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quietwingsinthesky · 4 hours

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What's On Your Mind?

Rating: Explicit Archive Warning: Rape/Non-Con Fandom: Supernatural Ship: Lucifer/Tentacles Additional Tags: Tentacles, Brainfucking, Mindbreak, Creampie, Tentacle Rape, Bottom Lucifer (Supernatural), Brainwashing, Literally. With Come., Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot Wordcount: 1131 Summary:

Pfft. Lucifer doesn’t need to be careful when he’s hunting. Who could possibly overpower him?

Sam had warned Lucifer to be careful. Wasn’t that cute, him worrying about an archangel? As if Lucifer hadn’t been playing with monsters since Eve gave birth to them. As if any of them could hurt him permanently the way an archangel blade might.

Sam is worried about nothing. Lucifer doesn’t need to bother with caution. He'll find whatever it was they were hunting first, snuff it out, and be back to pin Sam to his motel bed without anything hanging over his head distracting him. Sam just had to be so difficult about sex when there were “lives at risk” and “people in danger.”

There’s a rustle and a plop of something falling into water. Lucifer investigates, nearing one of the shallow pools in the grotto.

Sam is going to be so grateful when he comes back. What were he and Dean going to do about a creature that seemed to spend most of its time in the water? Drown at it? Lucifer kneels at the edge and dips his hand into the cold pool. He doesn’t see anything but a few rocks laying under the water. It must have been a frog or a snake slithering away. Lucifer bends down, reaching for one of the rocks. They’re very smooth-looking, pretty with patches of gray and white over their surface.

He doesn’t hear the shift and slither of the creature behind him over his own splashing.

He doesn’t feel it until there’s a gentle touch against the inner curve of his earlobe. Lucifer jerks up, a stone clenched in one fist, but the creatures moves faster. It burrows its slick tentacle into the side of his head, plugging up any sounds as he turns on it. He reaches for the offending tendril burying itself inside him and his fingers barely brush the thing before there’s jolt inside of his vessel, a pop of pressure, an intrusion where none should ever go, and-

Lucifer’s hands both drop to his sides. His fingers go limp. The stone rolls away and back into its pool as Lucifer kneels with a tentacle deep inside his head. It squirms and brushes up against something that makes his vessel tremble beyond his control. It’s lodged too far inside, and Lucifer knows he should be dragging it back out but he… can’t… move.

Another scrape inside his head, and Lucifer’s eyes roll back as his mouth falls open. The tendril pokes and prods around inside him, every touch sending electric signals that he has no power over through his entire vessel, making his head jerk and his hips buck.

He has to think, to get out of this situation, but then another forceful prod sends his thoughts scattering as pleasure fills his senses. More tentacles creep out and wrap around his helpless limbs. Another wraps around the other side of his head, seeking his ear and before Lucifer can even protest, it plunges inside, thicker and more bulbous than the tapered end of the first tentacle, built to strum all along Lucifer’s-

The tentacle bumps its target deep in Lucifer’s skull, and as he drools and slumps in the tentacle’s hold, he finally realizes where they are. They’re touching his brain, playing with it like he’s a toy. The monster must not even know how much every touch effects his grace, wringing him dry of every way he could escape.

The creature gurgles. It’s probably never had anyone survive this. Lucifer pants as it rubs its tendrils against his brain. His vision floods with colors that aren’t there and meaningless sounds echo in his head despite his plugged ears as they stroke sensory nerves.

Lucifer is hard and leaking inside his boxers. He doesn’t even feel the need to reach down and touch himself. He’s floating in pleasure, his mind unravelling to fit more and more as the strokes turn into small jabs, the thinner tendril piercing into his brain and wriggling to the center while the thicker one begins to thrust into it.

Lucifer melts for them as they get rougher. His mind gets pounded into mush, turning thoughts and memories into fireworks of orgasm. He balls draw tight, pulsing and pulsing until he’s got nothing left and the pleasure doesn’t end. The tentacles hold him up as he twitches and moans with each thrust. His head waves from side to side as they assault him, forcing him to make room in his skull for more tentacle and less brain.

He doesn’t need it to be a slut anyway.

He can’t stop himself from moaning and coming, mouth hanging open and drooling down onto his own chest as more tentacles rip his clothing to shreds. When one shoves itself in his mouth, his doesn’t even question it. His body is made for fucking, his brain is reshaping itself as a sleeve for the creature’s tentacles. They leak sweet precome down his throat and over his skin, leaving tingling trails in their wake. They must be spilling it inside his skull, too, filling him right up.

The tentacles loosen a little and with no strength behind his muscles, Lucifer flops to the ground, ass in the air and drained cock twitching for relief as the tentacles follow him down and keep fucking his brain.

Having both his holes filled at the same time is all he wants anymore. He loses himself to it, the huge one inside his ass and the one stretching his lips, fucking him back and forth like they’re masturbating with his useless vessel. All the while, his brain is beaten into pure submission, everything gone but his need for more pleasure.

And then, the tentacles all pause, buried deep. Lucifer whines before he feels their hot come flooding his insides, filling up his guts and his stomach first before he experiences pure bliss as the ones in his head wash his brain in come. It sloshes inside, something Lucifer feels more than hears, all that now-empty space being plugged up with thick come, barely a mind left to speak of.

The tentacles pull free roughly, making him whimper and his cock twitch with one last dry orgasm that seems to go on and on. The creature, satisfied, leaves him there, trembling and leaking its come, his grace very slowly beginning to repair him, a process that might take hours… or days… or weeks. Long enough for the creature to come back and mess him up all over again, or for Sam to find him and punish Lucifer for being so careless.

Lucifer stares blankly at the pool of water in front of him. Pleasure buzzes down his spine again and makes him tremble. Come drips down both sides of his head, showing anyone who happens to come along exactly how he’s been ruined.

(Enjoyed it? Any interaction is welcomed. You can even support me on Ko-Fi <3)

#i can help by reminding everyone i wrote the only lucifer brainfucking fic though :)#hey come read this i promise it definitely wont awaken anything in you (<- lying)#nsfw

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quietwingsinthesky · 4 hours

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being tortured (sleepy and has to go to bed rather than stay up munching popcorn while watching lucifer hornyposts roll in)

#nsfw #goodnight to everyone but especially u lee. have fun. slap his dick for me.

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quietwingsinthesky · 4 hours

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It's the Family Business

Rating: Explicit Archive Warning: N/A Fandom: Supernatural Ship: Adam/Dean/Sam Additional Tags: Female Adam Milligan, Female Dean Winchester, Trans Female Sam Winchester, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sibling Incest, Half-Sibling Incest, Vaginal Fingering, Rimming, Cunnilingus, Female Ejaculation, Loss of Virginity, Genderswap, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes Wordcount: 1353 Summary:

After Adam kills her first ghoul, Sam and Dean take care of her.

Adam’s still got that civilian sheen on her, even doused down in ghoul blood and tragedy. Deanna sees her little sister in her when her hands are shaking and her eyes are wide from her first kill. A little different than target practice with Sam behind her, adjusting her aim, her stance, while Deanna sulked. Now, she takes Adam’s hands — soft palms, old ink stains from a pen smudged around her fingers, one nail ripped out that Deanna wraps up with a bandage and another with dark green nail polish chipped down to a sliver of color under the blood Deanna scrubs off.

Good job feels like a hollow thing to say when Adam’s mother isn’t coming back, whatever monsters she kills, so Deanna keeps her mouth shut and focuses on cleaning Adam up. Sam comes back, strides across the kitchen with her long legs, jeans soaked through with blood. She shoves her hands in the sink to get what she can off. They’ll burn the bodies when it’s dark, disappear under the cover of night with Adam in the backseat.

Deanna didn’t want her to be a part of this world, but she should know better than anyone by now: that isn’t a choice she or Adam gets to make.

She brushes Adam’s hair back up out of her face. There, Adam’s got John’s brow, she’s got Sam’s dimples, she’s got Deanna’s eyes. She’s a Winchester in her bones and blood, and that’s where it really counts.

Deanna steps away from her to get a clean rag. Sam crosses her, and Deanna sees her stripped-off bloody jeans hanging on the counter before she swings her head back to stare at her sister. Just in time to see Sam bend down and kiss Adam.

Adam freezes. Her hand lands up on Sam’s shoulder. Her eyes go wide again, that same shock of adrenaline she got when she killed for the first time. She hesitates.

Deanna knows what it feels like. Sam’s hungry mouth, the cords of muscle in her arms moving under Adam’s palm, her tongue sliding over Adam’s lips and her tits that grew so pretty while Deanna was in Hell pressed to Adam’s own small ones and her hips spreading Adam’s legs so she could slot her hardening cock up against her. Deanna can hear the breath Adam sucks in through her nose when she feels how turned on Sam is. Sam’s only ever dealt with the aftermath of hunting one way.

And when Adam melts into it, Deanna can’t help the small moan she lets out. The hand that was barely pushing Sam back slides over her shoulder, pulling her in. Adam’s legs hitch around her to help Sam grind against her. Sam pushes Adam back, down onto the table she’s perched on, flat until Sam can ravish her neck and squeeze her tits through her shirt.

“You coming or not, Dean?” Sam asks. She turns her head up to peer back at her sister. Deanna squeezes her thighs together, relishing the ache of pleasure there.

“Oh, I’m coming,” she says, and Sam chuckles. Adam is making breathy noises, clinging to Sam like a lifeline in a bad storm. That’s what they are for her now, all she’s got left in the whole world. Deanna steps closer. “Open buffet of baby sisters, how can I resist?” Sam still shivers when Dean calls her that. Adam swallows.

“What the fuck,” she whispers, but she’s not pushing Sam away. Sam mouths at her nipple through her shirt and she arches. That lust? That’s pure Winchester, hot in her veins. Deanna runs her hand up the seam of Adam’s jeans until she’s pressing her thumb hard up against her clothed clit, with Sam rubbing her cock against the back of Deanna’s hand distractingly.

“We’re family, Adam,” Deanna says. “Family takes care of each other.” She bears down hard until Adam whines helplessly.

“Take her jeans off, Dean,” Sam says. She’s rutting herself on Deanna’s hand, Adam’s thigh, all wound up with bloodlust and looking for her outlet. Deanna’s pussy clenches, needing it. Sam’s not looking at her, though. She’s looking at Adam like she could eat her alive.

“You bring a condom, Sammy?” Deanna asks, and Sam growls at her and shoves her hips up against Adam’s again, that hot bulge that her panties manage to barely contain. Deanna reaches back and squeezes her dick. “Too bad. Can’t have you knocking up our baby sister.” Like Sam doesn’t fuck Deanna bare weekly. Maybe years ago there would’ve been a real risk, but nowadays, her loads are all thin and sweet, her little balls working so hard to pump anything at all inside Deanna when she gets the chance.

But Sam got to have Adam plenty earlier today. Deanna’s done sulking, and she wants her share. She wants to get her tongue in Adam before Sam touches her, stake her claim the same way she did the first time she had Sam ass up in the Impala and licked her pussy out so good that she made a mess all over the seats.

Adam wears boxers under her jeans. Deanna laughs before she nuzzles up against them. Just like her, she thinks, and Adam never even knew her before today. She has a little pearl of a clit. Deanna eyes it as she drags her waistband down, pretty and pink and twitching. When she starts kissing it, Adam squirms.

The table creaks under Adam as she wriggles around, but Deanna gets a better hold on her hips and keeps her still, keeps her trapped under Deanna’s tongue where she belongs. Deanna sucks on her clit and makes her moan.

“Move,” Sam says, and Deanna grunts into Adam’s pussy, ignoring her. Sam shoulders her aside and drags Adam forward.

“Wait your turn,” Deanna bites back, shoving her. Sam barely rocks back, as strong as Dean is and determined to get her fill. She spreads Adam’s cheeks and reveals her asshole, tight and untouched, and suddenly, Deanna’s jealous that she didn’t choose to go for that first. Sam dives rights in, hungry as ever, spit quickly drooling down her chin as she eats Adam out.

Deanna won’t let herself be outdone. She catches Adam’s flailing leg and pins it up, exposing her so that Deanna can slip a finger inside her. She’s got another waiting at her entrance, but Adam is like a vicegrip, like she’s never had anything more than a tampon up there. Deanna glances up to see how pink her little sister is turning, from cheeks to chest, panting as she can’t get away from them. Doesn’t want to, really, from the way her eyes flutter shut in pleasure as Deanna’s finger pushes deeper.

Deanna curls her finger, just a little, and rubs. Adam jerks. Hole in one. Deanna slides her lips over her throbbing clit again, giving her all the sweet suction she needs to lose her mind. She can hear Sam working with her, sloppy wet, getting that hole nice and loose and sensitive. She might just be gunning to fuck Adam after all, but if her pussy is squeezing one of Deanna’s fingers this hard, then Sam’s cock will break her ass right in two.

“Fuck,” Adam moans, “God! Fuck! I can’t-!” Dean can’t help her grin. She slides her finger in and out, keeping it crooked just right to hit that spot, and when Adam starts clenching down on her, she presses it in and abuses her clit until she screams louder than those ghouls made her. Sam’s tongue works her as she bucks like a horse, trying to get any reprieve and finding nothing, just more and more pleasure until it snaps. Adam goes dead silent as her legs shake and she squirts hot over Deanna’s face. Deanna licks it off her lips before another spurt comes and she doesn’t have time to clean that up. Sam pounces, lapping it off of her face. Deanna pulls her finger out of Adam to clutch at Sam, smearing their little sister’s come all over her cheek.

(Enjoyed it? Any interaction is welcomed. You can even support me on Ko-Fi <3)

#ah. here we go. here’s a good rent lowering gunshot.#also this fic was really good actually alsjkfgkjs #no one wanted my femslash wincest thesis. but. here we are. and i was right. it *was* hot.#tw incest #nsfw

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quietwingsinthesky · 4 hours

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CBT applies to tcock too btw. That thing pokes out so u can smack it 👍

#blog thesis statement. or somethjng.

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quietwingsinthesky · 4 hours

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Kinktober Compilation Post

(this was so fun to do. anyway, without further ado, the 31 kinktober fics of the year)

Day 1: Pegging two points of a triangle - E - Supernatural - Jessifer - 2272 - The devil lays with Jessica Moore. She teaches him how to beg.

Day 2: Roleplay faltering resistance - E - Supernatural - Samifer - 100 - Sam wants Lucifer to say yes.

Day 3: Hate Sex Resisting Nothing, Including Temptation - E - Supernatural - Crowley/Kevin - 867 - Sex doesn’t really start until Kevin’s hands are around Crowley’s neck.

Day 4: Teratophilia monsterfucker - E - Supernatural - Midam - 100 - Adam fucks Michael's true form.

Day 5: Collaring safety is the buckle of a collar, a firm hand - M - Supernatural - Alex/Jody - 1840 - TW: Underage - This girl is Jody's responsibility, in every way.

Day 6: Frottage you can't take it with you - E - Supernatural - Metatron/Zachariah - 100 - TW: Angelcest Metatron and Zachariah were in love before Metatron ran away from Heaven. Or didn't you know?

Day 7: Virginity New Legs, Not All For Standing - E - Supernatural - Megstiel - 1386 - Castiel trades his voice and fins for legs to be with Meg.

Day 8: Gore Soft Inside - E - Supernatural - Samifer - 100 - TW: Gore, Possible Noncon Sam should know what it feels like to be inside Lucifer.

Day 9: Lactation Mother Complex - E - Supernatural - SamMary + Dean - 1503 - TW: Incest Dean stumbles in on something between Sam and Mary he shouldn’t have seen.

Day 10: Praise Kink obedience - M - Supernatural - Castiel/Naomi - 100 - TW: Noncon Naomi’s control over Castiel is near perfect.

Day 11: Petplay Like a Dog with a Bones - M - Original - The Dog/Its Owner - 1663 - Its owner settles herself against the pillows, shutting her eyes for a moment and breathing in. The dog’s eyes hone in on her bare shoulder. If they do this, they must commit to it, reopen the wound again and again to keep it from fading away. She has never carried a scar before. A dog and its owner and commitment.

Day 12: Medical Play Pap Smear - E - Supernatural - Lucifer/Raphael - 100 - TW: Angelcest It's about keeping him healthy. That's what Raphael tells themself.

Day 13: Heartbeat Steady Pulse - E - Supernatural - Ava/Lily - 1035 - Lily, understandably, has a preoccupation with heartbeats.

Day 14: Orgasm Denial countdown - E - Supernatural - Snickifer - 100 - Whatever happens, Lucifer is in charge.

Day 15: Noncon cutting you up is gonna be so refreshing for me - E - Supernatural - Dean/Gadreel - 1949 - TW: Noncon, Violence Dean takes his torture of Gadreel a step further.

Day 16: Gags greedy demon - E - Supernatural - AnnaRuby - 100 - Speak up, Ruby.

Day 17: Threesome or Moresome Me and You (and You, and You, and You-) - E - Supernatural - Samifer - 3415 - Lucifer has a special dream surprise for Sam’s birthday.

Day 18: Body Modification euphoria - E - Supernatural - Samifer - 100 - Lucifer helps Sam feel comfortable in her body.

Day 19: Exhibitionism & Voyeurism there's no room for all the hearts that will not stay - E - Supernatural - Amara/Dean + Unrequited Destiel - 2986 - TW: Pseudo-Incest When Castiel finally tracks Dean down to find that he's been meeting with Amara in secret, he's invited to stay and watch. Against his better judgement, he does.

Day 20: Mind Control her whim - E - Supernatural - Samwena - 100 - Rowena has Sam wrapped around her little finger.

Day 21: Panties & Lingerie Soft and Satiny - E - Supernatural - AnnaDean - 2451 - Dean models some panties for Anna, and she shows him how much she loves him, every part of him, even the ones he’s ashamed of.

Day 22: Intercrural Sex goading - E - Supernatural - Debriel - 100 - Gabriel is both infuriating and hot.

Day 23: Massage the care and keeping of - E - Supernatural - Samifer - 988 - Lucifer isn’t adjusting well to humanity. He’s in pain most of the time. Sam only wants to help.

Day 24: Oviposition gravid - E - Supernatural - Lucifer/Ramsey - 100 - Ramsey lays so many eggs.

Day 25: Human Furniture An Honor, A Pleasure - M - Supernatural - Samwena - 936 - Sam makes for a handsome table.

Day 26: Grooming gratitude - E - Supernatural - Jack/Lucifer - 100 - TW: Incest, Implied Noncon/Underage “I wanted to thank you for bringing back Sam,” Jack says.

Day 27: Double Penetration in Two Holes I am gonna be here 'til forever - E - Supernatural - Anna/Castiel/Uriel - 1675 - TW: Angelcest Castiel is what holds the three of them together. (Set during a season 9 AU where Uriel and Anna lived and found Cas once he became human. And they fuck.)

Day 28: Cockbulge tight squeeze - E - Supernatural - Jo/Sam - 100 - Jo takes Sam’s cock as a challenge.

Day 29: Incest It's the Family Business - E - Supernatural - Adam/Dean/Sam - 1353 - TW: Incest After Adam kills her first ghoul, Sam and Dean take care of her.

Day 30: Sounding completely new - E - Supernatural - Samifer - 100 - Lucifer's not satisfied.

Day 31: Free Day (Brainfucking!) What's On Your Mind? - E - Supernatural - Lucifer/Other - 1131 Pfft. Lucifer doesn’t need to be careful when he’s hunting. Who could possibly overpower him?

#maybe one of my proudest accomplishments. :) no one encourage me to do all of kinktober again it was such a bad idea.#but god did i make good fic…

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quietwingsinthesky · 4 hours

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Dastardly Alien Cheesecake

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Archive Warning: N/A Ship: Gen (Ten & Donna) Additional Tags: Trust, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Poison, Hurt/Comfort, Vomiting, The Doctor & Donna Noble Friendship Wordcount: 3761 Summary:

Donna eats something she’s not supposed to.

Notes:

I'm going to state it outright here so that everyone knows what they're walking into: yes, this is a fic about the doctor sticking his fingers down donna's throat to make her throw up. you have now been warned of the contents and can proceed if you so wish.

The honeymoon period of traveling across time and space is followed by the most intense bout of homesickness that Donna has ever felt, which perhaps isn't saying much when she'd never been that far from home in her life before the Doctor.

To stand on an alien planet and realize just how far away she is from her granddad is a massive step up from missing him when he's only a drive away. Her room in the TARDIS is all hers, and it even fills itself with comforts that Donna forgot to bring, — like a blanket on the heavier side and a little squeezy stress ball that always seems to roll out from under her bed when she's upset — but at the same time, it never forgets what it is, an alien ship flown by an alien man. Something about the corners where the walls meet the floor are never right, never quite what a person, a human, would have built.

She doesn’t tell the Doctor about any of this. She doesn't have to. He must see it in her eyes because he starts pointing out little details on their journeys to her. He can somehow find a little piece of home to show her no matter where they are. They wait at a train station that will take them a few hundred miles below the surface of a planet and laugh at the confusing and colorful layout of the map provided, correcting each other back and forth about which station, exactly, they're even waiting at. Another time, he fiddles with a radio (or, what she assumes is a radio) with the sonic screwdriver until it starts to call out mournfully for Major Tom, singing a signal that got sent out into space thousands of years ago all to be picked up by the two of them. Even among aliens, there are commonalities, there are always reality TV shows that play on screens no one is watching (even if the contestants are a little more green... or blue... or translucent than she's used to) and automatic doors that never work right.

Constants in the universe that she'd be lost without, really. The Doctor knows where to look for them.

(Not for the first time, she wonders if that's because of how many humans he's had to curb the homesickness of, or because while she can look up at the stars and know home is still there for her to return to, even if she has no intention of staying, he can't.

Even Timelords must have had reality TV.)

The one constant that can center her like nothing else is food. Everyone in the universe cooks.

“All your memories," the Doctor had started explaining once, and Donna had learned to measure how long he would ramble about something by his tone alone. This voice was the 'at least twenty minutes before he'll take a breath' one. "Are stored away in your hippocampus, rubbing right against where your brain lights up when something hits your tastebuds, so-" Donna had taken those few moments to weigh her willingness to listen to him babble through their entire meal and decided instead to pick up the sandwich he wasn't eating and shove it in his mouth to shut him up. It had worked pretty well.

That’s why, when the Doctor wanders off into the crowd of the party they’re technically crashing and leaves Donna alone, she doesn’t think twice about approaching the buffet table. She’s not having much luck striking up a conversation, so she might as well find something to pass the time. She doesn’t recognize any of the food — hardly surprising when she’s only the third human in the room, as far as she’s seen.

She walks along the table, taking her time and half-wishing the Doctor would come back to keep her company. Maybe he’d gone off and gotten himself kidnapped. She grinned. Now, that would give her something to do and something to gloat about when the doing’s done.

At the end of the table, just as she begins to despair (and contemplate one of the less appealing looking snacks,) there’s a plate of cheesecake. She blinks at it. It doesn’t squirm, or bleed, or make any weird noises when she gingerly scoops a little onto her plate. It’s just cheesecake. Looks like it, smells like it… She picks up a fork and pokes it one more time before breaking off a piece and putting it in her mouth. Tastes like it. It’s deliciously sweet.

She eats the whole piece far too quickly. She only tenses once, a scolding voice creeping up in the back of her head that sounds too much like her mother, but then, she’s a billion miles and thousands of years away. Donna can have as much cheesecake as she damn well pleases.

With a lighter step, Donna takes another piece to wander with. It’s just as good as the first, but she takes the time to savor this one.

”Donna,” the Doctor seems to appear out of nowhere, the only warning of his approach a familiar touch on her back sliding to grip her shoulder for a moment, “oh, you’re going to love this. They’re-“ He stops. She watches the grin on his face suffocate slowly. “What do you have there?” he asks. She’s been in enough life-or-death situations with him that his excited tone dropping so quickly makes her itch with the need to run.

”Cheesecake,” she answers. The Doctor grimaces.

”Right,” he says. “No. You don’t.” Donna looks down at her plate. “Definitely not cheesecake. Very not edible for humans. How long have you been eating that?” Donna feels her appetite drop out of her and pick up a bindle to hitchhike to someone who needs it more.

”I don’t know?” She looks around, which is useless because no one in the future bothers to keep clocks on the wall. They probably just have their alarms microchipped into their brains. The Doctor takes her plate away. He sets it down, and his attention returns to her immediately. His mouth is pinched as he takes her hand in his and starts checking her fingers for… something.

“How much did you have? Stick out your tongue,” he says.

”What?” But his gaze is deadly serious. Donna sticks out her tongue and fumbles her words around it. “One piece. One and a half.” The Doctor stares very closely at her tongue. He lets out a sigh of relief, which she takes as permission to stop looking like a fool and put her tongue back where it belongs.

”You’re alright. You’ll be alright.” She’s not sure which of them he’s reassuring, but if it’s her, he’s not doing a very good job of it. He puts a hand on her shoulder and starts guiding her through the party. “Come on. We’ll take care of this.”

”Take care of what?”

”Just a minor… major… ‘possibly fatal if we don’t handle it’ case of food poisoning. Why are you putting things in your mouth that don’t belong there?”

“You’re always letting me eat alien food!”

“After I’ve made sure it’s safe!”

“Maybe you should have warned me that death by cake was an option-” She cuts herself off as she frowns at the hallway he’s leading her down now that they’ve escaped the party. “The TARDIS is the other way.”

”I know.” She turns her gaze suspiciously onto him. He dropped the argument far too quickly for him not to be playing it up for her sake.

“So… we’re going to whatever nurse they have here to pick up the antidote?” The Doctor makes a face that’s answer enough.

”Not quite.” He herds her along to a door near the end of the hallway. The automatic door clicks twice at them like it’s annoyed at having to do its job, and then it only opens up halfway, leaving them to have to scoot in sideways one after the other. Donna goes first.

Another constant in the universe: everyone has toilets. Even species who don’t need toilets create toilets, though those were less than useful to Donna and she really didn’t feel like marveling at universal similarities when she needed to go. Bathrooms also only came in two types, through which you could tell how much the janitors (another thing that everyone had) were being paid: clean enough to eat off the floor or so disgusting that Donna would seriously consider just waiting until they got back to the TARDIS.

This one was, thankfully, the former. Donna breathed a sigh of relief before remembering why the Doctor had brought her here in the first place. He spoke before she could ask. “There’s no antidote for this. Luckily, it’s also extremely slow to break down.”

Donna can put two and two together.

”You want me to throw up the cake.” It isn’t a question. The Doctor treats it like one.

”Sooner rather than later, yeah.” He rocks back on his heels. Donna peers around. No stalls here, but there are identifiable toilets, which is more than some places can boast of. “I’ll turn around if you want some privacy.”

”I can’t.”

”Sure you can, just-” He unsubtly mimes sticking his finger down his throat. Donna glowers at him.

“And I’m telling you,” she repeats, “that doesn’t work.”

”How do you know that?” Donna doesn’t answer him. The Doctor grits his teeth together and looks to the side. “Okay. I’ll…” He trails off. “I’ll help?”

”Help?” Donna repeats back to him, incredulous. The Doctor turns back to the automatic door, which has taken its sweet time closing and clicks angrily at him when he moves in range again. He whips up the sonic screwdriver in a flash and quiets the door. The sensor above goes dead, locking it.

“Donna, we have to get it out of you,” he says. “Trust me when I say this is the quickest, least unpleasant way we can do this.” She does trust him. That doesn’t mean she has to like it.

”So what?” She glances down to the screwdriver he’s fiddling with, almost nervously. “Are you going to sonic my insides?”

”What? No!” The screwdriver disappears into one of his pockets. “Look, I can just- I can help.”

”How?” she demands.

“I can make it happen,” he replies. “If you can’t do it yourself.”

Donna fixes him with a look. It clicks.

“You are not sticking your fingers down my throat!” She takes a step back and even sweeps a hand in front of her to protect the distance between them.

”Donna-” he starts, stubbornly, but on equal footing like that, she won’t give any more ground than he will.

”Stick your fingers somewhere more useful!”

”Donna.” He tries again, but there’s no argument in it this time. His voice is quiet and serious. His eyes plead with her to let him help. (He’s doing that on purpose, she knows he is, because no one could unintentionally look so despairing. And it’s still working on her.)

”…It’s really going to kill me if we don’t, isn’t it?” she asks. She doesn’t want to look at it. Can’t. Danger is something they’re supposed to be able to run away from.

”Yes,” he confirms. There’s a reassuring lightness to his voice as he continues, stepping forward and waiting to see if she pulls back again. She doesn’t. “Death by cake. Agonizing. Embarrassing. How do I explain that to your mom and granddad?” Donna snorts. It isn’t anywhere close to a laugh. The Doctor is close enough to touch her now, and he does, hands wrapped around her own and squeezing as she takes a deep breath.

”We’ve done weirder, I guess,” she says.

”I definitely have,” he says. “You’ve got a much nicer mouth than most of the ones I’ve gone poking around in.” He squeezes her hands a second time. She looks down at them, at his fingers firmly wrapped around her, his thumb rubbing the back of her right hand.

“You’d better wash them first,” she says. This close, she can see the Doctor’s relief in the minute drop of his shoulders and the way the lines around his eyes relax into something happier. Her hands still feel warm when he lets them go. She tucks them close to her chest almost instinctively, like she can keep a little of his presence with her.

She has to pick out a toilet. The locked door means privacy, but the lack of stalls still sets some part of her on edge. Lavatory instincts. The desire not to be seen when she’s about to be at her lowest. No one invites a friend in to watch them throw up after having too much to drink at a party. The last time she must have had anyone around for that, she’d barely been in double digits. She wasn’t sure exactly who it had been, but she remembered having her hair held back to keep it clean while she was miserably sick.

She got down on the floor next to the toilet. A moment later, the sink the Doctor was using had switched off, and she could hear him pad over.

“Ready?” he asks as he gets down beside her. She takes a breath.

”No?” She turns to him. “What should I…?”

”Try not to bite me.” Donna’s mouth twitches up for a brief moment.

”No promises.”

The Doctor puts his other hand over hers again, but his fingers rest on her chin first. His touch is very light, very still, waiting to see how she reacts. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips. They feel chapped. He waits a moment before moving, lifting his fingers to place two of them against her bottom lip this time.

“Should I stick my tongue out again?” she asks. It’s strange to speak with him touching her lip. The pressure of his fingers doesn’t impede her at all, but it is… there. His fingers bump her upper lip at certain sounds. They stay where they were when she’s finished until he answers.

“That would make it easier.” Donna goes to lick her lips again without thinking, but when she bumps a finger, she sucks her tongue right back into her mouth, slightly mortified. And then she snorts another almost-laugh because she has no idea what else she can do with the feeling. The Doctor smiles. He draws his fingers back to let her open her mouth.

She tries to keep her cool. The Doctor’s finger barely brushes her tongue, and… she bites him. And her tongue. Not hard enough to hurt, but they both hiss in surprise. The Doctor retreats, and she can see the pale indent of her own teeth on the top of his index finger.

”Sorry.”

“It’s fine. Again?” She nods. This time, the Doctor lifts his other hand and places two fingers at the edge of her mouth, firm against her lower canine and lip and holding them open. She breathes, trying to relax. She doesn’t do a very good job of it. This time, when she feels his finger touch her tongue, she doesn’t bite down. Couldn’t now if she tried, but she’s proud of herself for keeping that reflex under control.

Having his finger in her mouth is… odd. He delves in with purpose. She can feel the pad of his finger slide back along her tongue as his knuckles rub against her teeth. She can hear herself breathing around it.

He still goes slow, and so it doesn’t feel like an intrusion as much as it does an exploration she’s submitted to. Minute movements of her tongue feel amplified when they rub against his finger. A moment later and his nail bumps up against her soft palate. His eyes narrow and his finger slides deeper until Donna feels the urge to swallow around it.

”Hm.” He frowns. She did warn him. “You don’t have a very strong gag reflex.”

She tries to respond and resorts to making an insulted noise in the back of her throat when she can’t.

“I can still trigger it. Give me a minute.” She makes a questioning noise as his finger withdraws. He keeps her mouth open with his other hand. His thumb rests along her jaw, grounding her. Gently, he inserts his middle finger next to his index the second time he goes probing in her mouth. She grunts in discomfort.

She wonders if she should close her eyes. She would, except that whenever she tenses or makes a sound, his gaze jumps up to meet hers. It’s comforting to know that they’re stuck in this strangeness together.

Breathing around two fingers feels more difficult. They squish against her tongue as they push back to her throat. Sensation becomes less sure the further back they are, until she can mostly feel a pressure that makes her want to pull away. She clenches the bottom of her dress up in her fists to keep still. The Doctor’s knuckles bump her teeth as he probes around in her throat.

It starts as a tingling sensation. Donna frowns. The Doctor pushes somewhere uncomfortable, and she makes an involuntary noise, her eyes welling up. He looks up to her again, and his sure expression is the only thing that keeps her calm.

He withdraws a little. “Breathe,” he says, and Donna does, once, before he orders, “and stop.”

The constant sound of her own breathing freezes at his word. He pushes his fingers back in.

Donna feels an awful choking sensation, her throat convulsing around some obstruction, and then a wave of nausea has her grabbing at the Doctor’s hand. He yanks his fingers out quickly as she bows forward over the toilet and throws up. Her throat burns.

Donna sucks in a breath when it’s over. It hurts. Her mouth feels sour and disgusting. She blinks to see what mess she’s made, but aside from a splatter that she cringes from on the toilet’s side, she got the rest of it where it was supposed to go.

She inhales again. Her eyes are watery.

The Doctor is holding her hair. She only realizes that as she comes back to herself, but he’s got it all in his hand, the other on her shoulder holding her still. He lets go, smoothing her hair down back into place. Donna shuts her eyes to feel it better.

”Tell me it’s over,” she mutters. The Doctor doesn’t say anything. She forces her eyes open, unformed tears blurring her vision. “Doctor. Please.”

”Just one more time. I promise.” Donna makes a face, squeezing her eyes shut. She spits into the toilet, but that does very little to get rid of the sour taste flooding her mouth.

“That better not be the hand that was in my mouth,” she mumbles. The Doctor stops touching her hair, and she regrets calling attention to it. She forces herself to sit up straight again and opens her mouth. She feels disgusting.

The Doctor touches her cheek this time before he secures her mouth open with his fingers. He doesn’t even look grossed out about touching her after she’s thrown up.

He uses two fingers from the start this time. Donna’s jaw aches slightly. The Doctor’s fingers taste marginally better than the inside of her own mouth right now, and that’s some kind of relief. She’s never had cause to think about it before, but he tastes like… Well, he just tastes like some bloke. How fingers are supposed to taste, like skin and the salt of sweat. Not unpleasant, not enjoyable, and not alien at all.

“Hold your breath,” he says. This time, she can brace herself as each sensation comes. The growing pressure of his fingers touching things he shouldn’t. The catch in her throat. The spasms. He pulls his fingers away. This time, when she lurches forward, she can feel the way the Doctor catches her shoulders on the way, helping her get everything into the toilet. He’s got ahold of her hair a second later, keeping it out of her way as her stomach’s contents are dragged out of her.

Tears streak down her cheeks this time. She sniffs, and even the inside of her nose feels like it’s burning this time. She swallows, a mistake that makes her gag again, and then spits up bile from the back of her throat.

“That’s it,” the Doctor is saying. He’s rubbing her back. It’s the only good thing she can feel right now. “It’s over. You’re safe.” She feels his lips press to her temple as she gasps in air, and then his own relieved exhale. “You’re safe.”

Donna groans miserably.

The Doctor only moves a little to flush the toilet for her. She slumps into him, and he wraps an arm around her, resting his head atop hers.

“Never eating alien food again,” she mutters. “From now on, you’re bringing me back to Earth, and we’re ordering take-out.”

“What about that little place on Muscolane?” he asks.

”…One exception for Muscolane.” Leaning against him like this, she can feel his chuckle as well as hear it.

He helps her to her feet. She wipes at her eyes and her nose as he brings her over to the sink. She doesn’t even bother to question it when he picks up a towel to wash her face off with. Donna stands perfectly still for him as he brushes it over her mouth and chin. She balks a little more at him picking a small paper cup from a dispenser and filling it before holding it for her to drink from. There’s something so tremendously earnest about him doing it that she allows it anyway. She sips slowly, fills her mouth and swirls it around, and then spits it into the sink as the Doctor refills the cup again.

She takes it from him this time and drinks it at her own pace. He starts washing his hands, and her gaze darts down to his sleeve and a very conspicuous stain on it. She should feel embarrassed about that, but she’s too worn out for it. Besides, he knew what he was getting into.

Someone rudely bangs on the door the Doctor locked. Or broke. Those words usually mean the same thing with him. The Doctor sneaks a glance at her, and when the pounding comes again, followed by demands to be let in, they both have to choke down giggles.

“Back to the TARDIS?” he asks.

To answer, she takes his hand.

(Enjoyed it? Any interaction is welcomed. You can even support me on Ko-Fi <3)

#anyway. go read about ten sticking his fingers down donna’s throat to make her vomit.#its about friendship. and trust. and the intimacy of your bestie seeing u be gross without judgment.#and also about someone putting their fingers. in ur mouth.

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