#dr. who x reader

[leispiachmcgee]

Welcome All!

My name is al and I will be serving you this evening! Below is a list of all my rules/regulations and any specifications!

I will NOT write

• smut! I’m a minor and an SA survivor, i never want to think about sex ever again!

• anything weird or incest-y, this kinda goes with point one

• no SA. pretty well established atp.

I WILL write

• Fluff!

• any gender x any gender! I’m personally a lesbian (my username literally means “lesbian mcgee” in irish gaelic) but i still find some men attractive, and i have no issue with writing gender neutral/male readers

• whatever you request as long as it pertains to my comfort zone and the rules previously posted!

Who I write for

Celebrities

• Andrew Hozier-Byrne

• Chappell Roan

• Nicola Coughlan

Fandoms

• Legend of Zelda

• Good Omens

• Dr. Who

• Percy Jackson & Heroes of Olympus

• Sailor Moon

I hope you all can cozy up in my little pocket of mark zuckerberg’s internet and stay a while!

[magewritesstories]

just gonna leave this here

[sincerelybubbles]

mouthful of sunlight (18+)

Some nights, Spencer can’t sleep. His mind runs too fast, too far, tangled in cases, in horrors he can’t unsee. But in the quiet of morning, wrapped in the hush of young sunlight, he finds solace in you—the warmth of your breath, the slow, steady rhythm of your fingers tracing his skin. The comfort is fleeting; distance is inevitable. His absence lingers in the empty side of the bed, in unfinished cups of coffee, in the soft weight of his sweater draped over your shoulders. But when he returns—exhausted, unraveling—you stitch him back together with soft reassurances, gentle hands, and the familiar ease of laughter. warnings: sexual content (who tf am I), very very wordy, mentions of a cannon-typical case, longing, some angst if you squint, mostly reader and spencer being lovesick fools wc: 7.6k

You wake to the sound of rain, soft against the windowpane. The sheets are warm, tangled around your limbs, heavy with the scent of sleep and him. Faint traces of his cologne linger in the cotton, something clean and quiet, the ghost of him woven into the fabric.

Spencer is still asleep beside you.

You turn your head, slow, deliberate - shifting too fast might startle him awake. And there he is, curled into the pillow, his body half-buried beneath the blankets, face softened by the hush of morning. His breath moves through the space between you in slow, measured exhales, lips parted slightly, lashes resting against his cheekbone.

You could spend lifetimes watching him like this.

The curve of his mouth, the way his curls press against his forehead, the fine lines at the corners of his eyes—the ones you're not sure he knows about yet. You think the mentioning of them would send him into a spiral about aging and lost time but you love their presence. It reminds you of how he's laughed with you in the past, their arrival a notion of his genuine joy. The body keeps score in freckles and scars, and time can be found in the weight of sleepless nights and too many days spent carrying more than he should.

In sleep, he is weightless. The tension he wears so often—creased brows, tight shoulders, fingers restless against his knee—has melted away, leaving only the quiet.

You reach for him before you can think of it, fingers trailing over the ridge of his knuckles where his hand rests on the pillow between you. His skin is warm, his palm lax, open. He doesn't stir so you let yourself press further, sliding your fingertips up the length of his wrist, feeling the slow pulse beneath his skin.

Spencer Reid is always thinking. Always calculating, always predicting, always existing a step ahead, untethered from the present moment.

But, right now, wrapped in the hush of morning, doused in soft rainlight, he belongs here. With you.

The thought is terrifying in its simplicity.

You swallow, pressing your fingers a little firmer against his wrist, grounding yourself in the proof of him. His pulse beats steady against your touch, and you let it lull you, let yourself fall into its rhythm.

Spencer stirs beneath your touch, just the faintest twitch of his fingers against the pillow.

You go still.

A part of you—the part still tangled in hesitation, in old wounds and old fears—worries he’ll wake, that he’ll blink at you with those sharp, knowing eyes and startle away the calm you've fostered. You love Spencer, asleep or awake, but the peacefulness of this moment is something to be cherished. You want to watch him more, to exist in this lulling moment between seconds where life doesn't matter.

He doesn't wake, though, and instead, he shifts closer, instinctive, unconscious. The space between you vanishes, his breath warming your collarbone, his hand brushing against your arm where it lies between you. He is reaching for you without realizing it, drawn in like something inevitable.

And god, that does something to you.

You exhale, slow, careful, and let yourself watch him again, let yourself sink into the quiet reverence of it.

The morning light has stretched further now, slanting through the window, gliding through the messy sprawl of his hair. He is all sleep-heavy limbs, the weight of him pressing into the mattress in a way that drags you forward, leaning against him.

Flesh and bone, heartbeat and heat.

He is here. He is yours.

The way he leans into you even in sleep, the way his fingers twitch like they are searching for yours, even now. The way his body gives him away, whispering the things his lips have not yet said.

You cannot be careless with this. With him. But before the weight of it can settle too deeply into your chest, before you can let yourself spiral, Spencer shifts again—his breath catching, his brow furrowing just slightly, lashes fluttering against his cheeks.

You barely have time to think before his eyes blink open, slow and heavy-lidded, thick with sleep.

It takes a moment, his hazy eyes focusing and unfocusing. Still, he sees you. Not just looks, not just registers your presence; he sees you.

His lips part slightly, and for a moment, he only stares, like his mind is still catching up, like he’s still tethered somewhere between dreaming and waking. Blinking like he's not sure if you're a dream. Likely, everything is clouded by sleepy eyes and fading memories of dreams.

Then, his voice, quiet, still wrapped in the softness of sleep, “Morning.”

You don’t trust yourself to speak, so you do the only thing you can—you lift your hand, still resting near his wrist, and press your fingers over his pulse once more. A quiet confirmation. A tethering.

Spencer exhales, slow, deliberate, and then he turns his hand, just slightly, just enough, so that his palm meets yours.

His fingers curl between yours, and you feel it—the certainty, the weight of something unspoken settling between your ribs.

There is morning, and then there is night.

There is sunlight spilling over Spencer’s sleeping form, gilding his cheekbones, illuminating the curve of his mouth. And then there is the stark contrast of shadow—of sterile hotel rooms, of the sharp, artificial glow of a bedside lamp casting his face in harsh relief.

His fingers, curled loosely around yours in the golden hush of morning, become hands gripping the edge of a desk, knuckles white, trembling with exhaustion. His voice, soft and thick with sleep, morphs into something raw, something fraying at the edges.

"I don’t know how to turn it off."

It takes you a moment to realize what he means.

He’s still in his suit, the fabric rumpled, the scent of cheap motel soap clinging to his skin. There’s a stack of case files beside him, a half-empty cup of coffee that’s long since gone cold. He doesn’t meet your gaze, just stares down at his hands, fingers twitching like they’re desperate for something to hold onto.

"Spencer."

Your voice is quiet, hesitant, as if anything louder might shatter him completely.

"Come to bed."

He shakes his head, exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair.

"I can’t."

A fight, sharp and cutting. His voice raised, your hands clenched into fists at your sides.

"You don’t get it," he snaps, voice raw, eyes burning. "You don’t know what it’s like to have a mind that never fucking stops—"

"I do," you interrupt, and the way he flinches makes your chest ache.

A pause.

Silence stretching between you like a wound torn open, bleeding into the space between your feet.

Spencer exhales, shakily, and when he speaks again, his voice is barely above a whisper.

"Then why do you keep trying to fix me?"

And there it is.

The knife twisting.

You inhale, but the breath never quite fills your lungs.

The thing is—you don’t want to fix him.

You just want him to rest.

To sleep without nightmares. To let you hold him without feeling like he has to apologize for the weight of his existence. To believe, even for a second, that he doesn’t have to earn the space he takes up.

But you don’t know how to say that in a way that won’t turn into another wound, another reason for him to step back, to pull away.

So instead, you say nothing.

"Fuck. I'm sorry." And it's that simple, really.

Sorry, arms finding each other, whispers of "I know" pressed into necks and soft conversations easing racing minds.

Spencer can't stop the relentless chase of the case in his mind. You can't stop the constant overthinking of being enough, of your body, of desires edging into too much.

Morning. Again.

Spencer, golden in the dawn, the soft breath of sleep still heavy in his lungs. Your fingers ghost over the ridges of his knuckles, tracing the delicate architecture of him, the places where bones knit together beneath skin. Flesh and blood. A body, human and whole.

Then, blood, dark and seeping through the gaps in his fingers, staining his cuffs. Not his blood. Someone else’s. A case. A mistake. A man who didn’t survive the night.

His hands shake as he scrubs them raw in the motel sink, crimson swirling down the drain, his breath coming too fast, chest rising and falling like he’s drowning, like he can feel it slipping between his fingers, the weight of every life he couldn’t save.

You touch his shoulder, and he flinches.

Time lurches.

His head on your lap, hours later. His hair damp, fingers curled weakly in the fabric of your shirt, like holding onto you is the only thing tethering him to the present.

"I don’t know how much more of this I can take."

Morning.

Back in your bed, the light different now, stretched across the sheets in delicate bands. You can’t tell if you’re awake or dreaming.

You wonder if this moment is real, or if it is something you are inventing to survive.

Spencer shifts beside you, a quiet sigh escaping him, and you watch, desperate to memorize the shape of him here, untouched by grief, by the heaviness of what he carries.

You want to wake up to this every morning.

But the truth is, you don’t.

You wake up to the version of him that drinks too much coffee, to the one who is always looking at things that aren’t there, playing scenarios in his head like a film reel stuck on loop. You wake up to the version of him that gets lost in thought mid-conversation, who chews at his nails until they bleed, who flinches awake from dreams he won’t tell you about.

And you love him anyway.

Maybe because of it.

Or maybe you are lying to yourself, pretending love is something you can bear no matter how heavy it gets.

Mornings like this, where he sleeps beside you, still and warm and untouched by the weight of the world—stretch, slow and unhurried, slipping into the day like honey dissolving in warm tea.

Spencer moves through your apartment with the careful quiet of someone who knows how to exist in shared spaces—how to make himself at home without ever taking up too much of it. He is measured, gentle, a man who has spent too much of his life folding himself into small places, and yet, with you, he expands.

You watch him from where you stand at the kitchen counter, hands wrapped around a chipped ceramic mug, warmth seeping into your palms. The coffee is slightly too bitter, but you drink it anyway, because Spencer made it. Because he takes his with too much sugar and no milk, and you take yours with just a little, and the contrast is something you love.

The morning light catches in his hair as he moves about the kitchen, curling slightly at the ends where sleep left it unruly. He wears his clothes loose in the morning—his pajama pants low on his hips, his sweater slightly too big, slipping past his wrists when he reaches for things. He is soft here, unguarded in the way that makes your chest ache.

You don’t say anything when he hums under his breath, something classical, a song you don’t recognize but have heard him play before on nights when he lets the record spin long past midnight.

You don’t say anything when he pours his coffee with one hand and flips absentmindedly through the book he left on the counter with the other.

But you do say something when he starts reading aloud.

“You know, according to the Journal of Neuroscience, studies show that sleep inertia—”

“Spencer,” you interrupt, smiling into your mug.

He pauses, blinking at you, book still in hand. “What?”

You shake your head, setting your coffee down, stepping toward him until you can reach for the book, plucking it gently from his fingers. He lets you take it, watching as you slide it onto the counter behind you, clearing the space between you.

“We’re supposed to be waking up,” you murmur. “Not filling our brains with research before we’ve even eaten breakfast.”

Spencer tilts his head, eyes flickering over your face like he’s considering it. Then, his lips curve, slow and warm. “That’s how I do wake up.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s no bite to it. You both know that you love when Spencer rambles, miss it when he's gone, call him craving the sound of his voice when he's away on trips. “Come here.”

You reach for him, and he comes easily, stepping into the space you make for him, folding himself against you like he belongs there.

Maybe that’s the point of all of this—not two people standing side by side, but two people learning how to take up the same space, how to move around each other without losing themselves in the process.

Spencer exhales as you press your cheek to his shoulder, hands slipping around his waist, fingers curling into the soft fabric of his sweater. His arms come around you in return, slow and careful, pressing you against him like he knows exactly how to hold you.

The shape of each other, the cadence of shared breath, the quiet rhythm of a love that is not loud or fast or reckless, but something slow and deliberate.

Spencer is slow to let you go.

Even as you shift, even as you move to pull back, his fingers tighten just slightly at your waist, anchoring you there for a moment longer. You don’t resist. You let yourself be held, let yourself stay.

But then his stomach growls. Loudly.

You grin against his shoulder. “Well, that’s attractive.”

Spencer groans, burying his face in your neck. “I knew I should have eaten before I went to bed.”

You laugh, pressing your hands to his sides. “Come on, genius. Let’s get you some food before you start reading case files on malnutrition.”

He sighs, exaggerated, but finally steps back, rubbing a hand over his face as you turn toward the stove. “I do have a study on nutritional deficiencies and cognitive function bookmarked somewhere.”

You glance at him over your shoulder, raising an eyebrow. “You have studies bookmarked on everything.”

Spencer shrugs, completely unapologetic, and moves to lean against the counter beside you, watching as you pull out a frying pan. He doesn’t help—doesn’t even pretend to help—but he does reach for the bag of coffee grounds again, refilling your mug and his, making himself useful in the way he always does.

“You want eggs?” you ask, already cracking one against the rim of the pan.

He hums, peering into the fridge. “Only if you make them the way I like.”

“You mean, as you proclaimed the first time you stayed over, the right way?”

“Yes,” he says simply.

Neither of you mention how he burned them immediately after, distracted by kissing you in the early light filtering through the curtains of the kitchen window.

You huff, but it’s all affection, and he knows it.

Spencer doesn’t sit while you cook. He doesn’t retreat to the table or get lost in a book. He stays right here, a constant presence at your side, sipping his coffee, occasionally nudging your hip with his when you get too focused.

When you plate the food, he takes his with an approving nod. “See? Perfectly cooked.”

“They;re just scrambled, picky,” you tease, nudging him toward the kitchen table with your hip.

Spencer grins, mouth full of toast. “I have standards.”

You snort, setting your plate down across from him. “Oh, I know. That’s why you’re dating me.”

He swallows, takes a sip of coffee, and then, without missing a beat, says, “No, I’m dating you because I’m in love with you.”

Your breath catches.

He says it so easily.

No hesitation. No grand declaration. Just a fact, spoken between bites of breakfast, like it’s something he’s known for years.

You blink, lips parting slightly, and Spencer—Spencer, who notices everything—tilts his head, eyes softening.

“Hey,” he murmurs, reaching across the table, brushing his fingers against yours. “I didn’t mean to—”

“No,” you say quickly, shaking your head, covering his hand with yours. “No, I—I just—”

You exhale, glancing down at where your hands meet, at the gentle press of his fingers against yours. Then, quieter: “I love you, too.”

The corner of his mouth lifts, slow, small, but full of something deep, something certain.

“I know,” he murmurs, thumb tracing slow circles against your skin. “But I still like hearing it.”

And so you say it again, just for him.

Just because he likes hearing it.

“I love you.” Spencer smiles.

After breakfast, Spencer lingers at the table while you move about the apartment, rinsing dishes, wiping crumbs from the counter. It’s a soft sort of silence. When you pass by him, his hand brushes against your hip, absentminded but full of intent, a touch that says I know you’re here. I know you’re mine.

You catch his wrist, squeezing gently before letting go.

Neither of you speak as you make your way toward the bedroom, but Spencer follows, because of course he does. Because his place is beside you, moving with you, orbiting within the same small universe.

Inside, the morning light has stretched further across the bed, creeping in golden streaks over the fabric. The air is warm with the scent of sleep, of coffee, of him.

Spencer moves first, tugging his sweater over his head and tossing it onto the bed. His hair goes staticky, curls fluffed from the fabric, and you reach out instinctively, smoothing them back into place. He stills beneath your touch, the corners of his lips twitching.

“You’re going to make it worse,” he murmurs.

“Probably.” You grin, carding your fingers through the strands anyway, just for the sake of touching him.

Spencer huffs a laugh, but he doesn’t move away.

You let him slip his fingers beneath the hem of your shirt, lifting it over your head in one fluid motion. Let him reach for the zipper of your trousers, sliding it down with the same care you’d shown him.

There’s nothing rushed about it.

Nothing frantic, nothing heated. Just this. Just hands smoothing over fabric, fingers brushing against skin in passing, the quiet, unspoken promise of I know you. I love you. Let me show you.

Spencer tilts his head, gaze flickering down, not to your lips, but to the hollow of your throat, where your pulse flutters beneath your skin. He watches it like a scholar studying something precious like he’s measuring the exact rhythm of you, the precise way you exist in this moment.

And then, with all the patience in the world, he leans in.

Not rushed. Not desperate. Like he has all the time in the world to memorize you.

His lips brush your jaw first—so soft it could almost be nothing, just a breath, just a thought of touch. Then, lower, trailing warmth along the delicate line of your neck, the curve of your shoulder.

Your fingers find his wrists, not to stop him, but to hold him there, to feel the heat of him seeping into your skin.

You shift—not much, just enough to press closer, enough to let your forehead rest against his, enough to let his breath mingle with yours.

His hands slide higher, fingertips grazing the curve of your ribs, the warmth of his palms bleeding through the fabric like sunlight through frosted glass.

Like he understands, without either of you saying it, that this is the sacred part. Not the wanting, not even the having, but the holding. The staying.

He presses his lips to your temple, soft and sure, and you feel it—the weight of love settling between your ribs, deep and real.

“I want you,” he murmurs, voice low, full of something aching.

You shudder, your fingers tightening around his wrists. “You have me,” you whisper.

Spencer swallows, pressing his forehead against yours again, his hands gripping you just a little tighter as he breathes you in.

You feel his adoration in the way he moves—hesitant, reverent. Like he’s unraveling you thread by thread, pulling you apart just to piece you back together in the way only he knows how.

His fingers ghost over the curve of your waist, not grasping, not pulling, just feeling.

Your breath catches when he finally presses closer, the full weight of him sinking into you, a slow collapse into something inevitable. His body is warm, radiating heat like a fever, like a star burning too close to your skin. You curl your fingers into the fabric of his shirt, twisting it tight in your grip, grounding yourself in the weight of him.

He exhales against your jaw, warm and unsteady.

“Look at me,” he murmurs.

You do.

And god, it’s unbearable—the way his eyes search yours, wide and dark and pleading.

His breath stutters when you reach up, cradling his face in your hands, fingertips skimming the sharp angle of his cheekbone. He leans into your touch like it’s instinct, his lashes fluttering, his lips parting slightly, his chest rising and falling in time with yours.

“Spencer,” you whisper, his name slipping from your lips like a prayer.

He answers you with a kiss.

Not rushed, not desperate. His lips move against yours, unhurried but insistent, a careful exploration, a patient claiming. His nose brushes yours, his breath mingling with yours, the quiet sounds of longing pressing into the spaces between you.

You sigh into his mouth, and he shudders, his fingers tightening against your ribs.

“Again,” he whispers.

So you kiss him again. And again. And again.

Until the space between you is nothing, until your bodies are tangled in sheets and sighs and whispered names, until everything is breath and warmth and wanting.

His hands find yours, fingers threading together, clinging, pressing, grounding. His forehead rests against yours, his breath uneven, his body trembling with the weight of this.

“I want you,” he whispers, voice wrecked, shaking, repeating himself.

You tighten your grip on his hands, pulling him closer. “I know,” you breathe. “I know.”

And when he moves again, when his lips find yours with a new kind of urgency, you know—you feel it in your bones—this isn’t just wanting. It’s everything.

Spencer kisses you like he’s searching for something.

Like the answer to every unsolvable equation is pressed between your lips, tucked beneath your tongue, hidden in the soft give of your sighs.

And you let him.

Because you know this—this rhythm, this language you’ve built together. The slow pull of hands over fabric, the careful way he unravels you. The heat that grows between you, steady and unrelenting, like a pot left to boil over.

Spencer exhales sharply when your fingers find the sharp ridge of his collarbone. You press your lips there, breathing him in, and he shivers.

Spencer is reaching for you again, already fitting his hands to the curve of your back, already tilting his head to press open-mouthed kisses to your shoulder, your throat, the place just beneath your ear that makes you sigh.

“We’re going to be late,” you murmur, though you don’t mean it.

Spencer hums, his lips still pressed against your skin. “I don’t care.”

You laugh—a breathy, delighted sound that he swallows with his next kiss, his hands smoothing over your ribs, pressing warmth into your skin.

His trousers slide lower on his hips, and he makes a sound—low, breathless, almost dazed.

And then—“I’m sorry,” he murmurs suddenly, against the corner of your mouth.

You blink, pulse stuttering. “For what?”

“For all the times I haven’t been here.” His fingers tighten at your waist, like he’s grounding himself in the weight of you, in the proof that you are here. “For leaving. For missing too much. For—”

You don’t let him finish.

You press your lips to his, pouring everything into it—forgiveness, love, understanding.

When you break apart, your voice is quiet but sure. “There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

Spencer exhales, shaky and relieved, and then—

Then he laughs, something soft and breathless, because you’ve pushed his trousers past his hips and now they’re tangled around his ankles, and it’s clumsy, and it’s human, and neither of you can bring yourselves to care.

Your own clothes follow, piece by piece, scattered and forgotten, because this is more important.

Spencer is warm everywhere, all golden skin and careful hands and parted lips. He hovers over you, his breath fanning over your cheek, his fingers tracing slow, reverent paths down your arms, your sides, like he’s still memorizing you.

And when you reach for him, guiding him closer, pulling him in, he exhales a sound—soft, broken, something like ah, like yes, like finally.

You sigh into him, arching, meeting him where he waits, and the warmth between you turns molten, turns necessary.

Spencer presses his forehead to yours, his breath uneven, his fingers twining with yours in the sheets.

“I love you,” he whispers.

And you—You're lost in the heat, the smell of him. The gentle movement as there's nothing left but you and him and him and him.

"Ah, Spencer," you breathe, and he shushes you.

"I know, I know."

It's quiet, it's breathy laughs, it's warmth building building buildig until something cracks - it has to, it's necessary, it's perfect and lovely and hot honey dripping down your thighs to gather into something greater, something perfect, something more.

It should be impossible, the way you fit together.

Like something sculpted by hands that knew what they were doing, shaping flesh and bone with deliberate care, pressing you into each other until there is no separation, no beginning or end. A seamless thing. Thread looping over itself, over and over and over into infinity. Until it cannot be separated from itself, until it is one ball of mass and moving and friction.

Heat and pressure and warmth build into something more, more more. Spencer is calling your name as if you are lost, you're grasping his back to remind him you're right here.

He tumbles and you're stuck on the edge, unable to follow. It's a brilliant thing, watching him. Eyes screwed shut, tightly. Breath coming out in spurts and spasms. Love, love, love. Pouring out of him and into you.

It's warm, so so warm, and nearly enough to send you to the place of glass shattering and pleasure fluttering and complete unity.

It isn't until Spencer's hips are faltering that he notices you there, hanging on the precipice of masterpieces yet unknown.

"Oh, lovely. I've got you, it's me. I'm here, I've got you," whispered reassurances pressed into your hair, your ear, your cheek, as he moves.

And you fall after him, tumbling down into something safe and known and foreign and unlearnable.

When you clatter back onto Earth, Spencer is warm against you, chest rising and falling in the slow, steady rhythm of shared breath. His fingers—long, elegant, familiar—trace mindless patterns against your arm, mapping you the way he memorizes pages, theories, entire histories. As if you are something to be learned, something to be understood.

As if he hasn’t already written you into the marrow of his bones.

Your limbs are tangled in the sheets, in each other, some quiet aftershock of connection humming between your skin. He shifts, pressing a lazy kiss to your temple, the edge of your jaw, the corner of your lips, his breath still heavy with you.

Whole. Uninterrupted.

Until—

A loud grumble splits the silence, echoing off the walls.

Spencer stills.

You blink.

And then—

Your stomach rumbles again, louder this time, an undignified protest against your distraction.

Spencer bursts into laughter.

It’s warm, breathless, human, cracking through the solemn weight of the moment like lightning through a storm. He drops his head against your shoulder, shaking with it, his entire body vibrating with amusement.

“Oh my God,” you groan, covering your face with your hands.

Spencer’s still laughing when he rolls onto his back, his hand dragging down his face as he tries to compose himself. He fails, utterly, letting out another breathy chuckle before turning his head to look at you.

“I’m sorry,” he says between soft huffs of breath, his eyes bright with mirth. “It was just—so poetic, so profound—and then your stomach actually growled.”

You peek at him between your fingers. “You're going to give me shit when you essentially did the same thing earlier?" You ask, aghast. Spencer nods his head, cheeky smile overtaking his face.

You groan again, but it’s half-hearted, because Spencer is still laughing, and it’s the kind of sound you’d willingly make a fool of yourself for, over and over again, just to hear it.

"Did you not have any of your stellar eggs?" Spencer asks, pulling away from you.

You both wince as connection is lost, resisting the urge to pull him back in again, to be selfish and keep the warmth of him near.

He stretches, arms raised above his head, back cracking. You stay still, stretched across the bed as he moves into your bathroom and wets a washcloth.

"No, I don't really like scrambled."

Spencer hesitates, at the foot of the bed, one knee propped up on the edge. "What?" He asks, frozen, still as a statue.

"I'll eat them but this morning they were too eggy."

"Too eggy," Spencer mutters, voice aghast, cleaning you before pinching your thigh playfully. "Come on, time to get you to work."

The moment lingers, shifting into something softer, something easy.

And then—

You’re standing in the kitchen, hours later, Spencer in his undershirt, stirring a pot of something that smells like warmth, like home.

Your stomach grumbles again.

Spencer smirks, not even turning around. “Should I start reciting poetry, or—”

You throw a dish towel at him.

||||

There is the weight of Spencer pressed against you in the morning, the heat of his breath on your skin, the steady rhythm of his fingers tracing patterns into your ribs. And then there is the cold side of the bed, the imprint of him faded from the sheets, the silence of an empty apartment that settles like dust in your lungs.

He’s gone.

Not forever. Neer forever.

But the difference between knowing something and feeling it is vast, and this morning, you feel it.

The bed is too big. The air is too still. The coffee is too bitter without his absentminded habit of adding too much sugar to the pot when he thinks you aren’t looking.

His absence moves through the space like a ghost, turning everyday things into echoes of him.

A book left open on the table, spine cracked, a scrap of paper sticking out with notes in the margins.

A half-full mug beside the sink. He always assures you he'll finish it later but never does. You don't mind, savoring the reminder of him when he leaves in the middle of the day with little notice.

The sweater he left draped over the back of a chair, smelling like warmth, like him, like something undone.

You exhale, pressing your fingers to the edge of the table as if grounding yourself, as if it might keep you tethered.

You knew this would happen.

It always does—cases that stretch into days, weeks, phone calls that come at odd hours, the sound of his voice wrapped in exhaustion and apologies, the waiting, the not-knowing.

You reach for your own coffee, cradling it between your palms, letting the heat seep into your fingers.

Your phone buzzes. A message. Short, simple.

Spencer: I miss you.

The breath in your chest stutters.

Your fingers hover over the keyboard, a response forming before you can even think about it.

You: I miss you too. It’s too quiet here.

Three dots appear. Pause. Disappear.

You wait, staring at the screen, willing the space between you to close, even just a little.

Spencer: I’ll call you tonight. Stay in my sweater until then.

You let out a breath, something soft, something caught between a laugh and a sigh. You reach for it, slipping it over your shoulders, wrapping yourself in the remnants of warmth.

It’s not the same.

But for now, it will have to be enough.

||||

The door unlocks with a quiet click.

You don’t move right away.

You should—should stand, should cross the room, should meet him in the doorway. But instead, you sit still, curled into the couch, the weight of waiting still heavy in your limbs, pressing you down.

Footsteps. Familiar, careful.

“Hey,” Spencer murmurs, quiet, hesitant, like he isn’t sure if you’re asleep, if he should wake you, if he’s allowed to break the silence.

You inhale sharply, and that’s what does it—what snaps the moment in two. You push up from the couch, feet hitting the floor, your body moving before your mind catches up.

You are in his arms.

He exhales sharply at the impact, his bag slipping from his shoulder, his arms wrapping around you with something desperate, something relieved, like he’s been waiting for this moment just as much as you have.

The scent of him—faint cologne, the sterile bite of too many hotels, the quiet warmth that is Spencer—hits you all at once. You press your face into his shoulder, fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket, holding tight.

“You’re back,” you breathe, and it’s obvious, unnecessary, but you need to say it, need to hear it, need to confirm it.

Spencer laughs—soft, exhausted, fond. “I’m back.”

You feel the words vibrate through him, feel the shape of them beneath your hands, the weight of them settling between your ribs.

“Did you miss me?” You laugh, a quiet, breathy thing, your grip tightening on his jacket.

“Not at all,” you say, pulling back just enough to look at him, to see him. His face is tired, his eyes a little shadowed, but there’s something soft there, something bright just beneath the surface.

His lips twitch. “Liar.”

You hum, tilting your chin up just slightly, brushing your nose against his, letting the warmth between you settle.

“Say it anyway,” he murmurs.

So you do. “I missed you, Spence.”

His breath stumbles and he kisses you.

It’s not rushed. It’s not desperate. It’s homecoming, warmth where there was once cold. It’s touch where there was once absence. It’s the quiet, certain return of something that never really left.

It takes a while for Spencer to let go and, even when he does, he keeps a hand on you. Not even after the kiss fades into breaths, not even after his bag is abandoned by the door, not even after you’ve guided him toward the couch, pressing your hands to his shoulders until he sinks into the cushions with a sigh.

You don’t ask him about the case.

Not yet.

Instead, you move around him, nudging his shoes off with your foot, smoothing his hair back from his face, pressing your fingers into the stiff muscles at the back of his neck. His eyes flutter shut, and he exhales slow, like he’s unspooling one spiraling thread at a time.

“You look exhausted,” you murmur, brushing your knuckles over his cheek.

“I feel worse,” he admits, cracking one eye open to look at you. “I think I might actually be a ghost.”

You hum, tilting your head. Slowly, you press a finger into the center of his chest, thumping it against his sternum twice. “I don’t know, you feel pretty solid to me.”

Spencer lets out a breathy chuckle, shaking his head. “Okay, fine. Maybe I’m only part ghost.” He waves a hand in the air, "I hover between realms, or whatever those silly books you read would say."

“Well,” you say, ignoring the dig at your admittedly less-academic reading preferences, pressing your lips to his temple, lingering, “if you were a ghost, you’d be a talkative one. Following me around, rambling about hauntings and historic criminal cases—”

Spencer scoffs. “I’d be a great ghost.”

“Would you?”

“I’d be an educational ghost.”

You snort, letting your fingers trail down his arm, wrapping your hand around his wrist, pressing against the pulse there. “I think I prefer you educational and alive.”

Spencer smiles, but it’s softer now, more worn, and when he leans into you, it’s not just playful—it’s relief.

You shift, curling into him, letting him fold himself against you like he’s been waiting for it for days. He buries his face against your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin, and you feel the tension still lingering in him, the weight of something else.

Something he’s not saying. So you just hold him.

One hand drifts into his hair, threading through the soft curls, the other smoothing over his back, steady, slow. His fingers flex against your side, gripping, holding, grounding. He sighs, deep, exhausted, pressing closer like he’s trying to escape something.

You kiss the crown of his head. “You don’t have to tell me,” you whisper. “But you can.”

Spencer is quiet for a long moment, his breathing uneven, his fingers still pressed into your skin. “The case was a little boy,” he murmurs, barely above a breath. “He lost his—” His voice wavers, and he swallows hard. “His whole family. We nearly didn't find him in time."

It's the most he can give you, the most that the public has probably heard, too, but it's enough to impress upon you the true horrors he's facing.

You close your eyes, tightening your arms around him. “Spencer.”

He shakes his head, shifting just enough to rest his forehead against your collarbone. “I just—I keep thinking about him. How small he looked. How scared.”

You press your lips together, blinking hard, willing yourself to keep it together for him. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, voice thick. “I know that doesn’t help, but I am.”

Spencer exhales shakily, nodding against your skin. “It helps.”

You don’t know if that’s true, but you keep holding him anyway. Keep smoothing your hands down his back, keep whispering his name, keep pressing your lips to his temple, his cheek, the corner of his mouth, like you can will the heaviness away.

“I’ve got you,” you murmur against his skin. “You’re home.”

Spencer lets out a slow, shuddering breath. “Yeah,” he whispers. “I am.”

Spencer doesn't move much, pressed against you, letting himself be held. His breathing steadies, his hands no longer gripping like he’s afraid of being pulled away.

You shift, just slightly, pressing your cheek against the top of his head. “You wanna do something mindless for a bit? Watch bad TV? Read a book with no footnotes? Stare at a wall together?”

Spencer snorts, muffled against your skin. “Tempting.”

“I'm very persuasive when I want to be.”

“That’s one word for it.”

You pull back just enough to look at him, narrowing your eyes. “Excuse me?”

Spencer finally lifts his head, and there’s something lighter in his expression now, the weight of the case still lingering, but no longer pressing quite so hard against the edges of his mind.

He shifts, settling further into the couch, his knee bumping against yours. “You bullied me into watching a terrible documentary about haunted dolls last time I came back from a case.”

Your mouth falls open in offense. “It was informative!”

Spencer levels you with a flat look. “It was ninety minutes of a guy holding up dolls to the camera and whispering ‘Do you hear that?’”

You press your lips together, fighting back a laugh. “Okay, maybe it wasn’t the most scientific—”

“There was a scene transition shaped like a skull.”

“You didn’t have to watch it!”

Spencer gestures at himself dramatically. “I was physically incapacitated by exhaustion!”

You shove at his shoulder, laughing now, and he catches your wrist easily, pressing a quick, warm kiss to the inside of it before letting you go. The gesture is so easy, so thoughtless, that your chest goes tight with it.

Spencer sighs, shifting so he’s half-leaning against you again, pressing his forehead briefly to your shoulder before pulling back. “But,” he admits, softer now, “it was kind of nice. Sitting with you. Not thinking for a bit.”

You hum, tucking your legs beneath you, leaning into his warmth. “I am great at the whole ‘not thinking’ thing.”

Spencer huffs a laugh. “That’s not what I meant.”

“You sure? I distinctly remember you asking me how I manage to not overanalyze things while I was eating a bowl of cereal the other day.”

“That was—” He pauses, brows knitting together. “Okay, yes, but that’s because you were reading the cereal box like it was literature.”

“It was a compelling narrative, Spencer.”

He tilts his head. “The ingredients list?”

“The lucky leprechaun’s backstory,” you clarify.

Spencer just stares at you.

You grin, nudging his knee. “It’s called escapism, genius.”

Spencer shakes his head, exhaling something close to a laugh-sigh, then shifts again, tucking himself more comfortably against your side.

"Unless you're calling me dumb," you muse, not ready to give up teasing him. He takes the bait easily.

"I would never say that-"

"i'm pretty certain that's what I'm hearing."

"Absolutely not." You sit silently, humming dramatically, hoping for a compliment that you're sure is to come. "You're one of the smartest people I've met, actually. That's why your taste in books and documentaries appalls me."

"You're good at groveling, Dr. Reid."

He doesn't answer, chuckling and pressing his lips against your shoulder in response instead.

After a moment, his fingers brush against yours, hesitant for only a second before twining them together. Quiet settles between you again—not heavy this time, not suffocating. Just easy. Just you and him. Spencer squeezes your fingers lightly, voice soft when he speaks again.

“You make coming home easy.”

Your throat goes tight, and you squeeze back. The shift in tone is palpable. You long to linger in the feeling of warmth and safety and the earnest way he mumbles it. “Good,” you murmur, pressing your forehead to his temple. “Because you are home.”

Spencer exhales, slow and steady. “Yeah,” he whispers. “I know.”

You don’t move immediately after Spencer settles against you, letting his weight sink into the couch, his fingers loosely tangled with yours. He’s relaxed now, softer, the weight of the week still lingering in his tired eyes but no longer pressing quite so hard on his shoulders.

It’s the perfect time to strike.

You reach for the remote, flicking through streaming options with intense purpose.

Spencer glances at you, suspicious. “What are you doing?”

“Putting something on to help you unwind.”

His eyes narrow. “What kind of something?”

You hum innocently. “Oh, you’ll see.”

Spencer watches as you select a YouTube documentary—one you know is riddled with inaccuracies, one that will absolutely send him into a spiral.

The second the dramatic narration begins, Spencer physically tenses.

You stifle a smile. You watched it when he was gone, something mind-numbing after a long day at work, and have been waiting to see his reaction to the ridiculous claims of the conspiracies.

The documentary wastes no time getting things wrong.

A sweeping shot of pyramids. An ominous, overly intense musical score. And then, in bold, serious tones:

"The ancient Egyptians, known for their fascination with aliens—"

Spencer inhales sharply, head snapping toward you, eyes wide with horror. “Their fascination with WHAT?”

You shrug, biting your lip. “Aliens, love. Keep up.”

Spencer throws his hands in the air. “Ancient Egyptian society was a highly advanced civilization with remarkable achievements in engineering, mathematics, and medicine—why does everything have to be aliens?”

You pat his knee comfortingly. “Shh. The experts are speaking.”

He turns back to the screen just in time to hear the narrator say:

"Some theorists believe the Sphinx was originally a statue of a dog, not a lion."

Spencer physically jolts, glaring at you again.

“A dog?” he scoffs.

You bite back laughter. “I don’t know, Spence. It kinda looks like a dog if you squint.”

He looks betrayed. “It doesn't. I know you don't think it does.”

You hum thoughtfully, pretending to study the screen. “Maybe, like, a bulldog?”

Spencer presses the heels of his palms into his eyes like he’s in pain. Give me the remote. There's a better, actual documentary, about 1940s Germany that I wanted to show you instead of this-” he gestures toward the screen, "garbage."

You grin, nudging his side. “Oh, you love it.”

“I do not—”

A new segment starts, this one even worse, featuring a so-called “historian” confidently stating that the Romans invented cheese.

Spencer makes a noise nearly resembling a laugh and you know you've got him.

“No they didn't," he says, deadpan, shaking his head and clicking off of the video.

You lose it. You cackle, curling into his side, shaking with laughter as Spencer queues up an actual documentary, switching on subtitles for you.

“I hate you,” he mutters, but his voice is fond, his arm still wrapped tight around you.

“No, you don’t,” you tease, leaning into him.

He sighs dramatically, dropping a kiss to the top of your head.

“No,” he murmurs, softer now. “I really don’t.”

And just like that, the warmth settles back between you, easy and earned.

Even if he’s still muttering about the Sphinx as the documentary starts.

You settle down like that, listening as Spencer adds his own interesting facts to the documentary. This is home, wholly and truly, sitting on this couch next to him.

You're sure to ask questions, keep him talking, until he falls asleep, missing the sound of his voice the second he dozes off.

[earthtooz]

sharing little phainon brainrots as a birthday gift to myself

phainon is the type of lover who wants you to consume all of him. he wants to melt on your skin, sink through your pores, and stay coursing through your veins so that every breathe you take, every blink of your eye, every twitch of your finger- he will be there to witness it.

along with the insatiable need to be in the crevices of your heart and mind every second of the day, comes with the lack of personal space.

he is in your space at every given opportunity, a hand on any part he can touch, body pressed against your side, back, front, the lingering warmth of his looming, protective figure is something of second nature by now. and when you turn to see the perpetrator of the gentle touch ghosting along your back, dancing and tracing the line of your spine, sending goosebumps down your skin, you'll be sure to see a very innocent phainon, who has a slight smile gracing his lips. then, he'll tilt his head to the left, as if asking if anything was wrong.

with him, there is no sense of 'going too far'.

he will buy out the local flower shop's stock for you, he would throw himself into the throes of a corrupt titan if you so wanted him to, he would lick the debris and dirt off your skin like a woeful puppy because he could not protect you from nikador's attacks.

after he returned home that night, laborious trial finally completed and coreflame within the hands of the chrysos heirs, he treated you as though you were made of glass despite the fact it was his body that was one step away from collapsing. fatigue clung to the bags under his eyes, his hands shook from the intensity of the battle, and he is not so unscathed himself yet he looked at you as if you were a wounded animal, eyes glossy and filled with emotion.

"i'm fine," you would try to reassure, but the furrow in his brows never did smooth over.

"so you keep saying." he murmurs, "but i'm not."

"of course you're not, you just defeated nikador-"

"that's not what i'm talking about," his interruption is gentle, it comes in the form of a large, warm hand wrapping around yours, grip tight and unrelenting, as if he was still trying to confirm you were with him. "you're hurt, and i couldn't do anything about it. you may claim to be okay, but i'm not, because i was not good enough to stop your pain."

"phainon-"

"-it is my duty to protect everything that is dear to me. i failed." he places a ghost of a kiss on the back of your hand, lingering there as his shoulders shake, revealing the true nature of his anxieties.

his grip that night is especially tight, never letting you stray too far while consoling him, demanding and vying for your attention. he eventually rests after hearing your voice drone on and on in his ear. it was the kind of incessant reassurance that he needed as he curled around you, his large, muscular figure acting like a shield from the outside world as he held you close.

his guiding light, his tether to reality, you hold so much power over him that you don't even realise you have, and if he manages to anger you, phainon crawls on his knees for your forgiveness. time heals, and he knows he needs to give you space so you can work through your emotions, but he's convinced he'll wither away to nothing unless you can look him in the eye again.

he's impatient, especially when it comes to you, he needs to know that you still love him, needs to know that you still want him, that you won't leave him with a permanent hole in his chest, and needs to know it all now. time heals, they say, but every second away from you is a dagger to his bleeding heart.

"y/n, your favourite fruits are here, we should buy some!" phainon suggests from behind you. "oh, and there are apples too, we should make apple pie, i've been really craving them recently, we can even give some to the others!"

he's rattling off in your ear about sharing a portion of the desserts with his fellow chrysos heirs, how tribbie, trianne, and tribios would love them, how mydei would scoff at his efforts but take it nonetheless, and something about lady agalea that you don't hear entirely.

because you're trying really hard not to snap at him with the snarky remark that's sitting on the tip of your tongue.

and it's worse because you know that he's aware of how upset you are, how you are still sensitive from the disagreement you had in private not too long ago, how you need space to think, a space where phainon can't intrude and talk your ear off.

but he is doing this- staying close to you, metaphorically and physically pressing in on your personal space because he needs your reassurance and validation. you know he's doing it out of love, so you're trying really hard to keep a level head so as to not explode, but he is just too insistent, too overwhelming, too everywhere.

"let me pay," phainon gives the right amount to the storeowner, and he takes the bags before you can even reach for them. "i'll carry them, too!"

"phainon," you murmur softly because you're afraid your voice will crack, yet, he hears it, spine straightening a little under your command. "i... i need some time. alone. sorry."

you don't see it, but his expression morphs into something unbearably upset, his bright blue eyes dulling and larger-than-life presence shrinking as he lets out a small sound of agreement, helplessly watching you walk away from him. a part of him hopes that you'll turn around and take it back, running back to him and his fragile heart that needs you. that feels like it's going to combust in his ribcage unless phainon runs after you and does everything he can to get you to forgive him.

the grief exuding off phainon is practically tangible, mixed with an immense sense of yearning as his heavy footsteps take him back home. he becomes a shell of who he is, even as people- young and old, women and men alike, come to talk to their favourite hero. his smile never reaches his eyes, the chipper tone of his voice diminished a little as his eyes helplessly scan everywhere for you, hoping just to catch a glimpse.

so until he can feel your hands on his face again, thumb caressing his cheek, he will feel uneasy, his stomach will churn, his chest feels like it will cave in, and his heart misses you so much it might as well jump out through his mouth and run to you instead.

sat on a chaise with his head in his hands, the door to his private quarters pushes open, and he feels hope zap him alive, ears and eyes anticipating any indication that you were finally, finally home.

"phainon?" his back immediately straightens at the call of his name, and without even a second thought, he scrambles up to see you at the entrance, almost knocking everything over at the prospect of being able to exist in your orbit again. he wants to see you, wants to be near you so sadness won't paralyse his being.

seeing you is like a breath of fresh air after fighting in the ruins of castrum kremnos.

"y/n, my light, i'll apologise a thousand times over, i'll fight thanatos if you wanted me to if it means you'll forgive-"

"-i forgive you." suddenly, his words get lodged in his throat, ears attuned to every word you have to say to him. "you were doing what you thought was best, i appreciate it, i appreciate your love and care for me, phainon."

pure bliss courses through his veins, and it warms him from the inside out, the light slowly returning to his eyes as a big, bright smile pulls at his lips.

happiness looks good on him, but you don't get to savour his expression before he pulls you flush against him, even lifting you into the air with his arms around your waist.

"i love you," he whispers against your neck as he holds you up effortlessly. "i would do anything for you."

"you're already everything, i don't need anything else. although... maybe try not to make decisions for me without asking first, because then we can avoid problems like this."

he nods enthusiastically, white hair tickling your neck, causing you to laugh, the sound healing all the cracks of sorrow in his heart.

"your wish is my command, anything for you."

"and maybe... put me down, please?"

© EARTHTOOZ 2025, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[loveyhoneydovey]

18+ mdni, age gap and smut (this one is a little different and possibly ooc but it’s one of my fave tropes ever so i hope you enjoy it anyway. and ofc it’s a little messy)

michael robinavitch who assumed he was destined to spend the rest of his life alone. it’s not like he thought he’d be celibate till the end of his life or anything, but after a few relationships and tons of life experience, he made peace with the fact that maybe “happily ever after” wasn’t for him, that his relationships weren’t meant to last, but they brought him happiness nonetheless.

so imagine his surprise when he finds himself drunk on an impromptu vegas trip with a gorgeous giggly young thing sitting on his lap in a little corner booth, looking at him with heart eyes. the feeling that seeps through his chest combined with the quickening of his heart rate have him panicking for a brief moment, was a heart attack in the middle of a vegas club the way he’d go? he could already picture abbot standing on his grave laughing. but as you lean in closer and he gets a whiff of your perfume, (was that pistachios and cherries? his mouth was already watering), his drunk brain finally catches onto the fact that he wants to devour you. and when your hands come to rest against the roughness of his stubble so your soft lips can finally press against his chapped ones, he’s a goner.

and when he wakes up the next day it’s to the sound of soft snores and an oddly comforting weight on his chest. he looks down to find your body subconsciously wrapped around him like he’s the single most important thing in your universe. it’s not like he’s any better though, his arms are securing you tightly against him with an almost desperate grip. it takes him a second to recall the memories from the previous night. the details are slightly fuzzy, but he’s never been one to forget anything, even when drunk to point of passing out (mostly during his college days, he doesn’t think his body could take that type of abuse anymore).

so imagine his face when the moments of rough (borderline animalistic) fucking and soft tender love making come rushing back to him. when he remembers the cheshire cat like smile on your lips as you kissed and sucked on his freckled neck until you reached his grinning lips, your nipples rubbing against his hairy chest, his hands possessively gripping your ass. when he remembers being captivated by the blissed out look on your face, a look that had him puffing out his chest in pride as he kept pounding you into the hotel room mattress, your pussy gripping him like a vice, completely drenching him. when he remembers the way you reverently whispered his name over and over, while he held onto you like you were the only thing capable of bringing light into his gloomy life. not “dr. robinavitch” or “robby”, but “michael”.

and imagine his face when the most important part of last night makes it back to the surface of his mind as his eyes zero in on the glimmering rock resting on your ring finger. when the delicate whispers of you two vowing to love each other until death do you part suddenly have his chest feeling uncomfortably tight. and when the sight of your ring starts to blur with unshed tears because he swears he’d never know what peace felt like until that moment when he was in your arms last night. like nothing could get to him here, like he was safe and loved.

[wriothesleybear]

Imagine giving your boyfriend, Dr. Ratio a rubber duck that looks like him as a joke. He does make a comment saying it's idiotic, but he actually keeps it in his bathtub. Every time he looks at it while he's bathing, it makes him feel a warmth in his chest because it's a personalized gift you got just for him. You notice it hanging on the side of the tub the next time you bathe with him and tease him for it. "Hm. I guess it wasn't that idiotic of a present since you kept it in one of your most sacred places." He just ignores your teasing and continues reading his book.

The next time you two decided to take a bath together to relax, you notice another rubber duckie next to the one you gifted him and it looks just like you. You make a comment on it and he's nonchalant about it. His reasoning being "It seemed fitting that you should have one as well since we usually bathe together". All you can do is blush, taken by surprise from his words. He notices this and smirks. "What's wrong dear? Too shy to give one of your teasing remark?" All you can do is look away, moving back to lay on his chest. You quietly say, "It's cute." He slightly chuckles, a fond look graces his features. He wraps his arm around you, bringing you closer into him and rests his face into your hair, leaving a faint kiss to the crown of your head.

[winterstelltales]

nsfw mdni

zayne asking you to read out loud a medical report while he has you bent over his table in his study.

zayne's large frame covering your body as he watches you struggling to read a one simple sentence.

the words blur together, their meaning slipping from your grasp. you can’t make sense of them, let alone read them in the haze of pleasure.

it's your fault really, teasing him when he was trying to concentrate on his work. so he decides to give you a taste of your own medicine.

he has you starting over from the beginning every single time you make a slip up. all the while he slides his cock in and out of you, just the tip, just enough to drive you crazy.

his large palm traces a path down your spine as you whimpers, and if you try to grind your hips towards him, guess what? "start over."

again

again

and again

you've lost count of how many times you've read the same sentence over and over. you've lost count on how many times he's stolen you of your release. and only when you're a blabbering mess, unable to speak, let alone read, and begging him to fuck you, he will give in.

and that's not even the end. then he'll keep ramming his cock into you until you can't take it anymore, holding you up by the waist when your legs give in while he whispers sweet words into your ear.

zayne is the guy to have you read his work aloud while he fucks you (i didn't say that!)

[sunkissedburns]

thinking about michael robinavitch who quit smoking years ago, yet he can’t help but follow you when dana suggests a smoke break. ever the conversationalist, she keeps talking but his mind is miles away.

the way your fingers deftly play with your lighter almost has him losing his train of thought, and his eyes hungrily trace your side profile as you exhale the smoke.

there’s just something about the way you grin at him, cigarette between your lips, as if you know he’s resisting the urge to pluck it out of your mouth to kiss you silly.

[leaf-line]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐮𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈𝐬 𝐀 𝐃𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠

Yandere! Dr Ratio x Gn! Reader

❏ You and Dr Ratio bakes cake after your milestone! All harmless, absolutely nothing bad will happen!

cw: invasion of privacy, implied isolation, people pleaser reader, mentions of insecurities and mental illnesses, suicide.

w/c: 2,856

"I'm starting to see your improvements." Ratio hums, sounding pleased, which is rare for him to do, but it's not impossible.

Contrary to his calm demeanor, you were emotional.

"That's all you could say!? This is big! This is a big deal!!" You cried out, snatching the papers—the fruits of your labor, the results of your hard, hard work—from Veritas.

Your heart was thumping so loudly. It was as if all your red blood cells received glucose simultaneously.

"I can't believe... I got high scores on all tests... All in a row..." You weep out of joy seeing all of them be above the number of 95. You could let your knees fall to the ground and start having a breakdown to release all the stress kept up in your years of living. "My life... Is fulfilled... Suffering... Is no more... Augh—" You state dramatically, Ratio could only scoff at your s-tier performance.

"It is a feat for a person like you. However, this is not the ending point for you to cry out of joy; there's always more to strive for and be better at. The room isn't that small. There's still more for improvement. However... You did great, I'm proud of you for that." He lectures as if to say 95 isn't enough and you need full scores, but honestly, you can't even be mad at him.

After all, he was the one who pushed you to achieve something such as this. If it weren't for him, you'd be nothing but a plain potato who didn't achieve anything meaningful.

A genius prodigy such as him could easily turn a useless stone like you into a shining diamond. You felt grateful.

"Ahaha..." You laugh ironically. "But thanks, it's all thanks to you, you should be proud." You wipe your tears eyes with a finger, then smile brightly at him.

He said nothing, and you grinned. Maybe it was because your smile was so contagious he was stunned, but then again, you don't know what's going on behind that mask of his. You could only see him turn his head away from you.

You wanted to know truly if he's fond of you or not.

Your tutor... No, rather, your friend Ratio was someone you never expected to get along with. Rather, you were extremely opposed to the idea, and perhaps, even was he.

Recalling back to that time, both of you first met... Wasn't exactly the best first impression...

"Welcome, Sir Veritas Ratio. Meet my child... [Name], please take care of them from now on. They might be a little... Uneducated, but I hope that you can help them with that." Your mother pushes your back towards him, in which you internally scowl in return.

You eyed him. He looked rather young to be your tutor.

"Ah, and I couldn't help but notice that both of you are the same age. If that is the case, then I hope that the both of you will get along well!" Your mother cheerfully says so.

You doubted that heavily.

That's because you did your research before meeting him in person.

A lot of people said that the prodigy was cruel, relentless, and maybe even sadistic. And the list goes on. The most positive and recurring mentioned trait of his was being academically talented.

As soon as your mother left you with him, you felt vulnerable, as if you were out in the open and someone was ready to stab you with words like knife, take for example; the person in front of you.

You try to pace down your heartbeat to not overthink it... It works.

It's fine, it's fine, he's a prodigy, surely he knows about the fact of how the human heart is delicate and needs to be handled carefully. What's the worst he could say to you out loud?

No matter what it is, you won't let it reach you!

"Hey... You." He calls out, you prepare yourself.

There's no way he's gonna be 'that' cruel to you... Right? You both just met.

"Have you taken a shower? You stink."

...

A part of you cracked.

"Let's move on quickly, I don't have time to deal with idiots such as you."

And it cracks again.

Yeah... It wasn't the best, but at least he doesn't say that anymore. In fact, it helped you that he said that, since you don't neglect hygienic activities as much anymore. But as Professor Veritas Ratio once said, 'Don't dwell in the past for long,' let's focus on the future and present!

Since this is a milestone for you, you should gift Dr Ratio with a thank you.

"I'm in no need of your services. This feat was only achieved through your hard work. You should treat only yourself." He said out of nowhere.

"Wait— H-How did you even—"

"Your face said it all."

"Huh???"

Dr Ratio seems to have a knack for using his hidden mind-reading powers on you. You don't like that. You'll always feel vulnerable to him every time at this point.

"Ah... Too bad... I was gonna make myself some homemade cake and share it with you... Too bad you don't want it. I guess I'll just stick to being lonely and take it all for myself." You puff out, obviously picking on him.

"Then let me help you, for all I could know, the house might be burned down before you can even bake one successfully." He replies back with no remorse.

"How rude!"

You end up baking at his home.

You simply didn't want the place to be yours since your mom is gonna be there saying you're wasting your time doing all this, so it's gonna be annoying.

And so you're there, stirring a bowl with a whisk, while there's Ratio holding out the instructions. You can't lie; he looks kinda cuter with that apron he's wearing if only his strange plaster sculpture weren't covering his appearance.

"You know... Veritas... You can remove that mask off. Since... Ya know? We're baking."

"Focus on the task at hand."

"Damn..."

You were silenced immediately, so you carefully put down the bowl, ——albeit with a trembling hand that made you feel pathetic——, to move over to the chopping board with the bowl of strawberries that you're gonna cut. You reach out for the knife

...If not for Dr Ratio intervening.

"Let me handle that." He says, practically shoving you away from the chopping board. He takes the knife and chops it with ease despite wearing that weird sculpture on his head. You wonder if he can see with that.

"Woah... Are you worried about me accidentally cutting myself?" Your eyes widen in surprise.

"I didn't know you actually cared for me, Professor Veritas... Hmmm, but I suppose you can't help it; after all, I'm the cutest and the best student ever had, aren't I?" You bat your eyelashes for the sake of sarcasm.

"Perhaps."

"...Eh?"

Too blunt, you feel your cheeks burning up.

You wonder if he's just playing along with your sarcasm because there is absolutely no way that's the case.

"I'm not playing around with your jokes. I'm simply laying out the possibility."

"There you go... Using your mind reading powers again..."

"It's not that hard to do if you have two eyes and a brain."

"I have a brain too... Not everyone can exactly know what a person is thinking just by looking at their face and expression."

"I doubt both of those statements."

"...Okay, rude."

"It's not about skills, actually; you're just an open book."

"Am I really??"

You hum, seeing him chop the strawberries more efficiently than you ever could. You know all well you'd cut it clumsily, then they'd end up looking like you've beaten them to mashes. You walk to the over to preheat it while he does his own thing. You gaze at the warm light.

"This cake is just for the two of us. I can't really share it with anyone else. If only I could, I would." You murmur your thoughts out loud, feeling close enough to him to tell him your issues occurring these days. You stand up to walk over next to him.

"...Why is that?"

"Everyone at the campus... Ignores me. I don't know why." You say, your expression showing one of disheartened, but you bothered to put up a smile. "I know, I know, I shouldn't be bothered with this minimalistic stuff." You chuckle.

"... Human life inevitably takes the form of a struggle against loneliness. We reach out to others in order to avoid sinking into complete isolation. However, although they might provide us with some degree of consolation and felt connection, our loneliness is something that can never be overcome. Therefore, you have the right to be bothered by it. Even if everyone on your campus notices you, you'll still end up feeling lonely."

"So... You're telling me my feelings don't matter even if I single myself out?"

"You have me, don't you?"

"Woah??"

"Don't go around putting random ideas in your head. It's just, if you ever feel like you're the only person existing in the universe, remember me." He placed down the knife to lightly pat your head.

"..." It was as if you remember something foul, you feel your smile fading for a bit. "You know, I wondered if people avoid because they think I'm annoying. Do you find me annoying too Dr Ratio?" You humor a question.

"I'd be lying if I said not entirely."

"And here I thought you were trying to comfort me." You laugh, taking the strawberries he chopped and mixed it with the other ingredients. You think carefully on what you're about to say next.

"There was this one guy named [____], he thinks I'm annoying but... We... 'Talked' everyday, but one day he just suddenly killed himself." You wonder if you were the reason, though it's too far fetched, you still felt guilty.

"...i see, but you shouldn't blame yourself. It's not your fault, he must've had his own problems." He says... For some reason, you felt like he sounded awfully guilty too.

"...You're right."

You glance back at your baking progress only to see that it's already prepared for the oven. "Oh... It seems like we were taking too much I didn't even realize."

"Focus. Place that in the oven for 40 minutes." He orders, you nod and follow obediently.

As that was done, you breathe out a sigh. "Where's your bathroom?" You ask.

"Go to that hallway, you'll find it eventually."

You didn't bother to ask more and marched straight into it.

Whilst walking, you find... His room, no, it might be an office knowing who he is.

Your curiosity lead to dumb decisions such as this one, so you open the door which was surprisingly open. The room felt fancy and professional, you felt like you were a dirt intruding inside a perfectly clean place.

The walls were decorated with a bunch of awards, eight doctoral degrees, outstanding achievements in the fields of biology, medicine, natural theology, philosophy, mathematics, physics, and engineering— ah, you felt dizzy.

"Uwah..." You felt jealous, though it must've been stressful and uneasy to achieve all this. You send a regard in your mind for him, hoping that he didn't stress all this too much.

You wonder why you were even next to him, how could you even stand next to someone such as him, it felt like something out of fantasy, only someone with the same level as him should he be talking to. You were a simpleton compared to him.

Being in character of a simpleton, a stupid, brainless simpleton, you dig more on his room, to that resulted of you seeing a notebook placed on a desk. "Looks important... Is this his diary or something?"

Despite saying that, you still flipped the notebook into a page, reading it...

[Name] [Last Name]

Home Planet: Cosmos

Gender: [______]

Species: Human

Height: [______]

Weight: [______]

Address: [______]

Social Security Number: [______]

Birthdate: [______]

Collage Campus: [______]

Degree: [______]

Average Grade: 57% —> 96%

Biological Parents:

Mother: [______] - Occupation: The IPC Strategic Investment Department

Father: [______] - Deceased

Huh? Isn't this your... Private information... Why... Is it in his handwriting...? Your hand reluctantly flips to the next page.

[Name] [Last Name]'s history with their mother isn't difficult to understand, they're not fond of their mother for the sole reason of abandonment and high expectations, their mother does not have the time to raise a child for she is busy working for the IPC. However, she holds high expectations for [Name] despite not teaching them and leaving them to fend for their own without help, naturally, [Name], without tools, [Name] learned nothing and struggled to understand the materials exposed to them. With no choice left, their mother found a teacher that will help them raise up to her expectations.

I do not understand why she chose me out of everyone, perhaps because of the same age we have, but unlike them, my standards were advanced, choosing me will only cause [Name] to struggle more, I feel bad, so I set my teachings to them to be more tame and easy to understand, but difficult enough for them to improve even slightly, but to my utter surprise, they followed along with it. Not to say that they didn't struggle, in fact, they struggled greatly, but despite that, they pursued the materials. Despite their many flaws, they strive for the betterment of themselves.

Struggles and insecurities, they suffer from anxiety and depression, for one, they struggle to be hygienic and procrastinate, they prefer to relax and wallow on their own self pity rather than choose to study, they have a rather low view of themselves and low confidence, dead honest about thinking that they're a hopeless idiot, however they cover the fact that they think of that by joking around and putting up a false confidence to everyone. They care about the well-being of other people more than themselves. On the other hand, they feel the fear from failure, evident by how their hand trembles whenever they feel like—

Enough. You felt cold sweat dripping on you face. That's... Too much, he isn't supposed to know all this. It's you personal thing. How did he even...

You don't why, you really don't know why you still haven't left the notebook alone and left the room, you don't know why you still flipped to the next page.

Spreading rumors about them weren't difficult, as it seems like all those people are easily swayed by simple words, however, through that action, [Name] regretfully became a target of bad intent. Through pros and cons, I conclude that it was worth it, the sight of [Name] relying on me is ever so priceless.

[____], a wretch, a classmate of [Name], bullying [Name] over his own insecurities, rather than taking it out on something else, he takes out his pent up stress on other people, [Name] being the victim. [Name] seems to have noticed this, so rather than telling people of fighting back, they endured it, telling nobody about it (even me). I have a speculation that they simply endured it with a naive thought of helping that ignorant wretch.

He appears to have a delicate ego and heart, as it turns out he was taking it out on [Name] simply because he admired me and thinking that it should be him that I should be teaching rather than [Name]. As said, he had a delicate ego and a delicate heart, so it wasn't difficult to shatter it into pieces. I admit, though immoral, I found his dismay satisfying, ignorant people like him deserved to jump off that building—

You head snapped to the door and you felt a chilling sensation on your spine.

No longer wearing his mask, his head leaned onto the doorframe.

You drop the note book on the floor, seeing as pictures of you that were stuck on that note book to fly and scatter on the ground.

"Had fun reading? Were even in terms of privacy, did I ever tell you that you can meddle with my notes?" He questioned, his face showed no emotion.

"...Why— Why would y-you—?" You felt tears invade your vision, you heart being constricted.

"I take it were gonna have a long conversation later? No, actually..." He says, getting closer to you, you instinctively take the same steps back.

He gets closer and closer until your back is facing the wall, he placed a hand to obscure your vision. Perhaps the reason he covers his face around you, is because he's just as an open book as you when he's around you, he can't have you seeing his overly infatuated expression, even after he was trying so hard to hide it.

"Let's settle this short, right here, right now, I'll tell you everything. We have 25 minutes left, can't have the cake burning in the oven for too long can we?"

a/n: fun fact! just in case you missed it, at the first part of this short story, dr ratio subconsciously turned his head away from you because he was flustered by your gratefulness for him, sorry if it sounded like a vent at some parts, idk what occurred to me 💀, maybe it's because dr ratio is ironically my comfort character, i hate people like him irl but...

[reidmarieprentiss]

Too Sweet

Summary: Y/N knows Spencer is too good for her.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: smut (18+), angst, light fluff

Warnings/Includes: porn with plot, additional warnings under the cut, cosplay, wearing dress, use of Y/N, alcohol consumption

Word count: 11.9k

a/n: idk man i really want him

main masterlist

part two part three

Additional warnings: breast & nipple play, fingering, oral (m&f), PinV protected, biting

The convention hall buzzed with excitement, filled with an array of fans dressed as their favorite characters from the iconic series, Doctor Who. The air was alive with the chatter of people discussing their favorite episodes, theories about the show's plot twists, and the inevitable debates about which Doctor was the best. Vendors lined the walls, offering everything from collectible sonic screwdrivers to handmade TARDIS keychains.

Spencer Reid and Penelope Garcia were two of these enthusiastic attendees. Spencer was dressed impeccably as his favorite Doctor, the Eleventh, complete with a tweed jacket, bow tie, and fez perched jauntily on his head. Penelope, meanwhile, dazzled as the vibrant Thirteenth Doctor, sporting a rainbow-striped shirt, long coat, and bright yellow suspenders. Her hair was styled to perfection, and she wore a replica of the Thirteenth Doctor’s sonic screwdriver clipped to her belt.

They had spent the day gleefully exploring the convention together, indulging in all the nerdy joys the event had to offer. Panels, merchandise, photo ops with actors—they were having a fantastic time. They even participated in a trivia contest, which Spencer naturally excelled in, earning them a special edition Doctor Who poster. Everything was going splendidly until they ran into Penelope's ex, Kevin Lynch, who had the audacity to show up with his new date, a tall brunette who seemed to be equally as nerdy as Penelope.

Penelope's face fell as she spotted Kevin, her previous enthusiasm dimming slightly. She forced a smile and waved at Kevin, who looked surprised but waved back, a bit awkwardly.

"Penelope!" Kevin said, trying to sound cheerful but failing miserably. "It's, uh, great to see you here."

"Yeah, you too, Kevin," Penelope replied, her voice wavering slightly as she glanced at his date. She couldn't help but feel a pang of embarrassment and an awkward tension that hung in the air.

The encounter was brief, but it left Penelope feeling deflated. After exchanging a few pleasantries, she quickly excused herself and turned to Spencer, whispering that she needed a moment alone. Spencer nodded understandingly, his eyes filled with empathy, and watched as Penelope hurried off, clearly upset.

Now alone amidst the bustling crowd, Spencer found himself wandering around the convention hall, a bit lost without Penelope by his side. Despite being surrounded by thousands of people who shared his interests, he felt an uncomfortable sense of solitude creeping in. He adjusted his bow tie nervously, his eyes scanning the room for a friendly face or familiar sight.

As he wandered, Spencer couldn't help but feel self-conscious, almost like a lost puppy in a sea of strangers. The convention was vast, and though he loved the atmosphere, it was a lot to take in alone. He fiddled with his fez, trying to focus on the displays and booths around him, but the sense of being out of place lingered.

It was then that he noticed you, standing a short distance away, dressed as the most enchanting character from Doctor Who—Madame de Pompadour, The Girl in the Fireplace.

Your costume was a stunning recreation of the elegant 18th-century dress worn by Reinette, complete with intricate lace details, flowing skirts, and an opulent corset that captured the character's timeless beauty. A perfectly styled wig with cascading curls crowned your head, adding an authentic touch to your ensemble. You wore a delicate mask in your hand, which you twirled absentmindedly as you observed the convention floor, your eyes occasionally flicking toward Spencer with an amused curiosity. But what struck Spencer most was your warm smile, a beacon of kindness amidst the chaos.

You had noticed Spencer earlier, observing him with a gentle curiosity as he meandered through the crowd. Something about his endearing awkwardness and the way he carried himself drew your attention, and you found yourself walking over to him, compelled by a mix of admiration and empathy.

With a kind and playful smile, you approached him and said, "Hey, you look lost. Do you need help finding your parents?"

Spencer's eyes widened in surprise at your teasing comment, and he let out a surprised snort, momentarily caught off guard. He quickly recovered from his initial embarrassment and noticed the twinkle of amusement in your eyes.

"Uh, no, no thank you," he replied with a sheepish grin. "I was given permission to look around by myself."

Your laughter was infectious, and Spencer felt the tightness in his chest ease. It was as if your presence alone had a calming effect, grounding him in the moment and reminding him that he wasn't truly alone. Your genuine kindness and humor were like a breath of fresh air.

"I'm glad to hear it," you said, still smiling as you playfully curtsied. "I'm Y/N, by the way. A fellow time traveler, it seems."

Spencer hesitated for a moment before bowing slightly at the waist, feeling a little more confident now. "Spencer Reid," he replied, introducing himself. "And yes, it seems we both have a knack for getting lost in time."

Your shared laugh seemed to lighten the atmosphere, and Spencer couldn't help but feel grateful for your unexpected companionship. It was a simple moment, yet it carried a weight of significance—an unexpected connection made in the most delightful of circumstances.

As the vibrant crowd continued to flow around you, your conversation with Spencer felt like a moment suspended in time, a quiet bubble amidst the lively chaos of the convention. The laughter, chatter, and occasional shout of delight from fellow fans echoed through the hall, but you found yourself entirely focused on the man standing before you.

"So, Spencer," you began, looking around at the lively crowd, "what's been your favorite part of the convention so far?"

“Well, I won the trivia contest!” Spencer replied with enthusiasm, his eyes lighting up with pride. “I love seeing everyone’s costumes too, the creativity and thought they put into them is inspiring. And the food court! Did you see they have—why are you looking at me like that? Am I rambling? Oh, I am, hah, sorry.”

You chuckled softly, finding his rambling endearing. “Don’t stop on my account; I happen to think it’s very cute.”

Spencer blinked, momentarily caught off guard by your compliment. “You… you do?”

“Indeed, Doctor,” you replied with a playful glint in your eye.

“How did you know I’m a doctor?” he asked, genuinely curious.

“Um…” you pointed at his costume, a classic Doctor Who ensemble that perfectly captured the essence of the Eleventh Doctor. 

“Oh! Right, you meant Doctor Who Doctor,” he realized, a sheepish smile spreading across his face.

“Yes, but are you really a doctor?” you inquired, intrigued by the idea of him being both a fictional and real-life doctor.

Spencer nodded, his eyes reflecting a mix of humility and pride. “I have three PhDs.”

“Oh wow, that’s hot,” you said, your voice teasing yet sincere, enjoying the way his cheeks turned a faint shade of pink.

“What?” he squeaked, clearly flustered by your unexpected compliment.

“Tell me, Spencer… do you have plans after the convention?” you asked, leaning in slightly, your interest in him evident.

“Um, no, nope. No, I do not. Totally free,” Spencer stammered, trying to keep his composure but feeling his heart race at the prospect of spending more time with you.

“Good to know,” you replied with a warm smile. “Would you like to get a drink with me?”

“I would love to,” he answered, his voice brimming with exhilaration.

“Wonderful,” you said, pleased with his response.

The two of you exchanged numbers, a small gesture that felt monumental, sealing the promise of further connection beyond the convention's vibrant confines. As you parted ways, you couldn't help but feel a flutter of excitement at the thought of seeing him again.

As he watched you disappear into the colorful sea of costumes, you turned back to Spencer, your heart still racing with the promise of more time together. “I’ll see you later, Spencer,” you said, offering him one last lingering smile before slipping away into the crowd.

Spencer stood there for a moment, his mind whirling with possibilities and the thrill of new connections. As he adjusted his fez and prepared to rejoin Penelope, he smiled to himself, the Doctor Who theme echoing in the distance as he headed back into the lively fray.

—

Later that night, you and Spencer agreed to meet up at a cozy little bar nestled in a bustling neighborhood near your apartment. The day had been a whirlwind of excitement and adventure at the Doctor Who convention, but now, as the sun dipped below the horizon and the city lights twinkled, a new kind of eagerness filled the air.

You arrived at the bar first, filled with anticipation and nervousness. Gone was the elegant 18th-century gown you wore at the convention; you now wore a low-cut, tight shirt that hugged your curves and showed off a bit more cleavage than before. It was a bold choice, one that made you feel confident and sexy, and you hoped Spencer would appreciate it.

As you waited for Spencer to arrive, you couldn’t help but feel a flutter of fever at seeing him again. Something about his awkward charm and genuine kindness had struck a chord with you, and you were eager to see where the evening might lead.

When Spencer walked in, your breath caught at the sight of him. Gone was the Eleventh Doctor costume, replaced by a classic sweater vest ensemble that was quintessentially Spencer Reid. He wore a crisp button-down shirt under the vest, paired with slacks that somehow made him look both dorky and endearingly handsome. You found it incredibly attractive, and a smile tugged at your lips as he approached.

“Hey,” he said, a bit shyly, his eyes darting around the bar before settling on you. When he noticed your outfit, he froze for a moment, his eyes widening slightly at the sight of your low-cut shirt. “Wow, you look... amazing.”

“Thank you,” you replied, feeling a flush of warmth spread across your cheeks. “You clean up pretty well yourself, Doctor.”

Spencer chuckled, running a hand through his hair in a self-conscious gesture. “I, uh, didn’t know what to wear, but I’m glad it works.”

“Oh, it definitely works,” you assured him, your gaze lingering on his sweater vest. “I have a thing for sweater vests.”

He laughed, his cheeks tinged with pink. “Good to know. I have plenty of them.”

You motioned for him to join you at the bar, where you ordered drinks and settled into a comfortable conversation. The atmosphere was relaxed, with soft music playing in the background and the hum of conversations surrounding you.

“So, how did you get into Doctor Who?” Spencer asked, genuinely curious as he took a sip of his drink.

“I’ve always been a fan of science fiction,” you replied, leaning closer to ensure he could hear you over the chatter. “The idea of time travel, the adventures, and the characters just drew me in. Plus, the show has this amazing ability to make you think about life in new ways.”

Spencer nodded, clearly pleased with your answer. “I completely agree. The show is more than just entertainment; it’s a way to explore complex ideas and emotions. I think that’s why it resonates with so many people.”

“Exactly!” you said enthusiastically, enjoying the ease of conversation between you. “And what about you? What drew you to the series?”

Spencer shrugged, his eyes twinkling with the joy of discussing something he loved. “It started as a way to escape, I guess. Growing up, I didn’t have a lot of friends, but Doctor Who was like a companion, in a way. It taught me a lot about empathy and bravery.”

You smiled, touched by his honesty. “That’s really great, Spencer.”

“Thanks,” he said, looking a bit bashful under your gaze. “I’m glad I met someone who appreciates the show as much as I do.”

The conversation flowed effortlessly, a dance of words that brought you closer with each exchange. You found yourself laughing easily, the tension of earlier dissipating as you both shared stories and jokes, losing track of time in the warm ambiance of the bar.

As the night wore on, you noticed Spencer stealing glances at your shirt, his eyes flickering to your cleavage before quickly averting his gaze, trying to be polite. You couldn’t help but find his flustered reactions adorable, and you decided to tease him a little.

“Is there something interesting over here?” you asked, gesturing to your chest with a playful grin.

Spencer’s face turned a deep shade of red, and he stammered, “Uh, no, I mean, yes, but—oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stare.”

You laughed softly, reaching out to touch his hand reassuringly. “Relax, Spencer. I don’t mind. It’s kind of flattering, actually.”

He exhaled, clearly relieved by your response. “Well, in that case, yes, it’s very distracting,” he admitted, a shy smile playing on his lips.

“Good to know I still have it,” you teased, leaning back in your chair with a satisfied expression.

Spencer chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. “You definitely do.”

A comfortable silence settled between you, filled with the promise of more to come. As the night deepened, the conversation shifted from playful banter to something more intimate, the chemistry between you undeniable.

“So, Spencer,” you said, your voice dropping to a more sultry tone. “What does the rest of your night look like? Are you all booked up?”

“Um, no, not really,” he replied, his heart racing as he caught the glint in your eye. “Why do you ask?”

“Well,” you said, leaning closer, “I was wondering if you’d like to come back to my place. We could continue our conversation somewhere a bit more private.”

Spencer’s eyes widened, and he swallowed hard, his mind spinning with possibilities. “I would love that,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Great,” you replied with a smile, feeling a thrill of anticipation as you both stood up, ready to leave the bar behind for the promise of what awaited you.

The walk back to your apartment was filled with a charged silence, the kind that spoke volumes without needing words. You felt Spencer’s presence beside you, a comforting warmth that made your heart race with excitement.

As you reached your apartment building, you turned to him, your eyes meeting in a shared understanding. “This is me,” you said, gesturing to the entrance.

“Nice place,” Spencer commented, trying to keep his cool despite the nerves bubbling inside him.

You unlocked the door and led him inside, your heart pounding with each step. The atmosphere was electric, one that promised something incredible.

Once inside, you turned to face Spencer, a playful smile on your lips. “Make yourself at home,” you said, gesturing to the cozy living room. “Can I get you anything?”

“Just some water would be great,” he replied, trying to steady his racing heart.

You nodded and disappeared into the kitchen, returning moments later with two glasses of water. As you handed one to Spencer, your fingers brushed against his, sending a jolt of electricity through you both.

“Thank you,” Spencer said, his voice warm and sincere.

“You’re welcome,” you replied, sitting down beside him on the couch. The proximity was intoxicating, and you could feel the tension building with each passing second.

“I have to say, I’m really glad we met today.” Spencer said, his voice slightly shaky. 

“Me too,” you agreed, your gaze locked on his.

The room seemed to shrink around you, the world fading away until it was just the two of you, enveloped in a bubble of connection and desire.

As you leaned in closer, your lips mere inches from his, Spencer’s breath hitched in suspense. You could feel the heat radiating from him, the magnetic pull drawing you together.

“Spencer,” you whispered, your voice a soft caress.

“Yes?” he replied, his eyes searching yours, filled with longing.

“Would you like to stay the night?” you asked, your words laced with an invitation that left little room for doubt.

Spencer swallowed, his heart racing as he processed your offer. “I’d love to,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

With that, you closed the distance between you, capturing his lips in a gentle yet passionate kiss. It was a kiss filled with promise and possibility, a moment that transcended the ordinary and ventured into the extraordinary.

Spencer kissed you back with a low whimper as he began to ravish you. His lips were soft and urgent against yours, moving with a hunger that sent shivers down your spine. You could feel the strain in his body as he pressed against you, his hands finding their way to your waist, pulling you closer. The heat between you was palpable, an electric current that seemed to spark and crackle in the air around you.

You responded eagerly, threading your fingers through his hair, feeling the silky strands slip between your fingers as you deepened the kiss. The taste of him was intoxicating, a mix of the lingering sweetness of the drinks you'd shared earlier and something distinctly Spencer that made you crave more.

Spencer's hands moved with a purpose, exploring the curves of your body with a gentle yet insistent touch that left you breathless. His fingertips traced the outline of your spine, sending delightful tingles through your skin as they traveled lower, coming to rest on the small of your back. You arched into his touch, pressing your body more firmly against his, savoring the feel of him against you.

With a quiet moan, Spencer shifted, guiding you backward until you were lying beneath him on the couch. He broke the kiss for a moment, his breath warm and ragged against your lips as he gazed down at you with a smoldering intensity. The look in his eyes sent a thrill through you, a promise of the pleasures to come.

Spencer leaned down, capturing your lips once more as his hands continued their exploration. His touch was both tender and demanding, a perfect balance that left you yearning for more. You felt his fingers trail over your exposed skin, slipping beneath the fabric of your low-cut shirt, and you shivered in anticipation as he began to explore further.

The sensation of his hands against your bare skin was electrifying, each touch sending ripples of pleasure through your body. You could feel the heat pooling low in your belly, an insistent ache that begged for more as Spencer's touch became more insistent. His hands roamed over your body with a confidence that contradicted the initial shyness you had seen in him earlier.

Your shirt slipped further up your torso, and Spencer's lips left yours to follow the path his hands had traced moments before. His mouth moved with a deliberate slowness, leaving a trail of heated kisses along your jawline, down the column of your neck, and across your collarbone. Each kiss was a promise, a vow of what was to come, and you found yourself lost in the sensations he was creating.

As Spencer's mouth traveled lower, you let out a soft sigh of pleasure, your hands finding purchase on his shoulders, fingers digging into the fabric of his sweater vest. The texture of the material beneath your fingertips was a comforting contrast to the fiery sensations his lips and hands were invoking, grounding you even as you felt yourself soaring.

Spencer's lips moved over the swell of your breasts, his touch reverent yet possessive, as if he were memorizing every inch of your skin with his mouth. You felt a thrill at the thought of being the focus of his attention. 

Spencer’s lips ghosted over your skin, each kiss sending waves of heat coursing through your body. As he reached the edge of your shirt, he paused, his fingers gently teasing the hem as he looked up at you with a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Are you planning on keeping this on all night?” he murmured, his voice low and teasing.

You chuckled softly, a playful smile dancing on your lips. “Well, Doctor, I thought I’d give you something to unwrap. Consider it a mystery.”

Spencer grinned, his fingers deftly pulling your shirt higher until it slipped over your head, leaving you exposed beneath him. His gaze raked over your bare skin, appreciation evident in his eyes. “Mystery solved,” he whispered, his tone filled with a mixture of desire and admiration.

You felt a rush of heat at his words, your skin tingling. “You’re a fast learner,” you replied, your voice sultry as you reached up to pull him back down to you. “But let’s see if you can handle what’s next.”

His eyes darkened with intensity at your challenge, and he captured your lips in another heated kiss, his hands exploring your newly exposed skin with renewed vigor. The sensations were dizzying, each touch and caress a testament to his growing confidence and desire.

Spencer’s hands traveled down your sides, tracing the curves of your waist and hips before slipping beneath the waistband of your pants. You let out a quiet moan, arching into his touch as he began to work them down, his fingers deft and sure.

“Getting a bit bold, aren’t we?” you teased, nipping at his lower lip as he freed you from the confines of your clothing.

“Just trying to keep up with you,” he retorted, his voice tinged with amusement as he leaned back to admire his handiwork.

You reached for the hem of his sweater vest, tugging it upwards with a playful smirk. “I think it’s time we even the playing field, don’t you?”

He chuckled, raising his arms to help you remove the vest, followed by his button-down shirt. You couldn’t help but appreciate the lean muscles beneath his clothing, the way his skin seemed to glow in the dim light of the room.

“Not bad, Doctor,” you quipped, your fingers tracing the lines of his chest appreciatively. “Maybe I should have gone to med school.”

Spencer let out a low laugh, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “I doubt they teach this in med school.”

“Oh, I’m sure there’s a course or two,” you replied, your fingers trailing lower, teasing the waistband of his pants.

He inhaled sharply, his body responding to your touch in a way that made you both feel like you were on fire. “I think we’re about to graduate to something more advanced,” he murmured, his voice a mix of fieriness and teasing.

You grinned, pulling him back down to you, your lips capturing his in a passionate kiss that promised more than words ever could. The heat between you was intense, a consuming fire that left you both breathless and wanting more.

Spencer’s hands continued their exploration, mapping every inch of your skin with a reverence that made your heart race. You could feel the tension building, a delicious feeling that promised to leave you both satisfied yet craving even more.

As you shifted beneath him, your body pressed against his in a way that made your intentions clear, you whispered, “What do you say we take this somewhere more comfortable?”

He nodded, his eyes filled with a hunger that matched your own. “Lead the way,” he replied, his voice husky with desire.

With that, you guided him toward your bedroom, the promise of what was to come hanging in the air like an electric charge. The world outside faded away, leaving only the two of you and the enticing possibilities that lay ahead.

Once inside your bedroom, the atmosphere shifted, the intimacy of the space amplifying the pull between you. The dim lighting cast shadows across the room, creating an intimate bubble that felt like it was just for you and Spencer.

You turned to face him, a teasing smile playing on your lips as you slowly backed toward the bed. “I hope you’re ready for this, Doctor.”

He followed, his movements confident and sure as he approached, his eyes never leaving yours. “I’ve been ready since the moment I saw you,” he replied, his voice low and filled with want.

As you sank onto the bed, Spencer joined you, his body warm and inviting against yours. The tension between you was palpable, a magnetic pull that drew you closer with each passing second.

You reached for him, your fingers tracing the lines of his jaw before pulling him in for another searing kiss. His lips were soft and insistent against yours, his touch possessive as he pressed you back against the sheets. The mattress dipped under your combined weight, and you felt the cool, crisp fabric of the sheets beneath your skin, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from Spencer’s body.

Spencer’s breath mingled with yours, warm and intoxicating with desire. His hands traveled with a deliberate slowness, exploring the curves and contours of your body as though committing every inch to memory. You felt his fingers skim over the bare skin of your arms, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. The sensation was electric, sending delightful tingles coursing through your veins.

As he deepened the kiss, a low groan rumbled in his throat, vibrating through your body and sending a shiver of excitement down your spine. Your hands found their way to his back, feeling the taut muscles beneath his skin as you pulled him closer, craving the warmth and weight of him against you.

His lips moved with a languid, teasing rhythm, exploring the delicate skin of your neck with gentle, open-mouthed kisses that sent your heart racing. You tilted your head back, granting him better access as a soft sigh escaped your lips, filling the room with a quiet sound of pleasure.

Spencer’s kisses trailed lower, his breath hot against your skin as he made his way down your collarbone. The sensation was intoxicating, a delicious mix of tenderness and urgency that left you breathless. You felt his hands slide up your sides, his fingers grazing the sensitive skin beneath your ribcage before coming to rest on your waist.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured against your skin, his voice rough with desire.

You couldn’t help but smile, your fingers threading through his hair as you arched into his touch. “Get to the point, Doctor.”

He chuckled softly, the sound low and enticing, as he shifted his weight to hover above you, his eyes dark with longing. The air between you crackled with intensity, a potent mix of suspense and need that seemed to draw you even closer together.

Your breathing grew ragged, each inhale a shuddering gasp as you surrendered to the pleasure building inside you. Spencer’s touch was like a drug, addictive and all-consuming, leaving you dizzy with longing.

He paused for a moment, his eyes meeting yours, a silent question lingering between you. You nodded, giving him the permission he sought, and he smiled—a small, intimate curve of his lips that made your heart skip a beat.

Spencer hands deftly working to remove the last barriers between you. The sensation of the cool air against your skin was a delicious contrast to the heat radiating from his touch, sending shivers of need cascading through your body.

The room was filled with a symphony of soft sounds: the rustle of fabric as Spencer undressed you, the quiet hum of the city outside, and the rapid, excited beat of your own heart. The smell of your mingled scents—his cologne, a hint of your perfume, and the unmistakable musk of arousal—filled the air, creating an intoxicating atmosphere that heightened every sensation.

As Spencer’s hands continued their journey, his lips followed, pressing soft, heated kisses to every inch of exposed skin. The feel of his mouth against your body was electric, each kiss a spark that ignited a fire deep within you. You could hear the quiet, appreciative noises he made as he explored, a low hum of approval that vibrated through you, making your skin tingle with fever.

His mouth found the sensitive spot at the base of your throat, and he lingered there, his tongue flicking out to taste your skin and his teeth scraping behind. The sensation was exquisite, and it sent a shiver down your spine. You moaned softly, your fingers threading through his hair, holding him close as he continued his ministrations.

His mouth continued its journey, trailing kisses down the length of your torso, his breath hot and humid against your skin. Each touch of his lips was a promise, a hint of the pleasures yet to come. You could feel the gentle scrape of his stubble against your skin, a delightful roughness that added to the sensory overload.

Spencer’s hands found their way to your thighs, his fingers curling around the soft flesh as he gently parted them, creating space for himself between your legs. The anticipation was almost unbearable, a sweet ache that thrummed through your veins as you waited for his next move.

He paused for a moment, his breath warm and heavy against your inner thigh as he looked up at you, his eyes dark with desire. The look in his eyes sent a jolt of electricity through your body, a silent communication of his intentions that left you breathless.

When he finally moved, it was with a purpose and a tenderness that took your breath away. His mouth found its mark, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to the most intimate part of you. The sensation was overwhelming, a rush of pleasure that left you gasping and trembling beneath him.

Spencer's tongue traced a path of fire, the wet heat of his mouth a stark contrast to the cool air around you. The feeling of his tongue against you was indescribable, a perfect blend of softness and pressure that had you writhing with need. You could hear the wet, rhythmic sounds of his movements, a deliciously sinful symphony that filled the room and drove you wild with desire.

The taste of you seemed to spur him on, his movements growing more insistent, more confident as he explored every inch of you. His hands gripped your thighs, holding you steady as he lavished attention on you, each stroke of his tongue sending waves of pleasure crashing through your body.

You could feel the tension building, a tight coil of desire that wound tighter and tighter with each passing second. Your breaths came in ragged gasps, your hands clutching at the sheets as you tried to hold on, your senses overwhelmed by the intensity of the sensations Spencer was creating.

And then, with a final, masterful stroke of his tongue, the coil snapped, sending you spiraling into a blinding wave of ecstasy. Your body arched off the bed, a cry of pure pleasure escaping your lips as you surrendered to the intense release. Every nerve ending seemed to ignite, the pleasure radiating out from your core in waves that left you trembling and gasping for breath.

Spencer didn't stop, his movements gentling but never ceasing as he guided you through the aftershocks, drawing out every last bit of pleasure until you were spent and boneless beneath him. The room was filled with the sound of your ragged breaths, the quiet hum of the city outside, and the beating of your heart.

As the world slowly came back into focus, you felt Spencer's weight shift, his body sliding up to join you on the bed. He gathered you into his arms, his touch gentle and soothing as he held you close. You could feel the rapid beat of his heart against your cheek, the warmth of his skin a comforting presence that grounded you.

You turned your head to meet his gaze, a satisfied smile playing on your lips. "I may have misread you…" you murmured, your voice still breathless from the intensity of the experience.

Spencer looked at you, curiosity flickering in his eyes as he tried to read your expression. "How so?" he asked, his voice a low rumble that sent another wave of heat through you.

“I thought you were some nerdy dork who wouldn’t know what to do,” you confessed with a teasing grin, your fingers tracing idle patterns on his chest. “You proved me so wrong.”

Spencer chuckled softly, the sound rich and warm like honey, his eyes filled with a mix of pride and affection. "I'm glad you enjoyed it," he replied, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. The touch was tender and sweet, a stark contrast to the intense passion you'd just shared.

As the warmth of his kiss lingered on your skin, a flicker of awareness crept into your mind, reminding you of the vulnerability of your current position. Spencer was undeniably pretty, fun, and, as you had just discovered, incredibly talented with his mouth. But letting him get too close, emotionally, was a different matter—a potential disaster waiting to happen.

You felt a pang of uncertainty, a reminder that you'd let yourself get carried away in the heat of everything today. The thought of letting him see more of you, of exposing the parts of yourself you kept hidden, was both thrilling and terrifying.

Gently, you scooted away, creating a small space between you on the bed. Spencer watched you with a slight frown, his brow furrowing in concern as he noticed the shift in your demeanor.

“Hey,” he said softly, reaching out to touch your arm. “Are you okay?”

You nodded, giving him a reassuring smile. “Yeah, I’m good. Just… taking a breather.”

He nodded, understanding but still curious. The moment hung between you, a delicate balance of intimacy and distance that you both navigated carefully.

Wanting to redirect the focus and return the favor, you shifted onto your knees, your movements deliberate and confident. Spencer’s eyes widened slightly as he watched you, questioning flickering in his gaze.

You leaned forward, letting your hands glide over the planes of his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips. The sensation was intoxicating, each touch sending a spark of desire through your body as you explored the contours of his torso.

“Now, Doctor,” you said, your voice low and teasing, “I think it’s my turn to show you what I can do.”

Spencer’s breath hitched, his eyes darkening with desire as he watched you with rapt attention. “I’m not going to stop you,” he replied, a playful edge to his voice as he leaned back, propping himself up on his elbows to give you full access.

You grinned, pleased by his response as you moved lower, your hands trailing down the length of his body. The texture of his skin was smooth and warm under your touch, each muscle firm and defined as you explored every inch with a deliberate slowness that made his breath catch.

The room was filled with the quiet rustle of sheets, the soft sounds of your movements as you shifted to straddle his legs, your body settling comfortably between his thighs. The anticipation in the air was palpable, a charged energy that seemed to crackle with each passing second.

You leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to his stomach, feeling the way his muscles tensed beneath your lips. The sensation was exhilarating, a rush of power and intimacy that left you wanting more.

Spencer let out a quiet groan, his head falling back against the pillows as he surrendered to the sensations you were creating. The sound sent a thrill through you, a confirmation of the effect you had on him, and it spurred you on, encouraging you to continue your exploration.

You let your hands wander lower, tracing the line of his waistband before slipping beneath the fabric, feeling the heat of his skin beneath your fingers. Spencer’s breath hitched again, a soft, needy sound that made your heart race.

“You okay?” you asked, your voice a teasing whisper as you glanced up at him, enjoying the way his eyes were half-lidded with desire, his lips parted in want.

Spencer nodded, his voice a breathless murmur. “Mhm.”

You smiled, your heart skipping a beat at the sight of him so open and vulnerable beneath you. It was a heady feeling, one that made you want to give him everything you had, to explore every inch of him and discover all the ways you could make him come undone.

With a gentle touch, you eased his pants lower, revealing more of the skin you so desperately wanted to explore. The cool air kissed his skin, sending a shiver through him as you continued your ministrations, your hands and lips moving with a purposeful intent that left him gasping.

The texture of his skin under your fingers was smooth and warm, a contrast to the slightly rough fabric of his pants as they slid down his legs. You could feel the faint, steady beat of his pulse beneath your fingertips. The cool air seemed to heighten every sensation, sharpening the feeling of your touch against his bare skin.

As you explored lower, you could hear the soft, almost involuntary sounds Spencer made in response to your touch—a quiet gasp, a low moan, the sharp intake of breath when you grazed a particularly sensitive spot. Each sound proving the effect you were having on him, encouraging you to continue your exploration with renewed confidence.

You leaned in, your lips brushing over the expanse of skin just above his waistband, savoring the slightly salty taste of him. The feel of your mouth against his skin drew another low groan from Spencer, a needy sound that reverberated through your body and filled the room.

The slight roughness of his sparse hair beneath your lips was a contrast to the smooth skin of his abdomen, and you reveled in the differences, your fingers dancing over every inch as you memorized the planes and angles of his body. The heat radiating from him was intoxicating, drawing you closer, urging you to explore further.

With every touch and kiss, you could feel the tension coiling tighter within him, a palpable energy that seemed to thrumming in the air around you. His muscles tensed under your hands, responding to your every movement with a sensitivity that only served to heighten your own arousal.

His hips shifted slightly, an involuntary movement that brought him closer to you, seeking more of the sensations you were creating. The friction of your touch against him was a delicious torment, each caress, each brush of your lips a promise of the release he so desperately craved.

You continued down, your mouth trailing lower with a deliberate slowness that was as much for your pleasure as it was for his. The taste of his skin lingered on your lips, a reminder of the connection you shared, the chemistry that burned brightly between you.

Spencer’s hands found their way to your hair, his fingers tangling in the strands as he guided you closer to his bulge that you had been neglecting, his touch both gentle and insistent. The slight tug at your scalp sent a shiver through you, a thrill of eagerness that urged you to continue your exploration with even more fervor.

Your lips traveled lower, past where he wanted you, tracing a path along the sensitive skin of his inner thigh with your lips and tongue, where you could feel the taut muscle beneath. The sensation of his skin against your lips, the warmth of his body, the subtle tremor that ran through him as you pressed a lingering kiss to his hip—all of it combined to create a heady mix of sensations that left you breathless.

The soft rustle of the sheets beneath you was the only sound in the room aside from the quiet, rhythmic hum of Spencer’s breathing and the occasional low moan that slipped past his lips. You could feel the way his body responded to your touch with an eagerness that mirrored your own. It was a dance of give and take, a perfect harmony of movements and sensations that left you both on the edge of control.

Spencer’s hands tightened in your hair, a gentle reminder of his presence, his need, and you responded by drawing him deeper into the sensations, your touch sure and steady as you worked to bring him closer to the edge. 

Finally, putting the poor man out of his misery, you hooked your fingers in his waistband and pulled his briefs down. Exposing him to the cool air, causing him to shiver. Then, because you’re not a monster, you licked a slow stripe up the side of his red, hard cock, causing a very loud groan to fall from between Spencer's lips.

The moment stretched out, filled with a tension that was both electric and tangible. The room was filled with the soft sounds of your shared breaths, a quiet rhythm that underscored the intense moment.

Your fingers brushed against his skin, tracing a delicate path along the line of his hip bone. You could feel the subtle tremor that ran through him. The warmth of his skin was intoxicating, drawing you closer, urging you to continue your exploration with a sense of urgency that bordered on desperate.

Spencer’s body was a study in contrasts—the hard lines of muscle beneath the softness of skin, the way he shivered under your touch even as he leaned into it, seeking more of the sensations you were creating. 

The cool air caressed his exposed skin, a sharp contrast to the warmth of your touch. You watched as goosebumps erupted along his flesh, a physical manifestation of his heightened arousal. The sight sent a thrill of satisfaction through you, a reminder of the power you held in this moment.

You leaned in, your breath warm against his cock as you placed a soft, lingering kiss along the tip. The taste of him was addictive, a heady mix of salt and musk that left you wanting more. The feeling of his skin beneath your lips was electric, sending shivers of excitement through your body.

Spencer let out a quiet groan, a low, primal sound that reverberated through the room and sent a jolt of pleasure straight to your core. His hands found their way, deeper somehow, in your hair, his grip firm and steady as he urged you closer, his need evident in the way he moved you.

His cock twitched in response to your touch, the sensation was dizzying, a heady mix of power and vulnerability that left you breathless. You allowed your fingers to explore further, tracing a slow, deliberate path along the length of his shaft. The texture was smooth and warm, a perfect contrast to the cool air that surrounded you. You could feel the faint tremor in his muscles, a testament to his struggle to maintain control in the face of such intense sensation.

“Please, please do something,” Spencer nearly whined, his voice tinged with desperation as he watched you with wide eyes, his body trembling with need.

As you finally leaned in, allowing your mouth to join the dance of sensation and touch, you heard Spencer’s breath hitch in his throat, a quiet sound of desire that filled the room. The taste of him on your tongue was intoxicating, a rich, heady mix of salt and musk that left you craving more.

The moment your lips made contact, Spencer released a shuddering exhale, his body responding to the heat of your mouth with a visceral intensity that took your breath away. His hips shifted involuntarily, each movement sending ripples of sensation through your body as well.

The sound of your mouth against his skin was almost hypnotic, a rhythmic whisper that echoed through the room, mingling with Spencer's soft moans and the quiet rustle of the sheets beneath him. You felt the gentle rise and fall of his abdomen as he tried to steady his breathing, the quiet hitch in his breath every time you shifted, adjusted your grip, or took him deeper.

His taste lingered on your tongue as you bobbed your head along his shaft. The feeling of his smooth, taught skin between your lips only caused the mess between your thighs to grow. You were soaking wet at the sight of the man who so confidently took you apart, writhing at the feeling of your mouth on him. 

Spencer's hands found their way to your hair, his fingers tangling in the strands as he tried to hold onto the last ounce of his control. His touch was gentle but insistent, a silent plea for you to continue, to explore every inch of him until he was lost in the overwhelming pleasure that you were so skillfully creating.

As you continued your ministrations, you couldn't help but revel in the power you held over him, the way you could make his body respond to your every touch, your every movement. It was intoxicating, the thrill of being the one to unravel him, to bring him to the edge and watch as he teetered there, a breathless, trembling mess beneath you.

The quiet, involuntary sounds that slipped past his lips were music to your ears, a symphony of pleasure and need that urged you on, pushing you to explore further, to discover every hidden reaction, every secret spot that made him gasp and moan.

Spencer's breathing grew more ragged, his chest heaving with each breath as you brought him closer and closer to the edge. You could feel the tension coiling tighter within him, a living thing that pulsed and throbbed in your mouth, begging for release.

With each pass of your mouth, each flick of your tongue, you felt him draw nearer to the brink, the pleasure building to a fever pitch that left you both trembling with need. You pulled up to his tip, sucking harshly and greedily taking down the precum you were rewarded. 

“Fuck, fuck, Y/N. You have to pull off, I’m gonna—”

Finally, as you felt him begin to unravel beneath you, his grip on your hair tightening, you knew he was on the verge of release. The realization sent a thrill of satisfaction through you, a sense of accomplishment at having brought him to this point, this state of utter abandon.

But, you pulled off, just as he asked.

His eyes fluttered open, glazed with desire, and a mixture of relief and frustration washed over his features. The air between you was charged with electricity, thick as you gazed up at him, watching the rapid rise and fall of his chest as he tried to catch his breath.

“Thank you,” he breathed, his voice a low, rough whisper filled with gratitude and a hint of desperation. His hands remained in your hair, holding you there as if afraid you might disappear, the heat of his skin still pulsing beneath your touch.

You sat back on your heels, his hands falling, a playful smile tugging at your lips as you surveyed the man before you. Spencer lay sprawled across the bed, a beautiful mess of tousled hair, flushed skin, and a very hard cock leaning on his tummy.

“Didn’t want to spoil the fun too soon?” you teased, your voice sultry and full of promise.

Spencer let out a breathless laugh, his eyes sparkling with amusement and unabashed desire. “I didn’t expect you to be so... good at this,” he admitted, his voice still tinged with awe as he watched you with a newfound appreciation.

“Surprised?” you asked, raising an eyebrow as you reached out to trail your fingers lazily along his thigh, feeling the residual tremor of his muscles beneath your touch.

“Pleasantly,” he replied, his voice rich with honesty as he met your gaze, a slow smile spreading across his lips.

“Well, the night’s not over yet,” you said, your tone full of suggestion as you shifted your position, moving with a deliberate slowness that kept Spencer’s gaze locked onto you. The dim lighting cast a warm, intimate glow over your skin, highlighting every curve and angle as you made your intentions clear.

Spencer watched you, his eyes darkening as he realized what you were doing. You were presenting yourself to him, offering yourself. The realization sent a fresh wave of heat through his already overwrought senses.

Your movements were slow and deliberate, a sensual dance that had Spencer transfixed, his breath catching in his throat as he watched you. You turned slightly, your back arching gracefully, presenting your body to him in a way that left no doubt about what you wanted. The smoothness of your skin and the glistening of your core caught the light, every curve accentuated by the shadows, and Spencer couldn't help but let his gaze travel over you, taking in every detail, every nuance.

“You like what you see, Doctor?” you teased with a shake of your hips, your voice a sultry purr that sent a shiver down Spencer’s spine. 

His response was a low, almost guttural sound that spoke volumes, a wordless expression of the desire that burned so brightly within him. He shifted slightly, his body tense as his hands reached out as if drawn to you by an invisible force.

“I like it very much,” he murmured, his voice a husky blend of awe and hunger as he drank in the sight of you. The way you held yourself, the confidence in your gaze, the promise of what was to come—it was all intoxicating, drawing him in and leaving him utterly captivated.

Spencer moved closer, the soft rustle of the sheets beneath him a quiet accompaniment to the sounds and sensations of desire that filled the room. Your skin was warm under Spencer’s touch as his hands found their way to your hips, his fingers trailing lightly over your skin, exploring every inch with a deliberate slowness that left you both breathless.

The feeling of his hands on you was electric, a perfect blend of tenderness and urgency that made your heart race and your senses sing. Every touch, every caress, sent shivers of pleasure racing through your body, leaving you aching for more, your skin hypersensitive to every nuance of his touch.

Spencer’s hands traveled with a gentle insistence, mapping the contours of your body with a touch that was both reverent and possessive. You could feel the subtle tremor in his fingers, the heat of his palms as they pressed against your ass.

His breath was warm against your ear, his voice a low murmur as he whispered, “You’re so sexy.” The words sent a thrill through you, a spark that ignited a fire in your belly and left you yearning for more of his touch, more of the sensations that seemed to flood your senses with every passing moment.

You turned your head slightly, your lips finding his in a kiss that was equal parts tenderness and demand. The taste of him was intoxicating, a heady mix of warmth and spice that made your heart race and your senses reel.

Spencer pulled away, and you felt the bed shift as he repositioned himself behind you. The room was filled with a quiet hum of anticipation, the air thick with the charged tension between you. You could feel his gaze on you, a tangible heat that seemed to sear into your skin.

“You’re sure?” he asked, his voice a low, rumbling purr that sent a shiver down your spine. There was an earnestness in his question, a genuine desire to ensure that you were comfortable and ready.

“Positive, Doctor,” you replied, the words laced with playful confidence as you glanced over your shoulder to meet his gaze. The term of endearment had become a safeguard to you, not wanting to get too used to saying his name.

Spencer’s eyes lit up with enthusiasm and relief, a small, appreciative smile tugging at his lips. “Do you have a condom?” he asked, his tone laced with a hint of embarrassment as he admitted his unpreparedness.

“You don’t?” you teased, raising an eyebrow in mock disbelief. It was a playful jab, meant to lighten the mood and add a touch of humor to the charged atmosphere.

“I didn’t expect this to happen…” Spencer admitted, his cheeks flushing a deep shade of crimson as he chuckled awkwardly. 

“That’s really sweet, actually,” you replied, your voice softening as you took in the sight of him. The sincerity in his words made your heart skip a beat, a reminder of why you had been drawn to him in the first place. “Yes, I do,” you confirmed, a mischievous grin spreading across your face. “Let me up real quick.”

Spencer playfully groaned, a sound filled with exaggerated reluctance as he shifted to give you space. But before you could move, he leaned down, leaving a small, teasing bite on your asscheek—a cheeky gesture that sent a spark of pleasure through you.

“Down, boy!” you teased, your voice a mock admonishment as you slipped out of his grasp, your feet finding the floor with a soft thud. You cast a playful glance back at him, enjoying the sight of him sprawled on the bed, watching you while he pulled on his own cock.

As you turned back to the bed, condom in hand, you found Spencer watching you with an intensity that made your heart race. The way he looked at you—like you were the only thing in the world that mattered—was both thrilling and humbling.

“Got it,” you announced, your voice a playful sing-song as you waved the packet in the air. Spencer’s eyes lit up with amusement, a soft chuckle escaping his lips as he watched you return to the bed.

You climbed back onto the mattress, feeling the familiar give of the sheets beneath your knees as you settled in beside him. The warmth of his body was a comforting presence, a stark contrast to the cool air of the room that brushed against your skin.

Spencer reached for you, his touch gentle and insistent as he guided you back into position. His hands were warm against your skin, the chemistry seemed to crackle between you.

Spencer tore open the foil packet, the soft crinkle of the wrapper a prelude to the main event. You could smell the faint scent of latex from the condom, mingling with the lingering aroma of his cologne—a spicy, woodsy scent that was undeniably masculine and entirely Spencer.

Spencer moved with a practiced ease, his fingers deft and sure as he prepared himself, rolling the condom down with a kind of confident precision that spoke of experience. The sight of him handling himself with such ease sent a thrill racing through you, your breath catching at the implication. It was a heady rush of desire that made your heart race and your skin flush with heat.

As he finished, Spencer's eyes locked onto yours, a smoldering intensity burning within them that made your pulse quicken. The weight of his gaze was almost tangible, a touch that was as intimate as any caress. You could feel the desire radiating off of him.

“Are you ready?” he asked, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down your spine. His tone was full of promise, a dark velvet sound that wrapped around you like a warm embrace, holding you captive in its depths.

“Yes,” you breathed, the word barely a whisper as it slipped from your lips, heavy with need. Your body ached for his touch, every fiber of your being attuned to the promise of pleasure that awaited you.

Spencer leaned forward, his hands finding your hips with a surety that left you breathless. His touch was firm and possessive, a silent promise of the pleasure he intended to deliver. You could feel the warmth of his skin against yours, a delicious contrast to the cool air that still lingered around you.

His lips brushed against your ear, a featherlight touch that sent a thrill racing through you, leaving goosebumps in its wake. “I bet you feel as good as you taste,” he murmured, his voice low and rough with desire. The confession was both intimate and incendiary, stoking the flames of your arousal until you were burning for him.

“Shit,” you whispered back, a high pitched sound that left your lips before you could think better of it. Spencer responded with a quiet, breathy chuckle that sent a shiver down your spine. His hands tightened on your hips, the pressure of his fingers was grounding.

He positioned himself at your entrance, the sensation sending a jolt through your body. The tip of him brushed against your core, a featherlight touch that made your breath catch and your heart race. 

Slowly, carefully, he began to push forward, the pressure building with each inch as he entered you. The feeling was exquisite, a slow, delicious burn that stretched you around him, filling you completely. The friction was intoxicating, a perfect balance of pleasure and pressure that had you gasping for breath.

Spencer let out a low, shuddering moan as he sank into you, his fingers digging into your hips with a possessive urgency that left you breathless. The sound was raw and primal, a testament to the pleasure that coursed through him, mirrored in the sensations that raced through your own body.

The room was filled with the sounds of your shared breaths, a quiet combination of gasps and moans that mingled with the rustle of the sheets beneath you. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and desire, a heady mix making you hyper aware of every touch, every sensation.

As he began to move, Spencer set a steady, deliberate pace that left you reeling with sensation. Each thrust was a measured blend of power and precision, a rhythm that built slowly, methodically, until it had you teetering on the edge of control.

“You feel so fucking good,” Spencer breathed, his voice a low, gravelly growl that sent a thrill racing through you. 

“So big,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper as you struggled to find words in the midst of the overwhelming sensations that flooded your senses. The feel of him moving inside you, the way he filled you completely, was a pleasure that bordered on overwhelming, leaving you breathless and aching for more.

Spencer’s hands moved with a purpose, tracing the curves of your body as he drove you higher, his touch both grounding and incendiary. You could feel the heat of his skin against yours, the way his muscles flexed with each movement, feeling the strength and control he wielded.

His lips found your neck, trailing a line of heated kisses along the sensitive skin that sent shivers down your spine. The feel of his mouth against your skin was electric, a tantalizing mix of heat and teeth that left you gasping for breath, your body arching into his touch.

The sensation of his body moving against yours, the delicious friction as he drove deeper, harder, was a pleasure that threatened to unravel you completely. Each thrust sent waves of ecstasy radiating through you.

“Spencer,” you gasped, the word slipping past your lips as a breathless plea, a desperate cry for more.

His response was immediate, his pace quickening as he drove into you, each movement a perfect blend of power and precision that left you on the brink of release. His hands tightened on your hips, his grip firm and possessive as he pulled you back to meet each of his thrusts. The sensation was overwhelming, a delicious friction that sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body.

You could feel the strength in his fingers, the way they dug into your flesh with each powerful motion, grounding you even as you felt yourself being pushed closer and closer to the edge. The heat of his hands against your skin was a stark contrast to the cool air of the room, adding another layer of sensation to the already heady mix.

The sounds of your bodies moving together filled the room, a symphony of wet, rhythmic slaps and breathless gasps that only heightened your arousal. Each thrust sent a new wave of pleasure rippling through you, building in intensity with every movement until you were teetering on the edge of control.

Spencer’s breath was hot against your ear, each exhale a ragged sigh that sent shivers down your spine. “How are you still so tight?” he groaned, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that resonated through your entire body. The words were a potent mix of praise and desire, pushing you even closer to the brink.

Your own breath came in short, ragged gasps, each inhale a struggle as you fought to hold on to your control. “Spencer,” you moaned, your body aching for release.

His response was a deep, primal growl that vibrated through his chest and into your back, his hips snapping forward with a renewed intensity that left you breathless. His hands guided your movements, pulling you back to meet each thrust with a force that sent shockwaves of pleasure through your entire body.

The pressure within you built to a fever pitch, a tight coil that wound tighter and tighter with each powerful thrust. Your senses were overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of the sensations, the feel of him driving into you, the sound of his voice in your ear, the taste of salt on your lips as you bit down, trying to hold on just a little longer.

“Fuck, Y/N,” Spencer groaned, his voice a rough, desperate sound that sent a thrill racing through you. “I’m so close.”

The admission was your undoing. The coil within you snapped, sending a wave of blinding ecstasy crashing over you. Your body tensed, every muscle tightening as you cried out, the sound raw and unrestrained as you surrendered to the overwhelming pleasure.

Spencer continued to move, driving you through the waves of your release with a steady, relentless rhythm that left you trembling and gasping for breath. The feeling of him moving inside you, filling you completely, was a pleasure that bordered on overwhelming, each thrust sending new ripples of sensation through your already oversensitive body.

As the aftershocks of your orgasm faded, Spencer’s pace grew more erratic, his breath coming in short, desperate gasps. You could feel the strain in his muscles, the way his fingers dug into your hips with a new urgency.

“Spencer,” you whispered, your voice a soft, breathless plea as you turned your head to catch his gaze. The look in his eyes was a perfect reflection of the intensity you felt, raw desire and desperate need that sent another wave of heat through you.

With a final, powerful thrust, Spencer buried himself deep inside you, his body tensing as he reached his own release. The sound of his pleasure—a low, guttural groan—sent a shiver of satisfaction through you.

The room was filled with the quiet sounds of your mingled breaths, a soft, rhythmic counterpoint to the fading echoes of your shared passion. Spencer’s grip on your hips softened, his touch becoming a gentle caress as he leaned forward, pressing a tender kiss to the nape of your neck.

“You’re amazing,” he whispered, his voice a soft, reverent murmur that sent a final shiver of pleasure through you. 

You turned your head to meet his gaze, a satisfied smile playing on your lips as you caught your breath. “So are you, Doctor.”

Spencer chuckled softly, his eyes sparkling with affection and lingering desire as he gently helped you shift to a more comfortable position. The warmth of his body against yours was soothing, a perfect counterpoint to the lingering heat of your shared passion. You nestled into his embrace, feeling a sense of peace and contentment settle over you as you allowed yourself to relax in his arms.

The steady rhythm of his breathing, the comforting weight of his presence, lulled you into a state of drowsy contentment. You felt safe and secure in his arms, the events of the night playing through your mind in a haze of satisfaction and warmth.

Slowly, the pull of sleep became too strong to resist, and you allowed yourself to drift off, cocooned in the comforting embrace of the man who had brought you such intense pleasure. The last thing you remembered before slipping into the depths of slumber was the gentle press of Spencer's lips against your forehead, a tender kiss that spoke volumes.

—

Morning came all too soon, the soft light of dawn filtering through the curtains and casting a gentle glow over the room. You woke slowly, the memories of the night before still vivid in your mind as you lay in the warmth of Spencer's embrace. For a moment, you allowed yourself to savor the feeling, the sense of belonging that came from being wrapped in his arms.

But reality soon intruded, and you knew that you couldn't stay. With a quiet sigh, you carefully extricated yourself from his embrace, moving with practiced ease to avoid waking him. Spencer's face was peaceful in sleep, a small smile playing on his lips that made your heart ache with affection and regret.

You knew he’d be confused when he woke up in your apartment alone. The realization that you had made a mistake by bringing him here weighed heavily on you. You quickly dressed, the rustle of your clothes sounding loud in the otherwise silent room. Every movement felt like a betrayal, a departure from the intimacy you had shared just hours before.

Grabbing a sticky note pad and a pen from your desk, your mind raced as you tried to think of what to write. The pen felt heavy in your hand, the blank surface of the note a stark reminder of the conversation you couldn't have face to face.

Spencer, you wrote, your handwriting shaky and rushed, Thank you for last night. There’s a key under the mat, please lock the door on your way out. Take care.

You placed the note where he would see it, the yellow square stark against the dark wood of your dresser. You stood there for a moment, taking in the sight of him one last time, memorizing the peaceful curve of his lips, the way his hair fell across his forehead.

With a heavy heart, you turned and quietly left the room. You headed for a friend's house, your thoughts a tangled mess of emotions. You needed to stay busy, to distract yourself until you were sure Spencer had left your apartment. As you knocked on the door, you resolved to cherish the memory of the night you had shared with Spencer, even as you moved forward with your life.

—

It had been a month since Spencer's encounter with you. At first, he was extremely confused and hurt, thinking there was a real spark between the two of you. Upon leaving your apartment that morning, he realized he never got your last name or your phone number. He didn't even know your address properly. Technically, he could figure it out quite easily, but he knew if you wanted him to talk to you again, you would have stayed.

For about two weeks, he thought about you every day and night, replaying the moments you shared and trying to understand what went wrong. Initially, he was sad, then worried something might have happened, and finally, he became livid at the thought that you might have used him. But now, it had been a month, and he had resigned himself to forget you and move on with his life.

Back to regular life, Spencer walked into the bullpen, immediately sensing something unusual. Everyone was not-so-subtly glancing toward Hotch’s office, their expressions twisted with curiosity and surprise.

“What’s going on?” he asked, his curiosity piqued.

“There’s a woman in Hotch’s office,” Emily replied, her eyes flicking toward the closed door.

“Okay?” Spencer prompted, waiting for more context.

“She knew my name, man,” Derek added, sounding both impressed and slightly confused.

“Uh oh, did you forget one of your many lovers?” Spencer joked, trying to lighten the mood.

“Not cool, kid. I’d remember a pretty face like hers,” Derek said, shaking his head.

“How else would she know you?” Emily asked, her curiosity mirroring Spencer’s.

Just then, the door to Hotch’s office opened, and you stepped out, accompanied by Aaron. “Guys, this is Agent Y/N Y/L,” Hotch said, introducing you to the team. “She will be joining us while JJ is on maternity leave.”

Spencer’s heart stopped as he saw you. He felt all the blood drain from his face, a wave of nausea threatening to overwhelm him. There you were, the woman who had loved him and then left him without a trace, now standing in front of him in the bullpen.

You seemed calm and composed, completely unaware of the storm raging inside Spencer. You gave a polite smile and nodded at the team, your eyes briefly locking with Spencer’s before moving on, not recognizing him immediately, or not caring.

“Nice to meet you all,” you said, your voice steady and professional. “I’m looking forward to working with you.”

The rest of the team greeted you warmly, exchanging pleasantries, while Spencer remained rooted to his spot, his mind racing. Finally, your eyes fell on him and really looked.

“Hi, Doctor,” you said calmly, your voice steady and composed.

“Y/N,” he replied, his tone clipped and strained.

“Hold up, do you two know each other?” Derek asked, his curiosity piqued.

“I remember you!” Penelope cut in, her eyes lighting up with recognition. “You were at the Doctor Who convention! Madame de Pompadour! You looked beautiful.”

“Thank you!” you responded with a warm smile. “I don’t recall meeting you, I’m so sorry.”

“Oh, we didn’t meet, sweetie,” Penelope giggled kindly. “I saw you talking to Reid here.”

“Ah,” you said, a hint of realization dawning in your eyes as you glanced back at Spencer.

The strain between you and Spencer was tangible, the air thick with unspoken words and unresolved emotions. Spencer’s mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, trying to process the fact that you were now standing in front of him, a part of his professional life.

“So, how do you two know each other?” Emily asked, her eyes darting between the two of you.

“We… met at the convention,” Spencer said, his voice strained as he struggled to keep his emotions in check.

“Yes, we did,” you confirmed, keeping your tone neutral. “It was a brief encounter.”

Spencer's jaw tightened at your choice of words, the hurt and confusion from a month ago resurfacing with a vengeance. He knew he had to keep it together, at least for now, but the unresolved feelings were making it difficult.

“Small world, huh?” Derek said with a chuckle, oblivious to the undercurrents of tension.

“Indeed,” you replied, your eyes flicking back to Spencer. “I’m looking forward to working with all of you.”

Spencer nodded stiffly, his mind still racing with questions and emotions. He knew he needed to talk to you, to get some answers, but now wasn’t the time. He would have to wait for a more private moment to confront you about what had happened.

For now, he had to focus on the task at hand, pushing aside his personal turmoil to maintain his professionalism. But as he watched you interact with the rest of the team, he couldn’t shake the feeling that this was far from over.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

tag list <333 @spencerreidsreads @sapph1re @idefktbh17 @dirtytissuebox @yokaimoon @reggieswriter @loumouse @mentallyunwellsposts @time-himself @chaneladdicted @kathrynlakestone @furrybouquettrash @hearts4spensco @gilwm @khxna

[run-clever-boy]

Hey! Could I request some Twelve smut? Maybe when he was blind/relying on touch a lot? Thanks in advance love you bye!

I have been wanting to write something like this for SOOOO long!! Thank you sm!!!! I’m so sorry that this took me forever to write, hope you are satisfied!!

also on AO3

Inch by Inch - 12th Doctor x Reader

Blind! 12th doctor x Fem!Companion!Reader

Words: 3,247

Summary: The doctor is having a tough time dealing with the complications of being blind. A companion of his and a very understanding reader is willing to help him navigate, but will he let her?

Warnings: Smut!! Minors DNI!!!, Oral Sex (Fem Receiving), Unprotected sex (0/10 do not recommend), Nipple play, dirty talk if you squint

You walked out of your room on the TARDIS as you heard some clambering downstairs. You assumed the doctor got into something he shouldn’t have and wanted to make sure he wasn’t hurt.

“Doctor! Wait a minute stay where you are! I’m coming!” You yell down stairs as you come running down.

You abandon trying to put on your t-shirt, considering he can’t see you anyway. You start picking up the pace in your bra and sleep shorts. You tried not to think about the fact that you would be so exposed in front of the man you’ve admired (More romantically than you care to admit) for years. It was the middle of the night after all, but you knew the doctor never slept.

You run into the console room to see the doctor surrounded by bits and pieces of some alien technology you didn’t recognize. What was most important was that he was lying on the ground, and you needed to help him.

You rush over and grab him by the arm to pull him up and onto one of the chairs surrounding the console. “Doctor? Doctor are you alright??” You say worriedly, checking over his figure to make sure he isn’t injured. “What were you doing up?”

“I’m fine, Y/n, I promise” He says, stopping your frantic hands with his own, smoothing over your skin with his own. “Even with the glasses, the depth perception just isn’t on point” He says, his hand moving further up your arm.

“I am getting a med kit, there is no way you haven’t hurt yourself by now” You say, trying to get him steady. Once he looks steady you quickly turn on your heels and hear an exasperated sigh behind you as you leave to get the kit.

You return just as quickly as you left, walking quickly to ensure he doesn’t do anything stupid. You see him exactly where you left him. You can see him lean back against the console, clearly exhausted.

“You there y/n?” He questions

“Any time you need me, I will be” you quip back. You take out the neosporin and bandaids you loaded up a med kit with and help him fix up the scrapes on his hands. He scratched those up most often when he would try to catch himself as he ran into items around the TARDIS, despite the amount of clutter you cleaned up for him.

You help him up onto a chair that sat near the console, grabbing onto his arm firmly for support. He settles in the chair and takes his glasses off, running his hands over his eyes. You can see just how exhausted he is. You know that time lords don’t need hardly any sleep, but you assume the blindness has been taking its toll on him.

“Are you alright now doctor?” You ask timidly.

“I’m fine, you don’t need to fuss over me. In fact, I truly hate it when people fuss over me. You worry too much-”

“I worry with reason, doctor.” You interrupt.

He stops for a second, and exhales. “But you shouldn’t have to” he says quietly. His voice is shaky and there was a different inflection behind that than you expected. He can’t look you in the eye, but you know it’s not just his sight that’s bothering him.

“Doctor, what’s wrong?”

“You shouldn’t have to worry about me, Y/n. I’m supposed to take care of you, that’s how this works” He replies somberly. He can’t look you in the eye but he somehow finds you hand and holds it in both of his own.

“Doctor you do so much, I can take care of you too”

He brings your hand up to his lips gently. He stands up and brings you up to stand with him. He runs his hand along the seat to find his glasses and puts them back on, hitting a button on the side that presumably helps him navigate.

“I appreciate your help more than you know, Y/n. I have been a burden and I know that, please don't protest that. It's not easy having to take care of a stubborn blind man."

You chuckle a little. There was no doubt that he was stubborn. Even more so now that he was blind.

"Follow me" He says, squeezing your hand and turning to go down the stairs and into the halls of the TARDIS.

"I feel like that should be the other way around, Stevie Wonder"

"Shut up"

You can hear his smile in his voice as he says it. He very carefully weaves in and out of the halls of the TARDIS.

"Where are we going?"

"Surprise" His Scottish accent putting emphasis on the word.

"Well aren't we 'doctor mysterio' today” You quip back quietly. He turns his head and gives you the ‘shut up’ look. (Well almost, the angle was a bit off but you can’t blame him)

He arrives at a dark blue door, with some gold circular Galifreyan details. You recognize the language after spending so many years traveling with the doctor. You’ve seen him write in it once or twice, and you always found it mesmerizing. He’s tracing the pattern on the door with his free hand and you can’t help but stare. He turns the door knob and opens the room then walks in with you still in tow. You are just now able to see the room and look around properly. It’s a bedroom with a large bed in the middle which looks like it hasn’t been touched. It’s perfectly made with TARDIS blue sheets. You turn to see bookshelves filled to the brim with books, records, CDs, and pictures lining every wall. More Gallifreyan detailing is on the ceiling and sparkles like stars in the night. The room takes your breath away. Then everything click in your brain as you turn to face the doctor.

“Is this… your room, doctor?” You ask tentatively.

“It is” He replies. “It’s hardly ever used, other than storage lately. Considering the whole ‘Time lords don’t sleep’ ordeal” He smiles.

“It’s amazing” You say in awe.

“I thought you might like it”

He unclasped his hand from yours and ran it up your arm. You couldn’t help but shudder at the action, but your attempt to hide the shaky breath you let out was futile. He ran his hand down your side in an attempt to be able to guide you around by having his hand on your lower back only to discover that your side was exposed. You chose this particular moment to curse yourself for not putting on your t-shirt before running down stairs.

His movements froze when he felt your skin beneath his fingertips. You can feel you cheeks heat up and it quickly spreads throughout your body as your embarrassment floods through you.

“I- s-sorry” you mutter quietly, looking at the floor and shifting uncomfortably. You are all of a sudden way too aware that his hand still hasn’t left your side.

“What for?” He says quietly.

“Not wearing more, I guess” You stutter through and start nervously laughing.

There is a silence between you for a minute when he suddenly moves his hand against you waist. He finds a good grip against your side and gently pulls you in front of him so he’s facing you.

“That’s no reason to be sorry, Y/n” He says quietly, his face close to yours. “The only regret I have is not being able to see you right now”

You freeze in shock for a few moments. You feel your breath caught in your throat. All you can focus on is how the doctor’s hand is trailing up your side and across your chest. His hand finally stops when it finds the side of your face and his thumb glides over your bottom lip. You stay there frozen, finally letting out the breath you were holding. He could hear the shaky-ness in your voice and smiled at you. He was nervous too, you could tell (As much as he tried to hide it)

Just then you felt him tug you closer and you feel his lips touch yours. You could feel the hesitation in his movements so you pressed back against him. You could feel him instantly relax and get more bold with you. You move your hands up the smooth fabric of his suit jacket and wrap your arms around his neck. The one hand on your waist pulled you to him and you could feel the fabric he was wearing against your skin. You gasp and part your lips, allowing him to deepen the kiss. He felt like he was every where, just overloading your senses. You ran your hands through his hair, needing him closer. You two move backward until your back hits the bookshelves behind you. You wince slightly at the contact not expecting it. He breaks the kiss for a moment, taking a second to breath.

“Are you alright?” He asks, evidently out of breath.

“Yes, god yes” You say, equally out of breath. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this” it comes out as more of a confession than you meant it to be.

“I wish I could see your face, see your reactions to my touch” He says, bending down so the sound of his voice is in your ear. “But feeling you is incredibly worth it”

He kisses behind your ear and down your neck. He stops at your pulse points and sucks a hickey onto your neck and you use all of your self control to not let out the moans threatening to break free. Whimpers keep escaping as his lips work your neck and his hands are tracing your figure and exploring every inch of your body. Savoring every touch. He is running his hands and lips all over you as if to create a mental map of your body and memorize how you react. Certain touches leave you breathless, arching your back, goosebumps along your skin, and heartbeat skyrocketing.

“So responsive, love” He groans into your skin, hiding his cocky smirk behind explorative kisses.

He pulls you closer in an attempt to move to a different location, not that you minded. He guides you in the general direction of his bed, but stumbles as you both hit the edge of it. He uses the opportunity to wrap his broad hands around your waist, stroking your sides up and down from your ribs to your hips. He kisses you feverishly while he clumsily gets himself onto the bed and on top of you as you guide him. You run your hands up the fabric of his suit and gently guide the jacket off of his shoulders. He takes the hint and slips his arm out of it, tossing it carelessly to the side of the room, having no clue where it landed. You reach to unbutton his waistcoat and shirt while he pulls you closer to him by your hips. He helps you with the many buttons on his clothes in between his explorations of your body. You get everything off of his body and run your hands over the pale skin there. You can feel the roughness of him underneath your fingertips as you trace his body. He runs his hands wherever he can reach on you. From your neck, down your body, worshiping your hips and waist, and further down the run his hands over your legs. All he could want right now is to take all the time in the world to commit your every curve to memory.

His hands come underneath you and fumble around, searching for and then unclasping your bra and throwing it to the side. His lips leave yours for a moment and you almost whine at the absence.

“Show me where you want me”

His Scottish brogue is even deeper than normal. His breath is uneven and his attraction is evident within it. You know what he means now, he wants you to guide him.

You tangle your hands in his silver hair and gently pull his lips to your pulse point. He attacks the spot, licking and sucking hard. He moves just under your jaw and hits the amazing spot on your neck and a moan comes flying out of your mouth before you can stop it. He smirks into your skin as you mutter incoherent apologies. Ignoring your words, he puts more work into that spot, nibbling at the sensitive skin there which has you biting your lip in a failed attempt at concealing your whines. Your hips grind on nothing, begging for some sort of attention and the doctor presses his knee between your thighs to give you just that.

He glides his hands over your shorts and slips a finger into your waistband and slides the smooth material down your legs. You skillfully undo his trousers and he kicks them off.

You run your hands down his soft stomach and go to reach under the waistband of his boxers when his hand comes down and catches yours.

“You’ve done enough taking care of me as of late. Let me take care of you”

With that he resumes his kisses to your skin but then ventures them down your body. He roughly kisses the sensitive spots on your collar bone and then kisses the valley between your breasts. He searches for and then palms your tit, then kisses around until he finds you nipple on your other, taking it into his mouth. He licks over the hard bud lightly then puts a sudden but not unwelcome amount of pressure on it with his teeth. His other hand uses his fingers to roll your nipple between his fingers and pinches it allowing the very little pain to morph into complete pleasure. He switches his hand and mouth to give attention to both and you can barely think. Your breaths have run completely ragged and you can’t even bother to try and die down your moans. The whines escaping your lips go straight to the doctor’s cock and you can only imagine how hard he is for you. The inability to see you is only heightening every other sense he has and you are overwhelming them all.

He lowers his attention to your stomach, his hands running down the grope at the sensitive flesh of your inner thighs. He can hear you, touch you, hell even smell you. All he wants to do now is taste you.

He runs his fingers over the cotton fabric of your underwear and you raise your hips involuntarily to meet his touch. He chuckles lightly at your enthusiasm and you curse him for his cockiness in your mind. He decides he’s wasted enough time so he slides your panties off and runs a finger through your folds. He groans when he feels just how wet he made you. He can’t wait any longer.

All of a sudden you can feel him everywhere. Licking stripes up and down all over you. Sucking your clit in his mouth. Sliding fingers around your entrance. It’s incredible and so much to take in at once. He has you bucking your hips into his hands and whining for him. He slides 1 finger into you. It’s just enough for you to squeeze onto. He continues his ministrations while curling that one finger to reach a spot inside of you that you had never felt before. Your eyes rolled back into you head and your back arched. You were so breathless even your moans had turned almost silent. He pressed his weight into your hips to stop their frantic movement as he added another finger which prodded at the most intimate areas he could possibly find. You didn’t even have time to think about the embarrassment that came with coming so quickly as you let out a desperate moan and your vision went blank. All you could feel was the white-hot sensation of the pleasure flooding through your every nerve. You could hear the praise and groans coming from the man you so desperately loved distantly as your consciousness came back to you. You didn’t realize that you were gripping his silver curls tightly as you came on his fingers. What you did see when you look down, however, was the Doctor licking his fingers clean with one hand and stroking his impossibly hard erection with the other.

This time you pulled him up and kissed his lips, desperate to taste yourself on him. He kissed you sloppily, his tongue sliding over yours and you biting his lip as he pulled back. You slid your hand into his boxers and grabbed his erection, pumping him slowly. His head fell onto your shoulder as he muttered a Gallifreyan curse.

“Fuck, Y/n. If you do that any more I won’t get through the night.”

You slid his shorts off his body and then wrapped your legs around his hips. You hooked your ankles into his back and pulled him closer. He hit your sopping wet entrance and a small whine escaped his lips. You reached between your bodies and lined him up with your entrance and pushed your hips forward.

“Take me like it’s the last time you’ll ever get the chance”

That was all he needed to kiss you fiercely on the lips and push into you, inch by agonizing inch. He bottomed out and waited for you to adjust to him. He felt like heaven, stretching you out just enough to where is felt like you were filled to the brim. You moaned at the thought and he took that as affirmation to start his thrusts. He hit the perfect spots in you and stroked every inch of you perfectly. It wasn’t long before the both of you were on the edge of complete bliss. His hips snapped with the fervor of a man much younger than him and his touch set a blaze on your skin. You had never felt someone pour so much into being intimate and it ignited a fire deep within you. He reached down and (with no vision might I add) expertly massaged your clit until you were writhing and screaming his name. The feel of you clenching around him had him gasping and stuttering out his orgasm quickly after yours, riding out your high to prolong this incredible moment. His hands still ran up and down wherever they could reach, but this time he hardly needed any guidance what-so-ever.

“If that’s what you can do without your vision, god knows what you could with” You joke, the words coming out breathlessly.

He pulls himself out of you and lays down at your side. “I don’t think I’ll need it”

“Why not?” You question curiously.

“Because…” He pauses to turn towards you and run his fingers down your torso. “As much as I would love seeing you under me, I can already tell that I’ve committed your every move, noise, reaction, and curve of your body to memory.” Sliding toward your ear as he says it. “I know you said to do this like it was the last chance I’ll get, but you greatly overestimate my self control if you think I can resist this for long”

You smile and lay your head down on his chest which is still heaving.

You couldn’t wait for him to explore your body once again, inch by inch.

[whynotjohnlock]

Doctor who incorrect quotes!

AAaAaaAhHhhHhH! I'm trapped in a cycle where I need some comfort so I watch this man child do silly things for 45 minutes but every episode I end up in tears because some I'm attached to Dies, so I need more comfort from doctor who but then my hearts get ripped out again so I start watching more Doctor who and then-

Here's some dumb stuff to brighten your day!

----------------------------------------------------------

The Doctor: I WOULD DESTROY THE WORLD FOR YOU!

(Y/N): Okay, can you do the dishes?

The Doctor: No!

----------------------------------------------------------

The Doctor: Do not test me (Y/N)! I am the last timelord-

(Y/N): What about Ranni and the Master and literally like every 10 adventures where they just randomly appear? Not to mention all the other versions of yourself you seem to keep running into.

The Doctor: I've killed thousands of innocent beings and creatures and-

(Y/N): Haven't we all stepped on an ant pile or on grass before?

The Doctor: (Y/N), we are not the same I've lived for hundreds of years-

(Y/N): Isn't that a perfectly normal age for a Timelord? Hundreds of years only sounds impressive because I'm human.

The Doctor: You will wither and die and I will have to live on alone-

(Y/N): Do you not consider the TARDIS company? Isn't she literally sentient?

The Doctor: .......

The Doctor: *grumpily stomps in the TARDIS*

The Doctor: I need a dumber companion next time.

----------------------------------------------------------

The Doctor: Bowties are cool!

Y/N: *confused* I never said there weren't...?

The Doctor: oh I know, I just like saying that.

----------------------------------------------------------

Y/N: *Throwing they apples into space out the TARDIS doors* Bad Apples! Kill them with fire!

The Doctor: what did the apples ever do to you?

Y/N: Remember that one time I broke my leg and couldn't go adventureing with you?

The Doctor: what does that have to do with anything?

Y/N: I broke my leg because I tripped over an apple. I just realized the ancient earth prophecy is true. 'An apple a day keeps the doctor away' and I need to destroy them all now.

----------------------------------------------------------

Child: What’s it like being tall?

Child: Is it nice?

Child: Can you reach comfortably for the cupboards?

The Doctor: We live in constant fear of the short ones who, in my experience, will climb 3 chairs, 6 boxes, a small coffee table and 4 oddly placed stools to get what they want.

Y/N: It was one time!

----------------------------------------------------------

Companion: *Calling Y/N* where is The Doctor, Y/N?

Y/N: sorry, the doctor has the zoomies right now, whatever it is, they can't help you.

Companion: The "Zoomies"?

The Doctor: *Spinning on chair quickly after chugging soy sauce while making incoherent dinosaur noises*

----------------------------------------------------------

Missy: Hey, do you know where (Y/N) is?

The Doctor: Why, so you can kidnap them again? That's never going to happen-

Missy: No, I would never waste time kidnapping Y/N again, they are too much fun for that. I want to have a girl's trip out with them. Actually is (Y/N) a girl? I can never tell what humans think gender is defined as.

The Doctor: actually, I don't really know either.

Y/N: *points at the TARDIS covered entirely by rainbow glitter* you should know by now doctor that I Identify as a fucking menace.

----------------------------------------------------------

The Doctor: Daleks are the most evil beings of pure hate and are not to be trifled with under any circumstances.

Y/N: *Bursts out in laughter*

Doctor: Y/N, that's not funny!

Y/N: *still laughing* It can't even get up the stairs. OH FeAr tHE MigHtY dAlEk EmPIrE, FeLleD bY a SLiGht iNcliNE!

----------------------------------------------------------

The Doctor: I hate your existence and will make sure your parents never meet, Y/N. I will find your friends and make them hate you!

The Doctor: Don't you dare!

Y/N: Uno!

----------------------------------------------------------

Y/N: Nock Nock.

Doctor: fine I know this is going to be bad but Who's there?

Y/N:*Trying not to laugh*Doctor.

Doctor: *Rolls his eyes*Doctor who?

Y/N: Exterminate! Exterminate!

Doctor: That joke was terrible, Y/N.

----------------------------------------------------------

Y/N: How many time lords does it take to check if it's safe to go outside the TARDIS?

Doctor: I don't know.

Y/N: me neither because you've never fucking done it.

---------------------------------------------------------

The Cybermen: *Starts trying to connect Y/N's thoughts to upgrade them*

Y/N: *Gives them a tuor of their mind*

Y/N: on your left you can see the mental fuckery that is my everyday thought process.

Y/N: in front of you is every single weird reference from all media I have consumed in no order whatsoever.

Y/N: Oh, on your left is a real life coherent thoght! That's impressive, I thought all of them had died with that time I ate half of a computer.

Y/N: Oh, I want you to meet my friends! That's anxiety, hiding just around the corner is depression. Oh, and here's my BFF self doubt!

Doctor: Y/N, how did you stall in your mind for so long? I thought I wouldn't be quick enough to save you! How... *Looks around*

Doctor:

Doctor: you need therapy.

Y/N: I need therapy.

----------------------------------------------------------

Jack: Hey, Just wanted to check in on my favorite couple.

Y/N: We're not a couple!

Doctor: Yes we are Y/N! How could you honestly forget our night underneath the singing trees on €en§πß where I proposed to you?

Jack: Well congrats on-

Y/N: I was with Missy, who the FUCK did you propose too?

Doctor: wait, what were you doing with Missy?

Jack: *Munchies on popcorn*

----------------------------------------------------------

[yoursweetwife]

Veritas Ratio respects you as a friend and as a colleague of a scientist with whom he has known for a long time, but sometimes Ratio cannot understand why at some point you behave like a smart and educated person, and then you approach to him during lunch and show him a toy that you say looks like him! This purple angry cat. If Ratio didn't know you (and if he weren't a fool in love), he would scold you in his usual manner, but the only thing he can do at that moment is to gently call you an idiot and change the subject( You're both adults, but he'll be damned if he sees you sad because of him, and he definitely won't let others laugh at you), although his gaze still keeps returning to the toy in your hands.

And you might think that it would all end there, but after a while you see on his table a toy in the shape of a cat, suspiciously similar to you. The strangest thing is that he doesn't even get angry when you tease him about it, which makes you doubt whether this is really Veritas Ratio. But the moment his book almost touches your head, you realize that he is still the same.

“Veritas, look - you brought the purple cat to the toy in his hands. - now we will always be close to each other!”

A small smile formed on his frowning face at the sight of your beaming smile. It turns out that sometimes it's nice to be an idiot.

[ynnie631]

I think one of the greatest angst potential for Ratio is you being noticed by Nous.

I've read tidbits of his lore, so imagine being his classmate during his time as an undergraduate in Cosmos Liberty University.

You struggled to understand the complex equations that he, Ratio, understood immediately. You barely even achieved the innovations he has done in record time.

And yet, for whatever reason...

You were seen and considered as part of the intelligent beings in the universe by Nous himself.

Imagine the betrayal and utter envy Ratio feels— this is during the time, where he aspired to become one of the members (from what I've gathered)— that his friend, best friend, was noticed by Nous.

Maybe you deserve it, but it didn't ease the gnawing disappointment stirring in his heart.

[orangegal90210]

My man. My man. My man. My man.

[justsomerandomfanfic]

The Perfect Paradox - Tenth Doctor X Female Reader

Title: The Perfect Paradox

Tenth Doctor X Female Reader

Additional Characters: Reader's mother mentioned, neighbors, Susan Johnson (OC), town Elders, TARDIS, Rose (Mentioned),

WC: 8,003

Warnings: Reader wears a dress/skirt, nicknames, marriage, 50s women stereotypes/misogyny mentioned, 50s-themed clothing, italics, yelling, gaslighting, slight mental breakdown?, italics for a flashback, teasing, banter, brainwashing, be prepared to run, protective Doctor, Doctor's trauma mentioned briefly (Rose), slight angst, and fluff

Your melodic humming filled the kitchen as you stood by the stove, stirring scrambled eggs around on the frying pan. The bright morning sun shined through your windows and past your white lace curtains, enveloping the kitchen in a warm golden glow. Sizing the scrambled eggs up - assuming they were done - you reached over to turn off the stove. 

Brushing down the skirt of your blue, fit-and-flare dress, you walked over to the coffee maker, grabbing your two mugs from the cupboard - one Prussian Blue, and the other a simple brown - you poured the steaming coffee into both of them. Leaning over the counter slightly, one foot lifting in the process, you opened the small glass jar of sugar cubs. Dropping two in one of the mugs, you grabbed a small spoon and stirred the sugar into the hot liquid. 

You decided to not take a sip - fearing that you might burn your tongue - so you quickly turned back to the eggs on the stove. Grabbing one of the two plates from beside you on the counter, you began to plate the scrambled eggs, continuing to hum as you heard the toast pop up in the toaster. Grabbing the pair of freshly made toast from the toaster, you began to spread butter upon both of them, before setting them down on the plates beside the eggs. Picking up one of the plates, fork in hand, your husband came in through the kitchen doorway. Right on time.

Dressed in a neatly pressed, dark blue suit with red pinstripes, he straightened his herringboned burgundy tie with a mauve flora design. His white button-up underneath was wrinkle-free from when you ironed it the night before. Your husband looked handsome, as always. You dreamily sighed mentally. You had always considered him a handsome bloke in a tight suit with amazing hair. And speaking of his brown hair - the soft strands usually stuck out everywhere, especially in the early mornings - was gelled to the side. His sideburns were prominent, one of your favorite physically attractive things about your man. All ready for work.

As he spotted the brown coffee mug on the counter, he gave you a glance, his smile growing as he winked in thanks. You mentally sighed once more. You always found yourself staring at his dark chocolate eyes - even when he wasn’t looking. 

As he took a drink from his coffee, his eyes landed on the plate of eggs and toast you were holding for him, and he let out a hum; setting the coffee mug down. "Oh, I'm sorry, darling, but I am really running late." He spoke, grabbing the briefcase from off the dining table. His Estuary English accent sounded beautiful every morning, and night; just all the time really. 

You only smiled, shaking your head lightly, "No, it's alright." You sat the plate down just as he made his way over to you, pressing a kiss to your cheek in a farewell; his tall, lean statue towering over you. "Have a good day, honey."

"You too, dear." He replied, grabbing his long, light brown overcoat and tossing it over his arm, he turned halfway out the door, giving you one last grin before leaving for work. You wished your husband wasn't running late, giving him time to eat, but those times weren’t often, seeing how busy he is with being an internationally renowned neurosurgeon and all. Your mother had always wanted you to marry a Doctor.

Letting out a small content sigh, you began to wrap up your husband's breakfast in some saran wrap, before placing it in the fridge. You then ate and got ready for the day. Taking the rollers out of your hair, you made sure you looked presentable enough to go out and about. Looking out the window, you admired how nice it looked outside; you decided that it would be nice to go for a small walk.

Grabbing your purse, you slipped on your short, white gloves, and matching hat. Making sure you had everything you needed, you grabbed your house keys and left. 

There was hardly a cloud in the sky, and the sun shone brightly, warming your skin. Passing house after house in the wonderful suburbs you and your husband lived in, you continued to smile. The streets were clean - as were the sidewalks and people's yards; freshly mowed. Colorful flowers were planted at each home, composed of roses, tulips, and marigolds. Your home also had a lovely little garden in the front yard, where you raised your pretty pink roses. They were your joy. 

Shady Grove was a small town in practically the middle of nowhere. All the houses were very similar and matched in color, size, and shape. Every yard - as said before - had gardens, perfectly planted, near the large front windows of the homes. White picket fences lined each property line, separating each house from the other. The wives made breakfast in the mornings while their husbands got ready for work. And after saying goodbye to their wives, they would leave for work. 

Everything in Shady Grove operated with perfect precision. The same type and brand of cars left their driveways at the same time each day, their engines starting in perfect unison. The children, neatly dressed in their school uniforms, marched to the bus stop, their laughter bright. The air was filled with the scent of freshly cut grass and blooming roses, as if someone had bottled the essence of suburban bliss and sprayed it all over the town.

You loved Shady Grove with its tidy streets and friendly neighbors. The community events organized by the Women's Association were always a highlight, bringing everyone together for picnics and bake sales. The local library, with its rows of perfectly shelved books, was your sanctuary on Saturdays - a place where you felt at peace among the orderly rows of shelves. To you, Shady Grove was simply the epitome of suburban paradise, and you cherished every moment spent within its meticulously maintained borders. 

Spotting a few blue birds, you watched them fly with a smile, hearing their little chirps. Your eyes then landed on the high grassy hills outside the town. Your eyes immediately spotted something in the distance, but before you could even think further, you remembered that you were planning on making a strawberry milk pie. You loved pie, and it was one of your husband’s favorites. Your neighbor, Susan Johnson, was dropping off some of her fresh home-grown strawberries the very next day. The market was just around the corner, so you decided to get some milk and eggs to prepare for the baking.

~~~

That evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, you hummed softly to yourself in the kitchen. You chopped vegetables with practiced ease, the rhythmic sound of the knife against the cutting board filling the air. The aroma of roasting chicken wafted through the house, mingling with the comforting scent of herbs and spices. It was your husband's favorite dish, and you took pride in preparing it just the way he liked it.

When you heard the familiar sound of the front door opening, you smiled to yourself; continuing to cook. "Honey, I'm home!" He called, making you giggle.

"Welcome home." You called, before finishing dinner. You were almost done.

"Is dinner almost ready, dear?" You heard your husband's voice, knowing him to be in the dining room. 

Opening the Dutch oven, you smiled as the scent of the delicious food wafted out, the aroma making your mouth water. A large plate full of roasted vegetables sat on the counter before you. Turning the heat off, you began to make both you and your husband a plate. "Yes, honey," You called back to him, "Just one moment." Heading to the dining room, you placed your husband's plate down in front of him, making him look away from his newspaper; setting it down on the table beside his food.

"This looks delicious, darling," He complimented, slipping off his dark brown, acetate frames, before beginning to dig in.

Sitting down at the end of the table, you grabbed the pastel yellow cotton napkin from the table, opened it, and placed it on your lap. Shuffling slightly in your seat, you got ready to eat, cutting into the meat with your fork and knife, "Is it to your liking?" You asked, glancing up at him, and taking a bite of the food.

Nodding, he spoke, "It is perfect, my darling," 

You smiled, watching as he enjoyed his meal, a sense of contentment washed over you. You loved these simple moments of domesticity, where the outside world seemed to fade away. "Well, how was your day, honey?"

Your husband cleared his throat, "It was quite a day, dear. I spent most of my time in the operating room." He began, pausing to sip at his water before continuing, "We had a particularly challenging case involving a brain tumor, but I'm pleased to say it went well." You nodded along, fully engaged in his words, "After the surgeries, I attended a meeting discussing new techniques we're hoping to implement soon. It's exhausting, but fulfilling work." He finished, looking up from his food, "Oh, how was your day today, dear?" He asked, as if remembering, but you hadn't noticed.

Your hand froze holding your fork mid-air at his question before you placed it back on your plate, "Oh, it was great, honey. I got groceries from the market, and I also cleaned up around the house and did some laundry."

Your husband paused, looking up at you slowly, "Nothing... Odd happened today?" His gaze was intense; questioning.

You continued to smile, though confused, you shook your head, "No, I don't recall anything odd happening today." Your smile then dropped as a question popped up in your head, blinking your eyes owlishly, "I didn't miss anything important today, did I?"

"No," Your husband spoke, seemingly satisfied with your answer.

"Oh!" You exclaimed as you remembered something, your husband's head shooting up at your exclamation, "I saw that there was a deal on that type of pork that you like, so I bought it for a future dish."

At your response, his shoulders dropped and he breathed out of his nose. Finishing his dinner, and patting the side of his lips, he grabbed the newspaper once more, "That's nice, dear," He spoke, his voice sounding slightly muffled behind the newspaper. "Some dessert would be nice."

"Dessert, absolutely," You quickly dabbed the corners of your own lips before standing. Grabbing your empty plate and his, you headed to the kitchen to fetch your loving and doting husband some well-deserved ice cream; he had such a long and hard day.

~~~

The next morning, you and your husband woke up bright and early; as you both did every morning. Dressing in a sunflower yellow fit-and-flare dress, you carefully made sure the rollers in your hair were still in place before getting ready for the day. It was the weekend, so your husband was thankfully staying home with you and keeping you company. Though, you did have a few plans for the day. Susan was coming over to drop those strawberries off, and you were planning to go to the library before coming home to make dinner and two strawberry milk pies - along with any house duties that needed to be done. 

Making sure you looked presentable, you began cleaning. As your husband read in his La-Z-Boy recliner, a cup of steaming coffee beside him on the coffee table - made just how he liked it - you were mopping the kitchen floors. The scent of lemon-scented cleaner filled the air, mingling with the aroma of brewing coffee. The morning sunlight streamed through the windows, casting long shadows across the freshly polished countertops.

As you finished in the kitchen, you turned your attention to dusting the shelves in the living room. Everything had to be just right for Susan's visit later. You straightened the neatly arranged books on the shelves, occasionally pausing to glance at your husband, immersed in his book with an unreadable expression.

"Would you like another cup of coffee, honey?" You asked, breaking the quiet concentration that filled the room.

He looked up, his eyes meeting yours with a faint smile. "No, thank you, dear. I'm fine for now," He replied, returning his attention to his book.

You nodded and continued with your tasks, the rhythmic swish of the feather duster against the bookshelves becoming a comforting background noise. But at the sound of the doorbell, you turned towards the noise, your content smile widening. "That must be Susan with the strawberries." You spoke, before heading to the door. 

Stashing your feather duster away, you brushed your skirt down with both hands before letting out a sigh. Reaching out, you opened the door, though, at the sight of the man outside your door, your smile faltered slightly; though, it didn't vanish.

The man in front of you let out a sigh of what seemed like a sigh of relief, a bright smile appearing on his face, "Finally! I found you! I've probably checked every house on this block looking for you. Are you alright? We have to go." He reached out to grab your arm but you stepped back, now majorly confused.

Your eyebrows furrowed, "Found me? What- Uh," You asked, stuttering, confused, but you recomposed yourself, "May I help you, sir?" 

This man before you went to speak, but ultimately shut his mouth. And then he just stared at you, his own eyebrows furrowed, his dark brown eyes seemingly analyzing you. It was intense. His eyes then broke from yours and glanced around wildly to the side and behind you before looking back at you, "It's me, the Doctor," He gestured to himself, but upon receiving no reply - confusion still in your eyes - his tone dropped, "You have to remember me." His voice is low, and deep, but you remained silent; a shiver ran through you from his intense stare, your cheeks feeling warm. 

You also took this time to observe him. His hair was brown, strands sticking up in odd angles like he had just gotten out of bed. His eyes were brown, like dark chocolate. He was tall, and lanky, wearing the very same attire your husband would wear to work. A thought buzzed in the back of your mind as you eyed his sideburns... 

'He looks a lot like my husband.'

"I'm sorry, sir, but I don't recognize you." You began, seeing something flash in his eyes as he ran a frustrated - almost angry - hand through his hair, "Do you work with my husband?"

Before he could speak though, your husband's voice caught your attention, "Who's at the door, dear?"

Turning, your smile widened at his presence, watching him enter the entryway. Your smile faltered slightly upon seeing your husband's frown. "This gentleman said that he was a doctor." You spoke to him, "Is he one of your colleagues?"

Your husband doesn't answer, coming up beside you, his hand coming up to press against your lower back. "Why don't you vacuum the living room, dear? You did mention that you wanted to clean the floor earlier." Your husband spoke, and you gave him a bright smile, nodding.

"Yes, honey." You spoke as your husband went to stand by the stranger at your door, his hand on the doorknob to shut the door behind him, wanting a private conversation with the man outside. Heading to the living room, just as the front door began to shut, it stopped suddenly. 

"Y/N!" You heard the stranger call for you, making you turn, seeing him holding the door open as your husband visibly glared at him. Your husband was trying to close the door, but the stranger was preventing him. The look on the stranger's face was a look of total determined desperation. For some reason, you felt that whatever he was going to say was urgent. Pushing against the strength of your husband, he grunted lightly before speaking; his dark eyes bore into yours, "When did you get married!?"

At those words, he was overpowered and the door slammed shut. The sound reverberated in your mind, echoing as you found yourself frozen to where you stood. You stared at the door, before you moved your hand up, your eyes meeting the glimmering ring on your ring finger. 

'When did you get married!?'

'When did I get married?'

Your mind felt suddenly blank, fuzzy even. You tried to recall the details of your wedding day, but the memories remained elusive, obscured behind a fog. You shut your eyes tight and rubbed your temples, hoping to coax out fragments of recollection, but all you could grasp were fleeting glimpses: the scent of roses in the air, the warmth of sunlight filtering through stained-glass windows, and the faces of smiling guests.

Opening your eyes, you looked around the living room. If you had gotten married, wouldn't there be pictures? Searching the walls, you passed each one, trying to find something - anything - that would confirm your wedding day. Each frame held snapshots of idyllic moments: vacations, family gatherings, and smiling faces captured in time. 

"No wedding photos," You muttered, your voice barely audible as a knot tightened in your stomach. It was as if the most significant day of your life had been erased, replaced by an unsettling void that threatened to swallow you whole. But you kept searching - from the dining room, kitchen, hallways, bathroom, and bedroom - yet, you found nothing. You even searched the closets for your dress, but even that too was missing. Finding yourself back in the living room, you heard the front door open. You could feel your husband's presence behind you, and you let out a shaky breath, "How come we don't have any pictures of our wedding?" You asked, not bothering to turn around.

"You didn't want any," He spoke, and that made you turn, your eyes holding so much confusion. He looked down at you, continuing, "Don't you remember? You didn't want us to waste our money on all that film or to hire someone to take them. That's why we didn't get any." He explained.

"I did that?" You asked, doubting yourself but more questions began popping up in your head, and before you could even stop yourself, you were speaking; "How long have we been married?"

Your husband let out a laugh as if what you had said was stupid, "Seven years," He replied, causing you to blink, "What do you mean how long have we been married?" Your husband shook his head, his hand rising to stroke your back, "It's nothing, darling. Just forget it, alright?"

“What about my dress? My wedding dress, where is it?” You asked, your finger twisting your wedding band around your finger; fidgeting.

“You donated it,” He answered, “Please, dear, this is silly-”

"Why did he look so much like you?" You ignored him, his usually comforting and welcomed touch burning you, you quickly slipped out of his hold, staring up at him with wide eyes as if he had grown a second head. "Who was he?"

He blinked at you before letting out an almost awkward chuckle, shaking his head, "Just a friend from work, really, this is nothing you need to be so worked up about. Isn't Susan coming by soon?" He tried to again divert the conversation, but you weren't having it.

"No! Something's not right here!" You exclaimed, gesturing around you wildly, "How come I can't remember my wedding? Which is supposed to be the happiest day of my life! And why don't we have any evidence of a wedding, except rings? Not even my dress! How come I don't know when we married, when you proposed, or how I even met you?" You then gestured to the front door, "And why the hell does he show up at the door claiming to know me? And why the hell does he look so much like you!? He had the same hair and the same suit! Th-the same eyes!" You paused, your chest heaving with emotion as you awaited his response. Your husband’s expression shifted subtly, a flicker of unease crossing his features before he composed himself.

"Darling, I think you’re overreacting," He said gently, his voice soothing yet tinged with an edge of caution. "You’ve been under a lot of stress lately. It’s understandable that you might feel confused."

You shook your head vehemently, your mind racing with unanswered questions. "I'm not overreacting!" You insisted, your voice rising despite your efforts to remain calm. "There are too many things that don't add up, too many gaps in my memory. Important things missing. What is going on!?” You felt like you were having an anxiety attack, “I feel like I am going crazy.”

Your husband sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly as he regarded you with a mixture of concern and frustration. "Darling, please," He implored, reaching out as if to touch your arm. "Let's not do this now. Susan will be here soon, and-"

"No!" You interrupted, stepping back to avoid his touch. "I need answers.” He hesitated, his gaze flickering towards the doorway where Susan's impending arrival seemed to be his only lifeline. You began to pace the floor, biting on your thumb nail as you stared down at the floor, concentrating; "I don't remember- There are too many gaps... He looks just like you... The same eyes... Oh, god, his eyes..." You continued to pace until you stopped. "He knew my name. He said my name." You realized, slowly looking up at your supposed husband, "What's my name?"

He scoffed out a laugh - as if what you said again was ridiculous, "I know your name, darling, we're husband and wife."

"Yeah, you say that, but for however long I've been with you, you've only called me 'dear,' or 'darling.'" You took a step towards him, "What's my name?" His laughter grated against your fraying nerves, his dismissive tone fueling the fire under you. Yet, you stood your ground, refusing to back down despite the uncertainty gnawing at your core. "What's my name?" You repeated, your voice steady but laced with desperation. "Tell me my name."

Your husband’s face faltered, his eyes darting away from yours as if unable to meet the weight of your gaze. Silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken truths and the gravity of the situation unraveling before you both. "I..." He began, his voice wavering, but instead of answering, he looked away, his jaw clenched

"He knew my name," You murmured, a chill running down your spine as the pieces fell into place. "He called me by my name." The realization hit you like a tidal wave, washing away the illusions that had ensnared your mind for too long. You weren't the doting and compliant wife of your husband in Shady Grove. You were Y/N, a companion of the Doctor; a traveler of galaxies. 

~~~

Leaning against the console of the TARDIS, you tried to keep still - rocking on the balls of your feet - but you were excited to see where the Doctor was taking you next. You watched as he whizzed around the circular console, pulling levers and flipping switches. 

"Where are we going today, Doctor?" You asked, unable to stop a small smile from growing on your face as Doctor flipped the final switch, the TARDIS hummed loudly, and the lights flashed for a split second.

"We, my dear companion, are going to Xephus." He exclaimed, looking over at you, "I stumbled upon it a couple of decades ago. Lovely place, nice people."  

The Doctor started talking about the planet and its history. How it was a beautiful planet with lots of trees, animals, water, and so much food it would be impossible to eat it all. He continued talking about the beauty of the place and how it was similar to Earth. You admired him as he ranted, watching as the different expressions crossed his face; passion and excitement sparkled in his eyes at the mere thought of showing you another spectacular planet. 

It was hard not to admire him. The way he spoke, the boundless enthusiasm he had for every discovery, every hidden corner of the universe. You'd been traveling with the Doctor for what felt like a lifetime, each journey only deepening your affection for him. At first, you told yourself it was just admiration, pure and simple - respect for his intelligence, bravery, and endless curiosity - his overall zest for life. But, the admiration had developed into something deeper, something you were hesitant to acknowledge fully in the beginning.

But you accepted that you had feelings for him a long time ago. More specifically when he took you to a planet called 'Blimszarys.' It was a quiet, unspoken truth that had made its way into your heart, a warmth that spread through you whenever he smiled or took your hand as you ran from danger.

You came to terms with it, embracing the reality of your feelings without expecting anything in return. The Doctor was a being of infinite complexity, and you were just one of many companions who had shared in his extraordinary life. The thought of burdening him with your feelings felt selfish and unnecessary. He had enough weight on his shoulders.

Besides, being by his side was enough for you.

"Y/N," His voice broke you out of whatever trance you had been trapped within, seeing his eyebrows furrowed, and dark eyes staring down at you; confused. "Was I boring you?" He asked with a chuckle, and you quickly shook your head, feeling your cheeks flush from embarrassment.

"No! Of course not, Doctor. You could never bore me," You insisted, turning to fully look at him, "I'm sorry, there's just a lot on my mind right now." You gave him a reassuring smile, but the concern on his face still lingered. 

"Are you alright?" He then asked, "If you're not feeling well, we don't have to go. You humans and your human diseases, you never take care of yourselves properly." He huffed with faux indignantly, shaking his finger in your direction as he walked around the console.

"Hey, us humans certainly try," You protested, chuckling softly, following him around the console, meeting him by his side, "I am perfectly fine though. I'm not getting sick or anything. I just have a lot on my mind right now." 'You’re on my mind. You’re always on my mind.' You thought as the Doctor stared down at you, his gaze intense as they were whenever he was deep in thought. You just looked right back at him, a smile on your face, butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

With a huff, seemingly accepting your answer, that brilliant smile of his returned and he threw an arm over your shoulders; bringing you to his side. "Alright right then! To Xephus! Allons-y!"

~~~

You remembered appearing on Xephus, feeling pretty excited to see the planet that the Doctor had discovered decades ago, and spoke so fondly of. You remembered leaving with the Doctor - hand-in-hand - as you both traveled through a large field of flowers, towards the town in the distance. You then remembered going off to wander the town on your own. At some point in your wandering, you remembered seeing glimpses of people in dark cloaks. You remember the feeling of their hands on your arms, the fear coursing through you as you tried to call out for the Doctor.

You didn't know what they did to brainwash you, and you weren't going to stay for anyone to try and brainwash you again. Staring at the man before you, he stared right back, but before he could do or say anything, you bolted. Running out of the room and out the front door, you stumbled down the walkway, past the sidewalk, and onto the street. Your breathing was heavy, your chest rising and falling as your eyes frantically searched around you. 

"Stop her!" You heard the man, who paraded around as your husband, your head whipping around to see him rushing towards you. Eyes wide, you continued to run, passing house after house; seeing men leaving their homes to chase you as well. Your labored breathing and your quick-beating heart echoed and pulsed in your ears as you passed the market; housewives, dressed in their fifties-themed attire, looked at you through the large windows oddly before going back to their shopping. Turning down another street, you frantically searched for any sign of the Doctor, weaving past an oncoming car - narrowingly missing it - as you frantically looked around for the Doctor.

Passing through two buildings - a barber shop and a diner - you pressed your back against the wall, trying to control your breathing as you quickly chucked off your heels. "She's over here!" You heard another voice yell, and you booked it. Running in between the two buildings, it spat you back out onto another street. You didn't look back, hearing the pounding of feet behind you. The large group of men - dressed in their suits and ties - were chasing after you; in reality, all of them were manipulating husbands. 

You ran until you reached another street lined with shops; only to then feel someone grab your arm and pull you into an alley. You were whipped around, your back pressing up against the brick wall of the apothecary shop. Regaining your bearings, you quickly recognized the hands that were wrapped around your upper arms. You knew those long and long and slender hands anywhere. His grip was a mix of gentleness and intensity; the warmth of them seeping into your skin soothingly. Looking up, you sighed - tears of relief burning the backs of your eyes. 

"Doctor, I-"

"Are you alright?" He interrupted, his voice gentle but urgent - his words came out quickly, yet clearly - though breathless from running and hiding; searching for you. Your well-being was his top priority. He waited for your response, his wide, dark chocolate brown eyes flickering over your face, before searching your eyes; looking for any signs of injury or distress. His furrowed eyebrows softened as he confirmed to himself that you were unharmed. If anything were to happen you...

"I'm okay," You spoke softly, still trying to calm your racing heart, "I'm okay," You repeated, your hands coming up to grab the edges of his light brown overcoat. “Right when I remembered, I ran for the hills.”

The Doctor let out a breath of relief. His hands fell from your arms, cupping your cheeks. Already looming over you, he bent towards you, shutting his eyes, and pressing his forehead against yours. Your own eyes fluttered shut, your grip on his overcoat tightening. The Doctor, internally, felt a pang of guilt rush over him. If only he stayed by your side. If only he kept an eye on you... This wouldn't have happened. 

His protectiveness was fierce. Every instinct screamed to keep you safe, to ensure that no harm would ever come your way under his watch. The very thought of you being hurt stirred a deep-seated fear within him, a fear that fueled his relentless vigilance.

"Stay close to me," He whispered, his voice a blend of tenderness and steely determination. His hands, warm and reassuring, remained on your cheeks as if anchoring you to him; as if he was reassuring himself that you were truly safe. That you were there with him, next to him, alive and in one piece.

At that moment, with his forehead pressed against yours and his breath mingling with your own, you knew the Doctor would fight against the universe itself just to keep you safe, and as you stood there in his arms, you knew that you were more than just a companion - you were someone he cared for deeply, someone he would protect with every fiber of his being.

"I don't think we can talk or charm our way out of this one." You softly spoke, opening your eyes as he pulled away; his eyes meeting yours. Suddenly, a loud piercing siren began to blare, startling both you and the Doctor; it sounded like an earthquake siren. "They have sirens!?"

"Nifty, huh?" The Doctor spoke, his eyebrows furrowing in curiosity, "It's probably for those who try to escape."

"What are we going to do?" You asked, cupping your hands to your ears

Seemingly going back to his usual self, an idea formed in his mind. "Oh, you know, the usual." He spoke, flashing you a quick, mischievous grin. "Run like mad, avoid getting caught, and come up with a brilliant plan on the fly." You couldn't help but smile at his infectious enthusiasm. 

"Sounds good to me, just as long as we get out of here together," You spoke, and the Doctor grinned, taking one of your hands in his.

"Right then," He said, his eyes sparkling with renewed determination. "Allons-y!" He ducked his head out of the alleyway, peering left and right before leading you through an empty street, his pace quick and purposeful. As you ran, despite the chaos, the terrible siren went off. He thrived in these moments, where quick thinking and daring moves were essential. Finally, you reached the TARDIS, the blue box standing tall and resilient on the field outside of the town. The Doctor pulled out his key, the door swinging open just as your pursuers came bounding up the hill of the green field. "In we go!" He urged, practically pushing you inside before slamming the door shut behind him. He immediately began flipping switches and pulling levers, the TARDIS roaring to life. As the familiar wheezing and groaning filled the air, you leaned against the console, catching your breath. The Doctor, now back in his element, looked at you with a triumphant smile. "See? Piece of cake."

You laughed, the tension of the past moments finally melting away. "You're impossible," You said, shaking your head.

"And you love it," He replied with a wink, his hands still busy at the controls.

You felt an immense warmth fill you, engulfing you, and making your heart skip a beat as you smiled. You suddenly closed the distance between you and the Doctor, wrapping your arms around him in a tight hug. He stiffened for a moment in surprise before relaxing, his arms encircling you in return.

"Thank you," You whispered against his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his embrace. "For getting me out of there."

The Doctor's hold tightened slightly, his head resting gently against yours. "Always," He murmured softly, the single word carrying so much weight behind it. And at the feeling of his soft kiss on the top of your head, you held him tighter, wanting to convey everything that was rushing through your mind at that moment.

Letting go reluctantly, you gave him a small - yet, almost shy - smile. "I'm going to change, and get these rollers out of my hair." You spoke, "I'll be right back." 

The Doctor watched you go, a small fond smile slipping onto his face. Watching as you headed towards your room that the TARDIS gave you. 

~~~

Sitting at the open doors of the TARDIS, the Doctor watched the death of a few stars. As he waited for you to return, he thought back to Xephus. The guilt of losing sight of you still gnawed at him. If only... No, he couldn't allow himself to dwell on what-ifs.

When you had both split up, he found himself wandering around town, near the shops. Xephus was completely different than it was when he first visited it decades ago. He remembered the planet to be like Earth, with Earth-like food, plants, animals, and people who lived there. But, instead of cottages, there was a town full of suburban homes, barber shops, and markets. Your words played out in his mind, 'It's like stepping into the nineteen-fifties.' For some reason, the Doctor had a bad feeling in his gut. 

Before he knew it, he couldn't find you, and the 'Elders' of the town of Shady Grove had taken him to their underground facility underneath the suburban houses. The Doctor stood in the dimly lit room, his eyes fixated on the screen displaying you, a shadow of your former self, dutifully fulfilling the role of a perfect housewife. His initial curiosity of why the planet had changed so much had given way to a burning anger, his normally lively features now etched with fury.

"Why would you do such a thing!?" He demanded, his voice echoing through the large room of metal walls and concrete floors. "What possible reason could you have for stripping away her identity, her memories, her life?"

The Elders, a group of stern-faced older men, exchanged glances before one of them stepped forward. His hair was graying, and his eyes were piercing. "We needed to create a harmonious society," The Elder explained, his tone measured and cold. "Individualism breeds chaos, and we have perfected a system where everyone has a role, a purpose. That was why Xephus has changed, Doctor. When you came here, we deemed your companion suitable for progressing our town. She was then chosen to be integrated into our community to maintain order and balance."

The Doctor's fists clenched at his sides, "Order and balance?" He echoed incredulously. "At the cost of her free will? Her autonomy? You have no right!"

The Elders remained unperturbed by the Doctor’s outburst. Another one stepped forward, his expression impassive. "Order and balance are paramount, Doctor," he stated calmly. "Without them, society would descend into chaos. Your companion’s integration was essential for the stability of Shady Grove."

The Doctor's fists tightened further, his knuckles turning white. He glanced back at the screen, his eyes narrowing as he observed the fake husband’s interactions with you. Jealousy tickled the edges of his mind, an unfamiliar and unwelcome emotion. Then, he noticed just how eerily similar the fake husband looked to him - his brown hair, sharp features, and charming demeanor. 

"Why does he look like me?" The Doctor demanded, his voice low and dangerous.

The first Elder, the one with the piercing eyes, replied with a faint, knowing smile. "During the brainwashing process, we extracted your companion’s subconscious desires and ideals. We created a husband based on her ideal partner to make her transition smoother and the illusion more believable. It turns out, Doctor, that her ideal partner is you."

If the Doctor was shocked, he didn't show it. He turned back to the screen, watching as the fake husband leaned in to kiss your cheek, a gesture that sent a sharp pang through his hearts. It was a bitter irony; you had been taken from him and given a life that mirrored what you might have desired, but it was a cruel mockery of reality.

The Doctor felt a mix of emotions, though his anger reigned supreme. The intensity of his anger rolled off of him in waves. "You think you've created the perfect society," He seethed, his eyes narrowed slightly. "But you've only created a prison. And I will free it! You won't hurt her, or anyone else, ever again." He stood tall, his jaw tightening, and his eyes darkening, "Enjoy your illusion of control while it lasts," He spat. "Because I’m going to dismantle it, piece by piece."

In short, it took three days for him to escape the cell they tossed him in while at the underground facility. Thankfully, he had his sonic screwdriver. It was also surprisingly easy to destroy their brainwashing machines. He then navigated through the facility’s labyrinthine corridors, his thoughts were solely focused on one goal: reaching you. Emerging from the underground facility - for some reason popping out of the barber's shop - he took a moment to breathe in the cool night air, the stars above a stark contrast to the artificial confines below.

And well, he found you, and he had hoped - deep down - that upon seeing him everything would come back to you, but it hadn't. Then your 'husband' got in the way. But, as he was getting led back to the facility, he escaped and hid in a nearby alleyway. But you were safe, you were in the TARDIS, not brainwashed, or injured. You were safe. 

However, what the Elders had said and showed him was bubbling in his mind. The Elders said that they created your ideal partner to help you believe in your new life. And your ideal partner was him. The Doctor let out a sigh, running a hand through his hair. He had always known that you admired him, but this revelation was different. It forced him to confront feelings he had buried deep inside. Feelings he had for you.

The fear was still there, gnawing at him. He was scared because of what had happened with Rose. Losing her had been one of the most painful experiences of his long life. The thought of starting a relationship with you only to lose you in the end terrified him. He took another deep breath, trying to calm himself. 

The sound of your footsteps drew him from his troubling thoughts, his gaze shifting from the stars and over his shoulder. You walked out of the hallway, dressed in your sweats. You ran a hand through your hair, free from the rollers; you had taken a shower. Spotting him, you smiled, walking over. The Doctor turned back to the stars as you sat down beside him. Letting your socked feet hang off the edge, you gently kicked them; your hands pressed at your side, palms against the grated floor. 

Turning your head, you observed the Doctor's side profile before speaking, "So, I have some questions," You spoke up, breaking the silence, and the Doctor turned, giving you a grin.

"What would you like to know?" He asked, and you huffed lightly, looking back at the stars.

"How long was I under their control?" You asked, a rough one right out the gate, but you had to know.

"Ah," The Doctor nodded his head, "Three days."

You snapped your head over to him, your eyes wide, "Three days?" You gasped. "It felt like forever. How did they make it seem so real?"

"Ah, well," He breathed out, "They manipulated your memories and created an environment that catered to your subconscious desires. Time felt different because they controlled every aspect of your perception." He spoke nonchalantly, masking his inner turmoil with his usual wit and calm demeanor. "I'm afraid they were quite crafty, those Elders. Manipulating time and memory like a magician pulling rabbits out of a hat," He answered with a wry smile, though his eyes betrayed a hint of self-disappointment.

You nodded slowly, absorbing his explanation while sensing the underlying tension in his voice. "It's incredible and terrifying at the same time," You murmured, your own emotions still raw from the ordeal. “Did you stop them? Whatever they were doing or using to brainwash people?”

“Of course,” He whipped out his sonic screwdriver, tossing it in the air and catching it, “They won’t hurt anyone again.”

You nodded, pleased, before you asked the last question on your mind, "What about him..." You began, feeling your face become warm as you glanced over at the Doctor, "Why did he look so eerily like you?"

The Doctor's smile softened, "Ah, that," He sighed, his gaze turning thoughtful. "Your ideal image of a companion, someone you'd trust implicitly, resembled me. I suppose they delved into your subconscious desires and found me lurking in there somewhere," He explained, his voice tinged with a mix of amusement and melancholy. "It's unsettling, I know," He continued, "But they used that resemblance to make their charade more convincing. They wanted to create a seamless transition for you, to make you believe in this fabricated reality they'd constructed."

You let out a small chuckle, making the corners of the Doctor's lips twitch, "I'm sorry, I don't know why I'm laughing," You spoke, calming down to finish, "What a twisted version of reality."

"Yes, but you saw through it," He said, his eyes searching yours with admiration. "You broke free from their grip. That takes immense strength."

A faint flush warmed your cheeks as you met his gaze - his compliment practically turning you into mush. "Thank you." You shuffled, becoming slightly nervous under his gaze, your hand moving slightly, accidentally brushing against his, also pressed against the floor of the TARDIS.

The Doctor smiled warmly, "You're welcome," He glanced at your hands beside his, "And as for him," He added, his tone turning slightly playful, "Well, I suppose I should be flattered that your ideal partner bears such a striking resemblance to me."

"I do have impeccable taste," You teased, a playful glint in your eye as you met his gaze.

The Doctor chuckled softly, the sound like music in the quiet of the TARDIS. "Well, who wouldn't want an adventurer with two hearts?" 

"And that hair," You quipped, reaching up to tousle his hair playfully. "Definitely a plus."

Laughing in unison, you looked back out at the beautiful dying of stars, the bright colorful light reflecting off of your face and hair. The Doctor couldn't look away, captivated by the way the starlight danced across your features, illuminating your face with a soft, ethereal glow. He found himself mesmerized by the way your eyes sparkled with curiosity and intelligence, absorbing the vastness of the cosmos with wonder.

"You know," He murmured, breaking the comfortable silence between you, "I've seen countless stars and galaxies, but none of them compare to the way you shine in their light."

Eyes wide in surprise, you stared at him, mouth slightly agape. His words were sweet but unexpected. You were not expecting him to say that, in such a way. You were so used to his charm, wit, and sarcasm, and yes, he complimented you more often than not, but with the way that he was gazing at you... It was different. Again, the intensity. His words left your heart racing, the beat of your blood pounding loudly in your ears. Your fingers twitched, desperate to reach out and touch him but you stopped yourself. You didn't even know what to say. 

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing pulse, your mind reeling with the weight of his admission. "Doctor," You finally managed, your voice barely above a whisper, "I... I don't know what to say."

He nodded slowly, his gaze gentle yet filled with an intensity that spoke volumes. "You don't have to say anything," He assured you, his hand reaching out tentatively to brush against yours. "I just needed you to know."

The warmth of his touch sent a shiver down your spine, your fingers intertwining with his as you met his gaze. At that moment, surrounded by the majesty of the cosmos and bathed in the light of a thousand dying stars, uncertainty melted away. The Doctor's admission had laid bare his hearts, and in his eyes, you saw a reflection of your own feelings mirrored back at you. It reminded you of a song, oddly enough.

Unable to stop a giddy smile from appearing on your face, you let out a small giggle. "That is quite possibly the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me," You spoke softly, squeezing his hand.

The Doctor's cheeks flushed at your statement, unable to fight the smile on his lips. He was thankful that you hadn't let go of his hand; your touch was comforting, and his smile only widened as you shuffled closer to him. A soothing, bubbly warm feeling spread through his body as you then laid your head on his shoulder. His hand left yours before moving behind you, his arm enveloping you in his embrace. 

The sight of the stars dying, bursting into a kaleidoscope of colors, was breathtaking, but both of you knew they were insignificant compared to each other.

~~~

Main Masterlist | Doctor Who Masterlist