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myghostmonument · 5 years

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13 x Reader: Home

Notes: Wow this took forever! It’s entirely too long but hopefully still an enjoyable read; I couldn’t find a good way to split it up. I really enjoyed this request and it’s been stewing in my mind for a WHILE, which is where most of my first drafts are usually written. I have another one or two fics planned that will probably also be around this length (or longer), but I’m really focusing on making the majority of my requests more concise. lmao we’ll see. This is also gender neutral for the reader!! Yay! As always requests are open so long as you understand that I’m slooooow Summary [anon request]: Could please you do an OT3 fic with Thirteen/Reader/Yaz, (Ryan can be there too but as a friend) where they just finished a really messed up adventure and they all have to reassure each other they're ok and it's all fluffy and maybe some angst? Warnings: None WC: 5500 oops

It hadn’t hit you, not at first. There hadn’t been time initially; there so rarely ever was. Not when there was so much going on, so much to do. And even after, when you had slammed shut the doors of the TARDIS and left the planet behind, you were still riding the wave of exhilaration. It was that particular brand of adrenaline utterly unique to traveling with the Doctor, and it kept your mind focused on moving forwards, with nothing more distant than the here and now. It was glorious, chaotic, intoxicating. It was survival. It kept the awareness of even bodily injuries from distracting you, because it didn’t matter that you couldn’t make a fist with your left hand, or that Yaz’s shirt was more blood than anything else, or that the Doctor could only draw in measured, shallow breaths. The only thing that mattered was the next step, the next breath drawn, the next moment unfolded. Surviving. And when you had survived, when you leaned panting against the doors of the TARDIS and watched while the Doctor flew around the console, her hands a blur and her voice a continuous counterpart of conversation to the groaning of the timeship as it took flight away, away from there- that was when the wave was at its peak. It flooded you with triumph and coloured everything golden, bright. It was a sort of pride that said yes, we did it, another adventure completed, another win. So no, it didn’t hit you right away, the impact of what you had just seen. What you had just done. The choices you had made, the consequences you had watched unfold. It wasn’t till you stood swaying in the console room and watched as the Doctor and Yaz moved away that you started to feel it. To understand. Horror trickled through you, slowly at first, but building. Between one breath and the next, it was a flood. Your face felt cold even as your injured arm began to burn, and you couldn’t stop remembering, couldn’t stop seeing, not even when you closed your eyes- And then, nothing. Your mind had carefully and firmly blanked. At some point you had ended up in your room, sitting on the floor. You weren’t sure if that was by choice or not. It didn’t matter. You sat and stared at nothing, safer by far than closing your eyes. Your wounded arm was not exactly numb; you were aware of the pain. It just didn’t touch you. (You were also aware, distantly, that you should probably have followed Yaz and the Doctor to the medbay, but you hadn’t. Had just stood there, alone in the gently humming console, until your feet moved on their own, took you away.) It was Yaz who eventually found you, sitting against your bed with your knees drawn to your chest. She might have spoken to you, or she might not have. It was only when you realized that you were warmer and turned your head that you noticed her, settled down next to you on the floor. You shook your head slightly; you got the impression that you weren’t keeping track of time in an entirely coherent manner. You blinked slowly, realized belatedly that Yaz had said something. “What?” “I don’t want to be alone,” Yaz repeated, and paused. “Do you?” The words were raw, scraped too thinly over exhaustion and pain to be in any way gentle. But they were for all that kind. Kind, and sincere. Because they were coming from Yaz. What she said, she meant. “No,” you whispered, and leaned your head against her shoulder. Your hand found its way into hers without conscious effort or choice, or perhaps it was her hand that found yours. You both sat that way for a while, with clutching hands and distant eyes. You were still in a conflicting state of numb fog mixed intermittently with flashes of horror, but it was easier with Yaz there. Or if not easier, at least… better. She had seen the same things, had made the same choices, was living with the same memories. Eventually, a separate thought floated to the top of your mind, and you mumbled it into Yaz’s shoulder: “What’s the Doctor doing?” “Wondering why her friends are hiding on a floor, and not in the medbay where they’re supposed to be.” You felt Yaz jump, and you lifted your head, looking over the edge of your bed to see the Doctor framed in the doorway. Yaz leaned around the edge of the bed to look for herself, then settled back against you with a released breath. “She really loves making a dramatic entrance,” Yaz muttered, and despite everything, your lips twitched in an approximation of a smile. It was true. “I heard that,” the Doctor said as she moved into the room. Her boots appeared in your field of vision, followed abruptly by the rest of her as she crouched down in front of you and Yaz. You blinked, focusing on her face and noting idly how her ear-cuff glinted in the dim light as she turned her head from you to Yaz. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, and her eyes were narrowed. She looked worried. Tired. “You didn’t follow us to the medbay,” the Doctor said, and you realized that she was looking at you again. “Weren’t you hit by one of those blasters?” Her tone was neutral, but her eyes were flickering with a restless, almost angry tension as they moved down. You looked down as well. “I- didn’t think about it,” you said truthfully, looking blankly at your left arm. You felt Yaz move. “That looks bad,” she said, and the genuine concern in her voice reached you even through your hazy disinterest. “It’s not, but it does need tending,” the Doctor said, though she was looking at your face as she spoke, not your wound. “I didn’t think about it,” you repeated, your voice hollow. Something in the Doctor’s expression shifted, and you struggled to elaborate. You wanted to appease that look in the Doctor’s eyes, but it was hard to find words when emotions themselves eluded you. “I just- I- I didn’t-” you were trying to articulate, but you could feel those emotions (your pain, your memories) welling up in your chest, in your throat, and they were choking you. Yaz tightened her grip on your hand, and the Doctor’s expression shifted again. “Hey, alright, it’s fine, you don’t need to explain-” she began, soothingly, but the memories were still rising, building, and something had to give, something had to give. “- and I can’t- if I try- I can’t make it stop-” “Can’t make what stop-” “They’re… even when I- I close my eyes and I- I see it all again, again and again-” you shuddered and fell silent as you choked on your own words. Yaz was also silent, but tears were running slowly down her cheeks and her own gaze was glazed and distant with remembered horrors. The Doctor’s lips had parted slightly, but as her gaze moved from you to Yaz and she saw the tears, her lips flattened again, pressed tight over words she did not say. They were present in her eyes, though. The Doctor was tired, hurting, and now she was angry too. Angry for the pain she saw in her companions, for the damage done. But her voice when she spoke was absent of that anger. She was good at that, at misdirection. Only her eyes ever betrayed her true self when she let her guard slip. But you weren’t looking at her eyes, or anything else. Nothing in that room, anyways. “Oh,” the Doctor said softly, “oh, my poor fam. Come here, you lot.” Leaning forwards, she pulled you both towards her and into an embrace. You closed your eyes as your face pressed up against the fabric of the Doctor’s coat and inhaled the familiar scent (vanilla, with hints of machinery and something else, something distinctly her). You could feel Yaz next to you, your hands still entwined. It was an awkward, precarious embrace, huddled as you were on the floor and with only four good arms to go around for the three of you. Yes, it was awkward. It was also suddenly as necessary to you as air, as the next drawn breath. You shuddered again as the Doctor spoke, her voice still gentle and absent of the storm that lurked in her eyes. “I’m sorry you had to see that,” she murmured, her head bent over you and Yaz. Her own eyes slid closed, and you could hear the exhaustion in her voice, the way it rasped slightly. She had taken damage too, you remembered. Anger stirred in you, a sharp jab that pushed away some of your numb fog. You lifted your injured arm and wrapped it painfully around the Doctor, holding her to you as tightly as you could. “Are- you okay?” you asked the Doctor, your voice muffled by her shirt and coat. The Doctor made a quiet sound, something not quite a word, and you felt her shift, pulling you more fully into her arms while her head bent closer over yours, her nose resting in your hair. You could feel her heartbeats against your own chest, and unconsciously you began to match your breathing to hers. “Oh, yeah. You know me, I’m the king of okay.” The words were almost (almost) convincing, falling breezily from the Doctor’s mouth with what was close to her normal light, irreverent tone. Close. She obviously heard the discrepancy too, and cleared her throat. “Have you seen anything like that before?” Yaz asked. “Have you- done that-” she trailed off bleakly, and the Doctor was silent for a few moments. “I’ve been traveling for a long time,” she said finally, quietly. “I’ve seen the worst of the universe, in so many forms and species. Death and famine and war and senseless, needless cruelty, selfishness and fear…” her arms tightened around you and Yaz as she spoke. “But I’ve seen the best of the universe too. People who leap to protect others without even a thought, who stand in front of those in need and go above and beyond to make the universe a better, kinder place.” She pressed a soft kiss to your head, then did the same to Yaz. “Does it get easier?” Yaz asked. “Having to see the- the worst bits?” Again, the Doctor was silent, and this time the moment stretched just a little bit too long. “Come on then,” she said, and she had layered her words with that breezy cheerfulness again, avoiding Yaz’s question. “Enough moping around on the floor. How about some tea? I love tea-” she was moving as she spoke, extricating herself from the embrace and standing. She helped up Yaz, then held out a hand to you. You started to reach up with your injured arm, then dropped it with a wince and proffered your other hand. “Mmm,” the Doctor said as she pulled you up, her eyes sharp on your bad arm. “But before tea, you need patched up.” She had kept a grip on your arm, eyed it critically while moving it gently back and forth. You blinked slowly. The presence of Yaz and the Doctor (and the touch of their skin on yours) was an anchor, but you were still drifting as your mind tried to shield you. To forget. “I’ll start the tea,” Yaz said, wiping surreptitiously at her cheeks. The Doctor’s eyes moved to her briefly and her expression softened, though she did not comment, only nodded. The three of you left, Yaz vanishing in the direction of the kitchen while you trailed after the Doctor (who couldn’t seem to make herself walk slowly to save her life) into the medbay. It didn’t take particularly long to clean and bandage your arm (the wound was largely superficial, if painful) and soon you and the Doctor joined Yaz in the kitchen. True to her word, Yaz had started the tea, and when you came in it was to the sight of her straining to reach some mugs, her face tight with frustration and pain. “I got it,” the Doctor said, stepping forwards quickly. For someone who was by the most generous of estimates barely an inch taller than Yaz, the Doctor nonetheless rarely missed an opportunity to flex her superior height. You rather suspected that Ryan and Graham had begun storing items in higher and higher places, and for precisely that reason. (You were for example sure that the coat hook in the console room had been stealthily and consistently adjusted until it was several inches higher, and counting. One of these days the Doctor was going to try to hang up her coat and find herself to reach, and then… well, you weren’t sure what would happen but you doubted popcorn would be out of place.) You’d been meaning to broach the topic with Yaz and brainstorm possible counter attacks against Ryan and Graham’s mischief… perhaps the TARDIS could be wheedled into lowering the door frames? You accepted a mug of tea automatically from Yaz, your gaze distant as your thoughts pieced themselves together sluggishly, disjointed. Ryan and Graham… you looked up suddenly, and met the eyes of the Doctor. She’d been watching you, and there was a crease next to her left brow. “Are you- are- Ryan and Graham?” you said haltingly, not sure why the words were so reluctant to form. “Yeah, we should probably be picking them back up soon?” Yaz said, though her tone made it into a question as she too looked at the Doctor. “You know how Graham gets,” she added with a faint smile. “Right you are,” the Doctor agreed, setting down her tea. Her eyes flicked between you and Yaz, and her lips pressed together again over more unspoken words. “I’ll just be a mo,” she said, and slipped away. A vacuum of silence was left in her wake, and you and Yaz looked at each other. The memories seemed somehow brighter, more real in that ringing silence. As if they filled the room with a swelling, tangible presence and left no room for you and Yaz. She must have felt it too, because after a moment she stepped to your side, and her free hand found yours again. Not long after the familiar groaning wheeze of the TARDIS filtered into the room, followed by a brief silence and then muffled voices, growing louder. You had one of those sudden painfully clear thoughts that cut so sharply through the fog, and realized that you were not prepared to talk to Ryan and Graham. Yaz’s grip on your hand was suddenly tight, or perhaps it was your grip on hers. You clung to each other, silent in solidarity and apprehension. The voices grew louder, then suddenly muted as another voice spoke over them. It was the Doctor, and though you couldn’t hear her actual words, you could hear the cautionary tone of her voice. There followed a few more exchanges, more subdued, and then a brief silence. When the Doctor stepped back into the room, she was alone. She lifted a hand and brushed hair out of her eyes as she approached you and Yaz. Though her face was drawn tight with exhaustion, her eyes were as sharp as ever as they focused on the two of you, and she noted immediately the way you were clutching each other with pale, wan faces. “Oh,” she said, and there was something so deeply, painfully sad in that one quiet word that you felt as if it shivered in the air, in your heart. You were too raw for it, and closed your eyes- no! You opened them again, afraid of what you saw when you closed them, when you shut out the distractions of the world, when you let yourself still and think and- There was a tug on your hand. You blinked, and realized that the Doctor had grasped Yaz’s other hand and was pulling her away, and you with them. You followed as they moved to the library. Partially because following was easier than resisting, but mostly because when all else failed, you had that, had them. You would follow those two women into anything. “We’ve got tea and biscuits,” the Doctor said, sitting down on a sofa next to Yaz. You had just settled on Yaz’s other side when the Doctor had snapped her fingers and leapt back to her feet. “I know! A fire, we should have a fire. That’s proper cozy, just what we need.” She took off her coat and tossed it over the arm of the sofa before moving to crouch in front of the fireplace. She muttered all-but inaudibly to herself for a few moments as she poked around (you thought you heard a flippant ‘this should be fine’ which didn’t inspire an awful lot of confidence). A few experimental buzzes on the sonic however produced a very respectable fire indeed, and one that didn’t seem too likely to burn down the room. “There,” the Doctor said in a satisfied voice, rocking back on her heels and dusting off her hands. “Cozy.” She placed her hands on her knees and glanced briefly over her shoulder at you and Yaz. Her hair had fallen across her face again, and strands of it were limned in gold by the light of the fire. You stared at her, crouched, disheveled, tired, shadowed. Yet she glowed. She glowed. She caught your eye and smiled, pushing some of her hair out of her face. “You’re going to stay with us?” Yaz asked, moving over as the Doctor resettled herself on the couch between you and her. “‘Course,” the Doctor said easily, leaning back against the cushions and crossing her legs. She reached out and grasped one of Yaz’s hands, then yours. Her fingers curled gently around yours and she gave a soft squeeze. “For a bit, anyway. I think we should be together after… after that. And,” she added, an attempt at sternness as she looked between you, “this seems better than huddling on a floor.” The sternness was somewhat undercut by the way she squeezed your hand again, however. You leaned your head against her shoulder, staring sightlessly into the fire. On your other side Yaz copied you, and the Doctor made a quiet sound, dropping quick kiss on Yaz’s head, and then yours. “My fam,” she said softly. “I’ve got you.” “We’ve got each other,” Yaz corrected, and you nodded in agreement, feeling the Doctor’s hair brush across your face. “Right,” the Doctor said, and her voice sounded odd. She cleared her throat. “Do you… want to talk about it?” Your breath seized. The shard of bright, unflinching memory pierced your fog, tore it to shreds like damp paper. You stiffened, clutching convulsively at the Doctor’s hand and turning your face into her shoulder, away from the light. Your chest had tightened at the thought of- at the thought- and your arm jerked as it gave a sullen pulse of pain, as if the conversation had woken it. “Or… maybe we just talk, about any old thing,” the Doctor continued. She was looking down at you, and for a moment the reflected firelight was nothing compared to the fire in her eyes. You couldn’t see that, though. You could just feel her warmth against you, and her gentle hand around yours. Yes, it was only her eyes that ever betrayed her. “That sounds good,” you heard Yaz say faintly. So that’s what you did, the three of you. You talked. Mostly the Doctor, spinning stories of past adventures and regenerations and friends. The stories often brought up more questions than than they resolved, but that was okay. You had long since accustomed yourself to the Doctor’s whimsical and rapid-fire method of speaking, the way she blended the ordinary and extraordinary with effortless, capricious casualty. She was youthful and brilliant; she was ancient and utterly mad. She was both the raging storm and the anchor that kept you safe, and as she spun her stories in that quiet room you felt your mind finally begin to quiet. Not all the way, not even close, but… a veneer of normalcy crept over you, and you relaxed. Eventually, impossibly, you fell asleep. You hadn’t wanted to, knowing what you’d see when you closed your eyes with nothing left to confront but yourself. Those thoughts, those memories. But you weren’t alone, and the Doctor’s familiar voice (along with her presence, and Yaz’s) slowly suffused you with enough peace that your mind quieted. And with the quiet came, blessedly, sleep. Your head was in the Doctor’s lap at that point. She had draped an arm over your side, and the gentle circles made by her fingers had been a countermelody to her voice, another anchor. At some point Yaz drifted off as well. She had moved to the floor (she said she liked her feet toasty, though the Doctor suspected that in truth her shoulder was aching) and dozed with her back against the sofa and her head just touching yours as it rested against the Doctor’s thigh. The Doctor stopped talking, eventually. But she did not sleep. If you had been awake, if you had seen the fire reflected in her ancient, solemn gaze, you might have wondered if she too was afraid of what she would see behind closed eyes. So there was silence for a long time. Until- “How are they doing?” The Doctor looked away slowly from the hearth to look at Ryan. She gave him a tired smile as he lurked in the doorway; his posture was worried, unsure. But at her smile the young man stepped farther into the room, his gaze moving between you and Yaz. The Doctor followed his gaze, her eyes fixing on Yaz in the flickering firelight. Yaz always managed to look worried when she slept, so that at least wasn’t new. But the Doctor felt that the policewoman’s face was more stark, the skin more tightly drawn over her bones than normal… and the heavy bandaging on her shoulder didn’t do much to help dispel the image. The Doctor’s gaze moved to the side, followed slowly by her head and her hair fell partially across her face as she looked down at her other sleeping companion. You. It was less normal for you to look so harried, so upset when sleeping, and the Doctor’s eyes might have tightened as she stared. But her hand that rested on your side remained soft, gentle. Protective. “I don’t know,” she answered finally, and even she could hear how tired her voice sounded. How helpless. “Not worse.” “That’s something, then,” Ryan said, though his tone lacked conviction. The Doctor looked up at him and managed another tired smile. There was no joy or happiness in it, but there was genuine appreciation for Ryan and his kindness. “Yes, it is.” “If you want a break or anything, I can sit with them-” “No.” Guttural, low, raw. The word was an instinctive reaction that left no time or room for softening, and even the Doctor was startled when it left her lips. Just one word, but it had been torn from a primal place of raised hackles, bared teeth, flashing eyes. “No,” she repeated, more gently. “I’ve got this.” Her voice was still ever so polite, and it didn’t match her eyes even a little bit. Ryan nodded cautiously, his eyes moving from the Doctor’s left hand (which had moved to cup your head, fingers splayed as if to shield) to her right (which had dropped to Yaz’s un-bandaged shoulder). The gestures were small, but there was nothing subtle about them, and Ryan was wise enough not to push. Not when he saw the cracks in the Doctor’s composure, confined though they were to her eyes (and to that one devastating word). For someone normally so open and upfront with her emotions… it was more alarming than if she had shouted. Those bared fangs and flashing eyes lurked just beneath the surface of her familiarity, a familiarity which suddenly seemed so thin, so insubstantially draped over the ancient, feral thing that she truly was. Ryan had to remind himself again that this person, this friend of his, was not human. But she was his friend, and he did not fear her. So he nodded again, and he did what friends do. He offered his help once more, even in the face of her pain and rejection. “Well, if you do need anything, Graham and I are around, okay?” “I’ll keep it in mind,” the Doctor said, and the wildness had receded from her eyes as she watched him move to go. (Receded, yes, but it lurked. Always, it lurked.) “Ryan-” he turned, looked at her, “thank you. Really.” Ryan nodded, because he heard the tacit apology, because he understood. He left the Doctor alone with you and Yaz, once again staring into the depths of the fire with unreadable eyes while her hands remained as they were, draped protectively over you both. Keeping you to her. When you woke a while later, for a moment you thought she had gone. Then you heard the soft sounds of murmured voices and stifled weeping. You opened your eyes slowly, forgetting for a moment where you were or why there was such a heavy, cold weight in your gut. Then you remembered. You lifted your head and blinked blearily. The fire had died down to sullen embers, and the light in the room was muted, somber. You realized eventually that you were looking at the back of the Doctor’s head, and she was sitting on the floor cross-legged next to Yaz. “-nothing to be ashamed of,” the Doctor was saying. Yaz wiped almost angrily at her face, and you realized she had been the source of weeping. “I’m not,” Yaz said, her voice low and miserable. “Or- well, maybe I am. I mean, I have training for this kind of thing. Trauma and violence, and that sort-” “Training isn’t meant to produce apathy,” the Doctor interrupted firmly. “Training means you can still act and handle yourself in a tense situation, not that you’re unaffected by it, especially after.” “Well, yes but-” “And,” the Doctor continued, slightly louder, “I doubt training for the Sheffield police covers intergalactic warfare, hm? More parking tickets, fewer bio-morphic super-weapons, possibly?” Yaz smiled despite herself and ducked her head. “You did brilliantly,” the Doctor added, quieter. “That was-” she hesitated. “Horrible,” Yaz whispered, and the Doctor reached over, grabbed her hand. “Yes.” There was a lengthy silence, and though you couldn’t see the Doctor’s face, you could see when she took in a deep breath and tensed her shoulders before speaking again. “I can take you home,” the Time Lord said softly, as if the words didn’t tear at her as they left her mouth. But even you could see how rigidly she held herself. “If you want-” “NO!” The Doctor actually winced as you and Yaz both shouted at the same time, turning to look at you with a scrunched nose as you shoved yourself upright with your good arm. “No,” you repeated. “Absolutely not,” Yaz added, and despite the recent tears her voice was steady. The Doctor looked between the two of you. Her expression was serious, determined; she fully intended to take you and Yaz home if asked. But you could see the burgeoning hope in her eyes. The relief. “I can’t promise that this is the last time,” she warned. “It could happen again. It probably will. I would understand if you wanted to go home-” “We said no,” Yaz interrupted. She was still holding the Doctor’s hand, and you slid stiffly off the sofa so that you could crouch on the Doctor’s other side and grab that hand too. “We are home,” you said. You might have tilted your head, gestured at the room. But your eyes remained steady on the two women. Home. “But-” “We are home,” Yaz repeated, firmly. “We’re a fam, right?” The Doctor was uncharacteristically silent as she looked from Yaz to you, then down at the chain made by your linked hands. You saw her throat move as she swallowed. You met Yaz’s eyes, and then the two of you leaned over and enveloped the Doctor in an embrace. Your face rested somewhere between the Doctor’s neck and shoulder, and you could feel the delicate flutter of her pulse (as well as Yaz’s hair tickling your nose). It wasn’t even remotely comfortable, that embrace. You were all of you stiff (injured, exhausted) and your arms and legs met in a lumpy, disorganized, awkward jumble. And you wouldn’t trade it for the world. Yours, or any of the others you and seen, any you had yet to see. This was home. The three of you remained that way for several quiet, fragile moments. Even the Doctor was silent, and you could feel the hitch in her breaths. It might have been from the smoke inhalation, from her injury… but you didn’t think so. You could still feel her rapid pulse, could still feel her hand gripping yours so tightly. Could still remember the fear in her eyes when she spoke of leaving you... and the relief when you refused. Several moments of fragile silence, that stretched into the shadowed corners of the room and to the stars beyond. Then you felt the Doctor stiffen, as if remembering something. Her chest rose as words made their way to her mouth, and some sliver of premonition (or perhaps more accurately, past experiences) made your lips twitch into the beginnings of a smile before her words were fully formed. “How do you lot keep ending up on the floor?! There’s furniture, proper furniture, and yet once again I find you like this- funny, is it?” the last words were delivered to Yaz, who had begun to giggle. It was infectious, and you began to as well, you face still pressed against the Doctor’s neck. “You two started it,” you pointed out, your voice somewhat muffled. “No, Yaz started it,” the Doctor said automatically, as if scoring a point. Yaz lifted her head and gave her a dirty look. “I- hey! It’s not like either of you had to join me-” “But you did start it,” you replied, giggling again in response to Yaz’s indignant sputter. “That’s- hang on, you started it! Back in your room!” “Well, then you’re both copy-cats who have no one to blame but yourselves,” you said loftily, and were rewarded when both women made sounds of outrage. It only made you laugh harder, especially when an exasperated Doctor tried in a grand gesture to stand up, but utterly failed to escape the tangled embrace. Eventually the noise attracted Ryan and Graham, who poked their heads cautiously into the room. The apprehension that had lined their faces shifted into confusion, and ended up somewhere between amusement and exasperation. “They’re mad,” Graham observed, absently taking a bite out of sandwich that Ryan didn’t care to guess the contents of. Ryan was silent as he watched for a moment longer, taking in the gasping, arguing, laughing pile that was the three of you. Your arms were still entwined, and Yaz had her head thrown back against the couch as she giggled. The Doctor was still making an effort at standing (and was unsurprisingly in the midst of delivering what appeared to be a lecture, though it was largely undercut by the amused curve of her lips) but was thwarted, both by Yaz’s entangled legs, and by her coat which had slipped off the soft to drape across all three of you- indeed, your face was completely covered by it, and Ryan could only hear muffled sounds of laughter and protest coming from beneath it. “Reckon so,” he said finally. Graham noted with some surprise that he was smiling. “C’mon, let’s leave them be. They’ll be fine.” And he was right. It would take time, of course. All things do. But you all had each other. You were, after all, a fam. You would be fine. There was still so much of the universe to see.

#if the read-more tag doesn't work tell me so I can RIOT #this is so long and has no plot I'm sorry #I'm a ho for emotional exposition what can I say #13xreader #thirteenxreader #13th doctor x reader #thirteenth doctor x reader #idk how tags work can you tell?#skfdkjdf #13th doctor #13th doctor imagine #fem reader #male reader #nb reader #whatever im done with tags now yeet #mine

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munstysmind · 3 years

Text

RIOT ACT - Maddison - An Original Story

WARNING/S: Prop/fake knife

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION FOR MY WORK TO BE USED IN ANY CAPACITY

Divider by @firefly-graphics

MAIN MASTERLIST

MADDISON MASTERLIST

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Putting a paper bag on the kitchen bench, Chris hangs his jacket and Maddie's keys up before he carefully opens her bedroom door and slips in, being as quiet as he can so he doesn't wake her, not realising that she's already awake... kind of.

"Morning Beautiful" he says when he sees her roll over onto his side of the bed and nuzzle into his pillow, inhaling the scent he's left on the fabric. She just groans and pulls the blankets over her head.

He lets out a small laugh, he finds it cute how she's grumpy when she first wakes up. He finds everything she does cute. He can't help it.

He goes and sits on the bed next to her, pulling the blankets down to see her face. She's wearing a scowl, her eyes still closed.

"No... too early" she whines, trying to get the blankets out of his hands so she can pull them back over her head

"It's 8:30" he tells her, pointing out that it's not really that early

"My day off... let me sleep" she begs, still trying to pull the blankets from his grip.

"I got bagels" he says. This perks her right up. She immediately stops trying to get the blankets from him and opens her eyes

"From Harleys?" she asks, squinting at him questioningly

"Yes"

"What type?"

"A mix, but I made sure to get some blueberry ones"

"You are forgiven"

"That's a relief" he says with a laugh as he leans forward and kisses her temple which pulls a smile from her.

"They had Skittles cupcakes... I got two" he whispers against her skin before pulling away. He had no intentions on getting anything other than the bagels when he went into the bakery but when he saw them he had to, remembering her telling him how much she loves Skittles.

Something that was cemented in his brain when he tried to steal a few from the pack she was eating last time he visited.

She lets out a little excited squeak as she quickly sits up and brings him in by grabbing the back of his neck before kissing him.

"Thank you" she mumbles against his lips before kissing him again. He hums in response, making a mental note of her reaction for the future.

She suddenly lays back down, grabbing the front of his shirt in the process. She manages to successfully pull him onto the bed causing him to grunt slightly as he lands on the mattress.

"Cuddles..." she declares and he just laughs as he rolls onto his side. She immediately snuggles up to him, nuzzling her face into his chest.

He smiles to himself as they get settled, knowing that what just happened is because she's becoming more comfortable with him. She initiated everything, it's something she was rarely aloud to do with Travis.

"This is nice" she mumbles as he wraps his arms around her.

"Yeah it is" he replies, giving her a gentle squeeze. He realised from the moment he walked through her door that first night that she likes being held like this, her head in his chest with his arms around her.

He doesn't know why yet, he hadn't figured that part out. She knows though. It makes her feel safe. What others see as a simple embrace isn't simple to her, it's protection.

They stay like that for a while, enjoying the closeness when they hear Sebastian come out of the guest room and Chris feels Maddie tense up in his arms.

"I'm gonna kill him" she growls into his chest.

"Maddie" he says calmly, trying to get her to relax

"He ratted on us"

"I know he did but he didn't mean to. He's apologised, to both of us, you can't stay mad at him"

"I can"

"Maddie, he's your best friend"

She lets out a groan as she pulls away from his warm embrace and rolls onto her back. She takes a deep breath and lets out a sigh before looking at him

"I don't want them to not like you" she says quietly. She knows Jensen and Jared are going to be tough on him, probably even more than they need to be because of Travis.

"Neither do I but the longer we wait, the worse it's going to be. Let's just get it over with" he tells her, leaning forward and nudging her nose with his, waiting for her tiny nod, before kissing her.

"Jensen's gonna go all Dean on you" she grumbles against his lips. She feels him smile slightly.

"I'm a big boy Mads, I'll be OK" he says as she snuggles back into him. She wants to stay there, cuddled up with him and forget everything but her stomach growls loudly and she lets out an angry groan.

"Come on cranky pants, let's get you fed" Chris says as he stats to untangle himself from her

"I'm not cranky" she says, frowning. He has to bite back a laugh as he reaches down and pulls her up.

Maddie feels like she's about to have a panic attack as watches Chris talking with Jensen and Jared out on her balcony, nervously chewing on her thumbnail while she absentmindedly flips a prop knife with her other hand. She knows they're laying down the law with Chris, doing the whole "What Are Your Intentions?" talk. It's terrifying her.

"Well, they haven't killed him yet" Sebastian says, trying to get Maddie to relax a bit, knowing how nervous she is. It backfires on him because she just glares at him, a low growl coming from her throat.

"You're lucky I didn't throw you off that balcony" she snaps, pointing from him to the balcony with the knife. She'd had some very choice words for him last night when he told her that he'd accidentally told Jensen about this visit.

Who is she kidding? She cursed him out for five minutes, told him that he could be the one to tell Chris what he did before refusing to speak to him for the rest of the night.

She turns her attention back to the three men out on her balcony, the uneasy feeling in her stomach growing as each second passes. Having Jensen and Jared "approve" of Chris is something that's really important to her.

It's another ten or so minutes before they finally come back inside. She gives Chris a questioning look before letting out a sigh of relief when he gives her a subtle thumbs up behind the guys that Sebastian sees.

"See" Sebastian says to her, knowing that whatever the three men had talked about outside it went well. Sensing that Maddie is ready to strangle Sebastian by the look on her face, Jensen quickly steps in.

"Come on, let's get you to the airport before she kills you" he tells Sebastian, patting his back

"That's a good idea" Maddie says, still glaring at Sebastian.

"I was nice meeting you Chris" Jared says as Jensen puts himself between Maddie and Sebastian, worried she might hit him in the back of the head. He's never seen her this angry at him.

"Yeah and you" Chris replies as everyone starts heading towards the door. The next five minutes are spent with everyone saying their goodbyes while Maddie silently screams, wishing everyone would fuck off so she can have Chris to herself.

When the door finally closes she lets out a groan and her head fall back as she takes a few deep breaths. She feels Chris' arms gently wrap around her middle and pull her into him, hugging her from behind.

"Are you OK?" he asks as she relaxes into him. He knows she was worried about him meeting Jensen and Jared, probably more than he was. She was close to tears when Jensen asked him to come out onto the balcony with him and Jared.

"I'm sorry" she whispers, feeling horrible that Chris had been put in the situation where he was basically ambushed into meeting two very important people to her.

"They're really protective... I just... this isn't how I wanted you to meet them... I'm really sorry" she rambles

"Hey... hey. It's OK" he says, turning her to face him which is when he sees the tears in her eyes and he realises just how upset she is about it. He takes her face in his hands, his thumbs gently wiping the tears from her eyes before he leans down and rests his forehead against hers.

She inhales his scent, there's something about it that she finds calming, before tilting her head up slightly and kissing him.

"You're right, they are protective, especially Jensen. I got read the riot act but Maddie they love you and they don't want to see you get hurt again. I understand that. I don't blame them, especially after everything you've gone through" he says when she pulls back from the kiss.

"What did they say?" she asks quietly

"Nope" he says, shaking his head.

"Chris..." she whines, pouting at him.

"It's between us, I promise it was nothing bad" he tells her, tucking some hair behind her ear, completely omitting the part where Jensen did indeed threaten to go all Dean on him if he ever hurts her.

She lets out a small huff. She desperately wants to know what was said to him but judging from the look on his face she isn't getting it out of him anytime soon. Chris can't help but smile at her as he kisses her forehead and pulls her in for a hug.

"We have those cupcakes" he reminds her quietly as she buries her face in his chest. She lets out a happy hum and squeezes him tightly.

TAGLIST

@aussieez

@littleone65

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hua-fei-hua · 6 years

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#you know how most people just have their quiet tag vent posts be like a period or all under a read more or smth?#naw fam i'm gonna have my quiet tag-vent post be underneath a two year old photograph of peach blossoms that's nicer than i remembered #(but anyway yeah this is okay to reblog i just wanted to be a bit quieter with my musings today)#today honestly felt like such a big fic writing day and i haven't felt like that in m o n t h s #it feels gREAT but it's also normal for me to get my muse back in the springtime tbh #i always tend to take winter hiatuses. i mean the flower is not a flower most of the time but i'm a pretty hardy perennial with my writing #however contrary to all this i haven't actually written anything in about two months now except for my diary #and i'm still left to wonder if i can truly blame my almost fake bf for this creative winter bc i know he didn't intend for this to happen #he doesn't even know it happened or anything. i've moved on from the notebook throwing incident #so that's not keeping me. really today's muse has reminded me that yeah. i'm still a writer at heart ahahaha #maybe i just want to clean up my (his.) ((OUR.)) mess and give everyone who got even remotely caught up in this a happy ending #and that includes cleaning up the band politics. bc i thought at the start of the fake dating shebang this would be okay #i thought i could maybe use this in Bb -- no. no i probably can't. it's messy and you know. high school political #the only thing keeping us from rioting is the fact that our ringleader is hesitant about direct action bc every time she tries that #she ends up blowing her top and now she; once president of band; has been placed on probation. she could be kicked out of band #and honestly yeah that kind of hurts my heart a bit bc she loves band so much. senior year of band wasn't supposed to be like this #i always tell her i'm willing to take the hits for her because i'm not afraid of lighting fires and she doesn't have to always stand alone #but she always insists she'll be okay no i don't have to do anything thank you #i wish she knew she didn't have to work so hard ;--;#anyway can't wait until our peach tree blossoms again this year i'm gonna pick some flowers and press them yah yeet

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myghostmonument · 5 years

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13 x Reader: Breathe

Notes: Jenny, posting a WAY overdue 13xreader request? More likely than you think. I let this one get away from me (shocker!) and it’s definitely not as tight or polished as I’d like prose-wise, but I hope you all enjoy it regardless. This one is also gender-neutral for the reader, can I get a wahoo? Summary: You find yourself sick with guilt over the events of the witch hunt in Lancashire, unable to stop reliving the moment when the Doctor was plunged into the lake and you did nothing to save her. Sleep offers no respite from the memories, and desperate to remind yourself that the Doctor is alive and well, you go looking for her while everyone else sleeps. Warnings: none? unless like me you’re still very much not over this episode, WC: 5500 smh

Breathe, you reminded yourself.

Again, and again. Breathe. A blur of sensations flowed past your awareness without being truly registered: sound, colour, movement. The voices of your friends, and some other people too. An entire conversation. Movement, including your own. Life was happening, yet it passed right through you. You just put one foot in front of the other, and eventually you had found yourself in the TARDIS, with no real memory of arriving there. Breathe. “So! Where to next? Past? Future? Present? Nobody ever thinks about the present, but there are so many presents happening all over the place - ” The Doctor had thrown off her coat as she reached the console, and was darting around it, her hands moving almost as fast as her words. Graham, Yaz and Ryan shared a look, considering. “I think it’s your turn to pick,” Yaz told Ryan, who pursed his lips. The Doctor’s head poked around the main crystal, eyes bright as she waited for the answer. The soft, muted light of the room didn’t so much illuminate her features as much as it suffused them, as if she too were a gently glowing crystal. You reminded yourself to breathe again as you watched her. She was safe, smiling, alive. Breathe. “Presently I just want my bed,” Ryan announced finally. “One that’s not stuffed with hay.” The Doctor made a face. “Yeah, sleeping first sounds good,” Yaz agreed. “Sorry,” she added as the Doctor’s grimace deepened. “Well I wasn’t gonna say it but now that you have,” Graham began, before yawning. The Doctor’s grimace shifted into a full-on nose-wrinkled scrunch as her eyes moved to you, imploring. Breathe. In truth, you wanted to rest too. But when you tried to say that, the words got lost along the way, pushed aside. “Are you okay?” you asked, instead. The Doctor blinked, momentarily startled. Then her easy expression slid back into place and she turned away, busying herself at the controls. When she spoke her voice was breezy. “Okay? Of course I’m okay. You know me, I’m always okay. I’m the King of okay. Or should it be Queen now?” The Doctor paused, head falling to the side as she considered this. Breathe, you reminded yourself again. “I’d say go with your gut on this one,” Graham advised, yawning again. The Doctor wrinkled her nose. “Seems an unnecessary distinction, really,” she groused, sounding disapproving now, as if personally disappointed with gender constructs and titles. “You lot spend too much time worrying about that stuff.” “Hey, what’ve we said about talking potshots at humans?” Graham complained, and the Doctor flapped an unimpressed hand at him as she resumed darting around the console. “Anyway Doc, you’re the one as brought it up - ” Yaz and Ryan both groaned. “I’m not getting into this again,” Yaz announced, turning away. “I’ll see you all after a hot shower and a long nap. Stay out of trouble till then, yeah?” “That’d be a first,” Ryan said, following Yaz towards the corridor that led to everyone’s rooms. “Oi! I am perfectly capable of staying out of trouble, thank you,” the Doctor called indignantly to their retreating backs. “See that’s the problem with a flat team structure, you get no respect,” Graham observed philosophically. “Can’t have it both ways, Doc.” He was grinning, but it turned into yet another yawn. “Right. Bed. You coming, love?” The last words were directed at you, and you tore your eyes away from the Doctor to glance at him. “Yeah, in a minute,” you muttered, shifting your feet. Your eyes had already moved back to the Doctor, or what you could see of her anyway, hunched over the console. You didn’t see the appraising look on Graham’s face as he eyed the two of you. You didn’t even hear him leave. You were still watching her. Breathe. “Not tired then?” the Doctor asked after a while, not immediately looking at you. It wasn’t uncommon for her to spend hours absorbed in tinkering with the TARDIS, but you felt that she was purposely finding reasons to avoid your gaze as she shifted around. When you were silent for too long, she finally straightened up and met your gaze. Her hair was slightly wavy, and she’d already collected a smudge of grease on her cheek. And though her expression was politely inquisitive, there was something about the console’s glow that highlighted the hollows under her eyes, and the tightness around her mouth. It had been there ever since she’d come out of that lake. “Are you sure you’re okay?” you asked again. You weren’t sure that it was your place to ask it, but if not you, then who? Surely someone had to care for her, because you were starting to doubt that she ever did. Breathe. “ ‘Course,” the Doctor repeated. “No need to worry. Not the first time someone’s found me annoying enough to chuck in a lake.” Your face clearly reflected your unassuaged concerns, because she gifted you her brightest smile. “Get some rest, go on then. I promise not to jump in any bodies of water in the meantime.” Still you hesitated, unwilling to turn your back on her. Unwilling to leave her alone, to not be there for her again. You looked at her, hunched over the console. She was softly lit, her hair glowing golden and almost translucent in places. She looked very small as she stood there, a lone star glimmering in the depths of space, and you wanted nothing so much as to cross that looming distance and wrap your arms around her, as if you could hold her so fiercely that you might somehow - fix everything. As if you could keep her from being thrown in that lake, from being touched in fear and anger and violence. And as if you could finally hold her long enough to convince yourself that she was here, she was real. Was safe. Could not she feel this need? It was pulling at you like the forces of gravity, towards her. Always, towards her. Sometimes you thought she noticed it, that she must feel it too, this pull. When your eyes would touch from across a room, or a battlefield, or a table, you thought surely - surely she feels this too, the universe bending around us, surely - Breathe.

It didn’t matter. She wasn’t - she wasn’t yours to claim, or to look after. You certainly could not go to her, not in the way that burned through your veins with such painful need. Lingering here like this, asking after the Doctor’s well-being… that was dangerous enough. Uncharted territory, in which you didn’t know the boundaries. Certainly it wasn’t your place to comfort the Doctor, and not when she was so relentlessly cheerful in the face of your concern. (But it not your place, then who's? Who’s? Breathe.) So, you did as you always did, and resisted the pull, maintaining a careful hold on your emotions. Your feelings for her… they were vast, deep. Unexplored, and perhaps best left that way. When the Doctor glanced up at you again, still smiling, you ignored that jerk on your heart (on your soul, oh, breathe) and you smiled back. Weakly, perhaps. But a smile nonetheless. “No lakes,” you said. “Cross my hearts,” the Doctor said solemnly. And so you left her, alone in the dim console. And shortly after you fell into your bed, alone in your dim room. You stared at the wall for what felt like hours, trying and failing to not replay the memory, that memory, to not see her bound and drowned. Over, and over. Alone, watched by many and helped by none. Was it any wonder that your gradual slide into sleep afforded you no respite from the memories? If anything, the dreams allowed the scenes to become brighter, sharper, slower. More cruel. The wind in your dream was cutting and cold as you stood again on the lake’s edge, colder even than it had been on that day. You felt that it was paring you away one bit at a time, stripping away flesh and muscle and emotions and leaving only stark, raw truth behind. Because you had realized the truth of you, standing there surrounded by your friends. You were a coward. You had to be. Only a coward would stand frozen as they watched their friend (as if friend was even an adequate word to describe her, to hold the shape and history and the essence of what the Doctor was, what she had become to you) was ritualistically chained to a log and drowned. It hadn’t happened fast, or without warning. There had been a process, conversations. It had been an event. And you had just stood there, with Ryan and Graham and Yaz, while the wind knifed through you and revealed your true selves. There were plenty of reasons (excuses) why you didn’t act, any of you. Shock, certainly, and denial that this was happening at all. A lingering confidence that the Doctor was just playing along, and would never let herself actually be caught… be be chained… be mocked… be dunked - “No - “ with the word you jerked awake, terror flooding your limbs and crushing your chest. You sat up, drawing in a shuddering breath. You could feel your hands shaking. Your eyes were open, but the dream - the memories - continued their relentless flood, and you saw it again and again, the Doctor plunging into the lake, bound, mocked, alone. Saw again the water close over her head. You had finally acted, then. Maybe it was because of the four of you, you had the most to lose… or perhaps just the least faith. But when the Doctor had plunged into the water, something in you had broken. You might have screamed (you had) as your vision had gone white, lights exploding behind your eyes. Your frozen legs had leaped forwards, shoes slipping in the mud, hands reaching, reaching for her, even as the ripples and bubbles on the lake quelled. But you hadn’t even been able to act retroactively, hadn’t been able to even try. Because long before you made it to the water that had gone terrifyingly still, a vise had clamped around you, binding your arms to your side. Keeping you from her. You knew you had screamed that time. It was the same scream that had lingered on your lips as you jerked awake, back on the TARDIS. You hadn’t actually been bound, of course. In reality it had been Ryan’s arms around you. Very cognizant of both his coordination abilities and the fact that he was easily the largest member of the Team, it was rare for Ryan to access his strength. Rarer still, for him to use it against anyone. But when the King had cried “duck her”, when you had stopped breathing and watched those cold waters close over the Doctor’s head and had leaped after her, when you had screamed, Ryan had used every bit of his size and strength to catch you and hold you to him. “You can’t, you can’t, it won’t help - ” he had pleaded, his own voice breaking, his own arms trembling with the need to go to her, to save her, this extraordinary woman who you were all just watching die. You’d have to apologize to him. You had the lingering suspicion you might have kicked his shins; you knew you had scrabbled at his arms, ripping your nails on his coat and probably wounding him. And he had borne it all. Had held you, kept you safe, even in the face of his own agony and rage and fear. (Yeah, you’d definitely need to be apologizing to him.) But you weren’t thinking about that yet, as you swung your legs off the bed and gripped the sheets with shaking hands. Your ribs felt too tight, a band of pressure that your heart threw itself against, again and again. You swallowed hard, shutting your eyes and burying your face in hands that still shook. You still couldn’t wrap your mind around how close you all had come to losing her (and how much it affected you, hollowed you out and left a gaping void where something else, something happy had once been). Oh, the Doctor could gloss it over with her normal disregard for such petty human fears like drowning, or death. It’d take more than a few minutes in a lake and some rubbish chains to be rid of me, she’d declared, complete with her signature cheeky grin. But you weren’t so sure. Again and again, your re-lived it. Those clever, slender hands in chains. The wind, lifting strands of her hair. Her silhouette, alone on the edge of the water as everyone backed away. Her eyes, as the water closed over her head. The silence that followed it. That silence… you didn’t think you’d ever forget it. It had found its way in you, into that void, and somehow its presence eft you even more hollow. “No, no, no,” you gasped, you chest rising and falling jerkily. You just couldn’t stop seeing it. Couldn’t stop living it. The Doctor, your Doctor, and you had just stood there and let violence happen to her. Your fists pounded the mattress on either side of you as you gasped in a shuddering breath, lest your lingering fear and shame choke you. You had to see her again. You had to - you had to make sure she was still here. Breathing, laughing, safe. Maybe then you could sleep. Maybe then you could start to live with yourself again. You didn’t have the faintest idea what time it was, or how long you had been sleeping. There weren’t any clocks in your room, or you suspected anywhere else on the TARDIS. That seemed on-brand for the Doctor (although an entire room devoted to clocks would also be on-brand, she was just like that). And you’d lost your mobile several adventures ago. It probably didn’t matter. Even if was still the dead of whatever passed as night on the TARDIS, you figured the Doctor was unlikely to be sleeping. You’d never actually seen her sleep, and she was remarkably offhand and vague about it whenever the subject was broached. Ryan had a whole conspiracy theory about it. So, your hands still shaking and your throat still tight with that choking mixture of fear and shame, you stood up and left your room. Your breathing steadied some as you walked, now that you were moving and had a goal. You just needed to see her, and then maybe you could rest. (You knew that was probably a lie. But it was better than nothing. Seeing her was always better than anything.) But she wasn’t in the main console room. It still glowed with soft light and softer humming, but with no familiar form of the Doctor darting to and fro, it seemed suddenly… wrong, as you loitered in a doorway and looked up at those massive crystals. You didn’t feel like an intruder, precisely, but your skin still prickled with unease as you gazed out at the shadowed, empty room that normally rang with such laughter and noise and life. The quiet struck a chord in you, something that resonated painfully with that hollow place where your heart had been. This was what it would be like if she had actually - if she was truly - if - “No,” you gasped, clutching the door frame with one hand while the other fisted at your side. No. “I have to see her. Then I’ll know - then I can - I have to see her.” Silence, save for your ragged breathing, in and out. In and out. Then something hummed in your ear. You jumped and straightened, turning to see a flashing light along the wall. It pulsed, then vanished, reappearing several yards farther down the corridor. You eyed it, then glanced over your shoulder at the main console. “Uh, am I meant to follow?” you voiced, hesitantly. The Doctor was never entirely clear on how sentient this timeship of hers actually was, and in this dark empty room, with the echoes of your dream still thrumming in your blood… it was easy to lose what tenuous grasp on reality you had left. The console remained silent, but the lights flickered again, brighter. Annoyed? “Right, sorry,” you said. What else was there to do? You followed them, because lead you they did. Deeper into the TARDIS, areas you’d never seen before. You weren’t sure if you traveled a great distance or merely a few steps; time seemed to loosen its hold on you, gentling and blurring its edges. You reached another doorway, and blinked as the lights that had been your sole focus and companion dimmed and vanished. You felt surprisingly bereft without them. Wait, you wanted to say. Come back, don’t leave me. But the words died before they reached your lips, because you’d edged closer to the doorway and all at once you forgot everything but her, her. The TARDIS had led you to the Doctor, just as you’d asked. Real, breathing, alive. “Thank you,” you whispered, your hand finding the wall as you blinked back sudden tears, your knees sagging with the relief that surged through you. “Oh, thank you.” Warmth bloomed beneath your palm as the TARDIS gave a soft hum of acknowledgement. You scrubbed at your eyes, wiping away the traces of tears before they could fall and watching as the Doctor moved in and out of your field of vision. She looked rumpled, from what you could tell; her hair was curling in a way that indicated she’d been running her hands through it, and she wasn’t wearing her coat, her suspenders hanging loose at her hips. She was also talking to herself, but her voice was too low and she was too far for you to make any of it out. Which was fine. Good, even; you weren’t here to spy on her. You had just needed to see her. You took a steadying breath and prepared to turn away, hesitating only when the Doctor crossed back into view. She stopped, still muttering to herself. Or perhaps to the TARDIS. The light in the room was muted, a hair’s breadth away from being truly dim. You idly wondered what room it actually was - and then promptly stopped wondering anything at all as the Doctor abruptly shrugged out of her shirts. Your entire brain jammed, heat flooding your face and then sweeping through the rest of you. Oh, uh, wait, uh - Feeling as if you were trying to claw your way through mud, you wrestled your brain back into cooperation with your body and turned to leave, quickly. Gods, spying was bad enough, but while she undressed? Oh no, no. This was sacrosanct - she was sacrosanct. So you turned your blazing face away, towards the welcome darkness of the TARDIS corridor. But as you did, something caught your attention, told your subconscious hey, wait, look again, you missed it. You couldn’t help yourself; you glanced back in the room. And froze. Because the Doctor was still visible. And so was the massive stain of marbled blue and purple running across her back. Your breath caught in your throat. And you were stepping into the room and crossing to the Doctor long, long before your mind caught up with your body. Shock was coursing through you, but you could feel something else on its heels, gathering, a wave preparing to strike. It was, you realized distantly, rage. Your mind still hadn’t caught up when you reached out a hand. Your finger brushed along the edge of the bruise, at her jutting shoulder blade. The Doctor yelped, whirling on you faster than you would have thought possible, her hands thrown up to ward you off. You had jumped as well, the spell broken and your face flushing as you stumbled back a step. “You - scared the daylights out of me,” the Doctor said, dropping her hands and sounding equal parts relieved and annoyed. You registered that she was wearing only a bra; you’d never seen so much of her skin before. This was - bad. This was really bad. What had you been thinking? You opened your mouth to say I’m sorry, I’ll leave now, please don’t chuck me into a supernova like I definitely deserve. “Did they do that to you?” you asked, instead, and were surprised at the intensity of your voice. The Doctor clearly was too, her aggrieved look faded and was replaced by something else, something hard to pin down. She seemed to be deciding whether or not to evade the question, as she was wont to do. She brushed her hair out of her eyes, avoiding your gaze, but that only drew your attention to her wrists. You sucked in a breath; raw red stripes encircled them, stark against her pale skin. Rope burns. The Doctor’s eyes flicked to yours at your breath, and she dropped her hands hastily and tried to shove them both into her trouser pockets, only to wince as the fabric scraped over the raw, angry wounds. “Why didn’t you say something?” you asked her, your voice thin and brittle. Like ice, cracking. Look what they’d done to her, your Doctor, look what they’d done to her. Rage was making your hands shake again, but grief was rising now in its wake. “You should have told us - ” “What? Oh, no. This is nothing. Hardly worth mentioning, really, just some bumps, hardly even notice ‘em. All part of the job, you know.” Her voice was light, but she wasn’t meeting your eyes. “Doctor - ” “Oi, I’m fine, no need to fuss.” “Fine?” you asked, incredulous, and you reached out, your hand settling lightly on her shoulder and gently turning her so that you could again see that lurid pattern of bruising that ran across her spine. “Fine?” Rage was still coursing through your veins, but the tide was coming in, and grief was catching up. “This is not - fine - this is the opposite of fine - ” The Doctor was silent under this onslaught, looking absolutely gobsmacked. You weren’t generally one for taking command, certainly not over her, and you both were always so careful around each other. No superfluous touches, no casual affection. Yet now you held the Doctor’s warm shoulder with one hand, while your other lifted to trace the edges of that ugly bruise, and she was still beneath your touch. Letting you hold her. Touch her. Oh, but these were uncharted waters. “I can’t believe they did this,” you murmured, and perhaps the Doctor could hear the hint of tears in your words, because she shrugged. “I heal fast, me. Hardly bothers me half so much as it did.” “But it does hurt,” you said, your words almost a whisper. She didn’t reply to that. It hadn’t been a question. Your fingers ghosted over the bruising, and though her skin shivered and jumped in places, she didn’t pull away. But then your fingers found a rougher section, the skin raw. It was clearly a former wound, bruised so deeply that the skin had broken. The Doctor made a stifled sound as you brushed it, and you immediately moved your hand. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, tears pooling in your eyes. “It’s fine - ” “No, it’s not,” you cried, your voice breaking. You let out a shuddering breath and rested your forehead against the nape of her neck. “I let you down,” you whispered, and the pooling tears overflowed, began to slide down your face. “I should have been there, should never have let them get their hands on you, should have stopped them from trying to kill you, but I just stood there, I let them - ” “Hey, hey, hold on,” the Doctor was saying over your words. She finally turned in your arms. “This isn’t your fault!” she was trying to catch your eyes, and finally settled for a hand under your chin, lifting it. “You didn’t let me down, don’t be daft.” You looked at her earnest, concerned face while tears ran silently down your cheeks. “Oh, what’s this then?” she asked softly, moving her hand so that she could wipe away a tear. “I’m fine, honestly. ” “I keep - I keep seeing it, seeing it happen - ” you choked on the words. “I almost lost you. I just stood there, and I almost lost you, and I can’t stop seeing it - ” you were shaking as much as your voice, now. The Doctor’s lips had parted as she stared at you. “What do you mean, you can’t stop seeing it? And anyway, from what I can gather you did not ‘just stand there’,” the Doctor added, her lips twitching. “Ryan showed me a very nicely bruised shin earlier, I’m proper impressed. Didn’t know you had it in you.” She clearly meant to lighten the mood, but your throat only tightened, the tears falling faster. “Oh, okay, alright,” she murmured, and reached up to cradle your face. You closed your eyes, her compassionate scrutiny suddenly too much to bear. “It’s over. It’s okay. I’m here now, hey?” Her thumbs moved in soft circles over your cheeks as she searched your face. “Look at me,” she said. “Come on, look, there you are.” You exhaled shakily, staring back into those hazel depths that captured you so easily, so completely. You sniffed, angry with yourself. You knew you were doing this wrong, that this had somehow become about you, and your pain, when it was the Doctor who had been hurt, the Doctor who you wanted to help. “Nobody lost me, I’m right here,” she said, the low light in the room catching her eyes as they roved over your face. You could see flecks of gold in them, glimmering like so many stars. She wiped away another tear. “I should have helped you,” you whispered, wretched with the shame of it. “I’m sorry.” “You have nothing to be sorry for,” the Doctor said, her eyes still moving over your face. “Except for skulking in here and scaring me half to Skaro, maybe.” She affected sternness as she said it, but you knew her heart wasn’t in it. She was still looking at you so carefully, her hand on your face. As if you were the one who had been brave, who had been hurt. Oh, you were doing this wrong. “I just - needed to see you,” you said, your voice low. “The dreams - ” You broke off. Took a breath. “I didn’t mean to intrude.” “Hm,” the Doctor said, her brows lifting, “bit late for that, though.” She frowned, eyes darting to the side in thought. “How did you find me? This is a bit off the beaten path, TARDIS-wise.” She still didn’t sound angry, just curious. “I don’t entirely know,” you answered. “I looked for you in the main console, and then these lights came on and they led me to - here,” you finished. Led me to you. “Really? She doesn’t usually do that. What are you, offering guided tours now?” The last words were directed to the room at large as the Doctor stepped away from you, hands landing on her hips. You became aware again that she wasn’t wearing a shirt. Oh, oh, crap - “Uh - do you want a - your shirt -” you were tripping all over yourself, trying to set your brain and mouth back onto the same path of coherency. The Doctor swung back around to you, brows lifted again in a very familiar look. “You humans and your modesty,” she said, falling into her standard cadence for remarking on humanity’s failings. “So many rules about when and where you should be clothed, who should be clothed, what type of clothes - and then once they’re laid out, you break all of the rules! Just switch them around, and expect everyone to catch up! Here I am, minding my own business, and now I’m told I ought to be embarrassed not to be wearing a shirt! In my room! No, I am not having it. You will take me as I am, ah -” She had moved around as she spoke, gesticulating wildly as only she could, but on the last gesture her face twisted in a flash of pain as she moved her injured shoulder. The expression was gone in an instant, but you had seen it, had heard the slight hitch in her speech. Without thinking, you moved forwards again. Reached out. You turned her gently, fingers again ghosting over that lurid mark, that thing that was hurting her. You knew it wasn’t the true source of her pain, not really. Bumps, scrapes, bruises; you’d seen her bear them all and worse with a bright smile and brighter enthusiasm. No, her pain here ran deeper than physical. “I’m not made of glass, you know,” she said, sounding a bit annoyed, and a bit something else. She had gone very still. “We Time Lords aren’t half so fragile as you lot.” “Fragile enough,” you whispered, eyes roving that bruise, that mark of violence done against her. You leaned forwards acting on nothing but instinct, on need, and brushed your lips along her jutting scapula, along the edge of that violence. You heard her breathing hitch, but she did not move. So you let your lips move, following the path of that violence as if you could smooth it away, undo it. Your hands trailed down until they rested on the Doctor’s hips, fingers just curling around the hem of her trousers, your palms warm against her skin as you held her. God, what were you thinking? “I should go,” you said, reluctantly, your nose resting in her hair as you leaned your face against her. You could feel her pulse, the warm blood rushing beneath her skin. The moment seemed to expand, crystallize, trembling on the edge of - something. But of what? “Then why are you still here?” the Doctor asked, softly. You weren’t sure what you read in her voice. “Why are you?” In answer, she turned in your arms again. You weren’t sure, later, who kissed who first. You both had a good case for it, as your lips met and your bodies pressed together. Your hands found themselves moving as well, wrapping around the Doctor and holding her to you. She made a low sound, or maybe it was you, and your lips found hers again eagerly, desperately. It wasn’t until your hands slid farther around her as she pressed into you that she stiffened, hissed in a soft breath against your face. You’d inadvertently pressed against the edges of the bruise. “Sorry, oh, I’m sorry,” you said, agonized, pulling away to look at her and dropping your hands. “It’s fine,” she insisted, but you were shaking your head. “Will you stop saying that?” “Maybe if you start believing me,” she replied, her face scrunching. You scrunched back, and you both stared at each other like that before breaking at the same time, the Doctor laughing and your own scrunch tipping into a smile before you too laughed. “Rule one, the Doctor lies,” you told her. Her scrunch returned. “My rules are always changing,” she countered. “What do I need to do to prove it to you?” Her voice had started light, but it ended somewhere else, on a pitch you couldn’t immediately pin down but made your stomach flutter in a most distracting manner. “I have a few ideas,” you said. Her answering smile seemed to light up the room. Again that flutter, again that pull towards her, always her. But this time, you let it move you. But this time, she moved too. You came together like the tide reaching for the shore, like celestial bodies, like there had never been any other possible outcome. You took her face in your hands, stared into those star-spun eyes. “I’m glad you’re fine,” you whispered, her cheeks warm against your hands as you looked at her. She was still smiling, her eyes huge and soft and shining, those flecks of gold in them seeming to glitter, and you knew that these were eyes you could get lost in. You could feel them tugging on you, pulling you in as if they were getting larger, closer, twin galaxies expanding to fill your whole vision - and then the Doctor had closed the space between you, and her lips were against yours and your hands were tangled in her hair and nothing else mattered. “Me too,” she whispered against your mouth. “I might need to make sure though,” you said. She didn’t answer, but you could feel her smile as you pressed tighter together. No longer alone, either of you. Breathe, you reminded yourself, as your heart raced and your blood sang and that terrible silence in you quieted, retreated in the face of such swelling, deafening joy. Oh, breathe.

#don't worry lads I've got more wips on the way #I am being PRODUCTIVE #also don't forget to send in the festive prompts!#13th doctor x reader #13 x reader #writing #mine #I know this one isn't great writing I KNOW IT OKAY #if the read-more tag doesn't work tell me #so I can RIOT

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