So, it's been awhile since I've had any writing inspiration. To be honest, it's still kind of not there. But I promised myself I would ease myself back into writing. So, here it is. One-shots of the lovely pairing that is Eleven/Amy. I hope you enjoy it! R&R? Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who. If I did, Amy Pond would have had a better Series 6 than she did and my OTP would be canon.
She tastes like apples.
But you hate apples, apples are rubbish, you swear it, but it's hard to focus when her mouth is moving in perfect sync with yours.
And instead of picturing bruised apples, rotten to the core, like you usually do (because that's how you usually feel) you imagine them differently.
You can see a healthy apple, shining brightly. Polished by youth and innocence, but most of all by sweet experience.
Not like the horrors you have witnessed, no; perhaps this apple was once bruised, knocked off the apple cart, as some might say.
Tossed around by rough hands, many missing the catch, ultimately landing the forgotten treat in the dirt.
It takes years for this apple to regain any faith because it had been left under the tree, waiting, for years.
But, years later, it is picked up, a sleeve slowly but surely wiping the dust away. Soon, happiness is etched on the face of the apple, carving that magnificent, bewildering smile onto its edges.
And she carves a smile onto your own face as you reflect on how much she and certain apples are alike. And somehow you can't even imagine ever not liking apples in the first place. Because even though you have a damaged apple (cold, withering, rotten to the very core), hers is not that much different. Granted, hers is much superior to yours considering your background. But you both have experienced pain and judgment and utter loneliness. A loneliness complete with a wide gaping pit of darkness.
And you stare at her in awe through the kiss and soon enough she realizes, gazing up at you with those wide eyes, a pool of hazel. She pokes you in the stomach for staring at her in such a moment, but you can't help yourself. You're used to setting your eyes upon various beauties, but never before had you beheld one such as this. Never one quite like her.
And it is then you conclude not all apples knocked off their cart are rotten ones.
