Fair Trade (1/2)
Title: Fair Trade
Author: saaammie
Characters: Tenth Doctor/Donna
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort
Rating/Warnings: R for sex and angst.
Wordcount: 958
Status: Incomplete 1/2
Summary: The Doctor kisses Donna one day after supper. Donna acquiesces.
Author's note: I'm obviously incapable of not writing angsty stuff or a clueless Doctor. Also, verb tenses have been fighting me and the end of the chapter feels far too hurried but I need to go to bed. /end rant


The Doctor kisses Donna one day after supper.

It would be a lie to say he had never considered it before, but when he actually does it, he hadn’t been thinking about it much at all. He just leans towards her as they are washing the dishes, and presses his lips to hers.

Donna goes still, and her eyes meet his for a moment, wide and surprised. The Doctor draws back, mentally bracing himself for a slap, wondering if he has completely misread the situation and completely bolloxed up their friendship. By a stint of more effort than he’s exerted in a while, the Doctor says nothing and just waits, looking at her face. Donna searches his face, and gives a little sigh.

“Oh,” she murmurs.

And rises on her tiptoes to kiss him back, opening her mouth in invitation. The Doctor, feeling tipsy at her heady taste, wastes no time to trace the contours of her mouth with his tongue, and to begin exploring the depths of Donna’s mouth. His hands end up spread over her lovely body, one hand with long fingers curving around her hip, and one next to her right breast, not quite touching it. The Doctor’s eyes are closed, and he thinks he could kiss Donna Noble for a lifetime and never tire of her taste or the shape of her mouth or how soft she feels under his hands.

All too soon though, Donna breaks the kiss, panting slightly, and the Doctor’s lips give a slight twitch in amusement at seeing how flushed she is, the reddened skin extending down her neck and underneath her blouse. He can hear her pounding heart, even at this distance, and her eyes are wide and glazed.

 She blinks at him, and puts firm hands on his chest, pressing her lips back to his, and begins to ease off his suit jacket. Occupied as he is by thoroughly enjoying Donna’s kiss, it takes the Doctor a little while to realize Donna has undone his belt and is working insistently at his flies. When her humanly hot hands come into contact with his erection, he wonders how he could have missed where her hands were heading, and he lets out a strangled groan as her fingers work up and down, alternating in speed and grip. The Doctor lets his head fall back, supported by one of the kitchen cupboards.

He’s not quite clear on how they went from kissing at a leisurely pace to Donna having her hands down his trousers, but he’s not about to complain about the development. She feels almost too hot against his cooler skin, and Donna’s not the only one panting now. A shiver goes down the Doctor’s spine and he realizes how close is to coming and how he really doesn’t want his first time with Donna to be like this, no matter how nice and hot and (oh Rassilon) her hands feel.

“D-donna,” he manages to croak and she stills her movement and meets his gaze. The Doctor wastes no time, grasping her hands in his, drawing them away, and turning quickly, puts her with her back against the counter in his previous place. Donna gasps, and the Doctor swallows the rest of the sound with his mouth, taking time to re-explore the crevices of hers.

He finally, finally, gets to touch her the way he’s thought about (for quite a while, if he’s honest) and she exceeds every fantasy he could ever have imagined. Her flesh is soft and pliable, and he pictures her as Venus on the shell, the embodiment of womanhood, as he strokes up her hips and sides, over her breasts, and down. He feels ridiculously pleased that she’s wearing a skirt, allowing him access to her pale thighs, and the pair of silky underwear that does little to conceal that her hair is as red there as on her head. He’s about to touch her when she turns the tables again, grasping his cock and jumping up to sit on the counter, guides him into her body.

The initial burst of pressure and heat is almost blinding, and the Doctor supports himself, hands on the counter, gasping. When some rational thought returns to him, he begins to move, grasping her hips for leverage and desperately searching for her mouth and her taste again (her taste, he wonders!). Donna’s head is turned away and he chases her mouth, caught up in her tightness and how she smells like the clearest autumn day and rain to come. If he could only kiss her again he would…

The Doctor stills.


Donna’s head is still turned away, but returning to himself, he can see the tear tracks on her cheeks.


Awkwardly, he pulls out of her, and pushes himself off, stumbling in his haste. Donna starts, and looks up at him.

“Donna, what’s wrong, what happened?” The Doctor struggles to understand, scans his mind for things he might have missed, signals he might have misunderstood. Donna blinks at him and shakes her head.

“Nothing,” she mumbles and reaches for him. “Go on.” The Doctor sidesteps out of her range, a queasy feeling building in his belly.

“Donna, you’re crying, why are you crying?” She reaches up to touch her wet cheeks, and stare at them in surprise, as if she’d not realized she’d been weeping.  She looks dazed, and speaks in a disconnected voice.

“It’s just… I thought… You said you… I thought you weren’t interested, is all. Or well, I thought you were diff-… “ She breaks off, looking resigned, and ancient and very much like a little girl all at the same time. “But I guess it’s a fair trade to get to see the universe.”


Stay tuned for more.

The Greater Good (Doctor, Donna)

Title: The Greater Good
Author: saaammie
Characters: Tenth Doctor, Donna (it's only a romantic pairing in my mind here)
Genre: Drama
Rating/Warnings: PG-13 for war/dark themes
Wordcount: 537
Status: Complete 1/1
Summary: Not everyone lives. The Doctor and Donna hide from English soldiers during the Napoleonic wars.

In the end, it is one of those hopeless days when everyone doesn’t live. Not even close.

Donna sits at the jump seat, lank hair cascading around and across her face, hands hanging limply at her sides. She doesn’t look at him. Won’t look at him.

The Doctor takes a tentative step towards her, but the closed off look at her face halts him and he stops. He tries to come up with something to say, but witty jokes and vocal mannerisms rhyme badly with what they’ve seen and he’s sure that if he tried to make light of the situation, that, if nothing else, would be impossible for Donna to forgive.

It had been humans. Without asking, he knows that is the most difficult thing for Donna to comprehend. For all her cynicism about the world, she cannot possibly understand this. Shouldn’t have to.


It should have been a light jaunt to Napoleon’s court.

Instead they had ended up in the depths of the Iberian Peninsula, not far from Badajoz. They had come across a small village, hardly big enough to merit the name, just a few farmhouses clustered together as if for company.

They’d hidden together with the villagers, twenty or so men, women and children of varied ages, in a cellar under a trapdoor in one of the smaller houses. A young widow with torn ear lobes, not more than 19, held a newborn baby. The English were coming; their flags had been seen flapping in the distance, waving banners against the wild landscape.

The clapper of hooves, the men’s shouts had cut through the silence leaving a bloody wound. They were searching for food, wine, women.

The villagers, Donna and the Doctor were hidden in the darkness of the cellar, couldn’t see the destruction the soldiers brought, but the sounds painted a vivid picture. The missing villagers made the soldiers angry, the stolen wine made them heated and soon they were shouting threats, egging each other on.

They came closer and closer to the cellar, stepping around the trapdoor, their boots like thunder.

The baby stirred in its mother’s arms. Its eyes opened, still blue, and the mother’s grew dark with remembered fear. She rocked the baby, trying to keep it from waking, from crying, but its moments increased, the beginning of a scream in its throat.

The mother put a skinny, dirty hand over her baby’s mouth.

Overhead the soldiers moved.

The baby’s movements slowed.

Donna stepped towards the mother, a frown on her face. Quick as a snake, the Doctor grabbed her arm, holding her back. She struggled but was no match for his alien strength.

He changed his grip so that he had one arm wrapped around her torso and one across her mouth, mirroring the mother.

The Doctor had seen the cruelty of war.

As Donna’s breathing became harsh and her struggles increased, the noise from the soldiers became unbearable and the room spun for the Doctor and suddenly all was quiet and still again.

Even the baby.

It would never move again.


The Doctor wants to ask Donna if she is all right. Wants to hug her, hold her hand, take away her memories. He wants to explain.

But for once, words fail him, he the great wordsmith, the clever tongue, and so he stands at the console, watching his silent companion mourn a child and a mother and her own innocence.

Notes: I’m not sure if it’s true, but I read a novel where many of the women who were raped during the Siege of Badajoz had torn earlobes because soldiers had torn their earrings out.  I really know VERY little about the Peninsular Wars, and any factual errors are because I’m far too tired to do research. This was written during half an hour's speedwriting to take my mind of finals.

All Else (Donna/Ten) 3/3
Title: All Else
Author: saaammie
Rating: R
Characters: Donna/Ten
Genres: Angst/Romance
Warnings: Dub-con or non-con, depending on your view. Shag-or-die. Could be triggering. And there's sex in this part.
Summary: The shag-or-die cliché. The Doctor gets bitten by a Alpyrixian mosquito and will die unless he gets "relief" within an hour.
Word count: 1,555
Status: Complete, 3/3
Author's Notes: It's finished! I chickened out and made the sex scene less graphic than I originally intended, but I figured it's all learning process and all. Next time though!

Part 1 | Part 2

Donna cried for a long time, and it left her feeling empty, drained and much lighter than before.  Her body and mind were spent and she could think clearly again. The Doctor, noticing her change in mood jumped to his feet.

“Right-ho, Donna Noble, come with me!” he exclaimed in an almost normal tone of voice.  But he didn’t reach for her hand.

Donna just looked at him.

“Where to, Spaceman? ‘M not exactly dressed for company, am I?”

The Doctor shrugged, and his smile became wider. (A little too wide, Donna thought suspiciously.)

“Don’t need to be, it’s just around the corner.” He made a grand gesture towards the kitchen door.

Grumbling, Donna got to her feet and followed the Doctor out the door, noting the fact that he was careful to keep a respectful distance between them. He opened a second door (just around the corner, of course) and Donna entered a bright room with white walls and the smell of disinfectant hit her nostrils. The med bay.

The Doctor pointed her to an examination table and Donna bit her lip, hesitating.  While she understood the Doctor’s need to fix everything and everyone he came across (Bloody Martian Hero Complex), she knew how bad he would feel about her injuries, knowing that he was the one who caused them. And truly, they weren’t that bad…

The Doctor came up to her, still not touching her. His face was gentle, all traces of despair and anger gone.

“Donna. Let me fix you? Please?” He tried to meet her eyes but she looked away, ashamed.

“It’s not that bad, ‘s gonna heal up in no time anyway,” she mumbled.

Infinitely slowly, the Doctor raised a hand to her cheek and stroked it lightly with two fingers, once and twice.

“I just don’t want you to be in pain. Please Donna?”

How could she refuse him when he used all the power of the Non-Googly Eyes on her. He tried to lead her to the examination table but she shrugged him off.

“Oi, I’m not some damsel who can’t walk without a guide.”

His lips twitched and he let her pass with a sweeping bow, all angles and long limbs.

From the bow, he went directly to picking up various whatits and doodas and thing…thingies from the shelves and counters around the room, working at a speed far above mortal.  Within a minute or two, he deposited all the thingamabobs beside her on the table.

She felt slightly vulnerable, legs dangling and so poked him in the ribs.

“Better not be planning any nasty shots for me,” she mock-growled.

“Oh… No! Not at all! But…” the Doctor said in a distracted tone, looking a bit flustered. He rubbed his hand across the back of his neck.

“Well….”He tried again, drawing the word out.
“I kind of… need you to…. takeyourclothesoff so I can see what I’m dealing with.” He spluttered the sentence out, like a schoolboy asking a crush to a dance.

Ordinarily, Donna would have teased him about being a 900-year old alien who couldn’t even begin to think about talking about anything related to sex, instead behaving like a upset chicken. But not today. Not after yesterday.

Suddenly, Donna felt the ghost of strong arms pinning her down and she shuddered.  She wasn’t even sure if she wanted him to touch her at all, to be honest. Surely this wasn’t that important.

“Doctor, look, let’s just forget about it, all right? I don’t need any healing.”

The Doctor’s head lifted and he studied her intently, as if she was a space-roach from Jupiter or something equally ludicrous.

He didn’t speak for a few minutes, just looked at her, and Donna wriggled uncomfortably on the examination bed.

“Please? I just want to help.”

Donna steeled herself, then chucked her shirt and trousers quickly, before she had a chance to reflect on the fact that she was going to be naked in front of the Doctor for the second time in the space of a day.

She could hear him inhale sharply when her bruises came into sharp relief in the harsh med bay light.

With the gentlest of hands, and without meeting her eyes, he cleaned the places where teeth had broken skin, before using a dermal regenerator to heal the bruises and cuts. Another machine, smaller and letting out a red light, eased the soreness between her legs. He kept his face almost completely turned away from her during that part.

Donna did her best to let him work; trying to keep her flinches and moans to a minimum.  The ones she couldn’t contain caused him to wince in return.

When he was done, the Doctor stepped away from her and abruptly, without warning, he kneeled down in front of her, hands resting palms up on his thighs, his body and face tense.

“Donna. I am so, so sorry. I don’t think I can ever explain to you how sorry I am. I don’t know how to make it up to you.”

He bowed his head slightly, and his brown eyes disappeared from view, shielded by his dark lashes.

It was a gesture of submissiveness, of most humble apology; something ritualistic about it and it touched Donna to the core. Without thinking, she too slid to the floor, her pose matching his, their knees touching.

She leaned towards him and rested a hand lightly on his knee.

“You are forgiven,” Donna said, her voice ringing out like a benediction in the silent med bay. Even the TARDIS’s hum seemed quieter, as if the time machine was holding her breath.

The Doctor too leaned forward, placing one of his hands on Donna’s leg. He closed his eyes, and it was no effort to rest her forehead against his, savoring the sounds of his breathing. His skin was cool against hers, and the air from his lungs fanning her face was strangely intimate.

She opened her eyes, which had closed of their own volition and blue eyes met wide brown.

Bright red spots lit his high cheekbones.

He made a moment to pull away and get up and Donna lifted her hand, gently placing it on his cheek in a mirror of his gesture earlier.

The Doctor’s head fell forward, as if all strength had left him. Using a little more pressure, Donna titled his face upwards, forcing him to look at her.
His expression was a mixture of fear and anticipation, and Donna could sense his terror of rejection, lurking just behind.

She was suddenly utterly calm, more certain of this and herself than she had ever been in her entire life. It was as if she could see the entirety of time and space, every choice and every potential consequence, and it gave her complete reassurance.

Donna pressed her lips to the Doctor’s.

Unlike the last miserable time, he responded immediately, but gently, oh so gentle. Like a rose petal on the wind their mouths moved against each other for long minutes.

Then it was too much and their mouths opened, tongues and teeth clashing, devouring.  His taste was like nothing she had ever tasted. He tasted like opening the TARDIS doors for the first time, endless and infinite and exciting and frightening.

Donna entwined her hands in his hair, tugging at it and he moaned into her mouth, seemingly unable to stop himself. As they continue to explore each other, Donna couldn’t keep herself from caressing the line of his jaw, his sharp collarbone, a bony hip.

Somehow, she rid him of his many layers of clothing, all while he remained passive. His mouth was busy on hers, but he made no other moves to touch her. As her fingers stroked his erection and he arched towards her, Donna took his hand in her empty one, and put it on her breast. Instantly, he began to rub circles around her nipples through the fabric of her bra, making her strain against his clever digits.

His mouth left hers, travelling along the curves of her body down to close around a nipple, then the other. All the while her fingers continued to explore his erection, finding a sensitive spot, testing the sharpness of her nails and tugging until he gasped.

By mutual consent, they didn’t even move of the floor. It seemed natural for the Doctor to lean back on his elbows, allowing Donna to straddle him. He helped out by thrusting up and both their eyes rolled back into their head.

The coupling was as frantic as the day before, but it was a give-and-take, freely given by both. They didn’t speak except in moans, gasps and later, cries. Donna would only remember it in sharp flashes of memory: the way his neck muscles strained when he threw his head back in ecstasy, the bite of his fingers into her hip bones, his lips on her ear lobe… And their entwined hands as they reached the peak, him soon after her.

Their hands stayed tangled together as they lay panting on the floor, recovering. It was a long time before either of them let go. They dozed and the sweat dried on their bodies. When the Doctor licked it off her later, the taste was a perfect mix of him and her.


About a female Doctor

I've finally made up my mind about whether I would like a female Doctor or not.

And I've realized that, YES, I really really would, but not as long as Steven Moffat is showrunner.

I simply don't have enough faith in him to do justice to a female Doctor, not after the last three seasons lackluster writing of female characters.

As Swedish columnist Hanna Fahl pointed out today, the Doctor is, NuWho nonwithstanding, an essentially asexual character. In the last three seasons, I can think of one example of Moffat writing a non-sexualized female character. (Lorna Bucket.) No, actually, the girl they rescued in "Hide" could also be considered non-sexualized.

I'm not saying that a female Doctor couldn't be pretty or sexy, but it shouldn't be her main quality. Saving the world should be.

Oh, I forgot!

I finished college on Tuesday. Had my last final ever. (ok, I have one left in August, but let's pretend.)

Graduation isn't until November (don't ask me why...) but we've been celebrating anyway.


All Else (Donna/Ten) 2/3

Title: All Else
Author: saaammie
Rating: R (only for language in this part though)
Characters: Donna/Ten
Genres: Angst/Romance
Warnings: Dub-con or non-con, depending on your view. Shag-or-die. Could be triggering. And a very angsty chapter
Summary: The shag-or-die cliché. The Doctor gets bitten by a Alpyrixian mosquito and will die unless he gets "relief" within an hour.
Word count: 1,479
Status: WIP, 2/3
Author's Notes: I lied. It's taken me ages to write this and there will still be another part (with smut, I promise.) I've had immense problems with the dialogue in this chapter. i just can't get them to talk like real people. I'm also superbusy with thesis defense on Thursday and an exam next Tuesday as well as choir rehearsals and concerts.

I also have a long thing about why I consider this non-con and my reasoning behind the Doctor's reaction in the last chapter, which made more than one person angry. It's explained in the chapter, but I'll write it out more clearly behind a cut after the actual chapter, for anybody who's interested.


Part 1 | Part 3

Donna sat on the console room floor, hugging her knees to her chest. At first, she had tried to pinpoint her feelings but as they scattered all over the place, she gave up and let herself go numb. Her throat burned and her stomach was tied into a thousand knots, but no tears came. Her eyes were completely dry.

Eventually, her legs and bum fell asleep and she heaved herself off the floor. The sharp rise in pain levels from between her legs almost made her gasp, but she pressed her lips together and held it in.

Slower than she would have liked, Donna walked to her bedroom. She half-expected it to have been turned into a sort of cell, because surely the TARDIS would be mad at her, if her master was, but the room was as large and cheerful as ever, brightly colored pillows and rugs lighting up the space. The bathroom door was slightly ajar, and steam was rising from a hot bath.

Donna stripped off her dress, realizing with a flash of shame that her knickers must still be in the console room. She sank into the bath, letting out a hiss as the water came into contact with all the tender spots on her body. Pouring soap onto a bath pouf, she scrubbed away the traces of her and the Doctor’s… Lovemaking? Hardly the right word. And wished she could scrub away the memory from her mind.

After she was cleaned and dried, Donna slipped into a pair of soft pajamas and slid between the soft covers of her bed. She stared at the ceiling and refused to think about anything at all.

It was many hours before Donna fell asleep.


Unlike the stories, where people wake up and have a blissful moment of ignorance, Donna woke up with lead settled deep in her stomach. More out of habit than anything else, she got up and stumbled towards the kitchen in search of tea, hoping it would help break her mood.

The Doctor sat at the table, hands around a steaming cup. His hair was even more rumpled than usual and he wore his blue suit complete with shirt and tie, as opposed to yesterday’s brown t-shirt ensemble. He started when Donna stepped over the threshold. Emotions flashed across his expressive face, too fast for Donna to catch them, before his face settled into cold impassiveness.

Donna crossed her arms across her torso. She almost turned and went back out, before deciding than no, she would not be that cowardly. Without a word, she walked up the counter, pulling out a cup (the Doctor hadn’t left one out for her, like he usually did…) and pouring herself some tea from the pot. She went through the motions, putting milk and sugar in the tea, all while her thoughts were focused on the man at the table.

Making up her mind, she swirled around to face him.

“Doctor, look,” she started harshly but at her sudden voice, he flinched and her heart twisted in her chest. Biting her lip, she tried again, softer this time:

“Doctor, I… I don’t know what you want me to say.” His face twisted in a grimace and he replied in a low but clear voice.

“Sorry might be a good start.” He was using his favorite “humans are clumsly primates”-tone and the lead in Donna’s stomach turned into white hot rage.

“You think it was all fun and butterflies for me, do ya?” she ground out between clenched teeth.

The Doctor’s eyes met hers mockingly.
“You certainly didn’t waste any time before you got down to business.”

Donna’s hand shot out in a arcing motion, a slap even though he was more than a few feet from her, an automatic reaction to a harsh mental blow.

“You fucking pillock! You… Is that what you think of me? That I’m some stupid slag?”

“Evidence certainly seems to point…” And she was at his side in a second, hazy with anger and slammed a palm on the table to shut him up.

“I know I’m not your precious Rose but you bastard, you don’t get to do this to me!”
He shot up from the chair and they were face to face, chests heaving.
“Don’t you talk about her!”
“I’ll say whatever I like, I’m not a slave!” Her hands went to his chest to push him away and his hands went to her biceps, holding her fast. His fingers pressed into the same places as they had yesterday and Donna recoiled, both from the pain and the memory.

Instantly, the Doctor let her go, as fast as if her skin had burned him. He took a step back and breathed in deeply through his nose. Donna wrapped her arms around her waist, her anger replaced by weariness and sadness. As she crossed her arms, the sleeves of her pajama jacket rode up, exposing her wrists.

Donna heard the Doctor’s sharp intake of breath.

“What’s that?!” She followed his gaze to her wrists and saw the dark bruising around them, easily recognizable as finger marks.

Oddly, this hurt her more than any other of his words. How dare he mock her?

He was looking at her expectantly though, clearly awaiting an answer.

“You already know,” she ground out.

“No, Donna, I don’t,” he said in clipped tones.

She stared up at him in disbelief.

“For fuck’s sake, what do you think it is? You put them there, after all!”
His eyes widened in genuine shock and quick as lightening, he reached out for her hand, studying the bruises intently.

She shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny.

“Are there more?”

“What the hell do you think?”

“Donna,” and his tone was so eerily calm and icy that she didn’t dare argue more with him. Wordlessly tugging the pajama jacket to one side, she exposed her bitten shoulder and the dark marks around one of her upper arms.

The Doctor let go of her wrist and his hands fell to his sides. He seemed utterly drained, and glancing up at his face, Donna saw that it was pale as chalk.

“Donna… I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I…” he trailed off and his eyes glittered brightly with unshed tears. Pity replaced her fear and confusion and she knew that something was missing from the story.

“Doctor? What do you remember… About yesterday?”

He sank back heavily into his abandoned chair at the kitchen table. He pushed the heels of his palms into his eyes and rubbed, suddenly seeming all of his 900-years old.

Quietly, he began:

“I was just outside the club when something bit me. I saw the mosquito and knew I had to get to the TARDIS and wait for it to wear off so I went looking for you. I saw you at the bar and it was like I couldn’t see you properly. Everything was hazy, like I was standing in the middle of a fog. It just got worse and worse and I could barely see or hear anything. My blood… I was burning up, every heartbeat felt like it was pumping acid through my veins. I tried to tell you what was wrong but nothing would come out right. And then… “ He shifted, face drawn.

“You were kissing me and I could feel you but I couldn’t do anything. My body wasn’t mine anymore. I tried to stop, several times, but you kept on going and I… It wasn’t… It wasn’t me. And I’d seen you in the club and I knew you wanted… But I had no choice, don’t you see?!” His tone was wild.

Donna felt sick.
“Doctor… I thought you were gonna die. That’s what you said. And you didn’t seem unaware, not like that! Doctor, I’d never done it if… If… I just wanted you to live!”

He looked lost, as if he was miles away in another kitchen on another TARDIS. He continued as if he hadn’t heard her.

“I hurt you. Why would you’ve done it if I hurt you?”
“I thought you were dying! I’d do anything to save you.” Her voice broke. “I’m so sorry, Doctor. I didn’t know. I just wanted to help.” And the tears she had kept at bay since the debacle yesterday finally came, flowing down her cheeks and chin and onto the table. She buried her head in her arms, trying to quiet her desperate sobs. Stupid, stupid Donna, always misunderstand and ruining everything…

She became aware of another pair of arms wrapped tightly around her and a head bent against hers. A soft voice was murmuring into her ears.

“I’m so sorry, Donna. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. You’re not stupid, you’re brilliant, you’re always brilliant…” and for the first time since this whole thing had begun, she thought everything might be alright again.

Part 3

Please review.

A longer author's note about consentCollapse )

It is done!

We submitted our thesis today, under the high-brow title of Social media use in accounting graduate recruitment.


(It feels sorta empty.)

Focus focus focus
Focusing... Focusing... Focusing...

Nope. Eating candy.

All Else (Donna/Ten) 1/3
Title: All Else
Author: saaammie
Rating: R
Characters: Donna/Ten
Genres: Angst/Romance
Warnings: Dub-con or non-con, depending on your view. Shag-or-die. Could be triggering.
Summary: The shag-or-die cliché. The Doctor gets bitten by a Alpyrixian mosquito and will die unless he gets "relief" within an hour.
Word count: 2,667
Status: WIP, 1/3
Author's Notes: I have lots of thing to say about this, actually.
1) This is the first mature fic I've ever written. It feels quite weird. I have no idea how I did.
2) I really should be writing my thesis instead of random fics.
3) The shag-or-die cliché. Because everyone has to do it once.
4) Really, I don't think there's a single element of this fic that I actually own. The main plot is pretty much stolen from Dark Paradise by McInstry, the opening concept from Needs Must by lilsum4, Donna's extremely bad self-esteem from pretty much all stories by angel1605, the idea to traumatize Donna from sykira's stories, and the idea to even write Donna and the Doctor from petunia_bowl... And countless of other stories, especially any shag-or-die stories you've ever read.
5) The next part should be up tomorrow. I just need to write it first.
6) I would really, really love feedback on this, since it is the first adult fic I've written.
7) Why can't I ever write happy, fluffy fic?
8) Yes, the plot is nonsensical. I just wanted to get to the sex and the anggggggst.

Part 2 | Part 3

Every woman has needs.

Every man has needs.

Heck, even google-eyed Martians must have needs.

Possibly even long streaks of alien nothing.



People had them.

Those people included plain, overweight women far to close to 40 for their own comfort.

And while travelling with an alien (alright, a Time Lord. Really, they couldn’t have come up with a more pompous named if they’d thought about it for millennia.) was utterly brilliant in a lot of ways, it didn’t lend itself to a particularly active love life. Sex life. Any sort of life other than “Run for your life!”.

However, Donna Noble was certain she was in for a bit of luck, finally. They had, at the Doctor’s insistence, landed on a planet with “the best cocktails in the five galaxies, just wait ‘til you taste the banana daiquiris, Donna Noble” and Donna fully intended to take advantage of the fact that there were bars, alcoholic drinks and hopefully, men with not too many alien bits.

She was currently sitting at a table, whereas the Doctor was off someplace, who really knew where?,  leaving her dressed to the nines and alone. Perfect.

At first, she was disappointed, but after half an hour and a few of those banana daiquiris, she spotted a likely prospect.

Human (as far as she could see), lovely hands and well-muscled biceps. Dark hair, falling into his eyes (green) and very very handsome.

Donna directed her best come-hither smile at him, and he returned the greeting. He did not, however, leave his place at the bar. Deciding that she had done far more dangerous things than picking up aliens in a pub, she rose from her table and sashayed over to him, hips swinging.

Placing one hip against the bar disk, she leaned towards him.

“Hello stranger.”

His eyes roamed over her body, from toes to scalp, and for a second his face was politely blank. Then his lips curled in a smirk, and she could see how he bit his cheek to keep from laughing. And suddenly, the polite mask was back in place.

“Sorry doll,” he said in what the TARDIS translated into a Southern drawl. “You’re not my type,” and turned away from her.

Ice rolled down Donna’s spine and for a minute, she thought she might faint, before hot, rolling waves of shame enveloped her.

Keep it together, keep it together, keep calm, just go, just go! The words echoed in her mind as she swallowed hard.

Stupid, stupid Donna. Who did she think she was, trying for a man like that? And really, who fell apart just because a man didn’t wanna shag her? Pathetic nothings like her, that was who.

She blinked a couple of times, getting rid of a few stray tears (crying? Really?) and turned towards the door, intent on leaving  this stupid bar and never return.

Only that the Doctor stood there, looking… Looking sad… Almost pitying.

The embarrassment was so acute she wanted to throw up (and how tragic was that?). Of course he’d pity her. You pitied people with no self-awareness, who didn’t realize when someone was way beyond their league.

Not that the Doctor ever had that problem…

Donna stalked out of the club, not daring to look at the Doctor, just expecting him to follow her as she walked as fast as her heel-clad feet could carry her back to the TARDIS, eager to escape this stupid planet.

As they entered the TARDIS, the Doctor slammed the doors closed behind him, making Donna flinch. She finally turned to look at him, but there was nothing out of the ordinary in how he looked. The pity was gone, replaced by his normal manic grin.

A little too manic.

She studied him closer. His face was flushed, something she had never seen before. Bright spots of color burned on his cheekbones, but the rest of his face was ghastly white, making his freckles stand out in sharp relief.

She took a step towards him, and their eyes met, before his left her face and roamed up and down her body in a blatant imitation of the man in the club.

Shame flooded her body once more, and then she was abruptly, irrationally spitting mad with fury. How dare he?!

“Doctor, what the hell…?” She didn’t get further before he broke out into a brilliant smile and interrupted her.

“Donna, you know what?!” He sounded as excited as a little kid on Christmas Day, but didn’t wait for a reply before he continued.

“You have gorgeous tits,” and his smile turned into a leer, an expression she’d never seen on his face before.

“What?!” The exclamation was out of her mouth before she had a chance to control it. The Doctor had never made a sexual comment to her, never even hinted he even noticed she had girly parts…

Donna swallowed.  Something was very, very wrong here.

She forced her brain to shut off and snapped into action.

Something was wrong with the Doctor.

He was acting abnormally.

Something was causing him to act this way.

Think, think…

It couldn’t be alcohol, she’d seen him drink on other occasions, and it never seemed to affect him very much, other than making him even more talkative than usual. (and wasn’t that saying something?)

Something on the planet then.

What were his symptoms? He was flushed, saying unusual things, and (dare she say it?) randy.

She walked up to him, ignoring the way he still leered at her and studied her cleavage as she approached him.


On his wrist, a small red bulge, like a mosquito bite after you’d itched at it for hours on end. She grabbed his wrist and held it up to her eyes to examine it. His skin was far hotter than usual, burning with fever.

As her breath hit his skin, something halfway between a groan and a sigh escaped his lips.

“Doctor, you’ve got to tell me what this is! What bit you?”

He stared at her, brown eyes glassy.

She stomped her foot. “Doctor!”

He shook his head, and a bit of sense seemed to return to him.

“Alpyrixian mosque-mosquito. Quite deadly, too,” he nodded sagely.

A cold hand clenched Donna’s heart.

“Dead-deadly? Isn’t there… I don’t know, an antidote, some sort of alien penicillin?”

“’’Tis an aphrodisiac really,” he slurred, as if he’d downed 4 margaritas in one go. “Only if the victim doesn’t get relief within an hour or two, the… whatchacallits, blood vessels explode. Go boom.” The Doctor made a vague motion with his hands.  “Blood pressure.” He nodded again, looking as please as if he’d just offered her the cure to cancer.

And Donna got it. Of course she did. She’d read enough bad science fiction to get it.

Aphrodisiac. Relief. One plus one made two.

Only this was The Doctor. They were mates, they didn’t… shag. They didn’t think of each other that way.

The Doctor’s body lolled forwards, as if he suddenly lacked the strength to hold himself upright.

Relief. Right.

Donna grabbed the Doctor by the lapels and hauled him up and when his face was close enough to hers, she brought their lips together.

At first, nothing happened. He was completely still against her. Experimentally, she moved her mouth over his, parting her lips slightly.

Nothing. A shudder ran through her. This was wrong, he wasn’t in his right mind, he’d die, he’d hate her…

She ran her tongue cautiously over the seam of his parted lips and faster than she could retell it, she was spun around and pinned against a coral strut, the Doctor kissing her hard, almost brutally.

There was no tenderness in the kiss, only a desperate sort of heat. Donna shivered. It was the kiss of a dying man. His hands gripped her upper arms, hard enough that she couldn’t move. Her fingers scrabbled uselessly over the fabric of his suit jacket.

Their teeth clashed, as he tried to swallow her whole. His teeth bit the tender skin of her lips, tearing it and she could taste the sharp iron of her own blood. There was no way for her to participate; she simply had to take whatever he doled out.

He abandoned her mouth, lips trailing urgently down her neck and she had to stifle a scream as he bit her shoulder, far harder than any other man she’d ever been with. His hands still gripped her arms, and she could feel the bruises forming.

The Doctor stilled at her neck, and looked up at her. His eyes were confused, and he was sweating, the red spot on his cheeks even brighter. He seemed lost, as if he couldn’t remember what to do next.

And heck, what did she know? Maybe Time Lords didn’t have sex the normal way. But it would just have to do.

But she knew, as soon as she saw that lost look in his eyes, that she would have to be the one to take it further. As if he’d heard her, the Doctor’s grip loosened and he took a step back.

Collecting all her courage, Donna reached for him, and started to unbutton his suit jacket. He blinked at her, then started to tear at the buttons on his dress shirt, making them ping as they tore. Within seconds, he was down to his undershirt and roughly drew it over his head, leaving Donna to work in the fastenings on his trousers.

She felt strange, as if some other woman was inhabiting her body. For a second, she wanted to giggle. Donna Noble, about to shag the Doctor in the console room on the TARDIS. It seemed like a gigantic cosmic joke.

As she got his trousers undone, she had to stifle a surprised gasp as she realized he didn’t wear pants underneath.

He groaned as her hands made contact with his erection, and took her wrist in a sharp grip and pumped her hand up and down his cock, hard and fast.

And then, as quickly as before, he let go, twisted and suddenly they were on the floor, Donna underneath with the iron grating digging into her back and the Doctor on top, trousers at his ankles, hampered by his trainers. He had her wrists pinned hard above her head and thrust his hips urgently against her.

Except, of course, she was still clothed, dressed up in a posh dress and posher underwear.

A frustrated growl escaped his mouth, a sound completely unlike the Doctor and for the first time, Donna felt afraid. It was no longer her taking advantage of a delirious Doctor, she was now completely out of control of the situation.

He tore at her dress, ripping the fragile fabric enough to expose her bra-covered nipples and pushing the bra out of the way, latched on to one, sucking hard.

A sudden flash of heat went through Donna’s body, nipple to groin, before giving way to a sharp pain as the Doctor bit her, hard.

His mouth abandoned her breast and he threw her skirt up, exposing her knickers. Gracelessly, he pushed them down to her knees where Donna shimmied her legs, trying to get rid of them. The movement stopped the Doctor in his tracks and his frenzied eyes met hers, before he once again had her wrists pinned above her head.

Donna winced. The rough grip dug into her tendons.

“I’m not trying to get away, promise,” she pleaded, trying to make him loosen hold a little. When he didn’t respond, she parted her thighs, cradling his hips closer to her, and arched her hips towards him.

It was enough. Without any regard to her comfort or pleasure, he thrust into her and Donna cried out, sharply.

She hadn’t been with a man in so long, and while she was wet, far wetter than she’d ever tell anyone, she wasn’t prepared for such a rough entry. It burned, almost unbearably as the Doctor moved in and out of her.

Donna clenched her eyes, and ground her teeth and tried to ignore the treacherous tear that slid down her cheek. Her fists tightened and she wanted to fight and scream and get away from the terrible trapped feeling that surrounded her. She couldn’t get away; he was so much stronger than her.

Donna tried to breath and control her panic. She was doing this to save the Doctor, the most wonderful man in the universe. Surely that was worth a little pain.

The pain centered, glowing brightly between her legs, on her writs and at her shoulder, where he’d bit her. She lay motionless, feeling his erection slide in and out before he suddenly stilled.

One hand left her wrists, and, gripping her chin, turned her face up. His thumb caressed her cheek, collecting the tear and she had to look at him.

His eyes were so sad Donna thought her heart would shatter. Not even on her terrible non-wedding day had he looked so devastated. Making her mind up, she wrapped her legs tighter around his waist and pushed her hips up.

At first, he didn’t move but as she did it a second time, he buried his face in the crook of her neck, and resumed his thrusting.

It was pure animal rutting, plain fucking, starker than anything Donna had ever experienced before, but the awful claustrophobia was gone. Mercifully, after a few minutes he shuddered above her, before sighing so hard that she thought a ghost might have slipped out of his mouth. His face was still buried against her throat and she couldn’t move her arms.  His softened cock slid out of her, and with a little push from her shoulder, he rolled off her, body completely limp.

She sat up abruptly, horrified that she had killed him, after all. Taking his pulse, she felt the familiar double beat and realized he was only sleeping. Too afraid to leave him, even to change her clothes or clean up, she pulled her skirt down and covered herself as best as she could with the torn neckline of her dress. Grabbing his coat from the floor by the TARDIS door, she pulled it over him so that she wouldn’t have to stare at his naked bum while he slept.

Wrapping her arms around her knees, she leaned her aching body against a coral strut (the one where he’d pinned her and kissed her and…) waited for the Doctor to wake up.


It didn’t take long for him to come to, and he did that as unusually as he did everything else. One moment he was asleep and the other he wasn’t.

He sat up, taking in his surroundings and centering his gaze on her. His brow creased in confusion as he took in her disheveled look. As if realizing something, he looked down at his own body, and seemed surprised at finding it naked.

Then his eyes lit up in understanding, and Donna’s stomach plummeted to the ground as the understanding turned to disgust.

“What the hell were you thinking?” The Doctor tried to stand up, before toppling back when he was hampered by the trousers still around his ankles.

Angrily, he drew them up and turned around, fastening them before swiveling around to face her again.

“What did you do that for?!”

Donna stared at him, gob-smacked.

“The Alpraxi-what… The mosquito, you said it killed!”

“Not Time Lords. Which a quick search in the TARDIS data banks would’ve told you. Were you so eager to get a leg over that you had to take advantage of me? Trying to make up for the bloke that rejected you?” He sneered. “I guess that’s the only way you’d get some.”

Donna felt as though she’d been slapped across the face. No, not slapped. Punched.

She could think of nothing to say in reply, but simply remained sitting on the floor as the Doctor picked up his clothes and stalked away.

Part 2


New experiences
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^^^ That's what I what I wore to a party I went to yesterday. Extremely comfortable but I got a few funny looks on the subway. Not everyday people go out in public in pyjama pants and a bright blue dressing gown, I guess.

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