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ladyblogger-margie · 3 years

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Playoff Pressure

Pairing: Will “Ironhead” Miller (Triple Frontier) x F!Reader

Summary: Will and F!Reader watch an NHL playoff game together and take their relationship to the next level. Reader is a lifelong hockey fan who cares very much about the sport and their team.

Warnings: 18+ Only (general smut, unprotected sex, oral sex M!recieving, creampie, cum play)

Word Count: 2580

a/n: This is SO self indulgent and written in the spirit of the NHL playoffs happening now. I’m a Toronto Maple Leaf fan, but I’ve tried to keep the fandom neutral for the story as well as keep the aspects of the reader character fairly neutral other than the specifics of being a hockey fan.

MY MASTERLIST

Will came back from the kitchen carrying two bottles of beer in one hand and a box of pizza balanced in the other. You and he were both wearing your team gear as you settled into the couch together to watch the next playoff game for your favorite hockey team. The NHL playoffs were in full swing and there was just something so exciting about playoff hockey.

Will was more of a baseball fan before he met you, but you’ve done your part in bringing out his passion for the game you had loved all your life. Now it was tradition to watch games together, and when playoff time hit, everything else took a backseat to cheering on your favorite team.

You two watched the pregame show with the sound off to fill in the chatter with your own thoughts and predictions. Drinking a couple of beers and enjoying each other’s company. Even though you didn’t live with each other, you basically spent every night together. During hockey season it was at your place, and during the baseball season it was over at his.

As the puck drop approached, your pre-game jitters rose in anticipation. You cared very deeply about the game, and Will knew and respected that. It took you a while to show him that side of you in the first place. In the past your enthusiasm had been met with skepticism or humor, and things with Will were so great you had been scared to open that part of your heart to him.

But when you did, Will surprised you with not only being supportive, but taking the time to learn about the game to be able to experience it along with you. One day you were settled in to watch the game and Will was asking you questions about what ‘offside’ means, and the next he was talking about the ways the team could use a cycle on their powerplay more effectively.

Benny had let it slip that Will had been studying hockey and learning all he could so he could participate in your chatter where you had previously been talking either to yourself or the screen. Frankie had smacked Benny upside the head at his slip up, Will having sworn the guys to secrecy.

“But why doesn’t he want me to know?” you asked, confused.

“He wants you to think he already knew everything,” Benny shrugged.

You dropped it with the guys, but it didn’t slip your mind later that night when you were getting ready for bed.

“Why didn’t you want me to know you’ve been studying hockey?” you asked him.

Will froze as he pulled back the sheets, “What makes you say I have?”

You chuckled, “Benny told me.”

Will’s shoulders slumped, “I just wanted you to think I knew this stuff already, because the person you always thought you’d be with would know hockey.”

You winced, regretting the words you forgot you said on your first date, carelessly, without any real significance. You felt bad he remembered that, especially since you hadn’t.

“You’re the person I want to be with, and it means a lot to me that you’re learning about things I care about,” you said, reaching for Will and pulling him in for a kiss, “I don’t care if you know everything, I’m just so touched you care enough about me to engage in my interests.”

Will kissed you, and that was that. He stopped researching on his own and instead asked you his questions. The whole thing had brought you both closer together.

Which brings you to today’s playoff game.

The puck dropped and you took a large gulp of your fresh, ice cold beer to settle your nerves. Will handed you a slice of pizza and kissed your cheek. He knew better than to try and steal your attention from the play.

When the first intermission arrived, you felt some of the tension release from your body, taking a deep breath to collect yourself as the teams took a break and you muted the intermission chatter.

“This is so much more intense than the regular season,” Will commented.

You chuckled, “Isn’t it great?”

You knocked back the last sip of your beer and set it gingerly on the crappy coffee table under your feet.

“I hate this coffee table,” you muttered, frowning at it, “Yours is so much nicer.”

Will smiled, “We could get rid of this one,” he suggested.

“Then I’d have to find another one, and I’m just not in the mood to spend that kind of money,” you sighed and heaved yourself up off the couch and headed for the kitchen.

When you returned with two more ice cold beers, you saw Will watching the television, still on mute, very intently.

“Did you want me to turn the volume back on?” you asked.

“I didn’t mean that you should go out and buy a new coffee table,” Wil said, his tone hinting at frustration.

You handed Will a beer and took a sip of your own, “Then what did you mean?”

“We could get rid of this coffee table, and I could bring mine here,” Will said, taking his eyes off the screen and locking them on you instead.

“Are you planning on getting a new table then?” you asked, confused about the whole conversation.

Before Will could answer, you noticed the second period about to start.

“Oh, pin in that, game’s back,” you explain and turn the volume back up, your attention completely on the television, oblivious to the tension in Will’s shoulders.

Over the course of the intense and honestly fantastically exciting twenty minutes of play, Will spent most of the time watching you. You found it distracting. You were always so overwhelmed by him, consumed by him when he looked at you that way. He should have known better than to distract you like that. But you were frustrated with yourself to be annoyed by his attention when you knew just how lucky you were.

“Babe,” you said, not looking at him as you kept your attention on the game, “Are you watching?”

You saw him smile and lean into your side to place a scratchy kiss on your cheek.

“Sorry, sweetheart, I’m paying attention, I promise,” he whispered against your skin, sending a shiver through your body.

He started to pull away, but you reached up to hold his face close to yours, your attention still on the game. He understood your intention and allowed your attention to stay with your team as he trailed gentle kisses along your jaw and then to your neck. He sucked a hickey to the exposed flesh there.

Your team scored, causing you to jump to your feet in enthusiasm, pulling yourself away from Will suddenly. He laughed to himself before he got up to cheer alongside you and listen to you break down the whole play and jump around.

By the end of the second period you were full-on jittery. Your knees were bouncing and your heart was racing. When the horn blared you sprung to your feet, muting the intermission chatter and stood in front of the television to begin preaching your thoughts on the game so far and what your team needed to do to send this game home.

Will was a patient and attentive listener. He chipped in thoughts of his own when you paused for a breath, but mostly nodded along in agreement with what you were saying. It was so liberating to be yourself so completely with someone and Will gave that to you.

Just before the third period started Will stood up to kiss you deeply, making your knees weak and your mind go blank. You sank into him, returning the kiss and wrapping your arms around the back of his head, your shoulders propped up on his shoulders. There wasn’t any space between your bodies.

Then he turned the volume back up on the television just in time for the third period puck drop and said, “Let’s bring it home.”

You settled into the couch next to him, gripping his knee tightly with your anxiety over the game. Though you weren’t settled in for long. The game got very intense, and the score was still tight so you ended up on your feet, rocking back and forth on your heels.

When your goalie made a spectacular save, you jumped up and down and swung your arms wildly, nearly clocking Will in the face. Thankfully his reflexes saved you the guilt of incidental contact and your night continued injury free.

In the final few minutes of the game, you were a wreck. Your team was winning, but with a game this quick there was no telling how quickly the tides could turn and you’ve witnessed enough upsets to know better than to count your wins before the buzzer.

Will held your hand and stood next to you as you stood watching the clock intently. When the final buzzer blew you and Will cheered loudly and jumped up and down in celebration. You were so thrilled your team won you couldn’t stop smiling. You pulled Will in for a big kiss, smiling the whole time.

Finally catching your breath, you collapsed to the couch.

“I’ve got all this nervous energy with nowhere to put it,” you laughed.

“I can think of one way to blow off some of this steam,” Will suggested.

“Blow?” you said as you slipped off the couch to your knees and you crawled between Will’s legs.

He smiled down at you and pinched your chin between his thumb and finger as he looked you over, licking his lips.

“You sure this is how you want to celebrate?” he asked.

“Yes, I want to share the good vibes,” you said, unbuckling his pants and slipping his half hard cock out and pumping it in your hand.

He hissed a sound of relief as he grew harder in your hand. It wasn’t long until he was fully erect in all his impressive glory. You licked your lips and took him down your throat until you choked. You hollowed out your cheeks and sucked him down deep and hard, bobbing your head in his lap.

He gripped the back of your neck, pushing himself deeper inside you with a low grunt. You felt the wetness gather in your panties as he took control of the pace and fucked your face with his pulse raising and breathing quickening.

You could tell he was close, and in a tease, you pulled off his dick with a pop. He flopped his head backwards on the back of the couch.

“Sweetheart,” he whimpered, “What are you doing to me?”

You pulled your pants and panties down so you were naked except for your team shirt and you tugged off his pants completely this time.

You kissed him, “Don’t worry, baby, I’ll take care of you.”

You grind your hips against him, dragging his thick cock through your slick folds. His hands travel up under your shirt to caress your breasts. He doesn’t remove it, and he’s still wearing his too so you match in your semi-nakedness and full on team spirit.

You line him up at your entrance, and slowly lower yourself into his lap, feeling him stretch you out as you push down on him. His hands don’t stop traveling over your whole body, pinching, brushing, caressing. When they settled on your hips and he’s got them in a tight grip, he bucks underneath you and drops his head into the crook of your neck.

You feel how he fills you up inside as you grow the friction between your bodies. Your hands tangled up in his short hair. You rocked up and down on his thick cock, your body trembling under his touch. You could feel the heat rising in your core as he pressed against that spot inside you.

He dropped a hand from your hips and snuck his thumb to your clit. He rubbed circles on your bundle of nerves as he bucked up underneath you. You gripped his shoulders tightly, desperate to stay on as he took control.

Suddenly he flipped you off his lap and set you on your knees on the couch. He lined himself up behind you and thrust into you with a wet squelch. You braced yourself against the couch cushion and pushed back against him. He had a tight grip on your hips as he pounded into you.

You felt the heat growing again in your core as he rubbed his finger against your clit in time with his pounding thrusts. When you came, drenching his cock in your slick, you moaned out his name.

He pulled you up to press your back into his chest to thrust up into you. You reach behind you to hold his face in your hand. He bites into your neck, the pressure applied directly over the hickey from earlier.

“Come inside me, baby,” you coo in his ear.

It doesn’t take more than that before he cums inside you, painting your walls as your pussy pulses around him. He holds you close to him as he tries to settle his breathing which blows hot by your ear.

He pulls out of you slowly, replacing his cock with his fingers to push around his cum and your slick inside you. He gathered it on his fingertips and pushed it inside of you over and over again. He finger-fucked you through a second, surprise, orgasm that ripped the strength from your body and the only thing keeping you up was his embrace.

He gently spun you around to lay you on your back on the couch. He crawled into your arms and settled on top of you, smothering you delightful beneath him. His head was nuzzled between your breasts as you rubbed his back and felt his cum slide out of you.

“I meant we should move in together,” Will whispered against your skin.

“Hmm?” you asked, not following his thought.

“I’m taking the pin out of the conversation,” he explained.

“The conversation about my crappy coffee table?” you asked, still confused.

“I think we should dump that crappy coffee table and replace it with mine, but I think we should keep my couch, it’s bigger than this one and matches the lazy-boy I’m bringing with me,” he said, still talking against the shirt covering your breasts.

“Wait, you’re serious? You want to live together?” you ask, propping yourself up to your elbows and he lifted his head to look you in your eyes.

“Yes, we might as well since we spend every night together anyway,” he said with a shrug.

You pulled him up by his shoulders and yanked on his shirt to pull him in for a kiss.

“Yes!” you practically shrieked in his ear, “Let’s do it!”

He pulled you into his lap not caring about the mess to kiss you deeper.

“We should get a new place,” you suggest.

“With a den we can convert into our own sports bar,” he said.

“Baseball in the summers, hockey in the winter, beer year round,” you explain with full sincerity.

“As you wish,” he said.

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up,” Will said as he led you to the bathroom, “We can start looking for a place after.”

Then he led you to the shower and towards the next chapter of your lives together.

Tags: @autumnleaves1991-blog

#will miller #triple frontier #charlie hunnam #will miller x f!reader #hockey #Will Ironhead Miller x F!Reader #will ironhead miller #fanfic

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musicallisto · 3 years

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omg okay so I seen your post about your layout and I only followed you a few days ago but I’ve just started up on this blog and was wondering if you had any tips? honestly literally anything would be helpful your theme is just beautiful

hi! so first of all, thank you so much, it means the world that you enjoy my theme 💜

I've tried to think of some tips - though I wouldn't say my blog is a "reference" in terms of beauty at all, and these tips are not necessarily universal, but they work for me and I hope you find them useful!

— a few words of advice to new bloggers who wish to improve their (mobile) theme;

➣ first of all: let your theme be you. this is the most important point I think, and that's why I'm mentioning it first. compared to other social media platforms, tumblr offers you a wide array of customization options from the way your blog looks to what you reblog, and in my humble opinion you will never be entirely satisfied with your theme if it's not representative of what you like, or how you feel at the moment. my theme has a majority of purple & lilac because they're my favorite colors — it also references the sky because I'm really passionate about it. before even reading a word of my blog, you already know two things about me: 1) I love purple and 2) I love the sky. if you get the reference, you might even know that 3) I like playchoices and more specifically blades of light and shadow, based on my profile picture. let your imagination be wild, express yourself! like pastel colors? go all for it! love flowers? flower up that whole blog. your layout is the first thing people will see about you, and first impressions matter ッ

➣ have your icon and header match. the way I build my themes is very often as follows: I find (or make!) a beautiful icon of someone I like, then I scout tumblr in search of a matching header, and lastly I have the background and text colors match the set. you can also decide you want, say, a yellow or gold theme this time and look for icons & headers in that range. finding matching colors based on the header is easy for me since I love "cropped" headers or those that have a ripped paper effect, and allow the background color to kind of bleed onto the rest of the page. however if you have a regular-sized, rectangular header, you can easily find matching colors/palettes with websites like this one.

➣ keep your bio short. now this is entirely personal preference, but a very long bio tends to turn me off. mine is maybe a little too short, but I think it contains the most vital information about me: how to address me, my age, and what I do on here. if you want to dig deeper, you can click the links — never underestimate the power of links in your bio! imo, your bio should be somewhere between 1-3 lines of text, enough to add whatever quote you resonate with or important information or links you want people to know at first glance (pronouns, age...) but this is entirely subjective! if you want to go for a very long bio, by all means, do it!

➣ have a little trademark. this is totally optional, but a lot of blogs that I follow and whose aesthetics I love have their own little quirks when it comes to formatting their posts, or the way they speak in general. maybe they don't use capital letters ever, maybe they use the small text feature and italicize all their ponctuation like @meiitanoia, maybe they are known for their use of the ™ symbol like @lxncelot. maybe they have an emoji of choice! mine is the purple heart 💜 ; it's my Brand. I also use a lot of little symbols, stuff these little bad boys — anywhere I can, start all my important posts with ˚ ༘✶, and write all my titles with messletters. it's all about finding what you like best to express yourself, like figuring out your fashion style. once again, this is probably the most optional out of all these tips, but it's sure to crown your theme. (and, indirectly, your tumblr persona, because we are visual animals and will inevitably form an image of you more or less based on the look of your blog. no presssure, though!)

➣ for writers: have an organized navigation post/tagging system. this could arguably be extended to gifmakers and other editors, but I'm not really one of them so I couldn't really tell you. if your blog is organized, easy to maneuver — if it's basically impossible to get lost on your blog, then it will give an impression of well-kept and beautiful, like a maze with trimmed hedges where roses nest. i recommend having a fandom list, a masterlist of your works, maybe a post for your rules and what you're willing to write or not. you can also make little banners at the top of each post, like I do — but the one thing I find the most life-changing are dividers. you can use them anywhere, they're elegant, super easy to make in a variety of colors that go well with your theme; it's basically accessorizing your blog. a pleasure. It requires the tiniest bit of knowledge with photoshop or other softwares of the sort, but there are plenty of tutorials if you want to learn!

➣ lastly, keep it fun. don't fret about having the most beautiful theme or get anxious over whether or not the colors work well together or people are going to like the layout or not. a blog can only be as pretty as the person behind it! as long as you are having fun, showing what you want to show, posting what you want to post, and saying what you want to say, people will love your blog for its sincerity and good vibes, I can assure you!

#hope this was somewhat useful!#don't hesitate if you have more precise questions #cityofstaars #useful

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katehuntington · 4 years

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Title: All I Want - part three Fandom: Supernatural Characters: Reader, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester (Bobby Singer, Castiel Mary Winchester and many more mentioned) Pairing: Dean x Reader Series summary: Sam and Dean come across an object that could be the solution to Michael. The Pearl of Baozhu grants the beholder’s deepest desire. Once Dean focuses on his wish, the archangel remains caged in his mind however. Instead his former girlfriend Y/N shows up, who was killed in 2010 in Detroit, by no other than Lucifer himself. Summary part three: Still in shock after Y/N’s unexpected return, the Winchesters fill her in on what has happened in the past ten years. Learning about all the ones they have lost, is a little too much for her to take in. Warnings part three: NSFW, 18+ only. Spoilers season 14 episode 13. Angst, fluff. Swearing, alcoholism. Descriptions of flashbacks and memories. Mentions of character death, time in Hell, torture and nightmares. Anxiety, grieving over lost loved one. Confusion that comes with time travel. Word Count: 5377 words Author’s note: Part three of a multi part miniseries, based on the 300th episode “Lebanon”. Beta’d by the lovely @kittenofdoomage, @winchest09, @girl-with-a-fandom-fettish, and @thinkwritexpress-official. Thank you all so much for your feedback!

All I Want Masterlist

“So, long story short,” Y/N summarizes, “Sam jumped into the pit with Lucifer riding piggyback, Cas pulled him out but forgot his soul. There was a civil war in Heaven. Cas declared himself God and released the Leviathan and when those ugly suckers were defeated, our angel buddy and you--” she nods at Dean, “- got sucked into Purgatory, which is a place that actually exists, apparently.”

They are in the kitchen, seated at the four-person table. The hunters raided the liquor cabinet, all in need of a drink after the rather unexpected and staggering turn of events. Y/N takes a shot of whiskey and puts the tumbler down on the varnished wood with a bang, shoving it across and motioning the older Winchester for a refill.

“Meanwhile, Sam hit a dog and you escaped Purgatory, but Cas didn’t. Then there was this whole deal with the tablets and the trials, which almost killed your brother. You let an angel - who actually turned out to be a different angel - possess Sam in order to save him. There’s a second civil war upstairs…” She knocks back her head, downing the glass in one go. “I mean, what is it with those halo idiots? Haven’t they learned anything from watching humanity slaughter each other for centuries?” “Y/N, I know this is a lot, but you need to slow down a bit,” Dean advises, but she snatches the bottle from his hand and pours herself another. “I’m nowhere near done. Where was I?” She looks up at the ceiling of the kitchen for a second while thinking, until it comes to her. “Oh, right! The angels fell, you took on the Mark of Cain, beat that Knight of Hell chick Abaddon, then got yourself killed. Again. But, oh wait, it gets better! You woke up a demon and had a fun summer with Crowley.” Her voice pitches a little higher, a hint of panic audible now. Dean watches her process the information which is so clearly overwhelming her and eyes Sam, who is fixing her something quick to eat behind the kitchen counter. Their gazes lock on each other, both men wondering in silence if telling her the whole truth was a good idea.

“Sam cured you, but you still carried the Mark. You killed Death.” She laughs, cynically. “I mean, c’mon! Death! It’s ironic to say the least. Anyway, the Darkness was released, which - I kid you not - is God’s sister. Oh, and God? Turns out that horrible tween girl novel writer Chuck is actually the almighty creator! Ha!” “Why don’t you eat something? You’re probably hungry,” Sam suggests, putting down a plate in front of her. But Y/N isn’t interested in the sandwich and instead picks up her crystal glass again, having another royal amount of the brown liquor. Holding the tumbler to her lips while letting the whiskey linger in her mouth, she points her index finger at the younger Winchester now, who sits down opposite of the woman from their past.

“Your mom is back from the dead, the British Men of Letters turned out to be stuck up dicks. Lucifer was sprung from the cage, became President of the United States, and knocked up an intern. He had a son, his name is Jack. How am I doing so far?” she rants, setting down the empty glass in front of her. Dean looks at her, a worried frown drawing lines on his forehead. He knows her well enough to sense she needs to blow off steam. Interrupting her might not be his best move, but that doesn’t stop him from growing concerned about her current state of mind.

“There was a rift between our world and this - this Apocalypse world, you called it? And Mary and Lucifer ended up on the wrong side before it closed. Luci killed Cas, Dean was sad, Cas came back. You guys went on a rescue mission, Sam got killed. Again!” She sighs deeply, burying her face in her crossed arms on the table. “Seriously, the amount of times you two have died is giving me a fucking headache.” “Yeah, sorry about that,” Sam says, shooting her a sheepish smile before she continues.

“So Apocalypse!Michael possessed you in order to kill the Devil once and for all.” She looks up again, focusing on Dean. “But he didn’t check out like he promised - shocker, by the way. He wreaked havoc here, then out of the blue let you go. And now you guys live here in this Men of Letters bunker with a Nephilim, an angel and your undead mother.” “That’s about right,” Dean confirms. Y/N lets a breath slip from her lips and stares past him absently, the gears in her head still on overdrive. “I need another drink,” she eventually mutters, not even bothering filling up her tumbler, but taking a swig directly from the bottle. When she sets it back on the table top and lets her fingers slip from the glass, Sam is quick to get up and take the bottle back to the kitchen, putting it away in one of the cabinets; she has had enough for one day. “And I died…”

The younger Winchester turns around and leans over the counter while observing his friend, his knuckles white on the surface. He studies the breadcrumbs that litter the stainless steel surface after he cut her sandwich in two, having difficulty addressing that topic. When Lucifer flung her into that wall with such magnitude that it killed her instantly, Dean lost the woman he loved, but Sam lost his best friend. He didn’t realize how he felt about her demise until after he got his soul back, which somehow made it even worse. Like he didn’t do her justice, didn’t mourn like he should have. He doesn’t have to reply to her words, though, because Dean beats him to it. “On May 10, 2010,” he states, averting his gaze and focusing on his folded hands in front of him, still wrapped around his own whiskey glass. The date is forever etched in his memory. Her mirage haunts him on a regular basis, but on the 10th of May she’s all he can think about, like a fog that refuses to lift at daybreak. It’s one of the hardest days to get through, the day that he misses her the most. Dean’s jaw flexes and he tries to swallow down the pressure that’s gradually building in his chest.

“That’s - that’s in a year and a half,” Y/N stammers, after quick calculation. “At least in whatever time I’m from.” “Yeah, just before the big title fight between the Archangels,” Sam confirms. Y/N glances up at him, then back at Dean, who still can’t force himself to look at her. “Who killed me?” “Lucifer,” Dean recalls, venom in his voice. Her brow lifts up at the reveal. She was killed by the Devil himself? Well, at least that would make a cool inscription on her tombstone. “You guys salted and burned me, right?” she double checks, even though she cannot imagine the Winchesters giving her anything but a hunter’s farewell. Dean pulls at his lip with his teeth, the memory of the burning pyre flashing before his eyes. He remembers it as if it was yesterday. The funeral that made sure her death would be irreversible, permanent. The sight of her body set alight. In order to stop the Apocalypse from happening, he lost his brother and his girl. Sam was suffering endless and horrific torture in the pits of Hell while she was going up in flames before his eyes. God, he was a mess. His brother came home, but looking back now, deep down Dean knows he never really recovered from losing the woman who will forever have his heart. “I did,” he confirms. I did, he said. All of a sudden, Y/N realizes Sam was gone too at this point; Dean didn’t even have his brother to lean on. Pitiful she watches the hunter, who has endured so much already. He lost the two most important people in his life in a day’s time. “Then… how am I back?” she wonders. “You said something about summoning me?” “We found a magical artifact called the Pearl of Baozhu. It grants your biggest wish, basically,” Sam begins to explain. “Apparently, it’s so powerful it doesn’t need remains to resurrect someone.” “And I am your biggest wish?” She chuckles. “What? Not winning the lottery? Peace on Earth?” A small smirk pulls at the corner of Dean’s mouth; oh, he missed her wit. “No, it’s you,” he states after a moment of quiet, finally meeting her gaze.

Astonishment silences her as she stares at him, the pain of having to go through life without her still evident in his eyes. He looks so much wearier than she remembers the tough hunter, the soldier who always marched on and kept grinding. Even after he came back from Hell, the experience that tore open wounds which bled even worse than those inflicted the night the hellhounds took him. Honestly, there were plenty of times she thought he would never recover, whenever he woke up screaming from another nightmare and she had to hold him until he calmed. And yet, he didn’t seem as burdened as he does now, and that is saying something. It’s as if time broke him down bit by bit as he grew older, until there was nothing left but a ruin.

Dean said it’s 2019, which means he’s forty years old now. His frown lines lay deeper, so do the crow’s feet by the corner of his eyes. There’s a scar on his chin that wasn’t there before, covered by his stubble. His hair is a little longer, but only by a quarter of an inch. Age has not done a number on him, because he’s still handsome, but trauma and loss surely have. Knowing that her own death had a substantial part in the neverending sorrow and guilt she knows the hunter carries breaks her heart, because if anything, she would never want to cause him such agony.

“We were together,” she says, ending the silence.

It’s more a realization than it is a question, but Dean nods either way. Her jaw lowers slightly, her mouth opening, but she has no idea what to say. She was frightened when she heard she was on a collision course with death. But now she’s made aware that her future self and Dean are going to face evil as one hell of a power couple, that fear diminishes. She was a teenager when she first started developing feelings for the oldest Winchester brother. She never acted on it, the hunter’s life always getting in the way of their romance. But somehow, despite destiny, despite the horror show that is their reality, they found their way to each other.

Seeing just how much her departure wrecked him, she reaches out, moving her hand across the table to take his. She squeezes softly, running her thumb over his skin, rough from the many fights he’s faced. He visibly relaxes, cherishing the moment he never thought he’d have again. Y/N forces herself to avert her eyes, aware they aren’t alone. She glances at Sam, who watches the two, smiling, but his content expression dissolves when she inadvertently turns the conversation in a harrowing direction. “What about the others? How’s Bobby?” she wonders, oblivious to the painful reply that is to come.

Dean’s face falls, closing his eyes in apprehension. Shit, he wishes he didn’t have to break the bad news to her. Bobby Singer was like a father to all of them, but Y/N spent the majority of her childhood under his wing. After her parents died, he took her in and raised her as his own, made sure she could go to school, that she could be a kid. Hell, he was her father, maybe not genetically, but he was the wise man who taught them that family doesn’t end in blood.

Sam stares back at her, then swallows thickly, letting his head hang. Analyzing his stance, the smile on her lips dies down, frantically searching for an indication that says it isn’t so. When the tall hunter is unable to return her gaze, she fixates on Dean, tears already glazing over her eyes. “Y/N...” He takes her hand in his now, trying to sooth her and cushion the blow, but he knows there’s nothing he can do that would take the pain away that is about to hit her like a freight train. “No...” She shakes her head, unable to accept it. “No no no no...” “I’m so sorry,” he says softly, his heart breaking as he breaks hers.

Her bottom lip begins to tremble, her face contorting as she fights the emotions that quickly overpower her. Shimmering pathways of anguish find their way down her cheeks, eventually falling to land on the wooden surface. Y/N wipes her cheeks dry, but it’s no use, new tears forming faster than she can erase. And so she brings her free hand up to cover her mouth, holding back a sob. “W-when?” she stammers, her voice shaking. “How?” “In 2012. He... he was shot,” Dean explains, trying to get the words across as gingerly as possible.

She shuts her eyes now, her throat closing up and she bites her bottom lip, trying her hardest not to break down in front of the boys. She has so many questions of which the answers terrify her. “Did he die alone?” She barely dares to look up again, meeting Sam’s gaze this time. He shakes his head, offering her a comforting smile. “No, we were right there with him,” he assures. “He’s in Heaven,” Dean consoles, rubbing the pad of his thumb over the back of her hand. “Cas double checked.”

Y/N nods slightly, sniffling as she digests the news. Knowing that he’s in a good place right now doesn’t stop the grief from tearing her apart, because she has no idea how to go through life without her mentor to council her, but at least he’s not suffering anymore. A shuddering breath escapes from her lungs as she collects herself. “What killed him, is it--” “- dead. Yeah, we made sure of that,” Dean guarantees. “Good,” she says, her voice having gained some strength. “What about Rufus? Ellen & Jo?” Sam sighs and looks down, painfully confronted with how many people they’ve lost over the years. “They’re all gone,” he states, still leaning heavily on the countertop. Shocked, Y/N stares at him, unable to believe how many have perished. “So, of the original crew, you two are really the last ones standing, huh?” “Yeah, I guess we are,” the younger brother confirms. “But we met some great people along the way, I’m sure they’ll be excited to meet you. We’re not fighting the good fight alone, by any means.” “Glad to hear that. Just, not today? I’m not sure how much more I can take,” she almost pleads, her voice raspy from crying.

Dean watches her closely, guilt constricting in his gut. Unknowingly, he has pulled her from a time where things weren’t all that bad. If she’s from October 2008, he has just returned from Hell. Bobby was alive, Sam was okay, so were the other people she considered family. They were growing closer, on the verge of giving in to the attraction they felt for each other. But now it’s just the three of them and a ten year gap between her lifetime and theirs. She must be feeling completely out of place, disorientated, exhausted. “Why don’t we go pick out a room for you, so you can lay down for a bit?” Dean offers, squeezing her hand gently to get her attention. She agrees and gets up from her seat without another word, mentally too tired to argue. The alcohol is coursing through her system, and although she doesn’t feel highly intoxicated, combined with the range of emotions she just went through, it’s doing a number on her. Honestly, she’s down for a nap, preferably one that lasts a day or two. Dean lets her go up the two steps first, ready to catch her might her coordination fail her after all. He glances over his shoulder at his brother, who picks up the untouched sandwich and carries the plate to the sink. “Go ahead, I’ll clean up,” Sam offers. Thankful, the older Winchester forces a small smile before he leaves the kitchen.

Quietly, Y/N follows the broad shouldered hunter who leads the way, her arms crossed in front of her chest, the coolness from the stone walls chasing chills up and down her spine. It’s not just the cold, though, it’s everything. Too much information to process, too much heartbreak to endure. Her brain is overloaded, fatigue hitting her like a ton of bricks. She watches Dean turn the corner and stroll into a long hallway with doors on either side, gold plated numbers below the Men Of Letters emblem. They stop in front of room 12. “You can take this one,” he suggests, opening the door for her and flicking on the lights. “I’m right next door if you need anything. Sam’s in room 21.”

Y/N steps inside, taking in her new accommodation. Despite the use of mostly brick and concrete and the lack of windows, the glow coming from the ceiling light and the lamp on the nightstand feels warm and welcoming. A large mahogany bed is situated against the far end, a matching desk on the left with an old typewriter and a radio sitting on top. Directly behind the door there’s a sink and a medicine cabinet with a mirror on the lid, and a wardrobe next to it. “We can put a rug on the floor, if you want. I remember how you always had cold feet,” Dean suggests. She turns in the middle of the room, a small smile on her lips; he’s not wrong. “I’d like that,” she says, grateful.

A little uneasy she lets her gaze linger over the still empty cabinets and bookshelves again, feeling foreign in this future that didn’t include her, before Dean wished she was. She realizes there’s nothing to fill them with, no clothes, no books, no picture frames. “Could I maybe borrow a shirt and some sweats from you? I’m gonna have to buy some new clothes later today,” she asks, a little flustered. “Sure, but actually, uh…” He rubs the back of his neck, the way he always does when he’s nervous. “I never threw away your stuff. It’s been in boxes in the storage room, so your clothes are probably gonna need to be washed--” “- Wait, you… you saved my stuff?”

She stares at him in awe. It’s been almost ten years since she died, and he still held on to all that she owned. Sure, it wasn’t much, since they were on the road most of the time, but still. They didn’t find this bunker until a couple of years later, which means Dean had stored it in a locker somewhere, or maybe at Bobby’s, and picked it up again when they found a permanent home. He had moved her things around for almost a decade, yet never threw them out, even though he knew there was no purpose left for the items that once belonged to her. Just painful reminders of what was and what was lost. “Yeah, I - I couldn’t really bring myself to throw it out,” he claims, as if he was dodging a task that should have been done long ago. He isn’t lying. Even though he knew she was never going to return to him, that her life was lost and his love was hopeless, he kept everything she held dear. Her books, her mixtapes, her photos, her jewelry. The clothes she wore, the guitar she played. The stack of coasters she collected, picking one up at every bar they ever had a drink at, from every town they ever crossed. The old school Polaroid camera she brought everywhere, snapping pictures of everything that caught her eye along the way. Sunsets, funny road signs, captivating landscapes, interesting people. There are a few of him, of the Winchesters together, some more portraying the three of them, all squeezed into the shot. She even caught Bobby on camera, ignoring his grumpy mutters when she had fulfilled her seemingly impossible mission. There’s the music box she got from her mother when she was little, her parents’ wedding album. Lore books, weapons and crystals that Bobby gave her when she first started hunting. The enchanted good luck charm Dean gave her for her birthday. He held on to it all, because he couldn’t bear the thought of having to let her go completely.

Sympathetically, Y/N observes him. His tough exterior only lets a hint of embarrassment over something so sentimental seep through. But she knows him, she has seen the knight without his armor. She knows how badly he’s hurting. “Anyway, I’ll - uh, get you some clean clothes and dig up your stuff from storage.” He points his thumb over his shoulder a little awkwardly, excusing himself. She nods. “Thanks.”

With a faint smile on his lips he disappears, leaving the door ajar. Y/N breathes in deeply and allows the air to flow out, trying to calm herself down. It’s her first moment alone since she found herself in the year of 2019 and she cannot begin to comprehend what is happening to her. How she time-jumped a decade into the future, having history with Dean she cannot even recall. It feels like she’s in a bad daytime television show, where one of the characters has hit her head too hard and suffers from amnesia, not remembering her lover. Rubbing her forehead she turns around, trying to massage away the headache. Her eyes glide through her new bedroom again. This is going to be her home now. After moving out of Bobby’s place, she never really had that kind of stability. The closest she came to a roof over her head was her minivan, her little house on wheels.

Fingertips grace the covers of her bed, the material soft under her touch, when she hears Dean’s boots echo in the hall. She turns around as he comes through the doorway, holding two boxes with a bundle of clothes laying on top of the stack in his arms. He lowers the neatly taped carton containers to the ground, her name written on them with black marker. Dean made sure to file on the label what’s inside them. “There’s one more box, your clothes are in that one. I can put them in the washer now, so you’ll have something better to wear than my oversized stuff,” he offers. “You don’t have to do that, Dean,” she objects, but he shrugs it off. “It’s no problem.” His voice is kind, but he’s not taking ‘no’ for an answer. It’s the first time he has moved her belongings without having to fight the tears, without having to pause in order to stop himself from breaking down. He wants to make sure she has something clean and fresh to wear when she wakes up later, finally being able to take care of her again.

Dean turns the corner and heads to the storage room, his heart finally calming with the simplicity of being able to do something as domestic as washing her clothes. After picking up the last big box, he exits the storage and pulls the door shut behind him, making his way to the dorm where the washers and dryers are situated. He sets the box down in front of one of the machines, pulls his pocket knife from his belt and cuts through the duct tape. The first item he pulls out, however, steals his breath; it’s the leather jacket she wore that night in Detroit. Two days after they lost her, Dean wrapped her in linen before he laid her down on the pyre he and Bobby built, her lifeless body still in the jeans and band shirt she had on when she was killed. He took off her favorite black leather jacket, though, wanting to preserve it, even though it was a part of Y/N - or maybe because it was. Traces of faded crimson still stain the collar. Dean shakes his head, trying to ban the image from his mind. The image of the blood running from her nose and mouth as she hung from his arms, dead weight, the spark of life in her eyes long gone.

After a deep breath, the hunter collects himself and lays the leather jacket aside, then begins to carefully pick out some of her clothes. He makes a selection that fits in the drum, adds a laundry pod and turns the machine on. He hopes the old thing does a better job at washing away the memory of her death than he’s doing.

When he enters Y/N’s room again, she has changed into the black shirt and grey sweatpants he offered her. She spins when she hears him, an amused grin adorning her face. “Nice socks,” she chuckles, showing off her novelty footwear with burgers and milkshakes on them. “Shut up. Sammy gave them to me for Christmas,” he utters, a blush on his cheeks. “Your stuff’s in the washer.” “Thank you,” she returns, grateful.

A silence followers as Dean lingers in the doorway. This would be the moment to give her some space and retreat to his room, but somehow he can’t make himself step outside. He has spent too much time without her by his side already, he doesn’t want to waste a second not being with the woman he’s still unmistakingly in love with. She’s his girl, afterall. But that’s where it gets confusing, because he’s not sure how she feels about all this. Y/N was zapped from a time where they weren’t in a relationship yet, so where do they stand in this messed up mayhem? “Y/N, about that kiss earlier…” he starts off hesitant. “I, uh - I didn’t know you were from a place where we weren’t… y’know, together.”

The smile on her lips dies down as she watches the hunter, skilled in the field when fighting evil, but now stumbling over his own words. It’s only now that she realizes how surreal this must be for him. His mind probably has archives full of memories she has no clue of, simply because in her time, they didn’t happen yet. “What I’m trying to say is…” Dean takes a breath, trying to get his message across. “If I came on too strong, or made you feel uncomfortable in any way, I’m sorry.” He glances up now, watching how she slowly approaches. Gently, she takes his hand in hers, their fingers entwining. After studying their hold for a few seconds, she tilts her head and restores eye contact. The look she gives him is so warm and kind, it mends the broken man that he is. “I’m not,” she responds, her voice soft.

She leans in, tiptoeing, and presses her soft lips against his. For a good moment all his grief, the endless regret, the physical pain that became chronic, is forgotten. He closes his eyes and melts into the touch, returning the kiss without hesitation. The voices in his head are silenced, his anxiety calmed. After eight years, eight months and twenty eight days, he has found his missing piece. If her departure from his world didn’t make him realize how much he loves her, this moment surely does.

The kiss lasts a few heavenly long seconds, but then Dean parts from her, resting his forehead against hers. He sighs deeply, the air leaving him with a shudder. Still high on the ecstasy that the undeniable connection induced, she opens her eyes, but his remain closed. Wondering why, Y/N squeezes his hand. When he does look back at her, the tears bring out his green irises, like holding an emerald gem against the light. Compassionate, she cups his face, tracing the lines of his jaw. “You really missed me, didn’t you?” she perceives. He huffs; she’s putting it mildly. “You have no idea,” he breathes.

Y/N does, though. Last thing she remembers is how Dean just returned from Hell. In the four months that he was gone, she was completely at a loss. Wildflowers blossomed on his grave from her tears alone. Knowing he was enduring unimaginable torment only made it worse. But when he returned and she was able to close him in her arms again, it magnified everything she had ever felt for the man who went to Hell and back. The rollercoaster he’s riding now is one she’s been on herself, but she doesn’t tell him that; it’s not about her right now.

She kisses him again, shorter and more sweetly now, smiling at him afterwards until he returns her expression. His eyes are still shimmering, but it’s not sorrow she finds in the depth of his pupils, not anymore. It’s gratefulness, appreciation, love, for her, the girl he lost so many years ago. “You should get some sleep. You had one hell of a morning,” he says after a quiet moment, unable to look away. She scoffs. “Understatement of the week.” He nods grinning, admitting she’s probably right. “I’ll leave you to it.” Dean is about to let go of her hand, when her grip on him grows a little stronger, causing him to glance up at her, questioning. “Could you…” she pauses, not sure if she’s asking too much. “Could you lay with me, just for a while?” He reads her carefully, pained to see the hint of fear; she doesn’t want to be alone. “Sure,” he agrees, the single word soothing her.

Y/N allows his hand to slip from hers now and circles the bed, folding back the covers as Dean sits down to take off his shoes. When he leans back into the pillow, his upper body still slightly elevated against the headboard, tiredness overwhelms him. He hasn’t had a good night’s sleep in forever, Michael always waiting in the shadows when he dares to close his eyes. But when Y/N crawls into his chest, filling the vacant place that has been cold for so long, he sighs content, letting the worry fall from his shoulders. Who knows, maybe with her by his side, he might actually be able to rest.

She pulls the sheets to cover the both of them, feeling Dean’s sheltering arm wrap around her and pull her in. The kiss he presses to her hair has her bite back the tears yet again. She tries to hide it, not wanting to come across as weak or emotional. The man who has always cared for her, doesn’t fail to notice, though. “Hey…” he says, softly. “You had a lot on your plate today, huh?” She sniffles and nods, not brave enough to test her voice. “It’s gonna be okay, we’ll figure this out,” he promises. “You got me, Y/N.” “Yeah…” she whispers. “I got you.”

Dean holds her close, giving her the security and the comfort she is desperately seeking, hoping she might forget about the world she’s in now and the one she was ripped from. Absently, he rubs his fingers up and down her arm, the slow, soothing rhythm lulling her to sleep. Within minutes she’s out, the warmth she radiates slowly melting away the tension in the hunter’s stiff muscles, tired and worn from endless battles with both monsters and himself. Exhausted, he lets his cheek rest against the top of her head, allowing his own eyes to flutter shut as well. The last thing that crosses his mind before he falls asleep is a promise. Past, present, or future, Dean will always be there for the woman who makes him believe in their little slice of apple pie life. A decade of time difference will not change his word of honor.

It took me long enough, didn’t it! Stay tuned for part four, I hope I have gained some momentum now and will able to finish this series sooner than later.

Anyway, thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).

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motleymoose · 4 years

Text

Homecoming Pt. 1: Astray, Ch. 1

Chapter 1

Stranded With Banthas

Fandom: The Mandalorian Characters: The Mandalorian (Din Djarin), Gender-neutral Reader Words: 2.8k+ Warnings: ??? Angst???

Summary:

Stranded on a bantha-filled, Imperial-controlled moon on the outer reaches of the galaxy, I would do anything to get off-world. But even the best-laid plans can go awry, and I have to settle for second-best, a living reminder of my childhood.

Notes:

***1ST CHAPTER HAS BEEN EDITED***

Hello! Thanks for stumbling upon my fic!! A few things before we get started: *I've never really been a fan of Star Wars (until the Mandalorian, that is) *I've only done a basic amount of research (please let me know if the stellar charts don't align or I've completely flub any major parts of the lore!) *If you're here for romance, this is probably not the fic you seek This fic is going to span several parts, so don't be disappointed if the chapter count is short. There is more, I promise! I have two more chapters in this part, plus half a dozen others waiting the wings for their time to shine. That being said, this is all lightly edited and more than likely contains several blaring mistakes I am currently blind to.

Thank you for hanging with me this far. I hope you enjoy it!

Homecoming Masterlist

I was hot, bored and out of credits.

Having been stranded on an Imperial-held outpost, stars away from almost any sort of proper civilization, it wasn’t exactly the worst thing that could’ve happened to me. I could’ve lost my hands or what little possessions I had, even been executed, but instead the captain and crew of the Momentum decided it was a fitting punishment to desert me on a moon positively crawling with Imps and bucketheads.

Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t luck that saved me. I was the unluckiest person in the galaxy. Having lost my family to a Rebel airstrike and then been abandoned by my caretaker at a young age, I’d had to fight tooth and claw for survival. I was a mechanic by trade, and a good one at that. My ability to fix things also gave me the knowledge to break them, and coupling that with my disregard to fighting fair, I could be one sticky situation to get rid of.

Not to say the crew hadn’t thought of ways to dispose of me. On more than one occasion, I’d had large, heavy objects barely miss my head as I puttered around below-decks or in the engineering pit. It was more often than I thought average for a mechanic to be almost killed by falling crates and crewmates, and after mentioning it to the captain, everyone agreed it was best if I just left the ship instead of continuing on as their blackthumb.

I’m not sure what exactly brought on their ire. There had been that bunkmate with whom I’d had a tumble or two, but as we both had agreed to part ways as distant friends. I didn’t see her as being a begrudging type, but there was a first for everything, and I wasn’t about to question the crew’s alliance when freedom seemed so close.

Maybe it would have been better to just poison everyone on the ship and abscond with the loot, but I wasn’t a pirate - or, actually, I wasn’t usually a pirate - and murdering everyone just because they pissed me off wasn’t on my list of fun activities.

Playing through the events that led me to the dusty rock I currently resided, I couldn’t help but kick myself for not getting the rest of my pay before being unceremoniously dumped in the dirt and bantha dung. I shifted uncomfortably on my perch of sweet-smelling hay bales in an attempt to not itch. It was impossible, as I had been settled on the bales since mid-afternoon, and there was hay in places I didn’t even want to think about.

I stared at the door of the single cantina, squashed between a rocky outcropping and the ruins of a Rebel-held base. Most of the regulars had found their way in, but I was more interested in the one that stood out from all the rest of the Imp sympathizers and bantha ranchers; a Mandalorian in full, shining beskar had landed in my neck of the woods, and I wanted to find out why.

If he was looking for me, well. I was going to have a hard time explaining the reasons I stole a slave ship from my boss and then let them loose on a newly-colonized moon on the Outer Rim. It wasn’t a good story, and I didn’t come out of it unscathed, but I did the best for those people with the tools I was given and I wouldn’t do anything to change the fact that I gave them freedom.

My boss didn’t look at it that way, and before I knew it, I was on all the wanted lists in the ruled galaxy. Which is why being on a no-named moon, surrounded by bantha pastures, was the least worst thing that could've happened.

Grumbling under my breath, I wriggled further into my little shelter. The sun was setting behind me, and the light cast an eerie rosy glow on the people closing up their shops for the night. The village was small compared to most, and smaller still for the amount of Stormtroopers and Imperial officials lurking about in groups of three or better. They patrolled the streets after dark in a guise of keeping peace and order, but everyone knew that they were planning something. No one knew what it was, but word had spread from neighboring moons that the Imps were flocking to the area. Nowhere was safe from the Empire’s reach, even when they were defeated and in shambles.

Once the sun went down all the way, the humid, oppressive heat would dissipate, leaving behind a damp chill that would last until the next dawn. Pulling a couple of loose flakes of hay on top of me for warmth, I propped my chin in my hands and waited impatiently for the Mandalorian to show himself again.

Near dawn, not long after many of the bantha ranchers had tramped from the warmth of their beds and to the ramshackle collection of barns and sheds out near the landing field - and thus downwind from the most of the community - the Mandalorian made his appearance.

Broad, square and sturdy, the warrior looked the part of the fearsome legends. His beskar was shiny, with barely a dent to be seen. The cloak he wore, although tattered and full of blaster holes, looked well-made, and the weapons he carried - a Westar-34 and an amban rifle - were clean and in good repair. Without a look back, he strode through the quiet thoroughfare and disappeared down an alley.

Well frag.

Other than just to quench my curiosity, what I wanted more than anything was a ride off this Imp haven. The Mandalorian would have a ship that could take me off-moon, and even if I was his quarry, it was better than rotting amongst the bantha kung. Stiffly vaulting from the stack of hay, I shook the kinks from my joints and sped after the Mandalorian.

Following the same route I saw him take, I trailed the warrior to a set of squat, ovoid huts. He’d disappeared inside, and once more I waited impatiently, but this time in the shadows of a woodshed. From time to time, I touched the amulet hanging from the thin silver chain at the base of my throat, reassuring myself the body-warmed pendant was still there. This Mando wasn’t the first one I’d ever laid eyes on, as my caretaker had been of the Way. He had taught me what he could before he left me, a solid, steady protector fleeing into the night. The thought of him still hurt, but it had been years ago, many parsecs in the past, and it was easier to push down and out of the way of more important emotions.

My nerves ticked upwards when I caught sight of the warrior in the window of the foremost hut. Heart fluttering and stomach in my throat, I took slow, smooth steps farther back into the shed until I was pressed up against a mouldering wood pile. I watched, caged and frozen as the Mandalorian stayed in the frame of the opening for a few more minutes. Head spinning, I released a hiss of a sigh and began to take slow, deep breaths to calm myself. I wasn’t going to do myself any favors by passing out before I could find out where the Mando was headed.

As the minutes dragged on, I continued my deep, even breath until the blanket covering the hut opening twitched and the Mandalorian stepped out. I took a few more breaths, biding my time to make sure he had a head start on me. ------ It was a long ambling walk to the outer reaches of the small farming village. My nose was clogged from the stench of moofs, and I’m pretty sure that was bantha droppings and not mud I’d stepped in a while back, but I kept my pace to a casual walk. From the looks of things, the Mandalorian was headed for the shipyard. Not a surprise, but I figured he’d’ve stayed a little longer. Either way, I was going to get a ride on his ship. Eagerness gnawed at my guts and my legs, but rushing would call attention to me, and I didn't really want to be noticed.

At the last set of farm buildings before the vast openness of the docking ports, I paused to watch a group of younglings chase an aired up moof bladder. There was a skirmish, a pile of small wriggling bodies, and then a shriek of triumph as a tiny Trandoshan Ingling held the dusty bladder above its broad scaly head. It hissed a shrill challenge at its companions, and they all fell about the place giggling and scrabbling for the champion.

I smiled at their innocence, watching for a minute longer as the group split into predetermined teams, and the game began again. Pivoting away from the revelry, I dodged between two outbuildings, bantha barns from the smell of them. Looking over my shoulder one last time, I turned to stroll down the empty alley.

That’s when I ran into the Mandalorian. Or, more correctly, his outstretched arm.

The breath knocked out of me, a bruise blooming across my chest, I lay in the dust with the trash and the dung at the feet of the Mandalorian. Staring up dazedly, I gasped painfully and brought a shaky hand up to rub the grime from my face. My other hand palmed the short dagger tucked into the straps of my cuisses. The plan was to stow away on the ship, but plans changed, and getting clotheslined in a dirty alleyway happened to change those plans for the worse.

“I don’t want to have to kill you,” I finally hissed. My chest felt heavy and my breathing was short as I brought the palmed dagger up to my chest, next to the pendant. “But I will if you ever do that again.”

The helmeted head angled sideways and the Mandalorian took me in. “I am ordered by the Guild to bring you in,” he rasped, tossing a puck onto my stomach. A hologram image smiled goofily back at me, all of my identities, crimes and locations printed plainly underneath.

Raising my head up to look at it, I grimaced and fell back into the dirt. “Frag.”

The neat scroll under my beaming hologram face told anyone who knew how to read that I was a notorious pirate who’d stolen a cargo-full of indentured servants from an innocent merchant to sell on the slave market.

Not completely untrue, but just enough so that it made me angry.

“It’s kinda hard to be a pirate of any sort when I don’t even have a ship, much less one full of supposed indentured servants,” I muttered to no one in particular. “I’ll accept the charges of stealing that ship and rescuing the people on it, but I’m drawing a line at ‘pirate’ and ‘slaver’ and ‘innocent merchant’s indentured servants.’ My boss is anything but blameless, and the servants were innocents tricked into slavery. I couldn’t not help them.”

The Mandalorian grunted solemnly and bumped my shoulder with the steel toe of his boot.

“Alright, alright. I’m getting up,” I replied, deftly sliding the tiny dagger into the sleeve of my tunic before holding my hands up and getting to my knees. The law was not on my side, never had been. But there was a small chance I could talk, or fight, my way out of this. I bowed my head, wishing mightily that I knew a little more about hand-to-hand combat. I’m okay with knives, but when I only had a small dagger to start a fight with, even I knew that I was no match for a fully-geared Mando.

I took a bit longer than necessary, slumped on my knees with my head down, silently assessing the situation at hand. More than likely, my two-timing bantha fodder boss Mihcas put out a bounty. And it wouldn’t surprise me if he’d indicated he’d rather have me dead than alive; I’d freed a bunch of his cargo on a rebel-held moon, completely destroying both of our reputations and saving the lives of a dozen people destined for hard labor on one of the Imperial exo-planets. Half of them had been children, for Force’s sake. It didn’t sit right with me to send a bunch of younglings to their subsequent deaths when their biggest crime was existing. So when I had the chance to make a difference, I took it by the balls and jumped into hyperdrive right across the nose of my boss’s ship. It was reckless, but the scream of rage that came on the radio before I left him behind was priceless.

Any idea I had for escape flew from my head when the Mandalorian picked me up by the neck and shoved me into the mudbrick barn’s wall. My head banged painfully against the reddish yellow stone, and I felt the tiny dagger slip from my sleeve to clatter harmlessly to the ground. The hand crushing my windpipe flexed in irritation, and I found myself lifted off my feet. The newly-risen sun gleamed an angry red off the bounty hunter’s helmet. I couldn’t help but squint as I scrabbled for purchase against the wall, fingertips and knuckles bloodied and raw when I finally brought them around to grasp his wrist.

A blaster appeared suddenly, digging into my ribs, its quiet hum letting me know it was charged and loaded. Not that I could do anything about it. Black spots danced in my vision from the lack of oxygen going to my brain, so it was easy for me to ignore little things like a gun shoved in my belly in favor of more pressing issues. Like not losing consciousness.

“I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in cold,” the Mandalorian threatened, fingers tightening around my throat.

Opening my mouth, I tried to form words, but my brain had a difficult time remembering even the most basic tasks. The bounty hunter squeezed his fingers one more time before letting go. I landed on my knees, panting open mouthed. It took a moment for me to regain all the proper motor functions, allowing the oxygen stinging my damaged throat to resaturate my bloodstream and sharpen my addled brain. The Mandalorian stood a few feet away from me, left hand resting on his belt buckle while the other held the blaster at his side. He seemed relaxed under all that armor, but the fingers of his left hand tapped an impatient tattoo on his belt.

Sucking in all the air I could before it went out of style, I closed my eyes and concentrated on steadying my racing heart.

Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out.

The Mandalorian cleared his throat.

Right. That.

In a false attempt to stand, I stumbled against the barn wall and fell back to my hands and knees in the dust, landing hard and awkward so’s not to alert him to anything fishy. Like retrieving my knife. It was stealthily tucked into one of the many pockets on the leg of my jumpsuit before I actually tried to stand.

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. This hunter had less patience than me, which was saying something. Straightening upright, I pushed off the wall one-handed until I was face-to-face with the bounty hunter. I pasted the most innocent grin on my face I could conjure up at the moment, spreading my hands wide in front of me, palms out to show that I harbored no ill-will or weapons.

“I am not the pirate you seek.” I widened my eyes in what I hoped was a trustful look.

“Hands. Now.”

“I guess you did take my breath away, but don’t you think it’s a little soon to walk out in public together?” I teased humorlessly before complying. Hands out, wrists together, don’t make any sudden moves or relax any muscles. “Would it help if I told you my evil twin made me do it?” Not exactly a lie, since half the things I did were under the influence in one form or the other. “I’m by no means innocent of some of the things you're accusing me of, but more than half of that is made up or exaggerated beyond belief.”

The cuffs were roughly locked into place, and I flexed my hands experimentally. They were tight, but not so much so that I’d lose feeling in my hands later. It’s a small thing to be glad that this bounty hunter showed a little kindness with my bonds.

“Move,” the bounty hunter said, jabbing me in the ribs again with the blaster.

The hot, boiling rage that had built up over the last few weeks bubbled up the back of my wounded throat. I swallowed it loudly. “I don’t know where you want me to go.” Not exactly the truth, but he didn’t need to know that.

Sighing heavily, the Mando put a gloved hand on my shoulder, shoving me none too gently in the direction of the docks.

Cursing my luck, I looked blankly at my original destination. “More than one way to skin a womp-rat, I guess,” I muttered under my breath, and began the uphill trek to a ship that would hopefully make good on its promise to get me the frag out of here.

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wickedsingularity · 4 years

Text

Mittens [Part 2]

wickedsingularity’s Christmas Stories 2019 Masterlist

Fandom: MCU Pairings/characters: Steve Rogers x reader (but not really), all Avengers pre AOU Words: 2732 Warnings: Fluff, bad flirting, too much knitting, me not being as well versed in English knitting terms as Norwegian, kissing, stealing of food, kisses as currency

Summary: Part 2 of Mittens (as requested from lala423 on FF.Net) from wickedsingularity's Christmas Stories 2018, recommend reading that first if you haven't already. Steve is learning to knit to express his feelings.

<< Mittens Part 1

Despite me promising Steve that we didn't have to communicate our feelings with knitted clothes, he brought it up again that he wanted to learn.

I was in the common area, working on Tony's New Year socks and munching away on my Rocky Road treats. It was the worst cliché of all, but I was doing them in red, with golden details, and light blue across the toes. I had tried to think of other colour schemes for him, and black with some bright colour in a rocky pattern would also work, but the Iron Man colour theme was just more fun. If he wanted free socks, he would have to take them as I made them.

"Hi, doll." Steve came in, followed by Sam and Natasha. He gave my shoulder a squeeze and I leaned my head towards his hand. We were just a couple of days into our relationship and our sort of first date had been dinner on Christmas Day. It was still very new to us, even though we had known each other for a long time and had admitted to having feelings for a while too. He came around the couch and sat down next to me and the other two found seats around us.

"Hi," I greeted them, barely taking my eyes off the yarn. "Any luck with the new lead on Bucky's whereabouts?"

"It was a dead-end," Sam said. "False alarm."

I looked up at that, seeing Sam's and Natasha's disgruntled faces and Steve's defeated one. I nudged him with my shoulder, not wanting to say anything in front of the others, but letting him see in my eyes that I was hopeful. His lips twitched at one corner and he nudged me back.

"Has Tony seen what you're knitting for him yet?" Natasha asked, nodding at the half-done sock in my hands. I had reached the heel and was halfway through the knitting back and forth to make the base of the heel.

"Not yet," I replied, grinning slightly. "I haven't seen him since Christmas morning. He'll either hate it or love it."

"He'll love it. He'll probably want a matching pair to wear with his suit."

I snorted at the image that popped into my head, the Mark XLV with long, thick fluffy socks. "I might just make a pair for his suit, for fun."

Natasha, Sam and Steve started talking about the dead-end they had been sent on in their search for Bucky, I listened with one ear. But after a little bit, I noticed that Steve's attention had switched.

"I still want to learn." His voice was quiet, not speaking up, and I only heard him over the sound of the others talking because he was sitting next to me.

I turned to look at him, and he was staring down at the knitting in my hands, a small smile on his face and I smiled back. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah. If you teach me."

My heart fluttered and my face heated up a little. "Okay. But you're smart and a fast learner, so you're not allowed to be better at this than me."

"I promise you will be the knitting master here, doll."

He had called me doll every now and then throughout the time we had known each other, on occasion he used it on others too, but there was something about the way he said it to me now that had me melt. I figured it was probably just my overactive imagination, but I didn't care, because I liked the way it made me feel.

"Okay. I got plenty of extra sets of needles and too much yarn in my room. You can help yourself to as much as you need. When do you want to get started?"

"Do you have time now?"

I nodded. "Come on."

It seemed the others had caught the gist of what we were doing, because as we stood up to leave, Sam called after us. "Try not to make knitting kinky!"

Teaching Steve to knit was as easy as I expected. By making small squares, I basically just taught him how to cast on and off, do knit and purl stitches, and how to change colour in less than an hour. It wasn't neat, it was crooked and knobbly, but he got the techniques perfectly. He also asked about the special kind of decreasing binding off I did for his mittens, and that's when I realised that he was up to something. And when he rummaged through my stash and picked skeins without letting me see which colours he picked, I knew he was most definitely up to something.

For the next couple of days, he spent more time in his room than usual and he never brought the knitting out for anyone to see. I had to admit I was awfully curious, and when he knocked on my door one late evening looking sheepish and asking if he could buy a few more skeins from me, I had to ask.

"You can pay me by telling me what you're making since it requires more yarn," I said, crossing my arms over my chest and looking at him with pursed lips.

There was a slight blush to his cheeks and he shook his head and reached for something in his back pocket. "It's done already. Now I just have to improve on it. But I can't tell you what it is yet," he said, opening his wallet.

"No, Steve. No." I put my hand on his wallet and pushed it away. "You can have as much yarn as you want. I'm just really curious."

He grinned and put his wallet back in his pocket very slowly as if I was going to change my mind and demand money anyway. "I will tell you. I promise. When it's done."

I pursed my lips again and pretended to consider him, but then I smiled and shook my head with amusement, walking over to the bed and kneeling down to pull out the box underneath it that was overflowing with yarn. "Help yourself." I sat down cross-legged on the bed and waited.

Steve looked at me. "You can't know which colour I'm – or colours – I'm going to pick."

"I'm so goddamn curious, but fine, I'll close my eyes. Just for you." I closed my eyes, and it was so hard to keep them closed as I heard Steve walk over and kneel down to rummage through the skeins and balls. He seemed to be taking his time and somehow, I knew he did it to mess with me, and I was just about to open my eyes and give him attitude, but then his lips were on mine. My eyes did snap open then, but he lingered and they closed again. All too soon he pulled back and I blinked dazedly. Having just started kissing him on the regular, each one still made my insides all fluttery and my brain fry.

When I was able to think straight again, I saw him standing there looking awfully smug, hands being his back. "That was for the yarn."

"Oh, well, then. Have all of it."

He chuckled and walked out, walking backwards out the door so I still couldn't see what colour he picked.

The next day, Steve and Sam headed out on a private mission. Steve had knocked on my door right before lunch, which we had planned to go out for, to tell me Sam had just got a promising lead on Bucky and they had to head out right away before it went cold but would be back the next day for New Year's Eve. Then he'd given me a kiss I felt all the way down to my toes and hurried off.

Seeing as I had long since finished Tony's socks and Iron Man's socks and the purple mittens I had promised Clint, I decided to take a break from knitting and joined Clint for a Christmas movie marathon.

We had made it through two movies before we ordered in dinner, which was brought up by Tony who had been heading in just as the delivery guy came. "You ordered dinner for me too?" he asked, opening one of the containers, two bags with the rest hanging from his wrist. "How lovely of you!"

"Uhm..." I started.

"That's just for the two of us," Clint said, getting to his feet with several groans and hurried to snatch the bags and the container from Tony while I went to find soda and water and plates and cutlery.

"Ouch." Tony clutched at his heart. "I paid for that TV and that couch and those plates. I can feel the love."

"I'm sure there's enough for you too, Tony," I said, even though my stomach was roaring like a ravenous grizzly bear.

"That's okay, I just ate."

There was something that sounded like a growl from Clint, but he handed one of the three plates I had brought over to Tony and the too helped himself.

Clint started up another Christmas movie and we dug into the containers that really held enough food to feed the entire team. It wasn't long before the smell of food attracted more people and Natasha sauntered into the room. She leaned over the couch and snatched an onion ring from my plate. She kept reaching for stuff on my plate, until I used my powers to create a barrier around it, not letting her through.

"Hey!" she protested.

"There's more food there," I said, pointing to the containers on the table. "And in the fridge."

She made a sound of annoyance but kept leaning over the back of the couch, watching the movie. After a few minutes, I felt her move away. "What's this?" she asked.

Tony, Clint and I all looked back, she had picked something off the floor. In her hand was... something fluffy. As she turned it around and held it up, I saw it was a pair of mittens. The knobbliest pair of mittens I had ever seen. But my heart had started to race a million miles a minute.

"Your earlier work?" Tony asked, frowning. I shook my head.

"I'm guessing Steve made these," Natasha said, handing them over to me.

I had to smile as I looked at them because they were really knobbly. The knit and purl stitches along the cuff were so lose I could probably fit two hands inside if I tried. They were in two my favourite colours, and the change of colour hadn't been done at the same stitch all the way up, so it was crooked, but the stripes were nicely sized and repeated in a way that would have made it a beautiful pair if the overall knitting had been better. The thumb seemed to be a bit tight, but it would expand with use. I was so proud that he had managed to leave a few stitches behind and then pick them up later and make the thumb. I had not taught him that.

"When did Steve learn to knit?" Clint asked.

"He asked me to teach him a few days ago."

"He's not really good at that, is he," Tony commented, grinning as he looked at the mittens.

"It's the first thing he's made," I said, defending him. "I think they're beautiful."

"He's got your favourite colours right at least," Clint commented.

I didn't reply, because my heart was beating so hard and I felt emotional and didn't trust my voice.

Tony and Clint quickly lost interest as there were some loud bangs from the movie we were watching. Natasha gave me a wink and then hurried over to her favourite armchair, rolled her eyes at the TV, but watched nonetheless.

I held the mittens in my hands, turning my attention back to the movie too. I couldn't wait for Steve to come home.

It had been a good lead on Bucky. It hadn't brought them to wherever he was currently hiding, but they were getting closer. The building they had searched, he had definitely been there for a short time.

Steve was pushing the Quinjet hard to get home. He had some knitting to get done before Stark's usual New Year's Eve party that evening. The first pair of mittens he had made had been a right disaster and were hopefully well on their way to a recycling facility by now. He had been sort of proud of the second pair as soon as he finished them. He knew they weren't good, but he'd been so proud and had been his way over to give them to his girlfriend when he had seen one of the pairs she had made him on the counter by the door and saw the difference and felt awful. So, he had gone to get more yarn instead. Hopefully, the third time was the charm.

He had some doubt to if he managed to knit an entire pair in barely a handful of hours, but it would not be from lack of trying.

Thankfully this hadn't been an official mission, so he didn't have to go through the tediousness that debriefing and medical and report writing was. Instead, he said goodbye to Sam and went straight to the shower.

Wet hair, but clean and dressed in clean comfortable clothes, Steve went to grab something to drink from the kitchen after the shower before he would start on the knitting. He itched to see his girlfriend first but knew that if he knocked on her door now, he wouldn't be able to leave in time to make the mittens. But on his way back to his room, he ran into her.

"Hi," she said, a huge grin on her face.

Steve pulled her towards him with his free hand on the small of her back and planted his lips to hers. "Hi," he whispered with a grin to match hers, leaning his forehead to hers.

"JARVIS said you were home. Was it a good lead?"

"Yeah, this one was a solid lead. Didn't find him, but we're closer."

"Good." She leaned in for another kiss while she slid her hands from his back and up his chest and that's when he noticed her hands were not bare.

Steve pulled back slightly and looked down and felt his face heat as he saw she was wearing the second pair of mittens he had made. "What's – How – Where did you..."

"Nat found them behind the couch yesterday. You made them?"

He took her hands in his and did some quick thinking, but settled on being straight with her. "Yeah. I wanted to make mittens for you too. But they're no good, so I was going to try again. I showed them to Sam before we left because I was so busy binding off when he called that I didn't answer right away. Guess I forgot about them." He was moving to pull them off her hands, but she snatched her hands away and put them under her arms so he couldn't get to them. "But they're no good. I was going to make another pair."

"I love them," she said firmly, staring up at him. Steve cocked his head, but she shook her head. "I love them more than any mittens I've ever had my entire life because you made them. If you take them from me, I will punch you."

Steve couldn't help chuckle, but he did not doubt for one second that she would indeed punch him and it would hurt like hell. "You're crazy."

"I just love a good pair of mittens." She stared so intently into his eyes as she said that, that Steve felt his heart skip a few beats.

"Okay," he said a bit breathlessly. "I'm still going to try to make a nicer pair for you. I was on my way to do that now."

"Then I'm coming with you. We can knit together." She started down the hall, Steve hurried after her.

"Don't you have to get ready for Stark's party?"

"It's hours away. Already have the dress and shoes picked out. Hair can do what it wants. Make-up takes 5 minutes. I'll be fine."

Steve didn't think he could be more head over heels for her, but then he stumbled a bit more.

<< Mittens Part 1

#wickedsingularity's christmas stories 2019 #steve rogers x reader #chris evans x reader #chris evans imagine #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x oc #steve rogers x you #steve rogers one shot #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers #steve rogers fluff #chris evans #chris evans x oc #chris evans x you #chris evans one shot #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans fluff

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baseballbitch116 · 5 years

Text

Daddy Daryl part 3

Word Count: 1711

Warnings: None

Part 1 | Part 2

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After telling the group about your big news, Daryl stopped lashing out as badly as he did the day he outed you. He still basically followed you around everywhere like a lost puppy, but he tried not to treat you too differently. However the men agreed that you shouldn’t be going out on runs anymore. You fought Rick tooth and nail, but he Glenn and Daryl agreed that it was unnecessary to risk your safety like that.

Time drug on slowly, and you began feeling like a prisoner at the prison(ironic, right?). Daryl would sleep with you on the nights that he wasn’t in the guard tower, slowly becoming more and more comfortable with you, in private. He would be awake well before you, typically leaving something on the bed side table for you. Some days it was a book, others it was a bottle of water or an orange. As you began to show more, he insisted that you stay in bed, but you refused.

You spent a lot of time attempting to learn new hobbies, working in the crops with Hershel, joining him in sessions with Carol and Maggie, anything to keep yourself occupied. For a while Daryl kept himself busy with runs, gathering as many supplies for the baby as possible. One day you were walking back up from the field, dusting the dirt off of your hands. At the top by the gate stood Daryl, Rick and Hershel talking. When you got closer, they noticed you and seemingly stopped their conversation after a look from Daryl. “What?” You question, slightly winded from walking up the hill. You have a baby bump at this point, but you were only going on five months. The winter was approaching fast, and that was why you were trying to stay on top of the crops, since food was going to be short as they begin to die.

Rick gives Daryl a look and he sighs, looking at you with reluctance. “Found a baby store, gonna head over there now.” He says, taking a step toward you and giving you a little squeeze on the shoulder. “Wait, hold up, I want to go.” You say, grabbing his bicep before he can walk away. Rick gives him another look but he shakes his head.

“No, Y/N.” Daryl speaks sternly, but you cross your arms and glare.

“I am coming! I want to pick out stuff for my child.” You argue.

“I will bring back as much as I can and ya can go through that.” He states matter of factly. Rick places a hand on your shoulder and looks again at Daryl.

“We already checked out the area, it seemed good. She’ll be safe with all of us.” Rick says, taking your side. You smile a little and give Daryl a hopeful look.

“Please? I’ll stay right by your side.” You practically beg. Daryl rolls his eyes and scoffs, but says “C’mon then, wasting daylight.”

When you get there, they tell you to wait in the car until they’ve established that the building and surrounding area is clear. Maggie decided to wait in the car with you as Daryl Rick and Glenn checked the place out. “How are you feeling?” She asks from her place in the front seat, looking back at you with a sweet smile.

“Nauseous, achey. But I needed to get out of there, I was going insane.” You explain, pulling your sweater on a little tighter. It’s only the beginning of November, but it was clearly going to be a rough winter, seeing as how cold it has been already. “Alright, we’re good.” Rick calls out. You and Maggie get out together and head over to join the men at the door of the building. Daryl is stiff and tense as he watches you walk over, watching your surroundings like a hawk, as if something was going to swoop you up out of nowhere. When you reach him, a large gust of wind blows your sweater and hair away, and you cross your arms tightly, obviously cold. He sets his crossbow down momentarily and pulls your sweater on you tighter, buttoning up the last button and rubbing your arms for a moment. “We need t’ find ya a better jacket.” He mutters, mostly to himself. “C’mon.” He says, grabbing his crossbow and leading the way inside. It’s dark but you can still see where you are going with the sunlight peeking inside. “Stay close.” You hear Rick call out quietly. It is a regular shopping store full of baby furniture and clothes and supplies, and it doesn’t look all that wiped out.

Unfortunately, there was no way for you to know what gender your baby was, so you didn’t exactly know what color clothes to grab. The group has been grabbing basically whatever they could find, both for your baby and for Judith. But since there are two to look after, supplies are even more crucial. Thankfully though, your baby would be able to have Judith’s hand-me-downs, being as she will be a little over a year older than your child.

You wandered around, looking at different things throughout the store, wondering where to even begin. All that the men had really brought back over the last few months were clothes diapers and formula. This was the first actual store for babies that they had come across, so you were hoping to find everything you still needed here. Glenn and Rick found some things that they already started working on moving outside to the truck. You watched as they carried a box of a build-it-yourself crib, and Maggie followed them with two strollers, shooting you a quick comforting smile as she passed. Daryl stuck close by you as you went through the baby clothes, picking out as much as you could for newborns, but also grabbing a bunch of stuff for all months as it grows.

You felt him behind you as you stared at an adorable pink dress for a 10 month old, your eyes tearing up. “Hmm?” He questions, rubbing his hand down your arm soothingly as he looks at the dress with you. This whole thing terrified him, but as time went on he felt himself growing more excited to meet the little version of himself and you.

“I’m just so happy. After everything happened… I had given up on the idea of ever having my own family… And now you’ve given that to me…” You explain, sniffling back tears and turning around to face Daryl. He looks embarrassed but you see a small smile threatening to expose itself. He just shrugs his shoulders, unsure of how to respond, and you giggle at him. You get up on your tippy-toes and give him a short kiss on the cheek, then leaning your forehead on his chest. He doesn’t speak, just rubbing your back and holding you against his chest. Your pregnancy has made him more open and affectionate than before, and you have been loving it.

“C’mon, let’s finish up here.” He mutters after a moment, and you nod, filling up your basket with more baby clothes.

When you guys returned the sun had almost fully set. Daryl helped you out of the truck and told you to head up, insisting that they will grab everything. “Stop.” You mutter tiredly, grabbing two baskets full of clothes, one in each hand, and beginning to head inside. The run had certainly tired you more than you had expected it to, so you took the stuff inside and placed it on one of the big tables, then headed off to your room to lay down.

You carefully laid back, your feet finally feeling some relief. You quickly drifted off to sleep, but only for about a half an hour. When you woke up, you were alone, but it was almost totally dark. You headed out in search of Daryl and food, feeling both lonely and hungry. And so you walked around the prison munching on a banana, asking around if anyone knew where Daryl was.

“What’s wrong?” You hear, and spin around to find Daryl approaching you.

“Nothing, nothing I’m fine.” You assure him, watching as he relaxes a little. “I just missed you.” You mumble. Daryl gives you a look and you smile shyly. “I’d blame the hormones but… It’s just you.” You flirt a little, taking a step closer to him and touching his arm playfully. He rolls his eyes and smirks lightly at you. “C’mon then.” He mutters, putting his hand on the small of your back and heading back to the cell block. You started heading toward your cell, but Daryl stops you. “Come see this,” He mumbles, leading you toward the last cell. You look at him curiously but look inside and gasp. The room had been set up with a crib, rocker and some baby stuff. They put stickers on the wall and set up a little storage bin area in the corner with toys and clothes. “Daryl! It’s perfect!” You exclaim, your eyes tearing up and you turn around and throw your arms around him. “You’re amazing, I love it!” You exclaim in his chest, hugging him as best as you can with your bump. He hesitates for a moment, but wraps his arms around you and rests his chin on your head. “Good.” He whispers, rubbing your back again.

You ended the night in bed in Daryl’s arm, feeling restless but tired. “If it’s a boy… Daryl junior.” You mutter suddenly, catching him off guard.

“Really?” He questions, cocking an eyebrow.

“Yes!” You laugh, totally serious.

“What bout a girl?” He asks, brushing some hair out of your face, curious about the names you thought of for that.

“Emily?” You ask, looking up at his face in the dark for his reaction. He doesn’t make a face, only looking down at you.

“Mm.” He mutters, smiling slightly. “I like it.” He says. He catches you off guard by placing his hand on your bump, looking at you as though asking permission, and you nod at him. He gently rubs it, closing his eyes and beginning to drift off to sleep, holding the two most precious things to him closely.

---

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@axelwolf8109 @twd-imaginesss @hells-mistress @kaleeandspn @sekkitsu @fxckyourlife @topsykretts926-blog @lighthope08 @runlikeclockwork @elysijin @mummy-woves-you @princess-of-idgaf @icantstopreblogging @rhyatt-deauxtreve @nikki082489 @twdeadfanfic @superdeadwalker @ringpopdust @twdsfix @dixonluvv @angelophany @imaginecrushes @the-wonderful-werewolf @chocolatealmondmillk

#daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl imagine #norman reedus x reader #walking dead imagine #walking dead preference #walking dead x reader

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ineffable-bookworm · 5 years

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Good Omens Fic Recs: Pre-TV Classics Masterlist

The Good Omens fandom has been around for 30 years. While it was quite small, many of the fanfics it generated were of remarkably high quality. With all the new fics being written since the show came out, I thought I’d take a moment to write about my favourite pre-tv show fics, because I’ve been waiting for chance to do this, and I think theses fics and their authors deserve some more recognition

Ordinary People by Daegaer

Human AU. Lonely, repressed Ezra hires Tony to repaint his bookshop.

I love this one SO MUCH!!! This fic is always the first one I think of when asked for a favourite (followed by The Walls, the Wainscot and the Mouse).

I read this fic every couple of years, and I relate to Ezra more than I care to admit. His defensive, procrasctinating, and self-sabotaging thought processes, and the fact that he’s already thinking of ways to say no to a shot at happiness because he can’t stand the thought of being rejected, all of this just hit a nerve with me because I’ve done the exact same thing. So many times. Ezra is so like me it’s painful.

Fave quote: “Take a chance, Ezra. It might make you happy” (This line gives me life! I swear, I fall in love with Tony every time I read this bit)

This is a human AU fic, so if you’re not into that, may I recommend that you read ...

Anything but Ordinary (Ordinary People Remix) by Cimorene

This Ordinary People but without the human AU

Written from Crowley’s POV. After the Armageddidn’t, Crowley is spending so much time in Aziraphale’s bookshop, people mistake for being one of the owners. Annoyed, Crowley thinks that if people are going to think this, then the bookshop needs a new paint job to suit his style.

A Better Place and The Walls, Wainscot and the Mouse by @irisbleufic

Domestic fluff fics about Crowley and Aziraphale new life sharing a cottage on the South Downs (I will be eternally grateful to irisbleufic for asking this question and to Neil Gaiman for giving this answer)

Now part of the massive 200,000+ word Crown of Thorns ‘verse, I read these two fics when they were still stand-alone stories and absolutely love the domestic fluff. I read these fics whenever I want to slow down and feel warm and fuzzy. I’ve also read a bit of the CoT verse, which is a bit darker than the two chapters i just recced (I’ll always prefer fluff over angst). However, all of irisbleufic’s other works are beautifully written and extremely thoughtful, so I’m definitely going back for a second attempt!

Other fics by the same author that I highly recommend are Regulars (how other people see Crowley and Az) and Creature Comforts (from the CoT ‘verse, contains my absolute favourite headcanon, beachcomber!crowley)

Be Ye Therefore Merciful by AmberDiceless

Crowley saves Aziraphale from being shot in the Middle East. However, the bullets are laced with Holy Water, so Aziraphale faces down Death himself so keep him from taking Crowley

Written all the way back in 2005, it’s kind of hilarious that it predicted tv!crowley’s tendency to save tv!aziraphale. Can be read as platonic or pre-relationship

I love this fic for Aziraphale’s characterisation. book!Az is as polite as tv!Az, but he is by no means a fool and can be quietly stubborn, and downright rebellious when he needs to be. This fic really shows off this side of his character nicely

A Precise and Accurate History of Monday, 11 years Later by Giddy Geek

A straight-up sequel to the book that mimics Pratchett/Gaiman’s style very well. Az and Crowley move to America to take a break after the Apocalypse, and slowly let themselves fall in love. When they return to Lower Tadfield to visit their godson 11 years later, they learn what free will is all about

I think I have a thing for pining and unresolved romantic tension tropes. Again it’s the last act of the fic that I love the most. The tension between Az and Crowley, as well as Az’s uncertainty about their relationship after certain revelations are made is heartbreaking and beautifully written

Manchester Lost by moczo (aka Aisene on ao3)

This fic is funny! Basically a sequel to the book, with Hell deciding to have another go at the Apocalypse

Gabriel, Michael, Uriel, and Raphael are main characters, with Raphael being Aziraphale’s adoptive father. It’s because of this fic that I’m not that into the Raphael!crowley headcanons that have popped up of late. It’s a great theory and really fun to read the meta about, but Aziraphale and Raphael’s relationship in this fic is so cute that I’m rather attached to it

Bear in mind that this fic was written in 2009, when Glee was huge and Don’t Stop Believing was making a comeback. I’m currently re-reading this fic, and while it’s still funny, the pop-cultural references are a bit out-of-date. Gabriel, Michael and Uriel are also completely different characters to what they are on the show

All in all, it’s a funny, light little fic that doesn’t take itself seriously and is a great antidote to anyone who has decided to read The Sacred and the Profane (trigger warning on TSatP, it is a dark!fic and there is no happy ending. It’s basically Good Omens’ equivalent of Grave of Fireflies)

Falling Rain by aria

Aziraphale and Crowley survive the Great Flood by hiding out on Noah’s Ark. Pre-Arrangement, this fic is written more from Crowley’s POV and explores his confusion as to why this silly little angel hasn’t killed him yet

One of the first fics I ever read, when the Noah’s Ark scene popped up in the the tv show, I yelled out “I’ve read that fic!”

Everything That Rises Must Converge by aja

Cute little fic (it’s only 1389 words) about Az and Crowley trying to sit on fences and meeting in the middle

To be honest, the only reason I’m reccing this fic is for the absolutely inspired joke about the rabbi in the footnotes

Traditions by UseTheForceEm (NSFW)

SMUT WARNING (but boy is it good smut)

Crowley gets drunk after Hell gives him a birthday as reward for the Spanish Inquisition. One thing leads to another and he and Aziraphale have sex. They then decide to make this a yearly birthday tradition.

How is it possible for two characters to have so much sexual tension while actually having sex? Is there such a thing as URT (Unresolved Romantic Tension)? This fic answers those questions.

Why do I love this fic? Because it’s hot 😂 While most of the smut is in the first chapter, it’s the epilogue in the 2nd chapter that I re-read the most. The tension between the two is almost painful, and it’s fascinating to watch them dance around each other.

The Internal Rhyme Series by Quantum_Witch and Vulgarweed, art by Quantum_ Witch (NSFW)

This series follows Az and Crowley throughout history. UST and smut ensues

Amid the Sacred Wreck is set during 794 AD. Crowley is masquerading as a Viking who raids a monastery where Aziraphale is monk (NSFW)

Breathless Mouths May Summon is set during the Crusades. Insanely hot smut happens in the second chapter. Contains the, frankly, amazing line “Ride me as if all the spirits of the Underworld were behind you,” (obviously NSFW)

The Phoenix and the Turtle (A Metaphysical Romance) is set during Elizabethan times. I actually can’t remember what happens in this part but thought I’d add it for the sake of completion

Living Arrangements by Afrai (who also wrote The Sacred and the Profane)

Heaven turns Aziraphale into a human as punishment for preventing Armegeddon. It isn’t until the end that Crowley realises that he was punished as well

This fic is one of Afrai’s lesser known works. Personally, I prefer this one to TSatP. It had me sobbing at the end in a way TSatP never did

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ficsandcatsandficsandcats · 4 years

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FAQ

Do you take requests?

Yes! Happily! Almost 200 of them so far and counting! I have some prompt lists in my masterlist but you don’t have to go off of those alone. I accept other ideas as well whether it be song related, a daydream you really wanna read, etc.

Do you write smut?

Yes! There are some things I don’t feel comfortable writing. For example, teacher/student or other power imbalance pieces aren’t my jam. I will write BDSM or basic Dom/Sub dynamics though! I also write for w/w, m/m, and w/m (or, in a more gender inclusive way of talking, I will put any body and gender identity with any other body and gender identity with equal enthusiasm). Please know that if you’re worried about a kink or an idea being judged that 1. I am not judging you. Even if a thing is totally not my cup of tea, I do not judge it being yours. Also 2. I have anonymous on for a reason so if you’re really worried please know you can always use that and then no one shall know your secrets you dirty, filthy beastie

Do you write Headcanons?

Yes! I’m new to them, but I have a long track record of having opinions and feel confident in my ability to form new ones about a thing you ask

What’s the deal with Valdo Marx?

One day someone on this beautiful internet made a post stating that Robert Sheehan would be the perfect Valdo and they spoke a powerful truth that day. I’ve long held the opinion that Valdo Marx is probably not a raging asshole as Jaskier describes but instead probably just a bit of a cocky guy with a fierce rivalry because bards are #dramatic and now (in great thanks to @heroics-and-heartbreak for their tireless Valdo Marx Support work) he’s become a regular character featured in our fics.

Who is @heroics-and-heartbreak ?

Joz is my writing partner! This means that they hold my hand through the computer as I cry about my trash fingers making garbage fiction (we all have those days guys) and they also write things with me and help me come up with ideas! They are currently collaborating with me on our Punk!AU and are an a talented writer and artist as well! Check out their work here!

What’s this Punk!AU I keep hearing about? What’s Vicious Mockery?

A lovely reader wrote in and asked me to write a fic featuring a Punk!AU Jaskier. I wrote it up, setting him, Geralt, and Yen in a band called Vicious Mockery, and the rest is history. And by history I mean Joz and I are both of an age (lol) where we grew up with some good ass punk music and are very much about that #aesthetic and they drew the gang and we now have a whole canon for it featuring Reader as a fan who got to tour with them and fell in love with Jaskier and OCs who’ve become very close to our hearts (Aevryn Swift and Sam Pankratz especially though Nic Merigold is worming his way into our hearts more and more each day - but more on him in the future~~~)

Is it ok if I... If it’s not too much trouble... I hope it’s ok if....

Sweetie pie honey bunch cinnamon toast crunch I am so honored that you read my work and then went “I like the order this person puts words in and I want them to put words in an order for me” you are never bothering me and I am always happy to receive your prompts!

What happens if you get a prompt you won’t/can’t write?

I have declined prompts before. For some it’s because of personal reasons related to trigger, for others it’s because I just don’t feel that I’m the right voice for that piece. In the case that this happens, if the prompt requester is anonymous (and so far that’s always been the case I believe), I reply with a succinct explanation along with thanks for the ask and an offer to have them submit something else. I also invite other authors in the fandom to adopt a prompt, which has worked in the past! If someone were to write me off of anonymous I would privately reply to them. I never want anyone to feel shamed or discouraged from reaching out and this is the way I make sure I am taking care of myself as well as my readers

Misc.

I have an About Me page and my inbox is always open if you have other questions. I think this covers some of the basics but please let me know if I’ve missed any.

I would also like to offer a quick shoutout to @unapologetic-and-aesthetic for the lovely aesthetic collages they’ve made inspired by my fics. They are gorgeous and I am so happy that my words prompted art. It’s genuinely the coolest thing.

#FAQ #housekeeping

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saiilorstars · 4 years

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Next Stop, Everywhere

Chapter 12: The American and the Martian

Fandom: Doctor Who

Pairing: Female OC x 10th Doctor

(Minerva’s face claim: Victoria Camacho)

// Story Masterlist //

~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~

Chapter summary: Hospitals are never nice. But this time Minerva and the Doctor get to deal with space rhinos while meeting one Martha Jones!

“Thanks, Loraine,” I picked up my paperwork from the hospital desk.

“No problem. That’s 10 hours of community service for you,” the blonde woman on the other side of the desk replied with a grin, “You can definitely go home now.”

“Uh…I don’t think so. I’d like to continue for a few more days…these patients need some company,” I smiled as I skimmed through the papers just to double check that everything was fine. Last thing I needed was for one stupid error to ruin all the hours I had accumulated. “Some very specific pateints indeed…”

“Oh, aren’t you sweet,” Loraine sat back down in her seat, “Well, go ahead then. You know Mr. Stoker loves having you around. ”

“Yeah, to shame his medical students,” I looked up, serious. I didn’t quite like that man. “Although I have to admit some of the things I know is like so elementary; it’s a crime for them not to know.”

Loraine laughed as I gathered the rest of my papers off the counter. “Well, go and shame them some more!”

I smiled and went on my way, greeting a few of the other workers along with some patients. I turned for a new corridor, up to where I saw the medical students crowding around a patient, with Mr. Stoker at the head. I wondered what torture the man had come up with for his medical students today.

“Need help?” I walked up to them, sweet grin on my face. I found people were rather fond of my “sweet” smiles and grins. It probably wasn’t good to lie but it sure got the Doctor and I out of trouble when we really needed it. And he needed it more than I did. My mouth wasn’t nearly as big as his.

“Ah, Miss Souza. We could always use your expertise,” Mr Stoker nodded happily, gesturing for me to come closer.

“Nonsense, I can’t know more than your brilliant students here,” I squeezed through the students until I walked up beside the patient’s bed, “Although, I have to say, one of you missed an important detail in Miss Carolina’s chart. She’ll be going home by tonight. Gotta be careful, guys.”

“Excellent,” Stoker clapped, “See? This is what you should strive to be,” he looked to the students, “I don’t know why Miss Souza didn’t decide to become a doctor. She has all the makings.”

I smiled softly, “It’s not my calling. I’m perfectly fine being a volunteer. The patients are intriguing…” I glanced down to a not-so-human-patient beside me, “I like speaking to them.”

“Well, the least you could do is oversee my students in their work,” Stoker gestured.

I nodded, “I’m all ears.”

“Here we have John Smith who was admitted yesterday with severe abdominal pains. How are you today, Mr. Smith?”

“Aw, not so bad, still a bit…you know. Blah,” the Doctor shrugged.

“Jones, why don’t you see what you could find?” Stoker instructed a dark-skinned young woman to come up. “Amaze me.”

Out of everyone, I firmly believed that Martha Jones was the bravest of the students. Everyone else seemed kind of squeaky, especially when it came to Mr. Stoker. I watched as she approached the Doctor’s side with her stethoscope in hand.

“That wasn’t very clever, running around outside, was it?” she asked the Doctor with a light smile, giving the impression that she already met the Doctor. I frowned. That had to be a mistake. At least the Doctor seemed as confused as I was.

“I’m sorry?”

“On Chancery Street this morning. You came up to me and took your tie off.”

My frown had slowly turned into a scowl that was directed at the Doctor. I didn’t have to actually say anything for him to know that if he’d wandered off without telling me…

He gave me a look expressively saying that did not happen.

It better had not.

“What did I do that for?” the Doctor asked Martha afterwards, probably to keep the conversation going.

“I don’t know, you just did,” Martha shrugged. She didn’t seem like a liar either which only further puzzled the Doctor and I.

“Not me. I was here, in bed. Ask the nurses. Ask that one,” he pointed a thumb at me.

“Yeah, he talked my ears off for three straight hours,” I commented, making several of the students - including Martha - chuckle. The Doctor didn’t look so amused with me.

Martha shook her head once she sobered from her laugh. “That’s weird…cause it looked like you. Have you got a brother?”

“No, not any more. Just me.” It sounded so easy the way the Doctor would say things like that. Sometimes I wondered if he was even telling the truth. I figured with how old he was, sometimes things just slipped from that big brain of his. Of course I didn’t have the courage to ask him stuff about his family. We’d only just started officially travelling together.

“As time passes and I grow even more infirm and weary, Miss Jones,” Stoker crossed his arms, awaiting for Martha to finally finish.

“Sorry, right,” Martha placed her stethoscope on the Doctor’s chest. She grew confused as she passed it to his other heart. The Doctor only winked at her.

That smug little alien. I had to bring a hand to my mouth because if not, I probably would’ve laughed there and then. If it had been anyone else instead of Martha, I was sure they would’ve fainted…or squeaked. But all Martha did was stare at the Doctor and then her stethoscope. She must have been wondering if something was wrong with her expensive tool.

“I weep for further generations,” Stoker shook his head, startling Martha, “Are you having trouble locating the heart, Miss Jones?”

“Um…I don’t know. Stomach cramps?”

“That is a symptom and not a diagnosis. And you rather fail basic techniques by not consulting first with the patient’s chart,” he picked up the chart but dropped it on account of an electric shock.

“That happened to me this morning,” Martha pointed.

“I had the same thing on the door handle,” another student added.

“And me, on the lift.”

“Well, there’s probably a thunderstorm moving in,” I offered, seeing them become alarmed.

“Yes and lightning is a form of static electricity,” Stoker added, “As was first proven by…anyone?”

“Benjamin Franklin,” the Doctor replied.

“Correct!”

“My mate Ben, that was a day and a half,” the Doctor gave a shake of his head as he started on another of his stories. That’d been what he talked about with me over the past few days, his past travels. And they were kind of good. “I got rope burns off that kite, and then I got soaked…”

“Quite…” Stoker said, confused. He must have thought there was a delirious diagnosis they missed.

“And then I got electrocuted,” the Doctor finished. He looked around, content with his story. I shook my head when he looked my way. One thing I’ve learned in these past few months is the man does not know when to stop talking.

“Moving on now…” Stoker backed away and gestured for his students to follow, “Miss Souza, will you accompany us?”

“Uh, no…I think I’ll stay here and oversee these patients,” I replied, setting my papers on the bedside table.

“Very well,” he nodded and led his students away.

Once they were out of hearing shot, I whacked the Doctor with a strong might on his arm, “Are you serious!?”

“Ow, hey, you know you’re actually stronger than you look right?” he frowned, rubbing his arm, “I learned that the hard way,” he mumbled, moving to rub the back of his head as he remembered the big old smack I gave him just last week after he belittled my school’s educational system. Apparently the human education system was primitive in comparison to his old “academy”…whatever that was anyways. Point was, I did not stand for it.

Again, he did not know when to stop talking. And so now, he learned I wasn’t just a frail little human girl.

“’My mate Ben…I got rope burns off that kite, and then I got soaked. And then I got electrocuted,” I imitated him before whacking his arm again, “News flash, regular people in this time are not friends with Benjamin Franklin!”

“I can’t help it! It slips sometimes!” he defended him as he rubbed his arm again, “And can you quit with the hitting?”

“Human too strong for big, bad Time Lord?” I raised an eyebrow, pulling the chair nearby and moving it beside the bed.

He sighed, “How was your day?”

I rolled my eyes, a hint of a smile creeping up on my face, “It was fine. I woke up, checked the TARDIS and it was fine.”

“You didn’t take her anywhere did you?” he raised an eyebrow, suspicious of my lonely nights in the box of wonders.

Since he was stuck in the hospital all day and night, I was left with the TARDIS at night. When we first made the arrangements, the Doctor had been truly worried that I’d be scared to stay inside on my own. It was touching that he cared but I had to remind him that I’d been on my own for quite a while now. Years worth. And truthfully, I didn’t think there was a safe place than the TARDIS. Plus, I had adventures of my own inside the box. I was finally discovering all the rooms it and I couldn’t be more enthralled with it!

“I don’t even know how to fly her,” I reminded, easing his doubts, “But I gotta say, I don’t like the idea of you spending the nights here on your own.”

“Worried?” he teased, smirking.

“Yeah, for the other patients,” I crossed my arms and took pleasure seeing that smirk drop from his face. “You’re not exactly the careful one. You’re a walking a disaster.”

“Thanks,” he rolled his eyes.

“You’re welcome,” I said, looking around and seeing Martha studying up another patient. I stood up and started towards her but I stopped after only a few steps. With a sigh, I kept myself in my spot and just watched.

“Something on your mind?” the Doctor asked after a moment of silence.

“I made a friend, that one over there, Martha Jones,” I pointed discreetly, “She’s bloody brilliant in the profession.”

“You’ve spoken then?”

I nodded, turning back and coming to pick up a folder from the table, “I got my hands on special x-rays because of her,” I held one of them up high and smiled, “This hospitals is wonders.”

“Glad to see someone’s having fun in all this.”

I glanced at him, lowering the paper, “Well, I’ve got to do something while you’re in here. Making a friend and learning is just my right combination. Plus…I really did have to do community service. High school is lovely,” I shook my head.

He picked up my school folder from the table and took a glimpse at the papers, “Two more years, right? Sorry about that.”

Now that he knew I was a year behind because of him, it seemed his guilt had risen as well. I kept telling him it was alright, that’d I continue catching up as I had been for some time…but it still got to him.

“Why do none of these school reports have any mention of your parents?” he suddenly asked, looking up from the papers.

“Not important,” I snatched them from him, growing serious.

He raised an eyebrow, “Now I’m thinking it is important.”

“It’s not.”

“You know, we still need to go and see them. I promised Jackie I would take you.”

“Later…” I turned around, “Much…much later…”

“Still not ready?”

“No,” I shook my head.

While I had managed to tell the Doctor a good part of myself, I was still holding back the biggest guilt I carried since I was thirteen. I just couldn’t get my mouth to speak those words. And I tried, believe me, but I felt that fear of rejection and I just couldn’t. I knew that worried him but as long as he was able to keep a close eye on me, he was alright. I tended to become what one might say “depressed” when I really got to think about it, and he was concerned I’d try something stupid. I never really had done anything so I didn’t understand why he was so edgy. But that was one thing I also learned about him, he tended to become a bit overprotective, as he once was with Rose. I admitted it did feel nice to finally be a part of that, it gave me a funny feeling…

“Minerva?” he called, giving me that look over when he thought I was entering that phase.

“I’m fine,” I waved him off, “Just please don’t make go back to them.”

“I won’t,” he assured, eyeing me cautiously, “Just calm down.”

I plopped down beside him, “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happens to me, but I just get so-”

“Frantic?”

“…maybe.”

“Why does it happen? You’re afraid, that I get, but is it really that much?”

“My mother terrifies me,” I confessed, almost shuddering at the idea of seeing her again. “My father…while not the best, was still less scary. If I go face to face with them, I won’t be able to handle it. And whenever I think of that, that moment we meet again, I panic…”

And I knew he thought that wasn’t okay, not just to be afraid of your parents, but health-wise. Ever since Canary Wharf, we started traveling together and consequently, getting to know each other. Unfortunately, he seemed to have picked up one some of my “unhealthy” emotions and personality traits. But, he didn’t seem to want to tell me what exactly those unhealthy traits were from, or why they happened. I just knew they stemmed from my parents…and that fatal day.

“You shouldn’t though,” he placed a hand over mine, “It’s like I told you a while back, it's never your fault. Do what you do, say what you say, it can’t be.”

“I wish my parents were like that…”

“If they aren’t, I can always try and convince them.”

I smiled at his offer, taking my hand back and shaking my head, “I think my mom would chew your head off if you tell her she’s ’wrong’.”

“Oh, she's that kind of person, huh?”

“Like what?”

“She’s your mum,” he looked away, making a face, “It’s best not to say it.”

“Oi!” I whacked his arm, “I know she’s my mom so I pretty much know what you’re going to say. And yes, she is that kind of person. Whatever she says, it’s right. Whatever she does is right. I’m always wrong.”

“Even when it’s about her own daughter. Are you sure you’re not adopted?” he asked jokingly, raising an eyebrow as he pondered, “Maybe your real parents are more understanding…”

“I’m pretty sure I’m not adopted,” I chuckled.

“Mm, well, worth a shot!”

I stood up, still shaking my head, trying to seem disapproving but my smile was canceling it out. “I’m going to go see if I can talk to Martha.”

“Make a new friend, you know, one that's not an alien,” he whispered, “Maybe it’ll do you some good.”

“Yeah,” I pretended to consider it, “Maybe it would be good for a human to have a human friend. I wouldn’t have to deal with a pompous alien who thinks he’s all top-shot,” I smirked as he scowled at the words.

“Wha - I don’t think I’m a top shot!”

“Of course not, I am,” my smirk widened as I backed away.

“Minerva!”

I laughed, though it was cut short when the building started shaking. Fear quickly rushed through my body as I struggled to stay on my feet. “Doctor!” I tried reaching fro the foot of his bed but instead I fell forwards. I’m pretty sure I heard his body land with a thud somewhere else.

The building continued to shake for several minutes in which chaos promptly set in. Patients screamed as they toppled off their beds or fell from standing up. Desks and bed-stands were knocked over, pulling some of the curtain-dividers in the process. No one was left standing when the shaking finally stopped. Despite everything being still, I was afraid to move for the first couple of minutes. It wasn’t until the Doctor found me that I finally stood up, and that was, again, only because he helped me.

“What-what just happened?” I clung to his arm until I gathered my bearings. Things might have still been spinning in my eyes.

“Are you okay?” he slowly let me go when he was sure that I was able to stand on my own. Once my eyes could see clearly, they widened. Everything was dark outside. “Minerva? Are you okay~?”

“Yeah, but Doctor, it was day-time…” I pointed a shaky finger towards the window yet when he looked back he didn’t seem so surprised.

“Yeah, this is where it starts,” he walked me out of his ‘room’. “Now stay here!” He instructed before going back and shutting the curtains around the room to change.

I forgot about his one instruction and turned for the windows again. I saw Martha and another student inching closer to them. By this point, almost everyone had realized the big environment change and started panicking. People rushed past me, some of them pushing me a bit. I started pushed my way through until I could reach the windows.

The sight nearly took my breath away.

There was no more sun and light. Space was all around us in all its dark, starry glory. My eyes lowered to the ground where the moon craters were. I touched the glass and realized it wasn’t as cold as it was supposed to be. Something is helping us stay alive, I realized.

“Oh my god we’re on the moon…” Martha was as breathless as I would be if I was talking, if I could talk.

“But we can’t be!” the student beside Martha shook her head frantically.

She was one of the squeaky ones.

“But look where we are,” Martha said, far more calm than her friend. “It’s got to be real.”

“It is,” I nodded at her. She wasn’t squeaky at all. “And do you know the funny thing?” both students turned to me, awaiting for the answer with curiosity, “We’re still breathing. How and, most importantly, why?”

“What do you mean why!?” Martha’s friend exclaimed, almost bursting into sobs right there and then.

“It means we’re wanted alive…which is good for the moment,” I tried to say for her sake but she didn’t calm down.

“She’s right,” Martha agreed, nodding, “If we were wanted dead, the air would’ve been sucked out the moment we appeared on the moon. And yet, here we are.”

“Very good points you two,” the Doctor appeared behind us and promptly thumped the back of my head.

“Ow!”

“I thought I told you to stay with me!”

“You wanted me to stay by your bed while you changed when this-” I made a gesture at the window, “-was the sight!? C'mon!” He rolled his eyes in return. “And can I just ask…what is going on with your hair?”

It was hilarious how fast his hand flung to his hair. Sometimes I couldn’t tell what the Doctor loved more: the TARDIS or his hair.

“There’s something wrong with your hair,” I giggled.

Both his hands flung to his hair now, fully alarmed,. “What? Why? How does it look?”

“This is what happens when you don’t spend like two hours on it each morning, huh?”

“I do not spend two hours!”

“Three?”

“Minerva!” he half-shouted, and content, I turned to the window.

“So anyways, big picture here, Martha?” I glanced at her, seeing she was still looking between the Doctor and I, “Is something wrong?”

“N-no, I suppose not…”

The Doctor walked up to the window, attempting to get into business mode but there was still one hand pressing the back of his head. “How are we still breathing?”

“But we can’t be!” the other student still cried out.

“We are,” I snapped, making her turn to me, “Don’t waste time by denying the facts, please.”

“Have we got a balcony on this floor or a veranda…or…anything really?” the Doctor asked Martha, trying to remember her name no doubt. He hadn’t made friends with anyone in the building unlike me…

“It’s Martha,” I reminded.

“Martha, yes,” he nodded his head, “…Jo…J…”

“Jones,” I mumbled.

“Jones! Martha Jones! How about that balcony or something?”

“By the patients’ lounge,” she replied, looking a bit amused with the two of us.

“Good, let’s go!” he pulled me forwards.

“Wait!” Martha called, “I’ll go with you!”

“You could die,” the Doctor looked back with a warning expression. It didn’t seem to deter Martha one bit.

“We might not.”

“Excellent! Let’s go!” I exclaimed, excited to have her around for this bit.

We ran down the hallways until we reached the balcony doors which were shut. We took a deep breath before the Doctor opened the doors and we stepped out.

“What do you know, we’ve got air!” I said, happily looking around.

“But how does that work?” Martha asked in awe.

“Just be glad it does,” the Doctor looked out ahead, seriously.

Martha stared out, her eyes looking from one thing to the other, “I’ve got a party tonight. It’s my brother’s twenty-first. My mother’s going to be really, really…”

I glanced at her when she trailed off. Her eyes had only slightly un-widened but they were still flickering pretty fast. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah…”

“Are you sure?”

“We could go back inside,” the Doctor offered.

“No way,” she quickly shook her head, “I mean, we could die any minute but all the same…it’s beautiful.”

“You think so?”

“How many people want to go to the moon? And here we are!”

“Standing in the earth light,” I sighed, looking to our beautiful planet across us.

“What do you think happened?” Martha asked.

“What do you think?” the Doctor challenged.

“Extraterrestrial,” she didn’t hesitate to answer. “It’s got to be. A few years ago that would’ve sounded crazy but in these days?” She laughed softly, “That spaceship flying into Big Ben, Christmas, those Cybermen things. The battle at Canary Wharf…that’s how we lost my cousin, Adeola.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, sadly, remembering the scene of her death. Truthfully, I had nightmares of that day, once in a while, that’d wake me up from my sleep.

“We were there. In the battle,” the Doctor said, “Sorry.”

“I promise you, Mr. Smith, we’ll find a way out,” Martha glanced at us, “And you, Minerva. If we traveled to the moon then we can travel back. There’s got to be a way!”

“It’s not Smith,” the Doctor corrected, “It’s not my real name.”

“Then who are you?”

“I’m the Doctor.”

“Me too, if I can pass my exams,” she smiled, “What is it then, Doctor Smith?”

“Just the Doctor.”

Martha stopped and considered it, “How do you mean, just the Doctor,” she looked back at me and I nodded, “But…so people just call you 'the Doctor’?”

“Uh, yeah,” the Doctor nodded, a small smile on his face.

“Well, I’m not. As far as I’m concerned, you’ve got to earn that title.”

“Well, I’d better start then. Let’s have a look,” he picked up a pebble and threw it out, “There must be some sort of force field keeping the air in.”

“But that means the one we’ve got is limited supply…” I looked over, “What would happen when we run out?”

“You’re pretty clever, think you know the answer to it.”

“We’re all gonna suffocate,” I declared before panicking, “But who would do that?”

“Heads up! Ask them yourself!” the Doctor pointed to a couple of ships landing in front of the hospital.

“Aliens. That’s aliens. Real, proper aliens,” Martha gasped as we watched the armed aliens march towards us.

“Judoon,” the Doctor stated.

“Aren’t those like…the galactic police?” I inquired. I remembered one of his stories included aliens with that name.

“Hm, you actually do listen,” he said with a sarcastic surprised tone.

I smirked, “Well, not all your rambles are useless. Some are actually educational.”

“Hm. Let’s go!”

He led the way back into the hospital. We walked for the main floor but then hid on the mezzanine level instead, behind a few potted plants, when the 'Judoon’ started making their way in. People were going even more frantic now.

“Oh, look! You’ve got a little shop! I like a little shop!” the Doctor exclaimed, excitedly.

“Not now!” I scolded, recalling his ridiculous likes of little shops from New Earth. “People are literally scared to death here!”

“So these 'judoon’, what are they doing?” Martha asked, “Did they bring us to the moon?”

“Neutral territory,” the Doctor replied, finally tearing his eyes from the shop, “According to galactic law, they’ve got no jurisdiction over the earth and they isolated us. That rain? Lightning? That was them, using an H2O scoop.”

“Galactic law?” Martha tried understanding, “Where’d you get that from? If they’re police, are we under arrest? Are we trespassing on the moon or something?”

“I think they’re just looking for something,” I pointed, “See? They’re marking people with a 'human’ sign and since they keep going they obviously don’t want something human soo…” I trailed off, glancing at the Doctor, “Bad day for you.”

“Why?” Martha asked, receiving a look from the Doctor, waiting for her to make the calculations, “Oh you’re kidding me…don’t be ridiculous. And what are you then?” she pointed at me, “Alien too?”

“No, didn’t you just hear me? I said bad day for him not me,” I pointed to the Doctor, “I’m as human as they come.”

The Doctor wasn’t pleased and stood up, Martha and I following him until we entered an office. While he worked on a computer, we kept an eye on the Judoon that were searching the lower levels.

“They’ve reached the third floor!” I exclaimed.

“What’s that thing?” Martha asked. I looked back and saw him using the sonic on the computer.

“Sonic screwdriver,” the Doctor replied without even looking up.

“Well if you’re not going to answer me properly!”

“No really, it is. It’s a screwdriver and it’s sonic. Look.”

“What else have you got? A laser spanner?”

“I did. But it was stolen by Emily Pankhurst, cheeky woman,” he muttered before hitting the computer. “Oh this computer! The Judoon must have locked it down. Judoon platoon upon the moon. This is your fault!” he pointed at me with a violent finger.

My eyes widened indignantly. “Me!? What did I do!?”

“You had to go and volunteer!”

“I needed the service for school!” I countered, marching up to him, “We can’t all live in a stupid box!”

“Oi! Don’t diss the box!”

“Then don’t accuse me for alien trouble, Martian!”

“Don’t call me that!” he pointed again and I felt so tempted to bite him but that might have been described as childish. “If you hadn’t volunteered, I’d never have noticed the plasma coils around the hospital!”

“If you don’t get your finger out of my face, you’re gonna lose it! God, you’re an idiot!”

“Oi! You two done yet?” Martha called from the doorway, not amused. “This is not the time for your couple fights!”

“We’re not together,” I declared, looking back at her, “He’s too much of an idiot for someone so clever like me.” And I awaited the snap from said idiot.

The Doctor scoffed as he returned to the computer, “You wish you had someone like me!”

“Uh, no, his last name starts with a ’D’ and ends with a 'iCaprio!”

“Seriously?” Martha called again, coming up to us and heaving a sigh, “Can someone just tell me what those things are looking for?”

“Something that looks human but isn’t,” the Doctor replied in a mutter.

“Like you?”

“Like me. But not me.”

“Has to be a shape changer if they’re categorizing each and every one of us,” I pointed out.

“Well…can’t we just leave the Judoon to find it?” Martha asked.

“No. They’d declare the hospital guilty of harboring a fugitive, they’ll sentence it to execution,” the Doctor answered.

“All of us?” I blinked, “But that’s…”

“If I can find this thing first…Oh! Just that they’re thick! The Judoon are thick!” he exclaimed, throwing his head back, “The Judoon wiped the records! Oh that’s clever.”

“Okay, what exactly are we looking for?” Martha asked, trying to keep up.

“Any patient admitted in the past week with unusual symptoms.”

“Maybe there’s a backup or something. Hospitals usually have them,” I suggested.

“I’ll go ask Mr. Stoker! He would know!” Martha exclaimed before running out of the room.

“DiCaprio? Seriously?” the Doctor looked up when it was just us two. He seemed at a cross between offence and amusement. “I didn’t peg you for one of his fans.”

“Have you seen Titanic? He was a genius! And good looking,” I leaned against the desk and I’m sure a dream smile had to have taken place on my face. “Don’t think you can offer me something better than that, right?”

“Mm,” I shrugged.,“Can you offer me better?”

He scoffed and loudly, “Time Lord.”

“Is that supposed to mean something?” I turned around to face him.

“Lots, actually!”

“Sounds more like a deal breaker to me!”

Now a true offence had cross his face. “Minerva!”

“Oh get to work, Martian,” I gestured to the computer, “You can come up with flirts later.”

“Don’t call me Martian,” he muttered before resuming his work.

I took to heart what I said about liking the 'Martian’ nickname Donna had used. I branded him with it ever since and it couldn’t be more amusing to watch him get so irritated at it. These months had served well to get to know each other, and it also helped us to get at each other’s necks. Example, I for one, liked pears and would like to have one again…but he hated them. Minerva doesn’t get pears anymore. He, on the other hand, I discovered, was very impatient. And now that he knew I drew, I asked him if I could sketch him once. The man lasted five minutes before he jumped out of his chair.

But even throughout learning the bad sides of each other, we still grew closer…and apparently, to others, we “flirted”. And from a different perspective, like Martha’s to say, I could see where they would think that. I theorized it was due to the Doctor’s guilt of ignoring me. As soon as we started traveling after Canary Wharf, he took me to so many places where he asked every possible question about me, and I to him. We’d gotten close, inevitably, and somehow entered that phase of our relationship, flirts. But it was harmless, all harmless flirting.

“Restored it!” the Doctor exclaimed, snapping me out my thoughts.

“To Martha we go!” I ran out of the room first.

“You’ve take a liking to her, huh?”

I nodded, “Yeah, I’m telling you, she’s so nice! Possibly a good friend if I had the chance to get to know her.”

On turning a corridor, we bumped into Martha herself.

“I found her!” she cried, out of breath from an apparent run she’d done. “She’s over…”

“Doctor, what is that?” I pointed to the black suited figures coming up behind Martha.

“Run, run, run!” the Doctor pushed Martha and I down the hallway.

We ran down the stairs but came across the Judoon and turned the other way. We ran inside the Radiology room and slammed the door as if it would actually do something. The Doctor ushered us into another room towards the end, behind a window that would protect people during exams.

“When I say 'now’, press the button,” the Doctor ordered.

“There’s many buttons here!” Martha cried.

“Figure it out!”

“Gee, you’re so helpful!” I snapped before rushing to a bookshelf in search of a manual. I found it in a matter of minutes and together, Martha and I figured out how to basically turn it on.

“Now!” The Doctor ordered.

Together, Martha and I pressed the big, yellow button when the leather-clad figure emerged into the room. It received a mass amount of radiation before falling face-down to the floor. Martha turned the machine off but neither of us moved out of protective cocoon.

“What exactly did you do?” I asked the Doctor.

“Increased the radiation by five thousand percent. Killed him dead.”

“Wouldn’t that kill you?”

“One thing you don’t know about me: We used to play with roentgen bricks in the nursery,” he declared with a grin that I suspected was more or less the same one he had when he would play with…those bricks.

“…right,” I tucked some hair behind my ear. “When I was a kid, I used to play with bouncy balls but you…you would play with…radiology. Cool.” His smirk expressed his belief that it was indeed 'cool’.

“You two are mad!” Martha exclaimed with a shake of her head.

“It’s safe for you to come out, I’ve absorbed it all. All I need to do is expel it ” And then, he started bouncing and hopping like crazy.

“Should I even ask what you’re doing?” I stepped out with Martha but for safety reasons I kept us away.

“If I can concentrate I can shake the radiation in my body and move it into one spot. It’s in my left shoe!” he pointed at the precise shoe. My head and Martha’s just followed his bouncy moves while he hopped all around. “Out, out, out, out, out. Out, out, ah, ah, ah, ah. It is, it is, it is, it is, it is hot. Ah! Hold on.” He stopped hopping, removed his shoe and threw it in a dustbin. “Done.”

I possibly stared like an idiot but sometimes…he was just too much. It was in these moments that I would wonder what Rose used to do in these situations. Probably fawn over him. The sour thoughts would come to mind which would then make me push her and it all away.

“You’re completely mad,” Martha breathed in.

“Right. I look daft with one shoe,” the Doctor took off his other shoe and threw it in the dustbin as well, “Barefoot on the moon!”

“Yes, because that was the problem,” I nodded, crossing my arms. “Doctor!”

“What?” he genuinely asked. I had to laugh.

“So what is that thing?” Martha walked over to the corpse but I quickly pulled her away. Who knows what could leak from the corpse.

“It’s just a Slab. Basic slave drones,” the Doctor moved around the corpse. “Solid leather, all the way through. Someone has got one hell of a fetish.”

“It came with that woman, Mrs. Finnegan,” Martha said. “It was working for her like a servant.”

“My sonic screwdriver,” the Doctor suddenly remembered and rushed to the machine his sonic was sticking out from.

“She was one of the patients,” I said to Martha once I remembered the old woman. “She was so sweet…”

“My sonic screwdriver!” the Doctor continued to whine behind us. I glanced back and saw the sonic had been more or less destroyed by his gimmick with the machines.

“She had a straw like some kind of vampire,” Martha said.

“I loved my sonic screwdriver!”

I walked to the whining alien, silently took his 'screwdriver’ from his hands and threw it away in the dustbin, “I’m sure the TARDIS can make you a brand new one. Can we focus, please?”

“Right, sorry,” he quickly set himself up again.

“Doctor! Miss Finnegan is the alien!” Martha exclaimed.

He smiled at her and I assumed it wasn’t because she’d basically figured out our culprit. “You called me 'Doctor’.”

“Anyways,” she obviously didn’t want to admit that, “She was drinking Mr. Stoker’s blood.”

“Drinking blood?” I made a face and shuddered. “Are we dealing with vampires? Do vampires exist?”

“No,” the Doctor pointed at me before exclaiming, “That’s it! Shape changer remember? Internal shape changer. She wasn’t drinking blood, she was assimilating it! If she can assimilate the blood, mimic the morphology then she can register as human! We’ve got to find her and show the Judoon!” He raced out of the room, leaving Martha and I to follow him into the corridors.

However, not three steps forwards we saw another Slab coming down. We retreated behind a water cooler until it passed.

“That’s the thing about Slabs, they always travel in pairs,” the Doctor whispered.

“What about you?” Martha asked, “Haven’t you got back up or something?”

“Ooh humans,” he shook his head, “We’re stuck on the moon running out of air with Judoon and a bloodsucking criminal, you’re asking personal questions. Come on.”

“Humans?” Martha chuckled lightly, “I’m still not convinced you’re an alien.”

And as soon as we stepped out of our hiding place, a Judoon shined a blue light on the Doctor’s face.

“Non-human,” it concluded.

“Believe it now?” I mumbled to Martha who was wide-eyed with the shock.

“And again!” the Doctor exclaimed before we ran. We ran up the stairs and entered a new floor where people were gasping for air on the floor, “They’ve done this floor and with any luck, since Judoon are just a bit logical they won’t be back.”

We started walking but Martha stopped by her friend a few minutes later. To her credit, the squeaky student seemed less squeaky now and more serious.

“Where are we going now?” I asked the Doctor a few steps away from Martha.

“Stoker’s office.”

“Do you think we’ll have sufficient time? Look at these people!” I pointed at the patients scattered down the hallway. None of them seemed to have strength left to keep walking. The air was thinning. “Pretty soon, Martha and I are human and unlike you we’re gonna slow down…”

“We’ll get it done before that happens,” he assured, “Now c'mon, where’s the office?”

“Over there,” I pointed ahead as Martha re-joined us.

“Let’s go then!”

And again, as usual, we ran. When we entered the office, there was no one there except for a dead Mr. Stoker.

“But she was here!” Martha said frantically.

The Doctor went to examine Stoker on the ground, “Drained him dry. Every last drop. I was right. She’s a plasmavore.”

“What’s she doing on earth?” I raised an eyebrow. “And in a Hospital?”

“Hiding. On the run. But she’s still not safe. The Judoon could execute us all,” he stood up and we walked back out into the corridor, “If I was plasmavore surrounded by police, what would I do?”

“Find the non-human. Execute,” We heard Judoon not far away.

“Where did she go, then?” I asked him, though he seemed to be come up short, “What would she need?”

“I…I don’t know,” he looked around, suddenly spotting the MRI room sign, “Ah, she’s as clever as me…almost.”

“What? What’s she gonna do-”

A loud crash sound followed by the screams of the patients rang through the hallway, “They’re coming!” I exclaimed, “Doctor, you gotta go and stop her before we’re all dead. Martha and I will…distract, I don’t know. How do you distract alien rhinos?” I glanced at them, seeing they were marching their way over.

“They’re coming!” Martha shouted.

I panicked and shook the Doctor’s arm. “Doctor, ideas!? This would be the perfect moment to use your big mouth!”

“Yeah, you might be right about that one,” he said, though rather nervously. He took my hand off his arm and kept it in his own hand. “Did I ever get to the part about genetic transfers with you?”

“In your stories?” I made a face, hoping that would make it a clear 'no’. “Doctor, I’m sorry, but sometimes I just tuned you out!”

He rolled his eyes. “Okay, well, maybe you should have listened! Believe me when I say that I am so sorry for this but I trust you most.”

“Oh, what are you on about now, Mar-”

I was just about to turn around when his hands flung to my face, pulling me forwards to his lips for a kiss. I made a funny noise as I couldn’t exactly express my shock with my mouth. Of course after a few seconds I started to truly feel the press of his lips against mine and…and it was pretty nice. But just when my eyes closed, the Doctor pulled away.

“What…?” I blinked fast in an attempt to speed my brain back up.

The Doctor, to his credit, did seem like he was a bit dazed as well, but it dropped from his face seconds later to be replaced by a smugness no one could outmatch. “DiCaprio wouldn’t have anything on me! But I’m sorry, Minerva, it was to save thousands of lives okay! I trusted you more!”

“No!” I shouted after the him when he rushed off. I hoped I had enough clear anger to make him realize his mistake. “I am 17, I have never been kissed before, and a stupid alien stole my first kiss!”

That made him freeze and look back. “Offensive,” he pointed. “But, I will ignore it,” he then turned around and continued on his way.

“He did not just do that,” I muttered with balled fists as I watched him leave.

Martha moved beside me, now truly looking amused. “Hm, makes me wonder what you do when you are together.”

“Shut up,” I snapped, although there was a blush on my face for a moment. I shook my head in hope of getting rid of that. “We should just go.”

Before she made another remark, I pulled her down a hallway and ran. It wasn’t long before we met up with more Judoon.

“Halt,” one of them grabbed Martha and shined its blue light on her, “Human.”

“Now, listen,” Martha said as they moved onto me, “We know who you’re looking for. She’s this woman. She calls herself Florence.”

“Human,” it concluded on me, “With non-human traits suspected. Non-human element confirmed. Authorize full scan.”

My eyes widened, “Get away from me! I do not consent, you hear me!? I do not-”

But another Judoon moved behind me and grabbed my arms still. Another Juddon backed Martha up when they commenced their 'scan’.

“You gotta listen!” I cried. “We know who you’re looking for! We can take you to them!”

The Judoon scanning me took my hand and made a cross just like Martha’s, “Confirmed: Human. Traces of facial contact with non-human.”

“Oh, tell me about it!” I huffed.

“Continue search,” the Judoon handed me a piece of paper, “You will need this.”

“What for?”

“Compensation.”

“Oh give me a break!” I snatched the paper and chucked it to the side, “We know where the alien is! The MRI room!”

Martha and I shuffled our way out of the Judoon and ran for the MRI room, thankfully a couple other Judoon were headed that way from the other end of the hallway.

“Scan him! Confirmation: deceased,” we heard as soon as we entered the room.

“What!?” I pushed myself inside and the Doctor lying on the ground unconscious. “Doctor! Hey!”

“Stop,” the Judoon ordered. “Case closed.”

“But it was her!” Martha pointed at the old lady in front of us who couldn’t look more triumphant. “She did it! She murdered him.”

“The Judoon have no authority over human crime.”

“But she’s not human!” I yelled angrily, dropping to my knees beside the Doctor, “C'mon Martian, wake up.”

“We’re telling you, she’s not human!” Martha insisted.

“Oh, but I am,” Mrs. Finnegan raised her hand, showing off the 'X’ that branded as humans, “I’ve been cataloged.”

“No you’re not!” I shouted, “You assim…” I paused, glancing at Martha who quickly understood, “She drank his blood…she drank the Doctor’s blood and do you know what happens after that?”

“I get to do this!” Martha snatched one of the Judoon’s scanners and pointed it at Finnegan.

“Oh, I don’t mind. Scan all you like.”

“Non-human,” the Judoon declared.

“But, what?” Finnegan repeated, utterly confused.

“Confirm analysis.”

“Oh, but it’s a mistake, surely. I’m human. I’m as human as they come!”

“He did this on purpose,” I spat, “You drank his blood and now you’re caught.”

“Confirmed: Plasmavore. I charge you with the crime of murdering the princess of Patrival Regency Nine.”

“She deserved it!” Finnegan snapped, “Those pink cheeks and those blond curls and that simpering voice. She was begging for the bite of a plasmavore.”

“Do you confess?” the Judoon questioned.

“Confess? I’m proud of it! Slab, stop them!”

And sure enough, one of them did but the Judoon easily disintegrated it with its own shoot.

“Verdict: guilty. Sentence: execution.”

“Enjoy your victory, Judoon, because you’re going to burn with me. In hell!” Finnegan smirked. The Judoon disintgrated her as well.

“Case closed.”

“What did she mean, 'burn with me’?” Martha asked just as an alarm came off the radiology machines. “That scanner shouldn’t be doing that. She’s done something.”

“Scans detect lethal acceleration of monomagnetic pulse.”

“Do something!”

“Our jurisdiction has ended. Judoon will evacuate.”

“Minerva! Do something!” Martha cried.

“I…I don’t know,” I looked around, “I…I really don’t. I can’t think straight! Doctor, wake up!” I shook him but the damn Martian wouldn’t move.

“All units withdraw.” And all the Judoon left like that, like they weren’t at fault for all this chaos!

“We’re gonna run out of air!” Martha knelt down beside the Doctor and I, “Can I?”

I nodded and stood up, watching her work on his hearts till I started becoming dizzy. The air was definitely thinning now.

“One, two, three, four, five. One, two, three, four, five!” Martha began CPR with all her force that was surely fleeting. “Two hearts! One, two, three, four, five! One, two, three, four, five!”

“Oh…” I put a hand to my head, feeling even dizzier. “Martha, the air…” I knelt down again but even that did no good.

“I know!” Martha coughed, her CPR movements slowing down as well. “One, two…three, four…five.”

Little by little, my body crumpled on the ground. My vision started blurring but I could still see Martha’s figure doing CPR. “Maybe…a nap…” I mumbled when my head fell against the cold floor. I heard the Doctor’s sharp gasp when he came back to life, but everything was just a mesh of colors in my eyes.

“The…the scanner…” Martha began to say with a ragged breathing, “She did something…”

The last thing I saw was the Doctor’s bare feet moving around the room before everything went dark.

~0~

“You missed it, Minerva! It was raining on the moon!” the Doctor exclaimed as he handed me a glass of water. The loss of air did nothing for him, clearly. He was all over the place just like usual!

With a weak smile, I nodded and took a sip of my water, “Must have been nice.”

I sat on the seat of the console room, letting the Doctor continue his ramble about the rain on the moon. Frankly, I was bit more concerned of Martha’s whereabouts. I don’t remember how I ended up back on the TARDIS, but I assumed the Doctor had saved her as well. But, I had a another idea that was sparking in my brain and I had to put it into action.

“Doctor, can we go back to Martha?” I asked, stopping him in the middle of his story.

“Martha?” he stopped and cocked his head. “What for?”

“She helped.”

“And?”

“I just thought…” I grew slightly nervous, the idea of Martha being a possible replacement to him emerging in my head. She was definitely not that! She was wonderful!

“Minerva?”

“I was thinking…if that was alright I mean…” I tried getting all the words out from my mouth before I grew way too nervous, “…you could…um…bring Martha with us?” I thought he would immediately decline and say something about 'We just lost Rose’ and 'It’d be replacing her’ and blah, blah, blah, but he was quiet. He was actually thinking about it. I watched him think while he threw his new screwdriver in the air, catching it and throwing it.

“Okay,” he stood straight after a few minutes and walked to the controls.

“What?” I blinked, not sure if I had heard right. Could it truly have been that easy?

“I said okay.”

“Are…are you sure? You’re not mad?”

“No, you’re right. She did help us. The least I could do is bring her somewhere nice. And besides, I have a new screwdriver,” he waved it.

“So we’re bringing Martha?” I excitedly stood up from my seat.

He nodded, “Yeah. It’d be nice to have someone around, you’re probably getting tired of my old gob.”

“Just a little,” I teased, finishing the last of my water.

“Very funny, now hang on,” he instructed as he pulled the lever of the console.

Once to the designated spot, I literally dashed out the TARDIS, so excited to have Martha along.

“Minerva, wait up!” the poor alien rushed to catch up.

I rounded a corner, stopping when I saw Martha coming out of a party, her parents and siblings outside as well, along with a raging blonde. My smile faded as I realized they were all arguing.

“Oh, I’m never talking to your family again!” the blonde shouted and walked off.

“Oh, stay, have a night out with Clive!” Francine, Martha’s mother called after her.

“Don’t you dare. I’m putting my foot down,” Clive, Martha’s father, warned.

“You coming?” the blonde called back.

'This is me, putting my foot down…“ and he followed her anyways.

"Doing it for the last twenty five years!” Francine exclaimed.

“Please,” Clive pleaded.

“Clive, stop now!”

And the family disbanded, Tish after her mother, and Leo after their father. Martha was the only one left in the middle and I knew exactly how that felt. Martha was distraught, probably wondering where she’d gone wrong.

I swallowed hard and turned away, my excitement all gone and forgotten. “I don’t want to see anymore,” I mumbled and headed back for the TARDIS.

“What - Minerva!?” the Doctor hurried to catch up with me. “Hey! With those long legs of his, it didn’t him long to catch up. He had his arm around my shoulders in ten seconds flat. "Hey, it’s alright.”

“No, it’s not. I hate seeing families argue. And did you see Martha’s face? I know that face,” I shuddered a breath. “It’s the face you make when you know it’s your fault.”

“Then we can go,” he gestured to the box of wonders in front of us, “Name a place and we’ll go. We’ll forget about everything here and just go somewhere brilliant! How about an art museum? Vincent Van Gogh tickle your fancy?”

I smiled at his attempt to help me out, but there was somebody I didn’t want us to forget. “What about Martha?”

“Do you really want her here that much?”

“Well, it would be nice, wouldn’t it? Get our minds off things…you with…Rose. And me with…my own parents.”

“Ahem,” someone cleared their throat, making us turn around and see Martha standing across us. “Am I interrupting something?”

“No,” I answered, shrugging the Doctor’s arm off my shoulders. “You saw us?”

“Oh yeah,” she nodded, walking up to us. “I went to the moon today.”

“A bit more peaceful than down here,” remarked the Doctor.

“You never even told me who you are…”

“The Doctor.”

“And you know who I am,” I reminded.

“But you never said you knew an alien,” she smiled softly, gesturing to the one standing beside me.

“Well it’s not something you go and blab about.”

“But…what sort of species?” she looked at him, “She says she’s human but what about you?”

“I’m a Time Lord.”

“Right, not pompous at all then.”

“Minerva and I thought, since you helped us today…you might fancy a trip.”

“What, into space? I can’t…I’ve um…got exams and things to do. I have to go into town first thing and pay the rent, I’ve got my family going mad…”

“It travels in time!” I offered, remembering how that had sweetened the deal with Rose and thought it could work again.

“Get out of here!” Martha backed up, her eyes giving the box of wonders a new look. “Really?”

“We can,” the Doctor nodded.

“That’s going too far!”

“I’ll prove it to her,” he said as he stepped inside the TARDIS.

I moved beside Martha and watched the TARDIS de-materialize. I laughed when Martha lost it at the disappearing box.

“N-n-no,” she waved her hand where the box had been, “Is this…that’s not…”

I pulled her back and watched the TARDIS reappear in its spot.

“Told you!” the Doctor stepped out with his tie in hand.

“But…that was this morning!” Martha exclaimed, “Oh my god! You can travel in time!”

The Doctor began putting on his tie again, looking at me, “I told you I didn’t leave the hospital.”

“For once, you didn’t wander off,” I smiled.

“But hold on, if you could see me this morning, why didn’t you tell me not to go into work?” Martha questioned, “Could’ve saved me a lot of trouble.”

“Crossing into established events in strictly forbidden,” the Doctor explained, “Except for cheap tricks.”

“And that’s your spaceship?” she pointed to the TARDIS.

“It’s called the TARDIS. Time and Relative Dimension in Space.”

“But it’s made out of wood…and there’s not much room…I mean, you two are probably already squished or something…”

I chuckled lightly, “Not exactly.”

The Doctor opened the doors for her, “Why don’t you take a look?”

As she went in, we could hear her gasps. We entered behind her and watched her as she took everything in. Her eyes nearly bugged out when she saw the room, but her smile was everlasting.

And then it dropped. “Oh, no, no, no!” She raced out of the TARDIS just to make sure she was seeing correctly even if it defied all laws. “But it’s just a box! But it’s huge! How does it do that? It’s just wood!” We heard her knocking against the TARDIS. “It’s like a box with that room just crammed in! It’s bigger on the inside!” She ran back inside and laughed, completely missing the Doctor mouthing the famous last line.

He gasped for dramatization, ignoring my mock-glare on him. “Is it? I hadn’t noticed.” He closed the doors and took off his coat, throwing it onto one of the rails.

“But is there a crew? Like a navigator and stuff? Where is everyone?”

“Just us,” I replied.

“Just you two?” she raised an eye brow.

“We had a friend…” the Doctor said quietly, “Her name was Rose…”

“Where is she now?” Martha caught on the subject, seeing it a touchy one like Donna had.

“With her family. Happy. She’s fine,” the Doctor looked up, “Not that you are replacing her because you’re not!”

Martha took it with a smile, “Never said I was.”

“Good…” he nodded, “And just on trip to say 'thanks, you get one trip, then back home. We’re good on our own.”

I glanced at him, not really approving of this. That wasn’t really part of the plan…

“Okay…” Martha nodded, “And I can choose? Anywhere I want? In time and space?”

I nodded, “Anywhere you want.”

“Oh this is going to be fantastic!” She laughed lightly.

“Yes!” I clapped my hands, “But if you don’t mind, could we start maybe a little later? I’m actually kind of hungry…”

“Me too,” she quickly nodded, “With all the organizing and my family I don’t think I’ve ate anything.”

“I’ll show you the kitchen!” I volunteered, moving for her, “Doctor? Would you like to accompany us?”

“No, thanks. I’m good.”

“Okay,” I shrugged, “We’ll be back a little later.”

~0~

We had planned on just a snack. Really. We had. But then…

“Pass me the brownies!” Martha pointed.

“What? You can’t mix pasta with brownies!” I frowned, almost gagging at the idea. “That sounds disgusting!”

“It’s not and hurry it up!” She laughed and tried reaching over. I slid the plate to her and watched her bite into a brownie, “Oh, now these are delicious!” she smiled, “You’re a really good cook!”

“Thanks, probably the only thing I didn’t learn on the road,” I set my plate down on the floor. “Learned it right at home.”

“Who taught you? You’re mum?”

I scoffed, “Please, for her, dinner was a frozen meal you get from a liquor store.”

“Dad?”

“Take out. My grandmother taught me…” I sighed, reminiscing all my lessons with my sweet grandmother, “She taught me everything I know.”

“Good grandma,” she nodded, biting again into her brownie.

I dove my fork into my pasta again, “Yeah…she is.”

There was a knock by the threshold, making us both look up, “Uh, ladies?” the Doctor walked in, “Why are you on the floor when there’s a perfectly good table right there?” He pointed at the table that was completely empty. Martha and I looked at each other and laughed, “I was being serious.”

“We found it more comfortable,” I replied, wiping my mouth from brownie crumbs.

“Gave us more free space,” Martha gestured, “Can’t you see we have a mini-buffet going on?”

“Uh…sort of?” he looked down to our plates.

“Want some?” I asked, “There’s pasta and minty-fresh brownies.”

“No, thanks.”

“Oh c'mon, you have to have at least one,” Martha held up a plate of brownies to him. “They’re really good. And after a day like today, we all deserve something sweet.”

“Okay,” he grabbed one and took a bite, “Not bad.”

“Minerva is such a good cook!”

“That she is,” he agreed.

“Thank you both,” I grabbed one as well and bit into it. They were pretty good if I say so myself.

“Minerva, I need your help for something,” the Doctor said, “It’s with the console. Think you can come with me just for a bit?”

“Uh, sure,” I said, standing up, “Don’t know much about spaceships though. Sure you want me for the job?”

“I just need an extra person. Won’t take long,” he gestured for me to go first.

“See you in a bit,” I said to Martha then walked out, “So what’s wrong with the console?”

“I can’t exactly tell,” he replied, “It’s just making this weird sound…”

“Well, it’s probably all that hammering you give it,” I shook my head, smiling to myself. I was sure that if the TARDIS could actually talk, she would’ve yelled at the Doctor for hours for all the damage he’d done to her. “I know if someone kept hammering me I’d probably go out of my way to ruin your plans.”

The Doctor didn’t say much on our walk. Even when we reached the console, he said nothing so I went ahead and opened my ears up for any strange noise. Minutes passed by and no matter how much I waited, I didn’t hear anything. With a frustrated sigh, I turned to the Doctor. “I don’t hear a noise! Is it like a noise that humans can’t hear?”

“Oh, uh, I lied,” he suddenly said, moving past me to the console.

I was left blinking in my spot for a couple minutes. “Wait, what!?” I spun around again and rushed to his side. “What do you mean you lied?”

“I lied. There is no noise. Console’s fine, see?” he made a show of touching the controls and sure enough, nothing strange happened. “Like I would ask you to help me on my console?”

One of my eyebrows shot up in offence. “First of all, rude. Second of all, why did you lie!?”

“Because I wanted to apologize in private.”

“What for…?”

“Stealing your first kiss, apparently.”

My eyes widened and before I knew it, I turned away out of embarrassment. After everything was said and done, I realized I acted far too childish for a situation that had required a 'genetic transfer’. “No, Doctor, you don’t have to say anything. I was rude and selfish. I was very selfish. I was putting something so stupid like a first kiss over a thousand peoples’ lives. I’ve never done anything like that and I hope it never repeats itself. There’s no excuse.”

He touched my arm but even then I wouldn’t look at him. “You don’t have to be so hard on yourself. It was important to you, that’s all.”

“Yes, but…nothing should matter over so many peoples’ lives, Doctor! You’d never be so selfish! That’s why I’m the human. I let little things get in the way of the big picture…and that’s wrong.”

“You’re being harsh on yourself and that is something I will not stand for,” he forced me to face him then placed his hands on my shoulders. “And, if it helps, I feel guilty too.”

“About what? You saved the people in the hospital. You saved me…again.”

“But after that, I still have to live with myself, and I think I’ve hurt you enough.”

“I’m not hurt,” I shrugged, and I dare to think that the chuckle that slipped through my lips would be convincing enough. “A bit…surprised, yeah. But I mean, wouldn’t you be?”

“I took someone’s first kiss. And it really meant a lot to her,” he sadly smiled, letting go of my shoulders.

“Surely, you’re not going to feel guilty for something that ridiculous, right? It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes it does!” he nearly shouted, startling me, “I don’t want to hear those words from you when things clearly do matter to you. This mattered, and I’m gonna fix it. So name a person.”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, what’s that bloke you talked about earlier? The one that’s clearly not better than me, who was he?” he turned to the console, hands wiggling as they prepared to work the controls.

“Doctor, what are you talking about?” I almost laughed at his crazy face.

“Outside those doors will be waiting someone to kiss,” he pointed, “I took one and you’re getting it back.”

Somehow, this didn’t surprise me. It was ridiculous, but it was also a nice gesture. Of course I had to laugh - what a stupid alien!

“There’s not some other alien out there waiting for me, right? Like those Zygons you told me about, the ones with the big suckers?” I mimicked said suckers with my hands, making him smile a bit.

“No, there will not be any aliens waiting for you. You deserve better.”

“Better? As in human?”

“…better as in, well, better than me.”

“Oh, don’t put yourself down like that,” I frowned. I hated when he did that; I wondered if that’s what he felt with me whenever I put myself down? If so, then I might understand his frustration. “And you know what, fine, I accept your deal. But I get to choose, right?” he nodded and so I thought, but the idea had already started forming before the question had been asked. “I don’t want DiCaprio. I don’t want a Zygon.”

“Then who?”

“A first kiss is supposed to be meaningful, you know, with a meaningful person…”

“Yes…”

“I’m looking at him.”

“Sure…” But of course, he paused when the words finally got to him. “Wait, what?”

“A friend who’d go to these measures just for a stupid human custom has to be meaningful. You’re becoming to be a good friend,” I said, trying to make it sound casual and not let him see my blush. “I want you to know that, I’d like for you to understand it.”

“Thank you,” he said, sounding truly surprised. “But…you need to pick someone be-”

“If you say 'better’ I’ll kick you,” I deadpanned, immediately shutting him up.

“Fine, but pick someone worthy, I swear I’ll make it happen. But honestly, it shouldn’t be a problem considering it's you.”

Despite my efforts to be casual, that little line sparked a tingle. “And…and what exactly is that supposed to mean?”

The Doctor’s eyes widened and suddenly the back of his head must have been itchy because his hand dug into his hair. “Uh,uh, n-nothing…”

“Doctor, what did you mean?”

“It’s embarrassing!” he declared, moving around the console.

“Why?”

“Minerva,” he gestured for me to stop with a hand, “I’d just…rather not talk about it.”

“Talk about what? You haven’t said anything!”

“Yes, and don’t you think that’s a sign to stop considering how much I usually talk?”

“Oh you’re good,” I acknowledged, but I hopped in front him and stopped his walking, “But I still wanna know! I’m very curious as you can see!”

“Minerva,” he whined, looking away.

“Oh please!?” I clapped my hands together, putting that sweet smile that’d get me just what I wanted. It worked one everybody including him too!

“Fine! Alright, fine,” he sighed and set a hand on the console, struggling to say his next words, “I…think you’re pretty…and a good kisser.”

Well, with those types of compliments who wouldn’t blush? I tucked some hair behind my ear and cleared my throat. “Well, uh…thanks for that. Especially since it was a first-time for me and…and you’re far more experienced…”

“I, well…thank you…” the Doctor said slowly. “So then…how’s about it, then? Got anyone in mind?”

I took in a breath and once I exhaled, I knew what I wanted. “It’s okay, Doctor. You don’t have to do anything. I’ll take the one I received.”

Apparently, that wasn’t what he wanted to hear. “I need you to let go of your silly pride and-”

“It’s not a pride thing, not this time,” I took his hands and gave them a light squeeze. “I’m fine now, really. Thank you for going through ridiculous measures just to make me feel better. I don’t think you should feel guilty anymore.”

“So that’s it, then? That’s your first kiss? A quick and forced one?”

“Yes, and it’s alright,” I chuckled, seeing him so worked up about it, probably even more than me now. “Now c'mon, let’s go back to Martha. I get the feeling we won’t be seeing any brownies if we delay a minute more.”

“Alright, fine,” he nodded, but gripped my hands, forcing me to stay in place, “I can’t give back what I stole, but I can make it better.”

“What does that-”

“I can give you a better first kiss!” he grabbed the sides of my faces.

“That’s really not necessary…” I said nervously.

“Minerva, I’ve hurt you okay, and you’ve done nothing but give me your kindness. You forgive me in a heartbeat…always. Even when I ignored you, you had already forgiven me and don’t you dare so that’s not true because I remember. I remember your words last Christmas with Rose. You had forgiven me already when I didn’t deserve it.”

“You remembered,” I blinked, surprised he actually remembered what was such a long time ago. I honestly thought it’d never come back to him seeing how long it was. And now that he remembered, he looked so…destroyed.

“Jackie was right, you should’ve slapped me.”

“That’s kinda why I did in the 50’s,” I admitted, making a face at my brutal act, “Sorry about that…”

“Still, I feel awful.”

“You’re guilty,” I frowned, disliking the manner in which his eyes diverted from looking at me, “And I don’t like it. Stop it.”

“I guess that’s one thing we have in common, we’re both guilty,” he sighed, stepping back.

“The difference being that you have repaid your guilt while I could never do that. But hear me now, Martian, everything is fine. Let’s just forget about today and think of where we’re going to bring Martha, who by the way is still in the kitchen waiting for us so let’s go back and enjoy a nice lunch-slash-dinner,” I chuckled, still confused as to how exactly the whole 'day’ and 'night’ thing worked in this box of wonders. “And then go somewhere fantastic! Might I suggest the past?”

“Incredible,” he declared in a low whisper.

“What is?”

“You. Are you really just gonna let it go?”

“Doctor! Focus on the big picture! Get over it. It doesn’t matter. Now let’s go!” I grabbed his hand and walked for the corridors.

“Noo,” he turned me around, face to face with him, “I can’t. I promised to be a good friend and…”

“What are you…?” I frowned.

“I can’t take it back, but I can make it better!”

I saw him leaning down and I should’ve stopped him…but I didn’t. I just stood there, watching him press his lips against mine. I wasn’t going to lie, I didn’t want to at first but then he started growing on me. His hands slowly slid down to my waist, gently bringing me closer to him. My hands eventually came to rest on his arms and despite my awkwardness, I fell under his charm. His lips felt so warm and so soft that I just had to respond. And it was weird at first, but we soon found our sync together almost…almost like we already knew what to do for each other.

Don’t be ridiculous, Minerva. You’ve never even kissed anyone! A statement I could no longer say.

For it being just a kiss between friends it felt so good. Now, I’ve never been kissed before but I felt like it could become so much more. It wasn’t even long before I felt what I had always heard about a first kiss. That little spark…

It was fantastic. It was perfect. It was my first kiss.

The Doctor slowly pulled away after a few minutes. Despite my dazed moment, I could see a slight blush on his face. “Was that…was that good?”

“I can’t believe you just did that,” I started giggling…like an idiot. But he didn’t seem to think so judging by the smile on his face. “DiCaprio would have nothing on it.”

He practically beamed at that. “Really?” A smugness took his face over and this time, I couldn’t get angry. I laughed at him instead.

“You’re ridiculous Martian man!”

“I’m not Martian,” he frowned immediately. “Is there any way you could stop calli-”

'Never.“

”…that’s not nice.“

"You stole my first kiss,” I pointed with another laugh. “So we’re even.”

“Alright, fair enough. So…we’re good?”

“We were good before, but now…now we’re really good.” I looked away for a moment to calm my warm face. He was so smug now, of course he’d be, but there was one more thing I had to do. “But I do have to do one more thing.”

“And that’s?”

I slapped him across the face.

He stumbled back with a hand on his cheek. He was rightfully stunned with the sudden hit. “What was that for?! I thought you just said we were good-”

“That was for kissing me in the hospital without permission!”

He dropped his hand, about to argue, when he realized it was a very true fact. “Okay, I deserved that one.”

“Mhm,” I nodded but chuckled and pulled him into a hug. I was probably confusing the hell out of him right now. “And this is for right now. You’re doing good, Martian. Let go of your guilt, okay?”

“I will when you will,” he countered and I pulled away.

“And now I think it’s time to get back to Martha, don’t you think? She’ll be wondering what’s taken so long,” I tried pulling him for the corridors again but found myself pulling and pulling while the man just stood there, “C'mon!”

“No, you go,” he freed himself of my hand, “It seemed like you really wanted to get to know Martha since you met her in the hospital. Go and do that.”

“But we’re supposed to be doing the same, come with us.”

“No, you deserve this. Go and make a friend who’ll listen on the first round.”

“Thank you,” I gave him another hug, “I won’t lie, it feels nice having her around, even if it’s just for one trip.”

“Exactly,” he pulled away, “So go one and find out who she is and make sure she’s not a threat or anything.”

“Yeah right,” I shook my head, “I think Martha is going to lead to some very good times.”

“Eh…” he swayed his head as he considered it, “…we’ll see.”

“You should consider bringing on another companion,” I edged him on as I walked off.

“Maybe…”

“It’ll be a yes soon,” I warned, glancing back, “I can feel it,” I grinned and continued on my way.

Once I was a decent distance away from him I stopped and placed my fingers went to my lips, getting a shiver down my spine…but a good kind. I shook my head, suddenly remembering who had gotten angry at me for thinking that this precise action was something I was after. Oh, if she was here I’m sure I would’ve gotten more than a slap from her. I continued walking, trying to forget what had happened but my mind kept drifting back and back…

One thing I did allow myself to think about was that I could definitely see what Rose was so worked over about. The man was a really good kisser and I certainly wouldn’t mind kissing him again.

Thank god she’d never know that.

#doctor who #10th doctor #ocapp #ocappreciation #dw imagines #dw imagine #10th doctor imagines #doctor who imagines #10th doctor fics #dw #martha jones #oc: Minerva Souza #fic: next stop eveywhere #noblecrescentedit

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fanfic-scribbles · 5 years

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Lunch Buddy: Chapter One

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Overall Story Facts:

Fandom: MCU Captain America/Avengers

Summary: Steve Rogers makes a friend. A prickly, generally people-averse friend, but they'll both take what they can get.

Quick Facts: Friendship (/Eventual Romance) – Steve Rogers & Reader (leading to Steve Rogers/Reader) – Female Reader

Story Warnings: Reader-insert that verges on OFC, written in 1st person past tense

Chapter One: Oblivious

Chapter Word Count: 2612

Tldr A/N: I don’t do tags (sorry!), this is a ‘slice of life’ I write when the mood strikes so updates will come when they come, this is set shortly after the first “Avengers” movie and any canon that pops up will likely be different so keep an open mind, Reader (or OFC, depending on your preference) is female/bisexual/plus-sized because it’s important to parts of the story but otherwise remains undefined.

(Long) A/N: This is weird(ish), but I'm posting it, because I've been writing bits and pieces for this thing for over a year now and I keep chickening out of posting it. So I'm doing it! First off, a few general warnings: this (to me) still counts as reader-insert since I haven't ascribed a detailed physical look or name to the POV character but I do know some extra things about her. Those being: female, bisexual, plus-sized, asocial. That's it for actual set details and I mention them because they will come up in the story. Also, this is written in first-person past tense. I'm sorry if any of that bugs anybody (I know some people are very 1st person averse) but it's just the way I wanted to write it. I can't honestly say it's self-insert but I can (and should) say it's pretty self-indulgent.

Secondly: this is a 'slice of life' type thing that I write bits and bobs for on occasion. Since I've been adding to it for over a year I have kind of a meandering story and a lot of little pieces that add up to something I enjoy. I'm just trying to finish this first arc so I'll just say for the time being it is Reader(or OFC) & Steve friendship but it's eventually going to be Steve/Reader (or OFC) and we'll see how it goes from there. I aim to update every other week but, again, this is the one thing I have that is for pure relaxing so we shall see. I will not be tagging for this fic. Sorry! I’m way too forgetful and this doesn’t have a planned schedule, so there’s no way I can trust myself to be an actual Adult and do something that responsible.

Thirdly: This is after the first Avengers movie but I have already altered parts of CA:TWS to fit in with what I'm doing. I'll explain it as I go, just keep an open mind.

Stupidly: I have a thing for Oblivious!Reader. It never fails to amuse me to think of different ways for a character to go 'wait, *that* guy?!' Idk why, but sorry not sorry.

I had a routine.

I actually had several, but one of my most sacred involved my lunch break. After half a day of staring at papers and screens, I took an hour to fortify myself for another half day of staring at papers and screens. By…staring at paper and screens. But this was by my choice, at least, and done in a nice, airy café, with a good drink (and sometimes snack) nearby.

I’d been coming to the same shop for almost two years, ever since I got my job just a block or so over, and I rarely missed visiting it on a weekday. Even a fucking alien invasion didn’t chase me off for long– people still had to eat and businesses still had to run. As soon as the infrastructure was back to (mostly) functioning, I was back to doing what I did in every way.

I had noticed when some of the other regulars stopped coming around (I really hoped they had just decided to go somewhere else and that they hadn’t gotten caught up in that nightmare) and I also started to notice some new regulars. One of them was a jerk and I only noticed her as much as it took to avoid her. There were a few people who just came in to get drinks and left right away. Then there was one guy who ended up causing a bit of a stir.

I really only noticed him the first time because he was attractive enough to literally turn heads. Even some of the guys I had assumed were straight took a peek and whispered to themselves. And he wasn’t unaware– his cheeks flushed and he ducked his head and I was pretty sure three people fell in love with him on the spot.

It was funny, but aside from noticing he was attractive and was very nice to the cashiers, I went back to ignoring him. I only had so long in a lunch break and I wasn’t the type to introduce myself to strangers, no matter how cute they were.

So, we simply existed in the same general space at the same general time for a couple of months. He became a regular and also found ways to disguise himself– hats and glasses, and jackets with the lapels turned up. It was funny to me because it seemed like such a movie star thing to do, but even funnier was that, when he remembered to do it, it worked. He drew eyes from strangers less and less the more he figured out how to hide himself, and the other regulars got used to him being around. Just from basic interactions I knew his name was Steve, he tipped well, he was always very polite to the people working, and he liked to sit down with a sketchbook and a cup of coffee. That was about all the ‘interaction’ we had and it was fine.

Until one day.

My headphones were in and I didn’t notice him standing nearby until he leaned closer. I yanked out one of the earbuds and straightened up to see what it was he wanted. He went from concerned to contrite in what could have been a new record. “Oh I’m sorry; I didn’t see–”

“It’s okay,” I said and pulled out the other one so I could give him my full attention. “What do you need?” I surreptitiously checked myself to make sure he wasn’t coming over to tell me about an unfortunate wardrobe malfunction.

“I was just wondering…” He extended an arm to the (very full, I just realized) shop. “There’s nowhere else to sit and your table is so large, could I sit here? I promise I’ll be quiet.”

“It’s not like I’d hear you anyway,” I said and he smiled. I quickly pulled my bag off the chair next to him and pushed it out.

“Thank you,” he said, I nodded, and we went back to our solitary activities.

After that, though, if he ever saw me in the shop he would give me a friendly nod or say hi if I didn’t have any headphones in. I responded in kind, but we otherwise left each other alone. Except that busy periods hit and, given that one interaction, I seemed to be his go-to. We left each other alone and he seemed just as fine with that as I felt about it. It was nice– technically could it count as socializing? It sort of felt like it, but it was my favorite kind of socializing: respecting each others’ boundaries.

AKA: Leaving each other the fuck alone.

It was great.

Except he eventually started to get a little more friendly; subtly, and slowly. Like the day he asked for my name.

“I just feel like I should know who I’m apologizing to every time I take over your space,” he said.

“You’re a big guy, but you’re not that big,” I said. But I told him my name. Then, weirdly, he just…went back to his sketchbook.

I stared at him for a second. “Sorry,” I said. “I don’t really do this ‘meeting people’ thing that often, but don’t you normally give your name when someone else gives you theirs?”

He blinked and stared at me. “You don’t–” He stopped himself. “I didn’t tell you?”

“No,” I said. “I’d remember if you told me. And I’d remember if you told me and I forgot, because I would never, ever bring up your name or anyone else’s name ever again.”

He laughed, and looked startled by it. I was a little startled too, but he recovered pretty quick. “How do I know you’re not just covering for the fact that you forgot?” he teased.

“I am excellent at remembering when I should know someone’s name and deftly avoiding any chance at using it,” I said.

He chuckled, but he did say, “It’s Steve. Steve Rogers.”

I wrote ‘Steve’ in the front cover of my notebook, and expected to forget all about it.

I didn’t. Steve was friendly in an unobtrusive way. His greetings were warm and genuine and he was honestly pleasant to be around. I knew nothing of him but his name, that he liked to draw, and that people liked to gawk at him.

“Looks like you’ve made a friend,” one of the employees commented as she cleaned a nearby table.

“Uh…I guess so?” I pulled out a headphone just in case and sure enough, she stood and faced me and looked me up and down.

“How is he?” she asked.

I flinched, because seriously, what the fuck? “Um, he’s just some guy I sometimes share a table with. I don’t– I’m not– I don’t ever see him outside of here.”

“Oh I know; I didn’t mean it like that,” she said and grimaced. “And I didn’t mean that like– I just mean…is he nice?”

“Yeah. I wouldn’t sit anywhere near him if he wasn’t,” I said. “I have no patience for douchebags.”

She smiled. “Nobody should,” she agreed. “Just, a guy like him…you sort of hope he’s nice, you know?”

“I…guess,” I said. I didn’t really know what to say to that. “I’m definitely not into him, if that’s what you were worried about?” She stared at me blankly so I tried to figure out a non-awkward way to say ‘fucking go for it.’ “He’s a nice guy and you seem nice, so don’t worry about me, just ask him. Even if he’s not into you he’s the sort of guy who wouldn’t be a dick about it.”

“Oh. Oh, no!” She laughed and waved. “I have a boyfriend, so I’m not– no, but, uh, thanks.”

“Oh.” Then why was she so– well, maybe she just liked seeing a pretty guy like that also be a good guy. God only knew the world needed more men who weren't jerks. I didn’t get to find out though, because she got called away by her co-worker and I went back to my notebook and my headphones. Why was everyone suddenly so social?

“What are you listening to?”

I shrugged. “Just my library on shuffle; nothing really cohesive.”

He chuckled and went back to doing what he did. Today it was fitting in stealing bites of his two strawberry croissants while he sketched.

It was a little strange for me, but I was getting used to Steve asking questions out of the blue. He was a nice guy and I didn’t want to be a jerk, that was part of it, but he also seemed to know when it was okay to talk to me and how far he could go. If I ever really didn’t want human interaction he somehow clued into it and would sit quietly. If I was open to it, he kept the conversations light and just something we both did in the background. Several weeks into this strange lunchtime camaraderie I accepted that some days he was there, some days he wasn’t, but it was just a nice easy thing we both slipped in and out of as time went on.

I was realizing I never really asked a lot of questions though. I cleared my throat. “Do you work around here?” I asked.

“No,” he said, smiling at his drawing as he worked on it. “I work…well, I’m sort of ‘on call’ I guess you could say,” he said. “My schedule is really irregular. I like to come here just to get out of my apartment from time to time.”

“That sounds nice,” I said.

“And you?” he asked.

“Yeah, I work in the area,” I said. “I like to get away from my desk and out of the office for at least a little bit. So I come here and just relax for an hour before I finish out the day.”

“That sounds healthy,” he commented. Before I could figure out if he was being sarcastic, he snapped his head up and waved his hand. “I didn’t mean– shit; I’m sorry,” he said and put his pen down. “That sounded bad. I meant it sincerely though. I have a lot of friends who are…workaholics, I guess you’d say.”

“Yeah, I do my fair share of overtime, but I definitely prefer not to,” I said. I thought about asking him what he did, but then he’d probably ask what I did, and I didn’t want to talk about it. It was fine– paid the bills and that was always a good thing, I just hated watching people feel like they had to feign interest in my bullshit. So we settled back into silence. And it was good.

“Um…excuse me?”

I looked up and so did Steve. The kid was looking right at him though, and I went back to looking at my book. I did keep an ear open, though, because I was nosy. Steve asked the kid’s name and I heard nothing, but when I glanced, Steve was scribbling something on a piece of paper.

His name.

I squinted, because he was signing an autograph, really?

Suddenly the woman’s comments, about hoping that ‘a guy like him’ was nice, made a lot more sense. Also the ‘movie star disguise’ thing. Was he actually a movie star? He hung out here way too much for that to be true, but I was baffled. Steve went back to his sketchbook like nothing was wrong or weird and I tried to figure out how to Google a tall blond buff guy named ‘Steve’ while somehow not getting stuck with a bunch of porn. Ugh; what was his last name again…

“You know you can just ask me.”

I looked up from my fruitless search. He smiled patiently, but he looked…tired.

Well then.

“Where’s the fun in that?” I asked, but I didn’t have all day. When I looked at my phone again, I realized I barely had five minutes. “We’ll see how many lunch breaks it takes me to figure it out.”

He let out a surprised little laugh, and then he smiled for real. “How many do you think it’ll take?”

“Hmm.” I tapped my chin. “If it takes more than three, I’ll buy your coffee.”

“If it takes less, I’ll buy yours,” he said, we shook on it, and I packed up to leave.

“By the way– this one doesn’t count,” I said and skipped out to his protests.

There were a lot of blond buff guys who did porn.

So I maybe got a little distracted.

“Jesus.”

I leaned my head back and shut off the screen at the same time. “You’re blond and your name is Steve; I don’t have a whole lot to go on. Also, he had most of his clothes on.”

“He wasn’t going to,” Steve chuckled and sat back in his seat. “Should I try a latte? I also heard mochas were good.”

“If you really wanted to take advantage you’d go for the frozen drinks.”

He made a face like a five-year-old. It was so ridiculous I had to laugh. “I’m not sure about cold coffee,” he said.

“Ah, not even iced coffee?” I waved my sadly-not-iced drink around and took a long sip. “You’re missing out.”

“I’ll just take your word for it.” He glanced at the menu, and then back at me. “Next time then?”

I stared him down. “This is only lunch break number one.”

“Two.”

“One.”

He was grinning and I stuck my tongue out at him. “I’m gonna add ‘stubborn brat’ to my search parameters,” I said. And I did. He laughed at me.

There was only so much internet searching I could do before I got a little bored.

“Do you want to just give up now?”

“Never,” I said and swiped at my game. “I just need a little downtime. This is my lunch break after all; I’d rather have fun and relax before getting back to work.” I cleared the stage and looked up at him. “I’ll figure it out next time.”

“You are so strange,” he said, somehow sounding like he was laughing without actually laughing.

Search: “steve” “blond” “famous” “-porn” “douchebag”

“Hey.”

I didn’t get the full lunch break to try to figure it out one last time.

“Oh my god is that Captain America?”

I perked up and saw a flabbergasted gaggle of teenagers looking right at…Steve.

Steve.

Steve…

Steve Rogers.

Oh.

Holy shit.

He kept at his sketchbook, as he usually did, and I sat there and digested that information. The teenagers were too shy to approach (and as friendly as Steve was whenever people did come up to him, he never really encouraged that behavior) and so I got to sit quietly and take that in.

“Well?” he asked and looked up. At me. Like he was awaiting my judgment or something.

“Uhhh…” Whatever I thought I was going to say fled my brain and I was left with nothing. I scrambled for something. “Um…thank you for your service?” I said, eventually. He blinked and I let out a sigh. Why did I ever open my mouth nothing good ever happened. “Help me out, what do people normally say?”

He stared for a second longer and then he laughed. And laughed. And laughed. Once he settled down his eyes were bright with humor and it didn’t feel like he was being mean. It took me a little bit to realize he sounded relieved. And, like that, I felt a little more relaxed. Enough to go completely deadpan when I said, “Wow. So ungrateful.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” He grinned like a total jerk. “Thanks.”

Yep, total jerk.

No wonder we got along.

Next Chapter>>

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers & reader #captain america fanfic #avengers fanfic #reader insert #lunch buddy

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