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raz-writes-the-thing · 3 months

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Better? (Doctor Who Drabble)

Twelfth Doctor x GN!Reader / requests are open

Summary: The Doctor comes to realise his lack of physical affection has been having more of an impact than he thought.

Fic type: hurt/comfort

DW: @nyxiethesimp @quickslvxrr @midnight--raine @blueberry-sunshines @stevekempscocktails @go-bonkers-go-foolish @peytonpenguin37 @yeethaw13 @complimentary-breadbasket @thekirbishow @stilestotherescue @madspads @catlynharper @merrilark @jaziona92 @yeehawbrothers @mochabonesblog @iguirisu @thegen3sisark @wereallbrokenangels @florduarte (send an ask to be added to a tag list!)

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It had made sense when he'd first regenerated. It had seemed to be a particularly difficult regeneration, but you'd thought maybe he'd grow out of the aversion to your touch. You had hoped, anyway.

Yes, you'd been with him when he'd had his previous face, and you'd loved him through all his faults and issues, and you'd thought, or rather hoped, that when he regenerated that he would feel the same.

But it was hard to tell.

Day in and day out, he barely touched you. He'd hold your hand as you ran from Daleks or squeezed your arm to get your attention to show you something at a market. He'd pat your head affectionately and give you a charming smile from across the room. But he didn't... touch you anymore. He didn't embrace you, he didn't brush his thumb over your cheek or tuck your ear when it was long enough for tucking. He didn't press light kisses to your cheeks.

And yet, sometimes when he smiled at you, it was still like he saw the universe in your eyes. It was confusing and hurtful, and you weren't sure how much longer you could live with that kind of uncertainty.

"What's wrong?" The Doctor asked, looking over your form suspiciously. Nothing got past him, clearly. You sighed deeply, rubbing at your forehead. "And don't give me that 'it's fine' nonsense you humans do, either. Come on, spit it out."

You gave him a warning look and he backed off... but only barely. He threw his hands up in mock surrender, making you smile despite yourself.

"What is it?" He asked again, softer this time. His brows furrowed in concern when he realised this might actually be something serious and not a 'silly human problem' as he called them.

"Do you not love me any more?" You asked, immediately regretting the wording. All these months you'd practised what you'd wanted to say and when the moment finally came- you botched it. Figures.

"Love you? Of course, I love you," he scoffed. "What kind of silly question is that?" Then he slowed, face turning into a deep and upset frown. "Do you not think I love you? I admit I've been rather caught up in other things- but just the other day we went on that date to the Human Museum."

You shuddered at the memory. He'd meant well, of course, but seeing preserved bodies detailing your species' entire evolutionary growth was not something you'd planned on ever seeing.

"You don't touch me anymore," you replied self-consciously, casting thoughts of the museum aside. The Doctor's frown deepened as he thought back on it. Realising you were right, he came to stand in front of you. Softly, he took both your hands in his, stopping your anxious fidgeting.

"My dear, I had no idea physical affection was so important to you," he said apologetically. The genuine regret in his expression made you feel a little better at least. "I'll make an effort to be more affectionate, yes?"

You replied with a smile, soft and agreeable. The Doctor squeezed your hands and pulled you into a hug. It was a little awkward at first. You'd only hugged him perhaps twice before and you'd spent so long yearning for it that now you finally had it- you didn't quite know what to do.

And then his arms tightened ever so slightly around you, and you melted into him, wrapping yourself close. Gods, it felt good.

"Better?" He asked, nuzzling your neck, voice muffled by your skin.

"Better," you confirmed.

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ghostofafruit · 6 months

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How I think the doctors nine-thirteen would propose to Rose because I just love proposal fics apparently.

Nine He sets up something simple, yet romantic. Maybe a picnic, or a dinner date on a planet Rose already knows and loves. He makes sure he doesn't do it in a place that might draw a crowd. His speech is short and simple, and he doesn't have a box for the ring because he found it at a market on a different alien planet while he was with her.

Ten He'd set up something grand and romantic. It'd be on a planet they both love, maybe one where something significant happened for them both, just like his previous incarnation he'd make sure it was private. His speech would be full of sweet words and memories. The ring would be nestled in a basic ring box.

Eleven Assuming Rose isn't locked in the other universe, he'd propose in front of their friends. It wouldn't be planned out, more spur of the moment. Of course, he already has a ring, and the box is a little worn from how often he handles it. His speech would be a little awkward and rambly. If Rose had been stuck in the other universe, he'd propose somewhere they'd been before. It'd be thought out, well planned, and he'd have asked for advice. His speech would be romantic, and a little bit silly. The ring box would already be well worn.

Twelve If Rose hadn't been locked in the other universe, he'd propose over dinner. He'd want to get down on one knee, but couldn't. So, he'd show Rose the ring over the table, he'd give a quiet, well thought out, speech, and despite it being public, they wouldn't have drawn much attention, because there just wasn't much fan fare. If Rose had been locked in the other universe however, he'd propose as soon as he saw her, without thinking about it at all. If this was with Clara, she'd be very confused and asking a lot of question, with Bill, she'd be laughing, the questions would come later. He'd not even remember to pull out the ring.

Thirteen If Rose hadn't been locked in the other universe, she'd propose by the tardis doors as they looked out at the stars together, while the fam slept. Her speech would be sappy, full of memories, and as romantic as she could manage. She would nearly drop the ring box out of the tardis though. If Rose had been locked in the other universe, she wouldn't. Rose would. It would be wherever they re-meet, after she knows the Doctor isn't someone else, and her speech would be full of the longing she had felt in trying to come back, memories they had shared, and inside jokes.

#fanfic #doctor who #rose tyler #tenth doctor #eleventh doctor #twelfth doctor #thirteenth doctor #timepetals #marriage proposal #proposal #engagment #ninerose #elevenrose #tenrose #twelverose #thirteenrose

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pastanest · 1 year

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A/N: unbelievably, this is the first actual piece of Doctor Who writing not counting the dogshit on my wattpad account we’ll all pretend that doesnt exist fr so please be nice x

Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve x gender neutral!reader

The Doctor x Short!Reader

- is cheeky about it but not outright mean, unless he’s in one of his God-humans-are-the-fucking-worst moods

“Honestly, it’s like you idiots are TRYING to wipe your own planet out of existence, and you, well, you can't even reach the top of your own cupboards! What use are any of you?!”

- you’re literally on his side and think the human race sucks but ok go off, way to throw us all under the bus lol

- he’ll apologize afterwards if you’re clearly upset or if he thinks he went too far

- most of the time it’s very lighthearted jabs at your height

- always waits a few seconds before helping you reach something because he thinks it’s funny and also very sweet but he won't dare admit that

- as much as he convinces himself and everyone he encounters that your height is solely something he finds hilarious on occasion, he can't help feeling a little more protective of you, like your smaller form makes you more likely to break

- very much still recovering from the Time War, he’s prone to overthinking disaster scenarios, especially when it comes to you

“Stay behind me. These creatures can't be trusted at the best of times.”

- but you always find a way to spin it into something more lighthearted, to ease his mind

“I’m a smaller target than you, so I like my chances! Perhaps it’s you that should stay behind me?”

- won't make fun unless he knows for a fact you’re comfortable with it

- as soon as he finds out you are, he makes jokes only in a very lighthearted way

- also comes up with cute nicknames to use when you’ve done something that’s impressed him, like saved a civilization or two while he was busy being broody and hot or something

“Oh, you little star!”

- generally speaking, he doesnt really care about your height, but he does find it endearing

- he’ll never see it as a point of weakness

- if he ever finds you struggling to reach something or down in the dumps about clothes not fitting you right because of your smaller proportions, he’s always right there to lift your chin back up and remind you of the wonderful person you are, that your stature holds no sway over how brilliant you are, especially not to him

“Some of the most mighty species in all the galaxies are the smallest ones you’ll find, some don't even have physical bodies big enough to detect with the human eye! Each and every one is perfectly unique in their own way, and you are no different. The stars you’ve seen in the night skies all your life, are they any less magical for appearing so small?”

“No…”

“Exactly! And, you know, the more humans I meet, the more I realize how similar you are to Time Lords.”

“In what way?”

- and then he’s grinning down at you, all giddy about getting to use the line he loves hearing more than any other

“You’re all so much bigger on the inside.”

- will make a joke about your height to test the water

- if your reaction tells him you’re not okay with it, he’ll feel guilty for the rest of eternity and never do it again

- but if you laugh with him or roll your eyes with a smile, he’ll grin like he’s accomplished something great, cracked some impossible code, and he will wear that like a badge of honor

- regardless of the fact you’ve made it clear he is allowed to make fun of your height, if anyone else does it in front of him, he doesn't like it

“Well, surely the smallest one should be sent in first, their loss would be the least noticeable!”

- and the Doctor is straight up, clapping his hands together and pointing in all directions as he lays out the plan of action very clearly to all involved, ending it by pointing at the man who dared make fun of you

“Now, you. From what I gather, jokes are supposed to be funny- supposed to land laughs with the nearest crowd; clearly you missed that memo, but that’s fine. Depending on (Y/N)’s reaction to your poor excuse for a joke, I’ve got a snowglobe with a blackhole suspended within it that I think you’d fit just perfectly in. (Y/N)?”

- the man looks terrified, and you try your best to refrain from laughing at him as you raise an eyebrow in dramatic silence

“Jury’s still out, see if he survives this first.”

the Doctor claps his hands again. “Cool! I’m never saying that again, but it would be very uncool of me to have to trap you inside a snowglobe that would tear you atom from atom in a continuous, brutal cycle, so consider that a warning.”

- takes the ABSOLUTE piss, don't ever think he won't

- will 110% pretend he can't see you and stare right over your head

- will 1000% make up short-based nicknames all the time

“Hello there, Short Round.”

“Really showing your age with that one.”

“Oh, what was that? A tiny and insignificant mouse, or perhaps it was the wind, arguing with me?”

- you’d think in all his whimsical, magical, time-travelling glory with his constant bustling about and his mind going a mile a minute in the most erratic fashion possible, he wouldn't notice your height, let alone find the time to make a joke in literally any setting, but oh boy, does he

“Is everyone clear on their roles in my carefully laid out plan, because I know that the accent can be difficult, but if I have to explain it again I think I’d rather do everything myself and you can all sit here with (Y/N) and applaud me when I get back.”

“Wait, sit here with me? Why aren't I coming with you?!”

“Because you’re-”

- he gestures to you with his hands, up and down, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and you’re sighing because you already know what he’s referring to

“What does my height have to do with anything?!”

“You’re all compact, like a foldable deckchair or one of those raincoats that turns into a conveniently sized pouch. It’s frankly distracting and my pockets are full so you cant sit in any of them.”

- he never laughs at his own jokes but sometimes he makes you WHEEZE with the inventive short jokes he comes up with

- similarly to Nine, though, he also can't help viewing you as more breakable, not only because you’re a human, but a very short one, too

- despite him completely understanding the biology of humans, he is convinced that a papercut on you is the same as an average-sized person getting stabbed

- so yes, he takes the piss at absolutely every chance he gets, but if he sees someone else trip you up by accident or hand you a piece of paper and it cuts your finger in the most barely noticeable way, he will be a GRUMP

- consider the paper in your hands stolen, read very passive aggressively, then scrunched up into a ball, possibly chewed or ripped apart or even thrown on the floor and stamped on

- consider the person who accidentally hurt you the subject of his rage until they are out of his sight. every time they speak, they’re met with a “Shut it!”

- and you’re like “Doctor, there’s really no need-”

“That IMBECILE tripped you up approximately 3 AND A HALF HOURS AGO, and you think I’m overreacting? You could have DIED!”

- such a drama queen

#doctor who #doctor who x reader #tenth doctor #10th doctor #x reader #eleventh doctor #11th doctor #ninth doctor #9th doctor #12th doctor #twelfth doctor #the doctor x reader #imagine #imagines #fanfic #fanfiction #headcannon #headcannons

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celestial-hieroglyph · 3 months

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has anyone considered evil villain couple twissy

#doctor who #twelfth doctor #missy doctor who #twissy #thoschei #listen i just read a fanfic where these two were the villains #i in fact loved it despite other characters being ooc #anyways imagine the sheer power these two holds if they were both evil #either by the show setting or a separate au #just imagine #ayzee txtpost

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capybaraonabicycle · 13 days

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Omg I will of course leave the final fic choice up to you, but doesn't "True hate’s kiss (only kissing your enemy can break a curse)" sound like the perfect setup to a Twissy fic 👀

Thank you, love!

~1.5 k words, so much for "let me just write 5 sentences for you real quick". But it's, of course, because you are right, this prompt was made for twissy 🥰

I have not actually read this again, so beware. But here you go :)

[ID: gif of Missy's face in close up, smiling down like she is pitying someone mockingly. end ID]

“Can't you move a bit faster?”

If silly little companion pulled on her sleeve any more roughly, he was going to lose that new hand of his. Or maybe his nose, she wasn't really picky. The nose might taste better, Missy mused. She was quite sure it was the original one and not some cyborg-technology the Doctor had partly scavenged, partly cooked up himself. But that reasoning implied she had paid attention to the egg-head's babblings and she had a general policy never to do that.

It was lucky, comic relief had paid closer attention to her, however, because she didn't even need to voice her threat. Breathing out her nose audibly and baring her teeth sufficed easily and he squeaked, jumped, dropped her hand and hurried on a few inches further away from her.

“I am a time lady, snickerdoodle” she drawled, making a point of walking a tad more measuredly instead of hurrying up. “I always walk at the exact right speed.”

The Doctor's snack had the audacity to huff but he wisely chose not to talk back.

“It- it is just” he stuttered instead, “the Doctor, he is -”

“-dying?” she finished, already bored. “That's his usual Thursday, pup.”

“He asked for you!” the idiot-in-training blurted out and despite herself, Missy stopped and blinked.

“He did?” Now that were exciting news for a change. A bright smile grew on her face, simultaneously with the rising panic in plucky assistant's eyes.

“He said you could save him” he whispered, somehow managing to have his voice creak when he wasn't even properly using it.

“He did?” Missy repeated and by now her smile was positively giddy. Eggy started whimpering softly.

Missy didn't give him time to gather his bearings, instead grabbing his arm forcefully in turn, making him jump again. She brought her face close to his for good measure, revelling at the terror in his expression.

“Why. Didn't. You. Say. So. Immediately?” she asked, her voice stuck on the same note throughout the words, too high, too cheerful to be anything but disconcerting. “Hurry up, pet: I've got a day to save!”

He shuddered away from her and picked up the pace again, not looking back. But this time she was right there with him, excitement surging through her veins. The Doctor was in actual danger, helpless, pathetic and he had asked for her. Because he loved her. Because he needed her. And – most importantly – she would get to gloat. Once she had saved him. Which she obviously would. No matter what idiotic thing he had done, her silly sausage, she would get him up and running in no-time. She was his best friend, after all. His very best friend.

They reached the Doctor's office only a few minutes later, and Missy immediately noticed how serious the situation was. The psychic waves coming from him were all over the place – and not in the fun, chaotic way they usually were – they usually were a lot subtler as well, some things he had learnt in his thousand years of spacetravel – they were hurtful almost, full of pain and distress. She knew he was lying on the ground before she saw him, knew he was still conscious, too, even though his other little munch was convinced of the opposite. Missy paid her little mind how she was sitting on the floor with him, crying and mumbling affirmations. She only got in the way, really, with the way she was cradling the Doctor's head in her lap, she couldn't help him after all.

“I am here, oh, apple of my eye” Missy exclaimed dramatically, dropping to the floor at his side with great flourish.

“I don't, I don't think, he can hear you” girl-companion hiccuped through her tears, but Missy waved her interjection away.

“Of course he can, silly-billy” she huffed, reaching for the Doctor's hand that had come to lie on his stomach. She pressed it to her chest, holding on tightly.

“I am here” she whispered. “Tell me, Doctor, what do you need?”

Oh, she liked playing the hero. Being the one who held the Doctor's life in their hands. Being the one everyone looked at with those worshippy, wide eyes. She thought, right now, she could fathom why he had gotten addicted to it.

“We think he got cursed” supplementary fuss said behind her back. “We were on Tigella, and there was this sceptre. The Doctor touched -”

The last of the words died in his throat when Missy whirled around to him.

“Do you know what you're talking about?” she asked sweetly, but didn't give him a chance to answer. “No, you don't. So shut up before I change my mind and make a nice soup out of the three of you instead of helping. - okay?”

She fluttered her eyelids to emphasize the point and his mouth snapped shot, his jaw tightening.

“Thank you, much appreciated.” Missy turned towards the Doctor again, nearing her ear to his mouth. “Doctor, what do you need?”

“I need -” he rasped and french-fries-friendywend gasped when she heard him speak, almost making Missy miss his next words. Did these bumbling humans ever learn? “- a kiss. From – my worst enemy.”

“Awww” Missy bit her lip, drawing back. He needed his arch-enemy! And he had thought of her. “How very touching! I am so honoured, I am not even gonna bargain.”

He didn't answer or open his eyes, but there was a pleased twitch around his mouth that made her press his hand.

“I have to say though, Doctor,” she purred, leaning in again, “if you wanted for me to kiss you, there would have been easier ways to ask than going through the trouble of getting cursed.”

Now he snorted and measured by the state he was in, this tiny bit of banter was the greatest love confessions out of all the ones he had bestowed upon her today already.

“Come on, now - “ he coughed, “Missy. You would – have never – been content with – any – thing less – elaborate.”

“True” she smirked. She was hovering right above him now. “And I appreciate the effort, darling.”

His lips moved, searching hers, and she waited just another second, savouring the moment. Then human-thingy coughed pointedly and she drew it out yet another second, simply to antagonise her. But his breath was getting visibly shallower and there was a slight tremble in his hand. Plus, his lips looked chapped like burnt Earth and just as inviting. So, finally, she led their mouths together, her hand slipping across the extra's leg to support his head.

The moment their lips touched, it was like the life flooded back into him, his mouth's movement becoming more purposeful and his tongue meeting hers cordially when she slipped it past his teeth. His free hand even twitched, like he was trying to grasp her frock.

Of their own accord, Missy's eyes closed and for a moment she lost herself in the feeling of their lips meeting, the familiar taste of his tongue, the desperate way his breath fanned her chin and cheek, reminiscent of many breathless nights spent together, oh so long ago.

But then, his movement slowed, a distressed sound escaping his throat. Before Missy could decide whether to draw back – finally killing the Doctor by kissing him to death would have been an end she could have deemed worthy of their friendship – a rough hand was on her shoulder, pulling her away from him. She hissed and whirled around, biting hard into the offending limp. So, the sniveller had decided he didn't need this body part, after all, it seemed.

He cried out, pulling his hand away from her mouth with a pathetic whine. Missy spat out some blood and fake skin with a huff. It tasted as horribly as she had expected.

“What did you do that for?” he sobbed.

“Don't touch me, crybaby” she huffed, turning back around to the Doctor.

He was still lying motionless, if possible even paler now.

“Why didn't this work?” his pillow croaked, close to tears again. Missy drew her eyebrows together in agreement. Indeed. Why hadn't it? It should have worked, she had been supposed to save the day!

For some reason, the Doctor was smiling. Mind, it was barely visible, frail as he was, but Missy could read his face like a book in every incarnation and that so was his satisfied smile.

“Seems like,” he mumbled, “we aren't – strictly – enemies anymore, love.”

“Of course, we are, don't be stupid” she pressed out. Only now she noticed how desperately she was clutching his hand, it was almost like she was trying to imitate spare-parts over at the door who was licking his own injured paw.

“Don't smile” she told the Doctor off, and she was sounding more serious than she had any right to be. “You are dying and I am your enemy. You don't get to smile at that.”

She was sure, if he had had any strength left, his smile would have grown now.

“I am – sorry, Missy” he breathed instead, “but I must – ask you – to fetch – Da – Davros.”

Missy felt her mouth drop open in shock and humiliation. Davros? Fucking Davros got to save her Doctor??

This was rock bottom.

Thank you for reading, I hope it is about what you envisioned <3

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dont-tell-my-mom-im-here · 1 month

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There is literally not a single fandom that does not have a Doctor Who crossover fic. The Aeneis? Doctor Who crossover fic. Waiting for Godot? Doctor Who crossover fic. Find a fandom that foes not have a Doctor Who crossover fic I dare you

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mist-fire · 2 months

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#doctor who #rose tyler #fanfic #bad wolf #werewolves #thirteenth doctor #tenth doctor #ninth doctor #eleventh doctor #twelfth doctor #no one is probably going to see this but i just need one person to validate me

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eszera15 · 1 month

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opened a twelvejack wip and this was the last thing i wrote

#i promise this fic is a little more tame than this line implies #fanfiction #me writing fanfic #doctorjack #doctor who #jack harkness #captain jack harkness #twelfth doctor

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newbie-whovian · 2 months

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Hi, Could you give the idea of reader x twelfth doctor who has Bill as a companion and who in a few words is a bit of a jealous doctor? either because they met someone great on a trip or because the reader is very much involved in his life on earth.

Thanks!

(yessssssssssssss I need to write more 12)

Jealousy

Rating: G

Pairing(s): 12th Doctor x Reader

Tags/TW: 12 is a jealous lad

You were used to trips not quite going the way you'd planned. It was almost a guarantee. But needless to say, rejecting the marriage proposal of a cyborg queen was... Definitely unexpected.

You, the Doctor, and Bill ran through the mechanical castle. "I don't see why it couldn't work out," Bill said, "I mean, she seemed nice enough-"

"Before she sent her guards after us, you mean?" you replied, just before the hallway began to shift. The three of you were trapped in a dead end that hadn't been there before.

The Doctor hadn't stopped fidgeting with his sonic screwdriver the entire chase, and it seemed that he'd finally found what he was looking for. He pointed it at the wall with a flourish, giving you and Bill a tiny grin before grabbing your hand.

The TARDIS was somewhere in the royal gardens, but with the hallways changing, you had no idea where you were supposed to be going. "Doctor, how are we getting out of here?" you asked, panting.

"I've tuned into the queen's frequency, I can reverse all of her changes," he said, and you frowned.

"So she controls the castle?"

"No. She is the castle. She's integrated it all into her upgrades. Quite foolish actually, once we escape, she won't be able to follow," the Doctor explained, tugging you around a corner.

Bill chimed in, "But the guards will! Right? I mean, they're not a part of the castle, they're just movin' on their own."

The Doctor paused before giving a shrug, saying, "If I'm right, the TARDIS is through that door, and we won't have to worry about it."

So the three of you bolted to the door, which thankfully led out into the gardens. The TARDIS waited patiently in the center of the queen's prized flower bed, and as the sound of mechanical guards closed in, you knew you couldn't risk a look back. The three of you piled into the TARDIS and slammed the door behind you.

Bill immediately tossed her jacket over one of the rails, saying, "Well that was... All kinds of fun but I'm beat, I'll be in the rec room. Let me know when we get back, alright?"

You gave her a smile and a wave while the Doctor gave a soft grunt, circling the console. Bill disappeared down a hallway, and you stepped towards the Doctor.

He yanked a lever and the TARDIS made a tremendous noise; he then quickly pulled the lever back to its original position, grumbling under his breath.

You rested an elbow on the railing. "Doctor?" you asked.

"Hm?"

"What's wrong?"

"Wrong? Nothing's wrong, we're on our way, everything is fine!"

You crossed your arms. "Mhm."

He turned to face you, saying, "What? I answered your question."

You raised an eyebrow and said, "Barely. C'mon, what's wrong?" Taking a step closer, you added, "Can't have anything to do with the fact that I was proposed to today, can it?"

He rolled his eyes and waved a hand at you, turning back to the console. "What, that? Nonsense."

You smirked. "Didn't seem like nonsense when you rejected her for me."

He paused for a moment before flipping a row of switches, saying, "You were hesitating."

You held back a chuckle and said, "That's what you're upset about? The fact that I hesitated, upon hearing that the queen of some planet - that you dragged me to! - wanted to marry me?"

"Oh c'mon, I didn't drag you, you wanted to go on a trip."

"You're avoiding the question and you know it," you said, barely able to hold back a smile.

He halted what he was doing and turned to face you, saying, "And what if I am?"

You shrugged. "Look, if you don't want to talk about it, fine. But if it's bothering you, you can't just avoid it forever." You stepped a little closer and placed a hand on his shoulder, saying, "At the end of the day, I turned her down."

"You did."

"Mhm, 'cause why wouldn't I? I've got everything I want right here."

The Doctor betrayed a small smile.

#doctor who #doctor who fic #dw fanfic #12th doctor x reader #twelfth doctor x reader #i ran out of ideas for the title and you can definitely tell

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undiscovered-horizon · 1 year

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🫀REQUESTS ARE OPEN🫀 || Doctor Who-inspired playlist

Imagine the Doctor being there for you when you're upset.

You were having a very porcupine day and the Doctor quite quickly caught on - he's always been good at noticing changes in your mood. So far he's been eyeing you from afar, checking if you were already bursting at the seams with whatever storm that was boiling inside you. A simple slight of hand seemed to be the tipping point for your already bad day:

The phone slipped out of your hand and clashed against the TARDIS floor with a loud, bright bang that echoed throughout the room. It was in no way a worrying or rare situation - given the regular turbulence the ship experiences, your phone has already wiped all the dust from the metal floor. That day, however, that daily annoyance felt like the end of the world. It seemed as if the universe herself decided to poke you with a stick, pushing you to the edge of your wits.

Having sat on the floor to reach your phone, the Doctor couldn't see you from his position behind the flight controls. For a moment, the only thing that hinted at your existence was a strain of spat out swears and threats aimed at inanimate objects.

"What's wrong?" the Doctor asked in an unnerved tone. In his experience, even a slight spoil of humour could be tied to completely catastrophic events.

Not hearing your immediate response, he walked around the console to see what was going on with you. Fortunately, you were just sitting on the floor with your head resting against the rail behind you. As an expression of frustration, you gently banged your head against the metal contraption.

"I... I don't know," you confessed quietly. Your eyes were shut tight and you could only imagine the Doctor's worried expression. "I'm just... sad. And angry."

"Can I help?"

His offer made you open your eyes. Even when you weren't exactly pleasant o be around at the time, the Doctor remained ever so kind and worried. Although deep down you wished he'd leave you alone, you knew he meant well and did not deserve any bad attitude. You took a deep breath before answering him:

"No, I don't think so."

You closed your eyes again and let out a deep sigh. You heard the Doctor hum quietly as if he was thinking about something. Then you heard the sound of the heels of his shoes tapping against the floor as he walked away, disappearing somewhere among the endless labyrinth of corridors. When the echo of his footsteps became inaudible, there was only you and the gentle thrum of TARDIS's engines. It felt nice to be alone for a moment - it was a rare opportunity while travelling with the Doctor and when it did arise anywhere outside of those four walls, a disaster soon followed.

There was no way for you to tell how much time he'd been gone but it felt too short - despite the fondness you felt for him. The sound of his feet against the metal floor only grew louder and so you assumed he was walking towards you.

Hearing as he came to a halt right next to you but not saying anything, you opened your eyes once again. The Doctor was towering over you with a cup in his hand. He extended his arm towards you, clearly offering you a beverage. There was a faint cloud of steam hovering above it. Despite everything, he was always as caring as he could possibly be.

"Okay, yes, you can help," you told him. The Doctor's face contorted into a soft smile.

A shadow of happiness run across your face when you took the mug from him. It was pleasantly warm. The aroma of berries, citrus and clove reached your nostrils and you couldn't stop yourself from taking a deeper breath to bask in the lovely, spicy-sweet fragrance.

The Doctor leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss on the top of your head. Then he returned to the impressive console in the middle of the room, resuming whatever maintenance he had paused for you. From time to time he would glance at you to check how you were doing. Love always poured out of him, even when no words were spoken.

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thegoldenghost4 · 3 months

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Does anybody have any toxic Clara and Twelfth Doctor fanfics, I read one recently and I need more (so much more-) but the Doctor Who fandom refuses to tag their stuff😢😭

So uh reblog if you have any, also I' take toxic Thoschei as well, these two are both toxic in canon so im sorry if i sound so fucking weird guys

#thoschei #clara oswald #twelfth doctor #fanfiction #fanfic #the doctor #doctor who

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raz-writes-the-thing · 4 months

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Twelfth Doctor NSFW Alphabet

Twelfth Doctor x GN!Reader 18+ ONLY / requests are open

DW: @nyxiethesimp @quickslvxrr @midnight--raine @blueberry-sunshines @stevekempscocktails @go-bonkers-go-foolish @peytonpenguin37 @yeethaw13 @complimentary-breadbasket @thekirbishow @stilestotherescue @madspads @catlynharper@merrilark @jaziona92 (send an ask to be added to a tag list!)

___ ___ ___ ___ ___

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Twelve doesn’t like to sit still for too long, even after sex. He does like to cuddle, and one of his favourite things is tracing your palm lines while his head rests on your shoulder, but he can only relax like that for about an hour at most before he’s itching to go do something- usually shower with you or tinker with some sort of alien tech.

He also likes to listen to music after sex- soft instrumental music. Sometime’s he’ll play with your fingers and read you an excerpt of a book he’s reading if he’s wanting to do something but also cuddle with you.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

His favourite body part on himself are his ears. He loves having them kissed and stimulated, but he also just likes the way they look on him. Twelve’s favourite body part on his partner is usually their ankles. The man is obsessed with a pretty ankle.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Twelve goes absolutely feral when he sees his cum dripping off from your skin. Chest, chin, back, ass- wherever.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

It’s not for everyone (and not for Raz either) but I feel like Twelve would like- enjoy giving foot massages a little too much. Something about the view up your legs, the curve of your skin and the way you moan under his touch when he rubs a stubborn knot out of the sole of your foot. Just drives him wild. He just has a little bit of a thing for feet.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Twelve is not that experienced. He doesn’t fuck on a whim, he fucks for love and companionship- so he’s not had many one-night stands or anything like that, but he’s a fast learner and one of the things that he enjoys the most about a new relationship is finding out exactly how to make his partner melt for him.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Twelve’s favourite position is having you ride him. He loves to put his hands on your ass and watch you pleasure yourself on him. He finds the sight of you like that spectacularly erotic- particularly when he grips you tight and decides to fuck up into you.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

It depends. Twelve can be serious, but he can be goofy too. If he’s feeling self-conscious, he’s definitely going to be a little goofier in order to distract himself and his partner from his insecurities.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Twelve doesn’t really care for pubic maintenance hair-wise. He just lets the hair do what it wants, but he makes sure to keep it clean, of course.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Again, it depends on how insecure he’s feeling. If he’s feeling confident, he’s very suave and romantic, but if he’s feeling insecure, he can be a bit awkward, too. If he’s feeling dominant, though, he’s not very romantic.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Twelve only really masturbates when he’s really, really desperate. He doesn’t really have time to, otherwise. Always flitting about from one thing to the next.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Twelve has a daddy kink. He also as I mentioned before, has a mild thing for feet, and he really likes to choke his partners. That rush sends pleasure up his spine and makes his brain tingle.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Up against the wall is his favourite place to do it. Second to that is over the couch.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Twelve is turned on by music, sometimes. As in, bassy guitar riffs and lyrics to match. If you wear lipstick, a deep shade of red will also get him going, too.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Gun and knife play are big no-no’s and he’s not big on cnc, either.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Preference is to give. There’s nothing like being trapped between his lovers’ thighs.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Generally speaking, Twelve likes to be slower and more gentle, but he’s not opposed to a good hard fuck either if the mood strikes.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Twelve is a big fan of quickies. The amount of times he’s fucked you in a broom closet between lunch and the oncoming alien incursion has been innumerable.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Twelve is all about risk in the bedroom. He’s keen to try things, learn things, experience things. As long as they don’t put you in danger, he is game.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Twelve can go three to four rounds before he needs to take a break, but that doesn’t mean he’s not game to eat you out between them either, though.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Twelve is a big fan of toys. He makes them for you- manages to make sure they are attuned to you specifically and what gives you pleasure. He loves to watch you use a toy and work it inside yourself or on yourself that he’s made with his own hands.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Twelve is a huge tease. Both with touches, caresses but then with orgasms too. He’s not opposed to seeing how many times he can edge you before you break your last record.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Twelve isn’t super loud, but he’s not quiet either. He moans a lot and tends to suck in his breath, too when something feels particularly good.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

If you lick, nibble or suck on his ear lobe, he will be complete putty in your hands. Just brushing over the shell or whispering in his ear will do the trick too, to be honest.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

For an older body, he’s surprisingly toned. Not a six-pack or anything, but he’s got the beginnings of some muscle firmness under the soft belly. In terms of his dick, though, he’s rather long and pale, and there is a vein that runs along the left-hand side that pulses blue.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Twelve’s sex drive is a bit sporadic. He will go through a period of time where he’s not in the mood, and then it will all suddenly hit at once and all he will want to do for the next two weeks is fuck your brains out.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards

Barely ever. Twelve doesn’t really sleep a lot, and he doesn’t fall asleep after sex very often at all.

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ghostofafruit · 4 months

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Anyone want an utterly insane crack fic of all nuwho doctor's and companions meeting? No? Tough I'm writing it anyway. The only companion that won't be there is mickey smith :(

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honey-im-hotdog · 2 years

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Seven Cubes of Sugar

Twelfth Doctor x Immortal!Alien!Reader, mentions of Eleventh Doctor x Immortal!Alien!Reader

Author’s Note: This is my first Doctor Who fic! I really don’t like Doctor x human because that has an abundance of issues, so I made reader be nonhuman, and immortal simply cause I don’t want the Doctor to lose more people 🥺 The book mentioned is “Before the Coffee Gets Cold” by Toshikazu Kawaguchi. Also, this is for #dwweek2022 Day One - Favorite Doctor! I hope you enjoy :D

As always, reader is supposed to be gn+vague, so if you catch any mistakes related to that please let me know.

Words: 2.2k

Warnings: Fluff (the title is in reference to how fluffy I tried making this), swearing, soft!Twelve, mentions of Doctor’s insecurity/self-hatred, kind of choppy.

Summary: A day at the park, reflecting on your Doctor, with a book and some ice cream.

Check out my Masterpost

———————————

It was on Trenzalore that you met the Doctor.

You had lived there long before the humans came. You were born on that planet, played, grew up…and first died there… But that’s a story for another time.

You were coming back from visiting an old friend in the village when you saw him, the Doctor, a strange man, speaking to a crowd like he was a part of the townsfolk.

He was weary of you, he couldn’t stay near you for long, called you unnatural. Soon after, as the years went by, people he knew and befriended in Christmas started to pass away, and the only person to feel his grief, to understand, was you. And so, you two grew closer. Becoming friends, and then more, until he married you.

He told you about his companions, all the adventures, every good and bad and in-between moment of his life. Afterall, you and Bowtie had almost a millennium together stuck on that planet.

Then came the Daleks, and with them, the Doctor’s death. Well, that’s what you thought until he was granted more regenerations.

The Doctor had taken his regeneration really hard. Going from being young to an old and angry man had been hard for him. His tiredness, his pain, his hurt, it was all etched into the wrinkles of his skin. He didn’t even need to look into a mirror to see it, he simply had to look at his hands to be reminded of his new body, of his new self. There was so much he couldn’t stand about his new regeneration.

And then there was you: young looking, forever stuck at the same age, and heart-stoppingly in love with him. You have always been unwavering in your adoration, in your kindness, in your support. As the bowtie-wearing Doctor, he never felt deserving of you; sometimes yet, he almost couldn’t bear the fact that you were tied down to him. But you have always been strong in your love for him, always soothing his fears and concerns with your gentle words, your soft touches, and your calming presence.

In the beginning he tried pushing you away, tried distancing himself from you. You, in turn, always grabbed his hand and pulled him back to you. Even though it wasn’t easy, you had steadily assured him that you don’t mind his new self, that you love him all the same.

So here you two are, several years into him teaching at St. Luke’s, in a park in the middle of the day, having a not-really-but-kind-of date. This Doctor, more than Bowtie, gravitated towards reading, and that’s what he is currently doing. Sitting on the dark green bench, one leg crossed over the other, and a book in his lap.

Upon entering the park, you had immediately noticed the small ice cream stand. Given your Doctor’s sweet tooth, you left him to get comfortable on the bench while you went to go buy a cone to share.

“Thank you, enjoy.”

You thank the man in return and head over to the Doctor. As you walk, you watch him. You love watching him when he’s giving his undivided focus to something, whether that be the TARDIS, in lectures, a book, or you. Each thing, each occurrence called for a different expression on his face, but the way he fully immersed himself always intrigued you.

Yet, no matter how focused he could get in other things, your Doctor was always in tune with you.

Your husband has come a long way since he regenerated into this body. You still remember the first day you spent with the Scottsman dragging you around Victorian London.

———————

You watch as the Doctor snatches the newspaper off the ground and waddles back to the old man, grabbing him and forcing him to look down at the paper.

Though this body is quite different and the mannerisms not as open, as child-like, he still behaves similarly to Bowtie. Minds working faster than anyone could fathom and having a general lack of social skills. Hence, the terrorization of the poor man.

All in all, you know the Doctor—your Doctor—is still the same. Different, yes—but still the Doctor. Still the man you spent the last nine hundred years with. Still the man who tries his very best to help those that need it, whether they realize they need it or not.

A shout from the homeless man brings you back from your observations. The Doctor is wrestling the man, whose name neither of you bothered to gather, for his coat. This, you decide, is probably a good time to intervene.

“Fine!” the Doctor throws his hands in the air, letting go of the man’s collar. “Fine! Fine, fine! You don’t want to give me your coat. Okay!” He steps back from the man and rubs his hands together. “H-How about,” he cuts himself off, looking around like he’s trying to solve a puzzle. “Yeah. Yeah! How about a trade?! I’ll give y—here! Take my watch! I’ll give you my watch for your coat!” the Doctor shoves his wrist in the man’s face and starts tugging at the coat sleeve.

You rush the last four steps to the two men and grab your husband’s arm to pull him away. “No. No, Doctor. Just—hold on a second, will you!” You hush him, ignoring the pout he’s giving you for now. You place your hands on his arms and turn to the other man, “I’m sorry about him, sir. It was very nice meeting you, have a good day.” He doesn’t need any more prompting to get out of there and far away from the mad Time Lord.

“What’d you do that for?! I’m cold! I need his coat!” he stares down at you in bewilderment, eyebrows are almost climbing off of his face. As the elderly man reaches the end of the alleyway, the Doctor turns his fury to him, “Oi! Come back here, I need your coat!”

“Doctor, it’s okay,” you pivot the two of you until his back is to the exit so he wouldn’t be able to harass the poor soul that had accidently stumbled upon the frenetic Scot. “It’s fine. Be fair, he was cold to—”

“No! It isn’t okay! I’m very cold, I needed his coat!” His arms escape your grip in wild gestures; sometimes you forget how strong Time Lords can be.

“If you’re cold,” your voice is comically calm compared to his, “all you had to do was say so in the first place.” You begin removing your soiled coat.

“What are you doing?!”

You raise an eyebrow at him, “What does it look like? I’m giving you my coat, idiot.”

“What would you do that for? Now you’ll be cold!” His voice gets higher and higher as you take off the garment, attack eyebrows climbing up and up his newly worn face.

You take a step closer to reach around him, gently placing the coat onto his shoulders. “I’d rather me than you.”

You mutter it absentmindedly, but the blow it delivers to the Doctor is substantial. This whole time he had been scared—no, terrified—that you wouldn’t accept his new body. Mere minutes ago, when he had stared at himself in the grimy mirror, he felt a lump lodge itself in his throat. Not because he hated his new regeneration, really, but because of you. How could he expect you to be okay with being married to a man that looked as if he could be your father—worse, your grandfather? Yes, you had stuck by him since he had pulled you into the Thames, not acting any differently than usual (other than being concerned about the post-regeneration and his subsequent running around), but he thought that was because it hadn’t settled in for you. That you were too busy chasing around after him to have fully understood that he is old now, that he is different.

But here you are. Willing to brave the bitter sting of the London air just so he wouldn’t be cold anymore. Removing your coat and giving it to him as easily as you breathe. He feels as if the skies had parted and a warm ray of sunshine finally kissed his freezing heart.

You tug at his wrists to bring his mind back from wherever it had wandered, gesturing for him to put his arms through the sleeves. And the smile you give him further melts the frost that has started to enclose him; the same sweet smile, filled with love and adoration, and just a dash of fond exasperation.

However, he isn’t able to bask in it for long. Like a bucket of ice water, he realizes that he can’t bring himself to embrace you, not like he used to be able to. His arms feel like lead and his heart sinks just as heavy.

Him whispering your name draws your eyes up from where you were patting down the coat. His expression of grief has your own face filling with concern yet again.

“What? What is it, Doctor?”

“I,” he pauses, at a loss of words. “I’m not—.” He’s shrugging his shoulders and looking away now. How could he describe the faults of his new body, the faults that are letting you down—the last thing he ever wanted to do.

You rest your hands on his arms again, thumbs trying to sooth him. “It’s okay,” you say softly, “take your time. Or just spit something out if that’ll make it easier, and we’ll go through it together.”

“Touch. I can’t touch you. This body,” he wrings his hands together, voice slightly cracking. “This body doesn’t feel okay with touching. I don’t feel,” he stutters a little, “…comfortable.” His shoulders shag and his hands open, palms towards you, as if he’s saying, ‘This is what I am now.’

It takes you a while to reply, slowly turning over the information he just presented you. You know your silence is making him fidget, so you do the only thing that you can think of:

“Fine then.” You bring up your left index finger. “Compromise?” Your eyebrow raises in a hopeful look.

His brows furrow, as he also brings up his left index finger. “‘Compromise?’”

With a grin, you switch to your right finger and wrap it around his, pulling the interlocked digits down. “Yeah, a little compromise,” your voice is filled with reassurance, and you give his finger a little accompanying squeeze.

And there he goes again, wondering why he ever felt incertitude about your resilience. You have been there for him for the past 900 years, standing by his side and supporting him, loving him, simply being there for him, even when he didn’t know he needed you.

So he squeezes your finger back, as a silent thank you, not just for this, but for today as a whole, and for every time before.

“Doctor,” you say in a curious manner, stopping him from turning away to grab the abandoned newspaper, entwined fingers rising in the air behind him. “…You look like a penguin.”

Your giggles burst out at his eyebrows shooting up, looking independently cross.

———————

It took him a while, but slowly he got more and more accustomed to physical touch, going from tangling just pointer fingers to reaching for your whole hand like they were meant to be locked together. While he still isn’t as favorable to it, he is a lot more open. Over the time you’ve spent running around with Clara and the numerous decades in Bristol, you both worked out that he likes to initiate specific moments of physical affection rather than having constant contact with you. He’ll go hours without touching you, and then simply open up his arms or grab your hand, silently asking for you to be with him. (As if he needed any more reasons, your respect and understanding of his aversion to touch makes him adore you even more.)

Which is exactly what he does right now. The second you come within arm’s length to him, he’s shifting his body and opening up his arm to let you slide right in, all without looking away from the words on the page.

“I got your favorite this time. Last time you kept bitching about me getting my favorite,” you tease him as you wiggle around to get in the perfect position; half of your back pressed against his chest, your side snugly fitted into his, and one arm thrown over his lap, fingers gently rubbing his thigh.

It’s automatic when he lefts out a scoff and mumbles, “‘Bitching.’” His arm comes up to wrap around your shoulders and squeeze you into him more. “I do not bitch. You simply don’t have the superior taste in sweets as I do, darling.”

In response, you bring the frozen treat up to his lips and let out a scoff of your own, “Yes, because seven sugar cubes in your tea is ‘superior.’”

He grumbles under his breath around the ice cream in his mouth.

You roll your eyes. “Where are you on the page?” you say in slight exasperation.

He picks up the book and rests his chin on your shoulder, “Bottom of the page, here.” His pinkie vaguely indicates a paragraph.

You take a lick of the ice cream, “Will you read to me, Doctor?”

“Do you even have to ask, love?” He readjusts his grip on the book and begins reading, “‘Of course, there was nothing concrete to suggest that it had been his mistake…’”

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