#twelve x reader

Life in the TARDIS was always a curious thing, what with all the planets and nebulas and timelines out there, but above all else, the Doctor.

Oh, was he a treat to travel with.

He was mean and grumpy and his brows were always furrowed with such intense displeasure. He would roll up his sleeves and save the world, while bitching about how everyone was pudding-brained and really, you were pretty sure the only reason he didn't resort to calling everyone a ‘dumb bitch’ was because he considered himself too dignified for it. And after it all, he'd run about the console, not tired in the least, gearing up for the next adventure.

And you wanted him. Carnally.

A part of you was glad the Doctor didn't use profanity, nor was he particularly affectionate, because you would simply explode. It was awful enough without him being intentionally cruel, the way his tongue curled around his words in displeasure, the wrinkled lines of his face set deep with the annoyance of two millenia.

You'd met him on the day when cybermen had flown into the sky and exploded, shortly after one ran at you full-speed, arm gun pointed, like a missile. His coat had been billowing behind him, sonic screwdriver in hand, and he'd whirred the thing into slumping onto the ground.

“You do that a lot?” You'd asked, panting wildly.

“Yes. Do you do that a lot? Stand and let yourself be rammed to death?” He’d waved the screwdriver at you, eyeing you curiously.

Your lips had twitched into a smirk, innuendo flirting on its edges.

“Ah, well, as much as I would love to get rammed to death, I don't really make a habit of it, no.”

“Well that's a stupid thing to love.” The Doctor mumbled, joke going over his head and behind, somewhere beside the inactive cyberman.

You'd followed him to the graveyard, stupidly. You weren't sure why, all your brain could think of in that moment was, ‘That hot man just saved my life. What's the worst that could happen?’

Inevitably, that same logic had landed you in the TARDIS, ooh-ing and ah-ing at every star system he showed you, his face a rare expression of wonderment instead of its usual derision.

You felt like a pervert most of the time, being around him. The Doctor would do something as innocuous as run his middle and ring finger along the console of the TARDIS, which he'd explained preferred she/her pronouns and was deeply sentient, and all you could think of was sucking on them until you choked and his hand was soaked with your spit.

He'd walk past you, closer than his usual two feet of separation, and you couldn't resist but inhale the air because there was something distinctly staticky, earthy, downright divine about the way he smelled, something you wanted to huff like a dog.

The first time you'd closed your eyes and turned your head to the Doctor, nose leaning forward just a little towards his back so you could get one more good sniff, Jenny Flint had given you a look. And then Vastra gave you a look.

They might as well have called you a whore in capital letters, with no words and lots of love. You thought it was very kind of them to not point out your degeneracy to the Doctor.

“Sometimes I feel scared, being alone with him.” You'd whispered to Jenny, in the hope of finding an ally in your attraction to an alien. “I feel like he'll do a single thing and I'll simply…jump him. And then he'll toss me out of the TARDIS.”

“Ma'am, I hardly think you're going to corrupt him—” Jenny laughed in your face, sobering up at her wife’s sharp gaze, a reminder that she was supposed to be posing.

“Jenny is correct. The Doctor is old, he has seen things. This current version of him is rather…displeased, with most things. He—”

“I knowww.” You bemoaned before Vastra could finish talking. “He's so old and so cross and his eyes are always glaring and God help me, I want him in ways that would make a Victorian man faint.” You flopped onto a chaise lounge, scrubbing your face with your hands.

“If you would like us to leave you alone with your thoughts, you only need to say so.” Jenny said, smirking at you, Vatra chuckling alongside her.

“Oh, shut it, both of you.” You grumbled, suffocating yourself with a pillow.

“Miss, the Doctor has informed me that he would like your company aboard the TARDIS.”

“Ooh.” Jenny called out as you scampered out of the room, flipping them the bird and packing yourself into the TARDIS.

The Doctor turned to you, frowning. His eyes flew all over your face, which was presumably red, the mussed appearance of your hair, and the general huffy air you were carrying, before turning back to the console.

“Right. 4-X-Alpha-4, home to the Movellans, beautiful star system—haven’t been there in a while. What do you think about making a trip?” He asked, pulling levers and flicking switches.

“Yeah, sure, whatever.” You mumbled, pinching the bridge of your nose as you bounced up the steps to land yourself in the jump seat.

“What is it with you and your dullness?” The Doctor grumbled, tugging back his sleeves to yank on a particularly heavy lever.

“What's that supposed to mean?” You scowled in offense. You were exhausted by all the excitement of the past few days, your eyes too tired to keep themselves away from the Doctor's hands.

“It means you never have any ideas! You and that dull mind, you never say ‘Oh I want to see this’ you just go wherever I take you! Sometimes I wonder why you even bothered to come aboard.” He waved his hands around as he spoke, his worn skin stretched over thick knuckles and wrinkled by time, though they were yet to lose their dexterity.

“Mainly because you're hot.” The words flew out on autopilot, your eyes still stuck on how neat he kept his nails.

It was only after the beat of complete silence in the room that you realised what you'd said. Your eyes shot up to the Doctor's face, only to find him already looking at you. His eyes were narrowed, his head tilted ever so slightly to the side.

“-ty. You're hotty. Haughty. Y'know. The word that means arrogant and proud. I thought since you're so haughty, you probably have something impressive to show me.”

It was a bad cover. An awful one. Though, with the way the Doctor’s lips twitched into a smirk, you thought you may get away with it. Your fingers curled into the fabric of your seat, hoping he would let it slide instead of making it a thing.

“I'm not a stupid old man, you know.” The Doctor said, voice low and curling like smoke. He clicked a button on his screwdriver, and after a 3 second whirr you felt your chair move of its own accord—flying towards the Doctor until you were close enough to have his knee touch yours.

“...I didn't say you were. I said you were an arrog—”

“Your pupils dilate when you look at me, your attention span drops by thirty seven percent when I roll up my sleeves, your heart beats so loudly for no apparent reason at times that I can hear it, and of course, the sniffing. Did you really think I didn't notice? I simply chose to say nothing.” There was no mockery or disdain when he looked down at you, silver curls gleaming from the light of the TARDIS. His eyes had softened, the curve of his brows gentler than usual even though there was a teasing smirk playing there. Your heart beat impossibly loud—you knew he could hear it now—and you figured if you were to be let down gently, you might as well make a thing out of it.

“Because you're so awful and evil and would ruin me?” You asked, staring at him defiantly as warmth swept over your face. Ignoring your question entirely, the Doctor rested his palms on the arm rest of your chair.

“And, of course, there's the touchiness at the concept of fathers. Do I remind you of him? Is that it?” He leaned in a bit more, voice dropping a few decibels.

“No.” You said resolutely, straightening your back, an action that simply pushed your face closer to the Doctor's. “You're nothing like him. You could never be like him.” Your tongue flicked out to wet your lips, the appendage followed by the aged, kind eyes of the time lord.

“You didn't answer my question.” You whispered, nostrils flaring as the staticky scent of him filled your lungs.

“No, I don't think I'm evil. I am only an idiot with a box.”

Your eyes fluttered as he rested his other palm on the free arm rest, caging you in—not that he needed to, ever, you'd let him put you on a leash and bark if he wanted it, all of your own free will—his breath warm on your face.

He was so close it made you physically tremble—not in nervousness, no, it was the sheer vibration of being so close to the man you wanted yet holding it together because you weren't sure if he was actually going to do anything or just leave you blue-balled.

“Having said that, I do get rather cross when my people decide they're done with me.”

He didn't mean that. You knew he didn't mean that. He got sad, maybe, jealous, sure, at the prospect of his companions leaving, but never angry.

That didn't mean it wasn't an incredibly hot thing to hear. He knew that, you think, he knew exactly what that sentence would do to you and he said it anyways.

“Yes si—”

“I don't like being called ‘sir’.” He practically growled, and even with your eyes closed you could imagine his expression perfectly.

“Yes, Doctor.”

As if the words were some psychic key, finally, finally, the Doctor crashed his lips onto yours, palm wrapping around the back of your neck. He dragged you out of the chair, pushing you up against the console and pressing his body up to yours. He kissed like he was starving, tongue invading your mouth and fucking it with an intensity that barely let you catch up.

The second you let out a soft whimper, fingers digging into his arms, the Doctor combed one hand over your forehead, sweeping your hair back and tilting your head to face up so he could kiss you more comfortably.

He was strong, stronger than he looked, picking you up and hoisting you onto the console with ease. You wrapped your arms around his neck in response, sliding forward until you could press every contour of your bodies together.

The TARDIS let out an angry whirr, the lever you were sitting on launching up with enough force to throw you off the console. Thankfully, the Doctor caught you, holding you up with ease as you wrapped your legs around his waist.

“I think she's encouraging us to move our business elsewhere.” The Doctor said, eyeing her.

“As long as I get fucked into the mattress I really don't care.” You mumbled, taking the opportunity to press your face into his neck and inhaling. You moaned out loud, nuzzling his skin as if rubbing against it enough would let you absorb into it.

“Oh you're a right little whore, aren't you?” The roll of his tongue around the word ‘whore’ sent shivers down your spine. You bit your tongue in a bid to silence your moan, but couldn't really keep your thighs from flexing around his hips.

“So that's why you're not nearly as sensitive as the others to my rudeness.” The Doctor chuckled against your mouth, sliding his lips down your neck.

“So you admit you're rude?” You chuckled, leaning forward to bravely nip at his ear. The graze of your teeth against his skin drew a groan out of him, and he squeezed your ass firmly, once, before dumping you onto something soft.

“You’re the one quivering from me calling you a whore.” The Doctor purred, pairing the words with a squeeze to your thigh.

Blinking and looking around, you realised you were in what must've been the Doctor's room. The walls had Gallifreyan patterns and words etched into them, there were shelves lining every wall and books spilling out of them, and the upholstery and bedding was a lovely TARDIS blue.

While you were busy studying your surroundings, the Doctor had paused, kneeling at the edge of the bed, between your legs.

“Are you sure about this?” He asked, licking his lips while he looked at you. A smidge of hesitation had crept onto his face, and it made you feel even more of a pervert, like you were about to take advantage of an innocent old man.

You knew that couldn't be farther from the truth, but it was still hot to think about.

Your eyes roved over his form, down the loose tshirt he was wearing and settling on the bulge in his trousers.

“Yes. I'm sure, Doctor. I'm always sure with you, about everything.” You softened your voice, looking at him with all the yearning your heart could muster without actually bursting into tears.

“Now, please.” You whined, raising yourself up on your elbows so you could reach one hand out, sliding it over his thigh and to the very edge of the bulge.

“Please what?” The Doctor asked, hesitation sliding off his face to make room for that smug look again.

You made a displeased noise in the back of your throat, sitting up more fully to drag your palm across his crotch, digging the heel of it into his bulge.

The Doctor didn't move, didn't react save for closing his eyes and exhaling. He stayed completely still, even when your hand started toying with the button of his trousers, even when it tugged the waistband of it down to nestle just below his hard cock, trapped in his pants.

“Please?” You tried again, leaning forward to nuzzle his soft tummy, before pressing a kiss to it.

“I'm not doing anything until you tell me what it is you want.” The Doctor insisted, shifting his knee ever so slightly to become more comfortable.

You figured if he could tease, so could you.

Dragging your mouth down his stomach, leaving a slick trail behind, you paused at the hem of his trousers, tugging them down until he was just in his pants. You practically purred at the sight, his hard cock tenting the fabric. You licked your lips, leaning forward to bury your face in his crotch, nuzzling his cock through his pants and breathing in the musky scent. It was even headier than the rest of him, making your eyes roll back. You pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the bulge, moaning when the taste of him soaked through your tongue.

“What a little degenerate." The Doctor said, affection dripping from each syllable. Finally, he moved, but only to snake his hand into your hair.

“Only for you, Doctor.” You groaned against him, rolling your hips against thin air when your words made his cock twitch. You could get off sucking his cock, you thought.

“Doctor, please fuck me.” You licked your lips, tilting your face to look up at him with half-lidded eyes.

He sighed deeply, sliding his hand from your hair to your cheek, lingering there for a second before making its way further down, over your neck, your chest, and finally, to the hem of your jumper.

“Well, if you ask me like that.” The Doctor murmured, tugging the soft fabric up and off you. He sighed reverently, tracing the path his hand took earlier, except this time it was over your bare skin. His hand slipped behind you, unclasping your bra and tossing it aside before cupping one of your tits. He brushed his thumb over the nipple until it pebbled, before letting it down gently and tugging at the waistband of your sweatpants.

“How come I'm the only shirtless one?” You smirked at him, leaning back to raise your hips off the bed. Before you could shimmy the offending garment off yourself, the Doctor tugged your sweats off your legs and tossed them in the corner with the rest of your clothing, before grabbing the hem of his own tshirt and taking it off.

“If I start barking I'll need you to forgive me.” You whispered, sliding a hand up his side and to his chest.

“Oh I doubt you'll be doing much of anything besides screaming very soon.” The Doctor said, silver curls bouncing as he got off the bed to take his trousers and pants off the rest of the way.

Now fully nude, both of you took a moment to simply look at each other, the lights dimming until it was just bright enough to see the silhouettes and faces of each other.

“How would you like to do this?” The Doctor asked, stepping closer to kneel on the bed again, hard cock bobbing between his legs. You bit your lip hungrily looking at it, knowing that if you were to part your thighs they would be wet and slick, but not nearly as much as your pussy.

“I—” You paused, suddenly flushing a bright red. You weren't sure why you were so embarrassed—the Doctor was clearly not perturbed by anything you'd done so far—but the realisation that it was actually happening felt like jumping out of a plane.

You weren't sure if you had a parachute yet.

“C'mon.” The Doctor cupped your cheek, leaning in to kiss you softly. His other hand sneaked between your legs, cupping your wet pussy for a moment before he flicked your clit.

“Ah—” You gasped, before parting your lips from his to confess your desire.

“On my hands and knees. Please.” You said softly, feeling your face grow even hotter when he chuckled.

“Oh, so you want to be taken like a bitch in heat, is that it?” The words were so violently provocative and unfamiliar coming from him that they made you clench around nothing, your mouth falling open in a pant even though you'd done nothing except get naked.

With a swift move, you were suddenly on your front, scrambling to get on all fours as a worn hand tangled in your hair.

“My question. You didn't answer it.” The Doctor purrs in your ear, leaning over you until he could nuzzle your ear.

“Yes.” You whined, high and needy.

“Yes what?”

You made a rueful noise, warmth settling over your body as a garment of your embarrassment and arousal.

“Yes, I want you to take me like a bitch in heat.” You licked your lips, the hesitation resting on them knocked clean off by a moan when you felt the Doctor push into you, slow and even. He was big, big enough for you to feel the stretch and know you would be sore the next day, but you were so incredibly wet that it didn't matter.

He wrapped an arm around your hips, holding you close as his hips bumped into your ass, his cock fully sheathed inside you with a wet squelch that betrayed how desperate you were for him. You arched your back, keening as you felt him press against your spongy walls, grind into the grooves of them.

“Good?” He asked after a few seconds, and you found yourself smiling fondly. Even when he was playing at being ‘mean’ he couldn't help but check in.

“I would be, if you stopped being so nice.” You breathed out, wiggling your ass to entice him.

“Oh, I'd be careful what I wished for if I was you, sweetheart,” The Doctor purred in your ear, pulling out of your sopping wet pussy before thrusting in sharply, a far cry from the gentle push mere minutes ago.

“Fuck—” You gasped, slouching as much as he would allow you to do you could bury your face in a pillow, screaming into it when the Doctor set a cruel pace, fucking into you with noisy, wet slaps.

“Yeah, you like that, don't you? Bet your brain is all empty, not a single thought floating about.” He used his grip on your hair to pull your face up from the pillow, letting your moans echo in the spacious room.

“Let me hear how much you enjoy getting fucked by a mean old man.” He growled, punctuating his words with a particularly sharp thrust that you were pretty sure slammed right into your cervix. Your walls spasmed around him every time the head of his cock bumped into the sensitive spot, and you whimpered, eyes rolling to the back of your head.

He fucked you with far more strength than he should've had in his current regeneration, hoisting you up so your back was pressed against his chest. You let your head loll back onto his shoulder, opening your mouth when he turned to kiss you.

Or at least, you thought he was going to kiss you. Instead, he bullied the middle and ring fingers of his free hand into your mouth, pushing until he felt your throat spasm around the tips of them.

“That's it,” The Doctor murmured, fucking your mouth lazily with his fingers, the pace a complete mismatch with the rhythm of his cock carving out a space for itself inside you. He pushed his fingers in deep all of a sudden, making you gag around them.

“If you can't even take my fingers, how will you ever take my cock, hm?” He hummed in your ear, stroking your tongue with the pads of his fingers. A stray tear made its way down your cheek, earning a mean chuckle. “Oh, is that what you'll do? Cry? Soak my cock in your tears and spit?”

You gasped wetly when he pulled his fingers out, spit rolling down your chin as the Doctor took his fingers and circled your clit, slow and firm.

“Doctor,” You wheezed, grinding into his palm. He hooked a finger on the hood of your clit, pulling it back before using his other finger to tap the exposed bundle of nerves.

You cried out, hands flying to his wrist—not to stop him, simply to ground yourself—as he kept going, gently brushing over the sensitive spot. It was almost too much, the feeling of his calloused finger on your exposed clit.

“Oh, what a pretty little thing,” The Doctor crooned, accent rolling thick off his tongue, sounding far too composed compared to your melting state, “You humans are always so sensitive.” He leaned in, kissing his way from your shoulder to your neck before kissing the space right behind your ear. Heat bloomed from where his lips touched your skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

“You're pathetic,” He growled when more tears streamed down your face, overwhelmed as you were, his thrusts growing slightly erratic. “You'd let me do anything to you, wouldn't you, hm?”

“Yesyesyesyes—please, Doctor—anything, anything—” You sobbed his name, heat coiling sharp and dangerous in your abdomen.

“What a dangerous thing to say to a man like me.” At that moment, his cock did something inside you—you weren't sure what, exactly.

A scalding ball of heat kissed at your cervix with every thrust, as if the sun itself was coming out of the Doctor's slit. Whatever use of your legs you had, it rendered them immobile, spreading from your pussy to the rest of you like lightning.

With a howl, your pussy spasmed around him, your vision whiting out with the force of your orgasm.

The way you were moving pushed the Doctor over the edge, too, his hips stuttering as he came. He kept fucking you through it, the sounds coming out of his throat almost feral as he forced his own cum into you, again and again, as his cock refused to stop pumping.

By the time the Doctor finished, you were completely spent. The moment he let you go, you slid face-first into the bed, feeling copious amounts of cum leaking out of your pussy and down your legs. It soiled the sheets, paired with your own sweat and cum, and you sighed happily, letting your eyes grow unfocussed.

“No need to fret, you can't get pregnant.” The Doctor cooed, appearing beside you with a rag in his hands. You had no idea when he left to begin with, let alone how long it had been, since the Doctor was now clothed.

“Mm…did the Time Lords have a breeding kink or something? There's just…so much.” You grumbled, raising your head from the sheets and wiping the drool off your face as the Doctor carefully wiped down your legs, before dipping the cloth towards your pussy.

“Most of them had a deeply utilitarian view of sex. It was purely for procreation.”

“...so you just tried to breed me, is what I'm hearing.” You smirked, flopping onto your side. The Doctor raised a brow at you, grabbing your arm and pulling you up.

“I just said that it's biologically impossible.”

“Mm, that's why I said ‘tried’.” You giggled, tired, leaning in to kiss his cheek. He sighed witheringly, but pushed you towards the toilet nonetheless.

By the time you were done peeing, the TARDIS had procured your favourite pajamas from your room and placed them onto the bed. Your legs felt unsteady beneath you, but that wasn't really an issue because all you had to do was pout at the Doctor and he was there, helping you into your clothes.

“So um.” You started, mind already brimming with possibilities as the two of you curled up in bed together. “I thought you weren't a cuddler?” You said instead of the obscene fantasies your mind was cooking.

“Yes, well, it's better than letting you have an endorphin crash.” The Doctor grumbled, hand curling around your waist as he pulled you closer to him. You pressed your nose to his neck, sighing as his presence surrounded you fully.

“You're a softie.” You giggled, pressing a kiss to his collarbone.

“And you're a bratty slut, but I don't go around telling you that, do I?” His hand scratched at the base of your neck, slowly lulling you into a drowsy state.

“You should, though. I'd be into it.”

“You'd be into anything.” The Doctor snaps, “I could gag you with your own knickers and flog your cunt for an hour straight and you'd let me.”

The idea sent a bolt of pleasure up your spine, and you nuzzled into him.

“Is that such a crime? That I'm into you?” You asked, unable to see his face since the TARDIS had taken the liberty to darken the room to pitch black.

“...you're giving me a lot of power. As I said, agreeing to anything is a very dangerous thing with a man like myself. I made you cry tonight.” His voice was more morose now, little of that pretend-grouchiness in it.

“And I want you to do it again, and next time I want you to make me cry so much I'm at risk for death by dehydration.” You chuckled, nuzzling him, before your voice softened. “I know whatever you'll do, you'll never put me in danger. I also know that if I tell you to stop, you will. So how can it possibly be dangerous?”

Regeneration was a lottery.

Too right it was. One moment, you were looking at a twenty-something, quiffed up, dreamboat that looked like he just walked out of a straight out of a 2010s boyband. The next… well, no one quite knew how to explain the shift from that, to the man he could see before him. 

Gone was the youthful charm, replaced by a man who looked three decades older, with a wild mop of silver curls, eyes like deep wells, and a stare that could see straight through you. 

And god did he miss being a ‘dreamboat’. The Doctor wasn’t one for the meaningless, shallow notion of ‘flirting’-- at least not when it came to getting what he wanted. Manipulation through charm was always beneath him, for the most part. But in his eleventh form? He could do just that. It was just so effortless to him, that Incarnation had a face that could launch a thousand blushes, a sparkle in his eye and enough boyish charm to disarm the most skeptical of hearts. It didn’t matter the person; Human, Alien, Royalty or Rock Star, Hell, Even the great Marilyn Monroe had the hots for him at one point.

But none of that mattered to him… 

What mattered was you. You'd met The Doctor during that very incarnation, after a particularly difficult, long day at the cafe where you worked. You were cleaning down counters, flushing out the coffee machine, counting down those last few seconds, and just when you thought that you had seen it all, you heard a rat-atat-tat on the glass. You had glanced up and there he was, The Doctor, hair wild and windswept, suit torn at the shoulder and slightly sweaty, streaked with dirt and grime. You arched an eyebrow at him, unimpressed. What could this disheveled and unreasonably good looking stranger possibly want at this time of the evening? You shook your head to silently tell him that you were, in fact, closed.

The Doctor never cared much for rules, and he knew you didn’t either.

Was it the deviously charming smile he gave you? Was it the promise of something much bigger than a cafe in a small seaside town? Or perhaps, it was the otherworldly wisdom he had that put you in mind of an old University professor?

You didn’t care, you took his hand and promised to follow wherever he led.

There was always something there. The Doctor knew that his childish demeanor mixed in with his sharp dress sense and, let's face it- the floppy hair, did something to his companions- ie Amy Pond. Yet, there was more there. It was more than mere attraction, there was genuine love.

That’s what you both assumed it was anyway.

It all started with a slight brush of the hand, a smile when one of you thought the other wasn’t looking, the sudden race of the heart when he would pull you close, it all added up to one thing: attraction, pure unadulterated, attraction. What then?

Yes, of course, what then? 

There was only one thing that you could possibly do in that situation: Keep that shit to yourself. So that's exactly what both did, but keeping feelings bottled up are a hell of a lot easier said than done… especially when, on nearly every single blasted adventure, you somehow ended up crammed together in some ridiculously confined space.

By that point you wondered if the universe had an agenda…

But, like all good things, perhaps this should come to an end? Regeneration waits for no one and nothing. The Doctor Liked You. Really Liked you but that was always the risk of falling for a human. A human wouldn’t understand the complicated concept of regeneration.

What if you didn’t like the person he had become? What if you upped and decided that you didn’t want to go on adventures with him any more? People have left him for less, of course but with you it would feel much different.

You were different. According to the Doctor, perhaps a change of appearance would be the opposite of detrimental, perhaps it might even strengthen your relationship.

There was only one way to find out.

▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄

FLASH

In an instant, the Doctor’s face shifted. One life melting into another in a blinding swirl of energy that ended as soon as it started. You yelped and stumbled back, heart racing, barely able to process what you were seeing.

“Kidneys!” he shouted, grimacing and clutching his side. “I’ve got new kidneys!” He began to pace around you in disoriented circles, barely registering your presence.

“I don’t like the colour,” he muttered, frowning as the thought struck him again.

“The colour… of your kidneys?” you asked, voice small and shaky, blinking through tears that hadn’t fully dried,  from moments ago, when you’d begged the Doctor not to change.

Emotional whiplash is what you might call that.

The TARDIS lurched, juddering and shaking. The TARDIS experienced Turbulence all the time, yes. But not like this. You clutched to the side as the two of you were hurled from side to side.

“Whats Happening?” You cried, breathing shallowly.

“We’re probably crashing.” The New Doctor responded, with a hint of panic that was covered up remarkably well. Oh, he was Scottish now.

Sexy.

No. Shut up.

“Into what?”

“Stay clam.” He spoke again, moving around the console flipping random switches. That was a sure sign that despite his bright expression and his sure words, he did, in fact, not know what he was doing. “Just one question.”

“Yeah?”

“Do you happen to know how to fly this thing?”

Oh. My. God.

▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄

The good news was, you hadn’t died, the bad news was, you did crash. Flying straight out of a dinosaur’s throat, while the TARDIS was covered in Tyranosaurus spit and you, mildly concussed by your head being smacked against the side of the console upon impact, things weren’t looking great.

The worst of it was, you didn’t recognise the man who stood before you. 

Sure, to some capacity he was easy on the eyes, in a very… different way than he was less than twelve hours before, but this Doctor was brash, harsh and his brain was scrambled from the regeneration. It wasn’t something that you were accustomed to experiencing. He mentioned the notion of regeneration once, he said it was ‘Like dying a hundred times and being reborn as a stranger to yourself. Just when you begin to understand who you are, you become someone else.’

You had no idea what that was like.

And so, with a Dinosaur roaming around the streets of Victorian London and an out of control Doctor, you took refuge in Madame Vastra and her wonderful wife, Jenny’s, home. While in the dim coolness of it, you watched as Vastra carefully tried to, send him to sleep. She had muttered under her breath, something along the lines of “Here we go again.” To Jenny.

What could she have possibly meant by that? You thought. How many other ‘Dashing’ faces had he had before? And more importantly, how long would he have this one?

A long time, you hoped.

▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄

“It’s simply misunderstandable to me. I don’t know what it is!”

You and Jenny were pressed close to the door of the guest bedroom, barely breathing as you strained to hear muffled voices between the Doctor and Vastra from beyond. The hallway silent and still, save for the soft brush of your shoulders against the door as you squirmed at the sound of the Doctor’s voice raised. You were positioned in a way that made the both of you face each other. Neither of you said a word during the exchange – None were needed. You could see it in her eyes, just as it burned in yours: Two humans, mundane and simple, entangled in something from somewhere that wasn’t here. And yet, you loved them so.

It was a confusing string of thoughts and desires that got squashed by the logical part of your brain.

It made no sense. How could it? To the both of you, a storm of emotions churned beneath your skin – longing, fear, disbelief, the sharp ache of knowing what you felt should be impossible. Every rational thought tried to bury it, to force it down into the dark where it could be forgotten, dismissed as a foolish infatuation. 

But it wasn’t, was it? 

“And who invented this room?”

The door slammed open, and you and Jenny tumbled through the doorway, you, straight into the Doctor’s chest. You felt blush creep up your cheeks and hoped he didn’t see, but by the looks of things, he was more interested in the logistics of the room than whatever you were doing. Harsh.

“Doctor Please.” You grabbed his forearms softly and brought him closer to the bed, “You have to lie down.”

But the Doctor wasn’t having it, he pulled away from your touch. Something in your heart ached from the rejection, so you kept your hands to yourself. “It doesn’t make any sense.” he gestured wildly to the bed. “Look, it’s only got a bed in it.”

He’d gone insane, what next? The better question being: How were you going to take a Rogue Dinosaur back to where it belonged if the man that had for all intents and purposes brought it here, couldn’t wrap his head around the concept of a bedroom. 

“That’s because it's a BedROOM.” you huffed. “It’s for sleeping in.”

“Okay.” The Doctor started flailing all over again. “What do you do when you’re awake?”

“You leave the room.” Jenny jumped in. At this point all three of you were slowly shepherding him towards the bed.

The Doctor’s gaze darted frantically between you all. “So you have a whole room for not being awake in?.”

Yes.

“But what's the point?” He pushed past you and ran to the other side of the room, with a little trot, still completely frantic. “And don’t look in that mirror, its absolutely furious.”

“Doctor Please!” Your voice cut through his rambling. “You have to sit down, you keep passing out!”

“Allow me.” Madame Vastra sauntered up to the Doctor, taking his hands in her own. He didn’t flinch away like he did with you. You tried now to let that upset you. He silently brought him to the bed. 

What was she-?

Vastra placed her fingers to his temples, a moment of silence befell all of you, and then with a thwack he fell to the bed, perfectly unconscious.

“So what now?” You asked.

It seemed like Vastra had ignored you, she turned to her wife, calmly. “Jenny Dear, I will be in my chambers, would you be kind enough to fetch my veil?” 

Jenny’s eyes knitted together in confusion. “Why? Are we expecting strangers?”

Vastra’s eyes slowly and bitterly came into contact with your own. She looked like she was staring straight into your soul. “It would seem.” She held your gaze perfectly. “There’s already one here.”

You exhaled when she strode out of the room, heels click clacking on the floor. “What Have I done wrong?” You asked, with mild panic.

Jenny curtsied politely, almost sympathetically. “Forgive her Ma’am.” She said, picking her next words carefully. “She has not met many of the Doctor’s companions, I fear she might have the wrong idea with you.” 

The brunette stepped closer to you, taking your hands in her own. “She will learn that you mean no harm, and that your love and care for the Doctor stretches beyond the way he looks.”

A blush crept up your face as you gave the Doctor’s sleeping form one last look. “Yes.” was all you could manage to say.

“Good, well I’ll be off then. The wife doesn’t like to be kept waiting.” The brunette smiled at you before turning to step out of the room.

“But where did he get that face?” You asked absent mindedly. “Why does it have lines on it? It’s brand new.”

“It’s still him ma’am.” 

“Yes.”

“You saw him change.”

“Yes- I Know, I know that. I just-”

“Good.” Jenny said with a smile. “And, I for one think that, you still feel the same way for him now, as you did yesterday.” 

“Yes.”

Jenny didn’t say another word after that, she didn’t need to. She curtsied one more time before excusing herself to hers and her wife’s chambers. She would let you know when you were next needed.

If you were needed at all that was. The look that Vastra gave you was as if you were the gum underneath her perfectly sculpted heels.

As you sat on the bed, completely alone with the Doctor. He looked so peaceful now, chest rising and falling in an even pattern. You cocked your head slightly at the sight with a small smile playing on your lips. You hadn’t seen him like this before. He was always running around, eyes bright and full of sparkle. What kind of person would he be now? 

Upon a further look, you noticed the lines, mapping across his face. Each one, longer and deeper than the last, yet they fit him. It was as if even though he looked so different, you could pick him out in a crowd of thousands.

Then there was that little wrinkle in the middle of his furrowed brow. You chuckled silently, he looked beautiful, in a strange way. A way that you couldn’t quite put your finger on, you querked an eyebrow at him and a warm pool formed in your lower abdomen. You swallowed as you tried to will it away. 

Your hand moved, almost with a mind of its own and touched one of his unruly grey curls. Your breath hitched as you ran a hand through it.

It was still him.

And he was beautiful.

Your eyes flickered down to his lips and back to his hair, taking in the entirety of his face. “Doctor.” You Murmured his name for the first time in what felt like weeks. It felt so right on your tongue, he felt right. That was knowledge that you were completely comfortable in. Did he feel it too? You adjusted the covers over him ever so slightly and pressed your palm against his hand. A gesture that felt like it had been done a thousand times over.

“Ma’am?” You heard Jenny’s voice again, from the doorway. “She’s ready for you.”

▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄

“And then, what happened?” Madame Vastra asked. She sat across from you in a large, spoon-shaped bamboo armchair, its smooth curves catching the soft light. Jenny stood beside her, hands folded neatly in front of her, a quiet presence. The conservatory glowed with a warm, golden hue, sunlight filtering through the glass and casting gentle shadows. Elegant Greek statues and serene stone fountains were arranged tastefully among vibrant, exotic plants, filling the spacious room with a sense of civilised tranquility.

It only offended you slightly that Vastra wore her veil over her face. It was not merely an insult but a mark of suspicion.

I have to prove it to her. The thought whispered through your mind. I have to prove to her that I do truly care for him.

But you couldn’t stop yourself from asking.

“Why are you wearing your veil?” You Murmured Brokenly. 

“And then?” She asked again through gritted teeth.

You sighed. No explanation then. “And then.” You mimicked her tone through gritted teeth. “We got swallowed by a giant dinosaur.” You slouched in your seat like a stroppy teenager. “You probably noticed.”

So much for proving to her.

Jenny asked another question, and then another. You didn’t quite fully understand what she was asking you, yet you answered anyway, like your mind was on auto pilot.

After the questions were over. Madame Vastra leaned forward so that she had your full attention. You couldn’t see her properly through her veil but her gaze was burning through you.

“Do you know what has just happened to the Doctor?” She asked, pointedly.

You Nodded.

“Tell me.” She knew. Of course she knew, she was just simply testing you.

“He told me about it once. He told me it was called ‘Regeneration’. He said it was like a renewal.” You said, keeping your face as neutral as you could.

“And yet, you have such a cynical smile.” 

“What.” you instinctively leaned back sharply. “I’m not- how can you tell?”

“I am… accustomed to seeing through a veil.” She placed her hands neatly in her lap. “But you are not the one to be asking questions today.” She cleared her throat, making a small scene of it. It was to get your attention, and she had it. “What is your intention with the Doctor?”

Your eyes widened, almost to say excuse me? You didn’t quite know what to expect from a chat from Madame Vastra, but you definitely didn’t expect it to be reminiscent of a teenage boy sat in front of his new girlfriend’s father and him asking “What are your intentions with my daughter?”

Jenny must have noticed your reaction because she nudged Vastra with her elbow. Vastra gave her wife a “What did I do?” look momentarily, but then turned back to you, only slight apologetically. “Forgive me. I was insensitive there. I only mean to understand you.”

“I understand.” You rasped. “I don’t know.” Another moment of silence. “I like him.”

“Do you like him now?” Vastra turned her head sideways like a curious bird. “He is different to the person he once was.”

Another test.

“He’s not different.” You remained as calm as you could. “You said so yourself. He just looks different. He just doesn’t look young anymore.”

“You think the Doctor is young.” Vastra snapped, her tone changing almost instantly. You had really done it now.

“He looked like your dashing young gentleman friend, your lover even.”

“Vastra I’m-”

“He is the Doctor.” She hissed. “He has walked this universe for centuries, untold, he has seen stars fall to dust.” 

You looked over at Jenny wide eyed, she gave you a look to be quiet.

“You might as well flirt with a mountain range.” She continued, teeth bared. Nostrils flaring. You had only met the woman once in your time with the Doctor but never had she shown this kind of outrage. “He flirted with you, yes. But you and I both know that you loved it. He looked young and pretty. Now, who do you think that was for?”

“I don’t-”

“Everyone. I wear a veil as he wore a face for the same reason. Do you know what the reason is?”

You shook your head. You did not want to open your mouth for fear of saying the wrong thing again.

“Acceptance.” She spat out. “Jenny and I are Married, but for acceptance, we maintain a pretence, in public, that she is my maid. Do you understand what that is like? The Doctor no longer has the face he had yesterday or the day before that, so now things will be much more difficult for him. And I will say this in the most polite way I can muster; he does not need for you to decide that now he isn’t what you want him to be and leave him.”

You frowned, the accusation tore into you. “Are you judging me?” It was your turn to snarl at her.

Vastra sighed, as she relaxed slightly – but not completely. “He regenerated in front of you. The young man disappeared, the veil lifted. He trusted you.” She turned to her wife, a language only they both understood. “I just hope that he’s right.” 

▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄

After that exhilarating interrogation, you were dismissed back to the bedroom where the Doctor lay. Jenny had told you that there was a guest room in the west wing. She mentioned something about not having guests very often, so while you were seeing the doctor, she made up the bed. You'd have rathered spend the night with him.

Not in that way, but yes in that way.

You shook the thought out of your head, before you turned to the door of the room. You knocked softly. “Doctor?” You asked softly. “I’m coming in, okay?”

You stepped into the room and your eyes immediately fell to the bed. The doctor was gone. He had clearly awoken at some point while you were down stairs. But where could he have gone?

“You there.” A voice.  Not harsh, not loud but scared.

You whipped around, straight into the eyes of your beloved Doctor. He stood upright, dressed, not in that night shirt he had on before you left, but in a long black army coat with a matching pair of trousers with a shirt buttoned all the way to the top. He looked much more lucid now, no sign of shouting or flailing or distaste for bedrooms.

It was your Doctor. He was back. You smiled brightly at him, taking a single step toward him. He didn’t move, but he also didn’t move away. That was all the permission you needed to take another step, then another until you were faced to face with him. Close. Close enough to feel the heat radiating from his skin.

Tentatively, you reached up and brushed your fingers along his cheek. At the contact, his breath hitched. His eyes fluttered shut, and he exhaled. Quiet, strained, like he’d been holding something in for far too long. The sound made your stomach twist, your pulse quicken.

“Do you remember who I am?” You whispered desperately, your voice radiating with need.

His eyes fluttered open, dark and unreadable, but then:

“Yes.” he breathed. His hand closed gently around yours, his fingers ghosting across your skin with a reverence that felt like worship. He said your name like it hurt to hold it in — soft, desperate, sacred.

You choked out a breathless moan, nearly a whimper, your gaze, flickering down to his lips then back up to his eyes. They were so familiar, aching, kind.

“What do you see?” he murmured again. “When you look at me?”

Your jaw tensed, voice rough with restraint. “What am I meant to see?”

“It’s still me.” His voice was low, velvet and raw. “I am the same person. I can’t change how I look, I wish I could, but it’s still me. If you don’t like me anymore I understand, but please.” He didn’t touch you, not yet. He stood there, trembling on the edge of control. “I need you to know that I Love you. I always have.”

The air between you crackled like a live wire.

You surged forward and kissed him.

The Doctor growled low. His hands found your waist, it was urgent, grounding. He pulled you against him like he could bear another second of distance, not after what felt like years of looking, longing, needing. Your fingers threaded through his soft, silken hair and you felt him groan into your mouth.

He spun you around, pressing you back against the wall. It was sudden and it was hungry. The impact of your back hitting the wood startled a gasp from your lips which was swallowed instantly by another kiss. It was burning and all consuming, your lips moving in perfect unison. You cradled the back of his head as you gave his bottom lip a toothless bite. 

Soft, kind, gentle. You could spend hours on his lips alone. Feeling him, really feeling him. You could spend days in his arms, feeling his tight embrace. You could spend a lifetime with him. You could-

“(Y/N)!” He exclaimed, pushing himself away from you, instinctively touching his lips. A wave of panic flashed against his features. Your face dropped. Did he regret what you just did? Was he about to tell you that this was all a mistake? He breathed shallowly and went straight back to darting around the room like he did over an hour ago. “That- I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” You didn’t step forward this time. You just stayed frozen in place. “What on earth do you have to be sorry for?”

“I-I-I, you, I shouldn’t have done that.” He stammered, words tripping over themselves. As his eyes shifted around the room, looking everywhere but you. “I was being hasty. That wasn’t the right thing to do.”

“Doctor. I kissed you.” You responded with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh.” He swallowed, you could practically see the cogs turning in his head. “What did you do that for?”

You facepalmed. “I thought you liked me. That’s why I did it.” 

The Doctor relaxed, then slowly made his way back to you. He paused when he was close, a flicker of hesitation in his eyes, but then he wrapped his arms around your waist once more, pulling you into a soft embrace.

“I know that you can tell I’m different.” He looked down at you as he spoke, considering his words very carefully. “I have seen that face so many times before. It's ‘disappointment’ they feel, that I don’t look like the man they once fell in love with. I am not the man I was twelve hours ago, but I also am. I don’t expect you to understand and I also don’t expect you to still feel the same way you may or may not have before I was…me, now.” His gaze broke from you as he looked up, frustrated with himself. “God, you humans are so simple, with your silly little ‘concepts’”

You tried very hard not to be offended by that comment.

“Doctor.” You Blurted. There was a beat before he looked back at you. God, you could get lost in those eyes. “The thing is, I don’t remember telling you that I was disappointed. I don’t know who’s been in your life before me but all I can tell you is that I am not disappointed. I don’t care that your face has more lines on it and I don’t care that you look a little older. In fact, I think it makes you look sexier. I’ve wanted this since I met you.”

The Doctor was ready with an excuse. “But I-” He stopped, the comment you just made just settled in his brain. “You, think what?”

A mischievous grin crept across your face. “I think you heard me loud and clear.”

The Doctor let out a breathless, awkward laugh as she looked up anxiously, with a big bright smile spread across his cheeks. He looked adorable. The All-Amazing, All-Powerful Doctor, blushing and smiling at your silly little comment. It made you giggle slightly, giggles turned to laughing and soon the two of you were honking out belly laughs that overlapped each other, filling the room with complete joy.

“So.” He said, between laughs. He looked back down at you, a sparkle glinted in his eye. “What do you think of the new clothes?” He stepped back, giving a little turn so you could see the whole outfit.

“I think.” You began. You tapped your finger against your chin, pondering, eyes focused on him. “That they’ll look better on the floor.”

The Doctor stopped dead in his tracks. His mouth parted as if to speak, then closed again in silent confusion, the flustered look settling right back in. He stood, mouth agape for a few more moments, waiting for you to say something, anything else.

Your head tilted playfully, a wicked expression darkened your features.

When the Doctor had calmed his unruly blush, he cleared his throat, and brought his searing gaze back to you. “Well.” He said, gruffly. “In that case.”

Before you had a moment to react, his lips were on yours again, this time it was urgent and familiar. His arms wrapped around you so tightly, it felt like he might never let go. Your hands moved to his face, Tracing every line, every crease, every wrinkle, memorising the story etched into his skin. Your heart surged, caught somewhere between joy and desire.

“I’ve wanted you.” You breathed, the words tumbling out of you like a confession torn from the deepest crevice of your chest.. “I’ve wanted you since I met you- since the cafe. I knew, from the moment I looked at you.” Your voice trembled, heavy with the weight of the longing that had only grown harder to contain. It wasn’t just want; it was ‘need’. The space between you felt unbearably charged, his presence pressing into every corner of your awareness. “Doctor.” You whined, voice breaking, desperate as his breath ghosted your lips.

“I can’t-” The Doctor rasped. His continued scepticism of your affection broke you. Still, you let him speak. “The novelty will rub off.” He glanced back down at you. “You and I Both know that.”

That didn’t stop you – in fact, it only spurred you on. Lust clouded your expression as you locked eyes with him again.

“Let me show you then.” You husked. “Let me show you just how much you mean to me.”

You stepped forward with purpose, pushing him back until his shoulders met the wall with a dull thud. Your palm pressed firmly against the center of his chest, holding him in place, not that he was trying to get away. His breath hitched as he watched you through half-lidded eyes, caught between anticipation and surrender.

You leaned in slowly, brushing a soft, deliberate kiss against his lips, more a tease than affection. Then another, just beneath his jaw. And another, lower, on the sensitive skin of his throat. You let your mouth trail down, your lips mapping him in fleeting, open-mouthed kisses that grew bolder, wetter, more possessive.

A low moan escaped him as your teeth grazed his neck, a sharp nip followed by a soothing kiss. His hips bucked slightly toward you, but you kept him pinned. Your other hand drifted downward, confident and unhurried, tugging at his belt with a cheeky ease. The clink of the buckle echoed in the charged silence, followed by the soft rustle of fabric as you undid his trousers and eased them down.

Your hand slipped into his underwear without hesitation, wrapping around the hard length of him. You palmed him slowly, savoring the weight, the heat, the way he twitched under your touch. His head tilted back against the wall, lips parted, breath growing shallow and quick. Still, not a word, just the soft, ragged sound of his need.

Then, you pulled away from his neck, your lips leaving his flushed skin with a final lingering kiss. With deliberate slowness, you lowered yourself to your knees, your eyes never leaving his. You settled between his legs, now at eye level with the evidence of just how much he wanted you. Your hand gave a teasing stroke as you looked up at him, your mouth just inches away.

He stared down at you, chest heaving, completely silent, except for the breathy sound of his anticipation. He didn’t need to speak. His body said more than enough.

With a hungry smile, you hooked your fingers into the waistband of his trousers and pushed them down just far enough to free him. Your hand curled around his cock, stroking him slowly, teasing him to full hardness as you watched his reactions with keen interest. His jaw clenched, his breath hitched, and when you looked up at him through your lashes, he looked wrecked already.

You leaned in and pressed a languid lick along the length of him, your tongue tracing a slow path from base to tip. He let out a sharp breath as you reached the head and wrapped your lips around it, taking him into your mouth with deliberate, aching slowness.

The Doctor’s head fell back against the wall with a soft thud, his eyes fluttering shut. A moan escaped him, low, raw, and helpless.

You began to move, lips gliding down and back in a steady rhythm, your hand stroking what your mouth couldn’t reach. The slick, wet sound of your saliva coated each motion, making it messier, filthier, better. His hips rolled forward instinctively, chasing the warmth of your mouth, unable to help himself.

You took him deeper, your throat tightening as you gagged around him just enough to make a delicious sound, one that had the Doctor moaning softly, his hands tangling in your hair. He tugged, not to guide, but to ground himself, as though anchoring himself to the moment.

“Just like that,” he breathed, voice breaking with pleasure. “Your mouth feels so fucking good on me, sweetheart.”

His words sent a fresh wave of heat pooling between your thighs. You moaned around him, the vibration making him shudder. Your tongue flicked and swirled around him, lavishing every inch with attention as your pace quickened just enough to make him tremble.

He whispered something… mumbled, incoherent, but you didn’t need to understand. You could feel it, the way his thighs tensed, the way his grip tightened ever so slightly. And then, with a stuttering gasp, he came, hot and thick on your tongue.

You swallowed around him, not breaking eye contact as you pulled back slowly, licking your lips as you let him slip from your mouth. His chest was heaving, his eyes dark and stunned with pleasure, completely undone by you.

You wiped the last of him that escaped from the corner of your lips and rose slowly, you let his eyes follow you. You had never seen an expression quite like this before. A quiet before the storm.

And boy, did you have a great storm awaiting you.

“Do you believe me now?” You asked, hushed, like a kid awaiting praise from a school teacher. The Doctor didn’t say a word, his mouth lay agape, surprised, transfixed.

 “I don’t care how many times I have to say it. I love you. I love you so much it kills me.” You pleaded, “I’ll show you. I’ll show you a thousand times if I have to. I don’t give a shit what you look like. It's still you.” 

Tears began to prick your vision as you quickly wiped them away. “Jesus, say something please.”

“You like an older man do you?” The Doctor murmured, a dark joke playing on his lips along with a smug smirk.

“I think that was made perfectly clear.” You quipped. “You’ve aged like fine wine, Doctor.”

He laughed at that. A proper head back, coming deep within the stomach chortle. For the first time in a while, you saw his smile, twice in fact. A proper, kind smile. It was infectious, kind, iridescent. You wanted to make him smile always.

And so, The Doctor stepped out of his trousers that were already undone from a few minutes ago, as well as the coat, vulnerability cloaked only in the intensity of his gaze. He stepped forward without a word, his hands warm and steady as he lifted you into his arms. You clung to him instinctively, your breath catching as he laid you down onto the bed with a tenderness that nearly shattered you.

“Clothes on the floor.” he joked, “Well most of them anyway.” 

That made you giggle.

“You’re sure?” He asked softly, after a moment of silence, his accent a low murmur that sent heat curling through your spine. His eyes, those stormy, ancient eyes, searched your face for any flicker of hesitation.

“I’m sure,” you whispered.

That was all he needed.

He kissed you gently at first, reverently, like you were something sacred. His mouth moved against yours with quiet urgency, his hand sliding up your thigh, slow and measured, as though memorising every inch of you. He pushed your skirt up, lips never leaving yours, and hooked his fingers around the edge of your panties, pulling them down with a purposeful tug.

His fingers found your folds, already slick, and he paused, just briefly, to look at you, the corner of his mouth twitching in something like awe. Then he slid one finger inside you, then a second, the stretch sending pleasure ricocheting through your body as he began to pump slowly.

“Doctor—” you moaned, hips rising to meet his hand. “That feels—ah!”

He huffed a breathless laugh, gaze darkening as he watched your reactions with rapt fascination. “I know it does. I can feel you,” he growled, voice thick with want. “You’re practically singing for me.”

You arched into his touch, voice trembling. “No, Doctor, I need you. I need you inside me. Please.”

He stilled, staring at you like you’d just told him that Darleks were robots.

“Say no more,” he whispered, but the way he said it, gravelled and reverent, made it sound like a promise, not a command.

He stripped the shirt from your body and undid your bra with deft fingers, then quickly shrugged off his own. His hands traced the curves of your torso, pausing reverently over your breasts, his nails grazing lightly over your skin. Each touch left you breathless, raw, alive.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, almost to himself, as though he couldn’t quite believe you were real. “All this time… and still, you take my breath away.”

All his usual sharpness, his walls were gone. He was unguarded here, with you. Only this remained: a man who had seen too much, lost too much… and somehow still loved.

He crawled between your legs with careful deliberation, and you wrapped them around his waist, pulling him close. When he finally pushed inside you, both of you gasped, your bodies meeting with a perfect, aching familiarity. You felt full, whole, and utterly claimed.

You mewled as he began to move, slow and grinding, drawing out every sensation like he never wanted it to end. The sound of your pleasure made his breath hitch, and he leaned forward to rest his forehead against yours, utterly still for a moment.

“I’ve got you,” he sighed, voice breaking with emotion. “Always. You hear me? I’ve always got you.”

Your bodies moved in tandem, as though made to fit this way. He didn’t look away once, not even when your breath stuttered and you broke apart around him, your orgasm cresting like a wave. He watched you, mesmerised, chasing you through it as if your pleasure was the only thing that mattered.

He moaned softly, lips brushing yours, as he followed you over the edge. And still, even in that final moment, his eyes never left yours.

Silence befell the both of you. A mixture of what was left unsaid for the past few months. Your chest, still fluttering. You wrapped your arms around him, bringing him closer. “What now?” You asked, a hint of worry churning in your gut.

“Now.” He said, a grin spreading from ear to ear. “We go and catch a dinosaur.”

Regeneration was a lottery.

The bell rings as you frantically run down the corridor and B-line for your next class. This was always your favorite lecture of the day. The professor was a mysterious older man who only went by ‘The Doctor’. You don’t even remember what the class was supposed to be about, but whatever tangent he went on you always hung onto every word.

You come to the door of the room and hear his thick Scottish accent on the other side of it as you try to slip into the back of the class. You usually sit right at the front so you can be as close to the knowledge as you can get, but you really didn’t want to be noticed being late.

He suddenly stops speaking and looks up in the direction you were sitting. Your heart drops to your stomach as you looks straight in your direction.

“What’s the excuse?”

You freeze. You can’t tell if he is talking to you or if this is an extension of his rant, but from the way his eyes bore into yours, you think the former is probably correct.

“Overslept? Alarm didn’t go off? Dog ate your homework?”

His voice carries to the back of the room as the other classmates giggle a little at his last example.

“I’m sorry, sir” You say, barely loud enough for your voice to carry back down to him.

“Or better yet, can’t even come up with an excuse!”

The class starts to giggle again.

“Come sit where you usually do, Ms. L/n.” He says, gesturing to the empty seat you sit in daily. “And don’t let this happen again”

The tone in his voice is calm, but serious. A far cry from the wonder and lightheartedness he uses in his daily lectures. The command emanating from him takes you by surprise, but another feeling arises as well. One you push far down and ignore with every ounce of control you have.

You grab your book bag and do the walk of shame down the stairs of the big auditorium-like classroom and sit in your usual, much closer seat. This gives him ample oppurtunity to glare at you throughout the following afternoon’s lectures. Let’s just hope the flush on your cheeks from the embarrassment of the situation will be the worst part of this.

~~~

The rest of the lecture seemed to go off without a hitch. Attempting to hang on to his every word as you usually did resulted in your mind wandering and ending up on the embarrassing events of the morning. A blush creeps over your neck and cheeks as you reminisce on the utter humiliation you felt. You never wanted your favorite professor to see you as not competent enough and it burned in your memory.

You were entranced by the lecture, ignoring his pointed glances and finally getting past your internal reenactment of the moment when the bell rang out, breaking the spell of The Doctor’s words.

“Ms. L/n” You hear ring out from the front of the room.

Your heart drops.

“Meet me in my office.” He says. It sounds like he meant it lightheartedly, but something in your gut tells you there is something else to it.

You grab your book bag and your water bottle and make your way up the auditorium stairs and down the hall to his office as quick as your legs could take you.

The large mahogany door seemed heavier than usually as you forced it open to enter the office. The doctor walks behind the large desk in the corner and drops his belonging next to it. Leaning on the desk, he slides his hands over his face with a heavy sigh.

“Come up with an excuse yet, Ms. L/n?” The Scottish voice had a low timbre and dripped like honey when he said your name.

“No sir, I just didn’t quite-“

“Enough.”

The pure command in his voice made you freeze in your tracks. Walls of the office felt like they were closing in on you. Despite the anxiousness, your heart hammered against your chest with intrigue at his change in demeanor. His eyes had a different glint thanhis normal curiosity and seemed as if a storm was brewing behind them. You’ve gotten to know your professor quite well over the semester, with many debates over topics you found fascinating outside of class, but this seems more consequential. Darker. Powerful. Calculated, but almost holding back.

“Come here”

Breath died where it laid in your lungs as you watch him gesture to where he is standing behind the desk. You walk slowly, your heeled boots clacking on the hard floor as you approach the desk. He leads you by the wrist to look at what is on his desk, a copy of the syllabus open to the attendance policy.

“Read it”

Shock registers, and you turn to look at him. “What?”

“Read. It.”

The doctor presses his palm to your back and pushes lightly to where your torso is flat over the desk. Suddenly aware of his presence behind you, you lay your palms on either side of the paper and begin the read.

“Regular attendance is expected for all class sessions-“

Smack

“Louder.”

His hand reaches into your hair, pulling your head back toward him. Your heart jumps in your throat and your mouth hangs agape. The only thing alerting you to what just happened is the sting on your behind. Rather in shock or out of pleasure, you continue.

“T- tardiness-“

Smack

”Don’t stutter.”

The sting finally registered and a sound almost escaped your lips. His tone was unreadable. Neither angry nor lustful, his timber was indecipherable.

“Tardiness extending beyond 15 minutes will be counted as an unexcused absence.”

“Good Ms. L/N, keep going”

Your heart jumped into your throat and the praise was sent directly to your core, not unlike the strikes he delivered earlier. You could feel him closer behind you now, his warm body pressed against the fabric of your skirt.

“Oversleeping and lack of transportation are not valid excuses”

“Can’t use those, now can you Ms. L/N?”

The professor’s hands felt rough against the skin of your thigh as it grazed its way up to begin to lift the pleated cotton of your skirt. Breath came in quick pants as arousal flooded your senses.

“Consequences for chronic absenteeism include suspension or removal from the course in its entirety” You conclude, finishing the tardy section of the syllabus.

“So I return to my question…” Swift fingers slide across the slick fabric of your underwear, drawing an involuntary noise from your throat. “What is your excuse?”

“I don’t- I don’t have one”

“No?” The condescending tone slides over your mind as he traces your clit over thin fabric.

Suddenly a long thin finger slides into you, eliciting a full moan from your throat.

“Cat got your tongue?”

A second finger joins the first. The stretch feels absolutely delicious.

“So eager, I guess I’ll have to fuck some sense into you then, love”

You barely register his deep Scottish timbre before you are flipped over and laid down, back flat on the desk. The underwear the doctor worked his way into suddenly lays torn on the floor as the skirt you wear is hiked up over your thighs. Following quickly is your shirt and bra, hurriedly hiked over your breasts. Rough palms cover your tits, pinching and pulling at your nipples. Moans pour out of your throat as pleasure arises. A hand leaves your breasts to pull down the fabric of the doctor’s dress pants, boxers following suit. He pulls his hands off you for a moment, pulling away leaving you cold from the temperature change.

“Are you sure this is alright?”

His tone seems genuinely concerned, like cold water has just been poured on his head and he’s woken up.

“Yes, professor”

“Call me that again”

His voice has some roughness back to it’s tone.

“Yes… professor”

“Oh, y/n” He practically growls, control snapping and using his hands to line himself up with your entrance. Slowly he enters you with a brutal stretch you wouldn’t trade for anything else in the world right now. Every inch of him hitting all sensitive spots within you. You see stars when he bottom out, pulsing around him with a fervor you didn’t know you possessed. He grabs your thighs and presses them back toward your torso, hitting an even more unimaginable angle and begins to thrust. His hips snap back and forth with the stamina of a much younger man. Eyes roll back into his head and he blindly reaches for you. The softness of your stomach, the feel of your tits, his rough hands grazing your nipples, one hand wrapping gently around your throat, and finally bruising kisses to your lips.

The pace he sets is brutal and his thrusts begin to falter. In a desperate attempt, his hands reach down between your bodies and frantically rub your clit. It takes little to send you over the edge, as your body gushes and squeezes his cock. The doctor and all his control slips and he spills into you with a groan and a few more thrusts to get you both through your highs.

He remains in you as you pant from your escapades. You feel a hands slide gently down your face, silently checking if you are okay after everything. Your foreheads collide together as you breathe heavily.

”Y/n?” The doctor says gently.

“Yes, Doctor?”

“Learn to make bullshit excuses”

“Not making one ended me up here, now didn’t it, professor?”

You realized it probably wasn't the best idea to touch The Doctor's guitar, but when you got ready for the day and entered the empty console room to find it sitting there unattended, you couldn't resist. After all, sometimes it was simply better to seek forgiveness than to ask for permission. Surely he wouldn't be too upset if he found out, and if he was, you could handle him.

After turning the amp down a bit, you sat on the steps, holding the guitar as you settled into place. Without having to think much about it, you began to play Purple Haze. You were a little out of practice, but it felt nice to strum out a tune.

Before you could move onto another song, you jumped at the sound of The Doctor's voice. "What are you doing?"

When you looked up, his piercing blue eyes and very serious brows were focused right on you. You hadn't even heard him get close.

"Playing guitar. Well, your guitar." You slipped the strap off of your body and handed the instrument to him. "Sorry."

"You never told me you could play." He'd actually been quite surprised at the fact that your playing sounded pleasant, as opposed to the nails on a chalkboard he'd heard when Clara once picked up his guitar.

"I'm sure I have. You probably weren't listening."

"I'm always listening," he said, sounding almost offended.

"You're joking, right?" You stood up from the stairs with a sigh. "Anyway...yes, I play. I just haven't had much time between travelling with you and working whenever I'm back at home. When I hear you playing, it really makes me miss it."

How The Doctor hadn't put the pieces together long ago, he didn't know. When you stopped everything and watched him play, he'd always assumed you were just impressed by his great skills. And maybe it was a little bit of that, but it seemed there had been some longing, too. You were enjoying the music and wishing you could be playing yourself.

The Doctor looked down at the guitar he still held in his hands, and you were caught off guard when he offered it back to you. "I'd better not find even a scratch on it. If I do, I'm dropping you off at home."

You knew he wouldn't do such a thing, but you still intended to respect his request, gingerly taking it from him and putting the strap back over your head.

As The Doctor turned to the console, you sat down once again and played the first thing that came to mind.

It had been a few days since your last trip with The Doctor when he finally showed up again. You weren't sure how long it had been for him—you never were—but he didn't seem any different.

He played his guitar as he pondered something you couldn't even begin to guess, filling the TARDIS with what you recognized as I Will Dare by The Replacements. An odd choice, you thought, yet that didn't stop you from listening intently.

The Doctor abruptly stopped the tune to put the instrument down, and he was gone from the console room before you could say anything. You sighed in disappointment. You quite liked that song after all.

You continued where he'd left off, humming and tapping your fingers against your thigh.

Moments later, The Doctor came back, holding a guitar case in his hand. You frowned at the sight, because even though he probably had several scattered around the TARDIS, he seemed to prefer the Yamaha that still sat in the console room.

It was even more puzzling when he gave you the case.

"Did you...buy me a guitar?"

"No, no. I didn't buy it. I don't buy things." The Doctor walked over to the console, pretending to look at something on the screen and at least attempting to be out of hugging distance. "A friend gave it to me in the 1960's, and it's been sitting around here ever since."

"1960's?" Very carefully, you placed the case on the floor, opening it to find a beautiful vintage Stratocaster. One very much like Jimi Hendrix used to play. Knowing the man who had given it to you, it was the genuine article.

Without noticing the way he'd been watching you, you closed the case back up and practically ran to The Doctor, throwing yourself at him in a hug. The impact and the way you pushed him into the console knocked some of the wind out of him. "Why does there always have to be hugging?!" He struggled to exclaim as you squeezed him tightly.

"I really can't help it right now." You kissed his cheek and gave him one more squeeze before mercifully letting him go. "Thank you, Doctor. Seriously."

"Don't mention it. Really. I only wanted to stop you playing mine so much."

"That won't be a problem. Believe me."

Returning to the case like a giddy little kid, you took the guitar out and hooked it up to the amp. You missed the small smile on his face as you began to play a song for him.

It kept replaying over and over in your head you knew you should be focusing on things such as your upcoming exams but your mind wouldn't let it go.

"{y/n}" your head shot up looking at Clara "Do you know the awncer?" she asked pointing to the board.

Your eyes moved to read the text on the board it was coving one of your favourite subjects and yet for some reason you didn't seem to care.

"i don't know "you mutter loud enough for her to hear before you go back to looking at the wall.

time skip

"and then they just looked at the wall!" Clara said pacing around the TARDIS's main room.

"relax they will be fine I think"The doctor waved his hand.

"you've got one of these email things" the doctor said making Clara check her phone.

"it's from their parents," she said as she opened the email to read it.

The email read

"good evening I hope that our daughter's behaviour and academic performance have improved after the educational work we have done? After my husband and I found out about her average academic performance and the difficulties of socializing with classmates, we immediately got rid of her stupid, useless collection of space junk and trinkets, and we also had a tough conversation with her on the topic that stupid fantasies will not help in the future with work and also that it is because of her strange She cannot find a common language with her classmates. "

"well that's rude"the doctor remarked making Clara shack her head.

"h how could they say something like this," she said as the two made their way to the door the doctor leaving it first.

"they are bright and gifted individuals and their talents deserve to be noticed" Clara sighed running her hand through her hair.

"what the fuck"

The pair stopped looking to see.

"{Y/N} what are you doing here?" Clara asked

"going home but your box is blocking the path why are you with this man miss?" you question.

"ohh so you {Y/N} right yes well a pleasure to be meeting you I'm the doctor would you like to come in my box?"

You two noticed how your eyes lit up with the offer before they went back to their dull state.

"i can't i need to be getting home nice to meet you sir see you tomorrow miss" you smiled before moving around the two.

time skip

you sighed leaving your front garden about to start your short walk to school.

"so you like space ?" a voice made them jump.

turning you saw the man known as the doctor from yesterday.

"oh hey em yeah i do why do you ask?" you were confused as to what this man was asking you.

"me to next question do you want to skip school it's a bunch of inacuet things anyway and go anywhere in time and space hmm,"he asked his hair blowing in the wind.

You took a moment to think about it.

"you know life isn't about what others want or think about you, make your own decisions that how one learns is by making their own mistakes in all my time alive and trust me I'm old, iv learned that following your heart and not your brain works best."

The doctor smiled before opening the doors of the TARDIS letting yourself walk in.

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?”