Well Then.

Well then.

Happy Birthday Chris Evans! (June 13th, 1981)

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Enjoy~

Wherever You Are

Pairing: Tenth Doctor x reader

Word Count: 604

Summary: The Doctor is acting unusually shy, and it’s up to the reader to find out why.

Warnings: Fluff

A/N: Happy birthday to David Tennant! <3

The Doctor is a lot of things, but shy is not one of them. He’s brave and intelligent and daring, but under no circumstances is he shy, unless he’s acting. He does that often to get you both out of trouble, but timid is not one of the words one would use to describe him, and they would be absolutely right not to use it.

Thing is, right now, he’s very obviously shy. He’s fiddling with his Sonic Screwdriver and occasionally muttering to himself and avoiding your inquisitive and curious gaze like the plague.

Still, that doesn’t stop you from staring at him.

Well, to be precise, staring at his suit-jacket-covered back as he tinkers around with stuff in the control room of the TARDIS, refusing to let you see his face -which is flushed red by now, and you have no idea why- and not uttering a word or making a sound.

All in all, his behaviour is very un-Doctor-like, and it shows no sign of changing anytime soon unless you do something.

“Doctor,” you call out at some point, and he is so startled by the sound of your voice that he turns around, dropping his Sonic Screwdriver as he does so.

“Y-yes, Y/n?” The Doctor stutters, which also is very weird for him.

You decide to tackle the problem head-on and not sugarcoat things.

“Is everything okay?” you ask him, an expression of concern on your face, the worry probably evident in your voice too.

“Um…” he falters, thinking of what to say next. “Why do you ask that?” he finally decides on answering your question with an inquiry of his own.

Sighing and rolling your eyes, you smile at him. “I’m glad you asked that, actually, because you have given me lots of reasons to think that you are not okay. First off, you’ve been ignoring me for the biggest part of the day without an explanation, and you’ve been acting nervous and… I think you were blushing at some point, too,” you explain, and his nervousness returns full force.

“Well… you’re right. I am a bit off today, but I have a very, very good reason for being like this,” he says, assuming a matter-of-fact tone and straightening up.

“I want to take you out on a date,” he states confidently, only a small hesitation in which he licks his lips betraying his nervousness.

“What do you say? Will it be a yes or a no?” he asks, seeming a bit like an impatiently expectant child.

You are taken aback by his unusual request, but it doesn’t seem bad to you and, well, if he really means it then that would explain why he was acting weirdly before.

“A date? What kind of a date?” you ask, just to clarify, because you can never be one hundred percent sure when it comes to the Doctor and the bizarre things he asks you to do. You, of course, want it to be the kind of date two people who like each other quite a lot go on, but, as you said, one can never be sure with the Doctor.

He blushes again.

“Well… I was thinking the more romantic kind of date, somewhere nice and cosy like, say, the Titanic before it sank or the Earth’s moon, or another planet entirely,” the Doctor suggests, and you can’t say no. You don’t want to, either. You want to say yes, yes, yes.

“Yes,” you finally reply, smiling at him. “Though doesn’t the Titanic sound a bit extreme? We might be tempted to save people if we make friends with them, and that would disturb the time stream, right?” you ask, and he nods, excited at the fact that you have learned the rules of time.

“You’re right. I wasn’t thinking properly. Where do you want to go?” he asks again, apparently very excited at the prospect of the date.

You chuckle and blush, rather excited yourself.

“Um… well, let’s just go wherever you want. The universe is huge, and you know it better than I do,” you say, and he nods.

“Right!” he says, walking up closer to you and pulling you into a hug.

“Of course!” he exclaims then, pulling back from the hug, but pressing his lips to yours in an excited kiss that sends tingles running through your body.

You can only stare at him as he runs around, pulling levers and pushing buttons, and soon the TARDIS is wheezing, signalling its departure.

“Where are we going?” you ask, smiling radiantly at him, glad to be met with the usual bright, a bit crazy, look in his eyes.

“To my favourite place in the entire universe,” he says with a grin.

“Where’s that?” you ask, and he pulls you closer to kiss you once again.

“Wherever you are.”

Steven Grant Rogers was born on July 4, 1918, to Sarah and Joseph Rogers in Brooklyn, New York City.