#like realistically this fic idea is not going anywhere it just took hold of me at an inconvenient time

[solar-halos]

thinking about a fierce pjo fic featuring sally and percy …. but alas …. odesta week is calling

[mawlbone]

But mawl what if 👉👈 what if Nikto had a miscarriage and reader had to comfort him that we won't leave 🥺👉👈

MISHAPS - NIKTO

[CW: miscarriage, postpartum depression, infertility insecurity, mental health stigmatization, and mention of suicide.]

[COMMENT: Oh goodness anon… I actually feared whether I will get my head stoned 😭 when I do have a miscarriage Nikto fic working somewhere in my drafts. I am actively judging with myself on the limits of “will my readers kill me for this” with many of other drafts too.]

If he miscarried, I fear he will need to be in skin to skin contact with you for a very long time because he’s so tired and scared you’ll berate him for failing to carry a child once more. Genuinely needs to have a hold on you whenever you go anywhere because he’ll think it’s his fault and desperately even beg for another chance.

And I’ll probably write reader not wanting to try again because they don’t want Nikto dying of heartbreak if I’m feeling mean or in a lighter note, have reader work really hard and providing specialized meals and other stuff so Nikto have a better shot at carrying.

And on this subject, me and a fellow Nikto lover had like long ago talked about how perhaps he could had lost several children out of stress on top of having fertility issues due to the trauma inflicted on his body. So years of constant turmoil just makes him a harder time conceiving because he never had the time to recover.

I know that’ll be more realistic and I could write a prequel to that part the fic (after I finish my drafts) explaining it so his daughter technically will be considered his rainbow baby if I wish to. Or set it as an entirely different fic, perhaps with omega nikto, not sure yet.

Continuing on, as we are on the topic of bullying Nikto, I should probably add that that fear that he had in “Cracked Cradles” that I wrote was actually a fic idea where we said, hey, what if Nikto got tired of being alone and got himself knocked up by some stranger so he can be a single parent all by himself and he was fully committed to that.

After all, he’s used to being by himself for the most part, but got his baby taken away from him because he was deemed too dangerous to be around her, so child protective services took her away and either he stole her from the hospital and disappeared from the public eye, go on a long rampage and journey to find her and steal her back from an orphanage or some adoptive couple, or worst case scenario kill himself because he couldn’t take it anymore at feeling used and disposed, and that child was his last hope on life.

Yeah…. Apologies to everyone for my plans for October.

[willgrahymn]

Crushing Fear

wow can you believe I’m posting one of my fics on tumblr? me neither.

Tags: prinxiety, love confessions, some point close after FWSA, flower language, some swearing, and light angst but mostly fluff (oh and I throw shade at Janus).

Summary: Virgil didn't even remember how long he had spent repressing his dumb crush, but with Thomas falling in love, it felt harder to ignore the feelings welling up in his chest. All he knew was that he couldn't admit it out loud. Luckily for him, Roman was a romantic who couldn't stand to let a chance at love go uninvited, even if he didn't always feel deserving of it. 

Word count: 3334

I’ll reblog with ao3 link since I know tumblr is dumb about it :)

There were a lot of things Virgil loved about Roman. He loved the way Roman would push back his hair whenever he caught a glimpse of himself or felt nervous and he loved the way it always fell in his face again. He loved the way his eyes lit up when Virgil asked about a show or a musical he knew the prince liked. To be honest, it was hard to think of something he didn't love. Even things he once thought were annoying had become endearing to him.

It didn’t matter. He had a reputation to at least try to maintain, he’d already gone so damn soft around the others since the light sides and Thomas came to get him back and Roman made that sweet little speech in the darkness of his room.

“You make us better.” It was like a song he played on repeat. At the time, Roman was the last person he expected to convince him that this could be his home – his family – but somehow he did. He may have been a jerk early on, but maybe, Virgil thought, he really was a knight in shining armor. Roman was more like him than he once thought; using fake confidence to cover up insecurities was nothing new.

And now, years later, here he was lying in bed like a yearning gay fool with music that wasn’t loud enough to block out his thoughts. He figured his little crush would be something that he could just hide away until it wasn’t even there. That plan was failing horribly though, especially when Roman could steal his breath by just looking at him. He didn't know how to handle feelings that felt bigger than himself.

Would it be smart to try something now? Probably not. What would he even do? Roman always talked of big, grand gestures that could literally and figuratively sweep one off their feet. Virgil didn’t consider himself good at plenty of things, and wooing someone like he was in a movie happened to be on the list. The farthest he'd gotten with confrontation was making Thomas talk to Nico, all because he couldn't stand to see Roman so heartbroken. He could feel the darkness below his eyes lighten to that embarrassingly glittery purple at the memory of how proud Roman was.

But Roman was Creativity and had his own little kingdom in the imagination. Virgil was sure that if he wanted a boyfriend he could just make the man of his dreams who would do anything and everything for him without the slightest hesitation. It seemed existence wasn’t fair like that.

He could just barely hear a knock sounding at the door, Virgil's eyes immediately darting over to where the sound had come. He debated whether or not he should respond. It wasn’t as if he didn’t like his friends, but his same old avoidant tendencies from before never went away.

“Virgil?” Roman asked. His voice making Virgil freeze and want to melt away at the same time. “Are you awake?”

Fuck, shit, some other words Patton would disapprove of. What time was it? 1:30? He couldn’t blame Roman for assuming he was still out, especially since it was the truth not too long ago. He almost felt sorry for his sleep schedule, but there wasn’t much he could do about it. No matter how hard Logan tried to help he always found himself digging through the kitchen at 5 in the morning, and not because he was an early riser. He paused his music, hanging his headphones on his headboard. Listening to Sally’s Song for the 17th time could wait for later.

He heard Roman laugh, and it felt like roses.

“That’s alright. If anyone here knows anything about beauty sleep, it’s me. The glasses gays are insisting that I awaken the beast though, so you better at least have something on before I barge in.”

Virgil wasn’t sure if Roman was talking to himself or knew he was being heard. He just burrowed deeper under his covers. He didn't want Roman to find him awake and think he was ignoring him, even if it was kind of the truth.

The door creaked. It sounded like something from a shitty horror movie. The heavy footsteps didn’t make it any more calming either. Roman was never this quiet. He refused to open his eyes, even as his blanket was pulled away from his face. He couldn’t stop the sharp intake of breath as he felt cool air shock his skin.

“Awh, c’mon! I’m the actor here. Your eyes were closed too tight, for one thing,”

Virgil sighed, opening his eyes and squinting at the light. “I thought you were here to wake me up, not give me acting lessons.”

“Good morning to you too, Mourning Glory. It’s not my fault if you want to hide away all day, I’m just giving tips on being more realistic.”

Virgil rolled his eyes, biting the inside of his lip to resist smiling. Wanting to stay calm as if he knew what he was doing.

“You’ve teased me about being a vampire before. Can’t I play the part?”

“Oh, trust me, you’re perfect for the role. Sadly for you, there are two very insistent Sides saying you have to be a real functioning part of the mind, so unless you want me to carry you out there and make a whole scene, you better come down on your own.”

Virgil sighed, rolling onto his back as his eyes adjusted to the light. The two stared at each other. Testing each other. Not getting out of bed never sounded more tempting.

He gave in, rambling. “Sure, okay, whatever.” He sighed, reaching out and taking hold of Roman’s hand, letting the prince pull him upright. Whether it was he or Roman who ended up bringing them so close was something he could stay up late thinking about later. Now wasn’t the time to focus on rough palms or scarred skin that he once bandaged up while cursing out the ever-so-reckless Roman for sneaking out on quests, leaving Virgil to hunt him down with nothing but adrenaline and a certain level of knowingness in his dread.

He tried to bite back a yawn. His eyes widening at the warm feeling of a hand pressed to his face, of a thumb brushing lightly over his cheekbone. It wasn’t unwelcome, to be honest, he could probably fall back asleep just like this. He’d be okay waking up every morning if they were like this. If the romantic side offered it. If Virgil would allow himself to accept and experience it.

“How long have you been up?”

“Anywhere between 20 minutes to 2 hours. I don’t really know.”

Roman smiled, betraying the worried look in his eyes. It was probably just the effect of his room, that’s what Virgil hoped it was anyway. He tried not to show any disappointment when Roman’s hand fell to the bed.

“I’ll be down in a few,” Virgil continued, “just let me take care of my makeup first.”

Roman’s eyes trailed him as he got up and moved over towards his desk in the corner of the room, flicking on the light as he went by. Why is he fucking staring?

“While I’m here, I was wondering if you’d care to join me for a quest this evening? Or maybe we could throw a ball for the mind palace? I know it’s not your thing, but I thought it might be fun? Or y’know, something else more low-key.”

“Uh, yeah you know I’m not big on big things,” Virgil replied, looking over to the prince picking at a loose thread on the cuffs of his sleeves. “You know if you want to hang out you can just ask, you don't need some extravagant event going on to get me alone with you.”

Roman nodded, not seeming any calmer than before. Virgil's brows furrowed, worries flowed through him as if it were his blood. He didn't want to make Roman talk if he didn't want to, but god was it nerve-racking.

At the very least, it seemed like he wouldn't be putting on any more black eyeshadow to try and hide its changes.

Roman, on the other hand, decided not to question why the Side no longer seemed interested in putting his makeup on, and being grateful for the fact Virgil took advantage of the fact they could conjure themselves into different outfits rather than changing right then and there.

The two stayed there, an awkward silence taking over the room before a crash sounded from the living room.

“We should probably go.”

Virgil simply nodded, pulling his jacket tighter around as he followed Roman out of the room.

Luckily, the crash had only come from Patton knocking over a stack of DVDs, CDs, and a few other things. Another lost-glasses incident. It was a miracle nothing got broken.

The day itself would have felt completely normal if not for the fact Roman kept looking at him. Starting off as unsure as they did in his room, and slowly brightening like he had finally figured out a plothole in one of his stories. It was even more unsettling when he realized Roman was no longer there, vanished off to do god knows what.

So Virgil spent the next couple of hours trying to ignore the feeling of his fears eating him from the inside out like a moth to a sweater. He wouldn’t mind the holes if they didn’t leave him so uncomfortable. But then again, maybe that was fitting for his aesthetic. Torn-up shirts and jeans to pair with his torn-up emotions. At least he found solace in the darkness of his outfits.

It didn’t take long to get bored of the mundane mind palace.

Maybe I should take Roman up on that quest idea. He thought, his foot bounced, hanging over the side of the couch. Even if it wasn’t in his list of Shit Virgil Can Do Without Fucking Up, it was better than sitting around and waiting for nothing.

Virgil got up silently, giving a quick two-finger salute to Logan who had started reading some new detective novel before he sunk out. Appearing again before Roman’s door. Maybe he was just self-conscious, but it looked bigger than it was. Like behind it would be some hidden treasure that he finally reached.

It wasn’t entirely wrong. Roman was certainly someone to be treasured, even if he made mistakes. He just wished the other Sides would help him understand it.

He held his breath as he knocked, jolting back when it swung open almost instantly.

“You’re here!” Roman exclaimed, bouncing on his heels.

“Uh, yeah. I thought I’d take you up on your offer from earlier… if it’s still up, anyway.”

“Oh! Yeah, totally!” The prince tugged at his collar, not making eye contact. Virgil couldn’t help but smile slightly at the prince's giddiness. “I was just working on something if you’d care to see it?”

“You know I wanna see whatever you come up with, even if it’s some rewrite of Frozen.”

Roman bounced again, holding his hands out, palms up. He looked at Virgil with an emotion he couldn’t name, but it made him feel anxious in a good kind of way. Not anything like the dread he was used to. He placed his hands on Roman’s, and it wasn’t till they were sinking out and into the imagination that he realized it was the same kind of feeling from when Nico first texted Thomas about meeting up again. He held Roman’s hands a little tighter.

When he opened his eyes, they were surrounded by flowers.

“Woah…”

“Do you like it? I had to sneak into Logan’s room and borrow a few of his books.”

“I– yeah. It’s beautiful. And don’t worry, I won’t snitch.” He stepped away, wandering the circular little garden. He could only recognize so many. “Didn’t know you had a thing for landscaping.”

“I try my best. Honestly, I’m just happy neither of us has allergies.”

“Gosh, you’re such a dork.” Virgil laughed, petting the petals of a rose. Not paying attention to the way Roman watched him and shifted his weight every so often nor how warm his cheeks had become. “Do you know what any of them mean?”

“I do, but I think if I tell you, you’ll realize how predictable I am.”

“Go for it.”

“Well, roses are pretty well known. The red ones are anyway. Love, passion, romance, and courage. Things like that.” Roman said, walking closer. His boots clicking against the walkway’s pavement.

He stood close by yet just far enough for Virgil not to feel like he was being dissected under his gaze. It was an unreasonable thing to think after all the time they had spent becoming friends, he knew that. Yet part of him continued to scream that one day Roman would look at him and find out how horrible he thought himself to be and never want to be around him again. Maybe that was why he refused to confess just how much he liked Roman. It was a weight that crushed his chest every day yet made him feel dizzyingly light.

It was all too complicated.

“What about the purple ones?”

“It kind of varies by shade, but most of the time it’s about love at first sight or enchantment. A lot of the flowers here have to do with that sort of thing.”

“Yeah, should’ve been able to figure that one out myself.”

Roman shrugged. “It’s no matter, I just want to make sure you understand what they mean.” He looked to Virgil, again with that unnamed emotion. “You do get what I’m trying to say, right?”

For a moment, he hoped he did.

“Uh, yeah? Princey, I get it, you’re a hopeless romantic. You don’t have to spell it out for me.” He bit the inside of his lip, then asked. “What are they for?”

Roman looked at him with what he could only see as sympathy.

“I mean this in the nicest way possible, but I really do think you need it spelled out.”

Virgil scoffed, going to argue before he was cut off.

“First,” Roman began, reaching for Virgil’s hand, “You take him by the hand. That’s as far as you got before we both started screaming, anyway. So I suppose I’ll just have to wing it from here. I know I haven’t always been the best to you. I know I still make mistakes, and I really don’t want this to be one of them.”

“Roman–”

“I’m not finished. Virgil, out of all the other’s, you’re always the one who notices when I’m upset. You’re always the one who lets me bitch about Deceit without saying I was wrong for trusting him and then wrong for not. Really, you’re the only one I can bitch about the dark sides to, period. Logan is so reserved about it, and Patton is, well, he’s Patton. He tries to see the good in everyone.”

Roman paused, catching his breath. Virgil thought it best not to speak. He didn’t think he’d even be able to if he wanted.

“What I’m getting is that I trust you. I trust you because you’re my best friend and you listen to what I say even if it’s dumb. Because when I don’t feel like talking you're always down to just watch classic Disney movies and fill in coloring books. I know you don't realize it, but you do a hell of a lot more good than you believe, and I love you for that. You don’t have to say it back or even feel the same, I know you’re pretty reluctant about it. I just need you to know.”

Virgil stared at him, frozen like a deer caught in the headlights of love. Roman had said ‘I love you’ before, but not like this. What the fuck do you even do when your crush confesses they like you, more so, that you aren’t obligated to like them back? Complicated, and now surreal.

“You really mean it? All of it??”

“Of course I do, my Columbine Cutie! I could never lie to someone about love, I hope you know that.” Roman replied. Waving his hand as he conjured a mix of red and purple columbines, tucking them gently behind Virgil’s ear. Both knowing it was the truth, that Roman wouldn’t subject someone to such a thing because he knew how it felt.

But he still trusted Virgil with his love all the same. Trusted that it wouldn’t be taken advantage of or used against him.

“How long have you known?”

“You know, I think I fell for you far before I knew it.”

Virgil huffed a laugh. “Yeah, I uh… I think it was the same for me. Falling for you, that is.” God, it felt so weird to say it. Good, too. “I’m sorry I don’t know what to say. I never thought I’d end up here. I care about you too. I love you, I mean.”

And Roman… Roman just started to beam, shining like the sun as Virgil tripped over his words. He bounced, hands waving as he did. Despite his lingering fear, Virgil couldn’t stop the excitement Roman radiated and the wonder of it all from seeping in under his skin, a feeling like vibrations that he could only try to shake out. And there were hands cupping his face and there were words he didn’t hear. He still knew what they asked. “Fucking yes.” was all he could bring himself to give as a response before Roman’s lips were on his.

Strawberry chapstick and the faint scent of cherry blossom perfume were all that went through his head, it was the only thing that really could. He held onto Roman’s uniform like if he let go it would all disappear. Another dream reminding him of what he thought he couldn’t have.

When Roman pulled away and Virgil opened his eyes, he was still there.

He was real. Everything that had happened was real. He couldn’t help but giggle at how fantastical it was.

Roman brushed his bangs away, just enough to fully show his eyes. “Your eyeshadow changed again,” he announced, bouncing on his heels once again. Virgil groaned, turning away. “It’s a good look for you. Especially with how much you blush, my Lavender Love.”

“It’s embarrassing.”

“It’s adorable.”

Virgil knew from the grin on Roman’s face that it had only intensified.

“Whatever. I just– for what it’s worth– I appreciate it. All of this. I’d probably die never telling you shit about how I felt if you didn’t do it first.”

Roman softened, “Maybe, or maybe you’d end up pushing yourself like you did to Thomas. Either way, I’m happy with it if you are.”

Virgil nodded, the two going silent. Roman rocked back and forth still quietly bouncing, probably thinking of what to say next.

Slowly, Virgil opened his arms, smiling nervously to his crush– lover– whatever they were. He wasn’t all that open to touch, but Roman was so far off from everything else it didn’t matter. The prince smiled, pulling Virgil close to him and pressing a kiss to his magenta-colored hair.

“I’m happy to be your knight as long as you want me to be. Whatever it is that gets thrown our way, I’ll fight for you as you have for me. You deserve to shine every day like you are now.”

“Jesus, Princey. You already made your dramatic love declaration, but... thank you. I want you to be happy too.”

The two held each other, and for the moment, everything was okay. No dark sides, no fear, no challenging life debates. It was unescapable, of course, but it didn’t matter. They could survive and fight this hell of a world. They could make the other realize how lovable they were. Because they had each other.

[saharamae21]

Hero (JJ Maybank Imagine) - Disney Day Three

Hey guys! Day Three of my 30 Day Disney Challenge is here! This challenge is going to be 30 days of imagines inspired by Disney songs. I’m really excited to be doing this and I promise I will try to stay more on top of it than I did with my last challenge.

These are not song fics, but imagines inspired by songs.

Day Three (October 30th) - Hero (Unplugged) (Starstruck) - JJ Imagine

Word Count : 1499 Words

Sorry I thought I had this queued to post and apparently I did not.

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Even though JJ and you didn’t always get along, you knew that he was the only one you could talk to. The other Pogues always had amazing home lives and you didn’t want them to look at you any differently. Deep down, you knew that they wouldn’t, but you always worried anyways. JJ was the one exception. He was tortured at home and he was loyal to a tee. He would never tell anyone your secret.

The day that you finally told him what was going on was intense. You had gone through the ringer at home and hid at the beach to calm down. The sand burned against your skin, but you had to come up with a plan to explain to your friends how you got these bruises. Usually you only had to lie about one or two, but today your skin was painted in this ugly shade black and blue. Tears were slipping rapidly down your face as you hugged your knees to your chest. How would you explain this to your friends?

When JJ got to the beach he was already in a bad mood. He thought taking the day off from his friends would help clear his head, but then he saw you out of the corner of his eyes. He scoffed at first, knowing that the happy-go-lucky girl would run up to him as soon as you noticed he was there. He had two options, say hi before you had the chance to annoy him or ignore you completely. He sighed, knowing the right thing to do. Even though you could annoy him, he still had a soft spot for you.

As he walked up, he heard your sniffling. It shocked him to see you like this because the only version he had ever seen of you was bubbly and filled with bliss. He never thought you could be like this. Then the bruises caught his eye. His breath hitched as he put two and two together. The way you fidgeted when John B asked how you got the bruises. The dismissiveness and resent in your voice when they would ask if you were okay. It all made sense now. He was angry at himself for not noticing sooner.

“Y/n?” he asked softly. Your heart stopped as he said your name. You had been caught red handed. You turned your head slowly to look at him. Tears cascaded down your face as he saw the real you for the first time. He didn’t know whether to reach forward and hug you or to call Kiara. She was always better with the emotional stuff than him. He sensed that you needed him right now though. He took a seat next to you and said nothing.

“I’m fine JJ,” you muttered softly. You didn’t look at him when you said that. You couldn’t bring yourself too. The embarrassment was too intense to look him in the eyes.

“You don’t look fine…” he awkwardly said back. You bursted out into tears as he said that. He cursed under his breath, wishing that he knew how to handle the situation. He remembered what Kie always did when he was distressed and pulled you into a hug. It was awkward at first. JJ and you had never hugged before in your two years of friendship, but as soon as your arms slipped around him and your face burrowed into his shoulder, all the awkwardness dispersed. His hands found the way to your back and held you tightly. With you in his arms, it was like he could read your mind all of the sudden. He could tell you anything that you wanted or needed to hear. “You’re okay now. I won’t let anyone else hurt you.”

After you settled down a little bit, he released you from his hold. He let you explain what it was like at home. He listened as you told him your fears about the others knowing. Every word you said, made sense to him. He went through the exact same thing, only he was more cynical than you could ever be.

“I had no idea. You always seemed so cheerful,” he muttered. It made you happy that he thought you were cheerful.

“Whenever I’m sad, I always promise to myself that I’ll be happier and work harder,” you explained. You never wanted anyone to know that your life was hard. You didn’t want the people you cared about most to worry about you when they all had so much on their plates already. “Don’t tell the others, okay?”

You watched him nod sadly. He knew that there was no point of trying to convince you. He had been there before and even though the Pogues wouldn’t treat you any differently, it didn’t erase the fear and guilt. Plus he kind of liked the idea of a secret that only he knew about.

That night when you guys went back to the Chateau, you had forgotten to make up a story to tell you friends. Kiara ran up to you immediately and asked if you were okay. JJ shoved her back a little bit, not allowing her to get a closer look.

“I was teaching her how to surf and she took a huge fall,” he muttered. “She’s still shaken up so give her some space.”

You stared at him as he lied for you. The both of you knew that if she looked closer the story wouldn’t add up quite as well. You smiled at him as he tossed you one of his hoodies to hide some of the marks. You slipped it on and grinned at the soft smell of him that lingered on the fabric. The more he did for you, the closer you two got. You could feel yourself falling for him. It was as unstoppable as gravity.

A few weeks passed and JJ spent more and more time with you. Usually he would get annoyed with you after a while, but now he made it his own mission to make sure you didn’t get hurt. Every time you would cry, he would tell you about how the two of you could get out of the OBX. He would fill your head with ideas of Mexico, but realistically, he would take you anywhere you wanted to go as soon as he had the money to do so. He wanted to be your hero.

One night, he was caught up at work. The chateau was a little too crowded and you were feeling a little overwhelmed. Over your better judgement, you went back home for the night. The place was a mess and your dad sat on the couch with a beer in hand. You looked at your feet as you explained where you had been. He told you that he didn’t care and told you to get him another beer. Your voice was shaky, but something about JJ made you realize that you didn’t have to stand for this. Even though the two of you were ordinary people with just a heart and soul, you could stop this. You told him no for the first time in your life.

The rest of it happened so quickly. His fist hitting your cheek. His hand wrapping around your throat. Your gasps for air as he threw you to the ground. You listened to him yell at you to get out. He didn’t have to tell you twice. You ran quickly out the door, but right into JJ’s body. He had heard from J.B. that you went home and had come to check on you. Your arms slipped around him and you sobbed into his chest, still trying to catch your breath. His heart stopped as you clung to him. If only he left work on time, maybe you wouldn’t have gone home. He placed a kiss on your forehead and muttered apologies over and over, even though none of this was his fault.

He snuck you back into his house. It was similar to yours, messy and unkempt. You didn’t mind though. He shut the bedroom door behind him and turned on the light, seeing the bruising for the first time. Your neck was purple where your dad had grabbed you. The more he looked at it, the angrier he got. He was angry at you for going home. He was angry at your dad for doing this to you. However, he was the angriest at himself for not being there. He wiped away your tears carefully and stared at your broken face.

“I’m sorry,” you said softly. It broke his heart that you were in so much pain and you still felt like you had to apologize to him. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to yours, telling you that you never had to be sorry when it came to him. He would always be there for you, no matter what. He would be everything you ever needed.

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Tag List : @justcallmesams @jellyfishbeansontoast @prejudic3 @queenieloveswriting @jjtheangel @infinitydols @simpingforrudypankowonly @waywardbarbie @outerbankslut @outerbongs @ilovejjmaybank @beth-winchester21 @jiaraendgame @maybanksbaby @rudyypankow @tomhardybby @crxstalreeds @mayraki @potterheadhollander @teenwaywardasgardian

Let me know if you want to be added or removed from tag list.

[whiskeyjack]

top 10 fics?? are you kidding me??

Thank you @00gangfriend00 for probably one of the hardest lists I’ve ever had to make. I also haven’t gotten around to reading anywhere near enough of the fics I want to, my bookmark list is getting dangerously long. I have many favourites, so please note this list is off the top of my head and if you asked me in a month it would probably be different. This was not an easy list to make in the slightest, this fandom is absolutely brimming of incredibly talented authors. In making this list I’ve also realized the true extent of my negligence for not commenting on some of these fics (especially the early reads) - so I will be rereading some of these to drop you lovely authors my thoughts and appreciation 💖 In no particular order:

A Rational Choice by @fireinsideforfun (tumblr?)

i think this was one of the first fics I read in this fandom and my life has forever been changed because of this fic. i’m not sure if it’s still a WIP (boy I hope so) or if it’s been abandoned, but either way this fic is full of angst! tortured and vulnerable sexy times! plot! aka everything i look for in an indulging read.

Until Long After She Takes Her Final Breath by @watermelonriddles (@emilykolburn)

this was another early read of mine, and it was a fucking painful one. my heart physically hurt while reading this fic, and tbh i want to go back and reread it but i’m not sure i physically can. goes to show the amount of talent it took to write this one, and how emotionally provocative it is. this fic lives rent free in mind, and forever will.

Thirty Pieces of Silver by @riosnecktattoo (@riosnecktattoo)

alas, this fic will always be on my list because of where i was in my life when i read it. i think this is the first (completed) fic i read where i felt a full on wave of catharsis from the show so powerful that i just sort of… had to stop and stare around thinking about what i had just read. @riosnecktattoo i will never be able to thank you enough for the relief i had reading this fic. i’m also just always so blown away by the fact that this was your first fic… you are so gifted. i love love love the absent-minded scar touching, the 20 questions, the sheer vulnerability… everything about it. completely breathtaking.

a song inside the halls of the dark by @ms_scarlet (@mego42)

ok yeah so. this is a fic that’s very high up on my list, and will forever remain there. i could talk for years about how much i love the characterizations, the plot, character and relationship developments, the smut (the SMUT!!) , the vulnerability, and the angst in this fic. @mego42 you captured my attention right off the bat with this fic and i’ve always been so blown away by your ability to give me shivers with your comparisons to natural disasters and just perfectly concocted imagery. this fic also does contain my #1 brio smut, it’s just… so vulnerable, desperate, possessive and perfect. i’ve probably reread this half a dozen of times now, and i always need time to recover because of how fucking powerful this piece. also my heart literally breaks every time i get to the end. do I still reread? god, yes. thank you for writing this piece of art, truly it is magnificent.

i will collect and capture you by @foxmagpie (@foxmagpie)

i absolutely adore this fic, it has a very special place in my heart. it is complete with so much angst, on point characterizations, incredibly talented written humour gently weaved into moments (hospital bed//casket!!!), fucking phenomenal smut, and heartbreaking metaphors. it also has a precious lung! spleen! shoulder! moment that I won’t been forgetting for a very fucking long time. @foxmagpie thank you for writing this fic, it is so remarkable, and you are so talented i truly feel like we are living in Rio’s mind during this fic. word of warning if y’all haven’t read this one yet: be careful you will go on a fucking ride. i learned so much about my emotional bandwidth while reading this… and it hit my limits.

It Hurts When I See You Struggle by @BourbonOnTheRocks (@bourbon-ontherocks)

an amazing post 2.13/s3 fucking piece. this fic has it all: so! much! angst! shards of perfectly placed comic relief! vulnerability! rio chuckling! and amazing metaphors (tapestry!!)! i love how beth gets caught in her own bullet for rio, and @bourbon-ontherocks you write it in a way that’s just so utterly full circle, i let out a physical sigh of relief from the resolution these two go through. “I need you//I think I need you too” will be forever imprinted in my brain, it’s just incredibly flawless. your words always provoke such an emotional reaction while reading, i’m constantly just in awe that English isn’t even your first language. i have read this already a few times, and guarantee will be back for more.

Bringing Down the Neighborhood by @s_t_c_s (@sothischickshe)

certainly one of my favourite resolutions post 2.13. this fic is absolutely full of snark, idiots being idiots and VERY sexy times that are just so humorous, i couldn’t breathe from laughing quite a few times. the characterization is absolutely on point and accurate to the point that i could full out envision this fic taking place in canon (if it wasn’t so sexy). seriously @sothischickshe I just love how you used talking/kissing as important markers in their relationship in this fic, it felt just so true to canon, you nail them to a T. i’m also such a sucker for the idea that rio holds on to beth’s rejection of desk sex with him. yes. undeniable. fucking marvellous.

Ain’t No Sunshine by @MissMaxime (@missmaxime)

another recent read of mine, and tbh? i’m v sad i didn’t read this fic before now. this fic righted my world in a way i didn’t know it needed to be and i truly am walking around believing that this full-out happened in canon. i absolutely love how beth’s ptsd (and turner’s!! thank you @missmaxime for pointing that out post-read) is explored in very unique (and HOT!!!) ways. very phenomenally done @missmaxime , this was such an amazing read. i will forever be thinking about beth looking for scars on turner’s chest that aren’t there.

It’s All About The Game (and how you play it) by @sdktrs12 (@sdktrs12)

another perfect fic that is incredibly indulgent on my part and an absolutely treat to read. the characterizations of not only beth & rio, but of mick, annie & ruby are just so accurate. @sdktrs12 i love how you play with beth & rio being thirsty idiots in front of the others, all while inserting perfectly placed and in-character comedy. i am super obsessed with the idea of the ot3 playing monopoly with rio & mick and you fucking nailed it. this fic made me feel lots of things, what a wonderful read that i will come back to often.

Dancing in the Dark by @gangfriend (@00gangfriend00)

um ok. this is a really indulgent fic that I have recently read and left me with a stupid big ass grin on my face, as well as a massive craving for chinese food. @00gangfriend00 you have such a gift with words, and yours painted such a realistic lovely picture in my head. your annie is on fucking point - napping/suiting up to impress gangbangers are gold!! I don’t usually read too much fluff but you really integrated the intensity of their relationship into such a soft and in character interaction. amazing.

Yes. So. Similar to what Kat said, so so so many lines from all of these fucking pieces (AND. SO. MANY. MORE.) live rent free in my head. Seriously, I’m so impressed by the sheer amount of giftedness and talent exist in this fandom, I can never thank anyone enough for how much reading their writing has gotten me through this pandemic and provided such a significant source of relief and escape in these uncertain and hard times 💗

@spiceesweetness @missmaxime @yellowhammerga @mamey2422

Tag, you’re it 🙈

[charged-wanderlust]

a beautiful hurricane, pt. 2 | jett slater x mc x remy chevalier

OK THIS IS NOT TURNING OUT HOW I ORIGINALLY PLANNED BUT I LIKE IT TOO MUCH TO CHANGE IT SO BARE WITH ME.... these fics literally write themselves i have no say in it i just start writing and black out and boom its done. anyway here's the next part of the piece commissioned by @mcira it's very jett-centric but remy will have his turn in the last part ok. it'll go out with a bang. literally. ALSO SIDE NOTE ik the s1 heists were like. quick. in the canon. but i took some creative liberties and said its taking months bc its more realistic for them to fall in love this Deep in that time ok? ok good lesgo

“You can’t do that.”

“You can’t tell me what to do!”

Heat flares up beneath your skin, which wasn’t uncommon around these particular handsome scoundrels, but this time it was more akin to an angry boil than a pleasant simmer. How dare they? You may be new to the Poppy, but you’re competent on your own and definitely capable for the task at hand.

“You don’t get it, MC,” Remy sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose - you try not to deflate at the lack of his usual pretty nicknames. When has hearing my own name from his lips make me distraught rather than elated? “You can’t let your guard down just because you’re getting closer to him. He’s a conman too, and a good one- besides, would you really leave Jett to handle the break-in alone?”

“Yes I would, actually!” You flash back, hands clenched into fists. “Because unlike you, I realise that Jett is fully capable of doing things on his own, and I don’t tell him what he can and can’t do! You said it yourself - I’ve exceeded your expectations repeatedly since arriving here. So why can’t you trust my judgement and let me do what I set out here to do in the first place?!”

Remy rolls his eyes so hard he probably got a glimpse of his brain, while Jett bangs his fists on the table. “It’s not even a matter about helping me get the painting or not, MC- it’s the fact that you’ll be alone with a notorious conman on a yacht, isolated from any witnesses, who need I mention - is definitely into you and likely will try something?!”

“Oh I’m sorry, I thought you said you weren’t the jealous type!” You hold your ground, arms crossed with frustration. “We already know the Lumiere film is on that yacht. How do you suppose we get it, if I’m not even allowed on the damn boat?!”

“Through a plan,” Remy says decisively, giving you a look that has no room for argument. “We can get him to invite both of us on board, I’m sure. Plant a camera on him to figure out where it is and any security codes… there’s ways, MC. Ways that don’t involve throwing yourself head-first into danger. You know it’s a bad idea when even Jett Slater is saying it’s a bad idea! He literally only ever comes up with bad ideas!”

“Yeah, throwing myself into danger is my job!”

��Says who?! This is just a straight up double-standard; it’s okay if Jett does it, but not me? Cause what, he’s experienced? How am I meant to get experience if you don’t let me?”

“Cause I’d rather get hurt than see you hurt, MC!”

…

…

…

“...what?”

“Fuck!” Jett flings his hands up in defeat, then stalks off to his room and slams the door shut, reverberating throughout the penthouse. Remy seems at a loss for words, too, his guard up and expression unreadable.

“You haven’t seen how dangerous this line of work gets, ma cherie,” Remy sighs, plopping himself down on the couch and running a hand through his hair to calm himself down a little. “We don’t want you to find out. You didn’t sign up for that.”

“Didn’t I, though?” You settle yourself next to him, tentatively placing a hand on his shoulder, hoping it’ll ground him just a little. “I knew you were criminals, I knew we were doing dirty work. If I hadn’t expected things to get dangerous, I’d have been even more naive than you thought I was. I’ve spent months preparing, Remy - I’ll get the location of the film and I won’t let him lay a hand on me.”

He shivers. “The thought of that… that bastard anywhere near you is enough to make me want to punch a wall,” he growls, “He doesn’t deserve you. He doesn’t even deserve to think he does-”

“Remy.” You squeeze his shoulder gently, snapping him back into reality. “I personally think it’s more satisfying to feed into his delusion of deserving me, then pry that out of his hands and leave him aching. Besides - this is for the heist, right? I think getting that film is more important than anything relating to Parker. I mean, the first ever kiss recorded on film-”

He cuts you off with a laugh that kisses your ears like a finely tuned guitar, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you to his side abruptly.

He’s trying to hide his face…?

“You go from beautifully cruel to brilliantly passionate so quickly, cherie. That’s what I like about you.”

Oh. Oh. Okay. My heart better calm the heck down before he hears it-

Before you could even formulate a coherent thought, let alone a reply, he pulls away, getting up and making for the door. “You’re right. You’re not something - not someone I can control. You’re… something else.”

Shrugging on his coat, he’s halfway out the door before he adds, “Talk it out with Jett. He’ll come around now that he’s had a moment to cool down.”

It’s jarring - he was so angry just moments before, but once the heat faded, it became clear; he cares. He cares far, far more than he lets on - than he wants to, even - and Jett does too. Nodding to Remy, you go for Jett’s room, noiselessly slipping in under the cover of his loud punk music.

Jett’s language is physical touch, that much you know. So instead of calling out to him, you approach him carefully from behind while he’s fixated on an explosive painting full of hot, blazing colours, and lay a hand on his shoulder.

Much like Remy, he instantly softens, turning to look at you with wide eyes that if you squint, were flecked with remorse. You withhold a smile - had you just cracked the code to these men? Just touch them gently and they’re all good again.

“MC, I-”

“Jett.”

He stills, letting you talk. He’s done yelling at you, done fighting; so he listens. And just like before, he’s a surprisingly good listener.

“Look. I know you’re worried for me, and… honestly I’m touched. You’ve been encouraging me to break out of my shell this whole time, and I’m really starting to embrace it. This life, too. I know I can do this because I know myself now, and… all I ask is for your to trust me. Trust that I won’t let Parker even so much as breathe in my direction without me wanting him to, trust that I can secure the location of the film at least-”

“Are you kidding? I’ve always trusted you.”

His reply catches you off guard, his face genuine, body language open. You’re silent for a moment in your surprise, so he takes that as a sign to continue.

“We wouldn’t have picked you for this if we didn’t trust you, MC. You’ve proven yourself over and over again. Just because you can do this doesn’t mean we want you to.” He sighs, collecting himself. “Maybe Remy and I were being a bit of a wet blanket. But you see where we’re coming from, right? This is your first con, and this is practically throwing you into the deep end.”

“Being thrown into the deep end is the quickest way to learn,” you explain calmly, dipping a finger in his paints and dabbing his nose with it. He snorts, but a smile is creeping across his lips and it makes something dance in your chest.

“What if something goes wrong?”

“What do you usually do when something goes wrong?”

He grins, going back to his painting and making a few quick strokes of gold across the horizon line. “I blow shit up, usually.”

“Then give me some of your bombs.”

Jett’s eyes nearly pop out of his damn hand, twisting in his stool to gape at your incredulously. “Are you serious? On a yacht? You’d sink the ship- unless it was a controlled explosion, just enough to cave in a door… or a flashbang, to stun him… or a smoke bomb…”

You can almost see all the ideas popping up in his head, his knee bouncing up and down with slowly increasing excitement. It’s contagious - you find yourself grinning right back at him, mischievous.

“I’ve always wanted to blow something up.”

“It’s settled, then!” He sets down his paintbrush and stalks over to his workbench, grabbing some things and getting to work. “You’re really full of surprises, aren’t you, love? I can’t say I don’t love it, though.”

There it is again, you think, gnawing at your lower lip. All these heartfelt compliments said so casually. How the hell am I meant to know where I stand?!

It’s almost as if the universe answers - or maybe your subconscious knew all along.

Ask.

...Deep breaths, MC.

“You sure throw around the word love a lot, Jett,” you point out, trying your best to sound casual about it. His back is facing you, and you immediately notice his body freeze over at the sudden cold shower of your words.

After a moment, it passes, and he gets back to work. “Yeah. And?”

“And?” You scoff, not believing he’d be oblivious enough as to not get the hint. “I knew you were bad at communicating, but wow-”

He shrugs it off, still not turning around to look at you. “What do you want me to say, MC? You’re Remy’s wife.”

“Fake wife.”

“Might as well be his real one at this point,” he scoffs. “Do you see the way he looks at you? Like you put all the stars in the sky?”

“We’ve literally been practicing the way we look at each other for the con, Jett-”

“I was his husband for a con, once, and I’m telling you he never looked at me the same way he looks at you.”

His voice lowers, and you’re slowly starting to piece everything together. How even his stubborn ass would agree with everything Remy said, how he’d teased you and Remy for being a good couple even more than the rest of the Poppy combined, his joking comments about joining in-

“You’re in love with Remy, aren’t you?”

His silence answers you louder than any words could, and he knows it, too. He chokes out a distraught laugh, finally casting a look over his shoulder to meet your gaze. His is glossy, and you gasp, just as a tear rolls down his sun-kissed cheeks.

“Shit. How could you tell?”

Your instinct is to go over to hug him, and he doesn’t protest, instead going back to tinker with his smoke grenade.

“I mean it when I said I’m not the jealous type, really. It makes me so happy to see you two together. So happy - even if you aren’t really together, I haven’t seen Remy smile like that in a long time. You deserve each other - and I’m glad I can see the two people I care about most-”

“-both of us?”

His voice cracks mid sentence, and he twists around in your embrace to place a gentle kiss to your forehead. “You were a more recent development. But this doesn’t have to make things weird between us - I’ll just need some space.”

You shake your head slowly, cupping his face. “Why are you so convinced that we don’t like you back? You haven’t seen the way he looks at you when your back is turned.”

Just like that, his entire world got flipped on an axis, with you at the center. Struggling to rationalize this new perspective, new information, he starts to ramble. “B-Because you haven’t- I mean he hasn’t- I wasn’t meant to share this, but he’s been in love with you since you first met. Before you even knew you met. He disguised himself so he could talk to you at a coffee shop while you were painting and-”

“Jett,” you laugh, looping your arms around his neck. “Stop talking.”

He puts a finger to your lips before they meet his, the single digit the only thing keeping you apart.

“We should talk to Remy first,” he breathes out. “And- and promise me. If you’re wrong, and he doesn’t feel like that about me - don’t let me get in the way of you two. Please.”

You nod, kissing his cheek instead. This time, he doesn’t flinch, and he doesn’t pull you in for more.

“Let’s go talk to our favourite Frenchman, then.”

He smiles, wild, wide and breathtaking.

“Let’s.”

[spooks-and-tea]

Entangled (Spencer Reid x femReader)

Summary: You don’t know how it happened. One moment you were watching Criminal Minds, and the next moment you were literally in the show. Can Spencer be the key to helping you find your way back home?

Warnings: minor character death, mentions of su*cide, bad explanations of quantum mechanics, sexual situations, the usual criminal minds-type content

A/N: wow I’ve been on this site for ages, nearly as long as Criminal Minds was on air, lol, but this is my first fic posted here. I plan to make this one into a few parts if people like it. If this has any relation to other fics it’s not intended. Literally just an idea that popped in my brain. I’ll also eventually add it to my wattpad .@ kittentastic

Word Count: 3,119

Chapter 1.  Chapter 2.  Chapter 3.  Chapter 4. Chapter 5.  Chapter 6.  Chapter 7. Chapter 8.  Chapter 9.  Chapter 10.  Chapter 11.

It was an average, lonely, autumn night. Halloween was nearing and you didn't have anywhere to be. Long estranged from the people you once called family, and friends, you were starting a new life in L.A.

Yeah, you were one of those small-town girls with big-city dreams. You wanted to be an actress, a dream your father had once encouraged. When he suddenly died, you had nothing left but a new step-mother who discouraged your dreams and was more than happy to disown you when you reached 18 years of age; a classic Cinderella story.

It had taken a while, getting yourself through university and saving up enough money to move out to L.A. Now you were 27 and living your dreams...partly. You worked at a coffee shop in Hollywood; a great way to meet people that could potentially cast you in a big production, but that plan had yet to come to fruition. Every audition would have someone else in mind for the part.

Today, you had finished yet another round of auditions for everything from small commercial bits to tv shows. You poured yourself a glass of red wine after finishing your microwavable meal-for-one dinner. Wine would always be your go-to drink after your dissappointing days, it was great at helping you sleep. You clicked on the tv and sipped your drink from your criss-crossed sitting position and soon found a Criminal Minds marathon that was just starting. It almost seemed like fate as tomorrow you had an audition lined up for the very same show.

You smiled as the bright, happy, Penelope Garcia came into the shot, followed by the rest of the BAU. You absentmindedly bit your lip as Dr. Spencer Reid came into frame.

Like a large percentage of the show's viewership, you found the handsome genius slipping into one or two of your fantasies. You may have daydreamed about the Dr. being a real person and walking into your workplace to order coffee and whisk you off your feet. You may have also woken up from a few dreams involving the handcuffs he was currently restraining an unsub with.

You wondered if you would get the part. Would it be odd having to pretend this dream-man was real? You'd hope you could contain your blushing around Matthew at least.

You finished your drink and stretched out on the couch, already feeling your eyes growing heavy. You found your mind wandering as you grew more and more tired, hardly paying attention to the episode. The last thought you had before you drifted off was, "what if Spencer Reid was a real person?"

Bright lights of assorted colors and shapes danced behind your tired eyes. You felt a tugging sensation that seemed to pull you from your core. It felt warm and safe, like it wanted to protect you. A hum grew louder and louder in your ear canal, followed by a crackling wind. It was like an electric storm. The smell of coffee and a woodsy vanilla filled whatever place you were in. It was odd, you knew this, but you weren't scared. Something told you this was right. Your body began to rise higher and higher until a loud snap echoed around you, shattering your surroundings.

"Whoa, sleeping on the job now Y/N? Did someone tire you out last night?" A woman's voice broke through the fog as your mind caught up with you.

Wait, am I still dreaming? That voice...it sounds like...

"Pretty Boy, you wanna check her for a pulse?"

And that is definitely...

"I-I don't think that's necessary."

You slowly lifted your head and opened your eyes wide. Your blurred vision slowly grew used to the bright indoor lighting. Your eyes widened as you saw none other than JJ, Morgan, and Reid. Yes, the fictional characters were standing in front of you.

How was this even possible? You had to be dreaming, or maybe you were forgetting and you were at a very strange audition. Yes, that had to be it, logically.

"Good morning Sleeping Beauty. Rough night? I didn't think Reid's Doctor Who nights were that wild, I might have to tag along and chaperone you two next time." Morgan greeted with a teasing smirk.

"How late did you two go for last night?" JJ asked, leaning against the desk that you had been sleeping on, and sipping her coffee.

She directed the question to you, but you didn't remember this dialogue in the audition script. When you didn't answer, Spencer spoke up.

"She texted me when she got home safe at 9:43pm. I made sure she left early as the rain was starting up. Now, of course, she could have stayed up longer, but we continued to exchange texts until she texted me goodnight at 10:15pm."

"Goodnight texts? Remind me and JJ here why you two aren't dating again?" Morgan crossed his arms looking between you and Spencer.

You blinked, taking a chance to finally look around. There were no cameras in sight. Above you was a tiled ceiling with office lighting. No directors or normal-looking crew members were around.

"Matthew?" You asked, directing your question to a stuttering, red-faced Reid.

Everyone turned their attention back to you. Reid, or Matthew, raised his eyebrow at you. And turned to look if anyone was standing behind him that you could be talking to.

"Who is Matthew, Y/N?" He asks, cautiously.

Oh my god. I must be dreaming.

You stood up and slowly reached out to Reid, who was standing closest to you. You gently poked his cheek. He looked almost afraid at your actions.

"Spencer?" You lower your shaky hand. He felt real, he was standing in front of you. You could smell his morning coffee.

"Yeah?"

"Pinch me."

"What? Why?"

"So I know that I'm not dreaming." You could feel his eyes prodding you, profiling.

"Maybe we should get you to a doctor-"

You grabbed his wrist and placed his hand on your upper arm.

"Pinch me. Hard."

Spencer winced as he did what you asked of him. He obviously did not want to hurt you. You felt your nerves fire off in pulses of pain where he pinched. You sharply inhaled and he immediately dropped his hand.

"Oh my god," you stammered, "ohmygodohmygodohmygod."

This is real. Spencer Reid is real.

You slid back down in your chair and looked at an open mouthed JJ and Morgan, staring at you in shock.

"What kind of kinky shit are you two into?" Morgan narrowed his eyes at Reid.

"This is no time for teasing Derek. I think she's suffering from a concussion." JJ reached out, concerned, feeling your forehead for a fever.

"She doesn't have any visible signs of bruising. Y/N do you remember hitting your head on anything, or experiencing whiplash today?" Reid, growing serious turned your chair towards him, raking his fingers through your hair to check your scalp for any tender spots.

For a moment you had to stop yourself from sighing, it just felt nice, and it was Spencer.

"No I'm-I'm fine, my head feels fine." You answered.

"What's the last thing you remember doing?"

You bit your lip, should you answer him truthfully? How would you even explain something so illogical.

"I-I remember. I fell asleep on the couch watching tv." In a different reality.

"Do you think it's possible you rolled off of the couch in your sleep?"

You frowned to yourself.

"It's possible."

It's never happened before, but you suppose it would explain things. This was definitely a hallucination. Maybe it was one of those Spencer-centric dreams.

"Spence, I think you should take Y/N to the hospital. I'll cover for you with Hotch." JJ suggested.

Spencer nodded in agreement while Morgan looked worriedly at you. JJ got up from the desk to seek out Hotch in his office.

"Do you have your keys?" Spencer asked, still looking you over.

"Um-" you checked your pockets and sure enough found a ring of keys in your pants pocket. You dropped them into Spencer's outstretched hand.

"Can you walk?" Spencer's voice went softer.

You shivered as you did whenever you heard that tone on the show. He could make a living doing ASMR with that voice.

You stood with Spencer's unneeded, but much appreciated, help. He seemed to have no problem holding your hands to help you, something you considered to be out of character for the germaphobic Dr. Reid. Then again, the show did not go this long without it's occasional inconsistencies. Was your subconscious hallucination really thinking these things out?

You followed him to the elevator with ease, taking in your surroundings as you went. As the elevator doors closed, Spencer frowned at you once again.

"Your pupils have been dilated since you woke up." He spoke.

Yeah probably because the attractive genius I've been dreaming of for years is vividly realistic and talking to me.

"Is that a sign of head trauma?"

"Actually yes, you could be experiencing a sensitivity to light as a result of your head trauma. If that's the case, then you're in luck because it's been raining all day."

You followed Spencer out to your car, or at least you thought it was your car. You didn't exactly own one before dropping into this hallucination world. You were saving up for one, but didn't really need it as you lived close to your job and took public transit when you needed to go further distances. This car was nice, you supposed the dream BAU job payed well.

Spencer drove you to the hospital and waited in the waiting room as you received a full check up and MRI. You hoped he wasn't too bored waiting. As the doctor returned with your results you asked if Spencer could come in to hear the diagnosis. The doctor asked if he was family and you lied saying he was your fiancé. The doctor really didn't seem to care and Spencer was allowed in. He looked confident, prepared to discuss anything scientific that you may not understand yourself.

"Well Y/N, after reviewing your MRI scans and testing results, I can confidently assure you that you are perfectly healthy. We can order some blood tests for you if you wish, but from the concussion symptoms you thought you had, and from the results I have in front of me, I don't believe they are necessary." The doctor said with a smile, probably just happy to be delivering some good news.

"That can't be right." You shook your head and frowned.

"Y/N was clearly exhibiting fatigue, light sensitivity, memory loss, and confusion at work. If she's not concussed, what is wrong with her?" Spencer asked.

"I'd say your fiancé is simply experiencing the effects of exhaustion and a lack of sleep. My advice? Take her home and let her rest."

Spencer firmly shut his mouth as the doctor said "fiancé."

The doctor turned to you. "If you'd like, I can perscribe you a sleeping sedative."

You shook your head "no." You couldn't believe it; you'd slept at a reasonable hour, and you didn't feel fatigued.

Everything was starting to feel so real. The warmth of Spencer sitting so close to you felt real. The rain that fell on your skin felt real. The medicinal scent of the hospital made your feel sick. You could only think of one final way to try to wake up.

"Spencer can you stop somewhere for me?" You asked as he drove you home.

"Sure."

"Is there a lake near by?"

"Yeah...you don't remember? You've jogged on the trails near it with JJ and Morgan."

"Can you take me there? There's something I need to do."

You were beginning to grow used to the worried look on his face. The way his eyes softened reminded you of a puppy.

Suddenly, a thought occurred to you. If this was a dream concocted by your brain, wouldn't Spencer be a bit more romantic? In your dreams he could range from a hardcore, post-prison, genius, bad boy to a nerdy romantic, but he was always, obviously, interested in you right away. This Spencer seemed to be your friend, just your friend. By now he would've usually confessed his undying love and maybe taken you in the back seat of your car. Yeah, you weren't the most creative person. What kind of dream was this?

You felt a blush coming on as Spencer side-eyed you. Your brain would never torture you with a long-con, would it?

Spencer took you to the lake, walking beside you without a word, most likely thinking you were going crazy and in need of sleep. You walked to the edge of the trail and looked down at the lake. It was a ways down, the point you were standing was more like a cliff. You determined that the water must have been about a 6 second drop down for someone your size

"Y/N, why did you want me to take you out here?" Spencer asked as he eyed the waters below.

You stayed silent as you took a few steps back. You took a deep breath, and before you could second-guess yourself, you ran to the edge of the cliff and jumped.

"Y/N!" Was the last, panicked thing you heard before the body of water came rushing towards you.

Your body submerged in the icy cold water and sunk deep down from the speed at which you fell. All you could hear was the echoing pressure of the water against your eardrums. This was your last resort. You knew if anything could wake you up, it would be this, your biggest fear.

Your father had drowned, he worked on a fisherman's boat and a storm had overturned the ship far out in the ocean. All that had been recovered was assorted pieces of the ship's wreckage. You'd never even had the chance to learn how to swim as the fear had already settled in before your step-mother could arrange lessons.

If you could drown in this confusing dream-world, maybe you would wake up in time for your Criminal Minds audition.

Your lungs protested as you let yourself sink. You closed your eyes and let your muscles relax. Your head screamed at you, telling you that you absolutely should not be doing this. Fear prickled at your skin. Why did this feel like you were actually dying?

A heartbeat later, you heard the water's surface explode above you, but you didn't have the strength to look up. Your brain processed something wrapping around you and tugging you up, but you could not open your eyes to see what it was. You held on to your last bit of consciousness as you breeched the surface of the water and felt the chilly air assault your skin.

Arms pulled you somewhere. Your body was dragged up something solid, the backs of your legs scraped against rocks. It must have been land. Hands applied pressure, pushing like a heartbeat against your center, you could hardly feel it. A hand held your mouth open while another pinched your nose closed. Lips pushed, rushed, against your own as air was forced back into you. The hand left your mouth and returned to pumping.

"Come on. Come back to me Y/N. Please." Pleading followed by more air.

The strange entity repeated the process once more before you felt everything come up, forcing you back to reality.

You coughed and choked up water and bile; the rain washed it all away. Your lungs were aching and your skin was ice cold. The only warmth was what lingered from the person's lips. A hand pat and rubbed your back, helping you cough up everything. When it was all over your whole body was shivering. Your muscles gave out and a pair of arms wrapped around you, holding you up.

"Y/N."

You weakly turned your head.

Spencer. He's still here. He's really here.

He was soaked, hair ringlets stuck to his face, and his eyes were rimmed red. He looked like an angel, hand carved by Michelangelo himself.

Your brain was trying to catch up with his words.

"Y/N, I need to get you back to the car before we both go into hypothermia. Can you walk?" He asked through chattering teeth.

Your throat was killing you, so you opted for just shaking your head "no" in response.

"I'll have to carry you then, okay?"

You nodded, doubtful he could, especially in his weakened state.

He stood, grabbing his bearings before scooping you up. You weakly held his neck and lay your head on his shoulder. Your pain was numbed, you knew, from the biting cold.

Spencer managed to carry you all the way back to the car, placing you gently in the backseat and turning the heat all the way up. He climbed in the backseat with you and began to remove his jacket and tie.

"We have to remove our clothes, they're soaking wet and we have to warm up. Do you need me to help you undress?" There was no hint of teasing or slyness in Spencer's voice. He was completely serious and you knew he was right.

"I-I can't. Everything is numb." You managed to croak out, wincing at the pain it brought your throat.

"Alright, um- I'll only remove your shirt and pants."

You nodded, weakly.

Spencer removed his own shirt before carefully lifting yours over your head. He made sure to keep his eyes on your face as much as possible and not linger his gaze anywhere else. Next he removed your shoes, socks, and peeled your pants down your legs. You managed to arch your back slightly to help him. Lastly, he removed his own pants and threw all the clothes in a pile on the floor of you car.

"I'm going to hold you now, if that's alright. We need each other's body heat." Spencer looked less confident now. You managed to nod a "yes."

If you weren't so close to death, you knew your brain would be shorting out at the thought of being held by a half-naked, and very real, Spencer Reid.

He helped you lay down across the seats and settled in next to you. He wrapped his arms around you and rubbed his hands along your shoulders and back in an effort to warm you and massage your tensed muscles.

A few minutes of this went by before you could finally move. You wrapped your arms around Spencer, holding him close as his body warmed your own, and you cried against his chest.

One thought repeated over and over again in your head.

This is real.

You worked for the BAU and Spencer Reid had just saved your life. 

Next Chapter

[jpegjade]

Prom Misses - Spencer

Requests: 

Angst idea: Spencer and Reader were low-key friends in college and Reader fell in love. Spencer was too insecure and emotionally unavailable to reciprocate. Somehow he ends up reflecting on the "what if" in the future and regretting his past passiveness badly. Thanks! 🤗

Maybe Spence didn't go to his prom because he graduated early and reader had her own reasons for skipping (maybe no date, was a bookworm who felt she didn't fit in)...* Time break* Reader and Spence become friends in the future and realize they missed out and decide to plan their own pseudo+prom: dressing up for a nice dinner with dancing. You're so good at these fics!!

Warnings: it might hurt a little bit bc angsty but the ending is a little bit different than usual. bloop

____________________________

Spencer sat down at the booth of the diner. It was 11:52 pm and the waitress had served him three cups of coffee and a slice of apple pie. You loved apple pie so he thought he would order a slice before you got there… If you were coming. He believed in you, believed that there was still something left. You made a pact, after all. 5 years later, the two of you would meet at this diner at midnight if there was still something left between you. He didn’t forget; he couldn’t forget. He saved this date in his calendar and looked forward to it for the past 5 years. 

He was halfway done with his third cup of coffee when he heard the door swing open. He turned around only to see another trucker sauntering up to the counter. Spencer heaved a big sigh and thought back to those college days. 

*****5 years ago******

“You want to do what?” Spencer said, looking up from the textbook he was reading. 

You sat on his roommate’s bed, although his roommate didn’t spend any time there. He was always gone and Spencer liked it that way. It was easier to focus when his roommate was gone. On the other hand, he enjoyed when you were able to stop by or when he was able to meet you between classes at the library to help you study. He was already getting his second Ph. D so there was nothing he couldn’t help you with. 

“I want to go to that cheesy heartbreakers dance tonight.” You repeated. “Look, I didn’t get to go to prom. I wasn’t asked and I had too much going on in my life to go by myself. Hell, my friends didn’t even invite me to third wheel on their dates. I had my dress picked out and everything.” 

You smiled sadly at the memory. It was hard to think about, the idea that your friends weren’t there for you and you spent the night crying. 

“I graduated early so I didn’t even get the chance to go to prom.” He said, realizing he missed out on another milestone that other kids got the opportunity to experience. He didn’t really have friends to entertain the idea so what was the point? 

“Exactly. And I think it would be fun for us to go. Stay a little while, drink some of the spiked punch. Experience everything we missed out on and make it our own prom!” You said. “I even have that dress that I wanted to wear…” You trailed off as you watch Spencer’s face stay stoic.

You hated how he could be so unreadable sometimes. You got that it was just how he was but it frustrated you sometimes because you wanted him to give you something to go off of. You just wanted him to say or do something, even if he told you no. In fact, you expected him to tell you no.

“Okay.” He said, finally processing something. “We can go. I’ve read this entire textbook three times and I need to collect my thoughts before I write a letter to the editor, pointing out the obvious flaws in his thinking.” He stood up from his bed, walking over to his closet, rifling around before finding a black dress shirt. 

“Are you going to get dressed?” He said, turning around to look at your surprised face. 

You hopped off the bed and tried your best to hide your smile as you left his room. 

****Present day*****

Spencer tapped his fingers on the table. He checked his phone. 2 minutes closer and there was still no sign of you. He was holding out hope but he was realistic. You weren’t likely to show up. He knew that night… It was hard to remember but it was one of the best nights of his life. 

“I didn’t know if I wanted to come tonight.” You said, sliding into the booth opposite to Spencer. 

His head popped up, straightening his back. He was surprised to see you. It was only a minute until midnight. And you were here. You came...

“I didn’t think you would.” Spencer said, quietly. 

“Like I said, didn’t know if I wanted to.” You were colder than he remembered. You weren’t making eye contact, instead looking around the building. “God, what did we see in this place?” 

It was a shifty diner, for sure, but it was a place the two of you spent so many nights together. 

“It was the pie and coffee.” Spencer said, pushing the apple pie slice towards you. 

You smiled before grabbing the fork to start eating it. Spencer opened his mouth to say something and closed it. What could he say? It had been 5 years. 

“How have you been?” He asked, although he knew the answer to the question. You had been single, hated your roommate so you moved back in with your parents, which wasn’t much better, and you spent a lot of time alone since you never posted about your friends, just your job.

He told Garcia about the meeting earlier that day. He wanted to see what your life was like without leaving a trace, if possible, and Garcia was the best person to do that. 

“It’s been a long 5 years, Spence.” You said, pushing your empty pie plate away. 

His heart skipped a beat. Spence. You were the first person to call him that, before JJ. It gave him hope that there was something there if you could call him that after the past few years. 

“You look nice.” He said, smiling a little. 

He didn’t know where to start. Everything ended so suddenly back then and he didn’t have anything prepared. All that time and he didn’t have anything prepared. 

“Thank you. I’ve been taking care of myself.” You said, finally looking at him. 

“So… You…” He was tripping over his words. Fuck. He should’ve made an agenda. 

“You broke my fucking heart that night, Spencer.” You said, sighing. 

“I know…” He said, suddenly unable to meet your eyes. He thought about that night for years, unable to get your face out of his mind. 

God he was so stupid. Why couldn’t he just… 

“You ruined me and all you did was tell me that you weren’t interested in me. That you had goals and dreams and you needed to focus because at the end of the day, you were going to be alone so you needed to accomplish them. Alone.” You said, recounting everything he said. 

As if he needed to hear them again, you repeated the last word. “Alone.” 

“I’m sorry. At the time I…” Spencer couldn’t come up with the right words. Silence fell over the two of you again.

“I don’t blame you.” You said, pausing as the waitress came by to refill your and Spencer’s coffee cups. “See, I didn’t know what I wanted. All I knew was that I wanted you. I wanted you forever. And I’ve grown up since then. I see where I was wrong.” 

Spencer was speechless. You were really laying it out for him. He couldn’t say anything because he didn’t know what to say. So he let you continue. 

“You were right. At the end of the day, all you had was yourself. You were a self-centered asshole who had goals and expectations for everyone around you and I couldn’t meet those expectations, could I? You were emotionally unavailable and I was too in love with you to see it.” 

Was. Fuck. You had said ‘was,’ as in past tense. Did this mean you were over him? Spencer couldn’t ask. He didn’t dare ask. He didn’t even know where you stood with him. 

“You know what’s really fucked up?” You asked, pausing to let him raise his eyebrow in response. 

His throat felt dry. It was hard for him to focus on anything but you. And you were laser focused on him, he could tell. 

“I still love you. I still love the guy who taps his fingers on the table because he’s nervous. The guy who stops talking because he can’t think of anything to say. The guy who’s too smart for his own good. The guy who… Who let me believe for a second that I had a shot with someone as pure as he is.” 

“I didn’t realize it meant that much to you, that I meant that much to you.” He said, his heart stopping for a moment. 

“Spencer, that’s the problem. You don’t realize because you are so emotionally unavailable that you don’t think that someone would love you as much as I do.” 

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Fuuuuck was all that Spencer could think in that moment. 

A silence followed. The door chimed in the background and a tear fell down your face. You looked up at him and you saw him rubbing his eyes, one at a time. He was crying…

“Can I ask you something?” He said, standing up from the booth. 

“I’m not going anywhere with you, if that’s what you’re asking. I don’t trust myself with you.” You said, looking at his outstretched hand. 

“No. I wanted to know if I could dance with you, even if it’s just one last time. Don’t make any decisions until you hear what I have to say, please…” 

You paused for a moment. You thought about leaving. You thought about leaving him hanging. God you wanted to see him heartbroken like he left you that night. 

“Okay.” You said, taking his hand. 

He led you to a corner of the empty section of the diner. 

He looked at the waitress, who took her cue. She hit play on the jukebox and started the song you danced to that night. The same one that made you realize just how deeply you were in love with him. The one you kissed him to and the one he left you on the dancefloor to… He grabbed your hand and put his other hand on the small of your back. He led, of course, and you fell into step. 

It was just like you remembered it being. The building was basically empty, like that night. He still smelled like peaches and cream but it wasn’t strong. His hands were soft and he was just a little bit off beat but you didn’t mind. But something was different. 

He dipped his head next to your ear, speaking softly and slowly. 

“I can’t fix it. I can’t promise that I’m what you need. I can’t promise that I won’t put my job first. I love my job, I love saving people. It’s all I’ve ever wanted to do. But I’m missing something. I’m missing what we had. I’m missing you. You made me the better version of myself, whether I wanted to admit it or not. I thought I knew everything but it wasn’t until I got to see the relationships that my team held. And I realized that I had something special. I can’t fix us and I don’t want to start over. I just want to…” 

He paused. He didn’t know what else to say. 

“I want to try. You and me.” He finished. “Will you try to let me in again?” 

You rested your head on his chest and closed your eyes before giving him the answer you felt in your heart...

[sign-from-god-complex]

Idealistic

Summary: Even after months of friendship, Logan didn’t know Remy’s major. There was, in fact, quite a lot he didn’t know about Remy, but Logan found he was more than willing to learn.

Pairing: Sleeplogical / Losleep

A/N: This fic is based on the lovely @sleepless-in-starbucks​' space!Remy idea!!! it’s probably also worth noting that Logan’s last name here is McKenzie, which is why that’s what Remy is calling him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There are certain things certain groups of people will always find important.

For example, when you meet a child, they will often tell you their age down to the month—a fact not many adults will care all that much about sharing. Fisherman will talk about fish and authors will talk about books; each group has its own unique priorities.

One of the things that university students find to be particularly important is your major.

Your major can tell people a lot about you—give hints as to whether you're practical or creative, whether you dream big or are more realistic and, often, what you are truly passionate about.

Logan's own major—psychology—told others that he was fairly grounded, ambitious and that his misunderstanding of other human beings and how they work had culminated in a lifelong fascination in figuring it out. Had Logan been looking into practising psychology rather than simply researching it, that would have said other things, but Logan had made it very clear where his interests lay.

Logan's roommate, Roman's, major declared him an overdramatic idiot with his hopes set higher than it was usually possible to achieve; Patton's major declared him sweet, caring and hardworking; Virgil's major declared him subtly intelligent and willing to stay up to unreasonable hours to get things done. Truly, there was so much you could learn from knowing the majors of the people you socialise with.

Which is why it irritated Logan so much that he still didn't know Remy's.

Remy was an enigma. From the moment they sauntered their way into Logan's regular coffee shop, only displaying the bits of themself they wanted people to see, Logan had been enamoured by the idea of what lay underneath the surface.

Every so often he would get a glimpse of something more than the flirty persona Remy put on. They would laugh—genuinely laugh, ducking their head, their cheeks flushed—or they would sigh—soft and quiet and sadder than Logan ever wanted them to feel—and moment by moment Logan fell just a little bit further for them.

He didn't mean to, but he had been reliably informed that no one ever did.

Logan exhaled into the cold air, watching his breath mist in front of him. The sound of music from the house behind him was muffled as he leant against the balcony railing, trying to catch a moment alone.

Roman had dragged him to this party, citing that he needed to get out more and stop being such a buzzkill. Logan personally thought that there was a large difference between finding studying important and being a buzzkill but he wasn't going to waste his breath attempting to explain that to Roman, who rarely listened to him anyway.

"You doing alright out here, McKenzie?"

Logan caught the sound of Remy's voice and he spun around, watching them close the sliding glass door behind them. There was a grin at Logan's reaction but it wasn't unkind, just teasing and playful.

Logan, hoping the dim lighting outside would hide his blush, turned back to look over the railing. "I am fine, Remy, thank you."

Out of the corner of his eye, Logan saw Remy approach the edge of the balcony to stand beside him, lifting their sunglasses to perch on the top of their head. Something in Logan warmed at the fact that Remy felt comfortable enough around him to remove their armour—and he knew without a doubt that's what those sunglasses represented.

"They're beautiful, aren't they?" Logan whispered, gazing up at the sky and failing to notice the way Remy tensed beside him at the question.

"The stars? I mean, they're just balls of gas." Remy's voice was stiff and uncomfortable as they fiddled with the sleeve of their leather jacket. "What’s there to be so excited about?"

Logan startled, turning to look at Remy incredulously. "There is so much more to them than that, Remy. Barring the fact that the stars are one of the most visually pleasing things we, as human beings, will ever get a chance to see, they represent so much more than just balls of gas. They represent the idea of exploration, of infinity, of a sense of longing for that which is outside our reach.”

He gestured vaguely upwards, expecting to go on, but was interrupted by a single word from Remy.

“Astronomy.”

It was blurted, hurried and almost afraid, and Remy appeared as if they already regretted it.

Logan furrowed his brow. “What?”

“You… wanted to know my major, that day in the cafe when we met.” Remy spoke slowly, seemingly almost rolling their words around their mouth before releasing them.

Logan nodded. He hadn’t been sure at the time why Remy had so adamantly avoided the subject of their major but it was obvious they didn’t want to share and Logan was learning not to push. It bothered him immensely—because it was another missing piece of the puzzle when it came to figuring Remy out—but he didn’t want to risk their friendship over something so trivial.

Remy sighed, directing their gaze upward and away from Logan. “It’s astronomy.”

And suddenly, Logan felt he had a much clearer picture of who Remy was then he had ever been afforded before.

Because astronomy tells tales of someone always longing for something else. It tells the story of a young child sitting on the roof, wishing to be anywhere but here, wishing to be somewhere they felt they fit. Astronomy was patient, insatiable curiosity and childish excitement hidden behind the guise of serious scientific achievement; it was someone who looked up once and never saw the worth in looking back down.

Logan tilted his head, trying to figure out the reasoning behind Remy’s previous attitude. “But why would you…?”

He trailed off as Remy huffed, twisting up their mouth with a look Logan couldn’t quite identify—something between self-deprecation, anger and regret.

“I was just so sick of people’s reactions. Sick of being told I wasn’t smart enough, sick of being told that I needed to be more realistic, get my head out of the clouds. The stars are gorgeous—” and with that, Remy leaned out further over the railing, almost as if they were trying to throw themself right up there to join them—“and there’s almost nothing I wouldn’t give to know everything I could about them.”

“I feel the same way about humans.”

Remy laughed, pulling themself back from the railing, their face painted red in embarrassment. “See? Grounded.”

Logan shook his head. “Idealistic,” he corrected, “I think we both are.”

That seemed to calm Remy, prompting them to sigh—low but not too heavy. They both returned to look out at the sky, hands resting side by side on the balcony railing and eyes catching subtle glances at each other between breaths. The atmosphere felt as if it had been lifted, making Logan seem weightless, even hopeful.

“Can you… tell me about them?”

“About the stars?” Remy looked hesitant but Logan felt as if he knew what that stemmed from. It was from every dismissal, every pointed and over-dramatic sigh and every time they’d been disrupted. Logan wouldn’t even dream of letting that happen here.

“Please,” Logan insisted, “I’ve always been interested but I’ve never really had the time to look into it. You would be doing me a favour.”

They took a steadying breath, their eyes scanning the sky for a second, before settling on one spot in particular. They pointed upward, their hand wavering ever so slightly. “That’s Sirius, d’you see it?”

Logan hummed lightly. “I’m not sure.”

Huffing a breath, Remy moved to stand behind him, pressing up against his back and resting their head on his shoulder. The two of them were about the same height—Remy was slightly taller but it was by an almost negligible amount—and yet Logan had never felt quite as small. Or as warm.

They grabbed a hold of Logan’s hand on the railing and aimed a finger towards a particular star.

"How ‘bout now?”

“Yes, I see it.” Logan’s voice was hushed, almost reverent, as if he was concerned about disturbing the quiet that had settled over the two of them.

“Sirius is the brightest star in our sky, though it’s actually a binary star system made up of two stars, Sirius A and Sirius B. It’s also one of the closest stars to Earth, sitting at eight and a half-ish light-years away.

“And if you see the stars, here…” Remy elongated the word as they drew Logan’s hand around the sky, gesturing to a few other stars in the area. “They’re all a part of the constellation Canis Major, or the Greater Dog, which also contains VY Canis Majoris, one of the biggest stars we know about. At the moment, anyway.”

Logan made a hum of acknowledgement, watching Remy grin out of the corner of his eye.

They were excited—genuinely excited—their eyes glittering and bright, biting at their bottom lip as they thought of what to say next. Again, they moved Logan’s hand, gesturing to a particular star, then another, then a cluster, then a constellation, filling Logan’s head with passionate chatter and a landslide of interesting facts.

He's certain he's never felt so fond—potentially of anyone but certainly of Remy, and he's always fond of Remy. There was just something about seeing someone engage in their passions without remorse that lifted that feeling to a whole new level.

If only there was a way to remove that hesitance for good.

"What?"

Remy drew away, their tone defensive as they caught onto Logan's shifting mood.

"It's nothing." At their unamused glare, Logan sighed, correcting himself. "I just… I wish you were this excited all the time. I don't know what happened exactly to make you so apprehensive about your interests but watching you ramble like this is enchanting, Remy."

“Well, I got an image to maintain, gurl,” Remy snarked, “Can’t just be throwing this kind of vulnerability around wherever; gotta save it for the people who matter.”

Logan flushed, ducking his head slightly to avoid the adoring look Remy was giving him, making him feel warm even despite the bite of the wind. “I have to admit that I’m vaguely surprised to be included in that group of people.”

“Hun, you’re almost the whole group. Don’t really have people chomping at the bit to be my best friend.”

Their tone wasn’t disappointed or resigned, simply stating it like they would anything else in their life and it frustrated Logan that they thought they were worth so little in the eyes of other people when they were so valuable in his own.

“I truly can’t imagine why not,” Logan muttered under his breath.

They gave Logan something of a soft look, shaking their head in a way that made Logan wonder if they’d heard him. “Anyway, I think we have a party to be getting back to, doll.”

Flipping their sunglasses back onto the bridge of their nose, they gave Logan an impish grin, tossing in a wink before pushing them up for what Logan was sure was no other reason than to watch his cheeks stain red. They had a tendency to do things like that, to make Logan flustered or stumble with their words and small gestures.

Somehow, he felt as if this could be more than simple teasing, though he wasn’t quite sure why.

They threw their arm around Logan’s shoulders, steering him over towards the door and pulling it open with more flourish than was probably required for the action.

“Wait, Remy.” Logan flung his arm out, stopping Remy halfway to walking back into the house.

He paused for a moment, trying to gather both his thoughts and his courage. Remy only waited patiently, their focus entirely on him—not on the rest of the evening or what they might be doing tomorrow, not even on the stars or the sounds of the party inside, but solely on him and this moment. 

“I… enjoyed this…” Logan began, words hesitant and low, “And I would be amenable to doing something similar again in the future. Perhaps without the drunk college students in the background.”

A smile softened Remy’s face, their sunglasses gleaming in the dim lights of the street outside and Logan couldn’t tell exactly how they were looking at him but he thought he had a pretty good idea.

“I think I’d like that.”

Logan smiled back—more involuntarily than in mirror of Remy’s own expression. He felt no butterflies or fireworks inside him; instead, Logan felt warm and safe, like a sunrise cresting over the hill, shining a light on a day that he’d been anticipating for months now.

It would also be fair to say he felt… protected. He always did with Remy. Logan would never claim to want for or require protection by any means, however, it was comforting all the same.

“Good.”

It was barely more than a whisper, a suggestion of a word rather than practical implementation.

“Good,” Remy echoed. Then their brow furrowed the tiniest bit, their smile turning into a smirk, “It’s a date then.”

Logan nodded absentmindedly. “Yes, it’s a dat- wait, what?”

Remy laughed at his shocked expression—bright and sharp and their tongue poking out and gods, they were so pretty; Logan wasn’t sure he was capable of fitting all of these emotions inside his chest without simply exploding.

They painted on a Cheshire-cat grin, somehow looking amused and affectionate all at once. “See you ‘round, McKenzie!”

And with those parting words, Remy twirled on the spot and disappeared into the crowd of people, leaving Logan with nothing more than the sound of their laughter ringing in his ears and a night to look forward to. 

Taglist: @mutechild @super-magical-wizard @shadowsfromthesun @teadays @sandersships @mctaetae613 @autism-goblin @deadlyhuggles6 @romanthestarstruckqueer @whispers-stuff-in-your-ear @rainboots-are-for-snobs @sanders-and-sides @spirits-in-my-thoughts @kee-and-co @autistic-virgil @stop-it-anxiety @figurative-falsehood @jadedfantasies231 @idosanderssidespromptssometimes @poisonedapples @sanders-screams @another-sandersidesblog @do-not-just-see-observe @mychemicalpanicattheemo @thomassandersenthusiast 

[thefieryeclipse]

“The Wall” Petlar - Pride Month

In honour of Pride, I’m reposting a segment from my post-series Heroes WIP as a short story here on Tumblr. You can consider it a standalone if you like, or if you want to read more you can find the full fic here ^.^

I hope you enjoy this dive into the memories of Petlary goodness behind “The Wall”!

(M, slash, m/m, angst, blood, tears, fluff, feels)

(This gorgeous gif, my favourite one ever, doesn’t belong to me. All credit to the original creator, but sadly I still don’t know who that is!)

SPOILERS BELOW FOR “TONGUES OF FIRE” - Chapter 38

Peter awoke on the ground, but he couldn't remember getting there.

Everything was silent. A pressing white noise so vacant it was deafening, and nothing at all stirred but the slow rise and fall of his chest. Lying on his back, he opened his eyes to the velvet blanket of a vast, cloudless sky high above.

A sky that was... flashing?

Confused, Peter frowned up at the moon chasing the sun between elongated skyscrapers, shadows washing over him where he lay while days and nights passed before his eyes like the swinging beat of a pendulum.

Feeling oddly weightless, he picked himself up from the middle of an abandoned city street, lined on both sides by a row of neat trees. And suddenly the niggling thought that he was forgetting something important didn't seem to matter anymore, that he was supposed to be somewhere else.

He didn't understand. It should have been New York City. The streets Peter had grown up in, the island on which he'd spent nearly every day of his life, but he didn't know this place. It was an amalgamation, a hybrid, a new face whose features merely resembled those of his hometown. The city was deserted: empty streets and empty buildings lined with a million windows gaping at him like hollowed eye sockets, watching him struggle to find his bearings. There were no signs of life. Not even a car had been abandoned by the sidewalk, not one old newspaper fluttered through the windless air. Peter shivered, although there was no temperature. His faint breath shuddered, although there was no sound.

And then the echo of raised voices behind him made his heart thump loudly in his chest.

Peter span just as the sun froze in the sky, high on the crest of a bright and clear morning. He recognised the voices rebounding off vacant husks of buildings around him, just before two men turned a corner and appeared into view, one storming ahead while the other tagged along angrily at his heels. Peter couldn't have hid even if he wasn't exposed out in a wide open road, his feet rooting him to the spot as his blood instantly ran cold.

“...like it or not, Peter, you're stuck here forever, with me, and I am trying here! Are you? 'Cause it sure as hell doesn't feel like it!”

“Am I supposed to feel guilty? You murdered my brother, I don't owe you anything!”

“Yes, I did. I murdered him.” Sylar snarled, and although he wasn't shouting this time his words reverberated further, more clearly, than the others before. “I slit his throat and watched him bleed out and I didn't even care. He died alone, Peter. Scared. Defeated -”

“Stop it!”

Heart racing faster, Peter saw himself turn on his enemy, hands balled into fists at his side. Sylar stopped walking in response, head held high. And all the while Peter was outside it all, unharmed, invisible on the outskirts as he just stood there gazing at the surreal sight unfolding before him. Holy shit.

“- And I've said it a thousand times before, and even if you don't believe me that doesn't change the fact that I'm -”

“Don't!”

“- Sorry.”

The word ricocheted around the barren city. It lodged itself in Peter's gut like a bullet shard, sympathy pains felt from the shaking young empath standing before him in the distance. “Stop saying that. You don't mean it. If you were sorry you wouldn't have killed him. If you were sorry you wouldn't have killed any of them.”

Sylar scowled after the smaller man as he continued storming along the street, drawing closer to where his dream-like counterpart stood. Neither of them noticed him at all.

“Oh I get it,” The killer tagged along again, more infused with a fiery emotion than Peter had ever known him. “You've never made a mistake. You've never looked back and wished for a do-over. That you could change, that you'd made different choices, that you knew then what you know now, because your life has been nothing but a series of winning decisions, is that what you're saying?!” Sylar grabbed after his accuser, wrenching him back around by the arm. “'Cause from where I'm standing, it looks like they only served to land you in the exact same shithole as mine.”

Peter tugged himself free. “At least I never killed everyone who ever tried to love me!”

The following silence rang out loudly. Now close enough to the pair to make out the nuances in both men's faces, Peter watched with a weight constricting his chest as Sylar reeled, deeply wounded. Regret shone plainly on his own self's face, for just a heartbeat too long before it was forcibly concealed behind a mask of defiance.

Sylar's reply was quiet, but not gentle. “Loved ones. Mothers. Friends. Tell me, where are yours, Peter?”

The counter attack winded Peter Petrelli. Both the haunted man currently backing away from his enemy's space, and the spectre set adrift in the strange city that didn't belong to him. Peter and Sylar glared at one another, two lost souls forced together among nothingness, concrete, brick and stone, the double-bladed burn of rage rising between them like smoke in the air.

Sylar tipped his head slightly in a manner anyone else could construe as sympathetic. “I wonder what's worse? The thought that everyone else out there is dead; or that none of your precious heroes have bothered to look for you all this time?” He twitched one heavy eyebrow to hammer the point home. “Do you think anyone's even noticed you're missing? Or do they just not care?”

For a moment, the looming promise of an echoing crack of a punch rang throughout the city. But none came. Peter didn't attack, and he didn't make a sound beyond the pained catching of his breath. Then he tightened his fists and turned his back on Sylar one last time, picking up the pace as he left the killer behind.

“Like it or not, Petrelli, I'm all you've got!” Sylar called after him, teeth bared. “And neither of us are going anywhere for a long, long time!”

Peter's heart lurched when his other self faltered a step, almost level with where he hid, veiled out of time. He fought the urge to reach out and bridge the impassable distance with a touch, as the same vulnerability and fear that itched within his ribcage flickered over the other man's face, pooling in his eyes. But then his dream counterpart pushed on, leaving a full, unobstructed view of Sylar's dampening temper in his wake.

Slowly, the killer's scowl eased. He hunched in on himself, watching every step as his only means of company walked away.

It might have been the first time Peter had ever witnessed something close to shame from the guy. Something close to regret. It was a painful pill to swallow, like it went down the wrong way. And when Sylar finally dropped his eyeline to the ground and turned his back, Peter hurried to follow his own footsteps deeper into the city without pausing to witness one more second of the killer.

But as soon as he took his first step the sky fast-forwarded again and he was alone.

Morning became noon became night as Peter found himself lost among vacant streets and stretching shadows that snatched at his heels like fingers. Guided by an invisible cord looped around his waist, he searched with no direction, intention or idea where he was going, just a ghost adrift in an endless maze that re-arranged itself in his peripheral vision.

He lost track of how many times the sun rolled across the sky before it stalled once again, a red glimmer hanging low between the towering spires of skyscrapers. Peter stopped running, somehow not even out of breath, once he was framed in the open mouth of a back alley, the sunset staining a towering brick wall blocking the far end crimson.

The hairs on the back of his neck tickled as he caught sight of himself once again, unmistakable in his fury, stalking the length of the alley ahead.

At the far end, Sylar climbed to his feet at the base of the wall to accommodate the approach. And even from this far away, with merely one glimpse of him, he certainly didn't look like the same, smug serial killer Peter's nightmares had been plagued by for years.

Again locked in place, he watched himself stomp towards the murderer without easing or slowing down; watched Sylar ball his hands into fists but not lift them; watched himself raise his arms and tackle Sylar around the neck, winding him, knocking the breath from them both – 

But it wasn't a fight. Instead, they both swayed with the momentum of something so unexpected, something so harmless, as a hug.

Alone on the outskirts of this secret, Peter's throat tightly constricted. He couldn't breathe. He didn't need to. He was only a ghost, anyway.

Floating closer to the exchange, he couldn't seem to make sense of the bewilderment shining plainly across Sylar's face. Or his own arms holding the guy close, or the sound of his soft, strangled voice muffled in the depths of Sylar's shoulder.

As if he hadn't ever been a mortal enemy. As if he wasn't a ruthless serial killer. As if he'd never heartlessly cut down Nathan Petrelli in his prime.

“You were right.” Realistically, the words shouldn't have rebounded down the alley, but Peter heard them anyway. “No one's out there looking for us. No one's coming to save us. It's just you and me, Sylar, and I just can't... I can't fight with you anymore.”

Peter's arms tightened around the taller man. And only then did Sylar let his eyes flutter closed and tentatively place his hands on Peter's back. He bent down into the hug, returning it, indulging in the feel of it as if it were the first of his life.

“It's down to us. Alright?” Peter continued huskily. “It's you and me, and I don't wanna live this way forever. I can't carry this... this hate much longer. I can't.” He paused to chase a breath, and when he continued his voice was dangerously close to cracking. “We can't keep going like this if we're gonna survive, here. We've gotta do better, Sylar. We've gotta make it work. Okay?”

For a long time the men simply stood there entwined, rocking slightly on the spot, where no one could see them and no one would ever know. And in that reprieve it didn't matter that they'd shattered one another in the past, or that they shouldn't want to hold each other close, because for a moment it was as if the fights had never happened and the miles of blood stained history belonged to someone else.

Watching, Peter struggled to swallow when Sylar slowly nodded his head in agreement. When he then pried the smaller man away with gentle hands and an unfamiliar softness to his eyes, and just held him there close, looking down into his face as the whisper floated down the alley and imprinted into the witness's skin.

“I want to make it work, Peter...”

Time sped up again before he could see what happened next, before he was ready, erasing the men, the wall and the words from the slate like they'd never existed at all.

Day and night pulsed around Peter once more as he struggled to keep up, resuming the endless path to nowhere with less blind trust than before. As he searched vacant streets he shivered, and as he walked broken roads he worried, plagued with the strangest sense that this time he'd left more than just the alley behind.

The city warped around him. Buildings moved when he wasn't looking. Brief flashes of sunlight revealed new sights that hadn't been there the moment before. And then night fell steady and constant upon the world and Peter was somehow high atop a rusting fire escape, outside the only window in the sprawling city that housed the warm glow of light. Of life.

Helpless to resist, he numbly phased through the window as if he were a phantom, heart pounding heavier than ever in his chest.

Inside, the apartment was dark, cluttered, unfamiliar. Floating shelves lined the walls, packed to the brim with canned food while their previous occupants scattered the floor in precarious piles of books. A workbench stood near the back wall, buried beneath some sort of mechanical scraps Peter couldn't make out from here. But he wasn't really looking. Because that glow of a light didn't come from within these rooms, he now realised, but from between them.

A hidden hatch stood open in one wall. A two-way mirror that revealed a winding, shadowy corridor beyond. And the swinging light bulb within lured Peter in deeper as if he didn't have a choice but to obey.

Just as before, the two living souls in this place didn't look up as he approached them in the dark. They didn't even acknowledge him. And just as before, Peter couldn't name the mass of emotions that ached within his chest at the very sight of himself and Sylar, sitting silently side by side on the floor, their backs against the dusty inside of a wall.

The taste of horror seemed familiar on his tongue. But if this was due to the tears currently drying on Sylar's flushed face, or the desperate screams scrawled by bloody fingertips on the walls, he couldn't decide.

“It's from... before. Way before, when my ability first...” Sylar tried then faded off, as if he didn't even know the words. Meanwhile, sitting beside him, Peter nodded and took a steadying breath, caught between giving his split attention to the crying man or the ghastly bloodied 'forgive me's towering above.

“S'okay.”

“No, Peter. It's not.”

Still sniffling slightly, the killer turned to Peter, exhausted and unguarded and unashamed of his vulnerability in a way that sent more spasms tightly clenching through the empath's heart. Because this wasn't an act and it wasn't a pity plea, and as much as he hated it, and as much as the sight made his stomach cramp as if he were about to throw up, Peter couldn't tear his gaze away from the blatantly human sight of the man visible in fractures behind his shattered facade.

Sylar's voice was soft when he elaborated, thick with a recent burst of emotion that had yet to fade. “None of it is okay. No matter what I do or how many times I start, I can never get past... this.” He blinked rapidly, not quite looking at a hundred broken attempts at redemption pressing in on him from all sides. “I've tried. I really tried, so many times, and I wanted to be better. But after all these years... I just don't think I'm strong enough on my own. And no one has ever stayed long enough to...” He stopped himself again, scowling at his own self-pity.

The Peter on the ground tore his focus from the sorry sight of Sylar, looking up again upon the defaced walls. A timeline. A mural of blood, sweat and tears, a memorial of the killer's endless battle with his demons. And Peter drank in each word despite the burn.

Please forgive me... Help me... I'm sorry... Forgive me... Please...

He closed his eyes just briefly, biting his lip. “I will.”

“What?”

“I'll stay.” Peter clarified, sighing out all the tension in his frame. Sylar stared at him. “I won't leave you. I won't run out on you. I won't lie, or betray you, or manipulate you like my mother did.” Now Sylar looked so affronted that a sudden telekinetic choke hold wouldn't be a surprise. But instead he just gaped at Peter, lips twitching soundlessly as he struggled to untangle his thoughts into something resembling words. “If you're serious about wanting to be better, Sylar... I'll help you.” Peter finished, a soft exhale. Only then did he meet the killer's eyes, and there was no room for doubt in that tiny corridor that he knew exactly what he was signing himself up for. That they all did.

Silence stretched for a long time. Until the older man recovered some semblance of his vocal chords. “Wh-why would you want to do that?” The question was laced with hope and suspicion, two compounds at war with each other.

But Peter just looked at him, and the honesty on his face was clear for all to see. “'Cause the guy who wrote this?” He glanced back at the blood-scrawled walls as if pained. “He never had that chance. And maybe if someone had just listened to him back then... none of this would've happened.” He offered Sylar a sad little curve of his lips. “Maybe all you needed was a friend.”

The killer's heavy brows eased from their furrow. Fresh tears streamed from his disbelieving eyes. Too late, he seemed to notice what was happening and averted his face, tremors consuming his hunched form.

And rather than leave, Peter leaned into him, a comforting warmth. And rather than recoil, the empath reached for Sylar's hand and held it gently, surely, and just sat with the man in silence while he cried.

And then time shifted forward again.

Left reeling on the spot, Peter the spectator, the ghost, tried to blink away the blurriness stinging at his own eyes. When it subsided he saw he was no longer crowded by bloody prayers or that lone, swinging light bulb: he was back outside on the fire escape. And that same old cord, his guide, was pulling him on again, but he didn't want to answer the call this time.

The tangled mass of feeling expanded further inside with every step he ascended the rusty staircase. More years flew past within moments. And the whispering breath of wind grew louder the higher he climbed.

On the final step, darkness blanketed the city for the last time. The sky was vast and starless high above, the rooftop captured in the cool tones and hues of the illusive moment between evening and night. Shaking slightly, it took Peter a moment to realise that the whispering breaths didn't belong to the wind, after all. And through shadow he discerned the shapes of two bodies on the ground, naked and writhing beneath a bundle of discarded clothing.

He meant to jump back from the scene but the steel cord wouldn't let him. So Peter was forced to hide here in the dark, unable to feel his limbs at the sight of his own self kissing the lips of his enemy. The pair broke apart with deep, shuddering breaths, and Peter watched himself lie back and smile sleepily at the man in his arms.

Then a murmur punctured the night, sending goosebumps rolling down his spine.

“Do you trust me, Peter?”

“Why, you think I'd do that with just anyone?” The empath chuckled and pressed a kiss to Sylar's shoulder. But when the man didn't laugh Peter propped himself up on an elbow to better look down upon him. “What's up, buddy?” He prompted with another small smile, trailing a hand over the killer's bare chest and stirring the hair there.

The gesture was so natural and yet so obscene, that in the rational corner of his mind Peter wanted to yell and run – no fly – away before he saw something else he'd never be able to shake. But he was still chained in place by something heavier than shock, and the warden of fate wouldn't let him move or even make a sound. Instead, he bore witness to the exchange of intimate touches, adoration, a familiarity that he'd never been able to keep with anyone in reality.

“I was just thinking about Elle.” Sylar confessed, looking up into the darkening sky.

Peter's caresses slowed. “Oh.” The spectre watched his own face fall slightly, far too familiar with that feeling not to experience second hand rejection gnawing at him now.

“Not like that.” Sylar appeased Peter slightly by prying the man's hand from his chest to absently entwine their fingers, but still didn't drop his gaze from the heavens. “I was thinking about how... how I didn't kill her for her ability. I killed her because she betrayed me.”

Peter frowned, the ease from earlier fading. “Is that supposed to make it okay?”

“No. But it makes it different. She lied to me. It was... personal, the others weren't.” Peter's sigh finally earned Sylar's full attention, and when the smaller man untangled himself from the killer as if to get up, Sylar held onto his wrist, keeping him there. “I could have loved her, Peter.”

On the far side of the rooftop, Peter felt that word impact like a sledgehammer to the gut. Love. But on the ground, he didn't look surprised by this information at all, reluctantly indulging the other man with a scowl still dirtying his brow.

“I trusted her. I let her in. But she...” Sylar's expression grew distant then, cast back through time. “...Recoiled. And I reacted. It was... fragile.”

The empath huffed impatiently through his nose, biting his lip. “What're you trying to tell me, Sylar?”

Sylar fell quiet, his face unmasked in a way that was entirely unfamiliar to his enemy. And more than he had when intruding upon the secret closet of bloody remorse, or catching the pair naked and breathless with sweat still drying on their skin, Peter felt wrong, voyeuristic, to be spying on such an intimate sight from the shadows as that expression.

Sylar reached up to trail Peter's long, tousled hair from obscuring his eye, a painfully sweet gesture. And when he took a breath it shook slightly. “This place? You and me? Whatever the hell we've gotten ourselves into... It's fragile, too. It's special.” He gave up on the stubborn lock when it refused to stay put, dropping his hands to fold across his stomach. A shadow of affliction passed over his face. “And if people knew they'd try to take it from us.”

Peter relaxed back down over his companion, lips quirking up on the working side. “Then we won't let them.”

Sylar tried to smile in response to the gentle nuzzling of his nose. A weak, short-lived thing. “You're too trusting, Peter, and I'm too destructive and it would be easy, too easy, to ruin this if they wanted, which they will. And if we ever do wake up and all this feels like a dream, I don't want there to be any doubts between us. Nothing they can use.”

Concern ghosted across Peter's features. He climbed free of his companion to fall flat on his back beside him, looking unseeingly into the ebony void far above. “Why are you saying these things?” He hugged his arms around his own torso, suddenly feeling the cold he hadn't a moment before.

And the spectre on the sidelines only drew closer to the scene, ever helpless, defenseless to resist.

Sylar turned his head to survey Peter, shadows emphasising the heavy angles of his face while his messy hair splayed out around him, thick and dark on the ground. He should have looked dangerous lying there so close, heart rate still elevated, skin still heated. He shouldn't have looked handsome, striking in his vulnerability. But he did. And only more so when amusement brightened the serial killer's features through the slight pursing of his lips. “Do you remember I told you about Lydia from the carnival?”

Still refusing to look at him, Peter just nodded, only more confused. An affectionate smirk twinkled at the corners of Sylar's eyes. And he was even less recognisable as the brutal murderer that had ripped reality to shreds in his wake.

“I've been thinking for a while, now. And if we ever get outta here... I want you to use her ability on me.”

At first, Peter just met the man's eyes, blinking quickly at him while he processed. Then he pushed himself into a sitting position, squinting down at Sylar as if the statement would be clearer from that angle. His hand shook while he ran it through his disheveled hair, and only upon close inspection was it evident that Sylar was holding his breath.

Stunned, Peter could barely muster his voice. “You'd trust me to read your soul?” He looked unsure, as if at any moment he expected his companion to reveal it as some sort of joke. But Sylar only nodded, that knowing, affectionate smirk washing across the rest of his features. And sudden tears welled up in the empath's eyes, refusing to fall, in the moment the truth finally hit home. “Really?” He breathed, a sound so small it couldn't carry the short distance across the rooftop.

But from above, his ethereal counterpart heard it anyway. And he saw Sylar laugh a little in response to Peter's disbelief, the deep, pleasant sound catching in his chest.

Equal parts horrified and entranced, Peter struggled to believe what he was witnessing from this man and that voice and those lips: the fearsome lone wolf who'd always killed before letting someone get too close, close enough to hurt him.

Yet, he saw his other self's eyes roam between Sylar's, so close below his own. And looking at the men now, having already obliterated so many boundaries to have gotten this far, sharing in the midst of the rubble they'd created, Peter could see every scar that had transpired between them, scrawling signatures embedded below one another's skin. They'd never be free of the other. They were already imprinted, marked forever like tattoos.

And for the very first time, it looked something close to beautiful.

On the ground, eyes wide and glistening, Peter hesitated slightly before skimming his knuckles across Sylar's cheekbone. The murderer caught his hand, cradling it between both his larger, stronger ones, the hands that had spilled an ocean of innocent blood long ago. “Only if you want it,” he smirked, “otherwise I was joking.”

Peter's answering grin illuminated his entire face, an emotion so potent that his unseen counterpart hungered for it, ached for it, even just to know what it felt like.

Because he was pretty sure he'd never smiled like that in his life. And he'd never known such a certainty as he was witnessing unfold before him now. As far back as he could remember, nobody had ever trusted him that much. He'd never found that someone who thought him special enough to want to hold, to want to keep, to want to let so close that it was literally, humanly impossible.

And now his heart broke when he saw himself lie back down against the rooftop, and his last reservations fell and pooled around his ankles as his other self leaned in and murmured against Sylar's lips.

“Alright.” He promised.

The kiss was gentle, intimate, achingly tender even from the outside. Soft lips against lips, hands cradling bare skin, smiles curving against one another while Sylar rolled atop Peter, pinning him to the cold ground. Night was entirely upon them now, and the whisper of deepening, breathless kisses leaked into the air, meanwhile on the outskirts Peter felt like he was falling. Like his core was being hauled up into the air by that same old invisible thread, leaving a vital part of himself behind.

The city was evaporating around him. The horizon floating away like ash, the walls closing in upon where he stood, trembling and weak, longing for a breeze to soothe the burning promise of tears gathered in his own eyes.

He'd seen too much. He hadn't seen enough. He didn't understand, yet it made all kinds of sense. That wrong was right and people could change, could forgive, and that try as he might Peter couldn't find the will in himself to deny what he knew had been real, once.

And suddenly he was enveloped by the heat of another man's arms around him, strong and sincere and reliable. He felt the living softness of someone else's skin touching his, although still he stood alone, his lips tingled beneath the sensation he'd almost forgotten was that of another pair against them, it had been so long. And he could sense every part of that body, he could breathe the familiar, comforting scent of his hair, and somehow he tasted the gentle press of Sylar's tongue in his mouth, and he felt safe. Trusted. He felt wanted more than he'd ever been wanted before. And it invaded his senses all at once, unrelenting, overstimulating, until he couldn't discern between fear and arousal and he no longer knew where the Peter on the ground and the Peter on the outskirts collided.

Only then, the shackles keeping him frozen in place broke free. Feeling returned to his limbs and he stumbled away from the illicit lovers as fast as shooting pins and needles would let him.

But he wasn't steady enough. And with that cord now severed, he fell.

[aithuzah]

i'm working on this merlin canon rewrite thing and it's taking me such a long time because i still don't know how i'm going to work around all this worldbuilding content (how come kilgharrah is the only dragon left alive? how abundant are certain creatures? what are their politics? why are there so many goddamn powerful sorcerers even tho merlin is meant to be the top dog? etc) and wrap it up in a way that makes. sense.

it’s taking me forever to gestate this merlin rewrite of mine because i’m the type of person who wants to take as many aspects of the original source as possible for translation into another context but this damn show is full of inconsistencies and i’m always debating whether or not to simply do away with certain things in favor of fic universe-specific circumstances. it’s more organic but less recognizable.

OOF, I FEEL YA. Merlin canon feels like a lot of really interesting ideas that are never fully fleshed out or blended into a cohesive, understandable whole. I think the vagueness of it all actually helps the show in some ways? Like, since there’s so much we don’t know about that the characters just barely hint at occasionally, it makes the world feel really lived-in and expansive. It feels like there’s tons of history and culture that exists out in the world, just not where we can see it directly. 

But as a writer trying to work with what they gave us as much as possible while still doing new and interesting things that make sense with canon, it’s…..ugh. What are the rules??? What are the limitations??? How do magic users and magic interact with the world, with each other, with politics, with religion, with nature and all the creatures we’ve seen? How are we supposed to explore those relationships more in canon-realistic ways if we never get so much as a straight answer from Gaius about the way the world used to be before the Purge, let alone any flashbacks?

I don’t know if you’re looking for advice or just wanted to vent, but if you wanted to know what I think…Well the way I’d go about it is pretty intensive. I spent a while going through the transcripts episode by episode collecting information about certain subjects that I was interested in a while ago, and I never really finished that, but it was a great way to pick up on worldbuilding details that stood out to me in the context of the series (as opposed seeing info on the Merlin wiki, or straight up rewatching every episode). I copied & pasted relevant conversations into word documents dedicated to different topics (ex. “prophecies” or “pre-Purge Camelot”). I’d pick out as much explicit info from each snippet as I could, and then I tried to read between the lines. 

Like, any time Gaius speaks it’s kind of hard to parse, because on the one hand, he was ALIVE and a MAGIC USER before the Purge happened and therefore one of our best (and only) sources of that kind of information. But on the other hand, he rarely speaks without very carefully filtering himself in some way, since he’s constantly trying to justify Uther to Merlin, or protect Merlin and himself from Uther.

So are there any more inferences or conclusions we can draw about the world based on the context and subtext of what’s actually said? Do the logical inconsistencies make more sense when we consider where the information came from in the first place? Does information we took for granted suddenly seem less trustworthy based on who’s talking, or who they’re talking to? That kind of thing. 

If you have a solid idea of what kind of story you want your rewrite to be, I’d recommend honing in on what aspects of the series are most important to you to explore. Find as much canon info about those things as you can, and how they interact and work with each other. Use those aspects as your foundation to build off of. Make sure they make as much sense as possible and go from there to decide what should be cut, what needs to be explained, what can just kinda be glossed over, and what you need to make up completely. 

tldr; I totally get all the frustration that comes with the desire to be true to canon when canon is like that, but sometimes you just gotta make shit up and ditch what doesn’t work for you. Don’t let canon hold you back from telling the story you want to tell, the way you want to tell it.

I hope I’m making sense lol. And that what I’m saying is remotely helpful in some way. In any case, good luck!!! If you post this rewrite anywhere please feel free to send me a link or something, I’d love to check it out!

[ladyreapermc]

Fic: This isn’t a rom-com (Keanu x OFC) 3/?

Author’s notes: once again, thank you for the feedback on previous chapters. Onto chapter 3.

Wordcount: 2845

Warnings: fluff and oblivious idiots.

Part 1  Part 2  Part 4   Part 5

Lilah bit her thumb as she stared at her phone until Keanu’s name and message on the screen became blurry. She should be reviewing her paper so she could send it to her advisor. Instead, here she was, ignoring her laptop in favor of rereading his text for the tenth time:

I’m glad you like it and I want to know what you thought of it. Coffee today? I’ll be done at five. K.

Lilah didn’t know why she was getting so caught up on it. What else she expected after letting him know she finished reading his book? After all, Keanu had said he would like to get some coffee and talk about it when she was done with it.

And Lilah wanted to do it; she wanted to talk books with him. She wanted to talk about anything with him because he was so nice and cool and funny. But also, he was freaking Keanu Reeves. She was brought back from her musings by a hand snatching her cellphone away before Jean plopped on the chair in front of her.

“You’ve been staring at your phone for the last five minutes,” she said, glancing at the screen, her lips twitching into a smirk. “Ha! I knew he wanted in your pants!”

“One: don’t be crass,” Lilah complained, taking her phone back. “Two: it’s not like that. It’s just coffee.”

Lilah could see that Jean was about to argue, as usual. So, she just sent the other woman a warning look, because this wasn’t up to debate. If Lilah accepted his invitation, she couldn’t think of it as a date.

For one, she was in her final year of grad school. There was a lot at stake and Lilah couldn’t afford distractions. Not even one as amazing as Keanu Reeves. And besides, it would be crazy to think he was even interested. Not that Lilah thought she wasn’t hopeless or anything like that. She did pretty well dating-wise.

She was just being realistic. Keanu probably had people throwing themselves at him all the time and she sure as hell wasn’t going to be one of those people. Despite her stupid no-filter mouth best attempts of making it look otherwise.

“Ok, but you’re gonna go, right? For “just coffee”?” Jean asked, eyebrows raised and Lilah could actually hear the air quotes over the words just coffee.

“Yeah,” Lilah agreed, unlocking her phone screen and typing a quick reply. Her heart did a small acrobatic flip in her chest as she hit send. “There. Done.”

Jean’s face opened into a satisfied, victorious smirk and Lilah couldn’t help but chuckle at her friend.

“So what did you want to talk to me about?” Lilah asked, setting her phone aside and closing her laptop lid. Because who was she kidding? She wasn’t going to get any work done before heading to class. Might as well stop pretending.

“Can’t I just drop by and say hi to my favorite person?” Jean’s smile was wide and bright and so innocent. Lilah didn’t buy it for a second.

“Alright, spill. What do you want?” Lilah asked with an eye-roll.

“Ok,” Jean started with a sigh. “Novelsy isn’t doing all that well financially and if I don’t find a way to attract more customers, I’m gonna have to close doors by the end of the year.”

“Shit!”

Worry settled on the pit of her stomach like lead, because Lilah loved Novelsy. The bookstore was initially owned by Jean’s aunt, but once the older woman passed away, Jean took over, much to her parents’ horror, since they expected her to handle the multimillion family business.

Lilah knew Novelsy started as a way of Jean rebelling against her parents, but it became her pride and dream. The last thing Lilah wanted was to see it closed, but at the same time, Lilah could only imagine how hard must it be for a small place like this to compete with chain stores and internet commerce.

“Any ideas that don’t involve me begging my parents for money?” Jean asked.

“We could start building the store’s media presence? Like a blog, social media, that sort of thing?” Lilah suggested with a shrug. “You’re the one with an MBA.”

“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking too,” Jean drummed her nails on the wooden surface of the table. “I guess I can dust off my camera, working on a few pictures, but we’re gonna need some quality content to go along with them…”

“Ah. Ambush,” Lilah joked, narrowing her eyes at Jean, who just gave her a sheepish smile. “You already considered all that and you’re just buttering me up to ask me to write for it, right?”

“Well, you are always going on and on about everything you read and watch. I just thought…” Jean shrugged, before giving Lilah a look that could only be considered puppy dog eyes. “I know you have a lot of stuff going on, but could you? Please? Just like a weekly thing would be enough.”

“Yeah, sure,” she agreed with an indulgent smile. It wasn’t like she would ever be able to deny Jean anything. “Just give some deadlines so I can fit it in my schedule.”

“Perfect! Thank you!” Jean declared, throwing her arms around Lilah for an awkward hug over the table. “You’re the best, Lih.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she rolled her eyes and started to pack her things. “You still need some short term action, you know? Because social media takes time to build.”

“I know and I decided to get some stage so we could have some bands and poetry soirées, you know, all that artsy crap.” Lilah laughed at Jean’s eye-roll, but couldn’t deny it was a good idea.

“Plus, Halloween is coming. You could host a costume contest,” she suggested standing up and shouldering her satchel bag.

“You’re just looking for an excuse to dress up,” Jean teased with a smile. She wasn’t exactly wrong on that assessment.

“Ok. Gotta go! Bye, hon!” She pressed a quick peck on Jean’s cheek.

“One last thing,” Jean called before Lilah moved too far. “You should totally wear that cute green tartan print dress for your date!”

Lilah just rolled her eyes at Jean’s smirking face and took off, because sometimes, arguing with Jean was the most pointless thing.

She stopped by their apartment above the bookstore long enough to put away the stuff she wouldn’t need for class. And after another moment of deliberation, she exchanged her jeans and t-shirt for the dress, pairing it with dark leggings, a black cardigan, and her favorite scarf. Just because it wasn’t a date, didn’t mean Lilah couldn’t look nice.  

She grabbed her bag, Keanu’s book and after a moment of deliberation, Lilah reached on her bookshelf and picked up one of her books. He had lent her one of his. It would be only fair to return the favor, right?

Lilah put on her headphones and hurried off since and she was already dangerously close to missing her train. Fortunately, the subway station was only a couple of blocks away from Novelsy and Lilah always enjoyed the walk. It gave her a chance of enjoying the city had fallen in love with and had been calling home for the last six years.

It had been the best decision of her life to move away from Florida for grad school. Not only it gave Lilah the freedom of being her own person away from her family, but there was also just something magical about New York that she hadn’t found anywhere else. Then again, Lilah barely ever traveled. She had lived most of her life in Florida and could barely remember her home country anymore.

It was one of the things Lilah wanted the most for her life. To travel the world, visit all the places books and movies had shown her. She always wondered what would be like to work with something that could take you all over the world. It must really be amazing.

After teaching her class, Lilah headed to the psychology Ph.D. offices to concentrate on her paper instead of daydreaming about traveling the world or her not-a-date with Keanu. She managed to do all the alterations her advisor suggested and added a new analysis based on an article she read last week, before sending it to her.

Once she finally left NYU, Lilah fidgeted all the way to Central Park, unable to suppress her nerves, even if she kept mentally chanting to herself that this wasn’t a date. When Lilah stepped out the station and found Keanu was waiting for her on the sidewalk, her heart felt like it was trying to bust out of her chest

He looked so handsome in jeans, a grey tee with a motorcycle company logo and a dark leather jacket. He was holding two cups in a carry tray and waving her over with the other. So as Lilah crossed the street, she willed her heart to slow down, because she could barely breathe as she walked up to him.

“Hi!” he greeted her with a bright smile. “I’m glad you could make it in such short notice.”

“It’s fine. My night was free,” Lilah replied, smiling too. It was technically true, but she was supposed to be writing her dissertation.

“I didn’t know how you took your coffee, so I just got it black and brought everything else aside,” Keanu said, handing her one of the cups before pulled out from his pocket packs of sugar, sweetener, and cream.

That was so thoughtful of him that Lilah couldn’t bring herself to admit that she didn’t drink American coffee. Not even Novelsy. Instead, she took one of the cups and dumped cream and sugar in it and took a sip.

“Thank you,” she said covering her grimace, by turning to the park. “Shall we?”

“Sure,” Keanu nodded as they started on the path. “So, tell me your thoughts on the book.”

As they walked, Lilah told him about how she felt with Neruda’s poetry, a big grin playing on her lips. She always thought fall was the best season to take a walk in Central Park. The foliage had faded from their usual green in warm hues of orange, red and purple, making them look straight out of a painting. And under the late afternoon sun, everything sort of had a soft yellowish glow, as if they had been set on fire.

As she spoke, Lilah kept sneaking a few glances at Keanu, always finding him watching her with a thoughtful expression that quickly shifted into a smile whenever he caught her looking.

When they reached the fountain, Keanu led them away from the rest of the visitors and tourists snapping pictures. Lilah wondered if he noticed a few of them snapping photos of him. Fortunately, no one came over to bother them. She wouldn’t know how to react if they had.

Keanu stopped by this huge oak tree and handed Lilah his cup so he could spread his jacket on the ground, before plopping on it and gesturing her to take a seat. She chuckled and followed, handing back the wrong cup.

“You barely touched it,” he pointed out with an arched eyebrow, looking more amused than offended. “You could’ve just told me you didn’t like coffee.”

“I like coffee,” she replied with a sheepish smile. “But that’s not coffee, that American chafé.”

“Sorry, what?” he asked with a confused frown.

“Chafé,” Lilah repeated chuckling at how adorable he looked mouthing out the word. “It just means it watered down and it tastes more like tea than actual coffee.”

“Ahhh, so you’re a coffee snob,” Keanu teased, making Lilah laugh.

“No!” she shoved him playfully on the shoulder, feeling solid muscle under her hand. “Just used to it been brewed differently. My father always says that there are two things you should never argue about with Latinos: telenovela and coffee.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Keanu chuckled, leaning back on his elbows.

“Seriously, I’ll brew it for you sometime and you’ll see.”

The offer escaped her lips before she could even register it and Lilah wanted to kick herself. Why couldn’t she actually pay attention to what she was saying?

“I’ll hold you to it,” he said with a small smile as he watched her. “And I thought I caught a hint of an accent.”

“Really?” she smiled wide at him. “You got a great ear. Most people don’t notice. I’ve moved here when I was three. My stepdad’s American.”

Lilah told him a little bit about her family, mostly just silly stories of her brother, which he reciprocated with stories about his sisters. It was nice and comfortable and time seemed to fly by. Every once in a while, Lilah caught herself staring at him, admiring how the setting sun behind Keanu gave him an almost supernatural glow or how his smile lit up his face and his brown eyes danced with mirth as he recalled some of his teenage shenanigans.

“What?” he asked, bumping his foot again hers.

“Nothing,” Lilah replied with a small smile, lowering her eyes.  

Keanu bumped his foot against hers again and she sneaked a glance his way with a frown, wondering if that was an accident. But then he did it again. And again. Was he playing footsie? She gave him a soft kick in retaliation and Keanu grinned, trapping her foot between his ankles. Lilah laughed, shaking her head.

“You’re such a dork, oh my God!” she commented with a grin, and he chuckled.

“Got you to smile, did I?” he replied with a grin of his own and once again Lilah’s chest felt like was about to burst like several butterflies were trapped inside and trying to scape.

They stayed like that talking and laughing together until the sun set completely and the temperature dropped. Lilah kept rubbing her hands together to keep them warm since she had forgotten her gloves. It helped some, but there wasn’t much she could do about her legs. Her leggings were a flimsy barrier against the cold.

“Do you want to take off?” Keanu offered as he sat up, rubbing his hands together and covering hers, offering his own warmth.

Lilah realized how big his hands were compared to hers. As a matter of fact, Keanu was a very big guy. Not only he was tall, but his broad shoulders and strong frame made him look kind of imposing, but in a good way. She realized he could probably pick her up on his arms very easily and that made her swallow hard and her breath pick up speed.

“No, it’s fine,” Lilah managed to reply after a moment.

She wasn’t ready for this thing to be over just yet, but a gush of wind blew past them again and she couldn’t suppress a shudder, earning a knowing look from Keanu.

“Ok, yes.”

Keanu helped her up and they started to make their way back. Moving usually helped to warm her up a little, but they were walking against the wind and Lilah was shivering.

“Do you want my jacket?” Keanu asked when he noticed.

“Won’t you be cold?” Lilah wondered and Keanu snorted, already unzipping it.

“I’ll be fine, don’t worry.” He held it up so she could put it on.

“Thanks,” she replied, pulling it closer around herself since it was still warm from his body. And if she sneaked a few sniffs at the collar, no one needed to know.

Keanu walked her all the way to the subway station where he had been waiting for her. Lilah handed the jacket back to him and watched as he shrugged on.

“I had fun,” he said with a smile. “I’ve been so focused on this movie, hadn’t been able to go out and just talked about anything except work, so thank you.”

“I know the feeling.” Lilah smiled too and pulled out from her bag his book along with her copy of Life as it is and handing both to him.

“You lent me one, so I thought…” she explained when Keanu gave her a confused look.

“What is it about?” he asked, checking out the blurb on the back cover.

“It’s a collection of short stories, written in the fifties. Rodrigues was really acidic and insightful so they’re really fun,” she said. “If you want to give it a go... we could hang out again and talk about it?” Lilah offered hesitantly.

“Sure,” Keanu replied with a frown and Lilah winced. Did she push too far?

“We don’t have to…” she hurried to say. A second ago Keanu was all smiles and now he almost looked disappointed.

“No, I want to,” he said. “Really.”

“Ok then,” she replied sighing. It wasn’t like she could just grab the book from his hand and run away. “So, give me a call when you’re done?”

“I will. Goodnight.”

After a moment of hesitation, Lilah nodded and headed home, wondering all the way what just happened.

tbc

Go to Part 4

Taglist (give me a shout if you want to added or if you want to be removed)

@poisonedjoinery @ringa-starr @curly-minnie @i-cant-remember-my-old-login

@caryled @beyond-antares @kathorax @krazycags01 @meetmeinthematinee

@red-pill-blue-pill @baphometwolf666 @soarocks @imagine-the-fanfics @moonlit-raven-haven @cumberbatchbaps @coolbreezeinkeanureeves

[joe-mazzello-archive]

The Strangers - Chapter One - Cold as Ice

A Joe Mazzello x OC fic

Word Count: 5.8k

Chapter Warnings: Language, alcohol consumption, sexual references

A/N: Here we go, gang! Please please please feel free to send me feedback/questions/theories. I want to hear from y’all! Also I do technically have a playlist for this series but since each chapter is a song title, the playlist is a bit on the spoilery side so I’ll wait until after it’s finished to link it. Also sorry that Ben is accidentally Barney Stinson. I needed someone to balance out Joe.

Joe shifted in the cold leather chair he sat in. He couldn’t help but fidget as he patiently waited for the door to the office across from him to open. He looked at his watch. 4:32pm. He’d been waiting for over ten minutes now, hoping that somehow his punctuality would make the meeting to go well.

His eyes wandered to the plaque next to the door. Theatre Arts Department Chair was engraved neatly into the gold metal. He couldn’t help but smile as he thought back to a conversation he had with Ben a week ago, before the meeting had even been scheduled.

“Mate, the fact that you’re not already the department chair over that old geezer is beyond me!” Ben had all but shouted through the crowded bar, swinging his mostly empty beer bottle around wildly. “I mean he doesn’t do shit! He sits at his big desk doing fuck all and takes a huge check home every month! You’re the one who really runs that department.” Joe threw his head back in laughter.

“Well last time I checked, he’s still got the title and I’m still a lowly professor. But I appreciate your enthusiasm, Ben,” Joe replied before finishing off his own beer.

“You should just take that shiny gold plate off the wall and hang it next to your office. See how long it takes that idiot to even notice!” Ben countered before waving down the bartender. Joe noticed and pushed his friend’s arm down.

“I think we’re both done for the night, dude. Besides, you’ve been so focused on me you haven’t even picked out your prey for the night,” Joe teased.

“Ey! Don’t call the women I sleep with and then never call again ‘prey’! I’m offended you think so little of me, Joseph,” Ben argued, before turning to survey the room.

The conversation seemed so long ago to Joe. What had started as a rant about how the department didn’t have enough funding to put on the shows he wanted to do led to a discussion about how Joe hadn’t received a raise in years. Ben urged him to setup a meeting with the department chair. The next day he found himself sending an email to his boss, asking to discuss the plans for the department for the next term.

A day after that, Joe regretted ever hitting send. In his inbox sat an email reply from the grumpy old man himself.

Sure. My office, Friday 4:30pm.

And there he sat, outside that very office, his knee bouncing the messenger bag that sat on his lap as he rehearsed in his head what he wanted to say to the man.

Finally, the door opened and Joe all but jumped to his feet.

“Mr. Mazzello, come on in,” the man growled, his deep gravelly voice giving the impression that he had a perpetual sore throat. Joe shuffled into the large office, eyes glued to the floor, heart pounding. He cursed himself for listening to Ben. He’s rarely listened to Ben before. Why did he start now?

The old man grunted as he sat down, his desk chair that had been there since the department was built squeaking underneath his weight. Joe took a seat in one of the dusty chairs on the other side of the large wooden desk. Clearly this office rarely saw visitors.

As the old man adjusted his tie and glasses, Joe took a moment to glance around the spacious office. The off-white walls were bare except for a few certificates framed behind the elder man’s head. A small bookshelf sat off to the side, the shelves half empty, with only various binders and knick knacks cluttering the spaces. In the corner sat a tall filing cabinet that looked like it hadn’t been touched in decades. The man’s desk was almost bare except for a laptop computer, a pile of papers, and one lone picture frame that faced him. Joe couldn’t help but be curious as to who’s face the chairman looked at all day long, considering the man had never married nor had children.

The room was the complete opposite of Joe’s chaotic office. Every bit of wall space in Joe’s office was covered in posters for previous productions, show programs, and framed photos of casts and crews from shows past. He hadn’t seen the actual top of his desk since his first year as a professor, every inch being covered in scripts and books.

“I believe you mentioned in your email that you wanted to discuss next term. If I recall correctly, I already approved next year’s season of shows,” the man said, his head cocked to the side as he stared at the young professor. Joe wrung his hands together as worked up the nerve to respond.

“Yes sir, you did,” was Joe’s simple reply, his voice shaky.

“Then what more needs discussing?” the man asked, somewhat incredulously. Joe took a deep breath, choosing his words carefully.

“This past term, we ran into roadblocks when it came to our budget for our productions. We wanted to do things that weren’t realistic when it came to what funding we did have. So I dipped into my own funds to make those things happen. And as a result, we put on some of the best shows the department has ever done.” Joe suddenly found a burst of confidence, surprised at how assured his statements sounded.

“I was unaware of this. Did you submit for reimbursement? That can easily be arranged,” the man replied, his demeanor softening at Joe’s words. Joe felt the energy in the room shift; as if Joe was now in control of the conversation.

“I honestly don’t think that’s necessary, sir. What I am asking for is that you find more in the department budget for our productions, so we can make these things happen with nothing to hold us back,” Joe proposed, the quivering in his voice completely gone now.

The man paused for a moment, processing what had just been asked of him. He turned to his laptop, squinting as he began to mash at the keyboard. Joe sat frozen, his confidence beginning to waver as he waited with bated breath for the old man’s reply. After what felt like an hour, but was probably no more than ten seconds, the man turned back to the auburn-haired professor.

“Consider it done.”

Joe’s eyes widened and he suddenly found it hard to breathe.

“Sir?” he squeaked out.

“I was extremely impressed with this past season. If you’re telling me you can continue to reach that level of quality and beyond, I see no reason to not expand the production budget,” the man continued. Joe couldn’t help but grin like an idiot, surprised at the response he had gotten.

“Thank you sir, we can absolutely do that,” Joe replied, nodding almost too eagerly. The old man turned back to his laptop, typing away once again.

“I’m also going to approve a 10% salary increase for you,” the man added before standing up and stretching out his hand.

Joe mirrored his actions, getting up so fast that the blood rushed to his head. He took the man’s hand and shook it vigorously.

“Thank you, so much sir. I don’t know what to say,” Joe spat out, realizing that he was probably shaking the man’s hand too long. Joe released the chairman’s hand, realizing his own hands were jittery with excitement.

“No need to say any more, I actually have another meeting in a few minutes. Enjoy the rest of your Friday, Mr. Mazzello,” the man answered, sitting back down and immediately turning back to his computer, as if Joe wasn’t even in the room anymore.

“You too, sir. Thank you again!” Joe crowed as he grabbed his bag and moved towards the exit. The man didn’t even look back up.

It wasn’t until Joe was back in his own office that he truly processed everything that had just happened. Not only did he successfully argue for more funding, he got a raise without even asking. He whipped out his phone, pulling up his friends’ group chat.

Joe: I MADE THAT MEETING MY BITCH Lucy: You kiss your mother with that mouth? Ben: you got the funding???? Joe: AND A RAISE Rami: I have no idea what we’re talking about. Lucy: Babe I told you, Joe was trying to convince the department head to give him more money for shows. Ben: fuck yeah mate!!!! Bevs tonight to celebrate??? Joe: I absolutely need a beer. Or several. Rami: I’m in. Lucy: I’m there too! Ben: as the kids say, let’s get TURNT Joe: Please never say that again.

And that’s how Joe found himself bar-hopping in the city with his three closest friends. After closing out the bill in bar number three, Joe was starting to pass the threshold between tipsy and drunk. He debated about calling himself an Uber, pulling up the app to determine how much one would be. But suddenly his phone was ripped from his hand.

“What do you think you’re doing? The night is so very young, Joseph,” Ben slurred, locking Joe’s phone and putting it in his own pocket. Ben swung his arm around Joe’s shoulders. “We still gotta hit up Sully’s!”

“I’ve heard that place is such a dive, Ben. Can we go literally anywhere else?” Lucy asked, swirling the last of her cocktail before downing it. Rami’s arms were wrapped around her waist while he slowly swayed to the background music playing through the bar’s speakers.

“How else are we gonna find a girl who’ll be interested in Joe?” Ben said with a shit-eating grin, squeezing Joe’s shoulder.

“Gee thanks, Ben,” Joe replied with an eye roll.

“Besides, an old mate of mine is one of the bartenders there. I’m sure he can hook us up with some free drinks or something,” Ben added, practically dragging Joe towards the bar exit. Lucy and Rami followed behind without further argument.

After stumbling four or five blocks, the group finally found the correct street. A neon red sign reading “BAR” hung above the door and the name Sullivan Street was etched in white letters on the window.

Ben led the group inside the almost full bar. Joe couldn’t help but scan the room, Ben’s comment rolling around in his head. Not that he had been actively looking before tonight, but it had been awhile since Joe had been with someone. Mostly because his work took most of his focus away. But with only exam week left before the summer began, Joe felt like he finally had time for something. Or someone.

His eyes darted around the bar as the group continued to follow the blonde Brit. Ben wove through the crowd to the stairs leading to the second floor. The upper floor was much smaller and definitely less crowded. A small bar with one lone bartender was tucked in the corner, while the room was littered with high top tables. At the back of the room was a small stage boasting an array of instruments surrounding a large drumset with the words Parkway Diner neatly painted on the bass drum.

Ben made his way over to the bar, the group close behind. The lone bartender’s face lit up as Ben approached him. While the two exchanged pleasantries and a handshake, the group took seats at the bar, Joe continuing to survey his surroundings. A female laugh rang out and drew his attention to one of the high-tops closest to the stage. The laugh belonged to a small woman with bleached blonde hair that she styled in a messy pixie cut. Her burgundy crew-neck sweatshirt contrasted against the sea of tank tops and t-shirts the other bar-goers wore. A shiny black color coated her nails; standing out against the pale skin of her hand that held her beer.

Joe watched as she clinked that beer with the three men surrounding her at the table. Joe was immediately intrigued by the woman, who almost looked too young to be in a bar. He watched as she pulled out her phone, glancing at the screen before shoving it back into the pocket of her black jeans. She raised her hand, seemingly signaling something to the men around her. They immediately understood whatever the message was, as they all simultaneously left the table and headed through a door next to the stage.

Joe suddenly understood. They were the band, and they had five minutes until their set.

But the woman remained, downing the rest of her beer. She turned and surveyed the room, almost the same as Joe had been doing moments before. All of a sudden, her eyes connected with his, and he found himself smiling.

But the moment was brief, as the woman just continued to look around the room, not even noticing Joe.

“Earth to Mazzello!” Ben’s voice rang out in Joe’s ear, pulling him from his trance.

“Sorry, what?” Joe replied, turning to face his friend.

“Gwil, this inattentive asshole is my coworker, Joe,” Ben said to the tall bartender.

“Pleasure to meet you, Joe,” the bartender greeted, stretching his hand out for a shake. “I’m Gwilym, but call me Gwil.” Joe shook the man’s hand, quickly noticing how much the bartender towered over him.

“Nice to meet you, too,” Joe answered before quickly turning his attention back to the high top by the stage. But the woman had vanished, forcing Joe’s focus back to his friends. “Is there a band performing tonight?”

“Oh yeah. Friday nights we have a seventies pop and rock cover band called Parkway Diner,” Gwil responded, wiping down an empty glass.

“They any good?” Ben asked, playing with a lime on the bar before Gwil swatted his hand away.

“Oh, they’re way too good to be playing here. Their drummer and lead singer is incredible,” Gwil replied before gesturing to the rest of the group. “Drinks anyone? First round is on me.”

Drink orders were taken as a distracted Joe’s mind couldn’t shake the image of the small blonde woman. He looked at his watch, hoping the five minute warning she gave the other men was up soon so she’d reappear.

As if on cue, the other bar patrons began to cheer as the woman and her bandmates entered the stage. The woman pulled two drumsticks from her boot as she found her spot at the drum kit. Joe watched her curiously as she fidgeted with a microphone that was at level with her face.

Before Joe could inquire more about the woman, a guitar riff pierced through the bar. The woman seemed unfazed as she joined in on the drums, the rest of the band following suit. The woman leaned towards the microphone, never missing a beat before singing out.

Now if you're feelin' kinda low 'bout the dues you've been paying Future's coming much too slow And you want to run but somehow you just keep on stayin' Can't decide on which way to go Yeah, yeah, yeah I understand about indecision But I don't care if I get behind People livin' in competition All I want is to have my peace of mind

Joe was entranced by the woman. Her voice was beautifully raspy and harsh, perfectly fitting the hard rock song. She belted every note with ease, all while she drummed away. Joe found himself hypnotized by her passion as she performed, each note and drum beat piercing through him. He felt a tap on his shoulder and a glass of beer was shoved in front of him. He grabbed it, his eyes not leaving the stage for even a moment.

Now you're climbin' to the top of the company ladder Hope it doesn't take too long Can'tcha you see there'll come a day when it won't matter? Come a day when you'll be gone, whoa I understand about indecision But I don't care if I get behind People livin' in competition All I want is to have my peace of mind Take a look ahead, take a look ahead, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah

Joe was completely blown away. The woman’s fervor in her performance was intoxicating; she played the drums like it was the most important thing she could ever do. But the thing that Joe was most affected by was the woman’s absolute joy as she struck each drum and sang each lyric. She smiled and laughed, seemingly losing herself in the music. Joe was almost jealous; he wracked his memories, trying to determine if he’d ever been that happy in his life.

Now everybody's got advice they just keep on givin' Doesn't mean too much to me Lots of people out to make-believe they're livin' Can't decide who they should be, whoa I understand about indecision But I don't care if I get behind People livin' in competition All I want is to have my peace of mind Take a look ahead, take a look ahead, look ahead

She sang out the last lyric with such intensity, that by the time she stopped singing, Joe realized he had been holding his breath. The woman continued to beat the set in front of her, finishing the song by throwing her sticks above her head.

Joe hadn’t even noticed the crowd that had formed in front of the group until they roared with applause. Joe joined in, cheering and clapping for the performance.

“Holy shit, you weren’t kidding, Gwil,” Rami shouted over the crowd.

“Yeah, they’re the real deal,” Gwil replied before turning his attention to another patron.

The band played a few more songs for the continually growing crowd. Joe’s friends chatted away behind him, while his attention never left the stage. Despite the several drinks he had consumed since the night began, Joe felt sober as ever. He only knew one thing: he needed to meet the woman on the stage before him.

As each song ended, Joe prayed that it was the last, wanting nothing more than for the woman to return to her original high top so he could weave his way over to her. He wanted to be around her, hear her speak, ask her questions. He was so fascinated by her and he didn’t even know her name.

Finally, the desperate man got his wish.

“Thanks everyone, we’re gonna take a short break and be back in a little bit,” the guitar player announced through his microphone.

Joe’s eyes followed the woman as she squeezed past her drumset and the discarded instruments amongst the stage. And much to his delight, she headed right his way.

“Gwilly! The usual please,” the woman shouted before slapping both hands on the bar counter next to Joe, paying him no mind.

“Already got it ready for ya,” Gwil replied, handing her a mixed drink. “Oh, Mar, this is an old mate of mine, Ben. And these are his friends.”

“Gwil, you have a friend other than me? I’m proud of you, bud,” the woman teased before sticking her tongue out at him. Gwil flipped her off in response.

“I’m Lucy and this is my boyfriend Rami. You’re so talented!” Lucy gushed as she rested her hand on her heart. The woman chuckled before responding, the sound like music to Joe’s ears. He wanted nothing more than to make her laugh again and again.

“I’m Marley. And thanks,” she replied quickly before taking a sip of her drink.

“I’m Joe,” Joe added, unable to hide the huge grin that had taken up residence on his face. Marley simply nodded in response, seemingly uninterested in the group’s presence.

“Pleasure,” Marley responded coldly, turning back to Gwil and taking another sip of her drink. “Gwil, can you tell Paul the right amp is being weird again? I can still hear a tiny bit of feedback.”

Joe wanted her attention again, but the woman seemed more focused on the drink in her hand than anything else.

“Why can’t you tell him?” Gwil countered, pouring a beer for himself.

“He’s still mad I called him a cuntfuck, so he’s giving me the silent treatment,” Marley answered, before she downed the rest of her drink, slammed the glass on the counter, and headed back in the direction of the stage.

And just like that she was gone. The group was left speechless, with Joe caught up on the way she said “cuntfuck” so casually.

“Well she’s a friendly one, huh?” Ben sarcastically commented after a few seconds of awkward silence.

“Yeah that’s Mar for ya. She’s a bit rough around the edges. Took her months of playing here to finally warm up to me,” Gwil offered.

“Is she single?” Joe asked, his own words surprising him. He had been thinking it, but wasn’t planning on actually asking it. Gwil let out a deep belly laugh.

“Good luck with that one, mate. Like I said, tough one to crack,” Gwil said, continuing to laugh.

Joe furrowed his brow, put off by the man’s laugh at his expense. So she was not the most friendly person at first. Big deal, Joe had met people like her before. He had students who put up the same walls. He knew that under her hard shell, she was full of passion. He could tell by the way she lost herself in her music.

Joe knew he had to be patient. He knew people like that needed time to open up, to be vulnerable. He didn’t want to “figure her out”; he didn’t want to search through her soul and dig up her deepest insecurities. He wanted her to offer herself openly, to trust him enough to let down her walls.

Joe chastised himself for only saying two words to her, feeling like he fumbled their first meeting. But he wasn’t going to let that or Gwil’s reaction deter him.

Marley. Her name rang through his mind as he watched her return to her spot behind the bass drum, effortlessly twirling a drumstick between her fingers. The familiar intro of “Roxanne” by the Police rang out through the room. Joe spotted an empty high top closer to the stage, the same table the band had occupied before their first set. He made his way over to it, weaving through the droves of people singing along, leaving his friends and the judgmental bartender behind. He leaned on the table, nursing his beer as Marley and the rest of the band played their hearts out. Joe’s eyes centered in on the fiery blonde, watching every flick of her wrists, every arch of her back. She finished singing the first chorus and flung her head to the side, letting the music dictate her movement. She bobbed to the beat of the musical break, turning to survey the crowd.

And for the second time that night, her eyes locked onto Joe’s. This time he wasn’t grinning like an idiot. He kept his eyes soft, but his face almost completely neutral. Her stare lingered for a moment, narrowing her eyes and pursing her lips before turning back to the mic to start the next verse.

Progress, Joe thought. He only wanted to pique her curiosity in him, to even the playing field a bit. Marley had taken up so much space in Joe’s head already, he wanted her to wonder about him too.

The rest of the group eventually joined him at the high top as the night went on. Rami and Lucy swayed to the music and even sang along to some of the songs, with Ben more focused on the drunk brunette who had been hanging all over him for the past half hour. Every once in awhile, Marley’s eyes would meet Joe’s. Each meeting was like a duel, both parties challenging the other to look away. Joe won every time, having the advantage of not having to perform for a group of rowdy bar-goers.

After a few more classic seventies hits, the band finally finished their set to deafening applause from the crowd. Joe had to admit that Gwil was right about one thing, they really were way too good to be playing in a dive bar like Sully’s. Joe wondered if they played original music, filing that question away for when he actually got to have an actual conversation with Marley.

The three men each bowed while Marley simply gave the audience a half-assed mock salute before climbing off the stage and heading straight back to the bar. Joe stood up straight from the table, before an arm snaked around his shoulders.

“You ready to call it?” Lucy asked, resting her head against Joe. “Rami is seconds away from falling asleep. I think Ben fucked off somewhere with that girl so the three of us can split an Uber.” Joe glanced in the direction of the bar, the stools empty except for Marley, who appeared to be having a wildly dramatic conversation with Gwil.

“I think I’m gonna stick around, Luce. But thanks,” Joe replied, snaking his own arm around Lucy’s back to pull her into a side hug.

“Okay, text me when you get home so I know you’re not dead,” she added before peeling Rami off the high top.

“Will do.”

He patted his pocket and suddenly realized that Ben still had his phone. Well shit. He shook the thought from his head. He had more important matters to attend to.

Once the pair disappeared down the stairs, Joe began to make his way back over to the bar. He quickly downed the rest of his beer as he approached, giving him a reason to go to the bar other than the woman perched at it. Suddenly he was cut off by a hand landing on his shoulder.

“Hey, there you are. Where are the lovebirds?” Ben questioned, eyes darting around in search of the couple.

“They headed out. Where have you been?” Joe countered, shrugging Ben’s hand off.

“Oh you know, the bathroom,” Ben answered evasively. Joe then noticed the dark mark under Ben’s left ear and he suddenly understood.

“For fuck’s sake, Ben. Not even taking her back to your place this time? You just knocked it out in the bathroom of a shitty bar?” Joe teased, shaking his head.

“Hey, I offered, but the girl had no patience. I just gave her what she wanted,” Ben boasted. Joe rolled his eyes.

“What a gentleman,” Joe commented. “Can I have my phone back please?”

“So what are you still doing here?” Ben asked, slamming Joe in the chest with his own phone. Joe took the phone back and simply looked in the direction of the bar at the woman seated there. She was laughing at something Gwil had said, the sound carrying throughout the bar that was slowly emptying now that the show was over. Ben followed Joe’s eyes and understood immediately. “You trying to go for the drummer?”

“I just want to talk to her,” Joe admitted, his voice low.

“Well good thing your best friend is here to wingman for ya,” Ben offered, swinging an arm around Joe’s shoulders. Joe shrugged it off with a chuckle.

“Lucy is my best--”

“Shut up, let’s go,” Ben interrupted before heading towards the bar. He slapped his palms down on the counter, much like Marley had done before. He slid on the stool one away from Marley, giving Joe the opportunity to take the spot next to her. Maybe Ben did know what he was doing. Joe took his seat, briefly glancing to his right. He found Marley’s brown eyes glaring at him for a moment before turning back to her drink.

“Gwilym, another round for me and Joseph. The boy needs it,” Ben exclaimed. The tall bartender nodded before grabbing two glasses.

Joe pondered what to say to the woman next to him. He wanted to come off as cool and collected, not wanting to act like he was as engrossed by her as he truly was. He didn’t want her to think he was some slimy dude trying to get in her pants. He needed to establish himself as someone as intriguing as she was. Gwil handed him his beer with a nod and a knowing smile. He was onto Joe.

Joe pushed the bartender out of his head and leaned slightly in Marley’s direction.

“I’m sure you hear this all the time, but you’ve got a killer voice,” Joe offered, his own voice somewhat quiet so only she could hear him. He played the sentence back in his head. Was it too gushy? Was it too cliche? Suddenly his normal confidence when talking to women was disappearing. He was second-guessing himself. He found himself briefly glancing at Ben for his reaction, but the Brit was too wrapped up in a conversation with Gwil. He was on his own. Some wingman, Joe thought. But his trepidation was immediately sated by Marley’s slight chuckle.

“Eh, I don’t mind hearing it anyway. Thanks,” Marley answered, holding her drink towards him, almost as a peace offering. Joe smiled and clinked his glass against hers. They both took a sip of their respective drinks before Joe continued.

“It kind of begs the question, what the hell are you doing in a place like this?” Joe inquired, propping his elbow on the bar and his chin on his knuckles. Marley was unfazed by the question, giving a noncommittal shrug.

“Pays the bills,” she responded, fingers tracing the condensation on her glass.

“Why seventies music?” Joe asked. Marley finally turned to face him, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes.

“You are just full of questions, aren’t you?” Marley challenged. Joe was unsure if she was genuinely annoyed or just playing with him. He decided to take the risk.

“How else are we supposed to get to know each other?”

“Who says I want to get to know you?”

“Well you haven’t called me a ‘cuntfuck” yet, so I’m taking that as a good sign.”

Marley threw her head back with a cackle, the sound reverberating through Joe’s chest.

“Touche, random guy, touche,” she finally said, arching an eyebrow. “You haven’t been a cuntfuck. At least not yet.”

“I guess there’s still time,” Joe added with a smile. “And it’s Joe.”

“Right. Joe,” she corrected, unfolding her arms and relaxing a bit. Joe was now close enough to notice that her maroon sweatshirt had small white text across the front of it. Squinting to try and decipher it in the dim lighting of the bar, he suddenly recognized the words. The infamous “to be or not to be” speech from Hamlet.

“Shakespeare, huh?” Joe pointed out, nodding his head in the direction of the text in question. “A woman after my own heart.”

Another deep cackle. This one a bit more forced than the last.

“Not in the slightest,” Marley responded with a smirk, patting Joe’s thigh and turning back to sip her drink. The interaction was confusing, her words like a slap in the face but her touch warming every inch of his body. Joe couldn’t let himself get caught up in the moment. He had to keep the conversation going, or she’d lose interest.

“So do you agree with Hamlet?” Joe asked. Marley cocked her head, clearly surprised by either the question itself or the fact that Joe wasn’t discouraged by her rejection. Maybe both. She turned back to the man, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Are you asking if I agree that the concept of death is scary? Or if I agree that taking one’s life is the most powerful thing one can do the combat the shittiness of living? Because both questions are pretty heavy-handed considering we’ve just met,” Marley argued, leaning forward to emphasize her point.

“Would you rather I ask about your favorite color or whether you prefer Coke to Pepsi?” Joe countered, arching an eyebrow. Marley paused, eyeing Joe up and down and pursing her lips.

“I would rather ask you a question for once, oh curious one,” she finally answered. More progress. He had her hooked. “So. Joe. What do you do? You know, other than pester random women in bars.” It was Joe’s turn to chuckle.

“I’m a theatre professor over at the college,” Joe revealed. Marley smirked and nodded.

“Oh, yeah. That explains a lot,” Marley commented, before finishing her drink. Joe folded his arms this time, leaning closer.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

Marley opened her mouth to respond, but Gwil appeared.

“Sorry to interrupt, but we’re closing up shop soon,” the bartender admitted, swinging a towel over his shoulder and handing Joe his bill. Joe glanced at his watch. 1:57am. He groaned, knowing his time with the woman was up.

“Well, this certainly has been...a conversation,” Marley declared, drumming her fingers on her thighs. Joe signed his bill with a smile.

“That it was,” Joe replied, before grabbing a cocktail napkin. He jotted down his number and slid the napkin towards Marley. She eyed the napkin with an arched eyebrow. “In case you want to banter with me again.”

Marley’s eyes flashed between Joe and the napkin a few times. Joe held his breath, hoping the bold move would pay off. After a few more seconds and another pursing of her lips, she snatched the napkin and stuffed it into her pocket. Without another word, she hopped off the stool and disappeared into the door next to the stage.

Joe finally let out the breath he had been holding, sliding off of his own bar stool. Ben nudged him.

“How’d you do? I’ll be honest, I was not paying attention whatsoever,” Ben admitted, as the two men began to make their way down the stairs and towards the bar’s exit.

“Yeah, I noticed. And I think it went well. I gave her my number,” Joe answered. Ben chuckled and shook his head lovingly.

“Mate, you’re supposed to get her number,” Ben countered as he pushed the front door of the bar open for the two of them.

“I figured she probably wouldn’t give it to me if I asked. So I put the ball in her court,” Joe said with a shrug.

A short Uber ride later, Joe found himself back in his own apartment. He sighed as he settled into bed, Marley still at the forefront of his mind. Everything about her was absolutely fascinating. She had a youthful radiance about her, yet she was hard and cynical. She performed with such love for what she was doing, but the second she was off the stage, she hated the world. Joe hadn’t met anyone like her before.

But for now all he could do was let his mind wander, and hope that he’d hear from her soon.

All he could do was wait.

--

Taglist: @hellysthings​ @queenspur​ @briarrose26​

[lovelyfictional-imagines]

How to Disappear

So I’m painfully aware of how long it’s been, but I’m back with a new Doctor fic finally.

Song: How to Disappear - Lana del Rey

Word Count: 3142

John met me down on the boulevard Cry on his shoulder 'cause life is hard The waves came in over my head What you been up to, my baby? I haven't seen you 'round here lately All of the guys tell me lies, but you don't You just crack another beer And pretend that you're still here

             Heat emanated from the asphalt beneath her well-worn wedges, wrinkled dress fluttering about her legs as she strolled along a sidewalk bustling with every walk of life. Dozens of people that seemed to be straight out of magazines, performing and spectating, selling and advertising. A wry smile made its way across her dull, tired face. Vibrantly painting shops and other miscellaneous buildings passed on her other side, watching the world pass them by outside as others were constantly streaming inward and out. Everything she’d ever heard about California was true. Above her a lapis sky reflecting back, cotton ball clouds puffing along like steam engines above the crashing sea of humanity gathered near the ocean.

           (Y/N) swept her wavy (h/c) hair behind her, slipping through the crowd. Beautiful people met her face-to-face, brushing by her as if she belonged there. Thrumming with energy despite her complete state of utter exhaustion, her hand went to the bag dangling at her hip. Breaking from the crowd was almost difficult. There was something almost magical, the magnetism of being surrounded by so many eccentrics again. In the neon green light of the sign overhead, however, she felt the pull of something stronger: a cold beer after a weary day.

            Seating herself at the bar, she folded her legs neatly and searched in her purse. She took her compact out, reapplied her deep red lipstick, and ordered a cheap beer. The bartender almost smiled at her as she took her order, and offered her a lighter when the (h/c) pulled a cigarette from its pack. (Y/N) met the older woman’s gentle, watery blue eyes as she lit it, puffing out a cloud and murmuring a word of thanks. In return an ash tray was pushed her way, and she was alone with her thoughts again.

           It had been a long day. Or a week of long days, really. A long couple of months, would be a better descriptor.

           Six months ago she was climbing onto a plane with a breathtaking woman she’d only known for weeks, luggage stuffed haphazardly with clothes and other personal belongings. In the cold December air, she jetted for the New World alongside a goddess with a voice like honey and storms in her eyes, no sunlight on the horizon. Leaving London and a set of hazel puppy dog eyes in her wake. The pain flashed through them like lightning, her own (e/c) eyes watching it crackle across flecks of gold and green.

           Life was good for the first two or three months. They landed in the Big Apple, New York City, with a purse full of American currency and stars in her red, soggy eyes. From there they were unstoppable.

           Nights spent against each other, inhaling the sweet adrenaline of not knowing where they’d go next, heavy smoke, and the glitter her girl would dab onto her willowy cheekbones. Bus seats were their home when they couldn’t find somewhere to stay, shuttling off from town to town with no true destination in mind, just anywhere to run to. Anywhere they felt free. Until money started running low, and their dream crashed headfirst into an iceberg and sank, down and down until forgotten like ships from fairytales or dramatic novels or movies. And, they just so happened to bring their own Titanic down in the middle of Nevada.

           In the tiny house they’d managed to swing rent for, she felt every mile she’d traveled weighing on her shoulders. Even with the job she’d found, hunger pangs were still a reality. No longer salivating at the idea of escaping further into the American Dream, (Y/N) and the angel dripped and dripped until they were pools of tears that became oceans, rolling and thrashing, lashing out at each other. Gone were the featherlight kisses she’d pressed to her pillow-like lips, the intimate secrets and late nights spent lost in their own sultry twilight. Debauchery, it seemed, wasn’t a lifestyle she could realistically manage.

           Sticky, sweaty mornings spent groggy until hangovers set in were lost in time, dissolved like medicine in a glass of water. Biting kisses became biting remarks, and biting remarks grew into discussions that grew into (Y/N) moving out with all her savings. A bus ticket was her ticket to salvation, and she shipped off for California, the land of the freaks and free, apparently.

           Thick steps brought her onto the bus once again, and her thoughts were finally forced back to those eyes, loving her and hating her in equal measure as she ran from their affection. (Y/N) remembered how regret was a boulder sitting in her stomach, fear was the blood in her veins, He’d still come with hope things could’ve been different, and the last thing she remembered as she stared into their abyss is that she never deserved him.

           And in the midst of her misty-eyed reverie, an all-too-familiar touch ghosted her waist. Dabbing the wetness away with the napkin that had come around her almost empty drink, she turned to the love of her life with the same tenderness she’d always had.

           “Allow me to buy your next one, and the proceeding one, if I may.”

           The sound of his voice hummed through her like hot chocolate hitting a cold stomach. Flooded with remorse and the only true sense of comfort she’d ever known in her short life, she studied his sharp face. Thick, chestnut colored locks of hair flopped down over his forehead as he settled into the stool next to hers. Even in the middle of summer on the western coast, he wore his signature tweed coat over his brilliantly crimson bow tie. The bartender nodded at them from her spot behind the bar, sliding two more beers their way.

           All of a sudden it was their first meeting again, the one where she fell in love instantly.

           “Hello, Doctor.”

           “Hello (Y/N).”

 This is how to disappear This is how to disappear

             They danced on the floor after one two many rounds, (Y/N) thrown around the Doctor’s lithe frame as she cried for the fourth time that evening. One spent catching up, laughing like old times, and even talking of the future. Their future.

           “I’m sick, Doctor,” she whispered, voice slightly slurred as her damp cheek pressed into his chest. “I never wanted to leave you.”

           The Doctor stilled his swaying for a moment, but continued almost as if he hadn’t stopped. Raking his fingers clumsily through her long, dirty (h/c) hair, he pressed the thin line of his mouth to her forehead.

           “I know.”

 Joe met me down at the training yard Cuts on his face 'cause he fought too hard I know he's in over his head But I love that man like nobody can He moves mountains and pounds them to ground again I watched the guys getting high as they fight For the things that they hold dear To forget the things they fear

             The year was 1939, years before America joined the war. Word was coming from overseas, and it felt bleaker than the textbooks describe. (Y/N)’s stomach dropped when she heard of Germany’s attack against Poland, as if she didn’t know what came next. It was all worlds away, however, as she leaned against the concrete wall of the military base. Her curls were falling int he sticky southern heat of Louisiana, and she lifted her lit cigarette to her painted mouth. Across the yard, he sparred with a stocky man covered in tattoos.

           Travelling felt so good, for the first time in what felt like forever. The luxury of a confirmed bed to sleep in every time she chose, food being available almost instantly, but the true pleasure came in the company she kept while doing so. The Doctor, her sweet boy, the eternal man, took her in without a question. Her impending doom was a topic for another day whenever he wrapped her in his wiry but sturdy arms, eyes finding hers in confirmation she isn’t leaving again.

           Her mind is elsewhere as her own wandering eyes are focused on his back. In a baggy, soiled white tank top and hefty olive pants, dark boots that added two inches to his height, with shaggy hair that was already growing back, he seemed as if he almost belonged there. Landing solid punches left and right, he pulled back as his opponent countered. Dodging swiftly, he moved in again for a quick onslaught on the man’s side. Hunching over, the man seemed spent, and the Doctor turned his back on him. A mistake, however, when the man stood and lurched forward with a hairy-knuckled fist. She cried out, causing him to turn a few seconds too late as it collided with his sharp jaw.

           Hands covered her mouth as she watched him reel, spinning back with furious punches that came from some sort of inward strength. Sometimes she forgot he wasn’t human. Or, in actuality, she forgot he was so damn resilient. Two hearts pumping liquid gold through him, all the knowledge in the universe stacked carefully in his enormous mind, and thousands upon thousands of years of experience on his shoulders.

           Before she could process it, the match was over, and the Doctor was sauntering towards her. Sweat poured and clung to his unevenly tanned skin, dark eyes watching her with hunger. He grimaced at her as she took another drag, but it wasn’t the same disappointment as it once was. Now it was bitter resign, and he slid his shirt from around him and draped it across his shoulders before spitting blood and taking the cancer stick to hit it himself.

           “Where to next? Had your fill of propaganda and bigotry yet?”

           A dry chuckle left her throat as he smiled at her, causing her to roll her eyes. He puffed on as if he had his entire life. Carefully her eyes slid over his physique, taking in his muscles and dirt and grime, the bruises on his knuckles and face.

           “Or are you just trying to get off from watching me battle the entire army?”

           A sly smirk and light blush instantly bloomed across her face, and she dabbed at her brow with the handkerchief he’d made a show of giving to her in front of the other ladies she’d been working alongside.

           “Guilty as charged, hm? No, I believe we’ll be leaving tonight. Is that alright?”

           The Doctor merely watched the sun setting behind the other buildings, the sweet screams of cicadas loud in their ears as he reached for her. Throwing the butt down, his arm drew her to his chest and he dipped her, kissing her deeply. His mouth lately had become so sweet, it tasted of cherry pie and ashes and bittersweet unspoken words she knew were bursting in his chest like bubbles against the ground. Across the training grounds, other men whooped and whistled, and they simply remained wrapped up in one another, as always.

 This is how to disappear This is how to disappear

             Only having a year or two (approximately, give or take a few months) wasn’t as scary as movies or television shows made it out to be, or so (Y/N) thought.

           Given her diagnosis, she expected to feel her world crumble around her, or maybe for the sky to fall in the minute she stepped foot outside of her physician’s clinic. Instead, she felt numb. Not unhappy, but she simply did not feel. As she walked to the nearest gas station, she had a basic plan mapped out. Leave the Doctor on some sort of sour note so maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t try to follow her. Go somewhere to sit and decompose like all things do, maybe become fertilizer for wildflowers.

           Meeting Jacqueline was her self-described “sign” that she was in the right. Not like in television dramas where the main character was doing the wrong thing, but one reality show that made perfect sense, where she would leave both of the Doctor’s aged hearts broken and bitter, where he would be driven to scream her name out in frustration atop some building somewhere.

           Singing in a run-down pub was her only means on income, but she was still stunning in chipped heels and hand-me-down leopard print dresses. Deep mahogany hair that surrounded a porcelain portrait of perfection with slate blue eyes, false eyelashes, and a rose-kissed pout that (Y/N) never tired of meeting with her own until things went south. They fell into something that could’ve been more than infatuation if she hadn’t been so toxic and if (Y/N) hadn’t been hopelessly in love with someone else.

           In her head there was no other way of erasing herself, her existence entirely, without the Doctor’s help. So she went the human way out: selfishly, and without warning.

 Now it's been years since I left New York And I've got a kid and two cats in the yard The California sun and the movie stars And I watched the skies getting light as I write As I think about those years As I whisper in your ear

 A blissfully historic year and a half passed, and (Y/N) was surprisingly still kicking. Feeling weaker every day, it was almost as if she could feel the cancer spreading from her bones outward. Like a tree covered in vines or moss, feeling the tendrils rise and extend and envelop her. Sometimes she thinks the Doctor can tell she’ll pass soon, but she’s always prided herself on her acting. Or maybe he simply doesn’t want to believe it, only he knows but won’t tell.

Now it’s 1984, and she’s reclining on the front porch in a dusty town in Nebraska, feet propped against the chair’s arms. Corn surrounds them as far she can see, wind whistling through and shaking it. The open windows and breeze carry sounds of the Cheers theme and the Doctor rummaging through the kitchen, tinkering with something. On the horizon, the sun is setting and their friends are sprawled on a blanket on the front yard.

Amy and Rory laugh at the sky and whisper like lovestruck children, taking photographs and promising they’ll remember today forever, and (Y/N) can feel the warmth pooling in her chest at the immense amount of love she carries for them. As he wraps his arm around her and their lips lock, the clearing of one’s throat breaks her trance. Jumping at the sound, she playfully glares at her Doctor before realizing he was offering her a glass of iced tea, something he was surprisingly fond of after spending time in the southern United States.

“I never thought this would be where I’d want to be.”

The Doctor hummed in agreement as he sat in the vacant chair next to her, one hand cradling his own drink and the other instinctively falling over hers. As she gazed at the Doctor now, jacket abandoned and suspenders down around his waist, bowtie forgotten in their bedroom somewhere, she felt as if they’d been together for years. His socks were slouched around her ankles, brown with pastel spots, her fingers warm beneath his as the ice in her tea cooled her others, and she knew this was it. This was where she wanted to die. If an afterlife should exist, this would be the exact moment she’d choose for her own personal heaven. To live through every day with the ones she held dear, with not a care in the universe, forever.

That would be just fine.

Amy called to them, crawling up from Rory’s embrace, camera in hand. The pair approached them with the same warmth from her chest in their faces and cheeks, and it was so beautiful she could have wept.

“You look like those old married couples in paintings!”

And she took their picture.

(Y/N) wouldn’t have called them an old couple, but as she looked at her baggy jeans and heavy green sweater, she might have been swayed. They laughed regardless if they agreed, and the Doctor looked indignant as (Y/N) began to crawl into his lap.

“Just because I am an old man doesn’t mean I look it.” He huffed at the pair as they giggled and ran inside.

“Just like children.” She hummed, leaning her head against his as his arm slithered across her waist, accommodating her lighter than ever frame.

“I don’t look it, do I?” The Doctor asked, earning a chuckle in response.

“I dunno, I’ve always had a thing for older men. Maybe that explains why I’m so bloody attracted to you.

“Are you sure it isn’t my devilishly cunning mind or my incredibly chiseled jawline?” He smirked, turning to her with a wink.

“Oh yeah.” She finished, covering his mouth with hers.

Falling into the groove of the kiss, the Doctor dropped his glass as he lifted his hands to her hair. (Y/N) allowed hers to slide from hers as she reached for his face, neither minding the mess at the moment. Because at the moment, it was an alien and a human, completely intertwined with one another, burning their skin into each other’s, as if they could meld together into one and never be without.

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” the Doctor pulled away and began mouthing the words against the sickly skin of her neck, and she felt the words reverberate through her as if they were gospel, as if she were a holy vessel with divine intervention being delivered through her.

“Until every blade of grass falls away, until the winds cease, until all color fades from every star, I love you.”

“Mm, poetic for my gangly, awkward man, hmm?”

The Doctor breathed against her neck, no humor found tonight.

“No funnies tonight? Let me put my notecards away then.”

Pulling back, she pouted like a child in its parent’s lap. The Doctor was as serious as the grave, with pounds of suffering weighing his sad eyes down. (Y/N) turned and leaned into his chest, slouching down his torso before feeling his head lay on hers.

“Don’t be so blue, my great American novel is about to end spectacularly.”

           Her voice was a hoarse whisper. His response was silence.

           Until she felt his tears drip down into her hair, and (Y/N) simply rubbed his hands as the sun fell far from their sight. Laying in his lap, she felt him cling to her as he sobbed, all in silence.

 I'm always going to be right here No one's going anywhere

[cuefunkymusic]

es em h i had to repost this thing manually so i’m praying this works!

Hi anon!!! I went sort of overboard for this ask and ended up writing a lot, and it ended up being a scenario! uwu

mikitaka hazekura x reader // i’ll always be there for you!

word count: 1819

under cut for length! content warning for bullying (obv)

A/N- Sorry if the bullies don’t seem realistic or anything along those lines! I didn’t wanna make them too rude, since I didn’t wanna go too far in the fic!! I hope it’s alright!

You let out a sigh as the final bell finally rang, your classmates around you packing up their things and getting ready to leave. As you grabbed your bag, you headed toward the fountain outside of the school to meet up with your boyfriend.

He had mentioned something about the local ice cream shop finally being open, and since it was a Friday, you two would head there for a date after school. Humming to yourself as you made your way outside the school building, you noticed that there were many other students also sitting at the fountain.

Walking over, you found a spot and hoped that they wouldn’t mind you sitting there. A few minutes passed, and you felt yourself starting to sweat a bit. The temperatures had started to hike up the past few days as summer came close, but luckily you got out of school soon- it was only a few more weeks.

It was a beautiful day, perfect for ice cream, though. Checking your watch, it was only a few more minutes before Mikitaka would show up.

After a while, a bunch of girls walked by you, and you noticed them to be the more ‘popular’ group. They were all chatting amongst each other, but you felt your face start to heat up a bit as you heard your name mentioned by one of them.

“She’s just so, ugh… you know? Isn’t she from like, another country or something?” You felt your heart drop as you heard another girl speak, this time in a more snarky tone.

“Well, yeah. It just bothers me that she’s not Japanese, like it’s the JAPANESE Morioh Highschool? I almost expect her to start speaking in a different language or something, hahaha.”

“You think so? That’s funny! Just… ugh. Foreigners like her are so clueless sometimes.”

Angered, you stood up, fists clenched. “What was that?” you demanded.

You watched as all of them stopped walking, and one of the girls that you could assume was the leader looked in your direction. A look of disgust spread across her face as she spoke. “Look, do you think this is any of your business? Because it’s not! Just because we mention your name once doesn’t mean you have to run around sticking your dumb nose into our business,” she snapped, pointing her finger at you. “Plus, it’s not like you’d understand what we’re talking about!”

You bit your lip as you tried to think of something to say back to her- it wasn’t that you were scared, no- this wasn’t something that you thought you’d encounter, especially now of all days.

“Hah, see? She really is that dumb!” the girl yelled back to her friends, all of them laughing along with her. She hadn’t even given you time to respond… dumbfounded, as you opened your mouth to speak, you were cut off once again.

“Look, honey,” she hissed. “I know you aren’t one of us, so I’m saving you from having to struggle to respond! If you leave us alone we won’t bother you, okay?”

Struggling to find words to respond to the bullshit of a sentence you had just heard, you cleared your throat, your eyes beginning to sting a bit. “I just-”

“What’s going on here?”

You jumped as you heard the familiar voice of your boyfriend, turning to look at him. You gave him a quick look that you hoped communicated the message of ‘help me’ to him, but his face remained stern as he quite literally looked down on your tormentors.

“Who’re you?” laughed one of the girls standing in the back. “Yeah, who the hell do you think you are, interrupting our conversation, you freak?” yelled the girl who you assumed to be the ‘boss’ of the group, watching her step forward looking up at Mikitaka.

If you weren’t in the position you were in, you would have laughed at just how ridiculous this girl looked standing next to Mikitaka, who towered over her. But you swallowed a lump in your throat, silently praying that your boyfriend would be sensible.

“Why does that matter? It seems you aren’t being kind to my girlfriend,” he said, a slight edge in his tone of voice. “It would serve you well if you stopped right this instant.”

You felt your heart drop once again as the girl burst out in laughter, the rest of her gang laughing loudly along with her, though Mikitaka’s face stayed dead serious.

“You?” she cackled, pointing to you and then him. “You have a boyfriend? Hah! What a joke!” Turning to Mikitaka, she grinned maliciously. “And what do you think you would do if I didn’t stop, huh?” she asked, tauntingly. You looked over to Mikitaka, a frown on his face.

“Look. I do not want to get into any conflict with you, or anyone for that matter,” he sighed visibly done. “You seem to be unwavering with your actions. Due to that, I will be taking (y/n) and leaving with her. I’m terribly sorry if this isn’t to your satisfaction.”

Before they could do anything, you gasped as he took your hand and your school bag in his other hand, leading you away from the girls, the lead one yelling after you. “Hey! You freak, you can’t just walk away from me like that! Get back here!”

Gulping, you followed Mikitaka’s lead as he began to pick up his walking pace, and as you looked back, you saw that the girl had given up on trying to follow you, instead walking in a different direction with the same group. Looking up to Mikitaka, you saw his brows were still furrowed, a frown present on his face.

“Mikitaka, you… are you sure that walking away from that was a good idea? They’re ought to be after me now, big time…”

You felt him squeeze your hand as he looked down on you warmly. “Please, do not worry. I’ve seen similar things like this happen to other people, although I wasn’t expecting it to happen to you.”

You two stopped walking as he pushed a button to cross a crosswalk as he watched the road, cars driving across in a busy intersection.

“I will admit- one of the reasons that I asked you to come here with me today was to discuss this,” he said, looking back at you. “I am sorry that they were like that to you, I should have came sooner.”

Was he seriously blaming himself?

“It’s not your fault at all!” you insisted, his eyes widening. “You couldn’t have prevented this, it was my fault for provoking them in the first place, see?” You began to follow his lead again, walking across the crosswalk as you both made your way to the curb where the ice cream shop was.

“Well… hmm. I just don’t want you to feel bad about this at all,” he said, holding open the door for you. The two of you walked in, sitting down at a table. “We can just forget that this happened. I don’t want you blaming yourself anymore.”

Your heart hurt listening to him- he was so genuine, yet this was reality- even he wouldn’t be able to prevent people acting like those girls were.

“Miki… I… it’s very sweet of you to worry about me like this. But there are just some people out there that are like that, and it can’t be changed.”

He frowned. “Yes, I know. But… I was thinking, perhaps I could see if I could have all my classes changed so we’re always together? If it can be prevented, I’d rather they throw their insults onto me instead of you. They do nothing to affect me.”

You gaped, listening to his offer and taking in what he had said. “You- no, that’s too much. Besides, I’m sure that the school counselor wouldn’t be okay with that.” You sighed. “That’s a huge thing to demand, anyways- asking for all of your classes suddenly to be changed. Especially since it’s so close to the end of the year.”

“But I have my ways,” he said, his brows furrowing. “Besides, it seems that the teachers forget  that I’m even in their class…”

You put your hand on the table, hesitant. “Are… are you sure? I don’t want you risking anything.”

“I’m sure. I am willing to do anything, so long you do not worry,” he said, smiling assuredly. “You know… please, remember even though you are originally not from this place, it does not make you any less of a citizen here than anywhere else. I understand this, being an alien, though I must say that I have been blessed to meet you.”

You sat back in your chair, emotions overwhelming you. He was so damn sweet- in fact, sometimes you had trouble believing that he actually was a real person, especially someone that you were able to call yours.  

“I… well..” At a loss of words, you paused to recollect your thoughts. “Thank you, Miki. I say this all the time, but you really are one of the sweetest people that I’ve ever known, and you know that I love you more than anyone.”

Looking over to him, he was practically beaming, though he probably didn’t know how goofy of a smile he had on his face. He blinked, seemingly snapping out of the daze he was in.

“O-oh! Thank you, (y/n!) I’m glad that you love me for who I am,” he said, tilting his head. It was so adorable whenever he did that.

“Oh! I almost forgot. You know, I also have some friends- Josuke Higashikata, Okuyasu Nijimura, and Koichi Hirose- do you know them?” Raising an eyebrow, you shrugged. “I’ve heard their names before probably, but nope. I don’t know them personally. Why?”

“I’m good friends with them, and if I am remembering correctly, they also share classes with you. I can ask them to keep an eye out on you, especially since they are much more tough than I am.”

You smiled, a warm, fuzzy feeling filling your chest. “You’d do that?”

“Of course I would! They are very friendly people. I’m sure that they would not mind making sure you are okay.” He took a deep breath. “Additionally, they have heard of you before…” he said in more of a mumble, his cheeks beginning to flush a bit.

If you hadn’t been separated by the table between you, you would have hugged him right there and then. Sometimes, even words weren’t able to express how much you absolutely adored him.

“Oh my god Miki… you’re so adorable sometimes, you know that?”

His gaze averted, he waved his hand dismissively. “Please, you’re making me blush. What happened to getting ice cream, anyways?”

You laughed. “Of course, of course.” Getting up, you took his hand, walking over to the counter. “Now, what flavor did you want?”

[madboxwithagirl]

The Tragedies of Traveling

Authors Note: This is actually the first fic I ever started working on for this blog. I finally finished it last week, and now you all get to read it! Thank you to the amazing @timelord-winchester-22b for beta reading this for me! 

Prompt: I wanted to write a more realistic side of what it would be like to travel with the Doctor.

Summary: No one ever said that traveling with the Doctor would be easy, but you never expected it to be this hard. You never expected to be traumatized by the things you saw. And you never expected to fall in love with the Doctor.

Warnings: Angst, crying, trauma, mentions of blood, mentions of death, mentions of homicide, suicidal thoughts

Words: 4,197

Ever since you were a young child, everyone around you would tell you not to talk to strangers. They would tell you to never get into their vehicles, no matter what offer they had given you. You were told to always let someone know where you were or where you were going when you decide to leave your cozy home. You always listened to and followed every one of those orders. Yet, you threw away every lesson as soon as you met that madman with his magical blue box. The day you met the Doctor was the best day of your life even though you had almost lost it to the robotic men who had nothing better to say than “DELETE! DELETE! DELETE!”

You knew that from the moment you broke that little never-get-into-a-stranger’s-vehicle rule your life was going to change for the better. Up until then, you had lived a simple life in a simple little town. You loved and adored your town, but you also wanted to get out and explore the world and all that it had to offer. What you didn’t know that you wanted, however, was to explore all of those wonderful planets and times that you didn’t know existed. You will never forget the confusion that you had felt when you first walked into the blue box. Your first thought was, naturally, “B-but…How could it possibly be this large? It’s so small on the outside!” You didn’t realize that you had spoken your thoughts at first, but the human-like alien’s laughter made you realize your mistake. When he told you that he could travel anywhere and anywhen you wanted, you were a slight bit shocked, but after seeing a structure that really shouldn’t be able to fit inside a small police box, you accepted it with ease. When he asked you to join him on a trip, you immediately said yes.

You quickly learned that traveling wasn’t as easy as you expected it to be. First off, this incredibly smart man seemed to have many issues trying to pilot his own machine correctly. When he meant to take you to a well known festival on a small little planet, he accidentally traveled to about year in advance. Now this usually wouldn’t be an issue, but the day you arrived at just so happened to be the day when severe civil war broke out. You had seen more bloodshed than you had ever thought was possible in such a short amount of time, and, while you and the Doctor were eventually able to stop the violence, you were terrified. When you finally got back into his blue box—it was called the T.A.R.D.I.S., you had learned—he offered to take you home. Despite your tattered clothing being covered in the blood of the fallen, you declined. You had been so so so terrified, but you just couldn’t force yourself to leave. You continued to find yourself in dangerous situations thanks to the man’s poor driving skills.

Secondly, the Doctor seemed to have a large amount of pain hidden behind his gorgeous brown eyes. He would often try to hide his pain for your sake, but you weren’t fooled. You had been in pain of your own and knew the fake smiles all too well. His bad days would be few and far between, but those few bad days would be difficult on the both of you. The first truly bad day happened a few months after you had started traveling with the man. It had started off normal enough. You had woken up a tad bit early, which was nothing out of the ordinary, and done your typical morning activities before making your way to the T.A.R.D.I.S. console room. As you greeted the Doctor, you saw that he was staring intensely at nothing in particular with tears falling down his cheeks. As he heard your voice his head snapped up, his intense gaze morphing into slight fear. Your eyes widened as you locked eyes, a bit scared by what you saw. The Doctor would be upset sometimes after a bad trip, but he was never this bad. When he opened his mouth to speak you ran and held him close, doing whatever you could to help your friend. That wasn’t the last time you saw him cry.

Thirdly, and this is what you considered the most difficult of setbacks, you were in love with the Time Lord. It was true that when you first laid eyes on him you saw him as incredibly attractive. His hair constantly looked like hands had been running through it (Sex Hair, as you had dubbed it), his eyes were a shade of brown that you found to be strikingly similar to a piece of chocolate, and he had a smile that made you have to smile back simply because it was so gorgeous.

So, yes, you found him to be a beautiful alien man. But as the weeks turned into months and the months turned into years, you realized you were deeply, wonderfully, painfully in love with the Doctor. You loved his desire to help those he didn’t even know. You loved his fire and his will to continue on even when the most reasonable solution is to give up. You loved how he would give everyone a second chance, even though most never seemed to take him up on his offer. But what you found that you loved the most about the madman was how he took care of you. When you were hurt, he would drop everything and tend to your needs. If you needed to vent or simply just let your mind be free, he would grab you your favorite drink or snack and listen. He would read you books when you were sick, wipe your tears when you cried, and keep you company on the nights when you couldn’t sleep. You were in love with your best friend.

And it all hurt.

The death and bloodshed would keep you up at night, you felt that you were of no help to the Doctor when he was breaking, and you were breaking from being secretly in love with him. Your thoughts were becoming darker and darker by the day as you fell into a depression and began to distance yourself from the man you loved. The years went on and none of it seemed to get better. The Doctor would often try to figure out what was causing the sad eyes and sleepless nights, but he simply couldn’t. Whenever he tried to ask, you would say that you just weren’t feeling well or that you were tired from the previous trip. The Doctor didn’t believe these lies, but he wouldn’t push you to talk. He would simply cross his arms and sigh before making his way back to the console room. He wasn’t annoyed with you by any means, but with himself. He thought that perhaps he did something wrong and that you didn’t know how to tell him that you were angry with him. Or maybe you were getting sick of him and his days of pain and sadness. His brain would come up with many rational—and irrational—reasons as to why you don’t want to spend time with him. Eventually he would come up with an explanation that hurt him more than any other and the more he thought about it, the more he believed it.

He began to believe that maybe you didn’t want to be on the T.A.R.D.I.S. with him anymore.

His hearts would ache at the thought of you wanting to leave him. Just as you loved him, the Doctor loved you too. You had stayed with him through so many years, through so many things, from failing to save lives to holding him close and rubbing his back after he spoke of the horrors of what he did to Gallifrey. But despite that, you had started to show aversion to being around him and visiting new places. He didn’t know what had caused it, but he couldn’t stand to see you in pain. He needed to find out the truth even if it broke his hearts.

You were laying in your bed in the special bedroom that the T.A.R.D.I.S. had made for you. You stared at the star-covered ceiling, looking at your favorite constellations twinkling while you thought of all of the reasons why this amazing adventure turned into an angsty burden on your heart and mind. Soon enough the self-hating thoughts made their way back to you.

Why did he ever let me join him? I’m nothing more than a burden.

He’s always so annoyed with me, like he’s tired of me.

He’s going to kick me out, I just know it.

I should leave before he gets the chance to send me away.

Maybe I should just die.

You shivered at the final thought, but you were starting to become desperate. You knew that you could never live a normal life again back in that small town when the past five years had made it so the entire universe was your oyster. You’d be forced to work at a job that you didn’t want to work at, be around people you didn’t want to be around, live a life that you didn’t want to live. The thought of taking your own life had made its way into your troubled mind many times in the recent years, but they became more prominent during the past year. You used to be good at ignoring the idea, more so when it became a common thought, but it eventually weighed on you too much and it shattered you. You found yourself with a few choices: continue to live on the T.A.R.D.I.S. with the Time Lord but be miserable, leave the Doctor and be miserable, leave and die, or stay and die.

If I stay, you thought, I would still be hurting, but at least I’d be near him until he eventually sends me away forever. But if I go now, I wouldn’t get to see him ever again. I could leave and end my life when he kicks me out, or I could die here in the place I love most. But then he would find me afterwards and I just don’t want him to see more death.

Tears began to well up in your eyes, blurring your view of the brightly burning stars. The options were overwhelming you and you really had no idea what to do. You wanted to stay with all your heart, but you knew that one day, perhaps soon, you would have to leave. Whether you were going to leave on your own terms or his, however, was the question. Before you could overthink any longer, you heard a knock and the familiar voice of the man who swept you away.

“I know that you’re awake. May I come in?” Your heart began to race, the seriousness of his voice scaring you. Why was his voice so serious? Did you do something wrong? What did you do wrong? You must have done something wrong. You took a deep breath and tried to blink away the tears before giving the Doctor permission to enter. As he come in and sat in front of you, you saw that he had both a sad and serious look on his face and your heart began to beat even faster. You sat up and tried to make yourself look as cheerful as possible before speaking once more.

“Hey Doctor! I’m so sorry that I haven’t been out to the console room for a few days. I’ve been getting some reading done on some of the books I bought from—“

“Why do you keep lying to me?” You could have sworn you felt your fast-beating heart stop before it sped up even more.

“W-what? I don’t know what you’re talking abo—“

“Why are you avoiding me, love? Did I do something wrong? Because I can fix it. I just need you to let me know. Did something happen that I didn’t know about? Did you get hurt on an adventure? Are you sick? D-do,” the Doctor took a shaky breath before making himself ask, “Do you want to leave the T.A.R.D.I.S.? Do you want to go home?” Upon hearing him wondering if he was cause of your isolation, the tears that you had managed to keep at bay started to run down your face silently. Hearing him call you love made more tears chase after the first. Hearing him express concern for your well being caused your face to contort as you tried to stop the chase. And when you heard him ask if you wanted to leave you let out a soft cry and tried to hide the shame on your face. Upon seeing you try to hide away, the Doctor pulled you close and held you as tightly as he could. Your ear was placed on his chest and you heard his twin hearts beating wildly.

“Oh darling, please tell me what’s troubling you. You can tell me anything, you know that? It doesn’t matter what it is. It can be silly human things or big space things. It can be about me, you, Jack, anybody. I just need to know. I need to help you. I have to help you.” The last one was more to him than to you. Of course he wanted to help you, but he could never live with himself if he didn’t do what was best for you. He needed you to be happy, to be cared for, to be alright.

As he spoke and you began sobbing, you wrapped your arms around the Doctor and held onto him as strongly as you possibly could. You didn’t want him to go away. You didn’t want to lose him. As you continued to sob, the Doctor continued to speak, his voice beginning to waver.

“I don’t know what caused this, and I don’t know why you won’t tell me. You weren’t always like this. You were so happy to get out and go on a new adventure with me. But then you just started to avoid me.” He himself started to have falling tears with more sliding down his cheeks. They all landed in your hair. “I’ve been trying to figure out for ages as to why you don’t want to continue going out and traveling with me. I…The only thing I can think of is that you just don’t want to be around me. And that you want to leave me.” He let out a cry as he finished his sentence. He let out a quivering breath and continued. “I…I understand if you want to leave. I won’t stop you. Just please, if you’re going to leave, tell me why. I need to know.” The Doctor stopped speaking as he too began to cry.

Your heart hurt. It hurt with every beat, and it was beating far faster than it should have. You had caused the Doctor so much pain, but worse than that you made had him believe that he was the cause of your sorrows. Yes, your undying love for him was part of it, but that was in no way his doing. It wasn’t his fault that he was such an incredible creature. It wasn’t his fault that you were suffering from the trauma of traveling. He would never intentionally bring you to a place where you would be hurt in any capacity. And it certainly wasn’t his fault that he, too, was suffering. He was a victim of circumstance, just like you. None of it was his fault, and he needed to know that.

You gently pulled away from him, his arms refusing to let go for a moment or two before giving in to your desires. He kept his eyes closed, not wanting to see your face when you inevitably told him that it was because of him that you have been so distant lately. You brought a hand up to his cheek and wiped away his tears, a sad smile on your face.

“Oh Doctor, I…” You stopped. You couldn’t say that you didn’t want to be around him, because that wasn’t exactly true. You wanted to be around him, but at the same time you wanted to be as far away from him as possible. You couldn’t say that you didn’t want to stop traveling with him. The thought had crossed your mind a number of times. You didn't want to lie to him, but you couldn’t be truthful either.

You dropped your hand from his cheek, opting instead to hold his hands in your own. They instantly turned so they could hold yours in return. You took a deep breath and willed yourself to continue, staring at your intertwined hands instead of his face.

“It’s…complicated. I love traveling with you. I really, truly do. But the violence, the-the bloodshed,” you took a shuddering breath, “is so horrifying. I go to sleep at night and all I see is the blood. All I hear are the screams. It’s tearing me apart.” You squeaked out the last word, trying hard not to sob once again. You felt the Doctor’s hands squeeze your own in an attempt to sooth you. It urged you to continue on. “No matter what I do, I can’t make it all go away. Trip after trip, I watch so many beings die, beings that should have had more time. I keep thinking about their friends and families, the ones that miss them more than anything. And how there was nothing we could do to stop the carnage.” You closed your eyes tightly, trying to keep the tears from falling.

“And you…” You heard him take a deep breath, ready for you to tell him exactly what he had done wrong. “You are…amazing.” His eyes snapped open at your words. That wasn’t what he was expecting at all. “You are so magnificent. Everyday, I find myself amazed by how wonderful you are. You are beyond smart, even though you show it in such strange ways.” You chuckled softly, thinking of all the silly little names he’d give intricate concepts or inventions. “You’re beautiful in every sense of the word. You’re the most beautiful being I’ve ever met. But…” The Doctor braced himself. This was it. This was where it all ended for the two of you.

“I…You’re too wonderful, Doctor. No creature compares to you. Not one. I can never go back to living a normal, human life. I’ve spent so long on this ship, seen so many lovely things, met so many phenomenal people. When the trips are good, they’re incredible. I love it when you take me to your favorite places in the universe because I get to know a bit more about what makes you tick. I love it when you tell me facts about these places, peoples, histories. You whisk me away to places you know I’ll adore. You take care of me when I’m not feeling one hundred percent. You make sure that I’m well taken care of. You’ve trusted me with your darkest secrets, let me help you when you felt helpless. Doctor, this…I’ve fallen in love with this life. I’ve fallen in love with-“ You cut yourself off. You weren’t ready to say those specific words in that specific order, but you knew that this was the only chance you’d get. So you took it.

“I’ve fallen in love with you. Everything you are, I love. I love you more than you could ever imagine. I don’t think I can ever love anyone again, not the way that I’ve loved you. You’ve ruined me, Doctor, and you’re not even mine. You’re not even mine…” You separated your hands from the Doctor’s, covering your mouth with your hands as you let out a new set of sobs. You had no idea what exactly was coming next, but you knew that this was the end of the road for you and the Doctor. You waited for him to tell you that it was best that you leave, that he didn’t reciprocate your feelings.

You gasped as you felt strong arms pull you back in. You felt his lips leaving rough kisses on the top of your head. You felt his breath tickle your scalp every time he pulled away. And you felt your heart burst as you heard him say the words you’d been dying to hear for so long.

“My darling, I love you. Oh, how much I love you. I’ve loved you since the first time you saw me cry. I knew, oh I knew that I’d never find another as compassionate and forgiving as you. Even after I told you of Gallifrey, of all of the the horrible things that I have done, you stayed right here by my side. How could I not fall in love with you?” More tears fell from his eyes and yours, but this time out of joy and relief. You loved the Doctor. The Doctor loved you too.

You wrapped your arms around his body, somehow pulling him closer. You both fell back on the bed, simply laying in each other’s arms as you took in the moment. Your happy cries turned into joyous laughter, your joyous laughter turned into content chuckles, and your content chuckles turned into lovesick giggles. You pulled away to look into his eyes, his own staring back at you. You let your forehead rest against his, soft smiles on both of your faces.

“I love you,” you whispered, so soft that he almost hadn’t heard it. His hand found its way to your cheek, his thumb rubbing softly along your skin. He pulled back slightly only to come back and kiss your lips. He was slow and gentle, trying not to break the magic of the moment. A hand of your own slowly made its way to the back of his head as you mimicked his movements, loving every second of his kind touch. He eventually pulled away, his breath wisping against your lips.

“I love you too, my dear,” he said softly before leaving a soft kiss on your cheek. He pulled you back to him, one hand rubbing your back while the other held your head to his chest. You listened to his hearts beat in a steady rhythm, a stark contrast from earlier. Exhaustion from the day’s events began to creep on you, his heartbeats lulling you to sleep. Before you could enter a peaceful sleep, however, the Doctor started to speak softly.

“Sweetheart?” he asked, making sure you were awake before he went on. You nodded and hummed softly in response. “I know what it’s like to be mortified by the awful things in the universe.” You lifted your head up and looked at him. He was staring at the ceiling, the stars reflecting in his beautiful eyes. “I’ve seen terrible things. Committed horrible crimes. You already know that. They will never leave me, those memories.” He glanced down at you before continuing. “But I’ve learned how to cope. Had I not, they would have eaten me alive, much like they’re doing to you now.” You looked away, embarrassed that you did not hold the same resolve as he did. A hand gently caressed your cheek and forced you to look back up at the Doctor, his old eyes full of love and adoration. “Darling, if you will allow me to, I want to help. We can find someone who will help you learn to cope as well. If…” He gulped before continuing. “If going home and no longer traveling with me would be better, I will—“ He was cut off by your lips on his. While your first kiss had been sweet and full of love, this one was rough and full of desperation. Your hands quickly grabbed onto his hair while his arms wound around you tightly, terrified to let each other go. You were both panting when you pulled away, eyes wild and hearts beating quickly.

“I don’t want to leave you. I never want to leave you. I want to spend my life right here, with you, in the T.A.R.D.I.S., exploring the universe.” His signature smile appeared at this, causing you to smile right back. No words needed to be exchanged. You knew you could stay. You readjusted yourselves so that you were both under the warm sheets. Your head went back to his chest as his arms fell around you once again. Cozy and content, you closed your eyes and allowed yourself to finally rest. As you fell into a dreamless sleep, you felt his lips on your temple and heard him whisper softly.

“We’ll get through this, together.”