#ignore the tilted tardis

[rebelsafoot]

hey man love your girlfriend, shes mine as well now btw

[mariasont]

Parent-Teacher Conference - A.H

a/n: inspired by the show the nanny! major lover of mr sheffield and fran fine

masterlist

₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

pairings: aaron hotchner x nanny!reader

summary: you are not happy with jack's teacher flirting with your boss

warnings: hotch staring at your ass!, jealous reader, flirty reader, would prob def get a complaint against her in the real world, but alas!

wc: 0.8k

I'm terribly sorry, but my cat died before I got here.

I actually was in a car wreck on the way. I know I look fine, but it was super traumatic.

Mr. Hotchner you look so good today! Me? Late! Never.

These were the series of apologies and excuses that you were rehearsing in your mind as you navigated your way through the school hallway. In your defense, your tardiness to the parent-teacher conference wasn't without reason. Jack's newfound rebellious phase had him ruining your pantyhose with deliberate runs. He found it hilarious. You found it anything but.

You mentally prepared for that all-too-familiar, intimidating glare from Mr. Hotchner, the kind that could make you feel like you were plummeting from a cliff. Not only were you running late, but you also anticipated a less-than-glowing report from Ms. Thompson about Jack's recent antics. And in the back of your mind, a nagging voice whispered that Mr. Hotchner would somehow find a way to blame you.

"Oh, Aaron, you're something else!" 

You stopped dead in your tracks, gaze locked on the scene unfolding before you. Ms. Thompson's voice took on a higher pitch, full of animation, her elbows subtly drawing her tits together, leaning into Mr. Hotchner's space with an ease that bordered on disrespectful. At least in your eyes.

Aaron? The casual use of Mr. Hotchner's first name sent your mood from sour to downright acrid. You strode into the classroom, inching your skirt higher and affixing a practiced, beaming smile to your face. It was all charm and no sincerity.

"So sorry I was late," you began, allowing a gentle sway in your step as you glided into the room, your heels clicking a measured tempo against the linoleum floor. You mustered all your willpower to not shoot daggers at the blonde headed teacher. "I didn't miss anything did I?"

As you stepped into view, both Ms. Thompson and Mr. Hotchner turned their eyes to you. Ms. Thompson's showed a flicker of surprise, while Mr. Hotchner's were like slits, scrutinizing. But even his discipline gaze dipped, albeit briefly, to the curve where your skirt ended. 

"Oh, I... I didn't realize you were married, Mr. Hotchner," she mumbled, her hands fumbling gracelessly with the papers on the desk, her lips pinched in a straight line.

You could nearly hear the thoughts churning in Mr. Hotchner's head as his lips parted to correct her. Hastily, you cut in, "An innocent mistake, I'm sure."

He raised an eyebrow, a wordless question hanging in the air. Ignoring it, you flashed a saccharine smile and took the seat by his side, linking your arm with his. His muscles tensed, a reaction that almost coaxed a giggle from you.

It was all too easy to get a rise out of him.

"My wife, the epitome of timeliness,"Mr. Hotchner states dryly, his grip of your arm tightening just a tad more than called for. 

To your astonishment, the remainder of the conference proceeded seamlessly from that point on. Ms. Thompson restrained herself, both in wardrobe and word, and unexpectedly showered Jack with praise.

Exiting the classroom alongside Mr. Hotchner, you noticed he paused just long enough to ensure Ms. Thompson was out of ear shot. That's when you felt the squeeze of his hand on your side, coming to rest on the curve of your lower back, the pressure didn't move even as you found yourselves alone in the hallway--and you were far from objecting.

"Really?"

Your shoulders rose and fell in a pretense of innocence, well aware that his perceptive eyes weren't fooled. You tilted into his shoulder, doing a mental victory dance when he made no move to distance himself.

"What?" you asked, clutching your purse tighter against your side as you paced forward. "I was just helping you out. She looked like she was about to jump your bones at any second."

Mr. Hotchner's face was unamused, per usual. "Your generosity knows no bounds."

"Right?" You were aware of his sarcasm, but that didn't deter you. Your shoulders bumped together as you made it to the exit. "Consider yourself lucky."

An eye roll was his immediate response, but you could almost sense the smile he was staunchly holding back. He would never admit it.

"Yes, how could I ever manage without you?"

He paused to open the door for you, following behind as you stepped outside. You squinted against the sun's harsh kiss before giving him a teasing wink over your shoulder. He looked really good in the sunlight. He could use more of it.

"You wouldn't."

You caught his eyes lingering not on your face, but lower--fixated on your skirt, more specifically your ass. You raised your brows in question. 

"I think you sat in something."

You let out a startled gasp, hands flying to the material of your skirt. It was your favorite. "What? Where?"

His hands found their way to your waist, gently pivoting you for a better view, while your eyes settled on the stretch of road before you. "Oh, nope, my mistake. Looking good."

Your laughter spilled out uncontrollably, realizing just what he was doing. Cheeky man. And completely out of character, but you liked it. "Mr. Hotchner!"

 "I take my role as husband very seriously."

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna

[corpsekiller]

i saw your halloween headcanon post from earlier and i just had to to drop this here — bakugou dressed up as ghostface from scream. that's it, this is the only thing going through my head😩

girl, you're so real for this. i've already read so many fics with this trope, but katsuki would definitely also dress up as ghostface on halloween. thank you so much for sending this ask, my love <3 i loved writing this dkksjsksla

PAIRING. ghostface!katsuki bakugou x genderneutral!reader

WARNINGS. a lot sexual tension, that's it

MASTERLIST

It's strangely quiet.

Your kitchen is dimly lit, the only source of light are the candles flickering auspiciously on your bedside table and the occasional colorful strobe of your decorations you've placed on your windowsill next to a carved pumpkin and some skeleton figurines you've found in a neat little store a while ago.

You're not sure where Katsuki is — he was supposed to pick you up for the party Mina is throwing at her place, but one glance at the clock steadily ticking on the wall above your bed tells you that he's already fifteen minutes late. It's odd, really, because he's always on time, considers punctuality almost as important as strength and victory during battle and yet, here you are, waiting for him as you stuff candy into your bag in preparation for this evening.

There's a faint memory of him mentioning that he wouldn't dress up, ignoring your pleads to wear matching costumes with a dismissive wave of his hand and a typical frown, muttering something about over my dead body and dressing up is only for kids, dumbass, so it doesn't make much sense to justify his unlike tardiness with the lame excuse of him just struggling with his costume.

"Where's that idiot?" You mutter with an exasperated sigh, gently tugging on the hem of your flimsy costume to readjust the fabric before reaching for your phone to text your boyfriend. Just as you're about to open your chats and type your message, a gloved hand snakes around your waist and pulls you back against someone standing behind you.

For a fleeting moment, your heart skips a beat. Then it begins to pound against your ribs — hectical and painful like a small frightened animal caught in the sharp canines of a predator — and your mouth falls open to cry out for help, but no sound dares to leave your trembling lips.

"Did I scare you?" His voice is low, a rough whisper that reverberates in his chest as he pulls you flush against his body, slowly leaning down until the smooth surface of his mask is pressed against your heated cheeks before he continues to speak. "Thought you'd just get away without giving me something sweet and call it a night, huh?"

Carefully, you turn your head and look up at him — hollow eyes and a distorted mouth locked in a permanent scream glare back at you, though the tension finally leaves your limbs and you sigh in relief, almost burst into laughter at your stupidly terrified reaction to his costume. You really must've watched too many horror movies over the span of the last few weeks if you're unable to recognize your own boyfriend.

Because now that you pay attention to the way he grabs your waist, almost possessive in a certain way, you just know his touch — strong, confident, so unmistakably Katsuki.

You squirm in his grip, meekly attempting to fully turn around to face him, but his grasp on your waist only tightens. A whimper leaves your lips, a quiet sound that causes him to chuckle as his hand trails up to tilt your chin, turning your head so you can look at him again.

"No, I don't think so. You're stayin' right here, got it?" His thumb brushes along your jaw, slow and almost tender. Even with the mask on, you can feel his smirk, can imagine the devilish grin that pulls on the corners of his mouth as he keeps you trapped between the kitchen counter and his body without a chance to escape

Though you're not sure you really want to.

"You like it, don't you?" He drawls, tilting his head to get a better look at you — although you can't see his eyes, his gaze seems to burn on your skin and you can't help the violent blush that tints your cheek in a shade of pink. There's a certain edge to his voice too, taunting and dangerous, almost sadistic if you listen close enough, as if he's enjoying the anticipation etched into the soft furrow of your brows, the sheer power he has over you and your body. "You like that I've got you cornered... nowhere to run?"

Oh, this is just a game for him and you've fallen right into his trap.

"Maybe," you reply, barely above a whisper, though you can't help but smile just a little.

"Maybe, huh?" He murmurs, a soft laugh escaping him as he lets his gloved hand wander from your cheek to your neck, lingering there for just a moment before his fingers slowly close around your throat. He doesn't squeeze, not yet, only lets you feel the weight of his hand, but it's enough to send a shiver down your spine. “Better be sure about it. Because now that I've got my hands on you, I won’t let you go.”

With one smooth motion, he pulls the mask up just enough to reveal his face—- the crimson of his eyes has darkened, pupils blown with something you can only describe as hunger and his lips are pulled into a sinister smile that bares all his teeth. There's a moment of silence, then he pulls you into a bruising kiss that punches the air out of your lungs and causes your knees to buckle under the weight of your body until the only thing that is holding you on your own two feet is none other than your boyfriend.

After what feels like half an eternity, Katsuki pulls away. Your head spins with the lack of oxygen, your legs are shaking and yet you can't help but reach out to dig your fingers into the fabric of his costume, roughly yanking him back for another kiss that leaves you just as breathless as the first one.

“Do you really think I'm done with you yet?" He whispers, voice a low rumble, before slipping the mask back down. "You have no idea what I've planned for you...Happy Halloween, babe."

[zhounauts]

PAIRING nrk x hall monitor!fmr WC 313 WARNING cursing, 'kill'

"NISHIMURA?" when the familiar boy turns around, all you can do is sigh, no longer surprised to find him roaming the halls during class hours. "what the hell are you doing?"

"walking," he smiles, walking over.

"wrong answer," you deadpan, "you're late"

"give me a hint next time," he answers, now standing in front of you. he laughs as you pull out tardy slips, half of the stack gone because of him, "really?" "yes really," you glare, "what'd you expect? for me to let you go?"

"it wouldn't hurt you to do that, would it?" he sighs. you ignore him, jotting down his name on the slip again, slashing the unexcused box and handing it to him.

"get your ass to class," you mutter, "i'm sick and tired of seeing you, what's it gonna take for you to go early?" you watch as he shifts, tilting his head to think. he smiles.

"a date with you?"

"oh hell no," you exclaim, much louder than you had meant, before slapping your hand over your mouth. niki bursts out laughing in front of you, and you feel your cheeks burn red as a result. "are you psycho nishimura!? stop making stupid jokes like that,"

"it wasn't supposed to be a joke," you roll your eyes in response, shooing the boy with your hands.

"gooo," you groan, attempting to shove the boy. yet suddenly he grabs your hands, holding them in his own.

"hey," he says, leaning down to your ear, "i'm being serious,"

"oh get to class already nishimura!" you screech as you jump away, face burning. the sound of niki's laughter fills the hallway, but he listens to you, turning away from you and heading down the hall. and as he does, you place a hand over your chest, your heart pounding, unable to stop.

oh how you were going to kill nishimura riki.

a/n saw a comment on tiktok talking abt how her dad was always late cs her mom was the hall monitor. . .im SICK + they don't make them like that no more. . .it's always 'wyll' or an intense jaw pic networks: @a-dream-bookmark

copyright © zhounauts 2024

[lgbtsana]

LOST IN TRANSLATION

- sim jaeyun / jake one-shot

GENRE: Romance, Enemies to Lovers, Deaf Jake, College Life.

PERM TAG LIST: @run2seob

Jake is a 21 year-old deaf, junior university student, who has trauma from bullying over the fact he can't hear. Y/N is a 20 year-old, freshman university student, who just wants to make friends. She approaches Jake without knowing he's deaf, and he begins to dislike her when she couldn't understand why he was pointing to his ears. Y/N learned through Heeseung that Jake was deaf. Why not learn sign language? Will she be able to befriend Jake or will he dislike her until he graduates?

The alarm in her room, blaring, filling the room with its ever so annoying noises. Y/N's hand slams on the nightstand, searching for the alarm clock desperately, trying to turn it off.

“Just turn off already!” she exclaimed, sitting up and turning it off. A sigh of relief escapes her lips, “Finally…” her voice trails.

“Fuck! I'm late!” She hurries to change her clothes and get to her university, Decelis Academy.

While she was almost always late, she had good grades. Her GPA is what got her accepted. So, learning things felt like a breeze to Y/N.

Arriving to her class, she immediately got scolded by the professor. “Late again, Ms. Seo” Professor Jay remarked, annoyed at the tardiness. But, just glad she made it.

While, Professor Jay seems harsh. He actually is laid back and kind. Always making sure everyone is done with their work, and able to turn it in. The students appreciated it, this allowed them to understand the material better.

“Sorry, Professor Jay…” her voice trailed, “I was up late studying.”

A sigh left the professor's lips, “Sit down, at least you're late with a decent reason.”

A slight smile met her lips, “Thank you, Professor Jay!” she spoke excitedly, walking to her desk chair and taking a seat.

Being a Freshman gave Y/N some advantages, she was able to get off with being tardy, blaming it on ‘studying’ when she already knew the material.

Though, she had some challenges with making friends. They always walk away from her, saying that she was “Too weird.”

It irked Y/N, but she let it go.

After her class ended, she noticed a taller boy in the hallway. Realizing this was a chance to make a friend, she skipped over excitedly and spoke, “Excuse me? Would you like to be friends?”

Silence.

“Ah, ignored again…” she sighed as the boy turned around and jolted in surprise. His jolt made her jump as well, but she was still confused. Why didn't he answer her?

She said the same lines she just spoke, and he tilted his head. Bringing out his phone and typing, before showing her, “I'm deaf.”

Her mouth formed an ‘O’ shape, finally understanding the situation. She still wasn't sure how to communicate with him, and he got annoyed. Huffing and walking away.

Y/N reached her hand out as she frowned. Another chance down the drain.

The night of, she looked up videos to learn sign language. She realized that, to communicate better, she could learn sign language.

Y/N stayed up all night learning sign language. Practicing signs to perfect her understanding.

The next day, she walked up proudly to him and tapped him on the shoulder. He turned around and was visibly annoyed by her presence. “My name is Y/N, what is yours?” she smiled as she signed to him. His eyes widening in shock, no one having done this for him before.

“Jake.” was all he signed before quickly walking away.

“Jake, huh…” Y/N murmured, turning on her heel and making her way to Heeseung.

“Hey!” her hands clasped his shoulders roughly, making him jolt. “What the hell!” he exclaimed, “I'm doing an assignment, what's up?”

“Do you know who Jake is?”

“Jake? Yeah, he's the deaf student. Keeps to himself.” Heeseung quickly replied.

“Making more friends is hard, Seungie…” she whispered, visibly upset.

“What happened? Wait- Did you try to talk to Jake?”

“Yeah! But I learned sign language after that to fix things, I think that made him hate me more…”

A fit of laughter began as Heeseung couldn't hold it in anymore.

“Hey! It's not funny, asshole!” she hit his back lightly, making sure not to hurt him.

“It kinda is.” Heeseung spoke plainly.

“No!”

“Yeah!” He laughed heartily.

“I'll get Sunoo to talk to him, he knows sign language.”

“You will? Thank you!” she hugged her closest, and only, friend.

“Yeah, yeah. Now let me do my assignment, in peace.”

Y/N nodded and left the room.

Heeseung was able to get Sunoo to convince Jake to talk to Y/N. It was a long process, but they were able to do it.

Jake and Y/N meet up at the park, signing to each other, Y/N made sure to get every sign correct.

Jake noticed her concentration on making sure she was signing correctly. A chuckle left his lips, watching her eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

“What's so funny?” she signed to him.

“Your eyebrows furrow when you concentrate,” he signed back, “It's kinda funny.”

Y/N pouted, “No fair! I'm trying not to mess up and make you hate me…” she signed and frowned at the end.

Jake's eyes widened, he didn't particularly hate her, he was more weary of her.

“I got bullied for being deaf when I was younger,” he signed, explaining his childhood thoroughly.

At the end, Y/N understood why he was weary. But, he finally knew she wasn't like that.

Christmas came around in a flash, people around campus going home to visit family. Yet, some decided to stay in their dorms. Keeping time to themselves.

Jake texted Y/N that he was going to visit family and came to her dorm room to give her a hug. “Until we meet again!” he signed, making it dramatic as possible. Y/N laughed, “Yeah, yeah, get going drama king!” she signed back, before putting her hands on his back to push him.

He pulled out his phone and texted her, “See you later!”

She looked up from her phone and smiled. Mouthing slowly, “Bye.”

Holidays ended, and Y/N was waiting at the train station for Jake to arrive. She wanted to surprise him when he came back.

As the train came to a stop, the door slowly opened and people from inside came flooding out. Y/N was focused on finding Jake, her eyes searching through the crowd until their eyes met.

Her face lit up as a smile came to her lips. She noticed Jake mouthing, “Can I hug you?”

She gave him a nod as confirmation, and he walked over to her, pushing through the crowd and placing a gentle kiss on her lips.

Y/N's eyes widened as Jake pulled away, “Kiss?” she signed, “I thought it was a hug?”

Jake covered his mouth to laugh, before signing, “I mouthed, ‘’Can I kiss you?”

Y/N shrugged, “Either works!” she signed with a smile. Before giving him a tight hug, pulling away and signing, “Welcome back.”

While flowers take time to blossom fully, so does love. It takes time to learn a language, it takes time for feelings to grow. Love takes time.

[cantwritethetword]

(2023) TickleTober Day 8: Alien - More Human Than You Think

Fic Descript - The Doctor maintains that being tickling is a strictly human thing. While Rory is quick to accept it, Amy knows him too well.

~A/N  - BLAME @carrie-tate FOR THIS HER 11TH DOCTOR ART HAS REIGNITED MY LOVE OF THIS TRIO AND INSPIRED ME TO WRITE THIS FIC (ngl heavily based on this art)

These guys were my first introduction to doctor who when I was like 8 so they are very very important to me I love them, so hopefully I write this well ^^

(also feel it's important for everyone to know that I watched this wonderful montage the whole time I was writing it lmao)

- Enoy! ~

Tag List: @fullsongphilosopher

Masterpost Link 

TickleTober Masterpost

"I keep thinking I'm used to you." Rory said with a light chuckle.

The Doctor popped up from where he was working. "What's that supposed to mean?" He asked with a scrunched face, wielding a modified hair dryer and what looked like washing machine tablets.

Clearly the irony was lost on him.

The TARDIS needed a little TLC (in the Doctor's words), and so the team had taken the rare opportunity of peacefully floating through space to get some adjustments done. The Doctor was banging and tinkering at the console, Rory was watching, and Amy had gone to take a shower (because apparently she had no desire to listen to the Doctor's consistent yapping as he worked).

"Well, I've been here for long enough to feel like I know you." Rory explained. "But then you go do something... odd... And it's like the first day I met you all over again."

"Are you forgetting Rory," The Doctor half-shouted over the whirring of the hair dryer. "I'm an over 900 year old Time Lord from another planet, of course I'm odd. The best people are."

Rory softly tilted his head, taking a moment to fully appreciate that perhaps it was the overall circumstance that was weird rather than the person in front of him, before circling around the console closer to his friend.

"That looks better." The Doctor sat upright and clicked off his tool, turning to face Rory. "What do you think? After this I've just got a few more tweaks and we can be off again."

"You look human though." Rory continued from his previous train of thought. "You eat human food, you dress in human clothes, surely you aren't completely Alien."

"I'm just as Alien to you as you are to me." The Doctor chirped, scurrying over to the next stage in his TARDIS-repair plan.

As he moved, however, he failed to realise the space (or lack thereof) between his head and the edge of the console. He let out a tight-lipped groan as he rubbed the impact site on the top of his forehead.

"And you feel pain like us." Rory added, jumping to add the spontaneous example that would back up his point to the list.

The Doctor shot him an agitated look. "Don't they teach you bedside manner at your nursing job? I near enough break my skull and all you do is point out that we both feel pain? Most beings do!"

Rory, ignoring the Doctor's initial complaining and instead focusing on his last statement, nodded in contemplation. "I suppose they do..."

"I sUpPoSe tHeY- ugh..." The Doctor rolled his eyes, accepting that he wasn't getting any sympathy from the usually most sympathetic person on the TARDIS. "Any other questions? Or can I get back to doing something important."

"Hmm..." Rory scratched the back of his head. "Are you ticklish or anything?"

The Doctor froze momentarily, before jumping to his feet with a spin and a smile. "Nope, that's unique to you humans."

Rory gave him a doubtful but unsure look.

"Honestly, if anything you lot are the weird ones with your... hyperactive nervous systems... and... involuntary laughter responses..." The Doctor rambled, but his flow was a little more disjointed than usual.

"I guess so..." Rory nodded, but he still couldn't shake the memory of the Doctor's odd reaction.

But, there was little time to think about it.

"Has he bored you to death yet?" Amy said with a grin from the stairway.

"Hey!" The Doctor complained as Rory laughed. "I'm the most quality entertainment out there."

Rory opened his arm for Amy to tuck herself under it. "The Doctor was just telling me how weird we humans are."

Amy gave him a look. "You're one to talk Mr Bow-Tie."

The Doctor tugged on the aforementioned accessory. "Bow ties are-."

"Bow ties are cool, right." She finished for him, rolling her eyes. "My point still stands, how exactly are we the weird ones?"

As Rory opened his mouth, the Doctor jumped in first. "Well, weird might be a strong word. Humanity is wonderful and beautiful and terrible and strange and-"

"We're ticklish." Rory interrupted. "But that was the only example he could give me so I'm not sure I-"

"Oh you're not ticklish, Doctor?" Amy asked halfway through Rory's statement, but something in her grin made The Doctor suspect she knew the answer already.

"Uh..." The Doctor rubbed his neck. "Well I... Well..."

"He said it was just a human thing." Rory offered a response, oblivious to the rising tension surrounding the Doctor.

"Is it now?" Amy took a few steps closer to the Time Lord, her face trying to seem innocent and confused. "Just humans?"

The Doctor stumbled backwards, his hands fumbling over themselves. "Well, perhaps sometimes... some Time Lords may... may be a little more uh... susceptible to uh... to things like that."

Amy continued her devastatingly slow pursuit around the console of the TARDIS, leaving Rory on the opposite side. "And would you be one of them?"

Rory finally caught on as the Doctor backed up towards him. "Wait you lied to me?!"

"Rory it was nothing personal I just-" The Doctor babbled nervously, his hands now forming a semi-protective barrier between him and his pursuer.

Amy made eye contact with her husband, that evil grin still plastered on her face. "Rory, how do we feel about liars?"

Without a word, Rory stepped behind the Doctor and hooked his arms under the Doctor's shoulders.

"Waitwaitwaitwait no!" The Doctor shrieked, wriggling in Rory's hold. "Plehease!"

"Huh..." Amy paused, an inquisitive look on her face. "Humans normally wait for the tickling to start before we start laughing... Is that a Time Lord thing too?"

The Doctor whined. "Yohou know that's not truhue!"

Rory chuckled from behind. "You're not really in a position to talk about truth right now."

The Doctor was about to argue when Amy lunged, lightly scribbling her fingernails all over the poor Doctor's torso. He inhaled sharply, the effort of containing his reactions forcing out squeaking noises.

"Seems pretty ticklish to me." Rory commented, struggling with the sudden responsibility of keeping the Doctor upright.

Amy smirked, pausing her attack. "Oh, I don't know... He's not laughing anymore, maybe he was right..."

"I'm-" The Doctor panted out. "Always... right-"

Before he even had the chance to finish there were ten fingers digging under his armpits.

His eagerness to jump at the opportunity to talk after being unable to for the last ten seconds was exactly what Amy was counting on, and the sudden unexpected attack brought out a shriek of helpless cackles from the poor Doctor.

With a grin, Amy looked up at her husband. "Now this is what I'd call ticklish."

"OHOKAY FINE FINE FIHIHINE!" The Doctor yelped in between giggles. "I'M TICKLIHISH! JUST LET ME GOHOHO!"

Rory and Amy locked eyes, smirking.

"What do you think Rory?" Amy asked, letting her fingers skitter up and down the Doctor's bony ribcage. "Have we proved our point?"

Rory hummed in thought, drawing out his response to mess with the Time Lord as long as humanly possible. "I might be convinced, but he still hasn't apologised for lying..."

"I DIHIDN'T HAVE A CHOHOHOICE!!!"

Switching to drilling her thumbs into the Doctor's hip bones in response to his claim, Amy gave him a fake-confused look. "That doesn't sound like an apology."

Rory laughed, while the Doctor scrambled to put together something that sounded like speech through his laughter. "FIHIHINE OKAHAY I'M SOHOHORRY!"

Amy withdrew her fingers as Rory guided the Doctor to the floor, letting him rest his head on Rory's leg.

"I think you're more human than you think." Rory chuckled, patting the Doctor's shoulder.

"Right." The Doctor glared up at him, but there was a hint of softness behind his eyes. "Can we go now?"

[madlittlecriminal]

Fixing Mistakes ☾ Steven Grant × Female!Reader

Request: no, but they're open for everyone i write for :)

Warnings: donna being donna, marc pops up at the end

note: this has been done a few times before, so im sorry. i just like the idea

credits to @missdictatorme since her fic titled The Shades of the Moon is about steven getting the job as a tour guide. it is smut, so don't read it unless you're 18+

He was nervous to say the least. Donna said the new owner of the museum was making an appearance since she wanted to help them with their employees. He asked Donna about it, and she shrugged. "Might lose your job, Stevie."

So here he was, a nervous wreck while cashing out a customer. Yeah, he wasn't going to lie, as much as he didn't like working in the giftshop, he did like working at the museum. Sadly, he knew that if what Donna said was true, it was because of the number of times he was late. Then it hit him.

Wasn't the owner a man?

He shook his head and began organizing the small figures of the Egyptian Gods and Goddesses when the sound of heels made him confused as he knew one of them were Donna's, but the other was different. "Stevie! This is (Y/N). Her grandfather left her the museum after he passed away." You held your hand out while glancing at his nametag and smiled. "Nice to meet you, Steven." He took your hand and shook it, feeling his heart race at the sight of you.

Hathor blessed you with beauty, there was no denying that.

You broke the handshake and scan the giftshop. When your eyes fell on the stuffed Taweret, you made a mental note to buy it before leaving. She was honestly too adorable, and you didn't care that they were meant for children. "So, I read through your file and saw that Donna here wrote a little note saying that you wanted to be a tour guide?" He gulped before nodding his head. "Yes, I still do actually." You nodded. "Donna, can you give us a minute alone? Meet me in your office." She left and you look over at Steven. While he did sport dark circles under his eyes and baggy clothing, you thought he was handsome.

"So, it's no secret that you're late. A lot. Can you explain that to me?" You grab one of the plushies and bite your lip to hide your smile. "I-I have a sleeping disorder," Steven let his eyes wander a bit, checking you out before snapping out of it quickly. You hummed at his response before looking back at him, your eyes meeting his dark brown ones. "I trust there's a reason you want to be a tour guide and I know Donna doesn't want you to have it because you hardly come on time, but can I ask why you want to be a tour guide?"

He went ahead and ranted about Egypt, telling you everything that fascinated him which left you speechless. "It's just amazing!" You smiled at him. "I love that you know so much about it, Steven, I do. I can't give you the position though because of your tardiness, you know that right?" The smile on his face faded. "Y-yeah, I know."

"However, can you tell me why Donna calls you Stevie? You two don't seem close for her to give you a nickname, right?" He snorted. "She isn't great with names." You tilt your head to the side. "Steven, J.B calls you Scotty. I would get him not being good with names because he was playing a game on his phone when I walked in. Gave him a warning and told Donna she had to be on top of him for that. You work at the giftshop, and she makes you do inventory with her. How does she not know your name? Haven't you corrected her?" He nodded.

"She's just ignorant then?" He looked down and you sighed. "You know I can't have someone like that working here. I know she wants me to fire you, but honestly, I think you can try being on time more than she could be less ignorant." He chuckled at your words and nodded. "I need you to do something for me though before I tell Donna the news of her termination." HIs eyes widened at your words as you placed the plushie on the counter. "Can you ring me out and maybe try to be on time for, let's say...a week? If so, I'll think about that promotion for you." You sent him a wink, causing him to gasp and nod frantically. "I would love that! Thank you, (Y/N)!" You grin as he handed you the plush along with the receipt after cashing you out.

"No problem, but please don't make me regret this, okay?" He ran out from behind the counter and hugged you. You were surprised, but ultimately decided to hug him back...oh man, these baggy clothes did absolutely nothing but hide the fact that he had muscles. "Thank you thank you thank you." You chuckle before pulling back from the hug with Steven and hugging Taweret. "Just please promise me you'll make the effort to come on time. You'd be a perfect addition to the tour guides." With that, you left the giftshop, making Steven fist pump the air. "Honestly, she's 1,000 times better than Donna. I'll try to make sure you get up on time for now on, okay buddy?" Steven looked at the glass counter and raised a brow at his reflection. "I think we both know she's gorgeous, mate. Do you think she'd be interested?"

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves, buddy. I like your suggestion, but patience is a virtue."

[yeehawbrothers]

Inverted PB&J-11th Doctor x Fem! reader

I'm alive guys.

This was a request from a lovely fellow 11th lover, I wrote it platonically, but if you ignore a few words it could be romantic. I also wrote the reader as American, just because I am. (I also zoned out while writing this and do not remember most of it)

“Do you think it could be considered a federal crime to eat inverted peanut butter and jelly?” She asked, hands covered in grease, sparks flying almost catching her hair on fire, and her best friend beside her, in the same state. “Inverted?” He looked up from the wires in his hands, his grease and dirt covered face, also covered in confusion. “Yeah like,” an explosion of sparks behind her interrupted her statement, before she spun around and used her sonic to tame it momentarily. “If you put the peanut butter and jelly on the bread normally, right? And then instead of putting them like, face to face, you turned them outward.” She stared at him as he seemed to process her words. “Oh, yeah. That’s absolutely a crime” he nodded, as they both went back to what they were doing. 

Behind them, Amy and Rory stared at them in question, before turning to each other with faces of pure bewilderment. 

Amy slowly stood and walked towards the two timelords, crouched under the ball of wires. “Inverted peanut butter and jelly? Where on earth did that come from?” A shot of sparks erupted in the timelords face as she stopped her work momentarily, the metaphorical cogs in her mind visibly turning. “Boston, I think. In like, 1901.” She said, with a small smile. “What?” She tilted her head slightly, “You asked where peanut butter and jelly came from, Boston. In the early 1900s.” She paused, “But if you’re asking about inverted peanut butter and jelly, I don’t know that. I’ll find to find out though.” She turned back to her work, as Amy shook her head and walked back to where Rory was sitting watching the scene unfold. 

“What was that about?” Rory said as he watched his wife flop down on the makeshift bench beside him. “Who knows.” They turned back to watch the two timelords who were now bickering over the wire placement, before all went silent as the lights flickered and a pounding was heard on the metal doors. The two timelords looked towards the door, before turning to each other and immediately standing up. The Doctor began quickly scanning the room as his right-hand woman ran to where Amy and Rory sat. “Hey so, we should probably start running.” As if on que, the metal doors flew off the hinges into the room. “Right, let’s go.” The Doctor ran over, grabbing her hand as they began to run down the hall to the Tardis.

 They stopped, allowing their two companions to run ahead into the welcoming blue doors of the tardis. The Doctor lightly pushed her ahead of him into the box, running in last and slamming the doors behind him. The two ran up to the main console and began flicking switches and pulling levers causing the Tardis to take off with a violent shake, before stilling. “wow that was-“ Amy began, before getting cut off by a certain timelord.

 “Why would you use the purple wire for the highest current?” The Doctor froze, looking over at his companion. “Well I-“ The Doctor began stuttering over his words. “No, seriously. It only had the capacity for 5 voltage, and it was running at 25. No wonder the doors were faulty.” She stood, hands on her hips staring him down. “Well if YOU,” he pointed at her, shaking his finger, “Hadn’t gone off about inverted peanut butter and jelly-“ She gasped, “Do NOT blame me Mr.! That was an incredibly valid question. Right?” She turned to the two humans watching the scene unfold. “Well-“ Rory started. “Don’t get them involved!” The Doctor said, “You know what, it doesn’t even matter. Because everyone knows peanut butter and butter is better anyways.” She stomped her foot in detest, “You take that back!” He shook his head, crossing his arms as he looked down at her. “You’re the British one, eating beans on toast or whatever it is, so you have absolutely no credibility on what’s good.” He gasped lightly, “EXCUSE ME? The British one???” She nodded, a small smile playing on her lips. “Yeah, I got lucky and am a proud American.” She stood in a fake salute. 

“Listen,” Her hand coming to rest by her side, “All I’m saying is one fried Oreo will change your life.” His tongue stuck out in disgust as he considered the notion. “You American’s and your fried stuff. It’s so unhealthy for you.” She scoffed, “At least we don’t eat like we have no access to real food.” They stood like that for a moment, in a standoff of sorts, the Doctors face one of disgust, and hers smug as could be. Before bursting out in laughter and pulling each other into a tight hug. 

When they broke apart, she wacked him upside the head, hearing Amy snicker and watching the Doctor rub his head. “Don’t ever do that again though, I’m doing the wiring next time.” She pointed, hand on her hip. The doctor stood quickly, taking his turn at coming to a false salute. She shoved him jokingly, before turning back towards the console. “SO. Where to now?” The doctor thought for a moment before running around the console causing the TARDIS to shake and launch into takeoff. All the passengers grabbed a hold of the metal bars circling the console. “I know this amazing place in the Amedromia galaxy! Its- WHOA WHOA WHOA” He was interrupted quickly. “You know I’m banned.” 

Silence fell among the Tardis, “Your-your banned?” The doctor tilted his head slightly. “Yeahhhhh…. So, I accidently stole this like super important religious piece from one of their temples cause I thought it was a free sample.” The doctors face dropped into one of annoyance, “ARE YOU KIDDING ME?” She became defensive quickly, “Listen- at least I’M not the one who stole that guy’s eye cause he thought it was a Halloween costume.” “HEY, YOU SAID YOU WOULDN’T TALK ABOUT THAT AGAIN-“ As they both launched into yet another bickering session, Amy and Rory sighed and shook their heads. “Here we go again.”

Thanks for reading, and thanks to @dinofromspac3 for the request. <3

All the love-A.

-i do not give permission for my work to be copied, translated, or posted anywhere but here on this post.

[hwsforeignrelations-spicy]

Yank-In' Old Big Ben

Word Count: 1249 // AO3 Link

“Yanks arrived, sir,” murmured the messenger, slipping out of the tent as soon as he entered. Frowning, the Englishman finished his tea and stood woodenly to follow through the canvas flap and address his horrendously tardy guests.

However, England was not expecting his senses to be assaulted with the eighteenth century embodiment of Adonis. 

Confidence defined the self-righteous roll of his walk and left Arthur furious and aroused at once. In the beige army trousers (a size too small from generous American rations no doubt) the fabric hugged the curves of Alfred’s hips and upper thighs.

The ground crunched beneath brown, tightly laced service shoes. Fresh, like the rest of America’s uniform.

The soft smirk settled above America’s square, smooth jaw only made the Englishman’s blood boil higher, and the round frames of Texas caught the light to hide Alfred’s twinkling blue eyes. 

It had been a year since they’d seen one another in person, and Arthur thought himself too worn to experience anything carnally desperate.

And yet.

Saliva collected in Arthur’s mouth and he struggled to maintain the vicious gaze at the oncomer’s face, fighting his eyes’ desire to travel back to the sinful rotation of the slim hips and strong legs. If his knees felt weak before he’d left his tent…

The American stopped a few feet from his former caretaker, seeming to revel in their height contrast. A fresh bomber jacket highlighted the broad shoulders and strained at the young man’s bicep when he pushed up his glasses and offered a leather gloved hand to England.

“The heroes have arrived,” beamed Alfred F. Jones, set of pearly teeth near blinding the host country.

Arthur, surrounded by captains and staff, accepted the large hand and returned the firm greeting. “So glad you and your men found the time to join us,” the English lord spoke graciously, barely-detectable jeer curling his lips.

Either the young nation didn’t hear the sarcasm or chose to ignore it. 

Knowing him, one was as likely as the other.

“No problem!”

–

The Englishman pressed both hands into Alfred’s sternum, bending him back before grasping his waist and joining their groins. 

Alfred’s cheek warmed, and Arthur wanted to pepper the sweat beading on his perfect hairline with his lips. It was just out of his reach, however, but he vowed to do so without being on his toes.

Alfred moved before he could, ducking his head into Arthur’s neck and biting a line along his jaw. Knees suddenly weak and belly warm with butterflies Arthur tilted his head back, grasping at the ass of the man devouring his neck, wanting more.

“Bite it like you mean it,” Arthur complained. His ask was answered and the sensitive skin below his ear was ravaged by foreign teeth and tongue, warm and hot like a sauna.

The Englishman scrambled for purchase on Alfred’s soft hips, imagining the way America's discarded pants had hugged the dense bones beneath his hands. He squeezed and Alfred gasped against him, momentarily stalling his oral journey down Arthur’s neck.

“These damn buttons…” groused America, fingers struggling to open the tiny buttons latching Arthur’s shirt closed. His eyebrows met into a crinkle over his nose, pout not dissimilar to a child with their hand caught in the sweets jar. Arthur sighed and pushed the clumsy hands aside, undoing the soft, starched shirt himself with deft movements.

“It’s a wonder you’re dressed at all…” England teased, gingerly skimming over the tender skin that had recently healed over a shrapnel wound on his side. It would hold, he decided.

Arthur’s body was sore, always was these days, but it wasn’t difficult to push past the discomfort if he could be properly sated for the first time in months. 

Although he’d have to be delicate with his ribs.

(America was already smoothing his hands up England’s hips, mouth busy nibbling on his shoulder, then squeezed around his upper waist in a movement that left Arthur’s cock instantly hard, painfully trapped in his pants.)

Or not, ribs be damned. 

In a moment his shirt was off and whipped over the back of a chair and again their bodies met, starting on one another’s pants. 

They stepped over Alfred's jacket, tossed haplessly on the floor, and the leather creaked in protest, dust collected from the dry outdoors pluming into air and irritating their noses.

Pants off Arthur pressed his nose into the space between Alfred’s neck and shoulder, breathing in the smell of sweat, cigarettes, and something like firewood. Beneath his cheek the Englishman felt the strength, the sturdiness like an immovable pillar, and gripped the thick biceps with internal reverence. 

Arthur hid his appreciative smile of surprise when he was effortlessly picked off the groud and pressed against the tent’s wooden post. Their pants were off, and neither had bothered unlacing their shoes. 

The dirt floor wasn’t much joy on bare feet, besides.

“Oof,” grunted the Englishman, wood digging into his back as he slid down the length of it. He didn’t mind terribly, however, when Alfred dropped to his knees and looked up, smiling up like a dope. Still. “There’re more worthwhile ways to get a friction burn, lad.”

“Doubt it,” smiled America, nuzzling the blond hair surrounding England’s straining cock. 

Arthur groaned, head falling back against the poll as his length was engulfed by warm, wet heat.

Lips curling into a smile around his mouthful, America bobbed his head, drawing his tongue along the skin. One hand strayed from where he kept England’s hips in place to wipe away the wetness behind his glasses, then moved to wrap around the base of the English shaft to fondle his balls.

His efforts were rewarded with more moans and America produced a mewl of his own when a hand grasped the sensitive strand of hair and tugged, bringing his lips closer to the bed of hair and the tip of Arthur’s cock to the back of his throat.

Alfred tasted precum and attended to his mission with renewed purpose.

“Alfred,” England panted, head still back and hands scrambling over his head, face and shoulders for purchase. “Alfred,” he repeated, “I-I’m, move or I’ll- agck!”

That was all the warning Alfred received before his mouth filled with his partner’s release.

Salty, Alfred decided, with a hint of earl grey.

The Englishman’s vision went white and fuzzy as stars danced before his eyes. His limbs hummed with pleasure, skin tingling, and everything was right and perfect with the world.

Alfred sat back on his heels and spat the come into a handkerchief, then used a fresh corner to wipe something white from the side of his mouth. 

When Arthur finally looked down it was to a smug face and messy hair. “I did good?” asked the blue-eyed soldier, pride glowing on his face and eyes waiting for further approval.

Arthur breathed out, willing his breath to return to normal, and leaned down to press a kiss onto the tip of Alfred’s nose, licking a missed smear of cum off the cupid’s bow. Now accessible, the green-eyed man pecked Alfred's hairline, satisfied. “The technique could use some practice,” Arthur hummed, putting the lad’s hair back into order.

Alfred looked momentarily affronted and England soothed, “Overall performance was… well executed.”

Those teeth suddenly grinned, and Arthur looked down at Alfred’s own unattended arousal. “You ain’t seen the half of it,” Alfred came back from his jacket pocket with a tube of petroleum jelly.

“Let’s see what you’ve got, yank,” Arthur smirked.

[defectivevillain]

this broken design, ch5

summary: “Dr. Lecter?” You blink a few times, convinced that you’re dreaming. The man’s gleaming eyes and concerned expression seem a bit too realistic to be conjured by your sleeping mind, though. You’re not sure if you’ve ever seen him look worried. You quickly decide that you don’t like it.

“Hannibal, please,” the doctor responds nonchalantly. You stare at him in utter confusion. Just what is happening right now? You thought you were dreaming, but this feels a bit too vivid. “What are you doing out here?”

read from the beginning here! [this won’t make much sense, otherwise]

[ao3 version]

notes: I privated my ao3 account so that only registered users can see it... since all the ai stuff has been going on and I'd rather be safe than sorry.... I'm not sure how many ppl follow with the series here on Tumblr, but I figured I'd post it here too, in case any of you don’t have an ao3 account... [I posted this a bit ago on ao3, so apologies for the tardiness]

the gif above is so funny. the lil head tilt is killing me, idk. 

warnings: panic attack, self harm (digging nails into skin), franklyn having zero boundaries

You’re in Hannibal’s home again. You really need to have more self-preservation—you’re practically a gift-wrapped murder victim here. Although, he hasn’t killed you yet. Maybe you’ll be fine. Perhaps you aren’t as rude as you thought you were. The thought amuses you.

Inexplicably, as you’re speaking with Hannibal, he asks you to accompany him to the opera. The request is so unexpected that it takes you several moments to realize you heard him correctly. Hannibal stares at you expectantly and you take a deep breath.

“You realize I don’t know the first thing about opera,” you remark apprehensively. “Surely there are far better choices than me.” Doesn’t he have acquaintances that are more suited for this type of outing? You’re certain you would look extremely out of place amidst the typical visitors. Surely, Hannibal knows that he will put his reputation at risk by bringing you along. You try to convey those sentiments in the eye contact you’re currently maintaining with the man, but he doesn’t seem dissuaded in the slightest.

“You are my friend and I want to spend time with you,” Hannibal states easily. You envy his ability to be so straightforward with his thoughts and feelings. “Is that really so strange?”

“I suppose not,” you frown. Fond of breaking doctor-patient boundaries, are we, Dr. Lecter? You dispel the thought. Admittedly, from the first moment you interacted with Hannibal, you knew he would be more than a psychiatrist. You’re happy to consider him a close friend now.

“Are you amenable?” Hannibal then asks, just before you can zone out and lose focus.

“When is it?” You ask, despite knowing that you don’t have much going on this week anyway.

“Tomorrow night,” Hannibal answers. You raise an eyebrow.

“Rather late notice,” you say, if only to make him sweat a bit. Of course, Hannibal’s perfectly crafted mask remains in place. “Did your date cancel on you?” Hannibal’s eyebrows furrow and he crosses his arms over his chest. You decide to take pity on him and stop messing around.

“I’m just kidding,” you interject with a grin. It’s kind of fun to see how much you can push Hannibal around. You get the feeling that no one really questions him. It’s amusing to see him scramble for an explanation, even though the effort is perfectly rehearsed. “I think I’m free; I’d love to go. You just may have to deal with my complete ignorance when it comes to opera music.”

“I think I’ll survive,” Hannibal smiles. Is he playing along? You raise your eyebrows in surprise. Admittedly, you weren’t expecting that. It’s nice to know that Hannibal can take a joke. 

“Anyway, thank you for inviting me into your home again; I hope I’m not intruding.”

“Of course not,” Hannibal says with a shake of his head, as if the very thought is ludicrous.

“I invited you.” Hannibal then excuses himself for a moment and you take the opportunity to look around his kitchen. You suppress the extremely compelling urge to look through his drawers—you know what you’ll find and you’re certain you don’t want to see it. Instead, you let your eyes rove over the polished cabinets and clean counters. Just before you can lose interest, your gaze falls on the rolodex. Interest peaking, you decide to walk towards it.

It appears the rolodex holds business cards of people Hannibal has met. You idly flip through the rolodex, needing something to occupy your restless hands. A few of the names are (unsurprisingly) ones you recognize. It takes you a few moments of observation to realize just what purpose this rolodex serves. It appears this is a list of potential murder victims. Flipping through the various business cards, you don’t see a common denominator. “Whenever feasible, one should always try to eat the rude,” Hannibal had told you once. On second thought, these business cards are probably people that Hannibal has determined to be rude. You go through the names with renewed interest. A few of them are rather fancy. One even looks remarkably close to yours. You move to the next one before a breath catches in your chest and you find yourself returning to the one that caught your eye.

The business card is extremely similar to yours—same color and font. You squint at it, heart racing in your chest as you look at the name written on it. It must be another government agent, surely. You all have similar, standard-issue business cards. You just hope it isn’t any of your acquaintances. You’re expecting to see anyone from Jack Crawford to Alana Bloom. You close your eyes for a moment, before finally giving in and reading the name. It’s… It’s your name.

You stare at the card in disbelief. Where did Hannibal get your business card? It has your name, phone number, email address… It even has your office location at headquarters. You swallow past the trepidation building in your core. You can’t quite stop the choked laugh that escapes your lips. You let your guard down. You had foolishly hoped that maybe, just maybe, things would be different. You let your guard down and, now, your name rests amidst the names of current and future Ripper victims.

“Is everything alright?” The timing could not be worse. Hannibal walks in as you’re looking at the rolodex and you quickly turn around, trying to shield it from his view. You’re not sure what expression is on your face, but it must be suitably harrowed, because his face twists in concern—mock concern, your mind supplies. “You look rather shaken.”

“Yes, of course,” you answer. It takes every ounce of practice you’ve accumulated to keep the fear from your voice. You sound slightly flat, but you’re convinced that you’ve mostly concealed your true feelings. “Apologies, Dr. Lecter. I think I’d better get going.”

You can tell that Hannibal is suspicious, but you don’t give him the chance to ask you about it—instead deigning to murmur a quick goodbye and walk out to your car. You’re infinitely grateful that you had the foresight to drive yourself. You’re not sure that you would’ve had the energy to maintain your composure in Hannibal’s company.

You wait until you’re a sufficient distance from Hannibal’s home to sag in your seat and sigh heavily. You’d been growing too big of an ego. Hannibal is the Chesapeake Ripper. The two of you are friends and you foolishly assumed that your friendship gave you immunity. Clearly, that isn’t the case. You need to remember yourself, remember that the composed dinner host you often sit across from is a practiced killer. One false move and you’re dead. Once you get home, you spend the remainder of the evening in an anxious and paranoid haze. It takes you a while to fall asleep that night and, when you do, the Ripper follows you into your dreams.

The next morning, you receive a text from Hannibal—which includes the details of the opera and what time he plans to pick you up. It takes you several moments to ground yourself in reality and remember that Hannibal isn’t aware of your knowledge that he’s the Ripper. Once you collect your composure, you insist that you can drive yourself—but he waves off the suggestion and maintains that he’ll drive. Admittedly, now that you’re thinking about it, you don’t have the slightest clue what to wear. You’ve never really been to an opera performance before, and you can only imagine what the people in attendance will be wearing. You have no idea where to begin searching for an outfit. Your closet isn’t exactly the best.

Eventually, you swallow your pride and text Hannibal. He knows you’re not sophisticated, you think to yourself. Asking him for help isn’t that embarrassing. In fact, you’d rather ask and lose a bit of dignity than try to puzzle it out on your own [and fail miserably.] Hannibal is quick to respond—almost as if he had been expecting the question—and says that he’ll bring clothes for you. You immediately have several objections to that, but they fall on determined ears. You regret asking, now.

A few hours later, there’s a quiet knock on your door. You open the door to find Hannibal waiting on your doorstep, folded clothing in hand. You shake your head in exasperation and let him in. “Thank you,” you say, taking the clothes he’s extending out to you. You still feel the need to try to argue one more time. “I could’ve found something on my own.”

Hannibal looks you up and down, in a manner that makes you feel extremely self conscious. You aren’t exactly wearing the fanciest clothing right now, but that’s only because you knew you’d be changing. “Doubtful,” Hannibal remarks. You glare at him, only to find his lips twisted in that slightly amused smirk. You roll your eyes.

“I’m going to change,” You then realize that this is the first time that Hannibal has been in your home. He’s driven you many times, but he’s never gotten out of the car before. “Feel free to explore, I guess.” You’re struck with the sudden mundane feeling of shame, as you recognize how much less luxurious your home is. Hannibal doesn’t seem to mind, though, as he starts to walk around and look at things. Meanwhile, you head to the bathroom.

Once you place the clothes on the bathroom counter, you’re once again realizing that you’re out of your depth. The outfit he’s given you is extremely lavish: an extravagant suit with dress pants. Upon further examination, you realize that he even gave you an undershirt. You push aside all the strange, conflicting feelings you have about wearing clothes your psychiatrist provided you. The clothes even smell very strongly of Hannibal’s cologne. It takes all of your resistance not to cough once you put them on. You’re not very fond of fragrances to begin with, since they often give you headaches. But, you know you have no right to complain. It was extremely generous of Hannibal to lend you clothing, and you don’t plan to disrespect the gesture by complaining about his cologne. You put on the rest of the clothing and assess yourself in the mirror. You look rather good, you have to admit. Of course, it’s all due to Hannibal’s clothing. You take a moment to brush your teeth again before walking back out into the main area of the house, where Hannibal seems to be looking at your decorations with a keen eye. He turns around upon hearing you enter and, for a long moment, the two of you stare at each other in silence. 

Inexplicably, Hannibal breaks the distance between you and reaches out. Your heart is racing in your chest but you manage to remain still. He fiddles with your collar for a moment before stepping back, apparently satisfied with his work. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

“Better?” You ask sardonically.

“Much,” Hannibal remarks. “Shall we?” He holds out an arm and you scoff. Hannibal freezes and you do, too. Shit. You hadn’t meant to scoff aloud. You compensate by putting your hand on his arm and he sends you a smile that is almost… fond. You immediately disregard that notion.

The drive to the opera house is enjoyable. Hannibal is one of the few people that you feel comfortable enough to share silence with. You don’t feel the need to constantly fill the air and, so, you spend most of the ride staring out the window and looking at the trees. Before long, Hannibal is pulling into a parking space and the two of you are ascending the stairs leading to the opera house. The building is rather grand, with beautiful towering pillars and elegant statues decorating the path to the entrance. When you enter, you’re unsurprised to see Hannibal’s mask slide neatly into place.

Evidently, Hannibal has been here before, because he navigates the opera house with practiced ease. There are several people that greet him upon his entrance, and he smiles and sends them a courteous wave. You idly wonder if he truly likes any of these people, or if he merely tolerates them. As you continue to walk in, you’re brutally aware of the gazes searing into your back. You’re sure that Hannibal will be the talk of the town soon enough—you get the feeling he never brings people to these kinds of events. Indeed, he seems the type to want to appreciate art in solitude. You debate asking him once more if he’s okay with being seen with you here. Within a few moments, you’re finally in the area where the performance is scheduled to occur. Hannibal leads you to your seats—which are in one of the balconies—and you can’t suppress your thoughts any longer. Thankfully, it seems no one else has found their seats in your section just yet.

“You realize how this looks, right?” You finally ask. Hannibal sends a curious glance at you and you refuse to acknowledge how handsome he looks right now. You avert your eyes for a moment, instead watching as the people below file into their seats. “Everyone thinks that I’m…  you know.” Hannibal continues to stare at you with a blank expression. Damn it, is he really going to make you explain it? You try to push past your embarrassment and remain professional. “I think they’re under the impression that we’re… dating.”

“The thought makes you uncomfortable,” Hannibal states, crossing one leg over the other. That must be why he chose these seats—he probably needs the legroom. The people below are milling about, talking with one another. You’re grateful that these seats are isolated from everyone else—there’s no expectation for you to talk to anyone.

“No, it doesn’t,” you clarify, wondering how he justified that leap in logic. “Besides, if anyone’s reputation is going to be at risk, it’ll be yours.”

“I appreciate your concern,” Hannibal says, something akin to amusement on his face. You’re not sure what he’s finding so amusing—you don’t think your statement was far-fetched or unreasonable. From the moment you walked in, you noticed quite a few people staring at Hannibal and you. They seemed to be making their own conclusions about the two of you; you just wanted to warn him. “I am not worried about my reputation.”

“You think your reputation won’t be affected?” You squint at him, trying to watch for a reaction. “...Or you just don’t care?” Your companion is silent for a moment.

“I was under the impression that I was the psychiatrist here,” Hannibal then remarks lightly. He sends you a look and you feel a momentary inkling of shame.

“Sorry,” you grimace. Hannibal’s lips quirk at the sides—a sign that he isn’t truly upset about your sudden psychoanalysis. You feel the need to justify your reaction regardless. “It’s easy to slip into the criminal profiling mindset sometimes,”

You spend the next several minutes having lighthearted conversation. It’s rather nice. The theater slowly begins to fill up until, finally, the lights dim and someone appears on the stage. To your surprise, the performance is rather enjoyable. You must be rather horrible at hiding your preconceptions, because Hannibal sends you a knowing look after the first song. You pretend not to notice the smugness radiating off the man, and instead focus on the singer. They’re quite talented, unsurprisingly. You’re not quite sure how much the tickets were, but judging from your surroundings, you’d guess they were rather expensive.

You take advantage of the brief intermission in the middle of the program to use the facilities. Once you’re finished, you move to go back into the theatre. However, there’s suddenly a hand grabbing your shoulder and you’re forcefully guided into a deserted hallway. You chance a glance over your shoulder, only to find a far too familiar patient of Dr. Lecter’s: Franklyn Froideveaux.

“Franklyn,” you remark, feeling extremely apprehensive once you recognize him. The man is wearing a three-piece suit again, but this time it’s eerily similar to something Hannibal might wear. You frown at the thought. Franklyn’s obsession with Dr. Lecter is really rather creepy. If Hannibal weren’t such a capable killer, perhaps you’d be worried for him.

“I saw you with Dr. Lecter,” Franklyn states matter-of-factly. He crowds you against the wall and you have to lean back against it to avoid touching him. The look in the man’s eyes is unnerving. It sends a shiver down your spine. There’s nothing in his irises except madness.

“Yes,” you respond, once you realize that Franklyn is awaiting an answer. You don’t tell him that Hannibal invited you, but he seems to come to that conclusion on his own.

“What did he do?” Franklyn asks. “Did he hold the car door open for you? What cologne does he wear? I have a few ideas but I can’t decide between them.” You feel your head begin to ache at his persistent badgering. You’re deeply unsettled by him.

“What’s it like being friends with Dr. Lecter?” He continues. Franklyn doesn’t even give you a chance to respond, as he continues rattling off questions. “Is he a good friend? Do you two spend time together?”

“Um-” You try to say, only for Franklyn to stop mid-tirade. His eyes quickly lock on the suit you’re wearing and you grit your teeth. This is easily one of the most uncomfortable interactions you’ve ever had, and it isn’t even over yet. You flinch as he puts a hand on your shoulder.

“That’s not your clothing,” Franklyn remarks, a dangerous gleam in his eyes. His fingers dig into your shoulder and you wince. His grip is beginning to hurt; you think you may have bruises later. “You're wearing something Dr. Lecter gave you.”

“No, I’m not,” you try to argue, well aware that your voice doesn't sound very convincing.

“Yes, you are,” Franklyn asserts, not indicating that he’s hearing you or even seeing you. His eyes are glazed and it almost seems as if he’s looking directly through you. “He gave you clothes. Why? What does he see in you?”

Ouch. That hurts for a microsecond, before you then realize that Franklyn’s opinion bears absolutely no relevance to your life. You want to speak on those thoughts, but there’s a crazed look in the man’s eyes and you decide to stay silent. Franklyn seems to take your silence as an argument itself, though, because his hand tightens on your shoulder rather painfully. You try to shove him off, but the man’s grip is unyielding.

A familiar voice calls your name from further down the hallway. You squint, only to find Hannibal walking towards the two of you. There’s an inexplicable expression on his face, and you can’t even begin to dissect it.

“Hannibal,” you breathe, unable to hide the relief you feel at his presence. Franklyn finally releases his grip on you and you reach a hand up to massage your shoulder. The man’s attention is off of you now, thankfully.

“I presumed you to be lost, but I see that notion is incorrect,” Hannibal says, his gaze flitting about your face as if looking for any sign of distress. He then looks at Franklyn, disinterest and boredom evident in his expression. Of course, Franklyn doesn’t care to notice it. He sees what he wants to see, you think to yourself. “What is going on here? Franklyn?”

Franklyn looks to you expectantly, as if waiting for you to lie for him. You instead remain silent. You know that, right now, telling the truth will unnecessarily escalate the situation. Besides, your exhaustion is starting to catch up with you and you can’t find the energy to continue the conversation.

“We were just having a friendly conversation.” Franklyn answers. Hannibal looks to you for confirmation and you avert your eyes. Meanwhile, Franklyn seems to be falling over himself in an attempt to secure Hannibal’s attention. “Dr. Lecter, it’s so nice to see you here,” Franklyn says, his voice a far cry from the manic lunacy from before. The sudden change is rather dizzying. This man is suffocating to be around. “You know, I thought this might be your kind of place. I was just speaking to your friend here…”

You place a hand on your temple, beginning to get a migraine from the sheer burst of emotions surrounding Franklyn. Your skills in criminal profiling typically allow you to get a sense of other people’s feelings. At worst, you can get a trace of what they feel. Right now, however, you feel every emotion Franklyn is exuding, and it’s enough to make your vision grainy and fuzzy. He continues prattling on, but all you can sense is the horrible flood of obsession, jealousy, and a visceral desire so palpable that it makes you nauseous.

You put a hand to the wall behind you, feeling the need to brace yourself against something. Everything in the background falls to a dull buzzing rhythm—Franklyn’s giddy conversation with Hannibal, the muted sound of the performance that you can hear through the walls. You close your eyes and beg for the torture to stop. Maybe Franklyn will take pity on you and walk away. Maybe Hannibal will lose his patience and walk away, too—you wouldn’t be surprised.

Suddenly, there’s a hand on your forearm. You vaguely register—through swirling vision—Hannibal leading you further down the abandoned hallway until he stops and pushes you into an armchair. Despite the overwhelming emotionality that Franklyn practically assaulted you with, you manage to scrounge up a rather large amount of guilt.

“Sorry,” you choke out to Hannibal. Your breathing is still a bit rough and your clothes feel incredibly constricting. You roll up the sleeves of your jacket—well, Hannibal’s jacket—and try to stammer out the rest of your apology. “Feel free to go back inside; I just need a moment.”

You place a hand over your aching temple and another on the arm of the chair. Selfishly, you think that you could use Hannibal’s support, but you don’t want to occupy his attention when the performance is still happening. You close your eyes and try to pretend that your ears aren’t buzzing. You wait to hear his footsteps as he retreats; you wait to hear an acquiescence. A few seconds pass. Instead, there’s a hand on your shoulder.

“Dr. Lecter,” you choke out, your eyes beginning to burn. You wipe at them furiously, despite knowing that the effort is futile. “Go back inside.”

“No,” Hannibal says. You can’t see the expression on his face through your blurred vision—you just pray that it isn’t annoyance or irritation.

“I’ll be fine,” you maintain through gritted teeth. You think you hear Hannibal sigh at that, but it could easily be your imagination. The man looks down at you before pressing a cool hand to your forehead. Despite knowing that he’ll withdraw his hand in a few moments, you can’t help but lean into the touch.

“I’m sure,” Hannibal remarks, pulling you up to your feet and steadying you as your balance wavers. He places your hand on his arm and the two of you walk back in the direction you came. To your surprise, when you reach the door to the theater, Hannibal pivots and leads you towards the exit. You shake your head in disbelief as humiliation, shame, and guilt battle for prominence in your chest. Before long, Hannibal has led the two of you into his car. The moment you’re in his car, you bury your head in your hands.

Everything in your vision feels harsher and sharper. You begin to dig your nails into your palms unconsciously, hoping for some means to establish yourself in reality. You don’t realize you’re doing it until Hannibal reaches out and pries your hands apart. Your hands are trembling ever so slightly and you ball them into fists.

You’re not sure how much time you spend trying to regain your composure in the passenger seat of Hannibal’s car. Dignity is a foreign concept. You’re sure the embarrassment will catch up to you later—perhaps when you’re home and have some time to think.

At some point, Hannibal begins driving. Thankfully, the roads aren’t bumpy and the ride is rather smooth. He’s entirely silent and you feel the beginnings of remorse prickling along your skin. Hannibal never asked you to explain your interaction with Franklyn, but you feel that he deserves to know what happened.

“You realize Franklyn’s in love with you, right?” You blurt out, before quickly turning your head to look out the window and avoid Hannibal’s gaze. Truthfully, you had hoped to lead into that a little bit more. Somehow, that statement was what came from your lips.

“Yes.” Hannibal responds, his eyes still locked on the road. You take the afforded opportunity to look at him, confident in the notion that you aren’t being observed right back. Hannibal seems… entirely unruffled. Then again, he always looks unbothered. You wonder if you’ll ever be able to notice when something bothers him.

“He asked me what cologne you wear,” you decide to start with. You describe how you had tried to make your way back to the theater, only to be stopped by Hannibal’s patient and led off into a secluded hallway. “Franklyn knew that I was wearing your clothes; he also wanted to know what it’s like to be friends with you.”

“What did you say?” Hannibal asks, his attention still focused on the road.

“Nothing; he didn’t let me get a word in edgewise,” you admit. You run a finger along the smooth fabric of your shirt sleeve. Unbeknownst to you, the sleeve had started to roll up on its own; you take a moment to fix that before continuing to speak. “He’s so… suffocating.”

“It seemed his presence was harming you,” Hannibal remarks bluntly. You nod in agreement. At first, the interaction was merely uncomfortable. However, once Hannibal appeared, Franklyn’s emotions hit you with full force.

“I could feel everything,” you break off for a moment. “The love, the obsession, the jealousy, the envy… It was overwhelming. That man is the darkest person I’ve ever met.”

“He isn’t a killer,” Hannibal points out. That’s true—you’ve seen your fair share of killers, with minds so dark that you couldn’t hope to find an escape. Even so, those criminals were… straightforward. Franklyn, on the other hand, is a paradox.

“I know,” you acknowledge. “Franklyn is extremely neurotic, though—arguably the worst I’ve ever seen. It’s stifling. He has debilitating control issues and a crippling urge to prove himself. He’s often a victim of his own envy and jealousy. His self-concept is… I can’t even begin to describe it.” Yet, there’s a thinly-veiled hunger in Hannibal’s eyes—he wants to hear what you have to say. You inhale slowly. Again, you feel as if you owe him for absolutely ruining his night. Besides, you’re sure that he already knows all this information anyway. Franklyn is his patient, after all.

“Franklyn is sort of… a shapeshifter, for lack of a better term. He’ll adjust and change himself to fit the situation best. When he’s in love, he’s dangerously obsessed. His unconventional actions are reassuring to him, though, because they give him a modicum of control—a control that he cannot possess over anything else.” You have a lot more that you could divulge on the matter, but you decide to stop there. Again, you’re convinced that Hannibal already knows all of that.

“I see why you’re Jack’s best profiler,” Hannibal says, finally looking away from the road to look at you. His eyes are glittering in the darkness. You roll your eyes at the unnecessary compliment, too tired to start an argument. To your surprise, when you look out the window, you realize that he’s driving down your street. That car ride had passed rather fast and within a few seconds, Hannibal is pulling into your driveway.

“We’re here,” you announce unnecessarily, grabbing the door handle and stepping out of the vehicle. To your surprise, Hannibal also gets out of the car. You squint at him in confusion, but he doesn’t seem to notice. You’re not quite sure what he’s playing at, but you’re too exhausted to figure it out. Instead of inquiring about his sudden interest in following you inside, you simply allow him to do so before closing the door behind him.

“Do you want this clothing back now?” You ask, unable to come up with any other explanation for his presence in your home. It’s not that you mind his intrusion—not at all, actually—but you’d feel more comfortable with a legitimate reason for his presence.

“If that’s acceptable,” Hannibal answers, breaking you out of your thoughts. His eyes are fixed on something on one of your bookshelves. You shake your head at his strange fascination with your living room decorations.

“Sure, I’ll go change; mind waiting here?” He assures you that he doesn’t mind waiting. You shut the door behind you in the bathroom and stare at yourself in the mirror for a moment. There are dark circles under your eyes and you look a little frazzled. Otherwise, you don’t look bad. Amazingly, you managed not to ruin Hannibal’s clothing—a feat you’re rather proud of yourself for. You settle for changing into a simple long-sleeved shirt and sweatpants. As you change, you neatly fold Hannibal’s clothing into a pile. Once you’re done, you glance at your reflection one more time. You take a half-step backwards but, before you move to leave, your eyes catch on something below your collar. You squint and lean closer to the mirror, convinced that you’re seeing things. Somehow, though, you’re not. After a moment’s hesitation, you pull your shirt collar to the side, only to find harsh marks on your collarbone and shoulder. They’re almost in the shape of a handprint and it doesn’t take much detective work to realize who they’re from—Franklyn.

That realization is not very welcome, and you decide not to think about it right now. Remembering that Hannibal is waiting on you, you grab the folded pile of clothes and walk back out to the living room. Unsurprisingly, Hannibal is looking around with a scrutinizing gaze. You walk up to him and hold out the clothes, but his back is turned. You eventually just decide to place them on the entryway table—he’ll have to see them on the way out.

“Thank you for inviting me, it was very fun,” you smile. Hannibal turns around, seemingly just noticing your presence. Just what is he looking for in your humble living room? He certainly won’t find anything of value. Furthermore, your decoration skills are nowhere near his. You can’t find a reasonable explanation for his behavior and, eventually, you have to give up on trying to rationalize it.

“I’m glad you found the night enjoyable,” he answers diplomatically. You raise an eyebrow at the stiff response. Perhaps your little… episode… had annoyed him more than you initially thought. Another apology certainly wouldn’t hurt.

“I hope I didn’t ruin your experience too much,” you wince, sheepishly shoving your hands in your pockets. Hannibal shakes his head, before taking a step closer to you.

“On the contrary, I found the performance more enjoyable with your company,” he asserts. Hannibal still looks as handsome as he did when he first appeared on your doorstep this evening—not a hair out of place. You swallow hard, before roughly shoving the thought aside—now is not the time. “I apologize for Franklyn.” Your eyebrows furrow. Why is he apologizing?

“You can’t control his actions,” you say, waving his concern off. “No harm done.” At that, Hannibal’s expression darkens. He takes another step closer, until the two of you are standing face to face. For a while, there is nothing but tense, uncomfortable silence.

“I disagree,” Hannibal says darkly, his hand resting lightly on your collarbone. Before you can protest, he’s gently pushing away the collar of your shirt to look at your shoulder. He frowns and you realize that he’s looking at the marks Franklyn left behind. If you had thought his prior expression to be dark, the look on his face now is nothing short of murderous. You feel your breath stalling in your chest, as you ground yourself in the realization that you’re standing in front of a killer with absolutely nothing to protect you. Hannibal moves to cup your cheek with a tenderness you thought him to be incapable of. His touch makes your skin feel licked with flames. Each breath you take feels labored and harsh. You swear you see Hannibal’s gaze fall to your lips for a brief moment, but you put it down to your imagination. It’s kind of late and you’re tired—you’re probably just seeing things. For a long moment, neither of you move or speak.

“Good night,” Hannibal says, a strangely determined expression on his face. His gaze keeps moving to your collarbone and you idly wish you had concealed the marks better. His hand falls from your face and he stares at you for a long moment, as if regretting your parting. You make sure to remind him of the pile of folded clothes, which he takes into his arms before turning around to leave.

“Good night, Hannibal,” you respond, opening the door for him. You watch as he enters his car and drives away. Despite the knowledge that he’s already out of sight, you feel the urge to wait a few more minutes before looking away. Finally, you close the front door and fall back against it, your mind reeling.

chapter six

[bylerbigbang]

Switcheroo, In Your Shoes

Fic by @foodiewithdahoodie | Art by @jiuwann

Rated Teen | 36k words

Before high school, Mike and Will thought they'd be thick as thieves along with the rest of the party. However, they discover that they don't have any classes together and drift apart making new friends outside of their childhood friends or focus on their separate hobbies. Then, a rumor happens that further puts a wedge in between Mike and Will. Now, on graduation night, Mike and Will try to make amends and perhaps confess their feelings, only for things to go astray as the next day they have switched bodies. After not seeing eye to eye in so long, perhaps this is their chance to be in each other's shoes.

Warnings: smoking, underage drinking, F slurs, slut-shaming mention, implied sexual content (dreams, imaginations, seeing the other naked implicitly, attempted non-explicit first time - doesn't pan out because they're in each other's bodies), getting outed, AIDs reference, coming out, bullying, rumor has it

Read on Ao3 | View Art

Read an excerpt below:

“We’re gonna be late.” Will laughs to subside his desires and curiosities, ignoring how attentive Mike is being with him, and checks his wristwatch.

A matching one is around Mike’s wrist, same brand and model and year. They bought them together with their saved piggy bank allowances and the looting of couch cushions for loose change. Pooling their funds to have watches that rival Nancy's friendship bracelets she made with Barb.

“We’ll make it.” Mike promises, skillfully doing a four-in-knot tie. Big talk from a guy who’s regularly tardy to anything timed. Will decides to be nice and not bring up his doubts. When has Mike steered him wrong?

Folding the fabric lickety-split, Mike gets to work; pushing the wide end of the tie through the loop, forming the knot, slipping the end of the fabric through the knot and keeping it straight, to finally pulling the narrow end upward and taut on Will’s neck.

“Too loose? Too tight?” Mike tilts his head sideways inquisitively.

“Just right. Thanks.” Will hoarsely replies and drums his fingers on his thighs, restless.

“No problem.” Mike whispers and doesn’t remove himself.

Will looks at Mike’s stationary hands, timidly smiling and biting back a chuckle. “Are you gonna let go of me anytime soon?”

Mike says nothing in response. He simply and slowly nods with an unreadable expression that Will can’t decipher. Little by little, Mike statically withdraws, sliding his hands down inch by inch, fingers smoothing the fabric until reaching the pointed tip of Will’s tie pinched between his thumb and index finger. Neither of them make a move to leave for the ceremony. They just stand there, lost in a moment they don’t want to acknowledge, staring bashfully at their feet because eye contact would make it too heartfelt.

Will has to hurry, his last name puts him in the second row. Very noticeable for the audience to see him tiptoeing to his seat. Mike can get away with slithering into his chair, perks of having a surname grouped with the last-letters-of-the-alphabet kids. Instead of parting ways, they gradually and courageously look at each other, their locked eyes conveying enormous emotions, words they wish to say palpable in the silence, lips tingling to free their thoughts and unburden their hearts.

Will is the first to spin on his heels, admiring himself in the mirror and squashing his relapsing hope that there could be something more that Mike leaves unsaid. Through the reflection, he subconsciously locks eyes again with Mike's large and sparkling ones.

Fiddling with his tie dozily, Will talks to Mike’s reflection. It’s easier to do than facing the real thing. “You gotta teach me sometime.”

“Definitely.”

“Well, we better go!”

“Yeah—Hey, wait!” Mike exclaims abruptly, his outburst pausing Will's receding footsteps. “Uh, can you, um, sign my yearbook?”

Gobsmacked, Will gawks at Mike, shyly laughing and raising an incredulous brow. “You mean right now?”

“Uh-huh! I mean—No! I mean later! Later! I have it stashed in my car.” Mike clarifies,

[louislovesdilfs]

Homesick (part 2)

Happy 60th Doctor Who anniversary! how could I not release the second part of this fic today, this is a bit long but I hope you'll enjoy it anyway.

sources: MatPat (film theory) and r/gallifrey on reddit (it was a debate so I took informations from different people and kind of mixed them together to work with something reliable,sort of)

pairing: 9th/10th Doctor x male!reader

please dont take anything I say about Doctor Who universe for canon, this may or may not be true, some of these are just theories, take them as such.

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"I told you I didn't like him, right?" Y/n says getting in the TARDIS, he sits on the yellow seats near the console lookin at Rose tilting his head a little, The Doctor chuckles as he watches the young man teasing Rose.

"oh please Y/n, just admit you were jelous" she scoffs teasing him back, they're talking about Rose new 'Boyfriend' Adam, he turned out to be as dumb as a donkey...no poor donkey he is as dumb as a rock.

"jelous? of that guy? tsk" he says almost offended by Rose's statement, he wasn't jelous, jelous of what? Rose? yea right...she's like his little sister, she looks a lot like his actual sister...or how she would look like now...anyway The Doctor flirts with Rose too and it doesn't bother him, it does bother him when The Doctor flirts with anybody else but that's totally unrelated.

"got all defensive now have you?" she teases him with a victory smirk on her face, Y/n tho ignores her turning to The Doctor who's grinning while messing with the console.

"Y/n is right tho, he got a hole in his head." The Doctor points out, Y/n smiles at him and they bump fists as Rose sighs

"two against one, so unfair" she says as the two men laugh looking at each other.

----

"is that a good idea?" Y/n asks genuinely concerned, Rose wants to see her father when he was still alive, she wants to witness his death, legit of course but absolutely not a good idea.

"I just want to know how he was." she says, a but of sadness in her voice,

"I'm not judging you, it's jus- it's ok watching your parents' wedding but witness his death?" Y/n says again, he knows about witnessing a parent death and it's not great, definitely not something he wants to repeat

"how would you know?" Rose doesn't actually snap at him, it's a genuine question born from his concern, he looks away not wanting to answer at first so The Doctor interrupts them

"he's just worried, and so am I Rose" The Doctor says resting a hand on Y/n's shoulder, the man probably understood, he can see Y/n's been trough something and doesn't want to share, after all The Doctor does the same thing.

"I want to see him." she says firmly, Y/n and The Doctor let out a defeated sigh

"your wish is my comand, just be careful what you wish for" The Doctor says pressing some buttons.

As Y/n predicted things went terribly, Rose did manage to adjust the mess she made anyway, the three are silently walking to The TARDIS but Rose is looking at Y/n and then at The Doctor who shifts his gaze from the floor to her and then him before shaking his head lightly at Rose.

"Y/n" she calls turning to him ignoring The Doctor

"yes?" he turns to her not suspecting anything

"do you have a family?" she asks, rightfully Y/n thinks, they both oepend up, The Doctor talked about the Time War and his planet, Rose made them witness her father's death and in general they always tell some stories from their past, Y/n doesn't, it did make the both of them curious even if The Doctor didn't want to admit it.

"once." he sighs and he is thinking about stopping there but seeing the curious gaze of his friends makes him give in.

"we were four, my dad, he was a lawyer, worked until his last day on earth, my sister...she...she was so sweet, she looked like you Rose.." he says looking at her, she did look like her sister, it was painful yet beutiful in his eyes.

"she disappeared, probably kidnapped." he says but his ideas on the matter where slightly different, he could ask The Doctor to go back just to have the answers but he doesn't want to, he doesn't want to know if she's dead. He wants to keep hoping.

"my mother died when I was 7, she died in front of me, she wanted to help a poor man on the road, he then tried to kiss her and she rejected him, he gave her 50 stabs, I was there, I witnessed it all. He wasn't a poor man and she wasn't his first victm. The police didn't arrive on time and he was running away. I grab his knife and- " he stops, his hands closed in fists as his eyes are holding back tears. The Doctor brushes his knuckles and holds his hand as soon as Y/n lets him. Rose looks at the two men hesitating before hugging Y/n, she didn't want to ruin the moment between the two.

"he will stay on a wheelchair for the rest of his life." he says looking at The Doctor and holding his hand tightly as he rests the other on Rose's shoulders accepting the hug. After a while she lets go of him and the three enter The TARDIS but she notices, the two men are still holding hands, they're sharing a grief, both of them are alone in this world, the look in their eyes is similar, Rose sees it, do they?

-----

to be honest all the time Y/n wasted flirting with Jack gave him something else to thinks about even if that would mean having the burning stare of The Doctor on his neck. His mind was repeating the same things, over and over: there is no escape, they're all going to die, what if Rose gets turned in one of them? what if The Doctor is the one? can't go home without him, they're going to be stuck there, forever, die like this, being emptied out...what a pathetic way to die. He wakes up from his thoughts, the group is not far from him still they sound distant, maybe cause he's not paying attention to them, something in the room feels wrong, something is off even if it's hard to recall what precisely. He sees it tho, after a few minutes, the little boy behind her, it's too late to yell at them to run, it's too late to warn Rose but something makes Y/n's legs move as fast as they could putting himself between Rose and the kid, he feels the touch of the tuny hand and the only thing he can do now is turn to face the others,

"Run" Y/n says with a pale face, what an idiot he is, sacrifice himself, the thought of it almost makes him chuckle,

"Y/n-" Rose tries to say something but the young man shakes his head interrupting her,

"no, I won't let that happen again. Go. it was good while it lasted." that's all he can say, the thing is pushing in his throat, it draws blood as it makes its way to the surface, it hurts, it's all so painful, he shuts his mouth trying to hold back the infamous words he feels in his throat; he helds back tears too, Y/n doesn't want them to see him that vulnerable, it's so pathetic. He couldn't let Rose die, he couldn't let that happen, not again, she...not her, not now.

"You're not going to die, Y/n, that's a promise" The Doctor says in a deadly serious tone, he looks mad, maybe at himself for allowing this to happen.

"go..m-mom-" Y/n falls to his knees before the complete dark, he doesn't see anything, he feels his body moving but has no control of it, that is his end, that's where he will stay for the rest of eternity but then a familiar voice brings him back to reality.

"Y/n!" Rose says as the young man opens his eyes,

"Rose? what?" he asks puzzled, he looks at her as she smiles widely. Rose pulls him in a tight hug and he allows her to do so, he's happy she's okay and apparently he is too. The Doctor joins the hug too as Y/n hugs him even tighter, The Doctor laughs shaking his hand in Y/n's hair messing them up a bit.

"you thought you lost me didn't you?" Y/n asks smiling at the man, the smile was genuine, The Doctor stares at the young man for a while thinking how complicated this guy is, there are worlds to discover in Y/n, worlds.

"you doubted me didn't you?" he asks offended but still smiling, his smile is wide, he's so happy to see Y/n again, he did think he lost him for a second,

"answer a question with a question?" he shots back looking in The Doctor's eyes with a cheeky smirk,

"avoiding to answer the question?" both of them laugh leaving Rose in confusion,

---

"oh god oh shit!" Y/n says looking at the glass bridge, he is in some sort of game he doesn't remember how he got in or when he just know he is there, he needs to play to survive, squid game style, indeed the game he needs to play is exactly like the one in the show, 18 sets of pannels, the players have to jump on one of them and hope the glass they jumped on is the tempered one, if not they fall dying, Y/n hates the game, it's generally decided by random coin flips, worst case scenario we have 18 deaths, best case scenario 0 deaths but the chances are more than just low.

The chances for the first in line to get everything right are 1 in 262.144 wich gives and average of 9 deaths, meaning: first 6 people are screwed with less than 5% chance of survival while going 13th and later the chances grow to 95% or better. Y/n knows it, it doesn't take long to do the math, he chooses his number, 13, he's the 13th in line the game for him goes smoothly but he will always remember the screams he heard while the other fell in the nothingness. Once on the other side the bridge explodes and all the pieces of glass hit Y/n everywhere leaving him tiny cuts all over, he is a bloody mess and as soon as The Doctor rescues him he notice the lucid eyes of his.

"you ok?" he asks brushing the other man's hand in a caring way, Y/n doesn't answer, he just nods. lies.

Later on, The Doctor, Rose and Y/n are on floor 500, as Rose's speaks

"suppose" she says and The Doctor turns to her

"what?" he asks, Y/n turns to her too, hoping she has a good idea

"nothing" she shakes her head still thinking

"c'mon Rose, spit it out" Y/n sighs, his face still covered in tiny cuts and bruises bleading from some of them.

"No, I was just thinking. I mean, obviously you can't, but, you've got a time machine. Why can't you just go back to last week and warn them?" she says, The Doctor and Y/n both shake their head, it was a nice try, not good enough but nice.

"As soon as the Tardis lands in that second, I become part of events, stuck in the timeline." The Doctor explains but then he rants about something, it isn't clear to Y/n even if he can understand half the things he says, he learns fast and really smart but yet something about this Delta Wave and crossing his own timeline seems off and wrong, too late to understand it tho, the TARDIS starts to move Y/n rushes to the door before it closes shut but they don't lead where Y/n wishes, a vortex is what he finds, he falls in it as he hears Rose shouting his name and then the TARDIS door closing.

Y/n risked his life tons of time with The Doctor, he did always end up alive tho, The Doctor was such a brilliant man, it didn't last as long as Y/n wished; that's what his mind thinks before the pain, he's falling while the time winds shred his body, the pain is excruciating, he can't scream, he can't cry, he can't even breath; the air is stuck in his lungs while all his body gets older, he can feel his organs failing, but it gets also younger, his cells go back to when they were born. His body tries to heal itself as fast as it can, it borns and dies a countless amount of times.

His mind sees everything, every point in history, he's there. He has always been there. His brain gains informations it shouldn't get, too much he feels it melt, it isn't tho, no, no it is expanding itself in a painful process, as slow as it is quick. Time is relative, past, present, future...and then the end. He's back, a gold light makes him come back, it's like his heart beats twice, his chest hurts, his head hurts, his eyes are complitely red, blood is where is supposed to be white, he sees The Doctor, his Doctor kissing Rose...she's alive, he's alive...Y/n closes his eyes but a smile is formed on his lips as a tear runs down his cheek before the dark.

When his eyes open he is inside of the TARDIS, Rose is on the ground, alive but probably unconscious, The Doctor is near the console shining in the same gold light, Y/n understands something is going to change, his mind is still hurting him but that doesn't stop him from standing up ignoring the pain in his body.

"Y/n, oh you're so stubborn, you couldn't just stay in the TARDIS huh?" The Doctor says while his hands glow, it's not as pretty as before, it looks wrong.

"you're dying are you?" he says looking at the man's hand, The Doctor smiles shaking his head

"Timelords regenerate, we change appearance to cheat death, It's the last time you're seeing me with this face, Y/n" he says looking at the young man, he's looking at him like this will be the last time he will be able to do it, Y/n gets closer but The Doctor steps back telling him to stop, Y/n doesn't, he gets closer to the man touching his cheek with his right hand, no words are spoken between the two, just an understanding look, a stolen kiss, quick, meaningless.

Rose wakes up in time for The Doctor's goodbye, a burst of golden light and then a new face, he surely looks handsome, messy hair, cheeky smile, he's good looking for sure.

"where was I? ah yes..Barcellona!"

♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤

as everyone is celebrating the Sycorax leaving Y/n feels like he already saw it, he knoes something is wrong as he looks at The Doctor faking a smile to avoid ruining the moment, but Y/n can't lie to The Doctor, he always seems to see right trough his lies sometimes. He gets closer looking at the young man

"what?" he asks, new voice, new accent...it's difficult for Y/n to see his Doctor in this man

"something is about to happen" and as he says that the Sycorax spaceship explodes attacked by 5 green beams that steak up in the sky

"what is that? what's happening?" Rose asks as her smile disappears quickly, Y/n stares at Harriet with fire in his eyes, not thinking about why he knew something was coming, it doesn't matter now, he feels his blood boil as he he grits his teeth before speaking in a very low voice

"they killed them." he says and then turns to The Doctor, the man sees the fury in Y/n's eyes but understands it, he shares the same anger, Y/n whispers something to The Doctor and he nods getting closer to Harriet's assistant, five words, and she's done. 

"Oh, it's beautiful. What are they, meteors?" Rose asks looking at the sky,

The Doctor dressed up with a brown suit and a long coat on top, he's wearing white converse which Y/n, who loves sandshoes, appreciates about this new Doctor,

" It's the spaceship breaking up in the atmosphere. This isn't snow, it's ash." he explains looking at the sky as well

Y/n stays behind, watching the two of them, he listens to the conversation, he doesn't want to interrupt them, he doesn't want to be the third wheel really,

"Well, back to the Tardis. Same old life." he says looking at Rose

" On your own?" she asks biting her nail a but unsure about his answer, Y/n scoffs silently, of course not, look at him, the man is lost.

"Why, don't you want to come?" The Doctor asks her raising his eyebrows

"Well, yeah." she says and in that moment Y/n interrupts leaning against the TARDIS

"I'm invited too right? just checking" he asks crossing his arms

"I'd love for the both of you to come" The Doctor says looking at Y/n and then at Rose, she takes Y/n hand dragging him near them, and then she takes The Doctor's too, they start pointing at the stars asking in which direction they should go, wherever will do, for the first time ever Y/n is actually feeling good about something.

[jimraisedmeup]

TICK // 2.1 - hollywood nights

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Rating: mature (language, sexual content)

Word Count: 1600

☾

She stood there bright as the sun on that California coast He was a Midwestern boy on his own She looked at him with those soft eyes, so innocent and blue He knew right then he was too far from home

☾

September 1983 - junior year

You sat on the wooden picnic table, leg bouncing up and down with a buzzing sense of anxiety.

Eddie was late. And you fucking hated when people weren't on time.

Honestly, you had nothing else to do for that entire evening, let alone the whole weekend. So his tardiness didn't really affect anything. It was the principle, though. A general respect for another individual's time. 

So the scowl on your face felt appropriate as you watched him stroll towards you. His black boots kicked up dirt around his feet, an air of cockiness hovering over him like a rain cloud.

"You don't look very happy to see me, sunshine."

Eddie Munson was your first and last choice for the tattoo. You were only 16, almost 17. And even if you were old enough, the closest tattoo parlor was several towns away from Hawkins. 

So your next logical thought was a risky homemade tattoo. Who in town wasn't a nark and had tattoos? Eddie fucking Munson. 

Normally, you would steer clear of the loud, unpredictable creature. You preferred calm things… things you could maintain control over. You kept your circle small. A quiet bubble of mundane peace. Eddie was pure chaos.

You noticed the metal lunchbox in his hand as he set it down clumsily on the table next to you. Instead of sitting down on the seat of the picnic table, Eddie perched himself on the top of it, looking down at you.

You sighed, "Let's just get this over with." His worn out boots were too close for your liking.

Ignoring your displeasure, the brown-eyed boy slowly leaned back on his elbows in a relaxed pose. The chains on his pants were the only sound in the quiet wooded park.

"How was your day, Y/N?"

You placed a palm to your face, dragging it down until you scratched at your neck. Be nice, Y/N.

"Um… it's Friday… and the weather is still warm, too. So I guess I had a good day?"

Eddie stared up at the trees above them. "You literally sound like an alien who is trying to figure out what a real human is supposed to sound like." 

Keeping your expression deadpan, you found little amusement in his teasing.

"So, should I take my pants off or what?" Standing up, you began to unbutton your jeans. "I didn't come here to have a heart-to-heart with y-"

"Woah, woah! Take it easy!" Eddie gestured wildly at you like he was trying to shield his eyes at something.

Looking around, you stood there with your pants undone. 

"I thought you came here to give me a tattoo. I told you, I want a quarter sized half moon on my-"

Eddie interrupted you again, which was also something that ticked you off. 

"Y/N," he stated coolly, "I have the memory of a fucking elephant. I remember what tattoo you want."

"So what's the problem here, Munson? I don't have all day. And you were late to our meeting to begin with."

"A real businessman, you are," the boy mumbled, staring at your bare stomach that he could see near your undone zipper. "It's just never been this easy to get a girl naked before."

"Ugh!" You threw your head back, hastily buttoning your jeans back up. He might have the memory of an elephant, but you had a fuse that was probably shorter than his cock.

With a huff, you sat down on the bench with your back to him.

"Why do you want the tattoo anyways? Does it have some kind of special meaning? You don't seem like the kinda girl to be breaking rules."

"What kind of girl do I seem like?" 

You looked at Eddie, who was back to gazing up at the canopy of green leaves. It was still basically late summer and the trees hadn't begun their transition into autumn yet.

Though his head was tilted back, his liquid dark eyes were now peering down at the frustrated girl.

"Hmm. I dunno. Y/N Buckley. French Club… good grades," Eddie pondered for a moment. "I've seen you hanging out with Nancy Wheeler and Harrington. That says a lot." 

His voice was almost resentful at that last statement, but you listened as he continued. 

"Your clothes are abnormally clean. Like, I'm surprised you're even sitting on this old ass bench with me right now. If I scuffed your white Converse you'd probably claw my eyes out."

You snorted, but you wouldn't ever dream of telling him that he was kind of spot on.

"Alright, enough of that. Can we please just do the tattoo so I can go?"

Eddie seemed scatter-brained and easily distracted. If you could help it, you would have already gotten the damn tattoo done and over with so you would never have to talk to him again. This whole situation was screaming Last House on the Left.

Digging in your pocket, you slapped the crumpled up five dollar bills on the top of the table.

☾

He'd headed west 'cause he felt that a change would do him good See some old friends, good for the soul She had been born with a face that would let her get her way He saw that face and he lost all control

☾

"So, are you gonna tell me what this whole thing is for? Seems like getting a tattoo means a lot to you."

Thankfully, he was almost done with the hand poke tattoo. You weren't exactly the best of company, in Eddie's opinion. 

But for fuck's sake, he could basically smell the sun on your skin while he was touching you. Hiding the hard-on in his jeans afterwards was going to be a legitimate problem.

So asking you questions was really the only effort of distraction available to him.

Suprisingly, after ignoring him for the last 20 minutes, you picked at your fingernails and grumbled a reluctant response.

"I just want something to keep secret."

"A secret? From who?"

He snuck a quick look at the girl, laying uncomfortably across the top of the sketchy picnic table. You were focused on your hands and inspecting your cuticles. You didn't seem fazed by the pain of the needle on your exposed hip.

Forcing his eyes away from your enigmatic face, he fought the urge to adjust his jeans. He had to keep the latex gloves on his hands sterile regardless of his dick being crushed by his pants. Completing your tattoo with precision and no infections meant a lot to him at this point.

And maybe, if he was lucky, you two might become some resemblance of friends after this.

"I don't know. My parents. Everyone around me," you shifted slightly. "Are you almost done? It's starting to get dark out."

"Stay still, Y/N. I'm just about done, then you can make your grand escape."

"Right? I'm surprised you haven't pulled out a knife yet."

Eddie held in a chuckle, trying to focus on the tiny moon. "That's the real plot twist. I'm going to wait until the tattoo is done to kill you."

"Not funny, Munson."

"You know, this isn't really a secret tattoo."

"Yes it is. Why wouldn't it be?"

"Because I know about it."

Silence. Several minutes passed.

The half moon was borderline microscopic compared to some of his own meaningless tattoos, but in all honesty, Eddie admired it. He could only think of a handful of girls at Hawkins High with ink on them. 

But then, after a second, he suddenly felt wrong about comparing you to other girls.

"Alright, all done. Let me clean it up so you can see it."

Holding out a hand to him so that you could get off the table without rubbing the tattoo on your jeans, you looked down at your hip and sighed.

"Well, shit."

"What? Are you realizing this wasn't worth getting murdered over?"

For the first time, you let out a little laugh in front of him. Eddie was slightly stunned, and he would have fallen over in shock if he wasn't still seated on the bench of the table. The wicked Y/N Buckley actually expressed an emotion.

"No, not at all. I'm actually surprised that I like it."

"Gee, thanks, Buckley. I'm flattered."

"Do I need a bandage or something?"

Eddie reached into his lunch box for the extra-large Band-Aids he packed. Your tattoo was small enough that a dab of Vaseline and a big bandage would do the trick.

"Yeah, c'mere."

You still stood a few feet away, scowling at him.

He let out a bark of laughter. "What the fuck? Come here, I don't bite. You've been laying in front of me for a half hour without that damn look on your face."

Scuffling over to him, you seemed to have run out of abusive comebacks. He quickly applied the Band-Aid and turned away so you could button your jeans.

The snap of his latex gloves while he removed them was intentionally noisy. He wasn't sure about you. Hell, he was so used to not trusting anyone that it made him kind of angry that he wanted to trust you.

"I guess you're right," you whispered, almost inaudible.

"Hmm?" He had his back to you, cleaning up the table and packing up his box.

"This isn't a real secret."

Eddie leaned back, craning his neck behind him. You looked almost sad.

"Not exactly. But that's okay. I'll be one of your secrets, too."

☾

That was Hollywood nights In those Hollywood hills It was looking so right It was giving him chills In those big city nights In those high rolling hills Above all the lights With a passion that kills

☾

(song lyrics credit: "Hollywood Nights" by Bob Seger)

TAGLIST for this series if you would like to be notified when I post new chapters!

[buggyboba]

✦ October 6th | Violence

AN 𓏧

↳ ○ | Day day six! My first dance with Thoschei, got in my feels about it, was supposed to be pure smut, have some feels too. Smut so MDNI.

SUMMARY𓏧

↳ ○ a dangerous meeting, tension is high, and then it snaps, rough hits turn into rough sex, biting, clawing, primal, neither one is unscathed.

PAIRING𓏧

↳ ○ The Doctor (Thirteen) x The Master (Dhawan!master)

TW𓏧

↳ ○ some non-con vibes, but like not really, dunno how to explain. P in V penetration. Biting, hitting, creampie.

WORD COUNT𓏧

↳ ○ 2500

A03 lINK𓏧

↳ ○ x

MASTERLIST LINK𓏧

↳ ○ x

★𓏧 𓏧 𓏧★ 𓏧 𓏧 𓏧★

It had to be on common neutral ground, He had reached out and contacted her. She knew it was a trap; how couldn’t it have not been? He dealt in traps; it was his flirting. However, she wanted to believe desperately that a fraction of Missy’s progress still lived in him; she had to wish that this was that. A lonely planet, where there would be no one he could hurt, no destruction he could do that could harm her fam, who she had left on earth, she said she was 'just popping out, had to check on some things', because if Yaz knew, if any of them knew who she was going to go see, well, that just couldn’t happen. She had to make sure they were far enough away and safe.

The Tardis landed with a whirring groan; even she was nervous about this meeting. She slipped out of the Tardis, and immediately her eyes fell on him, sitting on a rock boredly waiting.

“Am I still mad? No, you only destroyed Gallifrey; you turned our people into Cybermen; no, not mad,” she said, her eyes narrowing at her eyes at him, pushing his hand away from her. He tried to step closer, ignoring her anger. He leaned forward and placed a kiss against the side of her mouth, which she didn’t respond to; this made him frown.

“It always baffles me how you can be late with a time machine, love,” he said calmly, his dark eyes trained on her lighter eyes. He moved, standing with grace as he moved towards her, his steps calculated and fluid as he moved to circle her. The Doctor shook her head and watched him.

“What do you want? What was so earth-shatteringly important that you had to beg me to show up, Master?” She said his name with spite, a sort of hiss that used it as an insult. There was a flash in his eyes, a real sting of hurt before he masked it with a mock pout and puppy dog eyes at her.

"Well, my dear, it is simple; I...missed you,” he offered, which pulled a disbelieving laugh from the shorter woman’s lips. “You don’t sound convinced; should I prove it to you?” he said, circling around her, his hand trailing against her shoulder blades, to which she turned, catching his arm. He chuckled and stepped closer to her. “You are still mad?” He leaned to whisper in her ear.

“So cold, here I am trying to make you feel better, make you forgive me, and you are all ice,” he chuckled darkly. “No matter, you’ll forgive me, you always do, your flaw, you chose to see the good in me when there is none, always trying to appeal to my better nature, when we both know I don’t have one.” He tilted his head, his fingers trailing her jawline. She pulled back, and his hand followed, holding her chin, slipping down to grab her throat. Even if he knew he couldn’t squeeze the life out of her that way, it was a position of power. "Ah-ah, my dear, where are you trying to run off to?” he said and let his hand squeeze harder. He leaned forward, his lips pressed against her jaw as he forced her head back. The Doctor growled out and suddenly sunk her teeth in his cheek, causing him to pull away quickly, startled by the action. Though she followed her teeth, sinking into the crook of his neck and biting him through the jacket of his suit, his hand went into her hair, pulling it roughly to get her to let go. When she didn't, he breathed out, grabbing her shoulder to push her hard. “You want to play like that, my dear?” he smirked. Blood dripped from his cheek where she had bit, and he could feel the sting against the crook of his neck. He moved to bring them down to the ground hard, keeping her pinned beneath him. He straddled her lap, keeping her legs down by pinning them between his; his hands grabbed at her wrists, forcing them back down, pressing down against her as she tried to arch to escape. “No, go on, Thete.” The name was a deep growl as he bit her back suddenly, his teeth buried into her shoulder roughly. The Doctor had paused for a moment at the use of her old nickname; the way he had growled it out reminded her of restless nights and desperate moments, things she shouldn’t be thinking about currently.

He gripped her almost desperately, like his life depended on this moment. She pushed against him, and a pained sound escaped her lips as he bit harder. Pulling up, she got her arm free quick enough to deliver a blow across his face, knocking him back to the floor. A flood of manic laughter escaped him as he licked the blood from his lip. He sat up watching her as she held her neck where he bit. “What is this, Master?” She snapped, trying to get answers, but she already knew what this was. Throughout their dance across the stars, they found themselves falling for lies, what would become broken promises because neither one really could let the other go. They were connected, bound by fate in a tragic way, a way that had damaged them both so deeply, yet here they were again, pulled together. The Doctor was angry; the Master had gone too far this time, yet there he was, sitting on the ground just a bit away from her, laughing like he hadn’t destroyed their home, like he hadn’t violated the Time Lords in such a disgusting way, looking at her with those hungry eyes. He pounced, pulling her against him.

“You know what this is; it’s what it has always been and what it will always be... Look at me,” he said as she tried to look away. His hand gripped her throat, forcing her chin up with his thumb. “Look at me, Thete,” he breathed out. “This is what we do.” She knew what he was doing by calling her. Thete, he was trying to appeal to her nostalgia—the desire for a time when they weren’t locked in a war neither one of them could win. She wasn’t going to give him the pleasure of acknowledging it; it was just another manipulation tactic. He frowned and pulled her face up towards his before he crashed his mouth against hers, not letting her struggle against him again. He tasted like blood, whiskey, and the breath of a cigar he was no doubt smoking before she arrived. His tongue explored her mouth, and she considered biting as hard as she could, but when she thought this, his hand tightened around her throat, pushing against her jaw some. He could break her neck if he wanted to.

He moved his knee between her legs, pushing against her some, they both knew they would give in, it was just who would give in first, he wanted, no needed it, to be her so he could keep onto the feeling of control. She was formidable and wouldn’t be so easy to shake. He broke the kiss and trailed his tongue down her throat, moving to push up her shirt. After pushing her suspenders down, he put his hand on the back of her neck, pulling her up so he could push the offending clothing out of his way. She growled in a warning, her nails dug into his arm, he gave a hiss and suddenly sunk his teeth into the skin above her collarbone hard, if she wanted to hurt him, he could hurt her back. His hands moved, ripping at the bit of fabric in her bra; his mouth trailed with bites and kisses across her chest, his fingers kneading the soft flesh of her breasts. Feeling her beneath him, even if she hated him, felt like home, however broken it was now. She arched against him. How many times had they found themselves like this over their regenerations? Like moths to the flame, their dance was deadly and painful, a cycle of betrayal and toxicity, but it was theirs, and it was as close to in love as they were going to be. No, that wasn’t true; there was love, and that's why it hurt so badly every time they played this game, every time they stood against one another.

Her hands moved up to his hair, her fingers tangling in the dark locks, her nails scratching into his scalp as she pulled his head up from biting her, but his mouth covered hers again. She bit at his lower lip, and his tongue was in her mouth again. The familiarity of his taste confused her senses, and her hearts pounded. She knew she should run, leave, and go back to her companions, that this was just going to end the same way as it always did, and they would both be upset, though she would be the one that hurt him first, revenge for what he had done. She could be the first to leave this time and betray him with promises she subconsciously wanted to keep but knew she couldn’t. His hands moved down to undo his pants, pushing them down until they were past his ass, his hands immediately moving to get hers off. She lifted her hips to help him; he knew she wanted it as much as he did.

She moved with surprising strength and pushed him onto his back; her body followed, straddling his hips as she bit him again; she was angry; he knew any kiss he got was going to be him taking it from her; he moved his head as she bit his neck, so she had more room, leaving teeth marks and bruises signs of her love or hate; right now it didn’t matter which one it was, or even if there was a difference. The sound that escaped his lips when she sunk down on him suddenly was an uncharacteristic whine. His hands went to her hips, but she grabbed them, pinning them against his chest as she rocked against him. He knew what she was doing, taking away any control he had, but he was fine with that; he had her full attention, and that was what he wanted.

There were no sweet nothings, just grunts and groans as she moved, his hips rocking up to match her pace. When he tried to move his hands, she pressed them harder against his chest. “Thete,” he breathed out, his eyes closing as his back arched. He let out a frustrated growl.

“I’ll stop.” She warned. He opened his eyes and looked at her with a hurt puppy-dog look. “You get to do what I let you.” She said firmly, and he hissed out a low growl as she slowed down, her lips curled into a smirk, one he recognized. He relented, knowing she would make good on her threat; his eyes hungrily watched her writhe and ride him; his fingers interlocked with hers; she allowed it. She tilted her head back; there were no thoughts, just a primal need, so it seemed they weren’t above the need as they so proclaimed they were. Then again, nothing was normal with them; it had never been. They craved each other in ways that they would never admit, never fully say. Because neither of them wanted to give up their pride. He gasped out, feeling the tense feeling at the base of his spine.

“S-Slow down,” he mumbled in Gallifreyan; his brain couldn’t find the will to speak common Earth English; it was tedious, and he didn’t want to think about anything right now. He pulled her hands a bit, making her lean down, kissing her jaw, trying to get her to slow; he wanted to enjoy the moment after all, but she gave a rough roll of her hips. His fingers untangled with hers and trailed up her arms to her shoulders, one hand keeping her down against his chest. “Slow,” he repeated, drawing a growled-out breath from The Doctor. She obliged though, slowing; there was a light layer of sweat glistening on her skin from the movements. “There it is?” He breathed out, tilting his head back as he slowly moved; his fingers moved to where they were connected, his thumb rubbing small but firm circles against her clit.

The feeling kept building, and he groaned out. He could feel his muscles tighten more, his pleasure on the edge. He gripped her back tightly, “close.” He growled out against her ear, and she was close; he could feel it. With how her walls contracted and squeezed against his cock, he contemplated finishing in her. Though the complications that could bring about were not welcome right now, it could prove a fun plot for the future. No, he probably wouldn’t, but maybe. Her movements got faster before she yelled out, and her hand tightened against his chest as he felt her cum around him. Everything in him blanked for a moment at the delicious feeling that took him, and his body tensed more, thrusting as deeply as he could, holding her as her walls milked him; he couldn’t resist; he spilled into her, his teeth sinking into her shoulder. Their pants slowed after several minutes, and after a few silent moments, The Doctor got up, much to The Master’s dismay. “W-Where are you going?” he asked before he could stop himself. There was a flash of vulnerability in his words. Usually, there were sweet nothings and pretty promises; he could pretend she was his, at least for a while.

“No.” he said sharply. “You don’t get to decide that, it won’t matter anyway, we are destined to do this dance for the rest of our existence, so why can’t we enjoy these moments?” He said closing the distance, but she shook her head quickly turning to walk towards her tardis. “What running away again Thete?” He yelled after her, “You were always so good at it!” he snarled.

“Koschei,” There it was; she had finally called him his name after all of his poking and prodding with her old name. He felt a sort of shiver up his back, but the way she said it didn’t make him feel good about it, not like how she would whisper it in need. With such passion, the cold way she said it made his lip raise in a slight snarl.

“We both got what we wanted, yeah? Release… No need for me to stick around, fall for your pretty words, and no need for you to speak them; I think its time. she paused.

“Time for what?” He growled out. If she thought she could just end their games just like that, she was mistaken.

“That we stop.” She said calmly, grabbing her jacket. He moved to scramble up to his feet, fixing his pants.

“It’s The Doctor,” She said coldly as she reached the door. “And there won’t be any more moments, Master.” She said firmly, slipping into the tardis quickly to make her leave, leaving him there screaming at her as she left, it wouldn’t be the last time, but this time The Doctor left first, and she hurt him in a way that was deeper than physical, a small revenge, but it was only going to be a matter of time before they were forced into this dance once more.

★𓏧 𓏧 𓏧★ 𓏧 𓏧 𓏧★

Taglist𓏧

↳ ○ @bees-fart-too , @bakusquadobsessed , @anastasa-mslfedit , @cabinedepapel , @asteria237 , @suckerforcate , @bingewatchingmylifegoby , @toastvogel ,

If you want to be added to the rest here is the link to the tag list| x

[canisonicscrewyou]

Hi ignore that I haven't been working on the prologue so I can start editing+posting The Fobwatch Fic. Anyways this fic scene possessed me at like 2 AM the other night and I needed to. Get it out of my system. And now you get to see too. This follows not-terribly-long after this scene actually. (Only other one posted)

Context to get here: Rory's watch opening, processing, the Master failing badly at kidnapping Amy, returning her back, and an argument that had ensued between the Doctor(11) and the Master.

Timeline context: Rory/Darvill!Master regenerated from Missy. Timeline fuckery.

"Anyways, now that we're over that." The Master presses a button on his TARDIS console. "Maybe it's time for something more familiar."

Music plays over the speakers.

Oh-oh-oh-ohhhhh-

"Wait-" The Master bangs on the console in his frustration, and the song starts to skip.

Rah rah-ah-ah-ah-a-ah

Gaga ohh-la— -la

Thud. "— that's not right-"

Caughzz—

- Want your—

Bad Romance.

"That isn't- oh- oh yeah, right, sorry - last chick was on the aux-"

Ooh-la-la

Want your-

Last chick? The Master had been holding Amy hostage... Kind of. The Doctor glanced at her, and she looks at him. "I was in here for all of forty minutes, I wouldn't even know how to put it on-" she starts, and there's a moment before the Doctor catches up and turns to follow the Master with a look of knowing delight on his face.

"Sorry, I'm sorry, wait a second, last who?"

Love love love I want your—

The Master rolls his eyes. "Oh, come on Doctor. I feel like that was very clear. Last girl round. My darling little sister, trying her best..."

Amy's brow knits, and she speaks up to direct a question to the Master, who was... stewing. "Sorry- Can you guys change that much?"

His face scrunches, and he pulls himself out of it."We can change much more than you think, Amy."

I want it bad your bad romance—

"Last time around I was a very cunty Scotswoman and I wish I could say I took inspiration."

There's a moment where he tries to skip, or stop, or something, but it kept going. So he did the next best thing- smack the column of the console with a loud, dull thud from the glass. And a sharp, quiet hiss from the Master when he winces and grabs the offending hand.

I want your - bad bad bad bad-ad —

oh-oh-oh-oh—

After a moment, the Master turns to the Doctor and points. "Don't go getting any ideas copying me next time around."

Bad Romance finally stops.

The Doctor suddenly turned serious about the whole thing. Right. Next time around. He wasn't sure if he wanted the Master to know that. Or Amy... "Master, the thing- about next time-"

The Master got closer, and prodded the Doctor's shoulder with a finger. "Don't worry about that too much, I wasn't talking to you right then. That was for later." The other song starts.* And with that finger poke, the Master makes a dramatic motion, as if he pushed himself away from the Doctor with great force as he circled his TARDIS console away from them both to check another monitor.

*Most Likely: Mamma Mia, Under Attack, or Istanbul(Not Constantinople). It will probably be mentioned again in a manner similar to Bad Romance once I decide. Yippeee.

Insert A Song Beat

"Did you seriously do that on purpose?" Amy asks, looking around the TARDIS for the exact source of the music, and then back at the Master. He still wasn't as far off from the sad drowned cat look earlier as he thought, looking up at her.

"Oh, Amy, there's on thing you should've picked up on by now: I'm dramatic." He winks at her. "You have to be, to keep up with him." He tilts his chin to the Doctor, and his attention returns to a monitor as it makes a beeping noise.

"... Anyways, Doctor, you can start running now." He says.

The Doctor hesitates. "... What do you mean?"

The Master continues to look on idly. "I mean that I happened to- to take- Amy to buy time. And to bother you. Oh, I know it bothered you. Probably even more than the whole Rory-Oopsie."

If the Doctor didn't want to believe he didn't have A Plan, he'd find A Plan.

"I knew you'd come back to Leadworth as soon as I did. Gave me enough time."

"... Time for what..?"

"Oh, to use that little trip-alarm you left for me to download the psychic data I needed from yourr TARDIS. To my TARDIS." The Master looked up with a big self-pleased smile to the Doctor's serious furrowed brow.

"Doon't worryy! I only took what I needed. C'mon, what's a little hacking among girls? Buut, I'll tell you this," he pushes a big square button, and the door to his ship opens.

"If you start running now, you'll get to your TARDIS with enough time to stop me from getting access to try 'n send her into orbit from here— ah,ah,ah,ah-" the Master tuts and pushes the monitor away from the other two, and braced himself against the Doctor when he tried to rush at his console with a shout, "- don't bother, Doctor, the controls are isomorphic," a lie, "you know me," he said into the Doctor's ear. "But I would run."

That felt. Good. That felt familiar.

The Doctor was already backing up. The Master didn't let go, right away, his hands following the other even as he left the embrace in unexpected panic.

"Amy, run!" The Doctor shouts, and runs.

"Amy, you can stay!" The Master shouts immediately in turn, turning to Amy with an open hand out.

And Amy hesitates, mouth open and eyes wide as she stares at the Master(at Rory's eyes), before following the Doctor out at a sprint. [cont]

[specialagentlokitty]

10th doctor x reader - the stars in your eyes

Part 5:

You got in the TARDIS and Martha excused herself to go grab something to eat while the pair of you talked.

You walked around the console, running your hand along it, and you stopped when you got to the chairs and you sat down.

“I’m sorry I got angry with you, and for the things I said.”

“I messed up, you had a right to be angry.”

You leant back, tilting your head back and you closed your eyes, letting out a heavy sigh.

“I should’ve told you straight away, but I saw a chance for adventure and I really wanted to go…”

The doctor studied your quietly for a moment.

“You should have told me, this can be really dangerous (Y/N), what if you get hurt or worse?”

“I’m used to being blind doctor, I’ve adjusted, it’s why I know you’re stood about five feet away from me right now.”

“How do you know?”

You thought for a moment, trying to come up with a clever lie that would be somewhat believable.

“I can tell by the distance of your voice.”

He hummed a little and walked over, sitting next to you and you turned your head to look at his golden form.

“Answer my this. If you can’t see, how did you know that the galaxy we were looking at was the milky way? How did you ask to see the stars?”

“I have a small perception of light, not much but a little, it’s why my eyes are sensitive to the light because they can’t handle it.”

The doctor nodded his head and he looked at you.

“But how did you know where we were?”

“I guess you can call it an instinct? I always know where I am, exact location, whether it’s north, south, east or west, I know where I am and how far I go to get to where I have to be.”

“Impossible.”

You gestured to the console and he got up, and you rattled off the exact location of the TARDIS and he looked at you amazed.

“No…”

“Been able to do it since I was a child.”

The doctor walked back over.

He stood in front of you, his hands in the pocket of his jacket.

“Why didn’t you tell me though? Before you started travelling? Does Donna know?”

“Of course she knows I grew up with her, she was there when my vision went. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to say no to me coming, but I now realise that was a mistake.”

You slowly stood up and sighing heavily.

“Just answer me this doctor, two hearts. Why?”

“Oh that’s right you kept me alive!”

He quickly pulled you in for a hug and you hesitated for a split second before hugging him back, resting your forehead on his shoulder.

“I never did thank you for that, so thank you so much…” he whispered.

“The universe needs the doctor.” You chuckled.

You pulled away and crossed your arms over your chest.

“So, two hearts. What exactly are you Goldman? I know you’re not human.”

“I’m a time lord.”

That word rattled around in your head like a church bell, over and over and over, repeating non stop.

The doctor waited for you to reply and after a moment he went to say your name but stopped when the door creaked open he stopped.

He looked up and you took a step away.

“Sorry, like I said I know I shouldn’t have come. It was a mistake and I’m a liability.”

You turned around and ignored him calling out to you.

“Did you make a list…?” You mumbled to Martha.

“I did, I sent it to that address you asked me too.”

“Thank you, I might be seeing you around Martha Jones.”

You cracked a smile and you stepped outside, the doctor rushing behind you calling your name but you were gone.

You melted into the sea of people and he couldn’t pick you out from the crowd.

“What was that about?” Martha asked.

“She had other things to do I suppose…”

When you were sure that you could be seen by the TARDIS, you began to jog slightly around a corner that had no people.

Your body disappeared into small particles until no one could see you, and you reappeared back at the house by the front door and you opened it.

“(Y/N)!?” Wilf called.

“Yeah it’s me! Did you get a list of books?!” You called back.

You closed the door and set your glasses aside, and you wondered into the kitchen, sitting down at the table.

“I did, Donna’s out right now getting them all. What are they for?”

Wilf set a cup in front of you and he sat down at the table with you.

“They’re books that talk about a legend, about the child of the universe. Stories made up through all of human history, apparently humans have been talking about me for centuries.”

“Really?”

“I knew there were some stories out there, but I wasn’t aware how many people knew about me, or, rather believed in something like me, it makes absolutely no sense.”

“And why’s that?” Donna asked.

She set a few bags down on the table and stood behind you, her hands resting on your shoulders and you took a deep breath.

“I thought you were staying with him? Oh and Grandad mum wants your help with something outside.” She asked.

Wilf grumbled and got up, and Donna took his seat at the table.

“So? Why aren’t you staying with the doctor?”

You cracked a weak smile, looking down at the table.

“I can’t…”

“Why? What happened?”

“He knows I’m blind, shouted at me, I stormed out, we spoke, I found out he’s a time lord so I can’t travel with him.”

“He shouted at you?!”

“Donna it’s fine.”

She shook her head.

“It’s not! I’ll smack him! And what’s a time lord?”

You ran a hand down your face.

“It’s a civilisation from a distant planet, I’m not sure what happened to them, but for some reason he can’t tell I’m not human, he has suspicions but he can’t tell.”

“Is it such a bad thing if he knows?”

You heard talking in the hallway and you got Donna to followed you upstairs to your room.

You closed the door and sat on the bed, and Donna sat next to you, taking the remote for your tv to put something on to cover the talking.

“What you found me I came crashing down from space itself right? But was there anything else that seemed strange?”

“No?”

“I was frozen Donna, frozen in time. The time lords put me in a time lock which for some reason or another broke. The froze me in time which was why I was still so young.”

Donna looked at you.

“Why…?”

“Because I was something unknown to them, powerful even at such a young age and they feared what they didn’t know. They feared me, a little girl who was just trying to find her parents again… they took me and locked me away in the furthest depths of the universe and the time lock broke, and I came crashing down to earth.”

You took Donna’s hand in yours and held it.

“I love you all like my own family, you are my family. But you’ve seen what the doctor does to any aliens on earth, if he finds out what I am Donna he’ll do that to me…”

“I won’t let him!”

“You won’t get a say… he’ll send me away.. he’ll time lock me again.. but I keep hearing whispers in the universe, things that don’t make sense, it’s why I got those books, I thought maybe it would help.”

“Help with what? I don’t understand.”

“Help in trying to figure out why in here, why I hear these whispers. Something is happening Donna, and I need to find out before it’s too late.”

She looked at you and you looked at her, and she could have sworn she saw the flicker of one of the stars in your eyes going out.

She focused on your eyes, carefully studying them to make sure that they weren’t going out, but she never did.

“Alright, I’ll get them, you do your project thingy.”

You laughed softly and laid down, projecting yourself out of your body as you waited for her to return with the books.

You sat down and turned your attention towards the stars, furrowing your brows a little bit, you created a replica of the universe in front of you, and you spun it around a few times.

You felt like something was missing, a planet was missing, but you weren’t entirely sure what it was.

Waving your hand through model universe, you made it disappear and Donna came back in, dumping the books on your bed.

“Do you need any help?”

You looked at her and walked over, placing your finger on her forehead.

“Anything that mentions child of the universe got it.”

With that, you sat down on the floor while Donna went through the books, you sat with your legs crossed and closed your eyes.

The universe had things it wanted to tell you, and you were listening, taking in everything it was whispering for you to hear.

But nothing was standing out, so you began to search harder, trying to clear some of the words that weren’t quite making sense.

You needed a lead, anything that could help, and right now the only sounds echoing were the same thing.

The darkness was coming.

The child of time and the child of the universe.

But there was a new one.

One seemingly calling out for you, but somehow linked to the doctor, a female voice whispering.

The voice was calling out to the doctor, but she sounded so far away, her voice rippling through space like she wasn’t in the same universe you were right now.

But you could hear her words just barely

Bad wolf