#and so the alien smiles (to her moon) after that little electrifying moment | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tardis-sapphics · 5 years

Note

Ooh you said you were open to Thasmin prompts so may I suggest Thasmin + ice cream?

you guys seem to like your ice cream prompts don’t you

‘I can’t believe you got an ice cream van.’

The three of them are standing outside of Graham’s house, in various states of disbelief. Parked on the curb sits the Doctor’s new… acquisition, a monstrosity on the eyes, the gaudiest type of van to ever roam the streets of Britain.

‘I can,’ Yaz responds to Ryan’s open-mouthed utterance.

The Doctor, it seems, has bought an ice cream van that has intensified its own nature. Gone are the pretty pinks and the calm orange pastels of years before; this van boasts of at least seven different colours, all bold and bright and beautiful, splashed all over its exterior. On its front and rear twirl different cartoons, from iconic Looney Tunes characters to cartoon aliens that Yaz has never seen before in her life. She thinks she glimpsed a Scooby-Doo on the other side, too, but none of the rest of the gang. On the serving side of the van, the ubiquitous ‘Mr. Whippy’ logo takes up most of the room, a typeface copied on the front of the van. On the roof, two ginormous painted metal ice creams spin on an axis in tandem.

Yaz doesn’t even want to consider how obnoxiously loud the ice cream van’s jingle will be.

The Doctor has never looked prouder, of course. Her arms are wider than the sun as she shows off her newest hobby; her grin deep-set and all-encompassing. Her eyes crinkle with delight. She can barely contain herself.

It makes sense, Yaz thinks, that she would take this mission to the next level. Her exasperation is quickly dissipating: it’s easy to forgive the Doctor for her wild plans when they make her smile like that.

‘I…’ Graham stutters. ‘Doc, you’ve genuinely made me speechless. Proper speechless.’

‘Ey, and that don’t happen too much, does it?’ Ryan grins to Yaz.

‘It’s just…’ They wait, curious, as Graham tries in earnest to find the words appropriate for this moment. He constantly has to adjust his crossed arms, his eyebrows getting more and more furrowed. The Doctor has started lowering her arms by the time he reaches the right response. ‘H…How?’

Yaz shrugs. That’s fair.

The Doctor has endeavoured to inspect every inch of her new van, checking, no doubt, for any improvements she could make. ‘If you must know, I have a mate up in Leeds who sells them.’ She disappears behind the back of the van, though her voice still carries. ‘I say mate. I mean acquaintance.’ A pause. ‘I say acquaintance. I mean someone I met.’

Yaz hums. ‘You found it on the internet, didn’t you?’

The Doctor’s head pops up to the side, and she points a finger at Yaz. ‘But she were very lovely, I’ll have you know! She were dead pleased, said she don’t really get customers anymore. Unless, of course, they’re from—’

‘The United Federation of Ice-Cream Creators,’ the three humans echo in unison.

‘See; you’re learning!’ the Doctor crows, and appears only to disappear again, into the van to inspect its contents.

Buying an ice cream from the ice cream van in summer was a highlight of their repeated childhood memories, no matter which generation they belong to. Graham swears up and down that the vans haven’t changed much since he was young, though the ice cream van could park anywhere back then, unlike now with all these cars clogging up the streets. For Ryan, ice cream vans always indicated refreshment after playing out with his mates – he of all of them would appreciate the cool refreshment after all the hard work. Yaz’s prevailing memory is of her local ice cream van man: a walking Italian stereotype who refused to call any of the girls by a name other than Rebecca or Jessica. At several points throughout her childhood, Yaz was called both Rebecca and Jessica during one single purchase.

It’s with these memories in mind that they follow her into the van – not only because they tend to follow, but because, they, too, are curious. Stepping closer to peer inside feels like a betrayal of the childhood mystery, but they’re pulled to it regardless.

It simply looks off-white; functional, extremely claustrophobic, and a little underwhelming. But if the expression on her face is anything to go by, it’s the Doctor’s idea of paradise.

Yaz is the first to step inside. She’s the first to follow; she always has been. In the cramped line the space inside the van allows, Yaz becomes situated against the Doctor, pressed up close and comfy. It’s a happy coincidence that the Doctor’s arm has to reach over her shoulder to point at the whippy dispenser and the empty cardboard boxes waiting to be filled with 99 Flakes.

The Doctor choosing to rest her arm on Yaz’s shoulder afterwards is not such a coincidence. Ryan and Graham are taking the time to do their own preliminary investigations, passing comments to each other in the light tone they’ve both grown to depend on from one another. (This isn’t without difficulty, though. Graham is desperately trying to decode Ryan’s rhetorical question of whether screwball ice creams ‘deserve rights’.) Knowing the other two are distracted, Yaz takes the time to sink into the feeling of the Doctor around her, letting her head rest on the Doctor’s. She smells like honey, and engine oil, and peppermint. They breathe in together and revel in the feeling: the both of them free to display affection like this. Finally, finally.

It evolved slowly, intensifying, like taking a deep breath. First it was the handholding, electrifying when sparse and comforting when established; long looks and good-natured teasing were followed by hugs, and longer hugs, and holding on. Then came the peak, lungs filled with anticipation – clandestine kisses shared in the dark and in the quick moments. Settling into rhythms and understanding each other in ways they wouldn’t have otherwise.

Yaz knows what the Doctor’s lips taste like in the morning, and the exact way she likes her tea. She knows that the Doctor is ticklish on the insides of her elbows and the undersides of her feet. The Doctor has read and reread Yaz’s favourite childhood books, Philip Pullman’s His Dark Materials trilogy, just so she can match Yaz’s pace and fervour whenever it is somehow brought up in conversation. Almost every time the Doctor holds Yaz’s hand, and especially when they’re alone, she’ll make the effort to flip her hand over and kiss Yaz’s palm with a tenderness that makes the other woman tremble.

In other words, Yaz is absolutely head over heels for the Doctor. And she’s pretty sure it’s being reciprocated, too.

Not that they’ve really verbalised what this is. Hand holding and kissing and genuine comfort is one thing; giving the dynamic foundational support is another. It’s the question that’s kept her awake almost every night since, but Yaz doesn’t want to break this. The Doctor tends to be slow on social cues, and Yaz doesn’t want to rush her.

The Doctor might just not be into labels.

‘What d’you think?’ the Doctor murmurs.

Being pulled out of one’s deliberations gets no less jolting – it does, in fact, take Yaz by surprise to a higher degree thanks to the Doctor’s proximity. Her lips are close enough to Yaz’s ears that she’d hear the Doctor whisper even over the din of the van’s engine. It does wonders for a part of her she’s not at all prepared to dwell on in an ice cream van. It’s this reminder – that the Doctor’s talking about a flipping ice cream van – that brings her to her senses.

‘I think you’re an idiot,’ she replies, bring up a hand to hold the Doctor’s hand so leisurely draped over Yaz’s body. The Doctor’s hands are cool, reassuring, where her own burn hot. ‘What happens if we’re still monitoring the Federation for longer than a week? Won’t you have to take it back and lose your cover?’

The Doctor frowns, an expression that moulds her lips into what Yaz and Ryan fondly call a “scronch”. ‘Why would I be taking this back if I bought it?’

Yaz sighs.

‘Doctor, I swear to—’

Quite a lot of Yaz’s life sounds like something out of a conspiracy theorist’s overactive imagination. Thankfully, the Moon landing was not faked; and the world, she can confirm, is overwhelmingly round – but she can personally attest to aliens walking amongst humans on Earth. And more besides.

Sometimes it’s so crazy that she can’t quite believe it herself.

If you told her two years ago that the ice cream van industry was being targeted by an alien species determined to steal the original Mr. Whippy recipe from Earth and claim ownership of the delicacy throughout the known universe – she would’ve laughed you out of the room.

But, well, here she is. Trying to stop ice cream thieves.

Ryan and Graham were assigned the roles of faithful customers, parading the scorching streets of Sheffield in order to build a rapport with the city’s ice cream sellers. All those pound coins being spent (mostly Graham’s) have, eventually, paid off: they’ve compiled an effective list of who they believe to be local Federation colleagues, aliens the four of them should attempt to befriend in order to get inside information.

It’s up to the Doctor and Yaz, then, to sell the alibi – and plenty of ice creams in the meantime. While it’s the Doctor who mans the van first and foremost, Yaz joins her when police work isn’t demanding her attendance. The ice cream selling is much more preferable to patrolling the county in a roasting police uniform.

Summer 2019 has been swinging, temperature-wise, from the boring to the truly worrying. In a week where the weather has alternated between torrential rain and record-breaking heat, the two women have had a wildly varying record of success. Sometimes they’ve sat with the serving window up to see no passers-by in sight. Not that they would be able to glimpse them, anyway, behind the incessant raindrops splattering the serving window. Other times, they’ve had impatient queues consisting of the entire park they’ve visited: harassed and harangued parents struggling to keep their kids happy in the sweltering heat; groups of kids in vital need of sustenance after all their playing; older residents cashing in on the opportunity to indulge in nostalgia. Such is British weather.

The Doctor has taken to selling ice cream like a duck to water. She may not be socially tactful, but her enthusiasm around people more than makes up for it. She makes the process of making ‘Mr. Whippy’ ice creams into a show for the kids to enjoy. She juggles the ice lollies before presenting them to her amused customers, despite the little space the ice cream van provides. She can be heard whistling the ice cream van’s jingle, ‘Greensleeves’, even after her work for the day is done. There’s a knack to ice cream selling, Yaz believes, and the Doctor has it in spades.

Sometimes they even forget they’re meant to be keeping a lookout for the Federation. It’s so easy to slip into this routine, switching between serving the public as a police officer and serving the public their much-needed ice cream. Spending her time with the Doctor, floating around each other in the van guided more by the touch of fingertips on familiar clothes than by sight; it feels like something they could get settled into.

Apparently it shows.

They get looks, the Doctor and Yaz. Very specific looks. Yaz is not often in the back of the ice cream van whilst the Doctor is serving, but whenever she makes her way down, hands on the Doctor’s back as she moves, she’ll sometimes catch a glimpse of recognition from the customers. The ice cream van is a two-way mirror through which society can look at itself – the Doctor and Yaz get a feel for the surrounding community, and the customers, too, get a feel for them.

Sometimes they’re parents, surprised to see such tenderness between two women. (Sometimes their acknowledgement is one of distaste. Not always, but sometimes; Yaz does her best to stare back, to make them uncomfortable.) Sometimes, they are gay couples, and the look passed between them is one of solidarity more than anything else.

Sometimes they’re just curious kids, learning more and more about the world each day.

‘Are you two girlfriends?’

Wearing a football shirt drenched with sweat, the girl stands and waits patiently with her mother for a well-earned 99 Flake.

‘Idha!’ the mother scolds her.

Amongst the recognition of her own mini heart attack, Yaz estimates that the kid must be about 9, no older. There’s no sort of disdain coming from her. She’s just a curious little girl.

Still, that doesn’t make answering her question any easier. Honestly, Yaz was just in the back to pinch a 99 flake. That mission has backfired massively. Her heartbeat picks up.

She knows what she’d like to say. She knows that whatever answer is given now will determine the answer to that question for a while yet.

Yaz presumed the Doctor was too busy concentrating on perfecting the twirl of the ice cream to pay attention.

But the Doctor takes her by surprise. One perfect ice cream is presented, Flake squished in, with an equally made-up smile. As Yaz opens her mouth to speak – to say what, she doesn’t know – the Doctor jumps in.

‘Me and Yaz? We’re partners in crime, we are,’ she responds, with a wink. ‘Not literally. She’s a police officer, you know.’

Partners in crime. Right.

(She can’t help but notice the disappointment fizzling in her body.)

This seems to placate both child and mother long enough for the significance of the question to be forgotten. They pay for the treat – the girl utters a very polite, ‘Thank you, miss!’ – and leave.

Yaz is returning to the driver’s seat to eat her Flake in peace, but the Doctor catches her eye for just a second as they manoeuvre around the small space. The Doctor’s gaze is acquiescent; filled with a longing Yaz can’t quite place.

‘Was that—?’

The Doctor’s words are cut off by the thump of a small child managing to catapult themselves straight into the ice cream van.

Alone time, when the great British public have not deigned the two women with their presence, is preferable for interests other than sugary cold treats. Especially when the clouds are dumping a month’s worth of rain in about three hours.

She’s been trying her hardest not to be distracted these past few days, but it’s easier said than done when it’s just been the two of them in this van. Their duty to the public comes first, of course, but in the midst of many an explicit look, Yaz has never been happier to forget her promise to serve the public their ice cream.

Besides, making out with the Doctor is so much more fun.

It’s a very middling Friday; after the ridiculous heat of Thursday, the temperatures have comparatively plummeted to around 21 degrees. The clouds overhead have sent kids running indoors, nervous about the deluge to come. A few brave souls have wandered on parched pavements, though; a couple of them have even wanted a cool treat.

Yaz’s shift doesn’t start until 7pm, so she’s free to assist the Doctor in her ice cream escapades for three more hours or so. On this slow day, she’s been the one doing the driving whilst the Doctor busies herself with stock-checking or fiddling with this strange handheld invention the Doctor has brought on board.

She can’t really understand it. There are at least three levers, and a winding gear. It has what Yaz can only conclude is a dog cone fixed hastily onto one of its ends. Whenever she has tried to ask what on Earth the entire contraption may be, the Doctor has been far too preoccupied to answer.

‘What are we even gonna do when we uncover the Federation ice cream sellers?’ she wonders. She has to make her voice loud over the sound of the engine, kept on even when they’re stationary in order to keep the ice creams cool. Getting out of the driver’s seat, she steps into the serving area to find the Doctor bent down, inspecting her rapidly depleted supply of strawberry syrup. The dog coned invention languishes at her feet, bleeping infrequently.

‘I dunno, really,’ is the Doctor’s reply, her voice stretched by her movement as she stands back up. Leaning with one hand on the van’s windowsill, she continues, ‘I’m definitely reporting them to the Shadow Proclamation, though. There are about 300 different laws on the issue of original content being stolen from species who haven’t developed enough to defend their planetary property – the Federation are breaking every single one of them.’

Coatless, with sleeves rolled back, she looks just a little more unkempt than usual, frazzled in the best way by a new hobby keeping her busy. She’s positively glowing – not from the regeneration energy, this time – and Yaz is a little more than attracted to the sight.

Yaz has to swallow it down. ‘But what about in the meantime? Surely the threat of the Shadow Proclamation won’t stop them from continuing their business right now?’

‘You’d think that, wouldn’t you?’ the Doctor muses. It’s hard, in a small space such as this, getting somewhere with so much energy, but Yaz can only describe her movement as floating – getting closer and closer to Yaz. ‘But no. The Redeto know just how little power they have in the universe. Stealing a soon-to-be popular recipe will pay off big time if successful, but the repercussions are huge. They know the stakes here.’ The Doctor shrugs. ‘Maybe if I promise I won’t rat them out.’

‘That’s if they give you an audience,’ Yaz points out. It’s a strong point, but it peters off into nothingness now the Doctor has moved so close. Their noses are almost touching. Yaz can see hazel green; wide pupils.

Her heartbeat is off the charts.

The Doctor doesn’t bother to attempt a corny line. There’s no need now she knows Yaz is unofficially, but totally, hers. Instead, her indication of intent comes in the form of nervous hands, swooping up to caress Yaz’s face. Everything is still new; with warm touch, Yaz’s skin is set on fire.

She is the one to push forward and press their lips together. It’s such a relief, every time, like breathing out after holding her breath for too long. They gasp for each other in between kisses and Yaz can feel it, that mutuality, that simplest of desires, to hold and be held. Her hands slip down the Doctor’s mustard suspenders, and she thanks her lucky stars that this feeling – this experience – is something she gets to indulge in. She’d be thankful for an only time. She’s lost count of how many times they’ve kissed now, and she grows every day in her gratitude.

She’s lost all sense of the outside world – just pressing herself further into the joy of it, the relief that comes with knowing the Doctor still wants to kiss. She’s quite forgotten that they’re stood at the serving area, kissing slow then fast, hard and tender, with open mouths and roaming hands.

She wishes she could do this all the time.

There comes a point where attention must be paid, however, to something else other than the Doctor. At a slow moment within the kiss, the Doctor stills and stalls in her previously successful endeavour of pushing her hands underneath Yaz’s jacket. Yaz immediately pulls away, regretting the absence of warm hands and confusion starting to crease her brow – until she hears it too.

Another engine. She tries to calm her heartbeat.

‘Is that…?’

‘Probably.’ The Doctor swallows, attempting to compose herself. ‘We’ve got company.’

Peeking through the serving area’s closed window, they can see an idling ice cream van. The décor is much duller than the Doctor’s – practical, toned down and perfect. It’s a perfectly respectable paint job for a perfectly respectable person – and that would be fine, of course, if it weren’t for the fact that the person in the van is very much not a person. Not a human person, anyway.

Yaz recognises the van right away – one of the people on the list. Ryan and Graham have known about this Redeto for a while, and they tasked Yaz and the Doctor to keep an eye on him. Apparently, they weren’t subtle. The stern, dangerous look on his face is indication enough. To his left, another person bends forward and makes himself known.

Two of them.

Knowing your cover might be blown is different to actually having your cover blown. Yaz keeps eye contact with the Doctor as their expressions slacken with dread. Was it their discussion? Was it Ryan and Graham? It doesn’t particularly matter.

The Redeto are not known for being considerate.

‘You alright to start driving the van?’ the Doctor asks politely, a light confidence in her voice that would be reassuring were it not for its total falsity.

Yaz gets to it. Their moment of being together is over, very over. With no small feeling of reluctance, she disentangles herself from the warmth of the Doctor’s body and makes her way to the driver’s seat, nearly tripping over the Doctor’s contraption as she does.

Almost three years of driving has prepared her enough for the small feat of piloting the ice cream van. Thereabouts, anyway. The van lurches into motion as soon as she eases her foot off the clutch and she grimaces, embarrassed. But they’re on their way.

The other ice cream van immediately follows.

Yaz swallows. They’re definitely within the realms of being chased now. This is new to her; she’s usually the one pursuing, checking for escape routes to block and ways to guide the target into stopping. On the flipside, the mounting pressure is starting to get to her.

She would not want to be in the shoes of a criminal, Yaz thinks. It’s bad enough being pursued by an ice cream van.

She takes a deep breath and presses down on the accelerator, hard. The van groans in response but reacts as best it can. It unsettles the Doctor’s balance in the back of the van.

‘Keep going, Yaz!’ she shouts, the bleeping from her invention almost a second rallying cry. ‘We can try to evade him!’

She’s on the flipside – but, Yaz realises, she can use that to her advantage. Her knowledge of Sheffield’s roads is bone-deep; better, she imagines, than an alien following the popular routes where customers would most likely be. She finds an opening and makes a sharp turn, the tyres screeching and the ice cream machines rattling raucously. Terraced houses whizz by; Yaz catches a glimpse of a mother in pyjamas putting out the bins; her eyes wide, her mouth open at the sight before – and then after – her.

This sort of scene would usually be accompanied by a dramatic film score; a heart-raising drumbeat, maybe a few electric guitars. Instead, the street is treated to the shriek of ‘Greensleeves’ as the ice cream van thunders past.

‘Yasmin Khan, you are my hero!’ the Doctor praises. ‘Nice job. Time to head for the TARDIS, don’t you th—’

‘Doctor, he’s back,’ Yaz interrupts, catching sight of him in her wing mirror. Just because she turned so quickly, it didn’t mean he couldn’t catch up. He must have found a shortcut too, she thinks. Damn. She switches gears to accommodate for the upcoming hill. A red light flashes into existence at the top of it, and a three-car-long queue has built up.

‘You’re kidding,’ she whispers. She has to stop. She is, after all, a law-abiding citizen – and a police officer. She’s the last person to defy a red light.

Waiting for the amber light gives the Federation ice cream van enough time to catch up. As they line up in adjacent lanes, the Redeto in the driver’s seat turns to look at Yaz. Yaz looks back, a disapproving frown planted very firmly on her face. And his smile widens into a smug. Weirdo, she thinks.

The green light returns, finally, and they are restricted by the cars in front for a little while. But, once more, as soon as Yaz sees an opening away from the queue, she takes it – tyres screech and the Doctor is thrown into the 99 Flakes box. The Federation van follows suit, and gains steadily as they run through a green, an amber, another green. Their van has more horsepower, the two women come to realise; once again the two ice cream vans line up. Yaz goes into another gear and speeds up, pushing past the speed limit, but it’s not enough to lose them.

The driver smiles at her again as he winds down his window. Yaz grumbles under her breath. Then the passenger leans forward again, this time having procured with a rather gun-like weapon.

She gasps – ducks her head. Just in time. The shot goes over her head, singing a couple of her hairs – and breaking both windows of the van’s driving compartment. It shatters with a high-pitched sound, and Yaz yelps.

The van veers to the left but she rights it. ‘Doctor, do something!’ she shouts over the noise of the engine. ‘He’s shooting at me!’

‘Yes, I saw!’ the Doctor shouts back. Yaz swerves the van onto another street – another residential area. Mercifully, there are no kids playing. The turn upsets the Doctor’s journey to the driving compartment, but with her free hand she holds onto the passenger seat.

The Redeto’s weapon, it seems, needs to power up again. Yaz takes the moment to glimpse at the Doctor – sleeves rolled up past her elbows, blonde hair flyaway, a few strands falling down past her forehead onto her face. There’s an intensity in the way she’s set her jaw. As she winds up the invention tucked under her arm, her right arm’s muscles tense and relax.

Yaz finds it amazing how, in the middle of being shot at, she still finds time to be wholly distracted by how impressive the Doctor looks.

Then they’re shot at again – the Doctor jumps back, Yaz compressing herself into a crouch – and she focuses on the task at hand. Namely, driving. They soar over a speed bump and the shock of the landing is particularly hard. Something in the back of the van breaks open. They return to a wider road. Still, the Federation van keeps up.

‘Now, Doctor!’ Yaz yells.

The buzzing of the Doctor’s contraption gets more and more frequent until it blends into one sound. A whirring starts up, like a whistling kettle, and the Doctor’s grin gets wide.

‘Show time,’ she breathes.

With a couple of steps, the Doctor places her body in the way of Yaz, so neither Redeto can destabilise the womens’ van. Hoisting the contraption onto her shoulder, she points the cone-end forward at the Redeto drivers and yanks down a lever. White hot light surrounds the machinery.

‘Oi!’ the Doctor shouts. ‘Stop shooting at my girlfriend!’ She presses a button, and a stream of white light gets propelled towards the Federation van.

Yaz and the Doctor speed away, but in the wing mirror, Yaz can witness what the contraption has done to their pursuers. The white light envelopes the surfaces of the ice cream van; with the two men stuck inside, they are caught in the consequences. The van completely freezes – momentum dissipating in the afternoon air – and nothing escapes. Not a sound, not a single movement. Hair does not sway. Arms do not collapse. The steering wheel does not turn.

They are simply suspended.

The sight of them in her mirror gets smaller and smaller, until they become inconsequential. Nothingness has never seemed so explicitly still. Yaz turns another corner and eases the van into a more residential-friendly speed. At this pace, the incessant ‘Greensleeves’ blaring through the ice cream van’s speakers feels less frantic.

Yaz huffs out a relieved breath.

‘Aw, mate,’ the Doctor beams from beside her. ‘I was hoping that would work.’

Yaz doesn’t want to entertain the alternative. ‘Wh-what was that?’ she asks. Her eyes are still on the road; even though the Federation van has been… apprehended, she still wants to get them as far away as possible.

The Doctor jumps into the passenger seat, already investigating the state of her contraption. The whirring has stopped, the light disappeared; the beeping, at least, is much more regular now. ‘That was a makeshift Time Stop,’ she explains. ‘Does what it says on the tin. I need this to reverse the effects, so they continue to be exactly how they were in the moment they got stopped, but by that time we’ll be much better prepared for them.’ She winds it up, and it bleeps at her. ‘I know, I know! Look, we’ll charge you when we get inside the TARDIS, alright?’ With that thought, she looks up at Yaz. ‘Can you head there now?’

Yaz nods, and changes direction.

It takes a minute or so of relative quietness – ‘Greensleeves’ is still playing, the twee high pitch fuelling Yaz’s irritation – when her brain catches up fully with the afternoon’s events. The tension of being pursued has melted away to reveal perfect memory.

She jolts in her seat.

‘Doctor,’ she says.

The Doctor jumps. ‘Yeah?’

‘You called me your girlfriend,’ Yaz states, her voice carefully devoid of anything emotional.

‘Yeah,’ the Doctor repeats, and the guilt seeps through. ‘Sorry; wasn’t thinking.’

Yaz keeps quiet, expecting the Doctor to elaborate.

It’s one of the hardest feats she’s ever achieved.

‘Sorry if that made you uncomfortable. Was just caught up in the moment, see. And when they shot at you like that – twice! – it just riled me up. Didn’t think.’ She pauses. ‘Should’ve had the conversation first, shouldn’t we?’

Yaz can’t keep the smile hidden any longer. A quick look to her left secures their eye contact. ‘I liked it,’ she shrugs, and in real time she sees the Doctor swell with delight. ‘You can keep calling me that, if you like.’

‘I will,’ the Doctor beams. She jumps up to attend to the serving area – but not before pressing a kiss to Yaz’s cheek.

The sheer joy of this revelation comes off the both of them in waves. Yaz thinks she may just appreciate ice cream vans a bit more now.

Sometimes her life is so crazy that she can’t quite believe it herself.

#doctor who #doctor who fanfiction #thasmin fanfiction #thasmin prompts #thasmin #thirteenth doctor #yasmin khan #idiot girlfriends #ryan sinclair #graham o'brien #team tardis #fic: more of the universe #i love writing dark and deep stuff #(see: i might brave the fire)#but sometimes you just need to write a small child yeeting themselves into the side of a van you know

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yourockthebeatofmyheart · 6 years

Text

Shallura Week, Day 5: partner

So I’ve been toying with the idea of a Shallura Soul Eater AU for a while now, and while I don’t particularly love how this turned out (it’s barely been edited, so you’ve been warned), I wanted to have it ready in time for Shallura Week, and the plot I came up with ended up fitting yesterday’s one day’s theme, so... here ya go.

There was an old, abandoned warehouse on the edge of Death City. Its windows were mostly broken, its ceiling crumbling, its original purpose long forgotten. As of late, it was the home of a monster.

But it wouldn’t be for much longer.

Allura slashed at her opponent, the air around them crackling with static. The kishin, a purplish, pointy-featured fiend, effortlessly dodged her attack before striking back at her.

Just what she was hoping for.

He put up a decent fight, but his moves were repetitive. She was easily able to anticipate where he’d strike next, and when he did, she unleashed her whip at him from an angle where he’d left himself vulnerable. In a single swipe, the kishin found himself bound by her weapon, his arms pinned so tightly to his sides he had no hope of breaking free.

Allura let her partner do the rest. In the blink of an eye, the whip became electrified, illuminating the old building and shocking the kishin to his core. When the lightning died down a moment later and Allura reeled her whip back in, the monster was gone; all that remained was a glowing red egg, floating in the air where the kishin had just been.

Allura sighed, wiping a hand across her forehead. The whip began to glow, leaving her grip and reappearing beside her as her trusted partner.

“Nicely done, Princess,” Shiro grinned.

“Same to you.” Then she seemed to realize what he’d said and rolled her eyes. “And I wish you wouldn’t call me that,” she told him for what had to be the thousandth time since they’d met.

“Convince me that you’re not some kind of magical alien princess,” he replied, “and I’ll consider it.”

“I still can’t imagine where you got that.” She shook her head, casually adjusting her ponytail.

He shrugged. “I had a wild imagination as a freshman.”

Allura gave him a playful shove. “That is the laziest excuse!” she laughed. “Just admit that you were hitting on me!”

At this, Shiro feigned an offended look and touched a hand to his chest. “What? I would never! What business do I have flirting with royalty?”

It took more effort than she would have cared to admit to fight back a smile. “Just take the soul,” she said, gesturing out ahead.

He let out a good-natured chuckle before stepping forward to take the egg and popping it into his mouth like it was an enormous piece of candy. When he’d gulped it down, he looked back at her, and almost immediately, she stopped trying to hide her smile.

“Ninety-nine,” Shiro reminded her.

Just as quickly as her smile appeared, it vanished. That’s right, she thought. This marked the ninety-ninth and final kishin egg that they had to obtain. All that was left now was the soul of a witch, and Shiro would be a Death Scythe.

And after that…

“Allura?”

She snapped out of her thoughts and looked back at her partner.

“You okay?” he asked gently.

She nodded and replied, a bit too enthusiastically, “Fine!” As quickly as she could, she turned away from Shiro and pointed to the exit. “Let’s head out and find that witch, then!”

Shiro followed after her as she marched toward the doorway, a concerned look on his face.

———

The witch’s shack was in better shape than the warehouse, but not by very much. Even in the dim light of the crescent moon, Shiro and Allura could see planks of wood beginning to fall off the sides and deadly-looking plants climbing their way to the roof as they approached. They stopped a safe distance away and took in the sight ahead of them.

“So did I hear you right?” Shiro asked quietly. “She’s actually been draining the life out of people?”

Allura nodded silently.

He snickered, “Someone watched Hocus Pocus too many times.”

“You know I don’t get that reference,” she sighed.

Shiro nodded. “Yeah,” he replied with a smirk. “We’ll have that movie night eventually.”

Again, Allura felt her stomach drop. With every moment that passed between them, “eventually” seemed like a smaller and smaller window. How much more time would they have together before…?

She felt a hand touch hers and jolted back to the present. Instantly, she met Shiro’s worried look, and she could swear she felt her heart skip a beat.

“Are you okay?” he asked. “You’ve seemed distracted since the warehouse.”

She shook her head. “Don’t worry about it,” she dismissed, casting her gaze aside. “It… it’s stupid.”

“Hey.” Shiro put his hands on her shoulders, and she instinctively looked back at him. “Whatever’s got you acting like this, I guarantee it’s not stupid. And I’m sorry if I did anything to make you feel like it was.”

Allura’s eyes stung. She swore Shiro was too nice for his own good sometimes. Blinking back welling-up tears, she assured him, “You didn’t do anything.” When he didn’t reply, she took a deep breath and went on, “If we defeat this witch, then you’ll become a Death Scythe. And of course I would be happy for you if that happened, and…” A small smile found its way to her face. “I’d be lying if I said it wouldn’t make me proud to have gotten you there.” Shiro grinned back as her own smile began to fade. “But I can’t help thinking that if you’re a Death Scythe, we…” She gulped down the lump in her throat. “We’ll no longer be partners.” Before he could say anything, Allura lay a hand over his, fixing him with an emphatic stare. “Shiro, you’re my closest friend, and I want you to succeed, you know I do. I suppose I’m just being selfish about all of this.”

For a few very long seconds, Shiro was quiet. Finally, he took a step closer to Allura, returning the look she’d been giving him. “Honestly?” he started softly. “I’ve been thinking the same thing.”

Again, Allura’s heart fluttered.

“I mean, I do want to be a Death Scythe,” he continued, “but if we weren’t partners anymore, I’d miss you. Sometimes I can’t even picture myself teaming up with anyone else.” He was distantly aware of the tears filling her eyes as he kept going. “But it’s not like I’d just disappear. We’ll still be roommates, and we’ll still have all the same classes, and…” He paused, caught off-guard by the realization of what he was about to say. “Allura… you’re a part of my life, whether we’re partners or not. You’re the most important person in the world to me, and I’m not gonna let anything change that.”

Allura beamed at this, reaching up to wipe away the tears that were about to spill down her cheeks. “Neither will I,” she replied. “Thank you, Shiro.”

He nodded. “I think I needed to hear that as much as you did.” She let out a small laugh as she lowered her hands, and Shiro took it as a cue to do the same. “Alright,” he went on, squaring his shoulders. “Let’s go fight a witch.”

“Shiro…” Allura hesitated for a moment before she continued solemnly, taking her partner's hand, “If this is our last mission together, there’s something I need to tell you.”

Shiro gulped, trying hard not to let his anticipation show on his face. “Okay…”

Allura leaned a little closer to him, looked him straight in the eye, and said, “I really am an alien princess.”

His face fell into a playful grin. “I knew it.”

She chuckled as she watched a familiar bright light envelop Shiro. His hand in hers transformed into the hilt of his weapon form, and he asked, “Ready?”

Allura nodded. “Ready.” And she darted ahead to the witch’s house, confident that whatever the future had in store for them, nothing would destroy her bond with her partner.

#shalluraweek #shallura positivity #shallurapositivity #shallura positivity project #shallura #voltron #fic #mine: writing #no i'm not a day late #everyone else is early to the next prompt

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kinsbin · 5 years

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Safe With Me

Title: Safe With Me Word Count: 2067 Ship: Ug/Alexys [Canon/Self Insert]

Summary: Ug insists that he won’t leave Alexys until he’s sure that she’s safe. He begins to feel something more in his human form, though, and can’t seem to figure out why. She tries to help him best he can, of course, and he learns a new emotion he’s never felt before.

Author’s Note: Writing commission for @bad-blue-moon-rising of her and Ug from Critters! Though I’ve never seen the movie, I am a sucker for writing about aliens figuring out emotions so this was super fun!!!

She was...strange.

Humans, of course, were strange by nature. They were fragile, weak, and bizzarest of all were their daily rituals. Of simple tasks that seemed to keep them occupied for hours on end. Of rushes they got from the world around them rather than worlds far away from them. Perhaps his species had been desensitized, he would reason with himself. Perhaps the thrill of bounty hunting had dulled his perspective of the existing space around him. He had become a creature of habit over all, hunting what he was directed to hung and partnering with those who he was asked to follow along. Though he had to admit that most of the error was, indeed, human...perhaps there was...in a sense, something wrong with him.

For even though he saw how strange she was, even by humanity’s strange standards, he still felt himself drawn towards her. From the moment he laid eyes on her, across the street in the town he had tracked his bountied prey to, he had felt a spark. Her gaze held his, wide eyed with surprise and awe at his mere existence, and he felt something in his heart clench. Something in the center of his stomach swear a vow that his brain was not quite ready to make. He knew he had fallen beyond the level of professionality when he rescued her from the Critters, from the damage they had caused to her hometown.

He knew that he had reached the point of no return after joining her in her home, the both of them living in a mutual co-existence of thoughtful quiet and eventful days. Of mornings spent in hazy, sleep filled breakfasts and nights with movies she had insisted that he needed to see while he saw no real reason to in the light of it all. He knew that one day, after his duty of watching her was done, he would have to leave her. After all of the creatures he had been hired to exterminate from their unnatural habitat were captured, there would be more on other planets equally as successful (or unsuccessful) to travel to. It was less of a protection of earth and more of a gathering for himself. It was the law of it. The law of his people.

“Ug, are you listening to me?”

His vision re-focused, drawing him from his thoughts as he gazed down at the woman wrapped up in his arms. Alexys snuggled closer to Ug, the arm resting around her shoulders and pulling her closer out of instinct a welcome comfort against the cold of the mid-fall weather surrounding the quiet one-bedroom household. She always offered him his bed, but he insisted that he didn’t need to sleep.

“Of course,” He felt himself lie easily, eyes fixated on the screen of the television set before them both. The horror movie that was playing was something of a novelty over an actual, fear-inducing spectacle. The sound of the television was static and muffled, its age visible in its flickering glitches and soft hums. Alexys watched him carefully while he stared forward, her brows twitching with amusement as she hid the smile on her lips by covering her mouth with a hand. The sweater she wore was too large on her form, covering most of her hands and consuming her torso in its woolen fibers.

“Oh really?” She questioned with an amused hum as she rested herself closer to him with a soft sigh, “What did I just ask you, then?”

The silence was long and lingering as Ug realized what had just happened. For a moment he considered lying again. His brows furrowed as he attempted to come up with a question. A reasonable but human-ish inquiry about his species that she was bound to ask in one way or another. Alexys waited patiently at his side, enjoying the rather gory horror scene that portrayed itself grotesquely on the screen before her while he thought. The characters had been trapped in a room full of whirring saw blades. She thought it was a fitting metaphor for the thoughts that were, without a doubt, going through Ug’s alien mind.

At last he sighed, defeated and honest in that he could not lie to her.

“I wasn’t listening.”

Alexys laughed fully now, the sound of her giggles bringing another pang of warmth to Ug’s heart as he held her closer. It took effort not to break out with his own smile. He recalled, briefly, when he had not understood the concept of a smile. When he first got his human facial features, he saw no need to exercise them nor any reason why they should twitch or convulse of their own will. When Alexys explained, with a warm patience in her voice, just what a smile was and how to express it, he found it trivial to say the least. Yet, at her request, he practiced time and time again. Now little things she did made those muscles twitch with a longing. Only she brought them about for some reason. He had yet to figure it out... It was as though just seeing her triggered them.

“Well,” She spoke again after a particularly heavy fit of laughter had ceased from the bottom of her lungs, “I asked you why you didn’t like sleeping.”

His brows furrowed this time, the scowl of his lips one of confusion over dislike of the conversation topic as he replied briskly, “It’s not that I dislike it. It’s that I don’t need it. Not in the way you humans seem to need it, at any rate.”

“You’re imitating a human with your body though,” She argued, sitting up a little as she gestured to vaguely all of him with a single hand, “Doesn’t it need rest?”

“It’s not a real human body,” His response was simple as he adjusted his arms so that they crossed comfortably against his chest, “It is the imitation of a human body. The outside of it merely looks like your species, however, it functions as it would one of mine. Think of it as...a suit. It looks like your own. It has the same texture. It is merely to comfort you into our presence. I am wearing it, but, I am not human.”

Alexys’ smile seemed to falter at the explanation, her hands pulling themselves together as her fingers twiddled underneath the layer of sweater she was wearing. Biting her lip, she felt her gaze furrow in something akin to dislike. Ug noted the expression, but said nothing about it as her next inquiry came out in that of a whisper, almost tired sounding as she moved closer to him, “So what do you do when I’m asleep?”

“I watch you,” He answered almost automatically, “To make sure nothing harms you while you’re resting.”

A blush blossomed across her facial features, blue eyes wide and glowing against the RGB of the television screen. Ug couldn’t understand why, but, the sight of her with such a color on her face was invigorating. He sat up as well, feeling the air charged with a sort of new energy that he couldn’t quite understand. It was a human thing or, at the very least, an Alexys thing. Whenever they were alone, talking or wandering around together as they did often, something in the air became different. It mutated, as though the carbon levels had shifted. As if a hunt had gone wrong but right at the same time. For all of his knowledge and skills in his profession, he could not pinpoint just what about the two of them together changed the atmosphere so drastically. Or, he reasoned, why he was the only one able to feel it.

“So you don’t feel anything human?” Her whisper was almost sad as she spoke to him, “No tiredness? Sadness...Happiness?”

There was a pause as he thought of her question. Alexys watched his brows furrow, as they did when he was concentrating on something. She could remember the first time she saw him, hunting down the alien horrors that had plagued her town for nights on end, with that look on his face and each time her heart fluttered with adoration. With a sentimental appreciation of his facial features and serious attitude. For what she lacked, he made up for. What she could not do he could. The stories he told made her heart soar and her nights grew better with him at her side. Anxiety filled her as he thought more in the silence, worried for the answer.

“Happy…” He spoke the word carefully before nodding, “I feel happy...when I’m with you, I think.”

The careful sentence brought relief to her chest. Alexys smiled, the laughter barely visible in her shoulders as she reached out to stroke a strand of his hair behind his ears. Her eyes narrowed with thought themselves and she nodded. “I’m happy when I’m with you too, you know. Having you around is...nice.”

“...I won’t be around forever,” He murmured, almost an afterthought, and her look still held his with a frown.

“How long will you be here, then?”

“I’m not sure...Till you are safe.”

“When will that be?”

His breath hitched. They had grown close. In the questions she had asked, she had inched closer with every inquiry. With every answer he had given, each syllable had also pulled him closer. The energy that he had recognized time and time again was back, yet, different now. Unique. Intense.

He couldn’t find the words to answer. Instead, he leant forward and captured her lips against his own. That feeling of intensity electrified the air around them as their mouths connected. Alexys’ tensed up for only a moment before relaxing into the gesture, hands reaching out to tentatively hold onto his shoulders. Her fingers shook. In return, Ug felt himself reach his own hands out. A hand held onto the back of her neck to draw her closer, to drink the energy that resonated from the contact like a life giving nectar. The other caressed her cheek, feeling the softness of her organic skin under his fingertips as he drew her in closer, deepening the kiss further.

This was it. The solution to the electricity. The longing he felt while watching her sleep, brushing her hair from her face as she tossed and turned. It was the finale to a spark of fireworks he had not known was going on. He did not quite know the word for it, but he knew that he did not want to stop. He wanted to keep her at his side like this. To never let her go.

Alexys pulled at him, tugging her lips away, and he allowed her. Her breath was fast and short, awed at the events of what just happened. He stared into her eyes as she searched him, attempting to find just what he had meant by his actions. He was searching himself as well, the knowledge as to his reasoning slipping past his grasp and wording.

It was Alexys who put it into words first, the gentle phrasing stuttering and nervous in its confession but honest in its tone:

“I love you.”

Love. Was that it? The emotion that warranted contemplation of the atmosphere? Of the feeling of the air in Earth as it revolved around the sun in its lonesome galaxy? Ug felt his breath hitch as the pieces clicked together like a well placed puzzle, fading into the fuller picture that warmed something inside his human facade. He felt that twitch of a smile slowly worm its way up his lips. Touching her cheeks again, he pushed away a strand of her hair from the front of her face and pressed his forehead to her own. As they rested like that, bathing in the warmth of their own bodies and the noise of the television as it murmured on lowly before them, he could finally say the words to the emotions he had finally understood.

“...I love you too. I will only leave when I know you are safe.”

She laughed, touching his hand with her own and leaning into the warmth of his palm, “And how will you know?”

“You are only safe with me,” He responded with a sigh, “So I will never leave you.”

And she was okay with that.

#self inert #self shipping #self insert writing #kinley writes #writing commission #bad-blue-moon-rising #<3

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melyaliz · 6 years

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Winds are changing

Fandom: Marvel / Thor

Summary: Jennifer didn’t know it then but a storm was coming.

Pairing: Thor x OC

Notes: NSFW

All Materialists @melyalizarchive

More on Jennifer

Was it silly to compare Thor to the weather? He was, after all, the god of thunder. But it was more than that. Jennifer always felt like when it came to Thor there was always an element of weather was tied up around him.

Even when she first met him. On that hot sticky night. It felt like Gotham was about to explode. The way the clouds loomed so close and low. Trapping in all that city heat. It felt as if the pressure was pushing down on her.

A storm was brewing and the seemed to cause a shift in everyone.

Letting out a sigh of pure relief Jennifer waved to Shane as she walked into the bar. The air-conditioned air washed over her like ice water. Install giving her hot skin goosebumps. It felt amazing. Her normally straight hair was standing on ends from the humidity she knew after a few shots it wouldn’t really matter.

Only a few drinks in and the world already seemed brighter.

“Light me up hottie!” the brunette said turquoise eyes flashing as she placed her empty glass on the bar. Shane let out a laugh making her another drink.

“It’s always you and tequila, you both have the most fun.”

“Is that it?”

“I think so.”

Jennifer took the glass downing the whole thing in a few gulps. Shane shaking his head as she turned the glass over on the bar slamming it down triumphantly. He was right. Tequila meant she was in the mood for a good night.

“Well bring on the FUN!” she sang taking a few steps back, hands in the air. Walking straight into a solid object. Turning, fully expecting a wall she came face to face with Adonis. “Oh hello.” the man sculpted from heaven itself smiled down at her. Jennifer felt like rays of sun were falling upon her. Lighting her up.

“Hello”

“Who are you?”

From his place, at the bar, Shane let out a loud laugh. Obviously getting a joke she was missing. Had she met this guy before? No way, she would remember a body like that.

“I’m…”

“Brad… no wait, Brock. You look like a Brock”

The man laughed, it was deep rumbling like thunder. With a base that seemed to shake the whole room. Jen couldn’t help but smile back.

Outside the sky opened up pouring the city with the relief it so desperately craved.

Three weeks later Jennifer would take a job with Shield only to learn why Shane had been laughing.

-A year later-

The sky was beautiful outside. A full moon lighting up a city that never slept. Jennifer was enjoying her latest reality TV show with a glass of wine when her own reality drama came crashing in through her window.

“Is Maia here?”

Jen looked up in total shock as Thor stumbled through her window.

“Oh, my god what happened to you?” She asked deciding not to ask why he was coming through her window. With her line of work some days it felt like there was more traffic coming through her window than the door.

“I am looking for my sister” Thor slurred slightly. The pain from the obvious fight he had just been in muddling his brain, and possibly his vision. Placing down her glass Jennifer stood taking his hand leading him to her couch.

“Ok sit for a second and tell me why you are looking for Maia?”

“There are aliens after her. I managed to take out many but as you can see they are a formidable enemy”

“Yeah,” Jen said shooting off a text to her best friend warning her of the pending danger. She got an almost instant reply of Maia taking a selfie while kicking a Skrull in the face. All seemed fine.

“Let’s clean you up,” the brunette said quickly grabbing her first aid kit that was never very far. Again, the line of work. The crowd you ran in. That sort of thing. It helped that her own sister was one of the worst for coming home covered in injuries.

She patches him up while he watches. His blue eyes watching her intently. She wasn’t going to lie. He caught her on a Friday night; a bottle into the bachelorette and just a bit lonely. It had also been a second if you catch my meaning. And patching up a literal god wasn’t helping in that department.

After she had cleaned his wounds she looked up at him. very aware of the already compromising position she was in. “where does it hurt the most?”

He nodded toward the wound on his chest. Gently Jennifer stood up her hands on his legs as she leaned forward kissing the spot he pointed to. She could hear him take a deep breath as her lips touched his bandage. “Where else?” He gently gestured to his shoulder. She kissed it

Then he pointed to his forehead

Then lips

He tasted like rain in the city during summer. When the cold water would hit the pavement causing it to steam up. Delicious and refreshing. His tongue he was cool against hers, playful and curious. His grip was now on her waist pulled her toward him making her straddle him on the couch. His body felt warm under her fingers. She could almost feel the electricity as her fingers brushed the skin of his chest.

He let out a soft moan of protest as she pulled away but it was quickly replaced by one of pleasure as she kissed his neck nibbling at his skin. His large hands trailed from her hips to her butt pushing her closer to him. Giving her a firm squeeze with excitement as she found his sweet spot. He mumbled a few Asgardian words under her breath as she felt his body heat spike.

There was something truly thrilling and a little empowering about turning a god on.

Her kisses trailed from that delightful spot on her neck to his ear. Her tongue trailed up his lobe “are you feeling better?” Jennifer whispered her warm breath caressing his now sensitive skin. Letting out a growl Thor flipped her over so she was laying in her back on the couch. She could see his eyes now. Sparking with small sparks if energy bright blue and alive.

Jennifer felt her breath catch in her throat as Thor descended on her lips. Almost animalistic with hunger. Jennifer’s hands tangled into his long locks as she wrapped her legs around his waist grinding into him this time. He moaned into her mouth and she could almost feel the electricity flicker around them. Her hair was going to be a mess tomorrow for sure.

Unwrapping herself she let her hands trail from his hair down his back and round his waist tugging slightly at his belt

“What about down here? Are you sure you not hurt down there?” Jennifer asked pulling away from his mouth for a moment.

Thor got the message almost instantly pulling her up so she was around his hips as he stood.

“Bedroom?”

“That way” she pointed toward her bedroom door just past the kitchenette.

Jennifer let out a squeal of laughter as Thor threw her on the bed. Bouncing slightly she quickly fumbled with her sweatpants as Thor watched her pulling his own off. Outside thunder rumbled slightly. She frowned, distracted for a moment in the shift of weather.

It reminded Jennifer of that first night. When the sky seemed to explode around her. She hadn’t realized it then that it would lead to this.

Thor’s cold mouth on her hot skin brought her back to their moment. Lighting her up. Sending shivers down her neck as the god of thunder grabbed her leg pulling the small human closer to his huge body. She could feel tiny sparks flickering from his hand as they caressed her leg.

Jennifer looked up at him licking her lips a small smile playing on her lips. “Well God of Thunder, what’s your plan?”

CRACK.

The sky seemed to be breaking down around them. Thunder rolling in the distance crashing upon them as he leaned forward. The room growing darker as the weather shifted.

“I’m going to return the favor and make you feel better.”

It was Jennifer’s turn to gasp as he descended upon her. Hot of heavy as he worshiped her body. Thor’s body seemed to be glowing with energy as he moved above her. Jennifer had always thought of sex as electrifying but this was a whole new experience altogether.

Thor’s touch was warm, so exhilarating. It felt like he was lighting up her body. Every nerve on end, so aware of each brush, each kiss, each stroke. Jennifer had never felt like this before.

As the storm closed in it was as if he was consuming her. Pulling her into his own personal tornado. Was a window open? Was that a cold breeze or his lips on her arm? Jennifer moved with him, pushing and pulling herself deeper until it was as if the world crashed around them.

Thor came hard with Jennifer following closely behind. A flash of lighting light up the whole room. Eliminating their bodies as they crashed together. Thunder booming overhead with Thor’s cries. Jennifer was sure the sound must have echoed through the whole city.

They both laid there in her bed tangled up in each other. Lost in the moment together. Soft raindrops rolling down Jennifer’s window much like her own fingers across Thor’s chest. The calmness after the storm. Jennifer could feel sleep overtaking her as Thor’s grip tightened pulling her closer as he buried his head in her neck his breath slowing down.

Jennifer couldn’t help but smile. For the first time in a long time, she felt safe. She felt as if nothing bad could touch her. As if the entire universe had descended upon her to wrap her up and never let her go. As if all that anxiety was washed away with the rain.

She didn’t realize it at the time, but like that night in the bar, the winds were changing.

-GET TAGGED!-

Tagging: @royslittleharper @the-shadow-of-atlantis @coffee-randomness @daisyboobear @werewitchling

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andromeda3116 · 7 years

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title: i’m begging you to keep on (haunting me) rating: t for some cursing/implications characters/pairings: everyone tangentially, but almost exclusively jyn and cassian; jyn/cassian, hella fluffy, everyone lives summary: He once told her welcome home, and she still thinks, will always think -- even years and years later -- that he will never know how much those two stupid words meant to her.

a/n: so for some reason i was reminded of the “onesentence” community on livejournal, and i was like “!!!! i should write a jyn/cassian onesentence claim!” and so i did. the idea is, you get fifty prompts, and you write one sentence for each. i unofficially blame this comm for my obsession with run-on sentences. but i decided to try it, in an effort to deal with writer’s block, and so here we are.

‘cause i’ve done some things that i can’t speak, and i tried to wash you away, but you just won’t leave so won’t you take a breath and dive in deep, ‘cause i came here so you’d come for me . . .

#37 - Technology

Her file could never have prepared him for the woman behind the name Jyn Erso -- the file said volatile, self-serving, former Partisan… but the woman he meets after Melshi’s team extracts her from Wobani is something else entirely.

#19 - Wind

She remembers Jedha in fragments and moments, rather than scenes and facts: she remembers the cold, and the child she saved (only to let die an hour later), and the biting wind and the way that Cassian always seened to position himself between her and the worst of it -- even at that point, even at that early stage, even in that small way, he was always trying to shield her.

#25 - Devotion

It will never stop baffling Jyn, that he comes back for her, has always come back for her -- when he could have, should have left, when he had orders and when he had all the lessons twenty years of military had taught him; when he could have left her behind a thousand times and never hesitated, he came back for her anyway, pulled her out and carried her out and dragged her out and led her out and -- it will never seem reasonable, it will never make sense.

#33 - Fear

The only time she ever sees him afraid is when she takes a blaster bolt to the side and hits the ground, and he runs to her heedless of the danger and heedless of who sees him, calling her name and grabbing her by the shoulders and begging her to respond to him.

#02 - Kiss

The first time is unintentional and unromantic: they need an excuse to be in a supply closet, and she meets his eyes and the doorknob starts to turn and so she grabs him by the shirt and pulls his lips to hers -- and so there’s no time to feel anything about it except panic.

#42 - Clouds

They make it out of atmo with difficulty, burning hard through a storm, and she and him stand on either side of Bodhi in the pilot seat, hand on either shoulder, watching as lightning flashes and the clouds close in around them -- and they both trust Bodhi, but they both watch, and when they finally break through the clouds to bright star-shine on the other side, the pilot gives them a brilliant smile.

#03 - Soft

She’s known him for a year before she realizes that he has dimples, a fact which fascinates and delights her almost as much as it embarrasses him.

#05 - Potatoes

“No, no, no,” she explains, the three glasses of Corellian wine chasing half-formed thoughts out of her mind, “I’m telling you, Kaytoo is the potato of the Rogues, he’s like -- “ she looks up, to see Han looking outright confused and Cassian fighting a bemused laugh, and mulishly plunges forward, “he’s the starch, he’s like, he’s -- he’s the base, but we’re the -- we’re the spices.”

#18 - Speed

“Yes!” she crows, slamming the glass down with a brilliant grin as both Cassian and Han finish their drinks after her, coughing and choking back laughs, “Beat the both of you!”

#24 - Taste

The alcohol is bitter and drying on her tongue as she catches Han’s eye but turns away too slowly; she sees Cassian already turned away.

#32 - Confusion

He doesn’t like it, but it seems obvious -- half of him says he’s being stupid, but the other half scoffs well, obviously -- but she and Han seem to connect on so many levels, to just click and to just fit with each other so perfectly, and so maybe he’s a little meaner to the smuggler than is really justified.

#22 - Jealousy

“Han?” she asks incredulously, and he doesn’t look her in the face, which is as good as a confession, “You really though I was sleeping with Han?”

#09 - Telephone

“Everyone was talking about it,” he grumbles, looking away and crossing his arms, “how the two of you are… close.”

#43 - Sky

Everything else about Hoth aside, it has the best skies -- crystal-blue and wide-open from horizon to horizon, and even though Jyn shivers and ducks into the base every chance she gets, Cassian (born on a frozen planet) loves to watch the sun set and paint the whole snowscape red.

#47 - Moon

Hoth has three moons, flitting across the sky in such a way that they’re only all visible at a certain moment during the night, a few times a standard year, but when they do, the snowfield is bright like day, and that -- that few minutes, every few months, is Cassian’s favorite moment on this god-awful planet, so Jyn (grumbling to herself all the way) makes sure to set an alarm so she can wake up to see it with him.

#28 - Sickness

“You know,” he says, watching her where she’s curled up in the bed like a caterpillar in its chrysalis and glaring at him, “if you had gone to the medbay when I first told you to, you wouldn’t be feeling like this now.”

#20 - Freedom

This whole fight is about freedom, it’s about the nebulous concept of choice, of independence, of being able to choose your own fate; it’s strange, then, that she feels like she’s been pulled along by destiny this whole time, like destiny has pulled her into the fight against itself.

#06 - Rain

Eadu haunts her as she runs up to him, blaster wound in his gut -- possibly fatal, maybe not -- the rain pelting her, the helplessness, the Imperial surroundings and the rebel ship, the sense of everything she’s ever hoped for crashing around her; it’s the rain, she tells herself, it’s just the way the rain is hitting her face, it’s just like when she watched her father die.

#27 - Blood

“You’re gonna be okay,” she says fervently, holding her hands over the wound, and he’s too dazed with blood loss to attend, but she keeps talking anyway, voice rising with every word, “you’re gonna be okay, you’re gonna be okay, you’re gonna be okay.”

#04 - Pain

“You are not gonna die on me, you are not gonna do this to me,” she snaps through gritted teeth, and maybe it’s her words or maybe he’s just found some well of inner strength, but he pulls himself up higher and makes an effort to walk toward the ship with what little energy he has left.

#16 - Weakness

He’s collapsing against her by the time she makes it into the cargo bay screaming for help, help, a medic, please, anybody -- and for a moment she feels the horrible crushing knowledge, that she is about to lose him.

#45 - Hell

The medic loses him for a moment, the monitor flatlining, and Baze has to hold her back, as she screams over and over, no no no no no no --

#13 - Death

The medic loses him for a moment, and he slips -- away, away, into darkness and into light, and he catches a shadowy glimpse of his mother, so long dead, flanked by all the faces he’s killed (but they’re welcoming, not angry), and they’re all beckoning him forward, but all he can hear is Jyn’s voice screaming no no no no no no -- and he can’t take the step toward them.

#23 - Hands

Chirrut takes her hand as the medic works, and he whispers to her the force is with me, I am one with the force, until she repeats it with him and her eyes fall closed, and she allows herself to hope for something foolish, something impossible, something she can’t have --

#21 - Life

“He’ll make it,” the medic sighs, leaning heavily against the wall, the worst part over, “he’ll have to go into bacta for a day or so, but… you know, barring any catastrophes, he should be fine.”

#17 - Tears

That is when Jyn starts to cry; when she knows that he will survive, and not a second before.

#01 - Comfort

The screaming in her mind, the nightmare, the boiling sea and splitting earth -- vanishes in a gasp when he wakes her up and pulls her close to him, whispering it’s okay, it’s okay, you’re here, I’m here, it’s okay.

#12 - Sensual

She is the absolute, literal worst at being sexy -- even when she almost pulls it off, she can’t stop herself from laughing at how stupid it all feels -- but it’s okay, because he’s spent so much of his life being false that anything except Jyn herself, as she is, is a turn-off.

#10 - Ears

There’s a spot on her neck just below her ear, that when he puts even the smallest amount of pressure on it, she reacts like she’s been electrified, hands scrabbling at his back and her gasps in his ear.

#44 - Heaven

He’s between her legs and she doesn’t even know what it is that he’s doing with his tongue, but god -- she’s blacking out and she’s losing control and his eyes on her face and he’s watching and --

#14 - Sex

He’s a generous and affectionate lover, which are both completely alien to Jyn -- used to quick fucks in cheap inns and back rooms -- and at first she honestly doesn’t even know how to react after (do you thank him? do you just sort of cuddle? or are you supposed to immediately reciprocate? or…?)

#15 - Touch

The answer, she learns, at least with him, is to get close and cuddle: he’s surprisingly tactile, he likes touching her, he loves being touched by her, and so she gives into her basest instincts (which every lesson she’s ever learned screams against) and pulls him close to her, close enough that she’s completely flush with him, and she sleeps like the dead in his arms.

#40 - Innocence

They both think the other is innocent compared to themselves.

#11 - Name

His name, she discovers one idle day, means “empty” or “robbed” and it bothers her accurate it is, even though by his own admission, his parents just liked the sound of it.

#35 - Bonds

She’s never believed in destiny, in soulmates, in that Force-bond bullshit that Chirrut seems to swear by, but… at the same time…

#08 - Happiness

He asks her in the dead of night, so late that she wonders if he actually expected an answer, or if he just thought she was asleep and was just whispering his hopes to the stars, but when he murmurs, stay with me, marry me, her heart leaps into her throat and she can’t fight back a smile.

#26 - Forever

It’s just words, she thinks, it’s just a certificate, it’s just a note in their files, married to -- but for all that she’s spent her life carving sentimentality out of her bones with a knife, she can’t stop looking at them, all the same.

#48 - Waves

It’s not much of a honeymoon -- Draven had described it as a milk-run, easy for two people, hardly anything, and that had been as close to a wedding gift as they would ever get from the Alliance high command -- but it’s a beach and it’s the two of them alone in a room together for a couple of weeks, and she thinks she will burn this moment into her memory, standing in the wavebrake with his arms around her, ignoring their duties for the moment, ignoring their jobs for the moment and enjoying the feeling of water on her calves and Cassian’s arms around her waist, and it is everything she has ever wanted from a single moment.

#39 - Smile

His smile is distracting, it draws her eye, it fills up the room -- it’s so rare, it’s so genuine when he actually, truly smiles because he’s just happy, it’s something he does so rarely that people who have been in the rebellion since the start have never seen it -- but he does it when he’s with her, and she feels this glow in her chest like a little sun has ignited.

#07 - Chocolate

“You can only get it on a few core worlds,” he explains, handing her the bar of dark brown… stuff, and she looks up at him, with an eyebrow raised, “I think you’ll like it.”

#36 - Market

Her eyes light on the dress, in spite of herself -- it’s something sultry and slinky, with silk and satin, deep crimson, the kind of dress that even Jyn, who generally could not give less of a shit how men see her, finds alluring -- and she could swear that he is looking in the entire other direction, but when she gets back to her room it’s there, hanging on the door.

#38 - Gift

“It was on sale,” he lies, because she’s got that guilty-happy look on her face where she doesn’t want to accept the good thing that’s happened to her, and, well… he would really like to see her in that dress, himself, so it’s a win-win.

#29 - Melody

He can actually sing really, really well, but only when he thinks nobody is around to hear him.

#49 - Hair

Her favorite thing -- her favorite thing -- is when she’s falling asleep next to him and he’s toying with her hair carelessly, like he just wants to touch her with no ulterior motive, no other reason except to touch her and feel something of her in his fingers.

#34 - Lightning/Thunder

Storms have never frightened her; she flinches, though, when the thunder strikes, loud and close enough to startle her awake, and he absently -- absently, because he’s asleep, but even in his sleep he still wants to make her better -- pulls her closer to him.

#46 - Sun

Tatooine has two suns, and when they set they light the sky on fire, orange and red and yellow, and it might just be the first sunset she’s ever just stood and watched, with his arms around her and his lips on her temple, and in this moment, she understands why her mother went back for Galen on Lah’mu.

#30 - Star

“It’s the conservation of energy,” she explains one night, in the darkness and the quiet and the soft silence, “all the atoms in our bodies were made in stars, and were dispersed in space when those stars died, and… we’re all stardust, he would tell me,” she went on, very softly, “that energy never went away, the energy that once made stars burn is inside me, I am stardust.”

#41 - Completion

Endor is wide and blue in the sky when the second Death Star falls, huge like a moon and bright like a sun, and she watches the fragments of the Empire fall like meteors in the sky, and all she can feel is a kind of cold sadness, a completion and an absolution and an uncertainty for what the future will be.

#50 - Supernova

Every element was formed in a supernova, when a star too large for its own mass explodes, brilliant energy and wild power slingling elements off into the cosmos, and this -- he thinks this is what Galen was really describing when he called her “stardust” -- this power, this energy, this awe and this unfathomable creation -- this is what he meant, this is what she is.

#31 - Home

He once told her welcome home, and she still thinks, will always think -- even years and years later -- that he will never know how much those two stupid words meant to her.

#rebelcaptain #fanfiction; mine #rogue one #forreal though everyone should do this challenge #it's so fun and it's so difficult!#but it's great!#i forgot how much i loved it #also this is pretty hella fluffy

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