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The ridged tip hooks in her cunt as it’s pushed in, and Yaz’s entire body arches up like a bow. She almost can’t breathe with how good it feels — the part of her that needs this is finally starting to soothe with the slow stretch. This heat has been particularly intense, more so than the last one, and the need to be filled and knotted has overwhelmed her to the point of almost being unable to think.

“Is that good?” Yaz hears the Doctor’s voice and she whines. Her head nods, yeah. Yeah, it’s good. It’s so good. 

The stretch is exactly what she needed as her cunt is slowly filled, and she thinks it might be too much. It’s almost too much.

She keeps going.

The press of a knot against her stretched cunt and Yaz realizes there’s more, and that she’ll have to take that much more in a bit, when she can take the knot. For now it just presses against her, making itself known, reminding Yaz of its presence. For now it’s a promise of what’s to come, and hopefully who.

“Please, Doctor,” Yaz moans quietly. She needs more, she needs to be properly fucked. Her heat still courses through her body, making her feel restless and needy. If she doesn’t come in the next few minutes she’s sure it’s going to kill her (she’s pretty sure that can’t actually happen but it definitely feels like a possibility at this point).

A hand palms her breast, twists her nipple between strong fingers, and Yaz’s brow knits together and the movement makes her closed eyes scrunch. She whines again as the hand slides down her stomach, pressing hard right over her cunt, right where the cock is buried deep. Yaz’s jaw drops as the pressure increases, and the cock in her hasn’t even moved.

“Are you sure?” the Doctor asks quietly. Yaz wants to open her eyes but it would ruin the illusion, and she feels so real above her right now, cock pressed into her and hand pressing down on her, that she’s not ready to shatter it yet.

The cock nudges a bit deeper, the knot threatening to pop in, and Yaz’s back arches again.

“Oh, god,” she moans as her inner walls grip the shaft so tightly, trying to pull it back in as it slides out. And then she’s being filled again, but faster, and then it’s happening again, and again, and again, and the knot presses against her with every push, and —

“Shit!” Yaz gasps as her orgasm is ripped from her, causing her to spasm on the bed. Legs lock up and her arms tense and she feels like the air has been pulled from her lungs, leaving her breathless and lightheaded. It’s intense and hits her like a train but the thrusting doesn’t stop, and she doesn’t want it to stop.

“That were fast.”

Yaz would tell her to piss off if she could, if her mouth could form coherent words at this point. Instead she reaches out and grips the sheets, holding on for the ride as the thrusting speeds up and the room is filled with the wet sounds of her slick that aids the thick cock and even thicker knot.

Her thighs spread further, her heels dig into the bed, she lifts her hips up and the angle feels deeper somehow, or maybe that’s just the top of the knot pressing in. It takes everything in her to not beg for it right now, not before she’s ready.

But god, she sure feels ready. Ready enough to take the Doctor’s knot and milk every ounce of cum from her cock. Ready enough to —

“Fuck, Yaz.” Yaz hasn’t ever heard the Doctor curse before but it makes sense that she’d do it when her defenses are down (aka when she’s almost knot deep). Yaz whines high in her throat as she’s quickly pulled to the peak again, wanting nothing more than to wrap her legs around lithe hips and pull her in, to feel the Doctor’s knot stretch her open to the point she thinks she might split right down the middle.

“Do you want my knot?”

Yaz nods and whines again, because at this point that’s the only noise she can make. Her mouth drops open and breathy moans fall from her lips, tasting bitter on her tongue and reminding her of —

The knot presses against her, and Yaz’s entire body arches up, and the only thoughts running through her head are pleading and needy. Please, please, please, please, please.

Pressure, firm and hard and stretching her open so much that she almost stops, almost puts an end to it because there’s no way her body was made to take this, especially since the knot is being pushed inside instead of already being there. Yaz grips the bed sheet so tight she can feel it start to give way as it’s pulled from the edge of the mattress, but she can’t care about bed sheets right now. All she can focus on is relaxing enough, and feeling the knot press her open, and the sudden slip inside, and then Yaz is coming again, hard enough to shake her entire body. Her hips shoot off the bed and the cock inside hits a new spot and Yaz can’t even moan, all she gets are choked, stuttered noises that catch in her throat. She flutters around the thick knot and reckons she can feel it pulsing as well, even if that’s sort of impossible. The pressure in her cunt is enough to make her eyes roll to the back of her head.

Her heat has started to ebb through her, finally sated after the intense orgasm and feeling a knot inside. It’s usually the knot that makes it less intense, which is why Yaz had chosen this toy specifically. With the way her cunt grips onto it, she almost doesn’t want to pull out — she likes the feeling of being full.

She’s still covered in sweat when she finally (slowly) pulls the dildo out, the hard knot stretching her open for a few seconds before the toy is free and Yaz can drop it on the bed next to her. She doesn’t even bother looking at the mess she made — imagining about the Doctor always makes her orgasms more intense, even if her chest aches a bit afterwards.

She cleans herself up, washes off the toy, takes a shower, and comes two more times before she passes out on her bed, spent and worn out from trying to combat her heat. She pulls the familiar (and stolen) shirt over her head before she curls into her blanket, and as she falls asleep her thumb traces the rainbow stripe across the chest.


It goes like this.

Yaz goes into heat, and then the Doctor usually goes into a rut, and then they avoid each other like the damn plague for a few days as Yaz rides her knotted dildo and moans the Doctor’s name, and she assumes the Doctor gets herself off in her own part of the ship but Yaz doesn’t know whose name the Doctor moans when she comes (and maybe she doesn’t want to know).

It’s a system that works, at least, and it’s a lot easier being in the tardis during her heat than being separated from the Doctor, even if they’re not a thing. And the Doctor doesn’t seem to mind the system — in fact, it was her that suggested Yaz stay in the tardis during their cycles (that always seem to be in sync). It makes the place smell for a few days but they’re usually far enough apart that Yaz only smells herself (she’s pretty sure she wouldn’t be able to handle it if she could smell the Doctor).

It’s not so bad either. Yaz spends a lot of time filled and stretched, and by the end of it she’s exhausted and usually sleeps for a full 13 hours, nestled into her duvet and pillows and clutching the Doctor’s shirt in her fist. The Doctor never mentions the shirt in Yaz’s hand when she brings her a proper dinner for the first time in a week, and Yaz never offers to give it back, and both of them avoid eye contact for at least an hour before they’re back to their normal selves.

Yaz tries to remember what that feels like — the time after her heat, when the frenzy isn’t as strong — but she genuinely can’t even imagine it. When she’s in the middle of her heat it feels like it’ll never end, like she’ll be stuck feeling this way forever. Restless but tired, full of energy but absolutely drained at the thought of having to move. Her entire body aches at being full again, and she blindly reaches out to the toy laying on the bed next to her, still wet from it’s previous use.

It slides in with practiced ease and Yaz can push the knot in almost immediately. It’s practically easy and barely does a thing to put out the flame that’s taken hold of her body — but it does stop the constant ache low in her stomach, so at least she isn’t in physical pain anymore.

It comes in waves, and Yaz feels the intensity start to back off, washing back, leaving her body in hot waves until she feels a bit more under control, at least for the time being. She needs to eat, and at least drink something. She needs to stretch out her limbs and use the bathroom and try to clean herself up (again) because she’s starting to drip on the towel laid down underneath her. She should also get a new shirt from the laundry. The one clutched in her hand has started to smell like her heat, which is not what she needs nor wants. She should get started on all the stuff she has to do, but instead she just tries to even out her heaving breaths from her last orgasm. Her cunt flutters around the knot still, restless like the rest of her. Ready for another round.

Another round will come soon enough, but for now Yaz tugs at the base of the toy, slowly pulling it out even though she’s not quite ready yet. It’s uncomfortable until she gets past the thickest part, then the toy slips out easily. Yaz drops it onto the towel next to her and wipes her hand on the scratchy fabric.

Cleaning herself up comes next and she uses more toilet paper than normal to wipe the slick from her thighs and cunt. The toilet paper drags over her clit and Yaz sucks in a gasp as her entire body jolts. It’s less intense than if she’d had been in the middle of one of those waves of arousal, but it still shocks her nonetheless. Yaz gently finishes, flushing the paper down the toilet and leaving the bathroom to root around in her dresser until she finds a pair of shorts. She slips on pants first, boxers that hug tight to her thighs and have an extra pad in the crotch for her slick, and then steps into soft fleece sleep shorts and pulls them up to tie the string around her waist. She pulls on the shirt wrinkled from her clenched fist, cause even if it doesn’t smell like the Doctor, it’s still her shirt and it makes Yaz feel better when she wears it.

She pads out barefoot, toes curling a bit on the cold metal floor as she goes in search of the laundry room. It moves sometimes but the tardis is generally polite about keeping things stationary when she and the Doctor are in their cycles. She finds it close to where it was last time (three lefts, then a right, third door down) and roots around in the clothes pile until she finds one of the Doctor’s shirts — the pink one — and quickly changes, dropping the used shirt in the basket and turning on her heel.

The Doctor’s smell calms her racing heart as she nears where she thinks the kitchen is. She’s so wrapped up in her thoughts and the Doctor’s smell that she doesn’t notice the smell of the hallway changing until it’s too late, because by the time she does notice it, her feet are moving faster towards the kitchen and she doesn’t think she can stop herself.

She’s almost panting when she steps into the doorway and the scent hits her like a bloody train. It almost knocks her back with how intense it is— musky and thick and full of promise to a relief that Yaz craves. It’s like the Doctor has invaded every one of her senses and she can’t think about much else except for the Doctor’s rut, and how she looks as worn out and tired as Yaz is. There’s a stain on her shirt that Yaz very pointedly tries not to think about, even as a whine slips from her lips.

The Doctor’s head shoots up and she looks like she’s just noticed Yaz standing there. Her nostrils flare and her chest heaves as she sucks in two lungfuls of air, and Yaz sees the sudden shift in her eyes as she smells Yaz’s heat. God, if it’s this intense for Yaz now, she shivers at what it would’ve been like had she been in the middle of one of the heat waves.

Yaz successfully covers the next noise from her throat with a cough into her elbow, and the Doctor immediately looks worried.

“Are you okay?” she asks, but she doesn’t move from her spot behind the island. It’s the only thing that separates them right now and Yaz wants to rip it from the ground.

“Yeah, sorry, just thirsty,” Yaz says, and it’s not exactly a lie, because she is thirsty. But now she’s thirsty for something else entirely.

“Do you want some tea? I were just about to make some.” And the Doctor is already turning on the kettle and pulling down two mugs from the cabinet before Yaz can even answer, so she doesn’t bother. The Doctor looks over at her again, and that darkness is still swimming in her eyes but it’s apparently overpowered by her intense need to take care of Yaz (even though they are not a mated pair).

“Have you eaten? I can make you a sandwich while you wait. Or I can make something else, if that’s what you want. Or we can use your phone to order that thing — what’s it called? GoodEats or somethin’? SpectacularFood?”

“UberEats?”

“Yeah! We can order that, I’ll pay for it if y’want. Or I can —”

“Just a sandwich is fine,” Yaz says, and the Doctor immediately jumps into action with pulling out the bread and peanut butter and jelly. Yaz is still standing in the doorway because she can’t feel her feet enough to move, but the Doctor looks up again with her brows pinched together and obvious worry etched onto her face.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, sorry,” Yaz says, finally moving her damn legs and pulling out a stool on the other side of the kitchen island. The smell is stronger here but Yaz doesn’t want to stop smelling it. She actually wants to bury her nose deep into the Doctor’s shoulder, lick at her skin, see what she tastes like. She wants that smell to be all over her, and the fact that it’s not is, frankly, ridiculous (ridiculous in the way that every minor inconvenience is ridiculous to her heat fogged brain).

The Doctor slides a plate over to her a minute later, and Yaz laughs when she picks up the dinosaur shaped half of the sandwich and takes a bite. The Doctor chews on her lower lip as she watches Yaz chew, then swallow, then take another bite.

“Is it okay?” she asks.

Yaz nods immediately. “Perfect, thank you.”

The Doctor practically beams, rocking back on her heels and looking chuffed with herself. “Great, ‘m glad. Do you want another one? Or a cup of water? Is the tardis bringing you what you need? I keep tellin’ her to send water and food but she refuses to tell me if she really sent any and —”

“Yeah, I’ve gotten it all, thank you,” Yaz says again. “How’s your…” she trails off. They don’t really talk about it — they don’t ever see each other during their cycles, so there’s never been any need to ask how it’s going because it’s always over by the time they see each other again.

The Doctor’s eyes widen and she nods, even though Yaz hadn’t asked a yes or no question. “Yeah, goin’ good.” Her eyes widen even more and she stumbles on her words. “Not good, I mean, it’s normal. Just like every other time. Not doin’ anything too spectacular except —'' The click of her jaw as she shuts her mouth is probably the worst sound Yaz has ever heard because it means she won’t hear the end of that sentence. Yaz wants to ask, wants to beg the Doctor to tell her what exactly she’s been doing alone in her room. She wants to drop to her knees and tug on the top of the Doctor’s trousers and pull until her cock springs loose and then —

“That’s good,” Yaz says, voice more of a squeak than anything. She clears her throat. “Glad it’s not too painful. I’ve heard ruts can get painful.”

“Ah, it’s nothin’ I haven’t felt before. It goes away if you take care of it.”

Yaz almost whines at that. She almost can’t control the way her throat closes up at the idea of the Doctor taking care of herself, bent over a bed and thrusting into her hand as she comes hard enough to pop her knot. She probably wouldn’t stop, either, and Yaz’s cunt aches to be the toy she imagines in the Doctor’s hand, aches to have the Doctor thrust into her like that, press her knot in and watch as Yaz takes every inch of it. She aches to be bent over a soft mattress and finally have her heat taken care of, completely and leaving her satisfied for once. Every cell in her body calls out for it, so Yaz takes another bite of her sandwich and focuses on chewing slowly and not noticing the hard bulge in the front of the Doctor’s trousers when she moves around the counter and prepares their tea.

“How’s your heat?” the Doctor asks suddenly. She looks about as surprised at the question as Yaz feels, which is kind of funny in a way, but Yaz only remembers the intense pain as she laid on her bed, covered in sweat and desperately pumping a toy into herself in the hope that it’ll help at least a little bit.

“It’s good,” she says. “More intense this time, I think. I’ve never noticed it being this strong.”

“Right, yeah, could’ve been the trip, y’know the one that set off our —” The electric kettle beeps and the Doctor jumps into action. She talks animatedly while she prepares their tea and slides a cuppa across the counter towards Yaz who leans forward and takes it gratefully. The Doctor’s familiar cadence calms Yaz in ways the shirt she wears can’t, and her entire body relaxes, lulled into a peaceful space.

That’s probably why the waves of pain catch her so off guard, and why she doesn’t even notice them until it’s too late.

Cramps tighten in her stomach and Yaz tries to breathe through them, nostrils flaring as the Doctor’s scent fills her head even more. It’s almost intoxicating, really. It’s so strong with her so close, and in the middle of her rut, no less. Yaz can practically taste it in the air (she wants to taste it on the Doctor’s skin next).

Just when she thinks the pain won’t be too unbearable, another wave crashes into her and Yaz has to hold onto the edge of the island as her thighs tighten and she tries to get any friction on her throbbing clit. She lets out a small noise of pain and the Doctor’s head shoots up again from where she were taking apart a biscuit while she talked, completely unaware of Yaz’s building need to mount her in this kitchen (or aware but unwilling to do anything about it).

“Yaz? You okay?” she asks, dropping the two biscuit halves onto the counter and immediately starting to move around the edge so as to comfort her.

Yaz nods quickly and breathes out through her nose. “Yeah, yeah it’s fine, I’m okay.” The pain starts to slowly lessen and Yaz lets out an uncomfortable chuckle. “I should probably go back to my room, though,” she says, and pushes herself up with her hands on the island. She stands on wobbly legs, but legs that hold nonetheless, and gives the Doctor an awkward smile. “Sorry.”

Worry drips off the Doctor like water and Yaz can smell it in the air. The worry she has for the human, the need to protect her, to fix anything that might be wrong, to take care of her. It smells a lot like some mated pairs do, and the next jolt of pain is almost timed perfectly to cut her thinking off on going down that particular rabbit hole. The pain makes Yaz start to crumple, wanting nothing more than to lay down on the cold linoleum and wank until her fingers hurt.

Her knees don’t hit solid floor, though, and she’s suddenly got her nose pressed against the Doctor’s shirt — her current shirt, not the shirt that Yaz wears that smells like her. Yaz clutches the fabric in her hands, holding on like the Doctor is a raft in a storm and she’s just trying not to drown.

Something in her body snaps into place and suddenly the pain starts to lessen. She’s being held up entirely by the Doctor, strong arms under her armpits and holding her close to the Doctor’s chest. She can feel every breath the blonde takes, and the low vibration when she talks, and then Yaz realizes she’s being talked to.

“What?” she mumbles, pressing her nose harder into the Doctor’s shirt. It smells so good, and a tiny, miniscule part of her brain knows that’s the heat talking, but a much, much bigger part of her brain doesn’t give a single bloody fuck.

“Are you okay? Can you stand?” the Doctor repeats.

Yaz shifts on her feet, testing her weight, and then reluctantly nods. “Yeah, sorry, it just gets a bit painful sometimes.”

“I understand that,” the Doctor says, and her arms tighten around Yaz for a brief second before she pulls away. Yaz steps back barely a foot before the Doctor catches her on her way back down to the floor as pain tightens in her stomach again. “C’mon, we need to get you back to your room.”

Yaz mumbles something, maybe to insist that she can do it herself, and that it’s not that bad, but the Doctor is already scooping her up like Yaz were a newlywed being taken to bed.

Which, now that the thought is in her head, she can’t get it out. She whines and presses her face against the Doctor’s chest again, feeling her entire body relax just a bit at the proximity. It’s like her body is saying finally, finally. 

Her arms tighten around the Doctor’s neck, and she’s bounced a little as the Doctor carries her back to her room. It smells like sweat and her heat and like Yaz has been wanking far too much, and she’d normally care about that kind of thing but the Doctor’s proximity has acted as some kind of anesthetic and she feels calmer now, relaxed in strong arms that gently settle her on the bed.

The Doctor glances at the toy laying out in the open, and the towels still laid out on the bed, but she doesn’t say anything about them. She makes Yaz comfortable on the pillows and pulls the blankets up over her shaking frame, cold and sweating all at the same time. Yaz’s cunt throbs in time with her heartbeat, reminding her of what she currently doesn’t have (a knot).

“Think you’ll be more comfortable here,” the Doctor says quietly, tucking the covers in like a parent tucks in a child. Yaz feels like a child right about now, but she can’t make herself do anything to contradict it. 

The Doctor’s voice is gentle when she asks, “Do y’need anything?”

Images of just how gentle the Doctor could be in other situations flash through Yaz’s head like they’re being played on a projector. She doesn’t want to be thinking these things, but she quite literally can’t stop herself. It’s like something else has taken hold of her brain — something primal, settled deep into her DNA. Every cell, every drop of blood and piece of muscle, wants one thing, and it’s going to kill Yaz in the process of getting it.

She’s being dramatic, of course. It won’t actually kill her, but she will have killer cramps for the next few hours, and then she’ll probably fall asleep with a toy buried to the knot, and when she wakes up she’ll be ready for another round. It’s a cycle that’ll repeat for a day at most, but one that she hates every single time.

And it’s not even the pain thing, it’s just that she feels so tired during it. She’s exhausted the entire day and she barely ever moves from the bed, which isn’t that different from the rest of her heat but at least the rest of her heat comes in waves, some more intense than others, and giving her time to breathe between them. This time is the worst part of her heat, no doubt about it, and she doesn’t look forward to having to go through it alone.

“Will you stay with me?” Yaz finally answers, after what feels like hours but could barely be a few moments.

The Doctor looks physically pained at the idea, but Yaz isn’t gonna retract the request. Normally, if she were in her right mind, she’d tell the Doctor that she doesn’t have to, and Yaz would feel guilty about being clingy to someone she is definitely not in a relationship with, but right now she can barely think, let alone feel guilty about anything.

An obvious internal battle passes behind the Doctor’s eyes, but it seems quickly won by the part of her that wants to take care of Yaz.

“Yeah, sure,” she says, voice more breathless than Yaz had anticipated. It sends a throb straight to Yaz’s clit.

Yaz watches as the Doctor looks around the room for a few seconds, then pulls the desk chair to the side of the bed and sits down in it with a soft creak. She laces her fingers together over her stomach and leans back with a grin. Her legs are spread like a man’s, which isn’t any different than normal, except Yaz can see the definite outline of her cock through the material of her trousers.

Jesus christ.

Yaz closes her eyes but the image is still there, seared into the darkness in front of her. Even flaccid, she’s big. Yaz whines.

“Are you still in pain?” the Doctor asks.

Actually, she’d completely forgotten about the pain up until this moment because she were more focused on the Doctor staying than anything that came after.

“A bit,” Yaz lies because it sounds better than saying that she was whining to have the Doctor’s dick in her mouth. “Just uncomfortable.”

“Yeah, can imagine.”

The dick-print image in her mind's eye starts to fade, thank god. Yaz doesn’t know how much longer she can last having to stare at it even with her eyes closed.

She can smell the Doctor from where she sits next to the bed, a few feet away, close enough to reach out and touch. Yaz’s arm moves of its own accord, and she doesn’t even know what she’s really doing until her hand is hovering mid air, and then the Doctor’s fingers hook onto her own. They stay like that for a while, until Yaz falls asleep and her hand goes slack.


She wakes with her face pressed against the pillow, thirsty as fuck and with painful cramps pulsing through her body. The hand that had been dangling off the edge of the bed now slaps at the nightstand, blindly looking for the bottle of water she usually keeps there as her face is still pressed into the pillow. She must’ve rolled onto her stomach sometime during the brief nap, before her unquenchable thirst and stomach cramps woke her up.

“Yaz?” the Doctor asks, suddenly beside the bed again. Yaz can tell because the moving air makes her scent swoop in all at once. “Are you okay? Do y’need anything?”

Yaz turns her head so her cheek is now pressed against the pillow, and she looks up at the Doctor standing next to the bed, chair forgotten behind her. She’s holding one of Yaz’s books from the bookshelf, her finger tucked into the pages about halfway through.

“Water?” Yaz asks with a dry croak. Her throat hurts when she swallows, but it gives her something to focus on that’s not the pulsing of her cunt.

The Doctor immediately darts off, dropping the book on the floor as she leaves the room. She must run or something because she’s back thirty seconds later with a cup in one hand and a mostly full pitcher of water held carefully in the other. She’s breathing heavy when she gets back to the side of the bed and pours Yaz a glass with a slightly shaky hand.

Yaz does her best to roll over, breathing through her nose as each movement sends sparks up her spine, electrifying her nerves and causing her to curl in on herself before she’s even on her back. She’s sweating, and the blankets are kicked down at the end of the bed, and one of her hands moves to rub over her lower stomach to try and massage out the pain. 

“You okay?” the Doctor asks again, and Yaz can smell her worry. It’s like how her dad smells whenever her mum’s sick, or how her mum smells whenever her dad is in one of his down moods. It’s watery and metallic and Yaz feels like if she were to put her hand out, it would come back wet with the Doctor’s worry. 

“Yeah,” Yaz says, taking a deep breath through her nose. “I’m okay, just —“ Her words cut off as a new sharp pressure joins in with the others and takes her breath away for a minute. Her thighs squeeze together. “I think I need to take care of it.”

“Okay!” the Doctor says cheerily when she sets the pitcher and cup of water on the nightstand, and Yaz is pretty sure the blonde doesn’t understand what she means because the Doctor adds, “Y’need food or somethin’? Or stuff to nest with? I could go get the dirty laundry if y’like!”

“Doctor,” Yaz says through gritted teeth. She’s barely holding herself together as is, and having the Doctor standing right next to the bed where her cock is at the perfect height, practically staring Yaz in the face and mocking her, is not helping.

(Or maybe like, it’s helping a bit too much.)

Yaz closes her eyes so she doesn’t have to see the bulge in the Doctor’s sweats. “I need to be alone, just for a bit,” she forces out. It takes everything in her to not beg the Doctor to knot her right here.

The Doctor’s face scrunches in confusion, and then drops in understanding. “Oh,” she says, lips forming the letter and staying there for a second too long. “Oh! Oh, okay, sorry Yaz, got it. Understood.” Yaz doesn’t think she’s ever seen the Doctor flush so hard in her entire life and she nods as she starts walking backwards to the door. “Right, yeah, good idea. I’ll uh — I’ll be in my room, if y’need me.” She bumps into the bookshelf and trinkets rattle precariously on the edge, but none fall. “Not that you’ll need me for anything you’re doing, just, y’know. If y’need water, or food, or uh, something…fixed.”

Yaz whines when the Doctor gets to the door. She doesn’t mean to whine, but it’s like certain parts of her body have minds of their own, and they just do things without her say in the matter.

“You’ll come back, though, right?” Yaz asks, and immediately hates herself for being so clingy. She’s in the middle of her heat — of course she’s gonna be clingy — but it doesn’t mean she has to inconvenience the Doctor by making her stay in a room and be bored while Yaz sleeps the entire day away.

The Doctor looks surprised when she starts nodding, but then nods harder like it were the right choice. “Of course. Always come back. Just give a shout when…y’know, when you’re ready. And I’ll come.”

Thank god the Doctor darts away after that sentence because that means she doesn’t hear Yaz’s actual moan at the word ‘come’ as it passed the Doctor’s lips. She’s already embarrassing enough, she doesn’t need to add that to the list.

Her dildo is…fine. It’s fine, it does the job, she knots herself and comes and then repeats the process twice more for good luck (and then one last time because she’s thinking about the Doctor’s dick print in her sweats). An hour and a half later and she’s sweaty on the bed, completely spent and ready to just curl up under the covers. The cramps have subsided, for the most part, and her cunt happily tightens on the knot as aftershocks course through her body, one after another.

When she’s calmed enough and can move her legs, she pulls out the toy and uses the brief time that she’s not in pain to clean it and set it on the nightstand. The Doctor has already seen it — no sense in hiding it now.

Yaz wipes herself off and pulls a new pair of boxers on, because her slick had soaked through the last pair. If her heat goes on too long like last time, she’s gonna have to do laundry soon, and she dreads the thought of having to leave the bed, let alone her entire room.

She doesn’t text the Doctor, because she’s not a clingy mess who needs to smell the woman she’s definitely not mated with. She’s been through heats on her own — she’s been through heats on her own and in the tardis — and she doesn’t need the Doctor to come and make it better now.

(God, she wishes, though. She can just imagine how much better the Doctor would make it.)

Yaz drinks the glass of water the Doctor had left on the nightstand, and uses the brief pause in the cramping to braid her hair back. It’s sweaty and was sticking to her neck and she desperately needs another shower but the thought of being so far from her bed nest makes her uneasy.

The low murmur of the tv drowns out the slowly building pain, at least for a while. Yaz picks something to concentrate on and she can almost imagine her hand isn’t down her pants, slowly pumping into herself and doing absolutely nothing to quench the heat between her legs. It sort of just makes it worse, but she can’t stop for fear that that will make it worse as well.

She ends up curled on the bed anyways, gripping onto the sheet and trying to remember to breathe through her nose, slow and steady. Tensing up only makes it worse, as she’s found out from years of this, and relaxing doesn’t make it go away but it does make it a little easier to bear. A fresh wave of pain washes over her body, starting at her toes and working its way up, until she’s whining into the pillow and wishing she had the strength to wank again.

Yaz almost thinks she imagines the knock on her door, but then it cracks open just a bit and the Doctor’s soft voice comes through the small space. “Yaz? Are you okay?”

It shouldn’t instantly relax her as much as it does but Yaz can’t help the way her body calls out for the blonde like it was made for nothing else.

“Yeah,” Yaz grunts as a new wave of pain starts at her toes again. At least she’s more relaxed this time. It doesn’t make it better, but it makes it a bit more bearable.

“Y’didn't call me back,” the Doctor says through the crack in the door.

“I’ve been —“ Yaz gasps and her back arches, hand gripping the sheet so hard she’s afraid she might rip it. A long groan makes its way out of her mouth and she gasps in pain. “Fuck.”

The Doctor is quiet for a second, and then she asks, “Is there anythin’ I can do to help?”

Other than a million and one things far too inappropriate to say?

Yaz should send her away — it’s a miracle nothing happened earlier when she was seconds from begging for the Doctor’s cock. They’re both in their cycles, they shouldn’t be around each other right now, but Yaz can’t help the way her body aches for the Doctor.

“Can you stay?” Yaz asks, and the door immediately creaks open. She can’t open her eyes to see where the Doctor is, but Yaz feels the edge of the bed dip next to where she’s curled in on herself.

“Do y’need food? Water? Tea?”

Cock, Yaz almost says. Almost can’t stop herself. She physically bites her tongue at the last second and waits until the word is gone from her throat before answering.

“Can you rub my back?”

“Yeah, sure! Easy request, could do that in my sleep.” The bed dips as Yaz assumes the Doctor climbs over her to settle on the mattress. Seconds later a cold hand presses against her lower back and Yaz has to bite down on her tongue again to keep from moaning out loud. “Is this right?” the Doctor asks, rubbing small circles with her palm flat against Yaz’s t-shirt.

It feels like she’s wearing too many layers — she’s so hot. Logically, she knows the tardis hasn’t touched the temperature — or if she has, she’s cooled the entire ship down instead of the opposite. Trying to combat their high body temp during their cycles by using the air con in their rooms and hallways is actually more helpful than Yaz can explain, but right now it feels like the tardis has completely cut off all air flow in the room. Yaz is practically sweltering and the heat only makes her cramps worse, which in turn makes her tense up enough that she groans in pain. It feels like her insides are being pulled outside, and it’s not pleasant.

“Harder,” Yaz grunts, and the pressure on her back stops for a brief second before the Doctor’s hand is back to rubbing circles, fingers pressing in harder than before. Yaz feels the pain start to ebb away (it had started to ebb when the Doctor stepped into the room, but Yaz isn’t gonna think about that too long) until she’s relaxed enough to uncurl herself from the balled up position she had taken.

“Thanks,” she says, giving a small embarrassed cough. “Sorry, it gets bad sometimes.”

“Ah, no problem,” the Doctor chuckles, and her hand falls away from Yaz’s back.

With the touch gone, Yaz suddenly feels exhausted. She just wants to bury her face in the pillow and sleep until all of this is over so they can avoid each other’s gaze for an hour before everything is back to normal and they’re back to The Doctor and Yaz. Every part of her body weighs down on the bed and she groans quietly.

“Is there still pain?” the Doctor asks quickly, hand going to Yaz’s back again.

“Tired,” Yaz mumbles.

“Oh. Do y’wanna sleep?”

Yaz hums and nods her head, eyes closing slowly. She feels like she’s floating when she looks into the dark of her eyelids. “— get cold, blanket up,” Yaz mumbles.

She thinks the Doctor asks if she should stay, but Yaz isn’t awake enough to know if she answers audibly or not.


Is it a surprise that she wakes up to intense pain (again)?

Probably not, but it’s still not pleasant when Yaz feels sharp daggers cutting through her insides before she even opens her eyes. She groans and slides a hand to her stomach, pressing the heel of her palm down to try and get some relief. She’s pretty sure she’s soaked through her boxers while she slept — which, she realizes she has no idea how long it’s actually been.

“Yaz?” the Doctor mumbles, voice laced with sleep still. She shifts behind Yaz, hand tightening on Yaz’s waist for a second as she fully wakes up. “Are you okay?”

Yaz breathes through her nose and tries to focus on anything other than the Doctor’s entire body pressed to her back. The hard cock against her ass almost has her eyes rolling to the back of her head, and she presses the heel of her palm harder against her stomach, trying to combat the waves of need coursing through her right now. The Doctor is so warm — not at all like the cold hands that had massaged Yaz earlier — and Yaz feels what little resolve she has start to crumble.

She does her best not to grind her ass against the firm pressure behind her, but it obviously doesn’t work because the Doctor’s stuttered gasp comes a second later and the hand on her side grips her shirt tight in one fist.

“Yaz,” the Doctor murmurs, but she doesn’t pull away. She doesn’t pull away. In fact, her forehead presses against the back of Yaz’s neck and she lets out a heavy breath. Yaz breaks out in goosebumps all over.

The Doctor pressed against her is heavenly, and the only thing that would make it better is if the Doctor were inside her right now, pounding her into the mattress. Yaz takes a shuddering breath at the onslaught of images that flood her mind, all of them more depraved than the last.

“Please,” Yaz whines when the last bit of her resolve blows away. Really, it were only a matter of time. “Please, Doctor. Just — just to make the pain stop?”

The Doctor lets out a muttered curse that doesn’t sound like English, but whose meaning comes across all the same.

Fuck.

“Yaz,” she warns. “I’ve gotta put it in to make the pain stop.” She says this like Yaz has no idea — like she hasn’t been mentally begging for that very thing for days now.

“I know,” Yaz says.

“Yaz,” the Doctor repeats, and Yaz wants to groan in frustration. She gets half a sound out before the Doctor says, “I’m a bit bigger than your toy.”

Fuck indeed.

Yaz doesn’t even try to muffle the moan that spills from her mouth. There’s no point anymore. The Doctor can probably smell how wet she is — Yaz sure as hell can. But she can also smell the Doctor’s growing need and barely held control that slips when her hips snap forward to push her cock harder against Yaz’s ass. Yaz is jolted a bit on the bed and reaches out to grip the sheet in front of her, needing something to hold onto.

“Please,” Yaz begs as pain starts to creep back into her stomach. “You can do anything you want, just make it stop.”

“Are you —” The Doctor grunts and slides her hand under Yaz’s shirt — finally bare skin on bare skin. Yaz is burning up and it’s only getting worse as the Doctor continues to not fuck her senseless. “Are you sure?” she asks, but she doesn’t sound like she could stop even if she wanted to.

“Yes,” Yaz whines. “Please , Alpha.”

That’s what makes her snap — what breaks the little bit of control the Doctor had been keeping in. It’s the use of the title that makes the Doctor growl against her neck and push Yaz onto her stomach before ripping the boxers down her thighs in one quick move. Yaz thinks if they were doing this any other time, the Doctor would’ve probably warmed her up first, or used lube, or been gentle in any sense of the word — but all of that is unnecessary when Yaz is dripping onto the sheets and all the slick aids the Doctor’s cock to easily slide in until bony hips press against Yaz’s ass.

There’s a long beat of silence, and then they both moan loud enough that Yaz would’ve been worried about being overheard if she didn’t know they were alone on the tardis.

“Fuck,” the Doctor grunts, holding onto one cheek and spreading the soft flesh to see Yaz’s cunt stretch over the thick shaft of her cock.

Yaz can barely breathe . Her hands find purchase on the wood bars of the headboard and she grips onto them for dear life. Her cunt immediately starts fluttering around the stretch and her face drops down to the pillow, moaning open mouthed against the fabric. It’s the first time she’s ever really felt satisfyingly filled during her heat and it’s so much that it’s almost overwhelming.

“Fuck, Yaz,” the Doctor grunts again, pushing her cock as deep as it’ll go. She supports herself on Yaz’s lower back when her hips start rolling forward, so slow that it has Yaz whining again.

“Doctor,” Yaz mumbles into the pillow.

“Is it helping, Yaz?” the Doctor asks, both hands gripping Yaz’s lower back. Her hips press against Yaz’s ass and she gives an extra thrust with a quiet grunt. “I’ll go as long as y’need to, if it’s helpin’ with your heat.”

God, is it helping with her heat. It’s helping her feel satisfied after so long of being empty (and the toy doesn’t count, it’s just not the same and her cunt knows the difference). It’s helping her orgasm skyrocket until she’s dangling over the edge and suddenly realizes she’s about to come, and like, now.

Yaz turns her head to the side so only half her face is against the pillow. “Doctor,” she repeats with a bit of urgency.

The Doctor, who has been mostly reduced to grunts and moans now as she rhythmically pumps her cock into Yaz, hums in response.

“Doctor, I’m about to come.”

Even through the thick haze of her rut, the Doctor snorts like she finds it funny. “That were fast.”

Yaz wants to roll her eyes — actually, she would if it weren’t for the Doctor starting to thrust a bit faster, picking up speed with every second. Yaz’s eyes instead roll to the back of her head and stay there as her mouth drops open and her brows furrow.

“Harder,” she manages in a breathy stutter. “I need you to —” Her words cut off when the Doctor braces herself over Yaz’s back, hands on either side of her shoulders. Hips smack against Yaz’s ass with every hard thrust and Yaz sucks in a gasp of air as she’s finally fucked like she’s desperately needed to be all week.

“Is this helpin’?” the Doctor asks again, sounding close to an orgasm herself. Yaz whines and hopes the Doctor can hold on a few more seconds, just a little bit longer so she can —

“I can smell you, Yaz,” the Doctor says, sounding like what she’s saying is a surprise to them both — like the Doctor can’t control what now spills out. “I can smell y’heat, and all that slick that’s letting me do this. I could smell you in the hall when you were wankin’ off, and I wanted nothin’ more than to come in here and finish the job.”

“Why — don’t stop, fuck, Doctor, please don’t stop.” Yaz almost forgets she was asking a question. Actually, she completely forgets she was asking a question until the Doctor doesn’t say anything more. “Why didn’t you?” she finally manages.

The Doctor doesn’t answer — or she doesn’t answer in a way Yaz understands. Her hips slam harder, pushing Yaz further into the bed, and then Yaz is coming so hard around her cock that she thinks she might pull a muscle. It’s more intense than her previous orgasms over the past few days. A lot more intense, if the lightheaded feeling afterwards is any indication.

“Are y’okay?” the Doctor asks, but her hips don’t stop — or they can’t stop. The Doctor is probably helpless to her own instincts now, just like Yaz is. The need to mate and breed is almost overpowering the shocks that run through her as she’s overstimulated and pushed through her first climax and towards a second. Yaz thinks it’s sweet that she’s checking in, but she doubts it’s for chivalrous purposes.

“I can take it, Doctor,” Yaz says. “I can take your knot.”

The Doctor moans loud and unashamed in the quiet of the room, but she doesn’t come like Yaz expected her to. The opposite, actually, because the Doctor slows her hips a few seconds later until she’s pressed against Yaz’s ass, body still save for her heavy panting.

Yaz whines. She can’t help it — she needs more. She needs the Doctor to come inside her. She needs the Doctor’s knot stretching her open while she’s filled to the brim and ready to topple over. She needs —

The Doctor pulls out. Yaz actually cries out in frustration this time, and it earns her a pinch on her thigh.

“Roll over,” the Doctor gruffs, moving off her thighs so Yaz can flip over on the bed.

Her shirt (the Doctor’s shirt) is pushed up under her tits, and she’s bare from the waist down, feeling more exposed when they’re facing each other than when Yaz were on her stomach.

And then she sees it. It being the Doctor’s cock, big and thick and with a half-formed knot at the base. The Doctor is sitting back on her heels, dick standing erect from her hips and still wet with Yaz’s cum.

A hand grips the base and Yaz’s eyes snap up to see the Doctor’s cocky smirk.

“I know, right?” she says, giving the shaft a hard tug. It practically throbs in her hand.

She was right about being bigger than Yaz’s toy — not like she hadn’t noticed, but still. It’s one thing to feel fuller than before, and it’s another to actually see what’s filling you up. And the Doctor definitely has enough to fill her up.

“Jesus,” Yaz breathes, unable to tear her eyes away from the Doctor’s slowly pumping hand. Her thumb swipes over the tip and Yaz sees a bit of precum leak out onto the pad of her finger, trailing sticky down the shaft as the Doctor tightens her fist. Suddenly, every daydream she’s had about the Doctor fucking her mouth bubbles up and Yaz almost moans at the idea of swallowing her cum, or spitting it out (she’d swallow, she’s positive she would swallow).

She thinks about saying that — about telling the Doctor that she’d swallow her cum if asked — but the Doctor is already crawling on the bed, nudging Yaz’s thighs apart so she can settle between them, and Yaz remembers another part of her body that she desperately wants filled again.

The Doctor’s fingers are almost gentle when they slide through her labia, and if Yaz weren’t as wet as she is now, she’s sure the Doctor would be spreading her slick around the rest of her cunt. Fingertips brush over the sensitive bundle of nerves and Yaz whines, biting on her lower lip hard enough to almost break skin. Her hips snap up, body trying to get the Doctor to press a finger in, or two, or three, or —

Yaz comes at the first touch of a soft tongue.

It’s the thing she loves and hates about her heat — how easy it is to come, almost on command. Yaz takes a while to come normally, so being able to come in under a minute is a big change.

The Doctor’s arm slides over her hips and holds them down, and she doesn’t stop her tongue. Lips wrap around Yaz’s clit and suck and Yaz literally sees stars when her back arches off the bed. She can’t keep track of what the Doctor is actually doing with her mouth because it’s so much, overwhelming her higher function until she’s left a babbling mess, begging for knots or the Doctor’s cock or something, anything, more.

She must say the magic words (or any coherent words, really) because a few seconds later the Doctor pulls away and shuffles forward until their thighs touch. Yaz reaches out immediately. Her stomach tugs and her heart follows suit and she wants the Doctor close enough to smell, to bury her nose in the part under her ear, to —

“Fuck,” Yaz moans when the Doctor slides in. She feels the Doctor’s stomach tense under her hands, and when she drags her gaze from the point where their bodies meet, she sees a look of extreme concentration on the Doctor’s face as she hovers over Yaz. She wants to press her thumb to the crease between the Doctor’s brows, smooth out the lines with her fingertips, grip her hair and pull her mouth down and feel the Doctor’s tongue on her own — god.

She realizes with crystal clarity that she’s never actually kissed the Doctor, even now when she’s got her cock pumping into Yaz’s cunt and they’re both moaning each other's name. It feels backwards and Yaz almost makes the Doctor stop so they can restart from the beginning (she doesn’t because she’s not mad, and also because she might actually die from her heat if she doesn’t get knotted within the next five minutes).

It doesn’t take much for Yaz to pull the Doctor down until she doesn’t have a choice but to kiss her, not stopping in her fucking for a second. They both moan when their tongues touch, and Yaz lets the Doctor press forward until she licks into Yaz’s mouth completely. It’s wet and sloppy and much too uncoordinated for what Yaz assumed their first kiss would be — but she also never imagined their first time would be because of their cycles, so.

The Doctor bites down on Yaz’s lower lip and Yaz lifts off the bed as best she can when she’s pinned between a warm body and a mattress. Her cunt starts to flutter when the Doctor doesn’t release the skin, instead biting down harder and slamming her cock in faster. Unsurprisingly, Yaz reaches her peak at record speed and her thighs tighten in anticipation, toes curling. Her lip is released with teeth marks in it.

“I’m gonna —” Yaz doesn’t even get to finish the sentence before the Doctor is crying out.

“Yaz! Oh, Yaz, I’m gonna —”

“Bite me,” Yaz says hurriedly. It’s a rash decision — one that she definitely shouldn’t have made — but the Doctor complies immediately and her teeth tighten down on the side of Yaz’s neck, tongue brushing over the sensitive skin there.

It’s almost too much, and Yaz realizes far too late that she’s already coming and so is the Doctor, and she finally feels full for the first time in a week. Yaz lets out a loud groan as her cunt starts to flutter around the Doctor’s cock buried knot deep, pumping cum into her with each shallow thrust. The Doctor’s moan vibrates through her teeth when she bites down again, and again, and again, moving centimeters apart each time and releasing a fresh wave of chemicals through Yaz’s entire body. Her pulse thuds through her veins, blood rushing in her ears, and she’s pretty sure she blacks out for a second, or blinks really slowly. Either one is possible.

All at once, Yaz goes completely limp underneath the Doctor. Her arms fall to the mattress and her legs spread further, knees dipping to the sides. The movement makes the Doctor’s cock shift and they both gasp when Yaz clenches reflexively and the Doctor’s hips stutter forward in response.

“Sorry,” Yaz mumbles, suddenly exhausted from the intense high(s). It’s the most exhausted she’s ever felt, ever, in her life, but her entire body feels relaxed for the first time in a week, so she’s not complaining all that much.

The Doctor brushes her lips over the teeth marks covering Yaz’s neck. They’re gonna have to talk about that. It’s going to be an entire conversation — but it can wait for later. For now, the Doctor presses a soft kiss under Yaz’s jaw, and then under her ear, and then on her cheek, and then her lips (finally).

Yaz slides an arm around the Doctor’s shoulders and pulls her close, even though they were already touching. She lets the Doctor take the lead again, content to just lay there and let herself be taken by the Time Lord.

“Are you okay?” the Doctor asks when they break away. Her voice is rough and well fucked. It does things to Yaz.

“Yeah, great,” Yaz says, scratching at the back of the Doctor’s neck. Her nails are blunt but she tugs every so often and the Doctor’s eyes start to close. Yaz snorts. “You come once and y’fall asleep on me?”

The Doctor is already shifting so she can lay her head on Yaz’s shoulder, nose pressed against the teeth marked gland on her neck. “I came twice,” the Doctor murmurs tiredly.

Yaz definitely clenches at that, she really can’t help it. The Doctor snorts.

“Did this help with your heat?” she asks.

Her heat isn’t even close to her, pushed deep into herself and staying buried as long as Yaz is bonded to the Doctor like this. She presses her nose against the Doctor’s temple and takes in the smell of her, feeling her body relax impossibly more. There’s barely a second of hesitation before she says, “Think so.”