When Peter Cushing Is The Heroic Lead In The Film You're Watching

When Peter Cushing is the heroic lead in the film you're watching

Teacher's Pet part 6

Synopsis: The game is set, and the players are playing. The Doctor and the Reader...what will go on?

A/n: I'm laughing evily. Also, I'm in good spirits, had a phenomenal day. This one is a bit longer. Turns out if you have little responsibility, besides yourself, you can bang out a banger. Also, listen to Maria by Justin Bieber.

You saw the Gmail alert go off on your phone as you changed into a suitable cute outfit and did your first layer of work make up. You were out of luck, there was a new girl in and she was getting the VIP treatment with the largest suite offered. You were moisturizing yourself before you dared to look. You really couldn’t be arsed if it was a personal email on your private account. And you didn’t need the anxiety if it was on your school account. You were angry that you didn’t have enough room to stretch out or put emotional distance between a man and you, if the situation provided required it.

You got yourself perfect, as there were already some cars in the car park. Probably a bit of stress relief before these men went home to their wives and kids. They’d blame traffic. Probably.

You didn’t know or care. Their lives seemed like parallel universes. Hypothetical. Unproven. Just a theory.

You decided to give yourself another dusting of antiperspirant before checking your phone.

It was fucking him…

You opened it,

“Dear (y/n),

It’s a shame that you’re not well. I’ll see you at the same time as last week. Secure the notes from someone.

Cordially yours,

Professor Smith.”

And that’s the name of that tune, you bitterly scoffed. You tossed your phone onto the table you had it rest on with the rest of your needs for work.

Seemed up his alley to wreck your focus! With his stupid face and stupid lust for life!

Plus, being on your phone was not focused on your bag.

Out of sight, out of mind..

You said “Hello” to the security guy again on your way to the bar. A few men were there and you had hours to go before your first appointment. One of the other girls working was talking to two at once. One was in deep discussion with the bartender and the phone girl.

One man was nursing a beer and was watching something on his phone. A target.

Good.

You walked over and put in the work. He was easily satisfied and went back to the bar and nursed another beer before getting up and leaving.

You actually had a good day and napped easily before you went on your second shift. You had plenty of money and dropped a fat, crisp twenty note in front of the homeless person outside the shops.

You bought a pack of cigarettes and smoked one on your way back to the cloister of your “office”. You let out a shaky cough. It had been over a week since your last one, so obviously, the smoke hit your lungs harshly.

Damn that man!

You napped some more before returning to work. Fresh outfit, even more make up. A spritz of perfume to hide the scent of smoke in the hair…

A whole routine.

Friday night was lucrative to the point of pain. You had to tell your manager and booking girl that you were going on a walk and needed a break.

You took your phone, bundled up, and your headphones.

It was after midnight, dangerous, but whatever. Keep to the area.

You had a wonderful time, the few cigarettes you consumed and the Fanta you drank restored you. The music was a good thing.

Suddenly the air felt heavy. And you felt observed. Something on the back of your neck. The hairs. It felt perverse. You paused your music and took out your headphones long enough to hear a weird, distinctive “vwrorrp-vworrp” followed by what sounded like a car wheezing.

Whatever the hell it was-it freaked you out enough to go back in the safety of the car park.

You finished up and went back. Had a quick shower and started preparing for the next chapter of your work shift.

You hated the stupid schedule system, but shifts like this made it all worth it.

Saturday was just a bit slower and Sunday, outside some bookings that were already scheduled was glacial and dry. Bad fishing.

Thank heavens for Thursday and Friday! You thought. You made bank, and had some fun. Always a good thing. And the manager got you all some fancy pizza in celebration of the new girl surviving her first rotation. And her deciding that all this was worth some more time to sell.

The manager really must have taken a shine to her. That never happened.

All in all? Good work. You could rest easy for the rest of the week. And pay off bills. And afford to shop at a fancy health food store instead of probably junk, loaded with shit, that’ll kill you quicker.

Yippee!

You had barely thought of your little distraction all weekend, until Monday.

Your alarm went off. And you remembered you hadn’t responded to him.

“Thanks! Sorry for the late reply! I was busy! I’ll be there!” It was quick, apologetic and mostly-honest.

Him.

You cursed yourself out. The minute he came into focus, you were a bigger mess than you were ever before!

You messaged someone who you knew had probably had the notes from Thursday. No such luck. And your little meeting was looming large.

You’d have to tell him the truth, you fucked up. No notes.

Deciding to revel in the mundane, before leaving, you made yourself a nice cup of mint tea with honey. You sat in a corner wrapped in your blanket and luxuriate in the warmth of the tea and the rest of the blanket pile. You wasted a few minutes on social media. Drowning your brain cells seemed like a good idea. A distraction for you from the returned knot in your stomach and hole in your heart that your stupid crush on Professor Smith had caused. A very welcome one.

After all, you did have couple thousand pound weekend! A freak occurrence! Rare! So why not indulge in some mindless self care?

After a while, you made the smart choice and readied yourself for school and the war zone that being locked in the office with him would be.

The class you had in the morning slipped by with your focus becoming increasingly erratic. You didn’t want to go, but you trudged into the bathroom to psych yourself up. Not out..

Finally stable, you trudged your way to your new Hell. A concept that, up until this semester, was comical to you.

You felt like a clown.

Booboo the Fool.

You had to laugh at yourself. Buy yourself a clown nose and ship yourself off to the circus!

Pathetic!

You knocked raptly. Maybe you’d just go into a manic state or overdrive and the time would fly away and you’d go back to life. And he would potentially be scared of you enough to back off and not encourage any more meetings besides what your schedule permitted…

He welcomed you in, offered to take your jacket and pulled out the chair for you.

“I had my assistant get me some hot chocolate for us.” He gestured over to some disposable cups lodged into one of those cardboard cup holder things.

The fuck was he doing? Had you passed out and entered dream world? Was he tormenting you? Did he know that you were just head over heels for him?

“Thanks…” You said and took it. You off-handedly wished you had those strips that you could test if a drink had been fucked with. Not that you’d accuse him of it. Or rather that you leapt to the conclusion that he was trying to. Life had taught you that free drinks from men sometimes came with consequences.

You reassured yourself that he was still besotted with his dead wife. The total badass.

You envied her. She got what you clearly desired.

You swallowed a sip.

He seemed casual. Had a simple jumper on over his body and a pair of dark jeans. You noticed he wore Doc Martens. Very ageing punk rocker. The jumper hung on his chest quite well. He was skinny, but you could see his chest was sturdy.

“So, did you get your notes?” He smiled, all of his teeth showing. He seemed to know something. There was a bizarre glint in his eye. It was as freaky as it was mesmerizing.

“No, didn’t get a chance. I’m going to the school tutoring soon. I’ll talk to them about it. My fault. The weekend got away from me. I was swamped at work. And then I forgot. I’m sorry.” You blabbered on, deeply apologetic.

You prayed in your mind that if Gd was listening, for him to open a hole up in the planet, swallow you whole, and that you were sorry for that one time you accidentally ate a cheeseburger drunk.

Among other sins…

“Then I have to educate you from scratch. You remember on Tuesday we were talking about the nature of the universe and what it owes us? If it owes us?”

“Yes.” You added a keen head-shake. Remembering how you fled the room and had a mental breakdown.

“What if you put in the work? For years. Centuries even. Battled with the darkness in yourself and others. Saved all you could save. Then what? Would the universe grant you a favor? What would you do to garner that favor?”

You were losing the plot. Clearly.

“What if you were timid and didn’t mean to tread on things? Just survived. Suffered a bit, nothing to write home about, but still enough to Mar your soul? Did what you had to. Would the universe grant you mercy in form of a favor?”

Seemed like this was bordering on less of philosophy and more of theology. Something a small child would pester their rabbi or priest or imam or whatever about. But that was first glance.

Secondary seemed like it was flying too close to the sun.

Self-descriptive much?

God complex?

You slung an arm on your chair and settled back. A game? Is that was he was getting at?

“If the universe owed someone something, that would be antithetical. If you’re bargaining with a God, which is what it seems that you are proposing…Gods usually don’t answer you unless you give them a good offer first.” Your tongue clicked forward, you could feel your eyes making a push forward, widening.

You could play along.

“Are you making an offering to a deity? Dear professor…” You crossed your arms and leaned forward.

You saw something pass over his face. A trillion different micro-calculations. Several amused and several dark looks.

He swallowed.

What was his deal? You mused before trying a new string of words.

“Or are you the God here?” You blasphemed…pursing your lips. Biting the skin under them.

More emotions shot through his painfully attractive face. The lines on his face seemed to glimmer deeper.

He swallowed harder. A singular eyebrow arched up.

Seriously, those things were weapons.

“What if I am?” He breathed out.

“Does that make your students your devotees?” You pushed a bit further…

He slinked over to the chair and leaned forward. Fully turning his eyes unto your soul. “Oh, maybe you’d enjoy that.” He smoothed out his voice, directly into your mind. It seemed to echo into the corners of your skull. Vibrating.

You would enjoy it. Too much.

Your body and mind felt flushed and overheated. The office seemed to get as hot as a midsummer day on the beach.

“So, does the universe get what it’s owed, (y/n)?”

Your breathing quickened and your throat got dry. You reached (well more like flailed…) for your beverage. A big gulp, not breaking eye contact.

“Are you a devotee? To come worship at the altar?” He questioned further. Placing both of those incredible hands at the sides of the chair. Leaning further forward. His cool breath hitting your face. It smelled fresh. Not like good oral hygienic skills, but something foreign and strong. Striking, and a little addictive. You could spend the rest of your life trying to find a word to describe it further, or something to compare the scent to. It’s was…incredible. And maybe edible.

Barely two inches stayed between your noses. If you were a computer, you would have blue screened.

Your were human, and could afford no such luxury, sadly.

The pit of your stomach closed up.

An increasingly rare, but familiar throb coursed through you as warmth accelerated its way through your body. Rocking your core. Your heart was rocketing for the moon. You started to sweat. Literally.

You clenched yourself. Literally squeezed your legs together. To stop yourself from coming undone. From going deeper under this spell he cast on you.

But too late!

Far too late!

You already were becoming quite undone. Wet in more ways than just the sweat now forming on your brow and your back.

You knew what he was getting at. But didn’t want to conceded the victory to him…

Why did he make you buckle?

And more importantly, why did he seem to want you to buckle?

The trap was set, it was elaborate and elegant. He even provided drink and ambiance! How could you be so blind?

Especially you!

A shoe on the other foot…

You felt in a verbal checkmate.

“Maybe.” You choked out finally after a short eternity. Your heart raced faster still, threatening to break through it’s cage.

“Maybe isn’t good enough.” Another breath washed over your face. The gap between your noses closed to barely an inch.

You buckled…

Teacher's Pet part 11

Synopsis: The Doctor's morals slip further. It's become obvious to him that he needs to develop some actual strategy.

A/n: I'm so sorry it's been another gap in writing...if any of yall are still vibin with it, sound off!! Thanksss (I'm going to try to push more out quicker soon. Again!)

In the car ride home, he calculated. This situation almost was a faltering car crash in itself!

He nearly lost her, and to his own stupid pride!

He spent the entire car ride juggling with his morality. Taking curious little half-peeks into her brain. It seemed a bit past due, this. He finally gave in no small way…

At one end, they were chattering on. Her mind was racing around in many convergent pathways on the topics brought up. Anything from her probing about various curiosities. And the deep philosophical ranges he would invoke, just to keep her brain in a frenzy. It would be easier to parse down through and pierce. Missy, the Rani and he got top marks at the Academy on a project involving chaos and order in the arts of mind reading. He was stunned by the sheer amount of seemingly superfluous knowledge that she had crammed in there. Even though he knew she was smart, clever and balanced differently than your average human.

At the other, he was searching. Seeing what (y/n) was up to, planning out. Past what she said, what she thought and thought she said and thought. She was still a bit angry and was trying her hardest to let go, and not be jealous. She was fighting naming what she felt for him as love. There was quite the struggle with inner hypocrisy.

One small part of her genuinely was enamored with the thoughts that he chose her. That he seemed truthful that he wanted her to grow old alongside him in his retirement. Whatever that looked like. She was still reeling about the (as stated frequently in her brain…) “Fucking ageless alien bit”.

She had some caveats that she was going to bring up, later, of course. She didn’t want to spoil the weekends happy afterglow.

He could feel the choking nature of her holding her tongue in his brain as he went in deeper.

It felt so illicit! He wasn’t one to be like this, he’d have to go scream at Missy for this later, but it was freeing. He finally understood the humans and their gossip rags.

“I don’t endorse that behavior, but I agree with some of their points.” She admitted, in the real-life conversation. He snapped himself out of her mind.

She never stopped surprising him. Even now, as he held the inter-workings of her brain in his hand. It seemed that she’d always thwart him and his understandings.

Although, she was very distracted by his physicality, and that would be an advantage to him. She was very docile in that regards. Different from what he could tell went on in her work.

He would have to go down new avenues…

Or would he? She’d already so surrendered herself to the ideas of them.

He’d have to dwell in that later, maybe after his yelling session at Missy.

A perfect pet to keep on Earth, in her own time and place. Where nothing would ever rip her away from him…

The idea made him giddy.

Utterly addicted to it. Utterly ashamed of it.

Finally back to Bristol, she left and said she had to attend to her studies. Which was fine by him.

He descended into the Vault.

“Your parents were wrong! I’m not the bad influence, you are!” He entered pointer finger out, jacket fluttering behind him.

“I’d love to know what that high praise is for!” Missy jumped, almost shocked at this outburst.

“I’m out here invading people’s minds and rummaging around like it’s a toy chest!” He accused.

“Whatever happened to ‘Hello!’ or ‘How are you, haven’t seen you in months, Missy! How’s life?’ or even ‘Hey, Missy, here’s a tuba, I know you love ‘em!’?”

“That human girl…” He seethed, feeling remorse bubble up.

“Another ickle girlie dead?” Missy smiled, teeth showing, glinting with a venomous shine…

He felt her start to enter his mind and he let her in. Doors opened and she started sifting through the past months.

“Oh! This is too good!” She giggled, her hips swishing in her skirt.

“Naughty boy, Doctor! You’re tramping up with this girl.”

“We’re not that different after all! You with your…whore. Sorry, little Fawn. And me with my twenty-seven nuclear missiles!”

“What?”

“Oh, back when I was Prime Minister! I bought some missiles from some Russian man and I have them in a garden shed somewhere in Scotland. I forget where.”

He’d deal with that even later.

His head was physically painful as she didn’t take care and do an ounce of discretion as he did to (y/n)’s brain earlier.

“I want to meet her! Please!” She drew out the ‘please’ and clasped her hands together. “I promise to act cool.”

“One day, if you’re very good.”

“The best.” She bowed deeply.

“I always knew you’d loop around to do something like this. Ever since you started palling about with that Jo Grant. Lovely woman. But I knew you’d give in. You always have to have the prettiest companions on your arms. Vain and dirty old man.”

“I was pining for you.” The Doctor confessed.

“And I was pining for you, and Jo. Do you have a point?” She confessed back.

“Come on, you were always this close to ascending to god-like levels of delusion. I was the one to hold you back. And I was always going to become what I am. I may be many, many, many levels of crazy. But I’m honest about it…” .

The Doctor wiped his face.

“Yeah, I’ll leave you to this. I need to clear my head. I have work tomorrow. And to meet her.”

Missy just started making kissing noises and wrapping her arms around her body as if she were deep in a lover’s embrace.

The Doctor left the Vault. His brain in a state of chaos that wasn’t Missy’s making.

He wasn’t above certain things, but he had to remain a hero. Honor Clara’s bit of “Be the Doctor”. And to keep his reputation up. He felt positively furtive.

This wasn’t going to be an easy option. Dealing with Daleks? A walk in the park compared to his morals disintegrating around him over his attraction to a human woman.

Could he still be the Doctor? And be Professor Smith to her and others?

Why had this foresight not come to him as he and Nardole started this little façade…

He never thought he’d fall for another human again.

Stupid him.

Idiot Doctor.

Humans were always worming their way into his hearts.

It was inevitable…

He went to his office to prepare for the week.

He missed the smell of cigarette smoke and her sweat.

He hated the scent, but it reminded him of his fawn. He chose his pet name for her well…

The lone wolf that would pursue the separated fawn.

Very good metaphors.

He had his legitimate tutoring of her tomorrow, however. How could he leverage this? Make her further buckle into him…

What a sweet sin.

Her desire for him.

He recognized his unhealthy veering into base, carnal feelings. Haunting him.

The images of Earth’s own myths of fallen angels danced in his mind.

Was he a fallen angel here? Or was she?

He certainly was falling as an hero. The ethical moor of the universe.

Retiring from interstellar heroics and focusing on his dearest best enemy. Now he was leading a young woman into his web of interest.

Selfish.

Infinitely so…

Hadn’t he deserved it? Deserved it all.

He was the universe’s slave for a truly insane amount of years.

He was (to borrow a phrase…) the Master of His Own Fate. It was his birth right, not only as a Time Lord, but as the ultimate survivor of every wound the Time War had brought out. The savior and destroyer of all of creation.

He was owed this.

The Doctor was now demanding this.

Zero compromises. Even if that was bad optics…

His thoughts became a lust-filled power trip.

He taught his classes and set up his office for tutoring. He was unwilling to part with pretense. Of course, he’d educate her! It was her right! She paid for it!

But the trap…

The glimmering trap of self.

The uneasy shift in morality turned over in his brain like a car’s engine on a frosty day.

How deep was he actually willing to go, to not only have his selfish needs taken care of? How much of a betrayal of self and his past would he commit to? Could he?

And her…precious her…mostly unaware of how much fire she was playing with.

He got her a coffee just as she liked and set up the office, he let the bright light of the Spring day stream in through the windows.

After some deliberation, he took the huge tapestry off where he tucked his TARDIS.

“Sorry, old girl. Maybe one day you’ll get a chance…” He muttered, stroking the wood of the door, lightly brushing the lock.

He felt unworthy to stand in it’s unveiled presence, but it would help the game shift…

She came in, all plain clothes and awkward grace. Herself at her core.

Today, she was overzealous with her perfume and looked beyond tired.

He didn’t probe her mind.

“I’m assuming that’s your ship.” She stated, a look that could be easily misconceived flashed across her face.

“Vintage.” She described it aptly.

“In an effort of truthfulness…I’m showing you it.” He explained, approaching her slowly, coffee in hand extended.

She took it and followed with a large sip.

“I’m assuming it’s got some cloaking thing, I don’t know…like Star Trek or something?” She observed. “Not well, of course, but hey…we can’t really expect TV show-level perfection.”

He nodded.

He went for a half-truthful flatterer’s route. “On the ticket. So many are shocked and confused.”

She shrugged and sucked her teeth against her lips. “I’ve got fuck-all to do sometimes so…”

“Terms coming to an end soon, want to discuss the last of the notes and my lectures before exams? Or…” He alluded.

“Oh, yeah. No special treatment here, thanks. I need help.” She made a motion of a non-committal nature with her free hand as she placed the coffee down and unhindered herself from her hoodie and bag…

And they were off, talking about it all and the lessons of the course. She was apparently very determined to get by on her skills. Not wanting any of the favoritism that shtupping the teacher could have brought her marks…

Her sliding scale of morals amused him.

It was oddly complimentary.

It added layers to this little game she didn’t know she was playing.

“Some weekend, huh?” She said as time was beginning to run out. The awkward, reassuring smile and slouched body language completely opposite to her showy presentation on Saturday night.

“Not at all my plans.”

“Yeah, I could tell.” The shaky little half-chortle echoed across the room. She went to go chew on a hang nail. He gently removed her thumb from her mouth before she could bite the aggrieved area.

“I like Petronella. She’s a great person. She’s coming up to visit me over the summer holiday. And vice versa.”

“Meet me here tonight. More truthfulness…” He offered, a dangerous idea flickering into his brain and coming out of his mouth before he could control himself.

He have to project his messages to Missy at a mental scream all day. Give her guidelines…promising her the tuba she so desperately wanted. It’d probably be just as hefty an annoyance as her piano.

“At what time? And what?” She pushed.

“Oh, you’ll see… how about nine PM?”

She gave a little nod of her head.

They broke the meeting with a kiss.

He went off to teach, sending Missy the message and threats of many lifetimes…

Teacher's Pet part 8

Synopsis: Truths are revealed, jeopardizing what lies between these two lovers. Why? And how?

A/n: Angst! Angst! And in this chapter, I personally will relinquish a grudge, Sophia I forgive you now, sorta. I swear things may improve! Also, Petronella is a girl's girl and alive. Fuck what the Canon says.

You never expected the tables to turn that quickly. You never wanted to have an affair. You just subconsciously wanted him. Maybe more than subconsciously.

How dumb.

You left his office and went off to your tutoring. Your chest still ringing from beating too hard. Your ears were tingling.

You figured one would have to be deaf, dumb and blind to not notice your obvious puppy dog. (Or how did he put it just now? “A fawn separated from it’s mother too early”…?) Crush you were developing on him.

Was it desperation and he was merely scratching an itch? Something to warm his bones after a dry-spell since his wife died? If not, why not just go see an escort? (You shuddered at an accidental outing.)

You doubted it was a crush, like you held. Do men in their upper fifties (Your best guess at his age…) get crushes? You also doubted that.

And why did it seem like he had twice the amount of pulse in his body. If you didn’t know anatomy, you would swear he had two hearts in his chest.

You shook your head and left silly thoughts and trying to define this experience.

Whatever it was, it began to happen fast. You would meet up between classes in his office for a quick fuck. Or if he saw you on campus he’d guide you to somewhere secluded for a kiss on your cheek and a remark about your latest diatribe in class.

You still met up every Monday for some actual tutoring on his class.

Once he took you out to park at the edge of town for a little coffee date.

He respected your work schedule and always never asked questions.

You were dearly grateful.

The term was coming to an end, and you were in the library. It was late and you covered in highlighter ink and were approaching clinical insanity. You felt a now-familiar set of hands on your shoulders.

“Burning the candle at both ends? I see.”

“Hey.” You broke out of your reverie and statistics-essay informed stupor. It might have been a tad bit louder than you intended.

“Play hooky from work this weekend. I’ve got to go to London for my other job.” First time he ever mentioned a second job. Did the university really pay it’s professors that little? You heard a few, more junior ones kvetching once. But him? He was definitely tenured.

“Another job?” You questioned.

“Yeah, I made a bad choice in the 70’s. It’s followed me around since then. Do come. I’ll do us somewhere special.” So your calculations on his age were wrong. He was maybe just a tad bit older than upper fifties…

Probably lower sixties.

“Sounds fine by me. It’s been slowing up.” You remarked.

He leaned down and kissed your cheek.

“Do ditch the energy drink. They’re ever so bad on human’s guts.”

A weird quirk. He’d always say humans or apes. As if he was above or different. Maybe it was the fact he was an old white guy.

Yeah, that was it. Old white guy brain rot.

“Meet me at that park… Friday, around three PM.” He instructed.

“Okay…”

“I’ll let you go back to your studies. I know how much you value them.” A final kiss and he faded out as quickly as he appeared.

You texted your manager and explained that you weren’t able to do the weekend shift, but definitely Thursday night. If you were to go to London, you’d proceed some mad money to spend on your own if his second job left you hostage for too long to your own devices.

And you canceled on a few regulars.

“Family issues.” Always a surefire way to get out of these things. Vague enough to not garner questions and would gain some sympathy. You hoped some other girl wouldn’t nab them, but you knew how people were. That one girl, Sophia, once stole your biggest tipper who saw you on both Friday nights and Sunday evenings because she’d do oral without a condom.

Damn that stomach flu you had that weekend.

You worked that night, slow but a big tip had materialized. Perfect.

By the time you had gotten home and napped for a few hours, you had a dilemma. Obviously you didn’t want your work knickers and robes mixing in with your real life clothes. Taint the divide you had.

You stared at your open suitcase. It was a little carry-on one. Yet the empty inside could swallow you whole. You threw in the most fancy of your basics in. It seemed the best idea. You pressed your hand to your mouth and let out a nervous scream.

Why was picking out what clothes you’d wear to probably just stay in a hotel all weekend stressful?

And were you entering kept whore territory?

Your situationship was dreadfully unlabeled.

You definitely knew he wasn’t your boyfriend. That word was horribly trite and evoked images of teens and young adults running about to dinner dates and cuddling each other on the bus. Or feeling each other up behind the seats in a cinema.

Not that you had particularly a detailed actual history with long-term or healthy relationships.

That’s life.

Did he even drive? How were you two getting to London? You just sat there on the bench after going to the park. It was nearly three.

You scratched at your eyelid, fighting the urge to tear off your lower lip with your fingernails.

Checking your phone, you didn’t see the big black Range Rover pulling up in front of you. The back passenger side door popped open, startling you a bit. “Hey you, get in. Apparently I’m very late.” You saw him in the back, a few soldiers in it with him. (They looked like soldiers. You decided they were.)

You grabbed your little carry-on suitcase and went in. An anxiety attack was bubbling up. What was his other job? You slid in and clenched your suitcase and purse between your legs.

You were going to London, so you chose a classy, sleek, small black number. You made the right choice. It was positively crowded in here.

There was a cute, disgruntled looking girl with an oversized knit scarf and some hipster glasses on in the front passenger seat.

“Hi! I’m Osgood!” She stretched back and offered you her hand. “You’re his...assistant?” She seemed confused by your general existence, but pleased you were another girl in this car of men. You couldn’t blame her! You took it and shook.

“She’s my companion.” The bastard finally labeled your situationship. Companion, very old timey. He let out of beaming smile, and continued on, “Petronella Osgood, (y/n's full name). (Y/n’s full name), Petronella Osgood. The new lead scientific advisor and assistant to the Head of UNIT!” His hand nearly swiped one of the soldier’s faces. “You’re both clever and don’t think like a normal human. You’ll be friends by Sunday night…”

If you could have balled yourself up and rolled away like a pill bug of you could.

“Do you like Costa? I’m trying to convince these people to stop by on our way home! Usually he just shows up, you know how he is with that TARDIS of his. But the Doctor said this would be best for him to do today…” She battered you with information and words.

You’d discuss this all with him further in private. Right now, you had to play a role.

“Yeah, I could go for…a Cortado.” You choked out. Coffee would help this all be absorbed a lot quicker.

She began fiddling with the vehicle’s GPS.

They all began talking about whatever techno-babble and such. It was over your head. You felt yourself getting heart burn and a migraine.

Petronella asked you something. And like a baby with dribble on it’s shirt, you said sluggishly: “What?”

“Do you think that we should do a frontal advance?”

“Maybe not?” You just started making things up on the fly. Filling it in ad-lib style!

You wanted to kill yourself.

“I mean, if… you go… from the front…all in. They’ll be…able to see you?” You heaved. “If you go from the…sides…and like, guerilla style…whatever is happening will…be a surprise …you remember like, the Germans against Rome or Boudicca, also against Rome…yeah.” You ended. You deserved a little chewing on the inside of your cheek, as a treat.

Soon enough, you pulled up to a Costa, Petronella seemed very eager to order in-shop. And to drag you in.

You collected the soldier’s and Professor Smith (Oh! Yeah, they called him Doctor…you’d demand the truth later.) Orders.

You were so eager to leave the car for a breath of fresh air.

“Hey, mind if I smoke real quick?” You had quit, but there was a lose one in the purses pocket, and the situation called for one. If ever there was a time to start smoking, it’d be now.

“I have asthma! But sure! I can wait.” She went into the weird little room that’s neither inside nor outside that commercial spaces tend to have. She got a phone call.

You could use this as an opportunity to get information about the man who you had been fucking. She’d be more helpful here. She clearly knew him better. Sure you had seen him naked. But she knew him on a more intimate level it seemed.

You finished up your cigarette and crushed it under the heel of your shoe. You got a bottle of perfume out and began dusting it on a heavy layer. You took one big inhale and rolled your neck around. It cracked and you relaxed a bit.

Entering the Costa, she hung up her phone and smiled.

You both ordered. You got yourself one of their fruit biscuits and went to get out your cash.

“Oh no! I got it! All of it.” She whipped out a black card and tapped it to the reader. “Perks of the job.”

You nodded your head. You had heard of UNIT, but couldn’t be arsed to care.

“So, the Doctor.” The name sounded foreign coming out of your mouth. “How long have you worked with him?”

“Oh! Five years now!”

You placed a hand on your throat and rested your jaw on it.

“What’s his deal?”

“Wish I knew, but we should all be glad he exists, he’s the best we got.”

Oh!

You let out a little “mmhmm.”

Before you could get your next question, the drinks and your snack came.

She grabbed her milk babyccino and handed you your Cortado as you left the Costa. You didn’t want to get back in the Range Rover. This all seemed like a very bad idea. You should have never agreed to this.

But here you were, so you had to deal with it.

You got back in the back, the solider driving said they’d have to speed along, no stops.

You shrunk in the seat. You felt his one hand stroke your upper arm. He was trying to comfort you. You wish you could recoil, but you had grown too addicted to his touch. Against all instinct, you leaned into him and sipped your coffee. Just sat an observed, chiming in when people would outright ask you for your input. More sipping your coffee and staring glumly out the front windshield. You felt like a caged beast.

Soon enough you were in London and you could get out of the car. Sadly, it pulled into an underground military-style bunker.

You were very proud of yourself for keeping your cool and now having a major breakdown in there.

You entered a lift, still carrying your suitcase.

It went all the way to the top.

Some woman in a very impressive suit and a silk scarf met you all there.

More introductions.

The Doctor – Professor Smith- whatever his real title or honorific was, took your suitcase and told someone to take it to a place. You didn’t retain or hear. You were positively swimming. You hated how good this artificial, florescent lighting made the hollows of his face looked. He was a bit more formal in his dress than he ever was at the university. In this moment you hated how you were reacting to him. Obviously he had to confess things to you.

Obviously, there was a bit of a double standard, but this outweighed your little evasions and white lies.

There was a meeting and grand plans were drawn. Choices were made.

And you had to make choices for yourself.

It was close to midnight when you finally got out of the meeting. Tomorrow apparently they’d denote a device, after it was programmed and set up during the night. Apparently that’d save the Earth.

He was swanning along like he owned the place. Everyone was reverent. His word was law and his advice was the loudest.

Maybe you shouldn’t have smoked that cigarette beforehand. Maybe you needed several shots of vodka. Maybe you just were way out of your depth.

Soon enough you had an escort of two soldiers for him and you to a suite with the bare essentials of comfort. Your stupid suitcase was there. Like a fancy barracks.

The door locked and you were alone with him.

“It’s time I tell you some truths.” He said, sitting in a chair at the desk.

You threw your hands up, “You fucking think so?” It came out as a screech. You clapped your hand to your mouth.

“What the fuck?” You clapped your hands together as you leaned over and down to face him. “What the fuck was all that?” You crouched into a squat.

“Let me tell you.” His tone was silencing. Like you were in the wrong for this reaction.

“Fine!”

“Firstly, this changes nothing about the past months. But I am an alien from a planet far away and long since gone. I am over two-thousand years old. My name, my title, is the Doctor. Well the closest translation to any Earthling's language.”

You leaned back, gesturing with your hands in the “okay” position.

“I may be a little fucking slow, I may have a few learning disabilities, but I’m not fucking stupid. Are you…aware…of how incredibly far-fetched that sounds?” Your body swaying with the position of your hands. The hands quickly moved to press into the center of your forehead.

He undid a few buttons on his shirt.

You groaned.

He grabbed at your hands and you tried to escape. He flattened the palm of one and pressed it against his chest. You felt two hearts pumping. Your little observation after the first time you hooked up on how it seemed like he had two pulses wasn’t so stupid suddenly...

“Two hearts, fawn.” He said, using his pet name for you. “I’m alien.”

Your lower lip quivered.

No wonder he felt different than any other man you’d fucked previously. His body was different. He was.

Hot tears burned at the corners of your eyes, starting to splash out. You pulled yourself free and slunk onto the closest wall.

Figures that your first big infatuation that actually seemed to value your life was a fucking ancient alien. You felt like a total freak, were you really that screwed up that the only way you’d get anything resembling a healthy relationship was with an alien!

Your head found its way between your thighs.

“Nothing changes.” He repeated.

“How many others have you done this to?” You spat out. Pure venom.

“Rarely like you.”

“Oh, so I’m just the latest and greatest girl you’ve lured into submission! How kind! I was chosen! I feel special!” You raged out. Giving a little sarcastic bow from your sat position.

He joined you against the wall. You skittered yourself away from him.

“You’re special. Trust me. I had stopped. You met me in a different way. No danger, no trauma-bonding. No Nothing. If not for duties I neglected here for too long, I would have keep you safe. Continued to be your Professor John Smith. Existed…but I couldn’t bear not seeing you for as long as this will take here. Separate. Not my traveling assistant, not anything. Just my little fawn and our perfect microcosm of the universe.” He slid forward and looked you dead in the eye.

He cocked his head, “Remember when I was talking about what the universe owed us? I figured this was my long-awaited, pleaded for reward. To have you, for as long as this little life of yours could allow this fling to last.”

He was very good with words and you could feel them echoing pure and true in your head. Something made you relax and let your guard down.

You hoped it wasn’t some alien superpower he had.

You began openly weeping. Loud, a total cacophony. You started choking on your tears and having a hard time breathing.

He wiped the tears.

You let our a hiccup. He started rubbing small circles on the middle of your back.

“I planned on seeing a West End play with you, a proper date, like a human man would take a human woman to. If you don’t want to, I can order a car and you can go back to Bristol.” He offered.

You started crying even harder.

“Can I shower first? Before I can make a choice. On anything. Even you...” You admitted, needing to revise on your end if you even wanted to be with him in any capacity anymore.

“Understandable, (y/n).” The Doctor helped you up, and gave you your suitcase. You found your toiletries bag and shuffled in. You swore you heard him mutter, “Well, don’t overthink.” But you left that be. You had enough to think about, just add that to the list.

After getting undressed, you turned the water on the hottest it could go.

You began to wash away the day…

So much to think about…so little time to do so.

Teacher's Pet part 18

Synopsis: The Doctor makes good on his thoughts. His fawn becomes trapped in them.

A/n: listen I know it's been fucking ages. Life's difficult. I'm back. Hopefully. Yall still want him? Warnings for blood and such.

You felt yourself muffle a yawn as you stumbled half-drunk with your boyfriend holding you upright. You settled on calling him your boyfriend. It felt, at least partially, correct. You didn’t really know how long that his species lived. He could have still been young by his standards. Well over two-thousand years young, but you mentally digressed.

The night air slapped you sober.

You didn’t realize how much you had drunk. Your mind was absolutely swimming. It felt like you couldn’t maintain a solid stream of thought. Moreover, it felt entirely different than your usual scatter-brained web of concepts that could be linked easily by you and you alone. Many found you off-topic or impertinent, but they didn’t get that you were being respectful and your mind was linking everything to the subject at hand that was even vaguely related.

The Doctor did, however. These thoughts soothed you. Thinking about him was becoming more important than air in your lungs. He seemed to always be exactly in your direction and understood what was going on.

You blinked as quickly as you could as you were slumped into the taxi by the Doctor. His brilliant smile beamed at you like the cat and that dammed canary. No one you had met before or since carried the gravity of his grins. His teeth always on display, even if it his mouth had been turned down and closed. Images of wolves suddenly floating in your head.

You really must have over estimated that last drink!

His fingers played with the tendrils of your hair. Smoothing it, fingering the last of your dead ends.

They felt good. You felt both emboldened by this tactile display of affection and a little embarrassed. The thoughts you always had towards him felt warranted. Always. He was always inviting them, even if he didn’t seem like it. That was something that stuck with him since the first time you walked into his classes.

Tactile and seemingly unaware that the entire way he carried on was like catnip. Or he was aware and didn’t care. You didn’t know or care.

All of time and space, countless lovers. Countless companions. Endless wanderlust…

And here he was. Some universal warrior deity. Yet, here he was settling down, taking cabs and being escorted around just because you frankly didn’t want to become a statistic. He apparently had the ability to pick up and go to whenever, wherever and not have to worry about traffic or delays.

But for you? He had tamed himself.

His universe had become small, just you, his very attractive ex-situationship in her hidden Vault, these military organizations, and that Nardole you’ve never seen.

From the complaints left by him over literally everything, (including your relationship with the Doctor!) You weren’t quite sure you wanted to meet him.

What a nerd and a narc!

Soon enough, you found yourself back in the room. All cozy and pliant. Eager to see him naked and act out all of those hidden thoughts that you couldn’t repress in the pub. Your wobbly legs betrayed you as you went to yank your shoes off and toss your purse down.

“Damn.” You giggled as you adjusted yourself and rub the bridge of your nose with the base of your palm. “Tell me to never drink that much again in public…” You shook your head.

He leaned down to your level and bit your lower lip as he pulled your top off and laying feverish new bites on where he bit you last night. Hard, sharp and definitely not helping that growing wet spot on your panties. One of those impressive, perfect hands grasped your jaw and covering virtually all of your face squeezed lightly.

You felt your mind suddenly grow very dim and yet ravenous. You needed this, you needed him.

He certainly had no troubles liberating you from your clothes. Or somehow getting his belt and pants around his knees.

“You’re really something strange, aren’t you?” He mused as he tore himself out of the flesh of your nipple. You could feel the blood start to fleck up.

Definitely would have to take even more time off work than you already were doing…

He slowly and deliberately pinned you to the ground as he managed to take both of your wrists in one of his long-fingers hands. His expression clouded by lust and one of those emotions you thought were clearly something that humans just didn’t have in them. It seemed imperious and predatory, yet all too adoring.

You were awash. Your cunt ached. Your mind felt itself retract- like you were actively getting stupid trying to make eye contact with him. You felt yourself muffle a groan as he slipped his cock in in a firm and savage thrust.

The hand at your jaw and face tightened. You could feel the corner of a nail cut into your face.

This seemed about you and also not. More about him.

All your training (for lack of a better word…) seemed to flee. Here he was, one of the last of his species, cradling your pinned body to the hull of the floor as he drilled your leaking pussy. It seemed like he was saying something in that horrific, almost song like language he used to visit Missy in her Vault.

It sent a bone-chilling shake through your system. Just like when you first heard it. Not that you could judge.

Not like you could at this moment. His grip on you increased as he fucked you harder. Each thrust came quicker and deeper. You found the pain both increasingly hard to ignore but more lovely with each savage groan he made. It was enjoyable. Too much so. Felt alien. Felt deranged.

The grip on your face tightened once more! Your tongue pinned by his thumb.

You felt yourself start to convulse as your mind went blank. Blissfully and inhumanely blank. Did you cum? Was this you cumming? You didn’t know.

You didn’t even register his teeth nearly ripping the soft area between your neck and clavicle to shreds.

How long did he go on? You could swear you heart a haunting song being sung in your mind. Time slipped further down…

Was it more of him speaking?

You finally got your mind back in pieces as he finished on your stomach. The sensation snapped you back to reality. Your heart began racing. You felt yourself start to cry.

You felt so great, yet more than a little violated. (Was this normal, you felt yourself wander in your mind, what was this?)

He seemingly realized something.

He shushed you as he collected your shaking form in his lap. You felt so tiny. Like a small dog on a rich lady’s lap. You felt your eyes try to focus on him.

“My sweet fawn. You did so well. You’re so perfect for me.” He resumed in English.

His hand wiped the tears and blood and your hair back.

Your eyes couldn’t focus completely yet.

“You are…all I need. All I want.” He reassured you as he rocked you back and forth. “Don’t worry. No one in any corner of the universe can lay a finger on you.”

This was the comfort that restored your vision entirely. You looked at him. You felt like you were some primitive human seeing a God! Scared, in full adoration, and more than a little servile. The tears began again. More shushing, more petting, more praise. You curled so deeply into his chest and wept harder. You swore you never cried so hard in your life. You felt so incredibly good, yet every part of you burned and ached.

You hiccupped and he stroked the back of your neck. It made you go slightly limp.

“Why don’t I wash you, hmm?” He offered as he pulled you up in his arms and carried you into the bathroom. He laid you down and grabbed your shower stuff.

He tested the water on him. It seemed to go on for a while.

He washed you and even did your skin care on your still limp form.

“Fawn?” He asked as you caught your body in mirror. You were pale and bruised. Scabs had started to form on you.

It was shocking.

“I…can’t work like this?” Was all you managed to choke out.

“I’ve got you. When were back in Bristol, yeah? I’ve gotten some alien technology in my TARDIS. You won’t even have a scar.” He offered, a smile creeped up his face. It seemed smug and self-serving.

You shook yourself.

You trusted him, fully without any hesitation. If he said so, he said so.

He slid your into your pajamas and slid next to you in bed. Still naked.

“Sleep.” He commanded as he wrapped his arms around you. “Tomorrow, I need your help.”

And as if by magic, you felt yourself slip into a deep sleep. You dreamed of swirling galaxies and more strange songs twisted into it.

When you woke, it was with such a fright. He wasn’t next to you, and it made you panic. He was already dressed. He was twirling some object in his hands.

“You’ve slept in. Not that I can blame you…” He snorted. “Don’t worry, I’ve taken the liberty of choosing clothes. I’ve even got breakfast!”

He offered you a cup of coffee and helped you out of bed.

It was simple, a black tank top and a pair of jeans. He offered you the sheer lace shrug you planned on using as layering if he took you out again for a night out on town.

“I’ve been meaning to give this to you.” He slid you a gold chain with a small, but heavy pendant on it. It had some small circular design on it. It swirled around itself and had some dots in places.

“I know how you enjoy jewelry.” He motioned to the tangled knot of necklaces you wore all day, every day, even in sleep.

You went to put it on. It rested as if fighting the small symbols of your faith for attention on your person. Or, perhaps, even your soul itself...

He parted them for you and made sure that his special necklace rested firmly under the hollow of your throat.

“I meant it last night. Not even the Cybermen could take you from me. The entire dark hoards of the Never Were’s and Always Was’s will not harm you so long as you’re by my side.” His tone shifted as he helped you help yourself to a bit of the porridge he had for you.

You still shook.

He let you apply your make up. You decided it was no use to try to waste all your concealer and foundation on the wounds on your neck.

He tousled your hair and smiled at you.

He helped you into your shoes and you both walked out of the door. You firmly found your nails grasping into his coats arm as you still were having trouble even standing, yet alone walking.

The lift ride down into a subterranean area, meeting all these people was quiet. Petronella and that Lethbridge-Stewart woman and more were waiting.

They all focused on you and you could feel their eyes bore into your neck and chest. You didn’t know what to feel.

You instinctively took all your cues from him.

All these soldiers and scientists did too. They all spoke of things that seemed beyond your recently tousled-haired comprehension.

When the Doctor spoke to you, and used your real name to get your opinion, you jumped. To hear your own name, especially from him now seemed foreign.

A fawn you shall be, you felt yourself say in your mind.

You made up some fake statistic about something. You had to. Your mind was flailing and you looked at your good Doctor as if that would help.

You mind felt never more silent. It felt odd.

You shook yourself once more.

You felt your mind flood back in. It was a sharp, tickling sensation. Loud, screaming and on high alert. As if it had been forced down and silenced on purpose.

You swept those thoughts aside. He needed you, and needed you to focus and help him.

Suddenly all the tawdry statistics about crime in metropolitan areas you studied for papers came rushing in. It was very good. Apparently, they were looking for what petty crimes could be aliens doing a bad job at integration and were pushing some prearranged boundaries on when they could emerge and the planet could feasibly support aliens and humans as willing co-sponsors of the planet.

They took your data and entered it in.

Success!

“She’s a whizz with those, yeah?” The Doctor pointed at hand at you and praised you openly. “Great stuff.”

It made your cheeks flush and your panties get a little wet spot on them. You felt nothing but a soothing warmth spread from your scalp to the soles of your feet.

Him and a few other scientists went to go prime something. You didn’t know what.

You went to the small area set up for self-service of tea and coffee. Petronella trailed after you. It was a hard journey, you wobbled a few times for such a short trip.

“Those are some marks?” She pried at you as she pointed towards where the Doctor had given you in the night. “Were you attacked last night when you were out?” The deep care and worry in her voice made you feel a vacant ache in your chest.

“No, no. No?” You stuttered. Your hand automatically went to the most egregious of them. Teeth marks fully imprinted as reddish-black stabbed divots.

“Then where’d you get them?” More concern in her tone.

Your eyes flashed over to the Doctor and then to the ground. You didn’t know how to respond.

She muttered a barely audible “Oh.” Her eyes gazed at you with understanding. “Did you have fun?” She asked for lack of a better way to press on. Her eyes looked back at the Doctor and back at the mess that was your neck and chest in a few quick takes. She seemed like her mind was trying to wrap itself around something.

Did you? You could hardly recall most of it.

You chalked it up to the alcohol in your system.

“Yeah.” You nodded your head. “We had fun.”

She didn’t seem to disagree. Although, a glint of something rested in the back corners of her eyes…

She trailed you back to your seat.

You let a long, shaky breath as you went to sip more coffee. You wished he was the one helping you drink. Your hands still were not exactly stable. Him doing that at breakfast was oddly fitting. Felt like it should be that way.

You gave more opinions and input. He lauded on the praise.

The wet spot was growing in size under your jeans. Your cunt was positively aching once again. Your heart raced.

It felt like he was winding you up.

Maybe he was…

For the love of all things please, PLEASE write more star trek x Ostaran reader!

jee whiz, I’m blushing, okay, I’ll get on that