fob watch so tight his knuckles turn white. His head whips up to stare at something behind you, then at the TARDIS, then down at you. His panicked stare morphs into something colder, steelier. Determined.

"And then you'll be okay?" he asks.

You don't know. But he will be, and that's enough for you.

John holds your gaze. He doesn't blink. His head is tilted like he's listening.

"Okay," he says, his voice low. Final. "Anything happens to me…"

John crawls forward, taking your head in your hands. His touch is warm, so warm, it kick starts the hole in your chest into fifth gear. Lily's sweet voice starts pouring into your head again — don't you worry, pretty, I'll have you fighting in no time — and you struggle, but he just holds you. Stares at you like you hung the moon and the stars and everything in between, like you're the only thing that's ever mattered.

"You stay, I'll hurt you again," you grind out.

John just chuckles and shakes his head. "I already forgive you."

Your whole body is rigid. "That easy?"

Quickly, he presses a kiss to your forehead. "Always, for you."

His lips linger there on your skin for a second longer than they have to. For a moment, you wonder if he's saying goodbye. Then he smiles, sad and gentle, and bolts away, into the already open TARDIS doors.

No, not goodbye. See you.

They snap shut behind him.

The clock strikes midnight.

After a second of blissful silence, the TARDIS starts to sing again. But this song is different — it isn't the groaning hum of the engines that herald her arrival. No, this is a siren, high-pitched and blaring, wailing even. It sounds like someone's soul crying out for help.

Someone is screaming. Lily is shrieking at the top of her lungs. Or is that you? You can't tell anymore. Your muscles lock into place and you're standing now, legs bent into angles meant for walking. When did you even stand up? There's a whisper, get to that ship get that Time Lord, but what's the point? You can see the TARDIS start to dematerialize, dissolving into thin air. Lily's in front of you now too, her manicured nails digging crescent moons into your skin but you can't feel them anymore. The TARDIS's siren song, Lily's screeching, everything else — it all fades into silence.

And then your mind goes blank, and you feel nothing at all.

Blessedly, it's the best sleep you've had in nineteen days.

taglist: (feel free to comment or inbox me if you want to be added to the taglist too!) @science-hoes @trying414 @iloveangstposts @keene200213 @nyxrae @yeehawbrothers @friendlyneighborhoodghostpal @determinednature

[fellshish]

a lot of writing is sort of watching the film in your head like oh sorry can’t write the chapter yet i have to repeat hallucinate the dialogue first

[theunfortunate-author]

my daily affirmation as an author

[crownmemes]

Manipulative & Controlling Sentences, Vol. 2

(Sentences for manipulative muses, and for those that have had enough of it. Adjust phrasing where needed)

"Did you believe you could change me in the way I've changed you?"

"Why do you have to control everything?"

"Are you trying to manipulate me? Because I'm long past the point of needing my ego stroked."

"You don't want me to have anything in my life that's not you."

"I'm just trying to help you see the truth."

"Isn't it just easier to say yes?"

"Why do you treat me like this?"

"I promise you, you will come to love me."

"You have no right to control my life!"

"I will not be manipulated like this."

"However you think you are going to manipulate this situation to your advantage, think again."

"I care about you. I want to make sure you're making the right decisions."

"Do you think you deserved to be loved?"

"I'm perfectly capable of making my own decisions!"

"See? This is all I ever wanted for you. For both of us."

"Don't you want to be saved?"

"Would you rather I lied?"

"Would a true friend ask you to risk this much while risking nothing himself?"

"Is this you talking or him?"

"I know this all sounds insane, but how does any of what's happened today make sense if I'm lying?"

"I have a very odd feeling that you're taking advantage of me."

"Don't you trust me? Haven't I always kept you alive?"

"It's not a lie if it's going to come true eventually."

"I thought you were my friend, but you manipulated me."

"You can't leave me. You need me."

"How could you make me do this?"

[20th-centuryghost]

HEY ARTISTS!

Do you design a lot of characters living in not-modern eras and you’re tired of combing through google for the perfect outfit references? Well I got good news for you kiddo, this website has you covered! Originally @modmad made a post about it, but her link stopped working and I managed to fix it, so here’s a new post. Basically, this is a costume rental website for plays and stage shows and what not, they have outfits for several different decades from medieval to the 1980s. LOOK AT THIS SELECTION:

OPEN ANY CATEGORY AND OH LORDY–

There’s a lot of really specific stuff in here, I design a lot of 1930s characters for my ask blog and with more chapters on the way for the game it belongs to I’m gonna be designing more, and this website is going to be an invaluable reference. I hope this can be useful to my other fellow artists as well! :)

[daydreaming-of-doctor-who]

could you do a fic about the reader being stuck with the master and missy on the solar farm during the doctor falls?

A/N: Gladly! I love myself a Multi-Master episode <3

Another Day on Floor 0507 - Simm!Master & Missy x Reader

You were starting to lose track of time and the days. How long had you all been here again? Things had become quite the chaotic mess, but then again, when wasn't it when the Master was involved? You had learned that and not minded it.

For awhile now you had yourself staying inside the farmhouse with the Master and Missy, both adamant about keeping you away from the ramblings of the Doctor and the drama of his companions.

You sighed. "How much longer will we be here? I'm bored."

The Master had been excited about meeting his future female self. Meanwhile, Missy seemed to be not that thrilled about him at all.

"It seems you haven't been taking good care of our pet." Missy commented, shaking her head at her past self. "We can't have that. Something will have to be done about this."

She quickly got up from where she had been sitting, attention fully on you, blue eyes shinning with some kind of plan. There was no denying that smirk on her lips too.

Missy yanked you by your hands, practically sweeping you off your feet.

The Master quickly caught onto what she had been planning, grinning in equal amusement and agreement. "Oh, yes...that's good."

The Time Lady spun you around so that you landed in his arms, but now she was on the other side of you. You were trapped in the middle of them as they both locked hands together.

"You know...we really don't like sharing what is ours." Missy stated.

The Master nodded. "We are quite possessive, actually. We don't even like sharing between each other. It's terrible."

This made you swallow nervously, seeing their eyes locked on you from all sides. You felt like prey stuck in between two hungry cheetah's trying to decide who gets the first pick at you.

"O-Okay. Then don't fight each other. It's simple."

Missy and the Master both chuckled at the same time.

"But how can we not when it's over you?" Missy asked, practically close to nipping at your ear.

"Yeah...you said you were bored. We can't let that happen to our pet." The Master added, whispering into your other ear that you could feel his breath upon it.

This was the final straw, making your heart race and feeling the goosebumps on your skin from it all. What exactly had you gotten yourself into? It was something you were genuinely asking yourself for the first time since traveling with him.

Either way, you knew you wouldn't trade it for anything.

The Master and Missy had kept their word.

[whittakerjodie]

Keep Your Enemies Close (13th Doctor x Reader x Dhawan!Master)

Summary: Having split up from the Doctor, you find yourself having to hide with the Master after his 'allies' turn on him (as per usual). In multiple ways, you're forced to confront the simple fact that your yearning isn't limited to the timelord who whisked you away.

Word Count: ~5k

Rating: Mature (no smut, but nsfw themes)

Tags/warnings: Forced proximity, hypnotism, telepathy, violence (aka canon realistic depictions of how the Master would treat the Doctor's companions, even if he was into them)

Notes: reblogs and comments mean the world <3 sorry I haven't written a lot lately!

If you never saw another dingy metal corridor in your life, it would still be too soon. Should the TARDIS land on yet another stranded space-ship or futuristic landscape, you'd demand to be taken elsewhere. Not that the space-time machine would listen; but you'd try. 

With the electricity to the ship flickering in and out, any signs indicating your position were left to darkness, the ship conserving what was left for its more vital systems. As with the many other space ships you'd boarded before, you were stuck in a maze of silver and copper. One of the few benefits of metal was the ability to hear footsteps, clanging- any signs of life- from farther away. But as you stopped to catch your breath, there was none to be heard. 

It wasn't possible to be that lucky, you were sure. But the space-pirates-turned-cyborgs occupying the ship were too rambunctious enough to allow for this much silence. And their puppeteer, their Master, was too fond of putting on a show. You scanned the corridor for cameras. Perhaps he was watching you, trying to lure you into a false sense of security. The very idea of his eyes on you, of being watched by something you couldn't observe yourself, was enough to throw you back into motion. 

Where was she, though? If you had to guess, it had been roughly an hour or two since you and the Doctor had split up. Her mission was to head to the machine's core to send a distress signal. Yours was to find the TARDIS, insert some sort of copper cylinder into its console, to boost it. It surely wasn't going to take her this long to find the core, but you didn't feel too much urgency. You knew that she knew it wasn't going to take her that long. You also knew what she was really hoping to find. Or, who, rather. You just didn't expect to beat her to it. 

The yelp you let out registered through your ears far before you could even think to silence it. You ducked back behind the corner you'd just turned. Blood rushed to your cheeks, pooling into your ears, and pounding like drums at the side of your head. Why couldn't you run? Some more rational part of you must have had better control than the part that was currently screaming danger, run!! It caught up to you, and your brows furrowed tightly in confusion. 

“If you're this scared by a stationary space-time traveller, I'm not so certain you're cut out to be dealing with the other one” 

A long, shaky breath drowned out the quick symphony of your pulse. You swallowed, and slowly poked your head out from behind the wall. Being sure to use the hand that wasn't visible, you curled your fingers together, applying pressure there so your face could remain more neutral. Without that added layer of control, you were sure your features would give away what was a very reactive mix of shock, fear, and, frankly, laughter. 

The Master was sat at the end of the corridor (sat meaning someone had seemingly sat him there, rather than it being an action he chose). At least, that's what you could assume provided his position. His back was pressed against the wall, arched as he was stretching. Or, potentially, to give him space to work. His hands were behind his back. Tied, most likely, given that the same orange rope which trailed out from behind him was wound around his ankles. If this was the work of the Doctor, she'd surely be gloating about it. Unless she had gone to find you, which was fairly likely. It'd been so long since you'd seen him last, yet it felt like minutes. Perhaps all timelords had that effect. He was certainly in a very different position than you'd ever seen him, even though you'd crossed paths multiple times now. 

“They've gone off to find her,” he growled, and you tensed at the possibility that he could be reading your thoughts, even from so far away. He slumped back against the wall and the fabric of his shirt gained some slack as a result. You tore your eyes away. It was perfectly normal, in the process of taking in as many details as possible, to have noticed how tight it was before. How it gave little room for him to writhe and arch to try and get out of his bonds, an effort in which he had ceased. Your fingers had curled into a tighter fist, and you hid back around the corner, forcing the digits to relax, and began your own show to save face. You craned your neck out just enough so he could see you looking down the other corridors. Whether it worked or not, you couldn't be so sure. 

“I assume all of this wasn't her then?” You called out from behind the wall. The last thing you wanted was to receive any sort of assistance from him. But you didn't like the idea that his allies-turned-captors could be on the way back. 

He grumbled something you couldn't hear, and you turned the corner again with a raised brow. His eyes narrowed. Then, his head tilted against his raised shoulder and he gave an obnoxiously large smile. 

“What did you say?” Irritation overrode your logic, which could predict exactly what he was going to do next. This would usually have been a rare thing to be able to do with the Master, if you weren't already so knowledgeable on his love to annoy. He was rewarded with a scowl of annoyance as he grumbled for another few seconds. 

“I'm not walking over there” You insisted. His bottom lip stuck out and his eyes landed directly on yours, so large and shiny with manufactured yearning. 

“Not even to help a poor captive?” He whined. “What would your precious Doctor say?” 

The force of air leaving you in the form of a scoff could have been enough to propel the ship back to its homeworld. You stepped out from behind the wall, crossing your arms. 

“She'd probably tell me to throw you out of the airlock”. 

“Oh, I don't think she'd have you do it,” He drawled. You swallowed and took a step closer, trying to get a better glance at the extent of his ties. “She'd probably just ask you to leave, and never let you know how exactly she decided to deal with me this time”

You tensed. His smile grew, his teeth bared like an animal ready to bite. 

“Struck a nerve, love?” 

The ties around his wrists seemed haphazardly done, but thick, and in multiple layers of knots that you doubted could be undone by him alone. No wonder he had been struggling. The ties around his ankles seemed less prominent. The hair on the back of your neck stood up and after a second longer you could hear voices in the distance. The Master's “friends” were returning. A dozen different scenarios still ran through your mind even when it seemed like you had already settled on what to do. 

You dropped to your knees in front of him, reaching for the rope around his ankles. He shifted back against the wall and you pocketed the satisfaction of startling him to enjoy later on, not sparing him a glance. The rope fell away rather quickly and you dodged his foot as it headed for your face, anticipating what he would do. 

You stood up quickly, hesitating for the briefest of moments. His eyes were dark, never leaving yours as he kicked his feet against the floor and used the wall as leverage to rise. His chest was heaving again, the fabric rippling against- 

You moved forward quickly to throw yourself behind him, grabbing on to the rope around his wrists. 

“Don't think you're getting free that easily,” you growled. 

The fire in your voice was a bit disconcerting, but made you feel proud right up until the air was knocked violently from your lungs. The Master had thrown his full weight into you, crushing you against the wall. Before you could fully register anything beyond the pain blossoming from where your head had hit metal, he lunged forward again. Your fingers burned as they were ripped from the rope and you shut your eyes instinctively as the two of you headed for the floor. 

At the very least, his groan of pain seemed louder than yours. A primary contributor for this was likely that you'd landed right on top of him, your forehead colliding with his nose. Now pain was pulsing through your skull from all fronts. You scrambled to push yourself up, each breath coming out in a deep mix of a groan and a growl. The voices you had heard seemed louder now, and you scanned the corridors around you for the source, leaning back against whatever was supporting your weight. There was no one in sight- yet. Some sort of smart response had to have been stored in the back of your mind; it was abruptly silenced as you looked back down at who was quite possibly becoming your captive. 

The timelord below you was scowling and he began to shift in an effort to throw you off of him. His continued disobedience only made you more aware of the fact that he was shifting underneath you. Your hands, where they were splayed across his chest to keep you upright. Your thighs, which were stretched across his lap. The blood returned to your face, pounding much louder, turning everything around the two of you into a dizzying sea of gray. You yelped and he stilled, the two of you locking eyes again. Just in the corner of your vision you could see a small trail of blood making its way down his cheek from his nose. Matching its speed, you peeled yourself off of him and tugged at his shoulders, trying to turn him over. 

“What are you doing?” He yelled. You grunted with effort as you shoved your weight against his shoulder repeatedly, until he seemed to become just as frustrated as you and turned over. You grasped his bound wrists again, finding a strong footing against the floor. Mentally, you focused all of your energy into your feet and legs as you tugged. 

“You can't be serious” 

“Shut up” You groaned as you tugged again. With the voices becoming even louder, adrenaline kicked in and you lifted him off of the floor. 

“Unless you want both of us to wind up dead, I suggest you stop being so annoying” He laughed. But, to your surprise, he cooperated, finding his own footing. 

“Thats it,” He mumbled. “Show me exactly how you think your Doctor would want me dealt with”

The silence you gave him was unsatisfying. But you knew that he was yearning for you to tap into the twist in your gut. To voice every irritation that had been stuck in the back of your mind ever since he'd revealed himself on that airplane months prior. All of the moments in between in which you'd watched the Doctor shut you out, lie as part of her attempts to hunt him down without revealing why she had to. Why she wanted to. But her actions alone told you exactly why she couldn't let him go. 

Tears burned at the corners of your eyes, mixing with the stinging pain to create a pool of frustration and betrayal. To soothe the pain moving through your entire body in a low hum, you allowed yourself to also recognize the jealousy that broke the floodgates. You couldn't allow yourself any noise that might give away the wetness on your cheeks, so you pushed harder on his back to guide him forward. Any sharp breaths could be written down as the product of exhaustion. What made him so important to her? So much more important than her telling you the truth, at least. In his eyes, you were little more than a pouting companion trying to be brave for someone he would always know infinitely more than you could even conceptualize. But how did she see you- or any of her companions- if he was able to draw upon this mockery so easily? 

You continued to push the two of you further and further from the voices, shushing the Master as he began to hum. There was a break in between in which he twisted his form to try and throw a retort directly to your face. During that brief moment, you heard the voices again- but much louder. A metal maze, and you were clearly at a large disadvantage. 

You looked around quickly to try and find an alternative route. Neither of you were in any position to fight, unless you were willing to set the Master loose on them. But then what? He'd only go for you next. 

Your eyes settled on a door a few feet away. You tugged the timelord in its direction, briefly leaving only one hand on his ropes to pull the handle down and out. It was a rather small closet, which reeked of stale mop water and bleach from a bucket and spout.  It would have to do. The Master turned up his nose as you shoved him into it, quickly shutting the door behind you. It was only then that you properly let go of his wrists, feeling for a light switch or rope. 

You could hear him grunting behind you, the fabric of his shirt rustling again as he tried to untie himself. The noise threw off what little visual of the closet you'd had before you shut the door and the darkness became a truly unknown landscape. What flashed in front of your eyes instead was exactly how he had looked before, trying to get out of the rope. 

You squeezed your eyes shut, placing your hands against the wall to ground yourself and return to your previous train of thought. But the timelord bumping into you rendered your attempt useless. Was he trying to get out again? 

The image of him arching his back returned, your memory having stored more detail than you initially took in. Or were you imagining it, filling in the blanks? Either way, it didn't seem very helpful for your brain to be painting a very vivid picture of his face tense with focus, the inside of his bottom lip seemingly caught between his teeth as he writhed and groaned- Okay no, surely he had not done all of that. But you didn’t want to consider why your brain would be that imaginative. 

The closet had begun to feel rather hot, between the warmth sprawling across your chest and stomach and a mix of your breath. You let one of your hands fall to your stomach, trying to soothe the tension there. Your fingers curled where your other hand still sat against the metal, as if you were trying to sink your grip into its smooth surface. Its cold frigidity served as a reminder of what you definitely should not be doing or thinking right now. 

What was wrong with you?  Perhaps your head had hit the wall a little too hard. You tried to think of the Doctor. Where she could be, what she might be doing to fix this situation. But the sick feeling returned. The thought of her seeing him, here. Talking to him, thinking about him, playing another round of their eternal game; a wave of rage made you shudder. You didn't want her anywhere near him, especially if she was thinking half of the things running through your mind right now. Feelings that were typically reserved for her, when you let yourself ignore all logical sense. The voices were very close now, and you knew they were walking down this very corridor. Your ears strained to take in what they were saying. 

“No sign of him. He must've gotten out- I don't know where the other two are, but I know I haven't heard from 13-JA which means they're probably somewhere in sector four” Despite having been fused into technology similar to the ship around them, the pirates still sounded quite human. You hadn’t heard this one yet, but you recognized the voice of the next speaker, the ship's captain. 

“You two split up. Go check it out, I'll stay here and keep an eye out. He can't have gotten far with those ties.” The one who had stayed behind footsteps stomped away, further down the corridor. 

You let out a shaky sigh, unaware that you'd been holding your breath. Stepping back, you landed right into the Master's chest. You gasped and moved forward again, your foot catching on something. It tumbled to the floor with a clang and you reached for the door, ready to run if the cyborg was drawn by the source of the noise. He was, based on the sound of his footsteps increasing once more, but you didn't get a chance to follow your plan through. 

The Master snatched up your hand in a painful grip and slammed it into the wall. Another shot of pain reverberated through your bones, echoing off of his skin and back into you in waves. The resulting whimper was smothered by his other hand, which covered your mouth and pulled backward. You were completely pinned, your front pressed against the cold metal wall. But the rest of you was tucked in perfectly to his shape. You gasped against his fingers, breathing in his scent. Blood, mixed with something akin to motor oil, mixed with smoke. 

“I'd ask if all of you are this stupid, but I know the answer” His hot breath fanned out against your neck, and the contrast in temperature between surfaces made you shudder.

Perhaps your brain was still filling in blanks- but you could swear you felt his fingers tense and flex against your hand. No, it was real; his fingers slowly slid down yours, creating a trail of tingling skin. You held your breath. His finger tips came to rest between your fingers. You could swear he pressed into you a little more, his other hand shifting and tightening around your face so that his fingers rested under your jaw and tilted your head backward. 

You made no attempt to move; the cyborg was stomping right past the closet, and you were sure the Master would be able to feel every breath, every movement, every heartbeat. Unable to hold it any longer, you let out a heaving sigh against his hand, trying to take in enough air to replace it through your nose. You were impossibly dizzy now. 

“Interesting” The Master murmured in your ear. Perhaps there was some sort of smart reply you could have given him. But your mind made no attempt to take advantage. The Master pushed his fingers through yours and curled them inward to rest against your palm. Without thinking, you followed suit until your fingers were interlocked together. 

Your head, which felt as though it weighed more than the world itself, found support against the Masters shoulder. He seemed to be satisfied with this outcome, moving his hand from your jaw to trail down your neck. Your eyes moved back and forth wildly, as if there was some sense to be found in the pitch black surrounding you. At the very least, you recalled the orange rope. 

”How d-did you-“ His smirk was almost audible. 

“Do you really think something so archaic could hold me for this long?” 

“Didn't seem like you were having that easy of a go earlier,” You panted. His fingers curled- on both hands, tightening his grip on your hand and applying pressure around your throat. You inhaled sharply, pushing back against him in a very small attempt to free yourself. Even if you had put real effort in, it would have been futile. The pressure increased, not enough to choke you but enough to throw you back into reality; to remind you of the position you'd put yourself in. 

You had no idea where the Doctor was, or if she knew where you even could be at this point. Now, you were locked in some dingy cleaning closet with her greatest enemy-situationship-thing who could easily snap your neck if his very unstable mindset suddenly thought it would be fun to do. 

“I could,” he whispered. You whimpered, chest rising and falling more quickly as your breath quickened, trying to take in as much air as possible before he snuffed it out. With each breath, you tried to push out a response. 

“Are you-” reading my mind, is what you wanted to say. He hummed and dropped his hand from your throat to rest against your stomach. He turned his head closer to yours, breath passing over your lips. 

“No,” He mumbled. “not all of it anyway. But it's rather hard not to skim the surface.” 

His hand was so warm against your stomach, carrying the same sort of pull that had brought you against him in the first place. There were voices in the distance again, one that seemed as though it could be the Doctors. The Master hummed and your eyes screwed tight. Given the last several minutes, you really did not want him knowing even the surface of what was running through your mind. You wanted to push him away, push him into the hallway to be caught again. Maybe it would buy you some more time to get away.

 But he was there, against you, all around you, picking at snippets of thoughts you couldn't help but focus on him. Her, too, as it was most certainly her voice you were hearing down the corridor. Should you focus on her instead? You had no idea what to do; the Doctor had never connected with you like this before. You weren't even aware she might have been able to 'skim' your thoughts and feelings. Another important detail she'd kept from you, and frustration pooled in your gut again. Could he feel it? his hand had not moved from your stomach. The two of you stood in silence, your bodies moving together as you breathed in sync. 

“Let me in” 

His mouth was so close. If you turned your head, your lips would meet. It was a new image flashing behind your eyes, the warmth in your stomach increasing to an embarrassing degree. No, no no. You couldn't be thinking this way. But there was a hum, some sort of low vibration, where he touched you, resting in the back of your skull. 

It began to drown out everything else running through your mind, and you let out a small whine which seemed to be answered by a low groan and much louder hum. It was accompanied by a drumbeat, one not of your own making. Four beats, tapping away at the edges of your brain until they were pounding against it, making your next whine much louder. His hand pulled you to him tighter than you ever thought possible, even with the strength he had displayed earlier. You could feel yourself becoming lost in the hypnotic way your bodies moved together in short but deep breaths. 

Hypnotic. 

Your eyes shot open suddenly. Although the closet was still completely dark you could see red all around you, alarm bells ringing throughout your mind. You tried to pull away from him, beginning by prying your hand away from the wall and taking his with it. He grumbled something and pinned it behind your back instead, reaching out for your other hand. You twisted around, throwing him off his balance.

 He lost his grip on you- the disadvantage being that you no longer had any strong sense of where he was in relation to you. There wasn't really anywhere he could go. 

“I know what you're trying to do” You wheezed, suddenly breathing in more air than it felt like you'd had in years. Freed from his attempt at taking control, your mind was racing in panic.

“Do I have to try?” He spat. “Seems like I'm already in your head” 

“You- “ You pushed your arms forward in an attempt to shove him, wherever he was. He grabbed a hold of you by your biceps and you cried out in frustration as he easily pinned you back against the wall. 

“We both are,” Your stomach turned violently. Fighting the urge to heave, you swallowed down the rage, the want, coursing through your veins. You most certainly did not want him, and you couldn't want him. And you most certainly did not want her either, nor the thought of both of them swimming through your mind at the same time. They clearly had something far more intimate, far more dangerous, than anything she would ever have with you, and you wanted no part in it. You shouldn't, anyway. 

His forehead rested against yours and you braced yourself for the humming to return. But he made no further attempt at entering your mind. You could smell the blood on his nose, some filter in your mind drowned out the sensation of his hands settling on your waist in order to seek out the Doctor's voice. She was calling your name down the corridor. Presumably, she'd dealt with the cyborg space pirates single-handedly and was now coming to find you. 

“Go ahead” the Master instructed. He pulled away and once you caught your breath, you turned to open the door and call out to her. You reached for the knob, and jumped as the Master pulled you back. 

The Doctor had thrown the door open before you could, the sonic screwdriver whirring in her hand. She looked between the two of you with wide eyes, still holding up the sonic like a dagger even though it had stopped calculating. The Master was behind you; you didn't dare look back. 

The Doctor reached out, latching on to your arm, and roughly pulled you out of the closet and to her side. It was only then that you took him in again. The blood had dried against his cheek, his wrists red from where he had once been bound. He looked... awful. And yet he leaned against the door frame, using a hand to brush through his hair. 

“Took you long enough”. 

The Doctor had a white-knuckle grip on your arm, and she scowled at her oldest enemy. Without sparing you a glance, she commanded, through gritted teeth “Go back to the TARDIS” 

When you stayed rooted to the spot, she repeated her command. 

“I don't-” your face burned at the stammer in your voice. What did she think, having seen the two of you? He wasn't touching you. At that particular moment, anyway. Could she see the outer edges of your thoughts? The look she gave you sent the fear of god- probably every god that ever lived- through you. If the Masters eyes had been dark earlier, hers were a black hole, daring you to try to escape its pull. She was more than angry, clearly, But whether it was at you, the Master, or some combination of both was not apparent. You swallowed, trying not to tremble. 

“I don't know where it is,” You clarified. The Doctor eased immediately, blinking away the oncoming storm brewing behind her eyes. 

“Oh.” 

The Master laughed, a loud and obnoxious noise that echoed through the entire corridor. The Doctor's scowl returned, though less intense than before. The Master stepped out of the closet, and she took a step back with you in turn. He was grinning, looking between the two of you. His eyes settled on where the Doctor held you captive to her side, and his grin turned into a smirk. He stepped forward again and this time, you didn't follow the Doctor as she stepped back. 

He kept his eyes on her as he crept closer to you, reaching out to pinch your chin between his thumb and finger. Your face burned, heart hammering against your chest, unsure of just how far he would go in front of her. But he paid you no further attention as he spoke. 

“You'd do best not to let this one get lost again, Doctor.” You couldn't look at her, praying repeatedly that she wouldn't look at you, either. Thankfully, you could tell out of the corner of your eyes that they were both focused on their primary targets. You breathed shakily, not wanting to speak or move or do anything that might give away the fear or longing that was suffocating you. 

“You never know what trouble they might run into” It was then that he finally turned to you, bringing an unexpected wave of relief. He winked, and let go. 

The Doctor made no move to follow him as he walked down the corridor, stepping over the body of a dismantled cyborg as he went. You stood completely still, knowing the world might completely turn around you if you moved. 

The Doctor glanced at where she held your arm, and let go. She didn't meet your eyes. She began to walk in the opposite direction as the Master, and you followed wordlessly. Just as you were about to turn the corner, you twisted to glance back at him. But he was gone.

[rowanisawriter]

YOU can write whatever you want whenever however forevrr. i have to write something perfect and earth shattering and i have to do it perfectly the first time or else

[buggyboba]

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𝔸𝕦𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕣 ℕ𝕠𝕥𝕖

↳ ▣ | Hello, first and foremost, shout out to @raggedyannazon for putting up with me, and going on this adventure with me. She helped edit and suggested things, and I am very happy that she helped me with this. I am sure you guys will be happy with what she suggested. I am sorry for the delay, but we are here, and it is a two parter, I got to 4000 words and was like 'Oh we aren't even halfway done' and sure I could have gone to 10k words, but with my mental health, breaking things up into smaller things works better for me, I know that's not everyone's cup of tea, but it is what it is. Also this is the first time i've written for The Rani, so here is to hoping. Oh this is clearly AU ending of the reality war.

𝕊𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪

↳ ▣ | Anonymous asked: May I please request Rani x reader where the reader is a scientist for UNIT and the Rani is currently being held at UNIT, and they are fascinated at watching the reader work on the experiments and gadgets and sees the reader's potential. Perhaps even making comments and remarks at what the reader is doing. Maybe after a while, the Rani gets bored and escapes, deciding to capture the reader and "take them under their wing"

𝕋𝕣𝕚𝕘𝕘𝕖𝕣 𝕎𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘

↳ ▣ | Manipulation, insults, The Rani calls humans apes a few times.

ℙ𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘

↳ ▣ |The Rani x Fem!Reader

𝕎𝕠𝕣𝕕 ℂ𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥

↳ ▣ | 5800

𝔸𝕠𝟛 𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕜

↳ ▣ | x

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She knew if it seemed like she was manipulating you, they would pull you out, change to a new one, and the dance would reset. No, she had to be careful, give just enough to keep you. This was well within her wheelhouse; she could wait, she was good at it, and this was a good test, a good experiment to see how far she could take you. She watched as you sat in your usual chair, the left of the two, sitting in front of her glass cage. 

It had been a delicate dance since her capture. The Doctor, that damn pest, had stopped her. She had planned everything so meticulously, and she had been so careful each step of the way. No, it was fine. She had a plan. This was nothing but a setback. She would free Omega and rebuild the Time Lords with her guiding hand, and they would be better than before. First, however, she had to get out of this boorish cell. 

She sat poised like a queen on the edge of the pathetic excuse of a bed, a sterile cot. The buzzer sound of someone entering the room outside the holding cell told her it was time to begin the dance again. She looked up, watching you enter with your clipboard. You were quiet, but not mousey, like this was a chore. From what she could deduce, you weren’t scared of her;  just something to be studied like a bug. She could respect the approach; she, too, was studying you. The dance was the same: you would come in, speak, she would give vague answers, and redirect to a question of her own. You would write notes down and then leave. Ten minutes like clockwork, so calculated. The first part of her plan would be to go over the ten-minute time limit, to see if it was a set thing; if it was, she would have to move faster than she wanted. If it wasn’t, she could build, she could lure, and not be sloppy. 

“Come to visit the Time Lady Zoo?” she asked. 

You raised an eyebrow. “Usually, a good morning is a polite opening,” you said, making a note. 

It was her turn to raise an eyebrow, casually watching you, determining what you were writing through the movement of your pen. 

“Is it morning? No clocks,” she shrugged and looked around the barren room.

“Hm,  I assumed you could tell, Time Lady, since you can feel the turn of the earth, advanced race, and all that.” You said and crossed one leg over the other. The movement caught The Rani’s eyes, drawing them back to you, she was quiet as she let her eyes take you in, watching how your foot bounced lightly, perhaps a nervous tic, the way your calf tensed with each bounce, how your pants were tight enough that she could imagine the expanse of skin beneath them. She wondered if your skin was as soft as it looked. Moving your hand to your knee snapped her attention back up, locking eyes with you. She watched as you almost squirmed, but fought yourself before she spoke again.

“Is that what that idiot told you?” She asked tilting her head, inspecting you. She watched you shift a bit, feigning indifference from her jab towards The Doctor. “Well, look at him sharing Time Lord secrets.” She sighed dramatically, rolling her eyes. She looked past you for a moment before her eyes fell on you again. “Oh, alright, good morning, human.” She let her lips turn up into a small, forced smile. 

You nodded and looked back down at your papers. “I could ask the preliminary questions, but they have all been the same non-answers, so I’ll skip them. Tell me about–” 

“No, no, ask your preliminary questions, if you don’t keep up the base, your whole research could be faulty, bad practice for a scientist. You want to make sure your base remains consistent, who knows I could surprise you and change my answer, and that would be new data…which is integral to furthering your research.” She cut you off, she rose gracefully from the cot, to pace in front of the glass. Her movements fluid as she paced, each step felt calculated and had a weight to them, irritation. Something in her stance made you shiver, it reminded you of a tiger at a zoo, she exuded the same sort of beauty and danger. A dangerous predator that was only kept at bay by some glass. 

“Why? So you can deflect for five minutes, then grandstand or sit in silence for the next five?” You put the clipboard on the other chair face down so she couldn’t see the writing. 

So there was a time limit, probably posed so she couldn’t get into your mind, manipulate you, protocol probably set because of The Master. That moron, ruining things for her without even being there. She wished she could think differently about him, but ever since his run as Harold Saxon, he had gotten even messier, more so than he had been previously. Shame, but it always seemed to come down to The Doctor with him. If he just stayed manipulating from the shadows, not acting so flashy and grand, he could do so much better, Koschei was a cautionary tale.

“How are you feeling today, then?” You asked, bringing her out of her thoughts. 

“I am a captive in your silly little cell, there is no enrichment in here.” She huffed out and waved her hand annoyed. 

“Ah, a bone palace it is not,” you quipped. “How strange it must feel, becoming the subject rather than the subjugator, the researcher,” you hummed.

She narrowed her eyes for a moment. This wasn’t the usual cold professionalism you had previously shown her. How interesting. 

“Yes, well, let’s call it a field study, shall we?” She stopped her pacing to look at you. “You are wearing makeup today.” She noted, finally really looking at you. It was odd, you had never worn it before. “Is this you trying something different?” She asked, “Changing a variable to see the outcome?” 

“You think this is for you?” You actually laughed. “Because pretty makeup will allure you?” You shook your head.

“No, of course not, I’m not some deprived animal looking for a mate, plus not with that color.” The Rani shook her head, looking away from you, her body language told you another story, however. She seemed upset by the sting. 

You sighed, shifting, before sitting up straighter. It was interesting that that statement was what cracked The Rani’s careful mask.  “Look, I’m not supposed to, but there is this tech, alien to Earth in origin.” You stood, and grabbed a paper off the clipboard, and walked over to the glass, pressing it against it so she could see it. They were sketched schematics, she turned her face towards it before moving to look at it fully. “I’ve taken it apart and put it back together to the best of my abilities.” You started to say before she interrupted you. 

“You reverse-engineered it? You? You were you able to put it back together as a whole? Properly? No errors?” She sounded surprised.

“Yeah, surprise we aren’t all stupid apes.” You sighed out annoyed, “The point is, I think it’s some sort of power cell, though with no actual power, the only thing I could scrape was some degenerated substance, an unfamiliar, decayed energetic runoff.” You explained. “Seeing as you are a–” 

“Time Lady?” she cut you off. “You think I just know? That, if I did, I would just tell you?” 

“No, I was going to say, because you are a scientist, who happens to know more about the universe. I don’t care that you are a Time Lady, I only care about the knowledge you have.” You were already exhausted by the woman’s accusations and attitude, you pulled back going to remove the paper.

“Wait,” The Rani breathed out, studying the crude schematic drawing, looking at the formula written on the side. “Your assumption is correct, the casing is that of an energy cell; however, it’s not complete.” She stated, a coy smile gracing her lips briefly. It was adorable that you were playing far beyond your level of capability, she couldn’t help but be amused by your ambition. It was almost endearing, that human spirit. “Are you sure your little civilization should be playing with this sort of thing? It could be dangerous.” A statement that almost sounded sincere but absolutely gave a sort of being spoken down to, like a parent scolding a child, that was formed as ‘helpful’.

You pursed your lips. “The initial screening of the decayed substance showed it wasn’t super volatile.” You said, then paused, “Of course…it was decayed. Decayed for god knows how long, but even then…” you trailed off, retreating into your thoughts. Making a note to check the decay rate and calculate based on that instead. The Rani looked at the paper again.

“Have you discovered what the substance is?” She asked. “The makeup of it?” 

You shook your head no.

“Close, I feel, I think with the sample we have, it’s clear it’s run off of something powerful…I’m just not familiar with the makeup of the energy, it’s nothing I’ve seen before.” 

The Rani mused watching you, of course you hadn’t seen it before, idiot. She crossed her arms and looked at you like you were a puppy playing with a toy, before she tsked and snorted through her nose, letting her arms drop as she rolled her eyes. She clicked her tongue before she spoke, using the same tone as before, like you were a child. 

“Of course not, you only have your silly earth energies, and whatever Alien tech that falls into your lap. This is a perfect replica sketch of the item, yes?” She mused, nodding when you nodded. “Right, looks Reavenian, or Minarian in nature…which means.” She paused, her mind racing, it was either from Reave or Minaria Prime, either way, it was a power cell, from the Kasterborous system, which meant it was made to hold Arton energy. Which meant it would be useful, and furthermore, you had taken it apart and were clever enough to put it back together, which meant you could be useful. She didn’t want to be impressed, but she was. You were remarkable for a dumb little human ape. 

“Meaning?” You prompted since she had gone silent. She shook her head, she needed more time to think, to plan. 

“Nothing right now, but maybe something soon.” She informed you, but it was so cryptic you let out an exasperated sound. “How about you use that brain of yours, find out the components of the runoff you’ve collected, and then we will talk,” she shooed you away like you were a bother. You let out a sound that was unimpressed, and partway to a laugh.  

“Yeah. Sure, no problem, as Her Majesty requests.” You muttered under your breath. 

»»———-　A few days later　———-««

Getting permission to have her come to the lab was impossible, so you found a workaround: you brought the lab to her. She watched as you worked feigning boredom, until you stepped too far from her view. “Wait, come back!” She called, wanting to see what you were writing. 

“Oh, now you are interested?” You raised an eyebrow. 

“Well, yes, I finally have some form of enrichment, some entertainment…watching your brain go a mile a minute. You get this so determined look on your face, it’s cute, and I see we are wearing red. Influenced?” She teased, crossing her arms. 

“Oh hardly, but red does look good on me.” You said, she rolled her eyes, turning around to press her back against the glass.

 "I think I understand Time Lords now," you said, breaking the silence that had fallen over you two. "At least of the ones I've met." 

"Can't be many, he is always on about being 'The Last Time Lord', yet here I am, as UNIT I am sure you've had the misfortune of meeting The Master, oh that is certainly two additional..." She laughed, shaking her head. "He has a granddaughter floating around. I suppose three then...heard he chased our Lord President Rassilon away, four...Not very ‘the last one’ is he?" she rolled her eyes and turned back around to face you. 

“Yes, well, I’ve only met three now, The Doctor, The Master and you.” You shrugged. 

The Rani’s lips tightened and she rolled her eyes, but forced a smile again. “And who are you more impressed with?” She asked.

“Hm, well, that is a loaded question, is it not?” You hummed. “A mysterious time traveler that shows up and saves the world time and time again, a complete psychopath, or a mysterious woman who trapped us in a horrible alternative reality, and tore my reality apart?” You feigned thinking about it. “I’m not going to indulge you with an answer to that.” You said, “But I am very upset that I was wearing a pencil skirt and doing paperwork, and was in a false relationship with a coworker…gross.” You said firmly. “Disgusting really, I kissed that man…” You made a disgusted face at the memory. 

She watched you, “Oh! oh…I see….how interesting.” She grinned. “You don’t like men…” 

“No more than you do.” You quipped back quickly. She paused, trying to determine what you meant. She opened her mouth to say something, but closed it, looking away from you indignantly. 

“You don’t know what you are talking about, plus my notion of gender is vastly different.” She began, and you laughed.

“Yeah, I suppose it is, but that weird little charged exchange with Mel, and the way you look at me…” You said.

“Now wait, I don’t look at you anyway, and what do you mean? It was jabs back and forth, and I won it.” She said, shaking her head. “But enough, you show me what you have discovered.” She cleared her throat. 

You moved back over to the glass and held up the little square artifact. “So going through the archive, I have found that the signature is very close to the same signature a Tardis gives off…so I asked The Doctor—” 

“You don’t need that idiot, I am here, and he just gets in the way,” She quickly said. “Yes, I had my suspicions that it was–” 

“Arton energy.” You finished. “Which means, I shouldn’t let you near it.” You sighed, “But, I am curious about understanding, so…” 

“That is very risky on your part, don’t you think?” She gave a sort of half-breathy laugh. 

“No risk, no reward.” You shot back. “He wouldn’t explain, told me to get rid of it, but he isn’t my boss, nor do I take orders from–It doesn’t matter, tell me about it.” You said watching her. 

“It is a benign energy, but it has its uses. Power mostly, among other things.” She explained coyly. You looked at her and rolled your eyes. She could be so infuriating.

 She raised her hand when you opened your mouth to speak. “I’m not finished. You won’t be able to replicate it here.” She said, watching you carefully. “But…I know of a way.” She said, clicking her tongue against her teeth. “And I will help you if I can have ten minutes outside the cell.” She bargained. 

You shifted and sighed out an almost annoyed breath.“Do you know how hard that will be? You haven’t proved to be trustworthy, and Kate will kill me if she finds out I didn’t get her approval…and if you try to escape.” You ran your hand through your hair before you scrubbed it over your face in thought. There were just too many variables, and you didn’t trust her.  

“I promise to behave.” She grinned.

“And Time Lords are liars.” You shot back, she gave an indignant look.

“No, I don’t need to lie; if I want to do something, I don’t need to be mischievous to do it.” She lied coolly; it’s not like you had anything to compare her words to, so she wasn’t worried about it. 

“I don’t believe you, everyone lies.” You said firmly. “And quite frankly, I think all you Time Lords, ladies, people--do is lie.” You spoke unimpressed and shrugged. 

“So then, what are you lying about?” She said watching you carefully, you didn’t like the way her eyes lingered, how it felt like she could see your very soul.  

“That is for me to know, and you to drop.” You shook your head and moved to go back to what you were doing. 

“Now, now, none of that.” She crossed her arms. “We are being cordial.” 

“I can't let you out.” You said firmly, trying to steer the conversation away from yourself now. 

“Deflecting.” She mused out loud.  “You will never figure it out without me, and you know that to be true. You have my demands, now counter offer.” She said and moved to go sit on the edge of her cot. You watched her, your heart raced a bit, she was so effortlessly in charge, it was impressive. 

“C-counter offer? There is no counter offer, I can't let you out at all, I can't open your cell….” You paused to think. “I can get you something though, like wine or something.” You said crossing your arms. 

“It's a start. A dinner date.” She said looking you over again. 

“That isn't–” you began. 

“No, it isn't professional, but perhaps to earn trust, we don't need to be professional.” She looked at her nails like you were a bother. “So a dinner date…just you and I. I'll stay in the cell,” she said, “if it makes you feel safe.” 

“I'm not worried about my safety.” You laughed a bit. “It's more or less you escaping.” 

“No, I won't.” She calmly assured you, or tried to anyway, she couldn’t deny it was tempting, but navigating UNIT and armed guards wasn't how she wanted to spend her night. It would be easier to walk out, having your trust and help.

“Oh right, you think I trust your words, you and the Master–” she cut you off. 

“Do not compare me to that idiot pest.” She said in almost a growl, it startled you, and she shook her head. “I am nothing like him, I am smarter than that lout and–” she stopped herself. She took a moment to compose herself and let out a low breath before she cleared her throat, sounding more sincere. “I am not lying to you, it would be illogical to try and escape. I have self-preservation unlike those two idiots, and it would not serve me to throw it away on trying to run, now…you have my terms, a dinner date and I will help you, plus as much fun as this sterile relationship has been, I crave enrichment and this is how I want it, and then I will help you with your little problem.” She waved her hand. 

You sighed and shifted your weight from foot to foot in thought. “Fine.” you agreed after a few long minutes of silence. Kate was going to kill you, but once again ‘no risk, no reward’, right? And this energy could be monumental for humans, so you were willing to do what was necessary to complete the work. “Any requests for dinner?” You asked. You watched her ponder your question, a cheeky grin taking her lips. “I’m not an option.” You teased suddenly, which threw her off.

“Don’t be disgusting, humans taste terrible. So I am told.” She said and paused quickly looking away from you. “And I simply would never mate with a human.” She quickly breathed out, shaking her head. 

“It was a joke, a tease, calm down.” You laughed. “You wanted a more unorthodox, casual rapport, and I am giving it to you. You wanted a dinner date, so I am giving you the experience.” You shook your head with a small snort. “Sorry to disappoint.” You laughed and watched her give an annoyed huff, still not looking at you. It was interesting, you weren’t sure why it amused you so much, to watch her breath quicken, and her avoiding looking at you. It wasn’t like you were interested in each other, and even if you were it wasn’t ethical. 

“Yes, well, don’t flirt with me, or whatever that was, I’m not looking to play lovers.” She said firmly, though there was a slight pause, she was calculating but you didn’t need to know that. It was a viable option, make you feel something for her and that would surely help get her out of this. It wasn’t far off, you had shown remarkable brilliance for a little backwater planet ape. She didn’t get surprised often, but you were an interesting variable. 

“I…wouldn’t play lovers with you?” You said, unsure how to take that, but you didn’t want her to get the wrong idea.

“Wait, why not? I am a perfectly suitable partner,” She said looking at you with a sort of glare, there was a heat there and you were now very confused.

“Well for one, Alien, two you are an amoral scientist who experimented on earth as a whole, with that whole wish world reality thing. You made me kiss a man, and well that was rude.” You said, crossing your arms. “And you just said not to flirt, that you weren’t looking to play lovers, why are you taking it so personally?” You sighed, your face scrunching up in a sort of confused and unsure expression. 

“Don’t be xenophobic.” She said with a pointed stare, though her lips twitched in a smirk.

“Wait, no I’m not…” You started and she laughed, your cheeks growing warmer. “No okay, I deserve that I suppose.” You sighed. “Banter…you are bantering now, but I’m not, I am just saying you aren’t the same species and you even just said–” 

“Yes, well, I don’t know, for dinner bring something exotic…or are you scared of–” She started trying to keep control of the line of dialogue, and you clicked your tongue, annoyed but you cut her off, the power play of dominating the conversation would not be in her favor.

“I’ll bring something exotic, though it won’t be as exotic as I am sure you are used to. It won’t be just plain old steak or something, no, though I am sure you would enjoy that…I’m thinking Thai or something like that…” You waved your hand. “A nice wine, nothing romantic, don’t worry.” You laughed and rolled your eyes. “Though I should, since you requested a dinner date.”

“People can have a dinner date and it not be romantic–” she muttered.

“Yes but ‘date’ usually implies romantic intentions. Don’t worry, I have no intention of wining and dining you.” You laughed again, she watched you carefully, she didn’t like how light your laugh was, how pretty it was, how she almost enjoyed you laughing. 

The room fell into a comfortable silence, as you went back to working on what you were doing for the remainder of the time you were there. After you left she was frustrated, you could have at least left the work where she could see it, where she could at least think about the work instead of the impending dinner date with you. 

»»———-　The night of the dinner　———-««

You were nervous, God, why were you nervous? This was a means to an end, to get her to tell you what you needed to know. Plus, it wasn’t like it was more than a casual dinner. You had told Kate about it, you had to, you had to get the accommodations to do it after all. She wasn't thrilled, she even almost forbade you from doing it, but you convinced her it was a good thing, that The Rani had information, and this was the only way you were going to get it. If this went well you would be able to unveil something big, life-changing, and you needed Kate to trust you. 

The caveat was that there had to be two guards at all times and that if Kate suspected anything, you would be pulled immediately, so you agreed. You had to do whatever it took to make sure you could continue this research.  You would be damned if you couldn’t, you were so close now, you were very nearly through to a breakthrough, so you knew you had to be careful, you wouldn’t let anyone ruin this for you, this would put you on the map, give you the credit you deserved. 

You entered the chamber, the lab stuff had been moved away, so a small table could be placed; she had her own, and she was sitting, waiting for you in her cell. “Is punctuality not a driving human concept?” She asked, watching you sit down, she noted you had dressed up, it was casual enough, but still better than your usual attire, you had made an effort, interesting. She wished she could have dressed up, and gotten out of those stark rags that she had been given to wear for her internment, but that was her reality for the moment. she couldn’t wait to get out of here, she could taste the freedom. She just needed to give you a little push, it wouldn’t be hard, not with what she could gather from your base mental waves. She just had to convince you that freeing her would be beneficial, of course, it would be hard with the guards and Kate listening in. Though she was sure she could manage, this was just a little challenge, and she did love challenges. 

You sighed, “It was not my intention to be late, though I am here now and I do apologize for the tardiness,” you offered and then put on a smile, “I did settle on Thai, and the wine I picked out should pair well, hopefully, it is to your liking, there isn’t a lot of exotic dishes I could find on this notice, I suppose I could have found a recipe and cooked it, but I am sure you would have found that too romantic.” You smirked a bit, taking a sip of the wine that had been put out for you. “I am also sorry that there are so many others watching our dinner, but there had to be security measures,” you explained. 

She raised her hand to stop you.“It would be foolish of your handlers not to provide security measures, who knows what could be said in privacy.” She smirked, mirroring your action by taking a sip of her own wine, savoring the flavor before she put it down. 

“So tell me, what is going on out there? In the world?” She asked, watching you as you took a bite of your food. 

“Oh, you want to know the aftermath of your little stunt?” You asked. “Most people don’t remember the wish reality, sorry to be the bearer of bad news.” You spoke from the rim of your wine glass before you put it down again. “There are still lingering effects though, moments of memories people can’t explain, but much like alien invasions and such, I am sure the collective will forget in time, or chalk it up to a dream, or something that makes the unexplained explainable.” You said.  “Though I am sure that there will be fractures for a long time, especially since everything still feels like it was moved a half an inch to the left.” You explained. “Though I would like to discuss the Arton energy.” You tried to move the conversation towards the reason this dinner was even happening. 

“Don’t mix work with pleasure.” She chastised and shook her head. You noticed she hadn’t touched the food yet, you assumed she thought you had poisoned it, or something. You could understand the distrust, but it wouldn’t be logical to poison her when she had the key to the box you wanted to open. 

“What if my pleasure is work?” You smirked a bit, trying to make the situation more playful, to try and forget the armed guards and Kate listening in. 

“It’s not, I will tell you, but not over dinner, this is a chance to be more open, and learn about one another in a non-clinical setting.” She said and leaned back in her chair. “I’m giving you a break from having to watch what you say.” 

“Hardly.” You breathed out, “Fine, more personal, do you want to know the aftermath for me then? Let’s get personal.” You said and mirrored her relaxed lean against the back of the chair. She nodded and gave a grin. “Of course, you would, well, as I’ve said during the wish time, I was in a relationship with a coworker. I wasn’t a scientist, I was a secretary. I mentioned before,I know, I had been in a relationship with a male coworker, and it was not a fun time for me. Especially because we were at the center of it when The Doctor ‘woke’ us back up, and now I have to live with the fact that myself and the male coworker remember everything about our time together…so hey, thanks for making that awkward.” You sneered behind your glass and gave a sort of shrug.

“Yes, well, fragile male ego, he was too easy not to use, especially since he had such a vendetta against your little organization.” She shrugged. “It was easy to let him make a world for the doubt to set in because it was ridiculous in this day and age.” She explained easily. “Though I suppose having to face your coworker now is not ideal, I bet you had a lot of doubt, didn’t you, I’d say about a nine level since you aren’t interested in men.” She mused tilting her head, slightly looking over you. “How delicious.” She said, “Though with your looks, letting a man have you would be a tragedy.” 

You blushed and stammered looking away. “I thought you didn’t want to flirt.” You quickly spoke, getting really interested in your dinner.

“I can appreciate beauty, I have eyes.” She shook her head. “Your face is pleasing,” She continued, “You are also much more intelligent than these usual backward apes that skulk about this place.” She hummed out and finally took a bite of food watching you closely. 

“Careful, keep talking like that and I’ll think you like me.” You teased softly though you could already hear Kate’s lecture in your head. She would certainly tell you how unprofessional this was, but you already didn’t care. This was going to get you that much closer to the information you wanted. Kate would thank you later; you were so very sure.

Sometimes you had to take risks; this was a big one, but you had everything under control. You had a plan. You just hoped Kate trusted you, though with the security and listening in, you weren’t so sure she did. The Rani’s stare wasn’t unsettling like it felt it should have been, it was studying. Though, you had gotten used to that by now in the weeks that you had interacted with her. “Oh yes, would hate for your masters to assume. They would be terrified to know I can be personable when needed. Oh, don’t worry so much, Kate, I find being personable yields certain perks.” She said. Her gaze drifted to the camera in the corner of the room.

“Oh. Please don’t do that.” You gave an exasperated sound. 

“Do what?” She feigned confusion, and gave you a smile like she wasn’t doing anything wrong. 

“That…antagonizing.” You sighed out, shaking your head with a sort of disbelief. This wasn’t going to go well, should she continue. “She’ll pull me, and then this will all be for nothing.” You crossed your arms. “So don’t ruin this by trying to poke the bear because you think you are clever.” 

“I am clever.” She shot back but really looked at you, taking in your expression and body language. “Oh~ You are really upset…you are banking on my cooperation…interesting.” She mused softly and then waved her hand dismissively. This would be easier than she thought; you were hungry for her information, perfect. She knew exactly how she was going to get your loyalty and her freedom now, but she needed to not get ahead of herself. “I understand your worry, I will refrain.” She spoke after a long, silent moment, her voice uncharacteristically softer, like she was sorry. She was going to play you so beautifully now.

“Thank you.” You breathed out and nodded, appreciating her yielding. 

Dinner devolved into a rather tame conversation around science and experiments, and at the end, you left. Kate caught you in the hall, something you were dreading, but knew was inevitable. 

“Be more careful.” She warned looking at you, her lips in a tight line. “She is planning something, and I don’t quite trust her information.” 

“I know, I don’t either, it feels too good to be true, but if it is correct, Kate, this could change everything.” You said looking at her with a sort of pleading look. “I will proceed with caution, I swear.” 

“She isn’t going to give you something to better humanity, she doesn’t care about it.” She said and tried to loosen her posture up. “Look, I really should pull you from this, it’s dangerous…” She started to say and you felt a cold dread spread through you.

“No!” You quickly exclaimed, startling you both. “I mean,” you started calmer, “We have put weeks into this already, changing things now would be damaging, and we won’t get anywhere, give me more time.” You pleaded with her. “I promise to proceed with the utmost professionalism, you have to trust me.” 

There was a long beat of silence, your heart pounded, you were too close now for everything to fail. “Two weeks, then I pull you, we will bump up checks, physical and psyche exams to ensure you aren’t–” 

“Hypnotized? Got it, but hypnotism? That is a Master trick, and she really seems to dislike that guy, so I doubt she would resort to the same tricks, which would put her in the same category as him. She would hate that. It’s also an easy way out, and she doesn’t take me as the type to do the easy things. She wants a challenge to prove her brilliance.” You assured, but you didn’t know if it eased Kate’s concern or not. It didn’t matter now though, you had two weeks to get your breakthrough information from The Rani and you would be damned if this fell through now. 

[whittakerjodie]

Any interest in imagines / reader inserts for the Rani?

[whittakerjodie]

Keep Your Enemies Close (13th Doctor x Reader x Dhawan!Master)

Summary: Having split up from the Doctor, you find yourself having to hide with the Master after his 'allies' turn on him (as per usual). In multiple ways, you're forced to confront the simple fact that your yearning isn't limited to the timelord who whisked you away.

Word Count: ~5k

Rating: Mature (no smut, but nsfw themes)

Tags/warnings: Forced proximity, hypnotism, telepathy, violence (aka canon realistic depictions of how the Master would treat the Doctor's companions, even if he was into them)

Notes: reblogs and comments mean the world <3 sorry I haven't written a lot lately!

If you never saw another dingy metal corridor in your life, it would still be too soon. Should the TARDIS land on yet another stranded space-ship or futuristic landscape, you'd demand to be taken elsewhere. Not that the space-time machine would listen; but you'd try. 

With the electricity to the ship flickering in and out, any signs indicating your position were left to darkness, the ship conserving what was left for its more vital systems. As with the many other space ships you'd boarded before, you were stuck in a maze of silver and copper. One of the few benefits of metal was the ability to hear footsteps, clanging- any signs of life- from farther away. But as you stopped to catch your breath, there was none to be heard. 

It wasn't possible to be that lucky, you were sure. But the space-pirates-turned-cyborgs occupying the ship were too rambunctious enough to allow for this much silence. And their puppeteer, their Master, was too fond of putting on a show. You scanned the corridor for cameras. Perhaps he was watching you, trying to lure you into a false sense of security. The very idea of his eyes on you, of being watched by something you couldn't observe yourself, was enough to throw you back into motion. 

Where was she, though? If you had to guess, it had been roughly an hour or two since you and the Doctor had split up. Her mission was to head to the machine's core to send a distress signal. Yours was to find the TARDIS, insert some sort of copper cylinder into its console, to boost it. It surely wasn't going to take her this long to find the core, but you didn't feel too much urgency. You knew that she knew it wasn't going to take her that long. You also knew what she was really hoping to find. Or, who, rather. You just didn't expect to beat her to it. 

The yelp you let out registered through your ears far before you could even think to silence it. You ducked back behind the corner you'd just turned. Blood rushed to your cheeks, pooling into your ears, and pounding like drums at the side of your head. Why couldn't you run? Some more rational part of you must have had better control than the part that was currently screaming danger, run!! It caught up to you, and your brows furrowed tightly in confusion. 

“If you're this scared by a stationary space-time traveller, I'm not so certain you're cut out to be dealing with the other one” 

A long, shaky breath drowned out the quick symphony of your pulse. You swallowed, and slowly poked your head out from behind the wall. Being sure to use the hand that wasn't visible, you curled your fingers together, applying pressure there so your face could remain more neutral. Without that added layer of control, you were sure your features would give away what was a very reactive mix of shock, fear, and, frankly, laughter. 

The Master was sat at the end of the corridor (sat meaning someone had seemingly sat him there, rather than it being an action he chose). At least, that's what you could assume provided his position. His back was pressed against the wall, arched as he was stretching. Or, potentially, to give him space to work. His hands were behind his back. Tied, most likely, given that the same orange rope which trailed out from behind him was wound around his ankles. If this was the work of the Doctor, she'd surely be gloating about it. Unless she had gone to find you, which was fairly likely. It'd been so long since you'd seen him last, yet it felt like minutes. Perhaps all timelords had that effect. He was certainly in a very different position than you'd ever seen him, even though you'd crossed paths multiple times now. 

“They've gone off to find her,” he growled, and you tensed at the possibility that he could be reading your thoughts, even from so far away. He slumped back against the wall and the fabric of his shirt gained some slack as a result. You tore your eyes away. It was perfectly normal, in the process of taking in as many details as possible, to have noticed how tight it was before. How it gave little room for him to writhe and arch to try and get out of his bonds, an effort in which he had ceased. Your fingers had curled into a tighter fist, and you hid back around the corner, forcing the digits to relax, and began your own show to save face. You craned your neck out just enough so he could see you looking down the other corridors. Whether it worked or not, you couldn't be so sure. 

“I assume all of this wasn't her then?” You called out from behind the wall. The last thing you wanted was to receive any sort of assistance from him. But you didn't like the idea that his allies-turned-captors could be on the way back. 

He grumbled something you couldn't hear, and you turned the corner again with a raised brow. His eyes narrowed. Then, his head tilted against his raised shoulder and he gave an obnoxiously large smile. 

“What did you say?” Irritation overrode your logic, which could predict exactly what he was going to do next. This would usually have been a rare thing to be able to do with the Master, if you weren't already so knowledgeable on his love to annoy. He was rewarded with a scowl of annoyance as he grumbled for another few seconds. 

“I'm not walking over there” You insisted. His bottom lip stuck out and his eyes landed directly on yours, so large and shiny with manufactured yearning. 

“Not even to help a poor captive?” He whined. “What would your precious Doctor say?” 

The force of air leaving you in the form of a scoff could have been enough to propel the ship back to its homeworld. You stepped out from behind the wall, crossing your arms. 

“She'd probably tell me to throw you out of the airlock”. 

“Oh, I don't think she'd have you do it,” He drawled. You swallowed and took a step closer, trying to get a better glance at the extent of his ties. “She'd probably just ask you to leave, and never let you know how exactly she decided to deal with me this time”

You tensed. His smile grew, his teeth bared like an animal ready to bite. 

“Struck a nerve, love?” 

The ties around his wrists seemed haphazardly done, but thick, and in multiple layers of knots that you doubted could be undone by him alone. No wonder he had been struggling. The ties around his ankles seemed less prominent. The hair on the back of your neck stood up and after a second longer you could hear voices in the distance. The Master's “friends” were returning. A dozen different scenarios still ran through your mind even when it seemed like you had already settled on what to do. 

You dropped to your knees in front of him, reaching for the rope around his ankles. He shifted back against the wall and you pocketed the satisfaction of startling him to enjoy later on, not sparing him a glance. The rope fell away rather quickly and you dodged his foot as it headed for your face, anticipating what he would do. 

You stood up quickly, hesitating for the briefest of moments. His eyes were dark, never leaving yours as he kicked his feet against the floor and used the wall as leverage to rise. His chest was heaving again, the fabric rippling against- 

You moved forward quickly to throw yourself behind him, grabbing on to the rope around his wrists. 

“Don't think you're getting free that easily,” you growled. 

The fire in your voice was a bit disconcerting, but made you feel proud right up until the air was knocked violently from your lungs. The Master had thrown his full weight into you, crushing you against the wall. Before you could fully register anything beyond the pain blossoming from where your head had hit metal, he lunged forward again. Your fingers burned as they were ripped from the rope and you shut your eyes instinctively as the two of you headed for the floor. 

At the very least, his groan of pain seemed louder than yours. A primary contributor for this was likely that you'd landed right on top of him, your forehead colliding with his nose. Now pain was pulsing through your skull from all fronts. You scrambled to push yourself up, each breath coming out in a deep mix of a groan and a growl. The voices you had heard seemed louder now, and you scanned the corridors around you for the source, leaning back against whatever was supporting your weight. There was no one in sight- yet. Some sort of smart response had to have been stored in the back of your mind; it was abruptly silenced as you looked back down at who was quite possibly becoming your captive. 

The timelord below you was scowling and he began to shift in an effort to throw you off of him. His continued disobedience only made you more aware of the fact that he was shifting underneath you. Your hands, where they were splayed across his chest to keep you upright. Your thighs, which were stretched across his lap. The blood returned to your face, pounding much louder, turning everything around the two of you into a dizzying sea of gray. You yelped and he stilled, the two of you locking eyes again. Just in the corner of your vision you could see a small trail of blood making its way down his cheek from his nose. Matching its speed, you peeled yourself off of him and tugged at his shoulders, trying to turn him over. 

“What are you doing?” He yelled. You grunted with effort as you shoved your weight against his shoulder repeatedly, until he seemed to become just as frustrated as you and turned over. You grasped his bound wrists again, finding a strong footing against the floor. Mentally, you focused all of your energy into your feet and legs as you tugged. 

“You can't be serious” 

“Shut up” You groaned as you tugged again. With the voices becoming even louder, adrenaline kicked in and you lifted him off of the floor. 

“Unless you want both of us to wind up dead, I suggest you stop being so annoying” He laughed. But, to your surprise, he cooperated, finding his own footing. 

“Thats it,” He mumbled. “Show me exactly how you think your Doctor would want me dealt with”

The silence you gave him was unsatisfying. But you knew that he was yearning for you to tap into the twist in your gut. To voice every irritation that had been stuck in the back of your mind ever since he'd revealed himself on that airplane months prior. All of the moments in between in which you'd watched the Doctor shut you out, lie as part of her attempts to hunt him down without revealing why she had to. Why she wanted to. But her actions alone told you exactly why she couldn't let him go. 

Tears burned at the corners of your eyes, mixing with the stinging pain to create a pool of frustration and betrayal. To soothe the pain moving through your entire body in a low hum, you allowed yourself to also recognize the jealousy that broke the floodgates. You couldn't allow yourself any noise that might give away the wetness on your cheeks, so you pushed harder on his back to guide him forward. Any sharp breaths could be written down as the product of exhaustion. What made him so important to her? So much more important than her telling you the truth, at least. In his eyes, you were little more than a pouting companion trying to be brave for someone he would always know infinitely more than you could even conceptualize. But how did she see you- or any of her companions- if he was able to draw upon this mockery so easily? 

You continued to push the two of you further and further from the voices, shushing the Master as he began to hum. There was a break in between in which he twisted his form to try and throw a retort directly to your face. During that brief moment, you heard the voices again- but much louder. A metal maze, and you were clearly at a large disadvantage. 

You looked around quickly to try and find an alternative route. Neither of you were in any position to fight, unless you were willing to set the Master loose on them. But then what? He'd only go for you next. 

Your eyes settled on a door a few feet away. You tugged the timelord in its direction, briefly leaving only one hand on his ropes to pull the handle down and out. It was a rather small closet, which reeked of stale mop water and bleach from a bucket and spout.  It would have to do. The Master turned up his nose as you shoved him into it, quickly shutting the door behind you. It was only then that you properly let go of his wrists, feeling for a light switch or rope. 

You could hear him grunting behind you, the fabric of his shirt rustling again as he tried to untie himself. The noise threw off what little visual of the closet you'd had before you shut the door and the darkness became a truly unknown landscape. What flashed in front of your eyes instead was exactly how he had looked before, trying to get out of the rope. 

You squeezed your eyes shut, placing your hands against the wall to ground yourself and return to your previous train of thought. But the timelord bumping into you rendered your attempt useless. Was he trying to get out again? 

The image of him arching his back returned, your memory having stored more detail than you initially took in. Or were you imagining it, filling in the blanks? Either way, it didn't seem very helpful for your brain to be painting a very vivid picture of his face tense with focus, the inside of his bottom lip seemingly caught between his teeth as he writhed and groaned- Okay no, surely he had not done all of that. But you didn’t want to consider why your brain would be that imaginative. 

The closet had begun to feel rather hot, between the warmth sprawling across your chest and stomach and a mix of your breath. You let one of your hands fall to your stomach, trying to soothe the tension there. Your fingers curled where your other hand still sat against the metal, as if you were trying to sink your grip into its smooth surface. Its cold frigidity served as a reminder of what you definitely should not be doing or thinking right now. 

What was wrong with you?  Perhaps your head had hit the wall a little too hard. You tried to think of the Doctor. Where she could be, what she might be doing to fix this situation. But the sick feeling returned. The thought of her seeing him, here. Talking to him, thinking about him, playing another round of their eternal game; a wave of rage made you shudder. You didn't want her anywhere near him, especially if she was thinking half of the things running through your mind right now. Feelings that were typically reserved for her, when you let yourself ignore all logical sense. The voices were very close now, and you knew they were walking down this very corridor. Your ears strained to take in what they were saying. 

“No sign of him. He must've gotten out- I don't know where the other two are, but I know I haven't heard from 13-JA which means they're probably somewhere in sector four” Despite having been fused into technology similar to the ship around them, the pirates still sounded quite human. You hadn’t heard this one yet, but you recognized the voice of the next speaker, the ship's captain. 

“You two split up. Go check it out, I'll stay here and keep an eye out. He can't have gotten far with those ties.” The one who had stayed behind footsteps stomped away, further down the corridor. 

You let out a shaky sigh, unaware that you'd been holding your breath. Stepping back, you landed right into the Master's chest. You gasped and moved forward again, your foot catching on something. It tumbled to the floor with a clang and you reached for the door, ready to run if the cyborg was drawn by the source of the noise. He was, based on the sound of his footsteps increasing once more, but you didn't get a chance to follow your plan through. 

The Master snatched up your hand in a painful grip and slammed it into the wall. Another shot of pain reverberated through your bones, echoing off of his skin and back into you in waves. The resulting whimper was smothered by his other hand, which covered your mouth and pulled backward. You were completely pinned, your front pressed against the cold metal wall. But the rest of you was tucked in perfectly to his shape. You gasped against his fingers, breathing in his scent. Blood, mixed with something akin to motor oil, mixed with smoke. 

“I'd ask if all of you are this stupid, but I know the answer” His hot breath fanned out against your neck, and the contrast in temperature between surfaces made you shudder.

Perhaps your brain was still filling in blanks- but you could swear you felt his fingers tense and flex against your hand. No, it was real; his fingers slowly slid down yours, creating a trail of tingling skin. You held your breath. His finger tips came to rest between your fingers. You could swear he pressed into you a little more, his other hand shifting and tightening around your face so that his fingers rested under your jaw and tilted your head backward. 

You made no attempt to move; the cyborg was stomping right past the closet, and you were sure the Master would be able to feel every breath, every movement, every heartbeat. Unable to hold it any longer, you let out a heaving sigh against his hand, trying to take in enough air to replace it through your nose. You were impossibly dizzy now. 

“Interesting” The Master murmured in your ear. Perhaps there was some sort of smart reply you could have given him. But your mind made no attempt to take advantage. The Master pushed his fingers through yours and curled them inward to rest against your palm. Without thinking, you followed suit until your fingers were interlocked together. 

Your head, which felt as though it weighed more than the world itself, found support against the Masters shoulder. He seemed to be satisfied with this outcome, moving his hand from your jaw to trail down your neck. Your eyes moved back and forth wildly, as if there was some sense to be found in the pitch black surrounding you. At the very least, you recalled the orange rope. 

”How d-did you-“ His smirk was almost audible. 

“Do you really think something so archaic could hold me for this long?” 

“Didn't seem like you were having that easy of a go earlier,” You panted. His fingers curled- on both hands, tightening his grip on your hand and applying pressure around your throat. You inhaled sharply, pushing back against him in a very small attempt to free yourself. Even if you had put real effort in, it would have been futile. The pressure increased, not enough to choke you but enough to throw you back into reality; to remind you of the position you'd put yourself in. 

You had no idea where the Doctor was, or if she knew where you even could be at this point. Now, you were locked in some dingy cleaning closet with her greatest enemy-situationship-thing who could easily snap your neck if his very unstable mindset suddenly thought it would be fun to do. 

“I could,” he whispered. You whimpered, chest rising and falling more quickly as your breath quickened, trying to take in as much air as possible before he snuffed it out. With each breath, you tried to push out a response. 

“Are you-” reading my mind, is what you wanted to say. He hummed and dropped his hand from your throat to rest against your stomach. He turned his head closer to yours, breath passing over your lips. 

“No,” He mumbled. “not all of it anyway. But it's rather hard not to skim the surface.” 

His hand was so warm against your stomach, carrying the same sort of pull that had brought you against him in the first place. There were voices in the distance again, one that seemed as though it could be the Doctors. The Master hummed and your eyes screwed tight. Given the last several minutes, you really did not want him knowing even the surface of what was running through your mind. You wanted to push him away, push him into the hallway to be caught again. Maybe it would buy you some more time to get away.

 But he was there, against you, all around you, picking at snippets of thoughts you couldn't help but focus on him. Her, too, as it was most certainly her voice you were hearing down the corridor. Should you focus on her instead? You had no idea what to do; the Doctor had never connected with you like this before. You weren't even aware she might have been able to 'skim' your thoughts and feelings. Another important detail she'd kept from you, and frustration pooled in your gut again. Could he feel it? his hand had not moved from your stomach. The two of you stood in silence, your bodies moving together as you breathed in sync. 

“Let me in” 

His mouth was so close. If you turned your head, your lips would meet. It was a new image flashing behind your eyes, the warmth in your stomach increasing to an embarrassing degree. No, no no. You couldn't be thinking this way. But there was a hum, some sort of low vibration, where he touched you, resting in the back of your skull. 

It began to drown out everything else running through your mind, and you let out a small whine which seemed to be answered by a low groan and much louder hum. It was accompanied by a drumbeat, one not of your own making. Four beats, tapping away at the edges of your brain until they were pounding against it, making your next whine much louder. His hand pulled you to him tighter than you ever thought possible, even with the strength he had displayed earlier. You could feel yourself becoming lost in the hypnotic way your bodies moved together in short but deep breaths. 

Hypnotic. 

Your eyes shot open suddenly. Although the closet was still completely dark you could see red all around you, alarm bells ringing throughout your mind. You tried to pull away from him, beginning by prying your hand away from the wall and taking his with it. He grumbled something and pinned it behind your back instead, reaching out for your other hand. You twisted around, throwing him off his balance.

 He lost his grip on you- the disadvantage being that you no longer had any strong sense of where he was in relation to you. There wasn't really anywhere he could go. 

“I know what you're trying to do” You wheezed, suddenly breathing in more air than it felt like you'd had in years. Freed from his attempt at taking control, your mind was racing in panic.

“Do I have to try?” He spat. “Seems like I'm already in your head” 

“You- “ You pushed your arms forward in an attempt to shove him, wherever he was. He grabbed a hold of you by your biceps and you cried out in frustration as he easily pinned you back against the wall. 

“We both are,” Your stomach turned violently. Fighting the urge to heave, you swallowed down the rage, the want, coursing through your veins. You most certainly did not want him, and you couldn't want him. And you most certainly did not want her either, nor the thought of both of them swimming through your mind at the same time. They clearly had something far more intimate, far more dangerous, than anything she would ever have with you, and you wanted no part in it. You shouldn't, anyway. 

His forehead rested against yours and you braced yourself for the humming to return. But he made no further attempt at entering your mind. You could smell the blood on his nose, some filter in your mind drowned out the sensation of his hands settling on your waist in order to seek out the Doctor's voice. She was calling your name down the corridor. Presumably, she'd dealt with the cyborg space pirates single-handedly and was now coming to find you. 

“Go ahead” the Master instructed. He pulled away and once you caught your breath, you turned to open the door and call out to her. You reached for the knob, and jumped as the Master pulled you back. 

The Doctor had thrown the door open before you could, the sonic screwdriver whirring in her hand. She looked between the two of you with wide eyes, still holding up the sonic like a dagger even though it had stopped calculating. The Master was behind you; you didn't dare look back. 

The Doctor reached out, latching on to your arm, and roughly pulled you out of the closet and to her side. It was only then that you took him in again. The blood had dried against his cheek, his wrists red from where he had once been bound. He looked... awful. And yet he leaned against the door frame, using a hand to brush through his hair. 

“Took you long enough”. 

The Doctor had a white-knuckle grip on your arm, and she scowled at her oldest enemy. Without sparing you a glance, she commanded, through gritted teeth “Go back to the TARDIS” 

When you stayed rooted to the spot, she repeated her command. 

“I don't-” your face burned at the stammer in your voice. What did she think, having seen the two of you? He wasn't touching you. At that particular moment, anyway. Could she see the outer edges of your thoughts? The look she gave you sent the fear of god- probably every god that ever lived- through you. If the Masters eyes had been dark earlier, hers were a black hole, daring you to try to escape its pull. She was more than angry, clearly, But whether it was at you, the Master, or some combination of both was not apparent. You swallowed, trying not to tremble. 

“I don't know where it is,” You clarified. The Doctor eased immediately, blinking away the oncoming storm brewing behind her eyes. 

“Oh.” 

The Master laughed, a loud and obnoxious noise that echoed through the entire corridor. The Doctor's scowl returned, though less intense than before. The Master stepped out of the closet, and she took a step back with you in turn. He was grinning, looking between the two of you. His eyes settled on where the Doctor held you captive to her side, and his grin turned into a smirk. He stepped forward again and this time, you didn't follow the Doctor as she stepped back. 

He kept his eyes on her as he crept closer to you, reaching out to pinch your chin between his thumb and finger. Your face burned, heart hammering against your chest, unsure of just how far he would go in front of her. But he paid you no further attention as he spoke. 

“You'd do best not to let this one get lost again, Doctor.” You couldn't look at her, praying repeatedly that she wouldn't look at you, either. Thankfully, you could tell out of the corner of your eyes that they were both focused on their primary targets. You breathed shakily, not wanting to speak or move or do anything that might give away the fear or longing that was suffocating you. 

“You never know what trouble they might run into” It was then that he finally turned to you, bringing an unexpected wave of relief. He winked, and let go. 

The Doctor made no move to follow him as he walked down the corridor, stepping over the body of a dismantled cyborg as he went. You stood completely still, knowing the world might completely turn around you if you moved. 

The Doctor glanced at where she held your arm, and let go. She didn't meet your eyes. She began to walk in the opposite direction as the Master, and you followed wordlessly. Just as you were about to turn the corner, you twisted to glance back at him. But he was gone.

[sheregenerated13]

And now, for some memes inspired by this fic (below the line)

[whittakerjodie]

Absolutely iconic thank you I’m losing it

[whittakerjodie]

Keep Your Enemies Close (13th Doctor x Reader x Dhawan!Master)

Summary: Having split up from the Doctor, you find yourself having to hide with the Master after his 'allies' turn on him (as per usual). In multiple ways, you're forced to confront the simple fact that your yearning isn't limited to the timelord who whisked you away.

Word Count: ~5k

Rating: Mature (no smut, but nsfw themes)

Tags/warnings: Forced proximity, hypnotism, telepathy, violence (aka canon realistic depictions of how the Master would treat the Doctor's companions, even if he was into them)

Notes: reblogs and comments mean the world <3 sorry I haven't written a lot lately!

If you never saw another dingy metal corridor in your life, it would still be too soon. Should the TARDIS land on yet another stranded space-ship or futuristic landscape, you'd demand to be taken elsewhere. Not that the space-time machine would listen; but you'd try. 

With the electricity to the ship flickering in and out, any signs indicating your position were left to darkness, the ship conserving what was left for its more vital systems. As with the many other space ships you'd boarded before, you were stuck in a maze of silver and copper. One of the few benefits of metal was the ability to hear footsteps, clanging- any signs of life- from farther away. But as you stopped to catch your breath, there was none to be heard. 

It wasn't possible to be that lucky, you were sure. But the space-pirates-turned-cyborgs occupying the ship were too rambunctious enough to allow for this much silence. And their puppeteer, their Master, was too fond of putting on a show. You scanned the corridor for cameras. Perhaps he was watching you, trying to lure you into a false sense of security. The very idea of his eyes on you, of being watched by something you couldn't observe yourself, was enough to throw you back into motion. 

Where was she, though? If you had to guess, it had been roughly an hour or two since you and the Doctor had split up. Her mission was to head to the machine's core to send a distress signal. Yours was to find the TARDIS, insert some sort of copper cylinder into its console, to boost it. It surely wasn't going to take her this long to find the core, but you didn't feel too much urgency. You knew that she knew it wasn't going to take her that long. You also knew what she was really hoping to find. Or, who, rather. You just didn't expect to beat her to it. 

The yelp you let out registered through your ears far before you could even think to silence it. You ducked back behind the corner you'd just turned. Blood rushed to your cheeks, pooling into your ears, and pounding like drums at the side of your head. Why couldn't you run? Some more rational part of you must have had better control than the part that was currently screaming danger, run!! It caught up to you, and your brows furrowed tightly in confusion. 

“If you're this scared by a stationary space-time traveller, I'm not so certain you're cut out to be dealing with the other one” 

A long, shaky breath drowned out the quick symphony of your pulse. You swallowed, and slowly poked your head out from behind the wall. Being sure to use the hand that wasn't visible, you curled your fingers together, applying pressure there so your face could remain more neutral. Without that added layer of control, you were sure your features would give away what was a very reactive mix of shock, fear, and, frankly, laughter. 

The Master was sat at the end of the corridor (sat meaning someone had seemingly sat him there, rather than it being an action he chose). At least, that's what you could assume provided his position. His back was pressed against the wall, arched as he was stretching. Or, potentially, to give him space to work. His hands were behind his back. Tied, most likely, given that the same orange rope which trailed out from behind him was wound around his ankles. If this was the work of the Doctor, she'd surely be gloating about it. Unless she had gone to find you, which was fairly likely. It'd been so long since you'd seen him last, yet it felt like minutes. Perhaps all timelords had that effect. He was certainly in a very different position than you'd ever seen him, even though you'd crossed paths multiple times now. 

“They've gone off to find her,” he growled, and you tensed at the possibility that he could be reading your thoughts, even from so far away. He slumped back against the wall and the fabric of his shirt gained some slack as a result. You tore your eyes away. It was perfectly normal, in the process of taking in as many details as possible, to have noticed how tight it was before. How it gave little room for him to writhe and arch to try and get out of his bonds, an effort in which he had ceased. Your fingers had curled into a tighter fist, and you hid back around the corner, forcing the digits to relax, and began your own show to save face. You craned your neck out just enough so he could see you looking down the other corridors. Whether it worked or not, you couldn't be so sure. 

“I assume all of this wasn't her then?” You called out from behind the wall. The last thing you wanted was to receive any sort of assistance from him. But you didn't like the idea that his allies-turned-captors could be on the way back. 

He grumbled something you couldn't hear, and you turned the corner again with a raised brow. His eyes narrowed. Then, his head tilted against his raised shoulder and he gave an obnoxiously large smile. 

“What did you say?” Irritation overrode your logic, which could predict exactly what he was going to do next. This would usually have been a rare thing to be able to do with the Master, if you weren't already so knowledgeable on his love to annoy. He was rewarded with a scowl of annoyance as he grumbled for another few seconds. 

“I'm not walking over there” You insisted. His bottom lip stuck out and his eyes landed directly on yours, so large and shiny with manufactured yearning. 

“Not even to help a poor captive?” He whined. “What would your precious Doctor say?” 

The force of air leaving you in the form of a scoff could have been enough to propel the ship back to its homeworld. You stepped out from behind the wall, crossing your arms. 

“She'd probably tell me to throw you out of the airlock”. 

“Oh, I don't think she'd have you do it,” He drawled. You swallowed and took a step closer, trying to get a better glance at the extent of his ties. “She'd probably just ask you to leave, and never let you know how exactly she decided to deal with me this time”

You tensed. His smile grew, his teeth bared like an animal ready to bite. 

“Struck a nerve, love?” 

The ties around his wrists seemed haphazardly done, but thick, and in multiple layers of knots that you doubted could be undone by him alone. No wonder he had been struggling. The ties around his ankles seemed less prominent. The hair on the back of your neck stood up and after a second longer you could hear voices in the distance. The Master's “friends” were returning. A dozen different scenarios still ran through your mind even when it seemed like you had already settled on what to do. 

You dropped to your knees in front of him, reaching for the rope around his ankles. He shifted back against the wall and you pocketed the satisfaction of startling him to enjoy later on, not sparing him a glance. The rope fell away rather quickly and you dodged his foot as it headed for your face, anticipating what he would do. 

You stood up quickly, hesitating for the briefest of moments. His eyes were dark, never leaving yours as he kicked his feet against the floor and used the wall as leverage to rise. His chest was heaving again, the fabric rippling against- 

You moved forward quickly to throw yourself behind him, grabbing on to the rope around his wrists. 

“Don't think you're getting free that easily,” you growled. 

The fire in your voice was a bit disconcerting, but made you feel proud right up until the air was knocked violently from your lungs. The Master had thrown his full weight into you, crushing you against the wall. Before you could fully register anything beyond the pain blossoming from where your head had hit metal, he lunged forward again. Your fingers burned as they were ripped from the rope and you shut your eyes instinctively as the two of you headed for the floor. 

At the very least, his groan of pain seemed louder than yours. A primary contributor for this was likely that you'd landed right on top of him, your forehead colliding with his nose. Now pain was pulsing through your skull from all fronts. You scrambled to push yourself up, each breath coming out in a deep mix of a groan and a growl. The voices you had heard seemed louder now, and you scanned the corridors around you for the source, leaning back against whatever was supporting your weight. There was no one in sight- yet. Some sort of smart response had to have been stored in the back of your mind; it was abruptly silenced as you looked back down at who was quite possibly becoming your captive. 

The timelord below you was scowling and he began to shift in an effort to throw you off of him. His continued disobedience only made you more aware of the fact that he was shifting underneath you. Your hands, where they were splayed across his chest to keep you upright. Your thighs, which were stretched across his lap. The blood returned to your face, pounding much louder, turning everything around the two of you into a dizzying sea of gray. You yelped and he stilled, the two of you locking eyes again. Just in the corner of your vision you could see a small trail of blood making its way down his cheek from his nose. Matching its speed, you peeled yourself off of him and tugged at his shoulders, trying to turn him over. 

“What are you doing?” He yelled. You grunted with effort as you shoved your weight against his shoulder repeatedly, until he seemed to become just as frustrated as you and turned over. You grasped his bound wrists again, finding a strong footing against the floor. Mentally, you focused all of your energy into your feet and legs as you tugged. 

“You can't be serious” 

“Shut up” You groaned as you tugged again. With the voices becoming even louder, adrenaline kicked in and you lifted him off of the floor. 

“Unless you want both of us to wind up dead, I suggest you stop being so annoying” He laughed. But, to your surprise, he cooperated, finding his own footing. 

“Thats it,” He mumbled. “Show me exactly how you think your Doctor would want me dealt with”

The silence you gave him was unsatisfying. But you knew that he was yearning for you to tap into the twist in your gut. To voice every irritation that had been stuck in the back of your mind ever since he'd revealed himself on that airplane months prior. All of the moments in between in which you'd watched the Doctor shut you out, lie as part of her attempts to hunt him down without revealing why she had to. Why she wanted to. But her actions alone told you exactly why she couldn't let him go. 

Tears burned at the corners of your eyes, mixing with the stinging pain to create a pool of frustration and betrayal. To soothe the pain moving through your entire body in a low hum, you allowed yourself to also recognize the jealousy that broke the floodgates. You couldn't allow yourself any noise that might give away the wetness on your cheeks, so you pushed harder on his back to guide him forward. Any sharp breaths could be written down as the product of exhaustion. What made him so important to her? So much more important than her telling you the truth, at least. In his eyes, you were little more than a pouting companion trying to be brave for someone he would always know infinitely more than you could even conceptualize. But how did she see you- or any of her companions- if he was able to draw upon this mockery so easily? 

You continued to push the two of you further and further from the voices, shushing the Master as he began to hum. There was a break in between in which he twisted his form to try and throw a retort directly to your face. During that brief moment, you heard the voices again- but much louder. A metal maze, and you were clearly at a large disadvantage. 

You looked around quickly to try and find an alternative route. Neither of you were in any position to fight, unless you were willing to set the Master loose on them. But then what? He'd only go for you next. 

Your eyes settled on a door a few feet away. You tugged the timelord in its direction, briefly leaving only one hand on his ropes to pull the handle down and out. It was a rather small closet, which reeked of stale mop water and bleach from a bucket and spout.  It would have to do. The Master turned up his nose as you shoved him into it, quickly shutting the door behind you. It was only then that you properly let go of his wrists, feeling for a light switch or rope. 

You could hear him grunting behind you, the fabric of his shirt rustling again as he tried to untie himself. The noise threw off what little visual of the closet you'd had before you shut the door and the darkness became a truly unknown landscape. What flashed in front of your eyes instead was exactly how he had looked before, trying to get out of the rope. 

You squeezed your eyes shut, placing your hands against the wall to ground yourself and return to your previous train of thought. But the timelord bumping into you rendered your attempt useless. Was he trying to get out again? 

The image of him arching his back returned, your memory having stored more detail than you initially took in. Or were you imagining it, filling in the blanks? Either way, it didn't seem very helpful for your brain to be painting a very vivid picture of his face tense with focus, the inside of his bottom lip seemingly caught between his teeth as he writhed and groaned- Okay no, surely he had not done all of that. But you didn’t want to consider why your brain would be that imaginative. 

The closet had begun to feel rather hot, between the warmth sprawling across your chest and stomach and a mix of your breath. You let one of your hands fall to your stomach, trying to soothe the tension there. Your fingers curled where your other hand still sat against the metal, as if you were trying to sink your grip into its smooth surface. Its cold frigidity served as a reminder of what you definitely should not be doing or thinking right now. 

What was wrong with you?  Perhaps your head had hit the wall a little too hard. You tried to think of the Doctor. Where she could be, what she might be doing to fix this situation. But the sick feeling returned. The thought of her seeing him, here. Talking to him, thinking about him, playing another round of their eternal game; a wave of rage made you shudder. You didn't want her anywhere near him, especially if she was thinking half of the things running through your mind right now. Feelings that were typically reserved for her, when you let yourself ignore all logical sense. The voices were very close now, and you knew they were walking down this very corridor. Your ears strained to take in what they were saying. 

“No sign of him. He must've gotten out- I don't know where the other two are, but I know I haven't heard from 13-JA which means they're probably somewhere in sector four” Despite having been fused into technology similar to the ship around them, the pirates still sounded quite human. You hadn’t heard this one yet, but you recognized the voice of the next speaker, the ship's captain. 

“You two split up. Go check it out, I'll stay here and keep an eye out. He can't have gotten far with those ties.” The one who had stayed behind footsteps stomped away, further down the corridor. 

You let out a shaky sigh, unaware that you'd been holding your breath. Stepping back, you landed right into the Master's chest. You gasped and moved forward again, your foot catching on something. It tumbled to the floor with a clang and you reached for the door, ready to run if the cyborg was drawn by the source of the noise. He was, based on the sound of his footsteps increasing once more, but you didn't get a chance to follow your plan through. 

The Master snatched up your hand in a painful grip and slammed it into the wall. Another shot of pain reverberated through your bones, echoing off of his skin and back into you in waves. The resulting whimper was smothered by his other hand, which covered your mouth and pulled backward. You were completely pinned, your front pressed against the cold metal wall. But the rest of you was tucked in perfectly to his shape. You gasped against his fingers, breathing in his scent. Blood, mixed with something akin to motor oil, mixed with smoke. 

“I'd ask if all of you are this stupid, but I know the answer” His hot breath fanned out against your neck, and the contrast in temperature between surfaces made you shudder.

Perhaps your brain was still filling in blanks- but you could swear you felt his fingers tense and flex against your hand. No, it was real; his fingers slowly slid down yours, creating a trail of tingling skin. You held your breath. His finger tips came to rest between your fingers. You could swear he pressed into you a little more, his other hand shifting and tightening around your face so that his fingers rested under your jaw and tilted your head backward. 

You made no attempt to move; the cyborg was stomping right past the closet, and you were sure the Master would be able to feel every breath, every movement, every heartbeat. Unable to hold it any longer, you let out a heaving sigh against his hand, trying to take in enough air to replace it through your nose. You were impossibly dizzy now. 

“Interesting” The Master murmured in your ear. Perhaps there was some sort of smart reply you could have given him. But your mind made no attempt to take advantage. The Master pushed his fingers through yours and curled them inward to rest against your palm. Without thinking, you followed suit until your fingers were interlocked together. 

Your head, which felt as though it weighed more than the world itself, found support against the Masters shoulder. He seemed to be satisfied with this outcome, moving his hand from your jaw to trail down your neck. Your eyes moved back and forth wildly, as if there was some sense to be found in the pitch black surrounding you. At the very least, you recalled the orange rope. 

”How d-did you-“ His smirk was almost audible. 

“Do you really think something so archaic could hold me for this long?” 

“Didn't seem like you were having that easy of a go earlier,” You panted. His fingers curled- on both hands, tightening his grip on your hand and applying pressure around your throat. You inhaled sharply, pushing back against him in a very small attempt to free yourself. Even if you had put real effort in, it would have been futile. The pressure increased, not enough to choke you but enough to throw you back into reality; to remind you of the position you'd put yourself in. 

You had no idea where the Doctor was, or if she knew where you even could be at this point. Now, you were locked in some dingy cleaning closet with her greatest enemy-situationship-thing who could easily snap your neck if his very unstable mindset suddenly thought it would be fun to do. 

“I could,” he whispered. You whimpered, chest rising and falling more quickly as your breath quickened, trying to take in as much air as possible before he snuffed it out. With each breath, you tried to push out a response. 

“Are you-” reading my mind, is what you wanted to say. He hummed and dropped his hand from your throat to rest against your stomach. He turned his head closer to yours, breath passing over your lips. 

“No,” He mumbled. “not all of it anyway. But it's rather hard not to skim the surface.” 

His hand was so warm against your stomach, carrying the same sort of pull that had brought you against him in the first place. There were voices in the distance again, one that seemed as though it could be the Doctors. The Master hummed and your eyes screwed tight. Given the last several minutes, you really did not want him knowing even the surface of what was running through your mind. You wanted to push him away, push him into the hallway to be caught again. Maybe it would buy you some more time to get away.

 But he was there, against you, all around you, picking at snippets of thoughts you couldn't help but focus on him. Her, too, as it was most certainly her voice you were hearing down the corridor. Should you focus on her instead? You had no idea what to do; the Doctor had never connected with you like this before. You weren't even aware she might have been able to 'skim' your thoughts and feelings. Another important detail she'd kept from you, and frustration pooled in your gut again. Could he feel it? his hand had not moved from your stomach. The two of you stood in silence, your bodies moving together as you breathed in sync. 

“Let me in” 

His mouth was so close. If you turned your head, your lips would meet. It was a new image flashing behind your eyes, the warmth in your stomach increasing to an embarrassing degree. No, no no. You couldn't be thinking this way. But there was a hum, some sort of low vibration, where he touched you, resting in the back of your skull. 

It began to drown out everything else running through your mind, and you let out a small whine which seemed to be answered by a low groan and much louder hum. It was accompanied by a drumbeat, one not of your own making. Four beats, tapping away at the edges of your brain until they were pounding against it, making your next whine much louder. His hand pulled you to him tighter than you ever thought possible, even with the strength he had displayed earlier. You could feel yourself becoming lost in the hypnotic way your bodies moved together in short but deep breaths. 

Hypnotic. 

Your eyes shot open suddenly. Although the closet was still completely dark you could see red all around you, alarm bells ringing throughout your mind. You tried to pull away from him, beginning by prying your hand away from the wall and taking his with it. He grumbled something and pinned it behind your back instead, reaching out for your other hand. You twisted around, throwing him off his balance.

 He lost his grip on you- the disadvantage being that you no longer had any strong sense of where he was in relation to you. There wasn't really anywhere he could go. 

“I know what you're trying to do” You wheezed, suddenly breathing in more air than it felt like you'd had in years. Freed from his attempt at taking control, your mind was racing in panic.

“Do I have to try?” He spat. “Seems like I'm already in your head” 

“You- “ You pushed your arms forward in an attempt to shove him, wherever he was. He grabbed a hold of you by your biceps and you cried out in frustration as he easily pinned you back against the wall. 

“We both are,” Your stomach turned violently. Fighting the urge to heave, you swallowed down the rage, the want, coursing through your veins. You most certainly did not want him, and you couldn't want him. And you most certainly did not want her either, nor the thought of both of them swimming through your mind at the same time. They clearly had something far more intimate, far more dangerous, than anything she would ever have with you, and you wanted no part in it. You shouldn't, anyway. 

His forehead rested against yours and you braced yourself for the humming to return. But he made no further attempt at entering your mind. You could smell the blood on his nose, some filter in your mind drowned out the sensation of his hands settling on your waist in order to seek out the Doctor's voice. She was calling your name down the corridor. Presumably, she'd dealt with the cyborg space pirates single-handedly and was now coming to find you. 

“Go ahead” the Master instructed. He pulled away and once you caught your breath, you turned to open the door and call out to her. You reached for the knob, and jumped as the Master pulled you back. 

The Doctor had thrown the door open before you could, the sonic screwdriver whirring in her hand. She looked between the two of you with wide eyes, still holding up the sonic like a dagger even though it had stopped calculating. The Master was behind you; you didn't dare look back. 

The Doctor reached out, latching on to your arm, and roughly pulled you out of the closet and to her side. It was only then that you took him in again. The blood had dried against his cheek, his wrists red from where he had once been bound. He looked... awful. And yet he leaned against the door frame, using a hand to brush through his hair. 

“Took you long enough”. 

The Doctor had a white-knuckle grip on your arm, and she scowled at her oldest enemy. Without sparing you a glance, she commanded, through gritted teeth “Go back to the TARDIS” 

When you stayed rooted to the spot, she repeated her command. 

“I don't-” your face burned at the stammer in your voice. What did she think, having seen the two of you? He wasn't touching you. At that particular moment, anyway. Could she see the outer edges of your thoughts? The look she gave you sent the fear of god- probably every god that ever lived- through you. If the Masters eyes had been dark earlier, hers were a black hole, daring you to try to escape its pull. She was more than angry, clearly, But whether it was at you, the Master, or some combination of both was not apparent. You swallowed, trying not to tremble. 

“I don't know where it is,” You clarified. The Doctor eased immediately, blinking away the oncoming storm brewing behind her eyes. 

“Oh.” 

The Master laughed, a loud and obnoxious noise that echoed through the entire corridor. The Doctor's scowl returned, though less intense than before. The Master stepped out of the closet, and she took a step back with you in turn. He was grinning, looking between the two of you. His eyes settled on where the Doctor held you captive to her side, and his grin turned into a smirk. He stepped forward again and this time, you didn't follow the Doctor as she stepped back. 

He kept his eyes on her as he crept closer to you, reaching out to pinch your chin between his thumb and finger. Your face burned, heart hammering against your chest, unsure of just how far he would go in front of her. But he paid you no further attention as he spoke. 

“You'd do best not to let this one get lost again, Doctor.” You couldn't look at her, praying repeatedly that she wouldn't look at you, either. Thankfully, you could tell out of the corner of your eyes that they were both focused on their primary targets. You breathed shakily, not wanting to speak or move or do anything that might give away the fear or longing that was suffocating you. 

“You never know what trouble they might run into” It was then that he finally turned to you, bringing an unexpected wave of relief. He winked, and let go. 

The Doctor made no move to follow him as he walked down the corridor, stepping over the body of a dismantled cyborg as he went. You stood completely still, knowing the world might completely turn around you if you moved. 

The Doctor glanced at where she held your arm, and let go. She didn't meet your eyes. She began to walk in the opposite direction as the Master, and you followed wordlessly. Just as you were about to turn the corner, you twisted to glance back at him. But he was gone.

[roboticnebula]

Pros of re-reading your own fic

a good time;

Has exactly the tropes you like and the characterization you want to read;

Gratification: yes you did finish a thing and yes you did do good;

just a very fun time all around.

Cons of re-reading your own fic:

Is that another TYpO

[fabulouspotatosister]

push me back and pull me under

title from selene by niki | the master has you in her grasp. you aren't fighting to break free. what an exquisite conundrum. w!master x reader

a/n: we interrupt your regularly scheduled 11 programming to bring you SOME GAY SHIT !! i got hypnotized into writing some whittaker!master fic bc of my lovely friends on discord and honestly i will not lie to you this fic is a vessel for some gay shit sorry guys. not proofread and unedited we die like rory williams (like always) anyway enjoy !!

—

"Let her go!"

The Doctor was a very clever man. You knew that better than anyone else in the universe — months of traveling through space and time would give you enough proof of someone's intelligence for a whole lifetime. Maybe a couple of lifetimes and some change. You'd seen armies turn and run at the sight of him, planets pulled from the brink of destruction, civilizations struck in awe at his presence.

But asking the Master to let you go while she stood, you in her grasp, on a cold, windy cliff edge with the ocean beneath you might have been the stupidest thing he had ever done.

"Be careful what you wish for, Doctor," she crooned. Her bicep squeezed against your neck as she shifted in place and pulled you upright. "You just might get it."

You couldn't see the Master's face, since she was pretty much holding you in a headlock, but you could hear the smirk on her voice as she spoke. The Doctor glared at her, mouth pressed into a thin line. He looked furious — but a flicker of fear flared in his sad, dark brown eyes before he blinked it away and his gaze darted to yours.

"Don't worry," he said, "and don't be scared. I'm gonna get you out of this."

"Me?" You huffed a weak laugh, craning your neck so the Master's forearm didn't press quite so tight against the base of your throat. "Scared? Who's scared?"

The Master chuckled, a deep, raspy noise that reverberated through her chest. You shivered — the sound was low, deep, and deliciously dangerous.

The tremor that wracked your body seemed to travel across your skin and to the Master. She dipped her head low so her chin was just shy of your shoulder, her blonde hair curling around the heated skin of your cheek.

"Feels like you are, love," she whispered. Her lips skimmed against the shell of your ear, and you shivered again. "Careful, now."

The Master reached into her pocket with her free hand. In one smooth movement, she wrapped something around your wrists — silk, you thought at first, with the way it glided smoothly over your skin — but then it hardened, set like concrete against your hands, and you were bound tight. You looked down, as much as you could with the Master's arm around your neck, and uselessly tried to pry your wrists apart.

"D'you like my little trick?" the Master asked the Doctor, a satisfied edge creeping into her voice. "Best thing to keep unruly pets from running away." She set her chin on your shoulder then and tilted her head so she could meet your eyes. She hooked two fingers under your chin — and gently, but firmly — moved your head so you could look her in the eyes, Her ancient, cold, hazel eyes bored holes into yours, and she was holding you in place in more ways than just the handcuffs and her solid grip. "What do you think, pet? Hmm?"

The Doctor glowered at her. You'd never seen him glower, not really, not ever. "Let her go," he said again, and slowly took a step forward. The sound of gravel crunching under his boots cracked through the cold air. "It's me you want, isn't it?"

The Master hummed. She let go of your chin and your skin burned at the absence of her touch, cooled instantly by the blustering, salty breeze.

"You know, I'm not sure anymore," she said, and her voice was softer then, bordering on a song. "Seems like this little one's quite happy right here —" She tipped her head down and brushed her nose against your shoulder, trailing up, up, until her face was right against yours — "with me. And possibly more fun, at that."

The Master took a steady step backwards, closer to the cliff edge. You stumbled, feet scraping against stone, but she held you upright. You could feel the spray of the waves crashing against the cliff against the back of your neck. The ground beneath you trembled, and distantly you heard something break off and fall into the ocean with tremendous force.

"I'll find you," the Doctor said. You knew it was supposed to be for you — your protector, as always, the Doctor — but his eyes were locked firmly on the Master. "I promise, I'll find you."

Your breath still stuck in your lungs, you nodded. The Doctor searched your eyes, set his jaw firm, and nodded back.

"I'll hold you to that," the Master laughed, and with a final step backward, the ground disappeared from underneath you.

There was a single, frightening second where you imagined what it would be like to die. You had come so close to death so many times it was almost like a memory — you could see it in the back of your eye, your body a scarlet smear, dashed across the rocks. What would happen? Would you stay there, bloody, baked dry by the passing sun? Would you float away, carried away by the waves into the distance, and wash up broken on the shores of some distant city? Or would you sink deep underneath the waves, and become a feast for all manner of strange creatures?

Then the world fizzled out around you, and in that that strange, in-between darkness, the Master murmured, her lips against your cheek as she spoke: "Not letting you go. Not ever."

So, none of the above, because — quite impossibly — you believed her.

The world materialized around you. You landed, heavy, with a thump against wooden floors. The cold ocean air had seamlessly shifted, turning warm and familiar, and the bright glare of the sun had dimmed into the darkened interior of the Master's TARDIS.

Another second passed, but it stretched into an eternity. Your heartbeat, wild and frantic, hammered against your ribcage, and the Master could feel it. How could she not, with her arm still around your neck, skin pressed to your pulse? You gasped lungfuls of air, your body still caught in that moment of free fall for just a second too long, heaving and trembling in the Master's arms.

"What was that about not being scared?" the Master asked, quiet. Not an accusation, or a taunt — just an observation.

"We dropped off a cliff," you managed. "I think you can excuse the jitters."

The Master loosened her arm, grabbing you by the shoulders and turning you firmly to face her. You could finally, properly see her now — her windswept hair, dark, intense eyes locked onto you, scarlet blood-red painted lips parted slightly as her gaze raked across your shaking form.

A thought burst through. She was beautiful. Beautiful in the way black holes are beautiful — alluring, abyssal, dangerous wells of gravity so strong you have no choice but to be pulled under and, quite possibly, ripped apart.

You swiftly decided that the risk of possibly getting ripped apart was much less than the benefit of her, staring at you with those eyes of hers.

The Master tilted her head, listening, and then her lips curved. "You flatter me," she said. Her grip on your shoulders tightened a fraction, dark, pointed nails digging ever so slightly into your skin. "Hell of a way to get my attention."

"Hell of a way to get me alone," you breathed, a smile of your own escaping you with a trembling breath.

Her gaze sharpened like a knife. The shine in her gaze was as sharp as a dagger, pressed tight against your throat, tight enough to draw blood — the same blood pumping quicker and quicker through your veins not just with fear, but with something in its immediate family. Anticipation.

She let go of your shoulders, reached down to take your bound wrists, and tugged you close to her with an ease that would have been terrifying if it were anyone else. Her body was pressed flush against yours, and you could feel her heartbeats as they pulsed steady against your chest. She peered down at you through her eyelashes and hummed.

"Stay put, love," the Master whispered, and suddenly her hands were wrapped around your neck and jaw and her lips were pressed against yours.

Perhaps press was the wrong word to use in this situation. The Master was not a gentle person — she would not press a kiss to your lips as simply as one would press a button — no, she consumed you, slotted her lips against your own so hungrily you were convinced she'd been starved. And maybe she had — how long had it been since she'd seen you last? Long enough for her to miss you, judging by the way her hands protectively traveled towards the nape of your neck, where her vice grip had been just minutes ago.

You needed her closer. You shifted in her grasp, just enough to loosen your arms away from where your bodies connected, and lifted your bound wrists until they hooked around the Master's neck. She chuckled darkly against your mouth and pulled away — then smiled wickedly when you made a small, wordless noise of protest.

"Naughty, naughty," she purred. Her hands slid down, settling on your waist. "What would the Doctor think if he saw you like this, hmm?"

The Doctor was the last thing on your mind right now. Everything else had melted away except for the feeling of the Master — her touch, the feel of her body pressed against yours, the way her lips felt against yours.

You tried to lean in for another searing kiss and the Master tutted. One hand left your waist and palmed your face, drifting down your neck until her thumb settled at the hollow of your throat. She pressed down at the skin lightly — a rarity for the Master, a light touch. You shuddered. One wrong move and that hand against your neck could be your end. It scared you then, this dance. It thrilled you now.

"What is this? Why don't you run away?" The Master gripped the skin of your waist, not hard enough to bruise, but hard enough for you to feel it. "Do as you're told, pet. Tell me."

The words didn't come, no matter how much you willed them to. They were lodged in your throat, escaping only as thin sighs, stutters, and whimpers. You knew this was a betrayal. If the Doctor ever found out — his grief would be unimaginable. But how could you describe an addiction to a certain kind of danger, one that the Doctor couldn't provide? The kind that burns just by being in its presence? The kind that drowns you if only to let you appreciate the air you breathe?

"I'm choosing," you whispered, eventually, "not to run away. I'm choosing you."

When you leaned forward the Master did not move away, instead letting you lay a kiss on her jaw. Her throat bobbed, and for a second you could feel her body tremble.

"Mine, then?" she asked, pressing her cheek against the top of your head.

You nodded. "Yours. No question."

And with a promise like that, how could the Master let you go ever again? With another burning kiss, she pressed herself against you, and you let her pull you under — down, down, where it was just you and her and nothing else mattered, or could matter, ever again. An abyss, a black hole, no escape. Not that you ever planned to get away in the first place.