Here's a Doctor Who fic that should be done soon. (Patreon)

Osgood was quite liking the Nethersphere. Of course, being killed had been a huge inconvenience. She’d had a lot of things to do and she was sure there were several people who had been relying on her for a work that would never be completed. It really bothered her. She had also been expecting some packages, and there’d been a number of coupons she hadn’t used, and she was pretty sure she’d left a tab or two on her computer open to some Johnlock fic she would not like anyone else to see. Still, the Nethersphere. She’d gotten to meet Peter Cushing! Sure, most of the really big names were still being mobbed and she didn’t want to be a big fangirl bother—Shakespeare was impossible to get next to—but she had found Amy Pond and Rory Williams, who’d quite liked exchanging stories with her about the Doctor and acting them out a bit. There was also a boy named Adric who claimed to know the Doctor very well, but Osgood didn’t like talking to him as much. There was also an inordinately high number of people, it seemed, who had been saved by the Doctor, or not saved, and it was a fun project to play Twenty Questions with strangers, see if she could find if they had met the Doctor and, if so, which Doctor it had been. She’d only been at it for a few months, but she’d gotten a few cases where she had multiple viewpoints of the same incident—usually Daleks, a lot of people seemed to die when Daleks were involved—and it was very exciting trying to Rashomon all the different eyewitness accounts together. She thought she’d write a book, well, she called it a book; more of an epic detailing the Doctor’s travels from his first incarnation all the way through to the latest regeneration. People were very interested in reading what she’d written so far. She thought, with so many dead actors and writers and producers and directors milling around, she might convince them to put the Doctor on the screen. Just imagine it—the Doctor in an anime! Of course, she was a bit lonely—had thought she’d have a bit more time to date before she met her Maker, or at least was put on the Maker waiting list. And it was a bit hard to compete when there were literal Amazons on the dating scene. Not to mention Marilyn Monroe, who went through men like tissue, that trash. Some things never changed. “Oh, God, Kate! Don’t take this the wrong way, but why can’t you be dead? Why don’t you come eat me? Not in a zombie way, but in a—” Osgood groaned in frustration. Steady throbbing built inside her body, but was stubbornly missing something. The shower spray wasn’t a bad substitute for being eaten out—well, it didn’t feel like one—but Christ, to die a virgin and then get turned down by Lord Byron… Osgood put that out of her mind, stubbornly returning to her imagination. “Eat me, Kate, please, make me come, I’m almost there! The heat—in my body—yes, yes, YES!” She chanted as her pleasure smoldered from a warm glow to an eruption, then let the water beat on her burning clit until the sensitive bud could stand no more. As her orgasm subsided, Osgood realized she was broiling. Back when she was alive, her apartment had never had any regular, hot running water. The Nethersphere wasn’t heaven, but it did have hot showers. Too hot. The stifling heat made it a little hard to breathe. She shut off the water and threw the pebbled-glass door open, gulping in the cool air that marbled her wet skin. Her legs were wobbly and she felt drained of all strength, but she still forced herself to draw a towel before her pleasingly damp body started in on the icicles. Then she leisurely toweled herself dry, affectionately rubbing at her thighs, feeling her clit tinge again when she dabbed it with the towel. It went back to sleep as she blow-dried her long hair, then brushed it as she studied herself in the bathroom’s mirror. Why such poor luck with the opposite sex—with any sex? She had an alright body. A bit rounded, yes, but that came with her big, solid breasts and the large brown nipples that capped them so perfectly. So she didn’t have a tiny waist. Her hips were flared, her ass was good enough to warrant tighter pants, and she really did think the glasses looked cute. Wearing contacts just let all the attention wander to her chubby cheeks—which were also cute, but not so cute she wanted them to be the first thing someone marked about her face. Maybe she should start a diet. If a near-death experience could be a wake-up call for some people, how much more so an actual death? Osgood had seen Cass Elliot running around and she looked great. There was a sharp knock at the door. A pounding, really. Osgood grabbed her robe and adjusted her glasses, hurrying out into her apartment to answer it. Odd, she didn’t know anyone who’d died, unless Nana had finally kicked the bucket… “Danny!” a voice yelled through the door. “Danny, are you in there? Danny Pink, I swear to heaven—“ The voice, and the woman, stopped abruptly as Osgood opened the door. She, of course, recognized Clara Oswald, who had a little Mean Girls clique of reincarnations running ‘round the Nethersphere, making fun of the wigs on the 18th-centuriers. This one, though, she could just tell was the real thing. “Oh God, you died?” Osgood clutched her heart. “The Doctor must be so sad—“ “What? No! Who are you? Wait, Osgood, right?” “Yes.” Osgood wasn’t sure if she was supposed to salute or offer her hand—maybe say ‘boo’? “Missy killed me.” “Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.” Osgood shrugged. “It happens. Honestly, at least I went out with one of the big’uns. Imagine dying because of a Macra!” Clara looked at her askew. “Yes. Right. Listen, I’m having a near-death experience.” “Oh my!” Osgood’s hands flew to her mouth this time. “It’s alright, I’m in a hospital, they’ve put me in ice and stopped my heart, it’s all very Flatliners. Di’ya see Flatliners?” “Yes.” Osgood nodded. “I’ve had a lot of time to catch up on Netflix up here.” “You have Netflix?” “It’s Heaven—sorta—so yeah.” “Hmm.” Clara stepped inside, brushing past Osgood to begin looking through her rooms and closets. “Danny! Danny, you in here?” A bit unwillingly, Osgood closed the door behind her, figuring it might as well just be one person who saw her in a bathrobe. “There’s no one in here but me. I’m not very happy about it either—“ “I heard you talking to someone before I came in,” Clara insisted. “Danny, have you been having sex with this woman! I won’t care, really—I mean, I think you can do better, but you’re dead, I’ll understand!” Osgood pulled her robe tighter around herself. “There’s no one in here. I was—talking. To myself.” Clara rolled her eyes. ”This is Danny Pink’s apartment, I checked with the weird secretary guy!” “It used to be. He left.” “Left?” Clara demanded, eying Osgood again. “What do you mean, left?” Osgood felt a bit smaller than normal. “Something about becoming a kid’s imaginary friend?” “A what?” Osgood shrunk some more. “Well, the kid was being bullied, or so I heard—there aren’t many career paths in the afterlife, you understand. It’s that or being a poltergeist…” Clara raised her hands, forefingers and thumbs pinched together as if she were crushing very tiny Osgoods between them. “Are you telling me… that after Danny died in a car accident… then blew himself up as a Cyberman… then sent a little Muslim boy back from the afterlife… that now he’s ducked me to become a Fairly Oddparent?” “Well, no, he doesn’t grant wishes. I think it’s really just moral support.” “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had sex?” Clara demanded. “A… bit?” “A bit! I came all the way to this crappy robot heaven for him, and he’s still not here!” Clara roared. Osgood didn’t like shouting. “Well, I’m sure if he’d known you were coming… maybe if you’d told a cancer patient or someone to pass along a message…” “Who were you talking to?!” Clara really demanded. “No one! Nothing! I just talk to myself sometimes when I masturbate!” Clara blinked. “What?” “What?” Osgood replied. She shuffled her glasses on her nose. “You…” Clara looked Osgood over, as if for the first time. “Oh. You were in the shower.” “Yes.” Osgood took Clara’s meaning. “No!” Osgood realized Clara’s meaning was right. “Yes.” “Don’t they have, like, hunky angels up here for that?” “No. If you’re Rock Hudson. No, mostly no…” “Masturbating in Heaven. Good to know that doesn’t get you kicked out.” Clara planted her hands on her hips. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to imply… you and Danny, you’re probably not his type. I mean, you’re really pretty, you might be—“ “I don’t think I’m anyone’s type. Little bit a virgin.” “Oh.” Clara looked at her closely. “They don’t—give you to a Muslim bloke for that?” “No. They don’t even ask.” Clara sighed, knocking at the wall. “I thought I’d be catching up with Danny right now. I guess time works differently here, so I’m stuck here a couple hours while they resuscitate me. Kinda boring when I’m not reuniting with, ya know, my lost love.” “Well, I could introduce you to Michael Crichton, if you want.” “Nah.” Clara’s eyes traced over Osgood again. They seemed to have a knack for that. “Virgin masturbating in Heaven, huh?” “I wouldn’t call it masturbation, exactly… more of a forced autoerotic response—really, it was the shower water doing it, not me.” “Sounds like you could use another pair of hands.” “What?” Osgood sounded shrill. She hated when she sounded shrill. “I am not waiting around for Danny fucking Pink to finish being a vampire or whatever he pulls next to get out of marrying me!” “Being dead was to get out of—“ “And you’re not so bad looking…” “I’m not?” “And with those glasses, you have to be a little gay.” “Thank… you?” Clara began to undress. Her sweater and buttondown shirt and pleated skirt all looked very complicated, but Clara seemed to have a system that slipped her right out of them. “I’ve got some time to kill and I’m an old hand at lesbianism thanks to a lizard and her maid. We should fuck.” “Okay, I mean, wait, no—“ Clara ripped Osgood’s robe away. Osgood could no longer speak. Probably for the best.