#like the gang knew they were flat out lying to people lol they knew they were hyping up the wrong crowd. rude as hell but funny too

[bixels]

On one hand, really funny that they straight up lied. On the other hand, pretty mean that they straight up lied. But on the third hand, I knew they were never doing HL2AIVR.

#i'm not that invested in hlaivr stuff i watched and enjoyed it years ago but was looking forward to today #i did feel disappointed when i skipped forward and realized “oh this is the whole thing ok” #like the gang knew they were flat out lying to people lol they knew they were hyping up the wrong crowd. rude as hell but funny too #but ya hlaivr was fun because it was spontaneous and everyone had shitty mics and it was improv until it wasnt #hard to do that again without like. #good thing i was rewatching bb clips right before this stream. #playing to the crowd #personal #delete later #i do feel like bb stuff is inherently less fun because there's already a huge established story with all the characters so this feels like #an rp au. versus hl where everyone was basically a blank slate to play off of. but hey that's probably intended. no more meow meows

[joe-mazzello-archive]

Wait For It

Rating: PG-13

Word Count: 7.1k (lol this was supposed to be a quick one)

Warnings: a bunch of people being super insecure, angst again (sorry gang), some sexy thoughts but no actual smut, cheating

A/N: sooooo i’ve been up in my hamilton feels as of late so this fic is the result of that. shoutout to my favorite bridge troll @brianmays-hair​ for the original prompt that inspired this plus letting me bounce ideas off of her when my brain can only form partial thoughts, ily babe. also, shoutout to my first gwil-centric fic! of course joe makes an appearance because i’m the worst. eventually i’ll write a fic that joe is not in lol. also, y’all may not like yourself in this one. sorry :(

(also i know everyone uses this gif, so sue me)

I look into your eyes and the sky’s the limit.

Joe had just…always been there. He was the friend who never strayed no matter how far apart you were. When your lives seemed determined to pull you in different directions, you didn’t let it. The two of you could go an entire year on separate sides of the country, but once reunited it was like you were never apart. You understood each other in a way that was hard to define. Your connection ran deep, deeper than any other connection you’d ever had with another person.

Falling in love with Joe Mazzello was hard.

It was hard because you didn’t want to. You didn’t want to complicate things or ruin the connection you had. Every urge to kiss him or hold his hand or pull him into your bed just frustrated you. How could your heart betray you like that? It set you up for failure. Every romantic prospect was subconsciously compared to Joe. They weren’t as funny as him, weren’t as charming as him, didn’t understand you as well as he did. It wasn’t fair to you or to Joe or to all of the people who tried to win you over. 

Every fantasy you had of Joe waking up one day and realizing you were the one for him was met with anger and frustration at yourself. His golden eyes, those eyes that held so much happiness and adoration inside of them, haunted you, slipping into your dreams at night, your thoughts during the day. You mentally punished yourself for feeling jealous of the girls that came and went from his life. He was your friend, but he wasn’t yours. And he never would be. You knew that. But your heart had other ideas.

And then came Gwilym.

You’d heard all about him from Joe, his excited texts about his newfound friendships with his castmates regaling story after story about the tall man. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t intrigued by Joe’s new friends, it had been awhile since you’d witnessed Joe have such deep connections with people that he had only known for a few months.

You were Joe’s “date” to a Bohemian Rhapsody screening in LA; his way of trying to make up for the months he spent away from you. You had been dragged to a hotel suite before the event, an apparent pre-party that the cast and production team would all be in attendance for. Ben was polite and reserved in his introduction, revealing he had looked forward to finally meeting his competition for the title of Joe’s Best Friend. You were unfazed, however; you knew that title would always belong to you.

Rami wrapped you up a big hug, insisting there would be less time between your next reunion. He promised a catch-up lunch date in the future, once things slowed down for him. You knew things would never slow down for such a powerhouse talent like Rami, but you appreciated the gesture. Lucy was a delight, greeting you like an old friend and grilling you for embarrassing stories about Joe she could hold over his head. You could see yourself finding a lifelong friend in the bubbly blonde.

And then Joe’s hand was on your shoulder, leading you to a familiar gentleman who towered above you, who’s piercing blue eyes gazed at you with a warmth that you hadn’t felt in ages.

Falling in love with Gwilym Lee was easy.

It was almost scary how easy it was. Everything about him brought you joy. His laugh, the way he’d stroke his own beard in thought, his ability to be a serious gentleman one second and a huge goofball the next. He let you ramble about whatever and listened intently with a huge smile on his face. He made you feel safe and completely seen; with one look, he communicated that yes, he saw you and he liked what he saw. Maybe even loved it.

There were times where you’d be in his arms and held you like you were going to disappear. Those were the nights you spent showering in him in affection. You wanted him to feel safe, feel seen, just like he always made you feel. You would touch him, caress him, take care of him, make him feel good, all while making sure he knew without a doubt that you weren’t going anywhere.

Gwil made you the happiest you’d been in a long time. You were able to love someone freely; no more punishing yourself. No more overthinking or doubting or hating. Because you realized one day that yes, you loved Joe Mazzello and you always would. But you were in love with Gwilym Lee.

It had been six months since your first meeting when the two of you sat on your couch in your apartment, him holding your hand in both of his, timidly stroking the soft skin with his thumb. His nervous demeanor had you worried for what felt like the first time since he came into your life. Had he seen through your confident facade? Had he realized that you were too much for him? Too loud, too intense? Loved him too hard, too fast?

“I know it’s only been half a year,” he admitted timidly. “But, I just...I feel like this is...this is real.” Your worried frown faded to a soft smile as he finally looked up from the floor, meeting your gaze. You could see everything he was feeling in his eyes. Anxiety, worry, yes. But also so much love. And all of a sudden, you knew exactly what he wanted to ask you. 

“And I want to nurture that,” he continued. “I want this to grow. And I understand if you think it’s too soon or even a ridiculous request--”

“Gwil, just ask me already.”

He took a big breath and squeezed your hand before speaking again.

“What do you think about coming to London? As in, moving to London. With me.”

You didn’t hesitate for a second. You didn’t have to. You knew the answer as soon as you figured out what the question was.

“Yes.”

His furrowed brow and distressed gaze melted away in relief and were replaced with watery eyes and that bright smile you knew and loved. He kissed you like he had just won the lottery, gripping you tight against him and pouring every emotion into the kiss. You kissed him back just as fiercely, the two of you communicating entirely by tasting each other.

When you pulled back for a moment to breathe, you didn’t go far, keeping your forehead pressed against his. His ocean blue eyes, those eyes that held so much promise and love inside of them, comforted you, ensuring you that you had found him, you’d found your person.

I’m down for the count and I’m drownin’ in ‘em.

◈◈◈

Love doesn't discriminate between the sinners and the saints, it takes and it takes and it takes.

It wasn’t love at first sight for Gwil. No, he was in love with you long before he met you. The stories Joe had told him about his best friend back home painted a picture of this extraordinary person with a big heart and a love to laugh. Gwil didn’t understand how he could be so attached to a person he hadn’t even laid eyes on yet.

He was embarrassed at how often he combed through your Instagram, scrolling through every picture of your bright smile, wanting nothing more than to be the one to cause it. He was so tempted to hit the follow button but worried it would be weird. Did you even know who he was? Had Joe told you about him? Or did you live in blissful ignorance of the man who pined after you from afar?

Gwil had come to terms with the fact that he’d probably never meet you. You lived back in LA, working as an interior designer. Your paths would never cross and Gwil accepted that. He assumed his oddly strong feelings towards you would fade over time. Once the shoot was done and Joe wasn’t around as much, the stories would stop. Gwil would move on.

And then suddenly you were standing right next to Joe, smack in front of Gwil, beaming up at him with that familiar smile, your hand outstretched.

“You must be Gwilym!”

You did know who he was. He wasn’t sure if that was worse.

You didn’t know how unfair he’d been to you. He had crafted this vision of you in his head comprised of anecdotes from Joe and the little bit of information he could discern from your social media. You were this perfect person in his mind that no one could ever live up to.

And then you surpassed that person in every way.

You were so beautiful. Gwil didn’t understand how you could be even more otherworldly in person. Your smile lit up his entire world, your eyes were an abyss he loved to get lost in. You floated through the world with an elegance Gwil thought only possible in dreams. And when he finally had you under him, your smooth skin beneath his fingertips, he was convinced you were an angel, an ethereal being sent from beyond. Gwilym Lee was in love with your body.

You were so smart. The ideas you had, the questions you asked, the challenges you threw at him always had Gwil so impressed with your intellect. You had the ability to think of things long before Gwil thought of them. You would spout out words of wisdom as though you had centuries of experience and knowledge. You could derive phrases that pulled at his heartstrings or sent the blood in his head down south. Gwil would watch you as you burrowed into the corner chair you’d claimed as your own during your first visit to his flat in London, clad in his own sweater, either reading from your stack of books or scribbling away in your own. Gwilym Lee was in love with your mind.

You were so loving. You cared deeply about your friends and family, going out of your way to make sure everyone in your life was taken care of. Your heart was so vast and had room for so many people that at first Gwil was worried he was misunderstanding the situation. Was the affection he received from you the same you gave to everyone else? Was he the only one to hold you like this or was he not alone? You had so much love to give, Gwil almost thought himself selfish for wanting you to himself. But you and your infinite wisdom and your big heart saw right through Gwil’s insecurities. You whispered words of tenderness into his ear, things he didn’t even know he needed to hear, and his doubts were sated once again. Gwil didn’t understand how he got so lucky, to be in your orbit, and to have your love shone upon him like the brightest star in the sky. You made Gwil love more freely, helped him tear down walls he had put up in his younger years when he had been used and abused and treated like nothing. How one person could come into his life and make it better in every single possible way, he would never comprehend. Gwilym Lee was in love with your heart.

Gwil realized these things only a few months after meeting you face to face. He was almost...ashamed at how hard and fast he fell for you. To him, his intense infatuation seemed almost childish, immature. It was too soon. There were too many things standing in the way, too much distance between you two. He was foolish, setting himself up for heartache. You had made it seem so easy, loving freely and fiercely, and Gwil had followed suit. But he knew from experience that it wasn’t realistic long-term. That intense love would burn out, becoming a black hole that would suck away the light from his entire world. You were too beautiful, too smart, too loving. It was too good to be true that Gwil would get to keep you. There were so many people out in the world that you deserved more, that deserved you more, and one day you would wake up and realize that. It wouldn’t be your fault, he would never hold it against you.

And he knew how it would happen. He knew who it would happen with. Gwil was doomed from the start, really. He would never be able to compete with what you had with Joe. The bonds you two shared ran deep, built upon years and years of being each other’s person to run back to, shoulder to cry on, friend to share a laugh with.

Gwil hated that he felt like he had to compete with Joe. He loved Joe and he loved you and he loved that the two of you loved each other. But he felt like he was running out of time. Especially being so far away from you most of the time. When a majority of your interactions took place over Facetime and text, and Gwil had to watch as you went out to lunch with Joe or went hiking with Joe or explored new bookstores with Joe, Gwil’s gut instinct was that his time with you was almost up.

So in a desperate attempt to save what he assumed was a doomed relationship, Gwil held your hands and asked you to move to London with him.

And you said yes. Without even blinking. And with a huge smile on your face.

The relief Gwil felt was unbelievable. He wasn’t crazy. He wasn’t in too deep. He was on equal ground. With that one word and your unwavering gaze, every insecurity Gwil had ever felt about you and your relationship vanished into thin air. You -- beautiful, smart, and loving you -- wanted to uproot your life and move to a different country to be with him.

How did he get so lucky?

It’s the thought that rang through his head every single day after that conversation. He thought it while he helped you with job and visa logistics. He thought it while he helped you set up listings for selling your apartment furniture. He thought it while you fell asleep with your head on his shoulder on the flight back to London. And he thought it while you whined out his name in bed the first night in your now shared flat.

That thought morphed and molded itself in Gwil’s head. He was lucky. He had somehow won the lottery on significant others and had gotten you. He couldn’t wrap his mind around it some days. Thoughts about what he had done to deserve you slowly turned into thoughts about whether or not he even deserved you in the first place. Had he accidentally tricked you? Plucked you out of a world you should have been in and forced you into one he selfishly wanted?

Suddenly it had been another six months. If you were miserable you seemed to hide it well, which Gwil could appreciate. He found himself wanting to ask you if you were happy, but he was afraid of the answer. He knew you would never lie to him. You never had before.

On days where he was home and you were working, he would sit in his office and mull it all over. He felt guilty that he constantly played mental gymnastics with himself, especially when you were always there for him to listen and love. Every other time he had an issue and he had gone to you about it, you listened with an open heart and a soft smile on your face. You didn’t even have to say much to fix the problem, you were magic in that way.

One late afternoon he found himself in his office once again, fidgeting with a small velvet box, passing it back and forth between his trembling hands. He had impulse-bought the ring months ago, when a walk downtown to buy your birthday present had inadvertently led him to a jeweler. He had told himself that the second he was one hundred percent certain everything between you two wasn’t an elaborate joke or fantasy, he’d pull out the box and get down on one knee. But Gwil’s constant plaguing thoughts made him feel like that day would never come. Who was he to ask you to be with him forever?

So when you appeared in the doorway with a bag from his favorite takeaway place, intent on surprising him with being home from work early, Gwil could feel nothing but sheer panic. And that panic increased tenfold when your eyes fell to the velvet box in his lap.

He watched, paralyzed with fear as your own eyes grew large, your jaw dropping open slightly when your words trailed off. It was not the reaction he would have ever wanted. Clearly you were scared, thrown off by even the concept of marrying him.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, and Gwil could feel his heart shatter into thousands of pieces.

But then you threw your hand over your eyes, and Gwil thought he was going insane because were you smiling?

“I promise I didn’t see anything!”

Absolutely bewildered, Gwil stood to his full height and crossed the room, gently pulling your hand away from your face.

“Let’s say you did see something,” he said, his voice small. “Is that something...something that would make you happy?” Gwil wasn’t sure if his heart could take another drop on the emotional roller coaster, but it was better he found out now than let that question slowly pick him apart.

And then you brought his hand to your lips, placing the softest of kisses to his knuckles. Your eyes began to water as you looked at him like no one had before.

“It would make me the happiest person on the entire planet.”

Your magic cured him once again. One sentence and the relief flooded Gwil’s veins. He then slowly got to his knee, never letting go of your hand the entire time. With a shaky voice, he spoke your name.

“Will you marry me?”

Time seemed to stop for Gwil, but you didn’t hesitate for a second. You didn’t have to. You knew the answer as soon as you had laid eyes on that little box.

“Yes.”

The two of you shared a watery laugh as he slid the ring on your finger. You held each other as you cried and kissed and kissed and cried. Gwil had never been happier in his entire life. You wanted him. Forever.

And when the tears stopped and the two of you finally sat down to eat the nearly forgotten takeaway, you pulled out your phone and announced that you had to call Joe. Because he had to be the first to know.

An hour before, that would have given Gwil a twinge of worry. Worry that even though you had a ring on your finger, Joe was still more important than him.

But that worry didn’t come. And that worry never came again. You had chosen him, and for the first time, Gwil knew, without a doubt, that that would never change.

If there's a reason I'm by her side when so many have tried, then I'm willing to wait for it.

◈◈◈

I don't know how to say no to this, but this situation is helpless.

You hadn’t thought twice when Joe invited you out to LA for a weekend to hang out. You hadn’t seen him in person since before moving to London, and you were both itching for a reunion that wasn’t held via Facetime or Zoom.

Gwil had almost insisted on it. He’d be away on a shoot for a few weeks and he hated the idea of you being by yourself the entire time. He could also tell you were a bit overwhelmed with wedding planning. You needed a break. And you both knew that even though Joe would be in the wedding as a groomsman, you probably wouldn’t get to spend too much time with him at the event itself considering you’d have to try and make time for the over two hundred guests that would be in attendance.

As you settled into your plane seat, a thought occurred to you that had you concerned about your trip for the first time. It was true that as your relationship with Gwil had blossomed, your friendship with Joe had faded a bit. You weren’t sure if it was subconscious or completely by accident. Throwing yourself head first into your budding romance with Gwil had offered a break from the constant pain of having fallen for Joe. So had you unintentionally pulled away from Joe, channeling all of your energy into what was a new and exciting distraction? Possibly.

But truly, it was the distance. You’d been in London for almost a full year, and between your schedule and his, you hadn’t seen each other since before the move. Time between text conversations and Facetime calls grew and grew. 

You’d been separated for long periods of time before and yet things had never changed. And even now, you still considered him your best friend. But there was that little bit of fear that things would be different this time. You wouldn’t be able to just pick right up where you left off.

But your fears were put to rest as soon as he wrapped his arms around you again. It was like the past year hadn’t even happened. Your Joe was in front of you, in the flesh, and everything felt right again. You joked and laughed and sang the entire drive from the airport to his house. You spent the evening catching each other up on everything the other had missed. You told him about work and new friends and places you’d seen and English slang you’d picked up. He filled you in on his latest projects, told you stories about mutual friends you hadn’t seen in ages, and as always, had you laughing until your sides hurt.

It wasn’t until you were settled in his guest room bed later that night that you realized he hadn’t once asked about Gwil or the wedding.

You spent the next day being paraded around LA by Joe, the two of you hitting all of the cheesy tourist spots that you hadn’t been to in years before eventually heading to the beach. As the pair of you stretched out on towels in the sand while soaking up the sun, you remembered the thought you had the night before.

So you took it upon yourself to introduce the topic.

“Oh, Gwil sends his love, by the way,” you casually said, as if you had just thought of it. Joe offered a small smile and nodded, his only acknowledgement of your statement before jumping to his feet.

“Let’s go in the water!”

You were temporarily distracted by an intense water war with Joe once the two of you made it chest-deep into the ocean. Joe then launched into an elaborate tale about going to the beaches on the east coast growing up, making you laugh with an imitation of his brother, whom you hadn’t seen in ages but had recently RSVPed yes to your nuptials.

“I’m excited to see him again at the wedding,” you revealed, testing your developing theory about Joe once again. “I can’t even remember the last time I saw him.”

“Yeah,” was all Joe said before diving under the water and grabbing at your ankle, earning a squeal from you.

Another attempt foiled. You were pretty sure he was avoiding the topic outright.

You didn’t understand why. Gwil was one of his closest friends. You knew the two chatted frequently, probably more frequently than you and him. For a brief moment you entertained the idea that Joe was actually more upset by you living so far away than he had let on previously. You remembered being surprised at Joe’s reaction to you moving to London. You had invited him out for lunch one day to break the news, and while he claimed he was going to miss you something fierce, he was happy for you. At least that was what you had left that lunch feeling.

Maybe Joe was an even better actor than you realized.

You had to get some answers out of him. It started to get bizarre, the lengths he would go to in order to avoid talking about Gwil or the wedding. And although you had had an incredibly fun and relaxing weekend with your old friend, one that you had desperately needed, by Sunday night a weird tension had set in. Joe definitely knew you were on to him; you could tell by how little effort he started putting into trying to change the subject.

So you decided you had had enough. If he wasn’t going to be outright with you, you needed to confront him. You had disappeared into the guest room after Joe had cooked the two of you dinner with the excuse that you wanted to make sure your bag was packed for your early flight home the next morning. Sure, there was some truth to that, but you also needed the time to compose your thoughts before challenging Joe.

You walked warily back into the living room where Joe had pulled up some Netflix movie and had it paused while he tapped away at his phone, clearly waiting for you.

“Can I ask you something?” you hesitantly questioned as you took a seat next to Joe.

“Anything,” he replied as his attention left his phone and turned to you, a confident smile on his face.

“Why haven’t you asked about Gwil or the wedding?”

You could practically see the blood drain from Joe’s face. His smile was exchanged for a look of what seemed almost like...fear. After a few seconds of silence indicating that he wasn’t going to answer you right away, you continued.

“Every time I mention Gwil or the wedding, you find some excuse to change the subject or use something to distract me. Don’t think I haven’t noticed. I know you too well,” you explained with a soft smile, attempting to lighten the mood, an endeavour you quickly realized was fruitless. Joe was staring intently at his lap, and you could hear the gears turning in his head. Joe always had a tendency to think really loudly.

“Joe?”

“I thought I was over it,” he suddenly spit out. You furrowed your brows. When he didn’t continue, you spoke up again.

“Over what? Me moving away?”

“I thought I was over you,” he admitted, finally looking up at you with those golden eyes you’ve always known. Those eyes that had once haunted you, slipping into your dreams at night, your thoughts during the day. Those eyes that you hadn’t worried about in over a year.

You were stunned to silence.

“I...lost my chance with you,” he continued. “It sounds so fucking cliche but I didn’t realize what I had until it was gone. It took you moving to London for me to realize that I’ve been in love with you for a long, long time.”

It was like every emotion you could possibly feel overtook your body in one fell swoop. How were you supposed to process something like that? You were shocked, confused, and a little bit sad, but most of all, you were fucking livid.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” you practically shouted as you jumped to your feet, earning a startled wince from Joe. “I pined after you for years. I had it so bad for you for so long. And now? When I’ve finally gotten over you....and I’m happy with someone else...you have the fucking nerve to drop that on me?” You were frantic, thoughts running wild, your heart pounding. You marched into the kitchen, needing some space to collect yourself. You could feel tears pricking your eyes as you sat at Joe’s kitchen island.

“You pined after me?” Joe’s quiet voice sounded from the doorway. You frustratedly swiped at the drops running down your cheeks before turning to look at Joe. 

“I always loved you, you asshole,” you revealed before burying your face in your hands. How could he do this to you? You were months away from getting married, to one of his closest friends no less, and he chose now to confess that he was in love with you.

At least you had gotten the answer to your original question.

“I’m such an idiot,” you heard Joe whisper. “I could have had you all this time.”

After a few moments, you felt two tentative arms wrap around you from behind. Joe laid his head against your back.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured against the fabric of your t-shirt. “Please don’t cry.”

You were so angry with him. So angry at the situation. But he was still Joe. And part of you still loved him, even though that love had changed over the past year or so. So you turned into his embrace, wrapping your arms around him. You lost track of how long the two of you stayed there, holding each other while time ticked away.

Eventually Joe pulled back for a moment before cradling your face in his hands. His thumbs wiped away the last of your tears as the two of you gazed at each other.

And then Joe was kissing you.

It was brief, almost as if he had done it accidentally. A flash of fear shone in his eyes and you knew you probably mirrored him. But then he was kissing you again.

And you were kissing him back.

For years you had wondered what it would be like to kiss Joe Mazzello. And now, there you were, his lips as soft as you thought they’d be. He tasted like wine and pasta sauce and something else that was uniquely Joe. His hands on your face kept you close to him as his mouth moved against yours. 

He pulled back to take a breath, his hands sliding down to your hips, his forehead pressed against yours. You needed to push him away. You needed to stop this.

“You can say no to this. Just tell me to stop.”

You didn’t.

That night you lived out a fantasy that you had used to have for years but hadn’t thought about in ages. That night you explored Joe’s body as he explored yours, touching, tasting, feeling. No words were exchanged, the only sounds that rang out through Joe’s bedroom were soft whimpers and grunts of pleasure.

When you left the bed to use the restroom, the tears came back. You had been stupid, acting on selfish impulses. Acting on a lingering curiosity. Taking advantage of a situation you had been presented with.

Joe let you cry in his bathroom, and you mentally thanked him for knowing not to bother you.

When you finally emerged, Joe appeared to be asleep. You didn’t stop to find out for sure. Instead you moved across the hall into the guest room. You held a pillow to your chest and tearfully wished you had never come to LA.

You didn’t get much sleep. You were up at least an hour before you had to be, getting dressed and cooking the two of you a quick breakfast. When Joe finally appeared in the kitchen, he silently picked at his plate of eggs and bacon. No words were spoken. Nothing needed to be said. That was the thing about knowing someone so well.

The drive to the airport was soundtracked by a playlist of rock medleys that normally both you and Joe would sing along to. But no songs were sung on that trip.

After helping you pull your suitcase out of the back of your car, Joe stood there awkwardly wringing his hands together. You didn’t blame him for not knowing what was appropriate. You didn’t know where the boundaries laid anymore either.

So you threw him a bone, pulling him into a tight embrace, one that he immediately reciprocated. For some reason, even though you’d be seeing him again in a few months, it felt like a forever goodbye. Like it was the last time you would ever hold each other.

“I will always love you,” you whispered as you buried your face in his shoulder. “But I’m in love with Gwil.” It was true. And you hated that you needed to say it out loud.

You felt him nod into your hair. He understood.

You left him with a peck on the cheek, and got on your plane. And you spent the ten hour flight mentally preparing to banish the entire weekend from your memory. Gwil could never find out.

And he never did.

Nobody needs to know.

◈◈◈

I remember that night, I just might regret that night for the rest of my days.

Joe stood between Ben and Gwil’s brother, clad in a gray suit with a colorful pocket square. He watched as you floated down the aisle looking the most beautiful he’d ever seen you, a stunning vision accoutred in white.

But the most gorgeous thing about you wasn’t your dress or your hair or your makeup, as perfect as it all was. No, the thing that stood out to Joe was the look of pure elation that you wore as you made your way between the rows of chairs. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen you so sublimely happy.

And it pained him. Because it was a subtle reminder that he’d never be the one to make you that happy.

Joe stole a glance at Gwil, and he had the exact same gaze upon his face. Joe felt a twinge of guilt in his gut. He should be happy. He should be satisfied. Two of the most important people in his life had found love with each other. That was something to celebrate. So Joe hated that he felt nothing but sadness. It was selfish and unfair to the both of you.

But the thing Joe hated the most was that this whole thing was all his fault.

He remembered the day he introduced you to Gwil like it was yesterday. What was supposed to be a night out with you after being separated for so long turned into Joe playing third wheel as he watched you and Gwil bond. The connection was instantaneous.

It didn’t bother Joe at all at first. In fact, he was ecstatic. He patted himself on the back whenever he could, taking complete credit for your budding romance. You seemed lighter, as if Gwil had taken the weight of the world off your shoulders. And Joe trusted the both of you not to break each others’ hearts; he knew you were amazing people, and he believed you deserved each other.

It was only a month before Joe started to notice the drift. You texted him less, you didn’t have as much free time to hang out. Things you used to do with him you now did with Gwil. Joe tried not to let it get to him. He had never been bothered by relationships you had been in previously. But there was something about this time around that irked him.

At first he assumed it was because it was Gwil. Two of his friends had essentially ganged up on him, opting to spend more time with each other than with him. But that wasn’t it.

Then he thought it was because you went to London a lot. It seemed like every time Joe tried to make plans with you he was met with a “I’ll actually be in London that week.” But that wasn’t it.

For a fleeting moment he thought it was a worry that the two of you were moving too quickly. A fear that the pair of you would have an ugly break up and Joe would be caught in the middle of it. But that wasn’t it.

It took almost six months of you and Gwil together for him to realize that he was head over heels in love with you.

How could he have been so stupid? You had been right there in front of him for years and years and it took you getting into a serious relationship for him to wake up. He had wasted so much time.

Gwil was one of his best friends in the entire world. But you had been his best friend longer. He needed to tell you. He couldn’t lie to you.

As soon as Joe had made the decision, you were asking him to grab lunch with you. He spent the hours leading up to it pacing in his apartment, working through a speech in his head.

His plan was foiled when you sat across from him in the ramen shop and announced you were moving to London. You were elated as you told him the story of Gwil nervously asking you. Joe put his acting skills to the test as he sat in that booth for an hour and pretended to be happy for you. Pretended that he was okay when truly he was dying inside.

The last shred of hope Joe could hold on to was that he’d be able to get over you easier. The distance would ease his pain. Maybe he’d meet someone, someone who would somehow be even more beautiful and smarter and more loving than you. He didn’t think that person existed, but he had to hold out hope.

He threw himself into work, trying to distract himself with jobs, filling the time between those jobs by writing, something you always helped him with. You had been his muse, a revelation that frustrated Joe as he struggled with the worst case of writer’s block he’d ever had.

He understood that your lives had been pulled in different directions, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt when the periods between conversations and phone calls got longer and longer as time went on. He missed you. Setting all of his romantic feelings aside, he simply missed his best friend.

He was curled up in front of the TV watching some dumb video Ben had sent him when your name flashed across his phone screen. He couldn’t have been more relieved to see your face. You greeted him with a huge grin and an excited air about you.

And then you revealed the true intention of your call with a flash of a diamond ring on your finger.

Gwil’s face appeared a few moments later, asking Joe to be one of his groomsmen. Of course Joe agreed, he’d do anything for Gwil. Even be a groomsman in his wedding to the woman he loved.

He told himself that he’d be over you by the time the wedding came. He had to be. He just had to.

He didn’t know what came over him when he asked you to come visit him for a weekend. He just missed you. He missed you like crazy and he needed you. He needed his best friend, his person.

The days leading up to your arrival were spent stress-cleaning his entire apartment. He was terrified things would be weird. Why couldn’t everything just be like it was before? Before he ever introduced you to Gwilym. If he hadn’t brought you to the screening that night would you and him ever met? Would Joe have at some point realized his feelings while you were still available? Was there an alternate universe where you and him Facetimed Gwil to show off the ring on your finger?

Then Joe blinked and you were in his arms once more. He held you tight, never wanting to let you go. He focused on making sure that the weekend was chock-full of activities, wanting to enjoy the little time he had left with you. Joe was no idiot, he was never going to get a chance to spend a weekend just the two of you ever again.

But why did you have to keep bringing up Gwil and the wedding? He was getting worse and worse at avoiding the subject. He knew you were on to him. There were only so many times he could change conversation topics abruptly before you would notice. You were no idiot either.

And then you sat on his couch on that last night and asked him point blank. He knew he couldn’t lie to you anymore. He wasn’t strong enough.

He hadn’t seen you that angry in years. The last time you’d yelled at him like that was when he spilled coffee on a brand new rug you’d splurged on for your apartment. But this problem couldn’t be fixed with an apology cake and a surprise trip to Restoration Hardware on Joe’s dime.

And then Joe blinked once more and you were in his bed, bare and writhing underneath him. He knew as it was happening that you hadn’t suddenly changed your mind. He didn’t get to call you his. There was still a ring on your finger when your hand gripped Joe’s bicep. He simply enjoyed the moment as much as he could. His heart was breaking as you both rode out waves of pleasure, a desperate exchange of affection that shouldn’t have ever happened. Once again, it was all his fault. He shouldn’t have kissed you. And he shouldn’t have made it your responsibility to put an end to it.

That fateful weekend didn’t happen. Not as far as you and Joe were concerned. You wordlessly agreed to never speak about it ever again. He knew you never told Gwil. If you had, none of you would have been standing in a beautiful field somewhere in Wales, all dressed up and celebrating the union of two of Joe’s favorite people in the world.

While Joe watched the pair of you share your first dance, he sipped at his flute of champagne and remembered what you whispered to him at the airport, words that would forever haunt him.

I will always love you, but I’m in love with Gwil.

He wondered if anyone would ever notice that the two of you didn’t talk to each other anymore, outside of group settings. If anyone did, they didn’t ask. Maybe they all knew. Maybe all of them had figured out Joe’s feelings for you before he ever had. And maybe Joe wasn’t as good of an actor as he realized.

And I know she’ll be happy as his bride. And I know I will never be satisfied.

◈◈◈

Perm Taglist: @queenlover05​ @mrhoemazzello​ @johndeaconshands​ @madamsledge​ @sadhwstudent​ @stardust-galaxies​ (let me know if i missed you)

#gwilym lee #joe mazzello #gwilym lee x reader #gwilym lee x you #joe mazzello x reader #joe mazzello x you #joemazzmatazz

[kastlenetwork]

Forgive me if you're getting this Ask twice-- I couldn't tell if it went through the first time. Thank you for agreeing to help me! I am a grad student working on a literacy learning project in which I need to immerse myself in a form of literacy that I do not have experience in. I am a reader of fanfiction and a huge fan of Kastle, so I decided that I would write my own Kastle fanfic. Would you and the Kastle community share with me what you as readers typically look for in a Kastle fanfic?

The first one did send through, but it’s totally okily dokily! I would also like to preface this by saying I was just sat here and I’d answered with this with an actually not horrific response and then my laptop died out of absolutely nowhere, :) without warning :) [which happens all the time, because my computer is dying in general, but still I’m miserable about the loss lololol anyway] – so, this one isn’t as well thought out.

I’m just gonna say that the main thing that I look for in Kastle fanfiction is close to canon characterization. We’re all different people with different eyes and ears and brains, so when we watch the show, obviously different things might stand out or feel more prominent in who they are, than other things to other people. So, I’m not bothered by different headcannons or anything like that. I mean, it’s fanfiction, that’s the point – I’m reading it to read that writers’ take and have a good time……or a bad time, depending on if the writer is trying to squeeze out hearts lolol. But, there’s a general base line for who the characters are that has to be met for me to really get attached to what I’m reading. I’m this way for any fanfiction for any couple, to be honest. But, it’s super prominent when dealing with Karen and Frank, for whatever reason. If they stray too far away – their characterization, their vibe, their dialogue – I start to slowly check out of what I’m reading. I might just flat out stop. And if they’re in a Different Scenario where one doesn’t want to focus too heavily on the heavy, how that’s adjusted to fit the more lighthearted piece.

I mean, take Frank for example. If I open a fic and he spends the entire thing absolutely miserable with no small bright spots, at all, that’s just as off-putting to me as him being some weird happy sunshine man. Because, Jon’s Frank Castle (and that’s all I can go on on Frank, at all, honestly. I’ve never read a TP or DD comic lol whoops) finds things amusing. I mean, he’s literally lying in a bed having a deal worked out for him to go to prison in Gen. Pop. and he’s making jokes about it. Karen’s screaming out at him that refusing to cooperate with her and his lawyers, so that they can help him, will do nothing but result in him failing to get answers to about his family and have him rotting in a cell. And his immediate response could be more misery and more doom and gloom, but instead he’s turned on impressed and amused by Karen’s outburst. He admires the blunt and fearless goddess before him the honesty and the blowup and he teases her choice of wording. He’s light in a moment where she literally just said the results of his actions might be that he never learns the truth and he’s taking delight in her explosion despite it. 

Yes, he’s angry. He’s violent. He’s depressed. But, sometimes he talks about his family and he’s smiling. He’s laughing. Does it more than likely melt back into his ever present grief? Absolutely. But, it doesn’t mean that show of levity isn’t there. And Karen’s character and characterization faces a similar path in the show, just in the flipped direction. The core of her is built around something traumatic and sorrowful, but her general demeanor is positive and determined. 

Frank is funny. Karen is funny. Frank is sad. Karen is sad. 

They’re feeling a lot of things at various times.

So, the main thing I look for in Kastle fic is the appropriate balance of that. If I feel like it’s too far off the mark, I more than likely won’t finish it. 

The second thing I look for ties directly into the main thing, which is simply the dialogue. How they talk to each other. Especially once it’s starts bleeding further into the actual romance aspect of the story and not just the build up. Frank’s not adverse to endearment – he’s obviously someone that cares EXTREMELY DEEPLY for those he loves. (To the detriment to the gangs of New York). And we’ve seen him call Leo “sweetie” and stuff, this sweet little girl that he gets a big soft spot for. But, we’ve also seen him talk about his wife on multiple occasions and give big romantic speeches about his wife, like when he and Karen were on a date sitting in the diner. He calls her “my old lady” and he says he would literally chop his arm off at the table if he could just have another moment with her and feel what he thinks Karen must feel for Matt (*coughs* k sure, Frank) and it’s all really depressing ‘cause he’s destroyed, but he and Karen are on their date wow what a date sitting there and he’s talking about love and it’s just such a good moment. 

He’s not gonna call Karen the things he called his wife, obviously, unless they’re general terms of endearment. But, I think it’s a good example of the way he talks. I look for as close to canon characterization on the way they speak. Like, if Frank starts calling Karen his “beloved” it’s suddenly not Frank anymore – it’s some guy who happens to be as hot, but there’s been a mind swap or something. If Karen’s calling Frank “sugar plum” I’m kind of scratching my head, because who’s that blonde lady that’s suddenly speaking, what’s going on?

And I think the final thing I look for is simply that Karen is given more agency in terms of the relationship they’ve got. Because, in TP1 and TP2, it’s very much Karen who’s standing there with her arms flung open going, “I want you to be in love with me, like I know you are! I see you pushing it away! I am in love with you! You are allowed to love and have a life! Have a life with me!!!!!” And then Frank basically trying to push her back to Matt for literally no reason. I think a part of this is just Frank himself in his constant sabotage mode, because that’s his entire life after his whole family was murdered. He’s on destruction path, even when he’s trying, in moments, to get out of it. But, I ALSO think part of it is just that they didn’t have Karen for the full season, either season, and, even before they knew Marvel Netflix was heading to the grave, the shows refused to appropriately connect and were instead taking the ’’’easier’’’ path. Because, it was made pretty clear that they’d put her in the whole show if they could, but only could get her for so much time, and they wrote for that time.

So, in fic, I look for Karen getting to have her feelings actually be on display, instead of just being there to bounce his feelings off of, because they didn’t have her for enough time in either season to go more deeper on her end, since she wasn’t actually their character. And for her to get to have more agency in what’s going down with all that wanting them to be in love stuff just feels crucial to me, at this point, seeing as Marvel refuses to just make my dreams come true and announce that they gave a shit about these shows and are bringing them into the fold with the same casts.

Other than those two things, which I consider to be fairly standard, and that one thing where it’s just my exhaustion with my girls always having to fix everything – I’m pretty open to anything in terms of actual story. (I’ll even read a pregnancy/baby fic if it’s well written – and I’m…adverse to fanfic about babies). I just want an appropriate balance of their individual traumas to the sass master’s that live inside them and appropriate dialogue to who they are as people.

(I’ve got a whole thing about what I look for in a fanfic in general, but it’s not specific to Karen and Frank – it’s just like….spaces and pacing, which doesn’t have much to do with this.)

\\\\

What do you all look for in Kastle fic?! Help @chaiteacookiesnglitter out and reblog this and put in your two cents about what you’re inherently looking for. :DDD

#kastle #kastleff #kastlenetwork #chaiteacookiesnglitter #ask #txt: chey

[burclay]

Fanciful Notions

Yaz had forgotten about the wedding.

Or, she hadn’t forgotten, really-- it had just been far in the future, and then she had started time traveling and it became even farther in her own personal future, but then one night her mum said, “Yaz, Sonya, aren’t you two going to your friend’s wedding tomorrow?” -- Yaz brings the Doctor as a plus-one to her friend's wedding. It's completely platonic (or so she thinks).

AO3

Yaz had forgotten about the wedding.

Or, she hadn’t forgotten, really-- it had just been far in the future, and then she had started time traveling and it became even farther in her own personal future, but then one night she and the gang were having tea with her family, squeezed around their dining room table, talking about their plans for the next day, and her mum said, “Yaz, Sonya, aren’t you two going to your friend’s wedding tomorrow?”

“Oh, is that tomorrow?” Yaz asked. The wedding was that of one of her primary school friends, Saira-- they had kept in touch after they had stopped going to the same school, and Saira had tutored Sonya in maths for a while. And now Saira was getting married, and Yaz had almost forgotten about it.

“What, lost track of time?” Sonya asked, cutting her eyes to Yaz.

Yaz rolled her eyes.

“Must’ve,” was all she said. Sonya had figured out about the whole time travel thing ages ago and had spent the weeks since threatening to tell their parents. It didn’t matter-- either their parents wouldn’t believe her, or they would and Yaz would keep doing what she was doing anyway, but she would rather not deal with the fuss of having them find out and potentially disapprove.

“Hold up,” Ryan said. “Is that Saira who was in our class year five?”

“Oh, are you coming to the wedding?” Sonya asked.

“Sonya,” Yaz warned.

“What?” Sonya asked. “It’s just a question.”

“Yeah, I said I’d be there,” Ryan said. “Don’t know what I’ll wear.”

“I have an old friend who was about your height,” the Doctor said, her mouth full. “You might fit some of his clothes.”

“Is this the one with the eyebrows?” Ryan asked. “Or bowtie? I’ve always wanted to wear a bowtie.”

“I was thinking of eyebrows,” the Doctor said. “Although I could definitely lend you a bowtie.”

“I’ll take it,” Ryan said.

“Do you want to come, Doctor?” Yaz asked. “I can take a plus one.”

“Oh, you mean like a date?” Sonya asked.

Yaz wanted to kick her under the table, but she had no way of telling whose leg was whose, and she wasn’t about to run the risk of kicking her mum instead.

“I mean like two friends going to a wedding together,” Yaz said. “As friends.”

She thought she caught Graham and Ryan exchanging a look, but she ignored it. There was nothing wrong with taking her lonely time traveling friend with her to a wedding so that she didn’t have to sit alone in her giant spaceship all day pretending to be busy. She knew what the Doctor got up to, and it was a little sad, to tell the truth.

“Oh, I’ll have to find something to wear,” the Doctor said. “Haven’t had to dress up since I was a man!”

Yaz raised an eyebrow at her.

“Kidding!” she said. “I mean since I was younger. Smaller, you know. Clothes fit differently, now that I’m-- blonde. Anyway. I’m sure I can find something lying around.”

Translation: she’d be ransacking the TARDIS wardrobe later. Yaz smiled to herself, thinking of the Doctor running through the wardrobe, pulling out random pieces, trying to put them together, and then she immediately schooled her expression into something that Sonya, her mother, and Ryan wouldn’t all tease her about later.

“Well,” Ryan said, “if you can take a friend, think I could get away with inviting a granddad?”

He was next to Yaz, so she figured she knew where his leg was. She kicked him under the table.

“What, me?” Graham asked. “You want me to come to a stranger’s wedding?”

“Could be fun,” Ryan said.

“Hope it’s not too strange,” Sonya said, with another look at Yaz.

“Might be if you’re there,” Yaz said, getting up to take her dishes to the sink.

Later, she walked her friends down from the flat. Ryan and Graham split off with a wave, and Yaz found herself standing at the door of the TARDIS with the Doctor.

“Are you sure I’ll be welcome tomorrow?” the Doctor asked. “I haven’t been to a 21st century wedding in at least a thousand years. And I’ve forgotten how to dance!”

“It’s fine,” Yaz said. “Saira’s nice. She’ll love you.”

“What should I wear?” the Doctor asked. “I don’t know what people wear to weddings! Oh, I hate when I can’t just wear the same outfit as always.” She paused. “Yaz, I think I’m nervous. Is this what nervous feels like?”

“You’ll be fine,” Yaz repeated. “Just find a pretty dress or something.”

“Oh! A dress!” The Doctor grinned. “I always wanted to wear a dress. Don’t think it’d be practical every day, but I think I can pull it off for a wedding.”

“You’re going to hate it,” Yaz said. “But I’m excited to see it.” She smiled, touching the Doctor’s arm. “Night, Doctor.”

“G’night, Yaz,” the Doctor said, and she disappeared into her TARDIS with a smile.

Yaz walked back up to her flat, enjoying the cool air against her bare arms. She ignored Sonya’s pointed, “Does it always take you that long to walk down the stairs and back?” and walked into her room, changing into a pair of pajamas and falling backwards onto her bed.

She woke up the next morning to a flurry of texts from the Doctor:

Doctor✨☄️🌟 (3:16 AM): Yaz!!! ! !! What time’s the wedding???? 👰 👰

Doctor✨☄️🌟 (4:29 AM): I found a pair of heels in the TARDIS but she *really* doesn’t want me to wear them what do I do?

Doctor✨☄️🌟 (4:43 AM): Never mind, I can’t walk in heels. Do you think it’ll be okay if I wear flats??? I really haven’t done this before!

Doctor✨☄️🌟 (5:08 AM): YAZ!!!! THIS IS HARD!!! 😰😱😬

Doctor✨☄️🌟 (5:43 AM): Are you sure your friend will be okay with me being there?

Doctor✨☄️🌟 (6:01 AM): I think I’ve decided on an outfit! 💃💃💃

Doctor✨☄️🌟 (6:06 AM): Actually, I’m just going to wear my regular outfit until you tell me it’s time to go.

Doctor✨☄️🌟 (6:24 AM): I can’t get my dress off!!!

Doctor✨☄️🌟 (6:25 AM): This is why I only wear one outfit, you know. I know how it goes on, I know how it comes off. Easy.

Doctor✨☄️🌟 (6:38 AM): Now I’m bored.😩😴 Can I bring you breakfast? 🍳🥞🥓

Doctor✨☄️🌟 (7:36 AM): The cafe by your flat makes EXCELLENT croissants.🥐🥐🥐🥐🥐☕️☕️☕️

Doctor✨☄️🌟 (7:37 AM): I’ve saved some for you and the gang, by the way.

Doctor✨☄️🌟 (7:45 AM): Ryan and Graham aren’t answering my texts either. 👎 Why do humans have to sleep so much??? LOL!!!

Yaz looked at her clock. It was 8 AM. She laughed and texted the Doctor back.

yaz!!!!!!!😊😊😊 (8:02 AM): relax, Doctor! wedding’s not til 3. I’ll pick you up at the TARDIS when it’s time to go. croissants welcome anytime😘

Barely a minute later, she heard a knock on the door. She jumped out of bed, still in her pajamas, phone in her hand. She worried for a moment about her how her hair looked, reminded herself that the Doctor didn’t care how her hair looked, remembered that if she stopped to brush her hair Sonya or, worse, one of her parents might get to the door first, and ran to open the door, grabbing a pair of shoes along the way. The Doctor was standing there, in her striped shirt and long coat, holding a paper bag.

“Croissant?” she asked, holding out the bag.

“Yeah,” Yaz said. “Outside, though. Don’t want to wake everyone up.”

“I’ll be quiet!” the Doctor hissed.

“Not gonna risk it,” Yaz said, pushing the Doctor out the door and closing it behind them. “Come on, we can go down by the TARDIS.”

“Oh, all right,” the Doctor said. “The TARDIS it is, then.”

Yaz slipped her bare feet into her shoes and followed the Doctor down the steps, smiling to herself.

She sat outside with the Doctor for almost an hour, eating the croissant and talking about where they might go the next day. It was idyllic, really. Eventually, though, she got a text from Sonya:

Sonya🤞🏽🎧💅🏽 (8:54 AM):where r u? need help deciding what 2 wear

Sonya🤞🏽🎧💅🏽 (8:54 AM): ooooohhhh are u w/ the dr???👀👀👀

Yaz rolled her eyes.

bitch (8:55 AM): yeah, we’re just outside.

bitch (8:56 AM): you should thank me, by the way. she was going to come inside and wake everyone up.

Sonya🤞🏽🎧💅🏽 (8:56 AM): whatever. just get ur butt up here k?

bitch (8:57 AM: fine.

“Got to go,” she said to the Doctor. “Sonya’s having a clothing emergency.”

“Thought the wedding wasn’t until later,” the Doctor said.

“It’s not,” Yaz said, standing up. “But we have to do our hair, and maybe makeup, and get dressed, and then get to the venue. It takes time.”

“Oh, I forgot about makeup,” the Doctor said, jumping to her feet. “Do I have to do makeup?”

“You don’t have to,” Yaz said. “It’s just if you want it. But you look good the way you are.”

The Doctor grinned.

“Thanks, Yaz,” she said. “S’pose I’d better get to bringing Ryan my old suit.”

“If he’s even awake yet,” Yaz said.

“Humans!” the Doctor exclaimed. “Why do you sleep so much?”

“Ryan makes it a bit of an art form,” Yaz admitted. “Talk to you later, Doctor.”

She ran back up the steps to the flat. Sonya was waiting for her in the doorway, head tilted to the side, a challenge in her eyes.

“Morning,” she said, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, shut it,” Yaz said.

“Wonder what could drag you out of the flat at nine in the morning,” Sonya said, turning to walk back inside.

“At least I was awake to be dragged,” Yaz said. Sonya rarely got up before ten on weekends. “Is this how you treat your sister who’s about to help you pick out an outfit?”

“Two outfits,” Sonya said. “I need a new one for the reception.”

Yaz rolled her eyes.

“Two outfits, then,” she said. “Show me the choices.”

She helped Sonya find the right outfits, and then she picked out two for herself. By the time she was standing in front of the bathroom mirror, trying to decide how to wear her hair, she was already tired of the whole thing.

But… she was really looking forward to seeing the Doctor in a dress later.

She didn’t do makeup-- she had always hated it, and besides, her face was fine the way it was. With her hair done, and all dressed up, she would look different enough, anyway.

She twisted her hair back into a low bun, checked the time on her phone to see that she had both three hours and over fifteen new messages, and sat at the kitchen table, reading her texts.

Ryan💯💯💯 (9:12 AM): did you tell the dr to come over here

Ryan💯💯💯 (9:12 AM): i need my beauty sleep yaz!

Ryan💯💯💯 (9:12 AM): dope suit though. past her had style

Ryan💯💯💯 (10:48 AM): good news i’m awake again. doctor’s gone. i’ll assume she’s off trying to find someone who’ll talk to her.

yaz (11:13 AM): yeah, pretty sure she’s just been texting me from the TARDIS. I’ll keep you posted.

Doctor✨☄️🌟 (9:15 AM): Pretty sure I just woke up Ryan… 😬

Doctor✨☄️🌟 (9:21 AM): Update!! ! He looks great in my old suit! 🤵🏿🌈💥🎩🎊

Doctor✨☄️🌟 (9:34 AM): Update to the update… he went back to bed… 😥

Doctor✨☄️🌟 (9:46 AM): YAZ I’M BORED AND GRAHAM WON’T TALK TO ME HELP!! ! !!

Doctor✨☄️🌟 (9:48 AM): Sorry, I know you’re getting ready with your sister. No pressure to respond.

Doctor✨☄️🌟 (9:54 AM): Guess I’ll go back to the TARDIS. You can find me in there if you need me. Parked in the same place and everything.

Doctor✨☄️🌟 (10:05 AM): Yaz! Should I curl my hair? I just found a curler and I think it’s a sign from the TARDIS. 🛑 🔔✅

Doctor✨☄️🌟 (10:24 AM): Update on the hair situation: I did it, it looks great, only burned a little of the bottom and I can hide it underneath all the other hair.

Doctor✨☄️🌟 (10:27 AM): OOH! If it’s curly it shows my earring! I love my earring! 👂🏻👂🏻👂🏻👂🏻👂🏻

Doctor✨☄️🌟 (10:32 AM): Oh, I knew I would have trouble putting this dress on again… Yaz!!!!! How do the women in those red carpet pictures do it??? ? ?? ? 😬💃😬

Doctor✨☄️🌟 (10:48 AM): I figured it out! Got really distracted along the way, started tinkering with the hair curler. I’m going to make it sonic! 💥👌🏻👓

Doctor✨☄️🌟 (11:01 AM): Got my dress a bit dirty. 😬😬😬 Glad I have the TARDIS to help. 💦💃🚿

yaz!!!!!!!😊😊😊 (11:15 AM): Doctor, you cannot use the 💦 emoji in that context. I don’t know what Ryan’s been telling you, but do not listen to him, ok?

Doctor✨☄️🌟 (11:15 AM): Yaz!!! ! ! ! !! Are you ready?? ??? ?? I want to see your outfit!!! !!! !!

yaz!!!!!!!😊😊😊 (11:16 AM): I’m not dressed yet. and I said I’d drive Sonya so we can’t take the tardis to the wedding. but anyway you can come hang out up here if you want

Doctor✨☄️🌟 (11:16 AM): YAY!!!!!! HANGING OUT WITH YAZ!!!!!!! !!!! I’ll be right up!

“Doctor’s coming up,” Yaz called out to anyone who might be listening. Really, they were all used to it by now. When Yaz was home, the Doctor was nearly always around. Sometimes she went with Ryan and Graham, but Yaz got the sense that they were more private-- she was used to sharing her space. One more person didn’t make a huge difference. Especially when that one more person was the Doctor.

“Oh, is she now,” Yaz’s mum said from the living room sofa.

“Getting ready for your date?” Sonya asked, yelling from the bathroom.

“Not a date!” Yaz yelled back. Her mum scoffed, and Yaz was about to say something else, but then she heard a knock on the door, and she opened it to see-- well, the Doctor, but an almost unrecognizable version of the Doctor. She hadn’t realized how much she had come to think of the Doctor’s charity shop outfit as integral to the Doctor’s self, but of course, when she only ever wore the same outfit, of course it would imprint itself on Yaz’s mind.

But this-- this was different.

The Doctor was wearing a dark blue dress, the same color as the TARDIS, Yaz noticed. The skirt rippled down to the floor from the waist in small pleats, gold-sheathed toes poking out from underneath. Above the bodice, a sheer golden cape radiated from a clasp over her chest. Through the fabric of the cape, Yaz could see the blue of the dress gathered at one shoulder to make a strap, leaving the other shoulder bare; it was the most skin she’d ever seen the Doctor show, although maybe that wasn’t saying much.

She heard footsteps behind her, and she glanced back to see Sonya leaning against the wall, eyebrow raised.

“Admiring your girlfriend, Yaz?”

“Not my girlfriend!” Yaz exclaimed.

“Why not?” the Doctor asked.

Yaz whipped her head around to look at her, mouth hanging open.

“I’m a girl,” the Doctor said, “according to your human rules, and I’m your friend.”

“Not what it means, Doctor,” Yaz said.

“She really is an alien,” Sonya said in Yaz’s ear, quietly enough that their mum wouldn’t hear but loudly enough that the Doctor would.

“Yep!” the Doctor said. “Anyway. First time wearing a dress. What do you think?”

“Yeah, Yaz,” Sonya said. “What do you think?”

“I think I’m not hanging out in the public parts of the house when you’re around,” Yaz said, grabbing the Doctor’s wrist and leading her into the flat.

“Ooh, going to the bedroom, are you?” Sonya asked.

“Hey, at least I have a date,” Yaz retorted.

“Thought you said it wasn’t a date?” the Doctor asked.

“It’s not,” Yaz said, thoroughly exasperated. “Come on, Doctor.”

She pulled the Doctor through the hall into her room. Her mum called, “Door open, Yaz,” as she passed, and Yaz replied, “I’m an adult heterosexual, I think it’s all right!”

Once in her room, she sat on the edge of her bed and sighed.

“Sorry about that, Doctor,” she said. “My family’s impossible.”

“It’s all right,” the Doctor said. She started to sit down, then jumped back up. “Am I going to ruin the dress if I try to sit?”

“I doubt it,” Yaz said, looking critically at the fabric. It was neatly pleated, but didn’t look like it was going to wrinkle much. “Anyway, you’ll be sitting once we get there, so you might as well ruin it now.”

“Good point,” the Doctor said, and she sat down next to Yaz. As she did, she picked up the corner of Yaz’s gold sari, which she was planning to wear for the ceremony. “This yours?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Yaz said. “Just for the ceremony, though.”

“Oh, was I supposed to have two?” the Doctor asked.

“Nah,” Yaz said. “I’m just trying to one-up Sonya, if I’m being honest. It’s petty, but--” She shrugged. “That’s sisterhood for you.”

“Fair enough,” the Doctor said. “Never really got to be a proper sister.”

“Bet you were an annoying brother,” Yaz said.

“Oi! I was pleasant!” the Doctor exclaimed.

“I’m sure you were,” Yaz said. “Youngest?”

“Yeah,” the Doctor admitted. “‘Course, now I’m the oldest, too.” Her voice had turned just the slightest bit sad.

“Sorry,” Yaz said, looking away. “I forgot.”

“It’s all right,” the Doctor said. “I carry them with me, remember?”

“Still,” Yaz said. “Has to hurt.”

“Yeah,” the Doctor admitted. “Still. I’m used to it.”

Yaz looked back at her. The Doctor was looking away, her eyes fixed on the ceiling. Yaz looked up and saw her old glow-in-the-dark stars, flat against the white ceiling in the daytime.

“Have you always had these stars?” the Doctor asked.

“Since I can remember,” Yaz said.

“Yasmin Khan,” the Doctor said. “Always looking at the stars.”

Yaz smiled.

“They’re not entirely accurate,” she said. “I wanted to rearrange them like real constellations when I got old enough, but my mum said I wouldn’t be able to get them back on. I figured the wrong stars were better than no stars.”

“The universe is infinite,” the Doctor said. “Somewhere, surely, there’s a sky that looks like that.”

Yaz grinned.

“You think so?”

“I’m sure of it,” the Doctor said. “We can try and find it sometime, if you take a picture.”

Yaz took out her phone and laid back on her bed to snap a picture. She texted it to the Doctor.

“There,” she said, sitting up. “Now it’s official.”

The Doctor looked at her with something in her eyes that Yaz couldn’t quite place. For a moment, she held the Doctor’s gaze, trying to figure out what she was seeing. The air seemed to thicken around them.

Yaz looked away. The air thinned out again. She checked the time on her phone.

“I’m going to get dressed,” she said, gathering her outfit. “You going to be all right in here?”

“‘Course I will,” the Doctor said.

“Don’t talk to Sonya,” Yaz said.

“No promises,” the Doctor said.

“And try not to poke around too much,” Yaz said. “This is my stuff.”

“I can promise that,” the Doctor said. “Can I upgrade your laptop?”

“Only if you can do it without logging on or destroying my files,” Yaz decided.

The Doctor took out her sonic screwdriver with a wicked grin on her face. Yaz opened her mouth to say something else, realized she didn’t know what she would say, realized she was horribly curious what the Doctor was going to do to her computer, and left the room with half a smile.

She changed into her sari in the bathroom, humming to herself. She looked at herself in the mirror, angling this way and that, admiring the dark brown fabric against the gold top underneath. She loved having an excuse to wear it, really; she had gotten it for a cousin’s wedding back when she was still in school, but she hadn’t worn it since.

Yaz walked back to her room, fabric swishing around her feet. The Doctor was exactly where Yaz had left her, sitting on Yaz’s bed, looking intently at Yaz’s computer. The only difference was that now the bottom of the computer had been cracked open, and the sonic was buzzing, casting an intermittent orange glow onto the circuits. The Doctor was so completely focused on whatever it was she was doing that she didn’t hear Yaz come in, and Yaz got to stand awkwardly in the doorway for a moment and watch the Doctor’s intense concentration. There was something about the way the Doctor looked at things, she thought-- the way she leaned forward with intensity in her eyes and figured things out.

And then Yaz cleared her throat and the Doctor looked up, and suddenly that intensity was focused on Yaz. Yaz swallowed, suddenly nervous, while the Doctor jumped up and put her hand on Yaz’s shoulder, looking Yaz up and down with an open-mouthed smile on her face.

“Yasmin Khan,” she said. “You clean up well.”

A smile burst onto Yaz’s face, and she ducked her head.

“Thanks, Doctor,” she said.

Sonya passed behind them.

“You’re flirting,” she said, her voice floating into the room from behind Yaz.

The moment between Yaz and the Doctor broke. Yaz stepped back, blushing, and called, “Mind your own business, Sonya!”

“Didn’t deny it!” Sonya called back, already in her own room.

Yaz rolled her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“Why?” the Doctor asked, her head tilted with genuine curiosity.

“It’s embarrassing, that’s all,” she said. She shrugged. “We have to leave soon, anyway. I’m going to pack up my other outfit.”

“Need help?” the Doctor asked.

Yaz thought for a moment, then said, “No, I want to leave it a surprise.”

“Oh, I love surprises,” the Doctor said. “I’ll turn my back, then?”

“It’s not that high stakes,” Yaz said. “You can if you want, though.”

The Doctor faced the wall, and Yaz opened the door to her closet and pulled out a suit on a hanger. This one was brand new. She had wanted it for a long time before buying it, but she hadn’t had the chance-- or the courage-- to wear it yet.

She folded each element of the suit with care and put them in a bag. She took a deep breath, then tapped the Doctor on the shoulder and said, “Let’s go.”

Of course, it wasn’t as easy as all that. It took almost twenty minutes to wheedle Sonya into the car, and then five more to argue over who got shotgun (Sonya wanted it, but Yaz pointed out that the Doctor was the guest. The Doctor said she didn’t care, but Yaz stood her ground, and eventually Sonya slid into the backseat, grumbling). Finally, though, they were on their way to the ceremony.

It was an outdoor wedding, held in a local park. Yaz hadn’t met the woman Saira was marrying, but she had a vague inkling that this was an interfaith wedding; Saira was Muslim, of course, they had gone to the same mosque as kids, but Yaz didn’t know about her fiancee. Of course, she was about to find out.

The Doctor seemed thrilled about the whole thing, from the outdoor setting to the arch at the end of the aisle to the simple fact of white folding chairs for the guests. Yaz practically had to drag her to a seat, and then when she got distracted talking to one of her old friends, the Doctor wandered off and Yaz had to excuse herself to go find her. (Her friend told her that she and the Doctor were a cute couple-- Yaz would have corrected her if she had had time, but she really was worried about what the Doctor was getting up to.) It turned out the Doctor had just gotten distracted by Ryan and Graham’s arrival, and Yaz was able to maneuver them all back to a set of seats just before the ceremony began.

The ceremony was gorgeous, of course. Yaz hadn’t seen Saira in far too long; now, wearing a vibrant blue sari and looking at her wife with love in her eyes, she was radiant, and Yaz glowed knowing that her old friend had this love in her life. The other bride looked wonderful in a full-on white tuxedo, her short hair styled to perfection. Yaz hadn’t really been around a lot of couples of two women before-- her eyes kept moving to the ways they touched each other, the way the one put her hand on the other’s elbow, the way they looked at each other. The way they leaned in when they kissed.

It gave Yaz a feeling she hadn’t really felt before. She didn’t know what it was, but it felt… warm, somehow. She smiled as the brides kissed, wife and wife, and clapped along with everyone else.

“Isn’t it brilliant?” the Doctor asked, her breath warm on Yaz’s ear. “I love love.”

Yaz smiled, still looking at the happy couple.

“Me, too,” she said.

When it was done, and everyone was milling about, Ryan, Graham, Yaz and the Doctor joined the queue of people waiting to congratulate the brides, Sonya tagging along like the little sister she was. It wasn’t long until they were at the front, and Saira looked thrilled to see Yaz and Ryan, a little confused about Graham, and downright conspiratorial about the Doctor.

“When’s your wedding?” she asked Yaz, cutting her eyes to the Doctor.

Yaz shook her head.

“She’s just a friend,” she said. “She was in town-- I asked if she wanted to come--”

Saira raised an eyebrow, and Yaz rolled her eyes.

“Whatever,” she said. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks,” Saira said, her skeptical look replaced with an angelic smile.

The reception was in a hall just across the street from the park. Sonya insisted in changing into her second outfit in the car, and first-- she emerged in a pink dress that even Yaz had to admit popped really well against her skin tone.

“Not that you’re going to outdo me,” she said to Sonya as she slid into the car. It was a tight fit-- Yaz wasn’t entirely sure she’d be going the changing-her-formalwear-in-the-car route in the future. But she was stuck in it now, so she managed to maneuver herself into her suit. She checked herself in the rearview mirror-- her hair still looked good, she still wasn’t wearing any makeup-- and opened the car door.

It was hard to make a dramatic entrance when the door she was entering from was that of a fifteen-year-old sedan. Still, Yaz did her best, sliding out right into a dramatic pose, ignoring the butterflies in her stomach.

“What do you think?” she asked, fluttering her eyelashes.

“When did you get that?” Sonya asked.

“When you weren’t looking,” Yaz retorted. It wasn’t Sonya’s approval she was looking for.

She glanced at the Doctor.

The Doctor’s mouth was wide open.

“Yaz!” she said. “You didn’t tell me you had a bowtie!”

And just like that, Yaz’s nerves dissolved, and she laughed.

“And I suppose you have some sort of opinion on bowties,” she said to the Doctor, only half teasing.

“Used to,” the Doctor said. “Haven’t thought about them in a while.” She considered for a moment. “But I just decided I still like them.”

Yaz smiled even wider, until she saw the knowing look in Sonya’s eye.

“Where’d Ryan and Graham get to?” she asked. “Come on, let’s go find them.”

But she held out her arm, and the Doctor took it, like some kind of Victorian courtship, and Yaz knew Sonya noticed.

Ryan and Graham turned out to already be in the reception hall, sitting at a table with a couple more primary school friends and their dates. Sonya, Yaz, and the Doctor sat down just in time for the first dance between the two brides.

Watching them, Yaz had the same warm feeling she’d had earlier. Unwittingly, she glanced at the Doctor, and realized that feeling was getting bigger, and warmer, and suddenly it hit Yaz like a really big truck: she wanted that. She wanted what Saira clearly had, that closeness, that smile. With another woman. Yaz wanted to live her life loving women.

And-- she almost didn’t admit this to herself-- and when she did it was in the mental equivalent of a whisper-- but-- she sort of wanted the Doctor to be one of those women.

Which meant Sonya and her mum were right. Yaz hated that.

She looked away from the brides, pretending to have been distracted by the towering cake, and pressed that warm feeling down. The Doctor was a friend, a weird and wonderful alien friend, who didn’t even see human relationships the same way Yaz did. Even if everyone else assumed they were a thing.

Still uncomfortable, Yaz’s eyes wandered around the room, taking in the buffet table in the corner, the dark gray carpet, the sky-blue tablecloths, the dressed up people sitting around her. At one point, she made eye contact with Graham, and he gave her a knowing look that she didn’t quite like.

Finally, after some interminable amount of time, the dance was over, and all traces of Yaz’s warm feeling dissipated in favor of nerves and discomfort. She had named her feelings; now she had to deal with them, and she wasn’t sure whether she was brave enough for that.

“Yaz!” the Doctor said as a faster song came on and people started moving to the dance floor. “We should dance!”

“Maybe in a bit,” Yaz said. “You go on.”

“You all right?” the Doctor asked, hovering halfway between standing and sitting.

Yaz waved a hand.

“Fine,” she said. “Seriously. Go dance.”

The Doctor hovered for another moment, but when Yaz just gave her an encouraging nod, she got up and went to the dance floor. Ryan joined her, and Yaz got a good laugh at the two of them, possibly the world’s most awkward dancers, before Graham dropped into what had been the Doctor’s seat.

“Ugh,” Yaz said. “I know what you’re going to say.”

“Do you?” Graham asked. “I just thought you might want to talk.”

“You’re such a grandad,” Yaz groaned.

“Well,” Graham said, “I don’t have any biological grandkids, so you and Ryan’ll have to do.”

Yaz hesitated.

“I think I’m into women,” she said, the words coming out all in a rush.

“Any specific women?” Graham asked, a twinkle in his eye.

“You know,” Yaz said, blushing, “I think you know the answer to that.”

But Graham didn’t say anything, and Yaz rambled on.

“She’d never be into me,” she said. “She’s, like, a thousand years old or something. And an alien. And probably has a lot of other options. And if you tell Ryan anything I’m saying, I’ll get the Doctor to take us to a supernova and throw you in myself.”

“Whoa,” Graham said. “The Doc’d never let you do that.”

“I’m smart,” Yaz said. “I could figure out how to work the TARDIS.”

Graham chuckled.

“I’m sure you could,” he said. “But really, Yaz. If everyone looking at you thinks you’re a couple, you can’t be that far off.”

“Maybe,” Yaz said. “I didn’t even know I liked women until just now, Graham. This is all going a bit fast.”

“Fair enough,” Graham said. He clapped her on the arm in a very grandfatherly gesture. “Just so you know, I’ll support you, whatever happens.”

Yaz smiled.

“Thanks,” she said.

“Now if you’ll excuse me,” Graham said, “I’m going to go check out that buffet.”

He stood up and left, and Yaz looked to the dance floor, trying to find Ryan and the Doctor, almost lost in the crowd-- after a couple moments’ search, she saw the telltale blur of the Doctor’s hair flying absolutely everywhere, and, next to (or, more accurately, above) it, Ryan’s head bobbing awkwardly.

Yaz got up. She hovered for a moment. She actually had no idea what to do now-- she felt a bit too awkward to go dance with Ryan and the Doctor, but she didn’t really want to keep sitting where she was. She wasn’t particularly hungry. She didn’t want to be alone outside or anything.

Well. If she was going to be having a sexuality crisis, she might as well be having it on the dance floor. She made her way over, stepping around chairs to get to the music. She didn’t seek out Ryan and the Doctor; she just started moving, getting lost in the beat and the crowd, trying her absolute hardest to forget she was anything other than a bass line and a melody.

It worked for maybe half a song, until she felt a hand on her arm, pulling her around. She knew who it was before she turned; sure enough, it was the Doctor pulling her into a circle she had created with Ryan and a few strangers. Yaz let it happen, ignoring the Doctor’s eyes on her in favor of grinning at Ryan, who grinned back, grabbed her hand, and twirled her under his arm. Yaz laughed and raised their joined hands in a goofy attempt to twirl him back, but he almost fell trying to duck under her arm, and so she let go.

“Do I get a twirl?” the Doctor asked from Yaz’s other side, shouting to be heard over the music.

Yaz turned to her, eyebrows raised. The Doctor was holding an arm out, and after a moment’s hesitation, Yaz took it, ignoring her butterflies, and let the Doctor spin underneath her arm. The Doctor tripped a little on her dress and wound up facing Yaz with a breathless smile, and Yaz couldn’t help but grin back.

“Not going to be wearing a dress next time I do one of these,” the Doctor said. “I miss my pants. Nice and short.”

Yaz laughed. She didn’t let go of the Doctor’s hand. Their eyes met, and for a dizzying moment, Yaz forgot about everyone else in the room, she forgot about her newfound uncertainty, and it was just her smiling with (smiling at) the Doctor, jumping around on the dance floor

The moment didn’t last-- the song ended seconds later, and the brief silence that followed was enough for Yaz to feel awkward and take her hand away, stuffing it in one of her pockets.

“D’you want to get some food?” she asked the Doctor (and Ryan, but mostly the Doctor).

But before the Doctor (or Ryan) could answer, the music shifted into a smooth, slow ballad. All thoughts of food left Yaz’s mind, even as Ryan made a beeline to the buffet. She was vaguely aware of people around her coupling up, and the Doctor was in front of her, looking extremely confused.

“How’re we supposed to dance to this?” she asked Yaz.

“It’s-- it’s a couples thing,” Yaz explained. “You dance with someone else.”

“Oh, I really don’t spend enough time at parties in this century,” the Doctor said, her nose wrinkled.

Yaz shrugged. She tried to figure out what to say; she came up with nothing.

She was saved when, a moment later, the Doctor’s face sprang back to its usual intense expression as she looked right at Yaz and said, “Yasmin Khan. May I have this dance?”

A huge, almost silly grin sprang unbidden onto Yaz’s face. She tried to suppress it, realized she couldn’t, wondered if her hair was still in place, and then, finally, remembered that she still had to answer the Doctor’s question.

“Of course,” she said, twisting her hands in front of her. She held her arms up a little awkwardly.

“I’m not sure how to do this,” the Doctor said.

Yaz swallowed. She stepped forward and let a hand rest on the Doctor’s waist. The fabric of the Doctor’s dress was really soft, she noted, in a part of her brain that was completely detached from the fact that she was about to slow-dance with the Doctor.

“Like this,” she said. “Put your hand on my shoulder.”

The Doctor did, and Yaz let her other hand rest on the Doctor’s shoulder, which maybe wasn’t how most people in the room were dancing, but a lot of them were much closer to each other than Yaz was really comfortable with. One of the Doctor’s hands rested on Yaz’s waist, and the butterflies in Yaz’s stomach fluttered.

And then they were dancing. Swaying to the music. Yaz’s eyes met the Doctor’s, and then she couldn’t look away; that was what the Doctor’s eyes did, after all, they trapped Yaz’s gaze with everything they held. Yaz smiled, and the Doctor smiled back, the exhilarated kind of grin she gave Yaz when they were just about to take some ridiculous risk to save an alien world, and Yaz felt that warm feeling come back, jumping all the way down to her toes. Somewhat subconsciously, she pulled a little closer, still holding the Doctor’s gaze. She could almost feel a physical connection, a sort of thickness between them, something she didn’t quite know how to handle. It had been all well and good having flings in school, but this-- this was something serious, something big, and Yaz didn’t want to risk what she already had.

But the tension was pulling her in, and she felt the Doctor pulling her closer, and suddenly her eyes were sliding closed, and then her lips were on the Doctor’s, and the warm feeling spread until Yaz thought she might just explode, and the only things in the universe were her hand on the Doctor’s waist, the Doctor’s hand on her waist, and the Doctor’s lips on hers.

Until Yaz realized what was happening, and the warm feeling she had had turned hot and uncomfortable. She was kissing the Doctor. Her heart was leaping, but-- this was a risk she hadn’t meant to take. A risk she wasn’t willing to take.

She jumped back and opened her eyes, avoiding the Doctor’s gaze.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered. She felt separate from everything, separate from the Doctor, separate from the wedding, separate from her own body. Not waiting for the Doctor’s response, she turned tail and fled, pushing through the dancers, through the tables, ignoring Sonya’s snide remark flung from the buffet line. She shoved through the doors to the outside, letting the cool sunset air hit her face, and sank down onto the front steps, trying her hardest to breathe. She untied her bowtie and unbuttoned the top button of her shirt, which helped a little, but that hot and uncomfortable feeling was still there, crawling underneath her skin, and it was all she could do not to curl in on herself entirely.

She heard the door open behind her. For a moment she thought it was just a random guest, but then when the footsteps stopped just behind her she figured it was probably Graham or Ryan or maybe even Sonya, so she said, “Leave me alone,” but it wasn’t Graham or Ryan or Sonya who replied.

“Are you all right?” the Doctor’s voice said, and Yaz looked up, twisting her body to see the Doctor looking down at her with concern written all over her face.

“I’m fine,” Yaz said, but she was sure the Doctor could hear the defeat in her voice.

The Doctor hesitated for a moment.

“Can I sit?” she asked.

“Can’t stop you,” Yaz said.

The Doctor gingerly lowered herself onto the step next to Yaz.

“Did you want to talk?” she asked. “Only, I think these things are better when you talk about them.”

“What things?” Yaz asked, looking straight ahead.

“Things like when you’re dancing with your best friend Yaz and then she kisses you and runs out of the building,” the Doctor said. “Just as an example.”

Yaz laughed. Embarrassingly, she felt a lump in her throat, like she might cry.

“Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t want to-- ruin anything.”

She felt the Doctor’s eyes on her, but she still didn’t turn. She wouldn’t have been able to bear those depths just then.

“Ruin what?” the Doctor asked.

“I don’t know,” Yaz said. “What we have. Traveling. Friendship.”

“Yasmin Khan,” the Doctor said, her voice quiet. “I don’t think you could ruin anything if you tried.”

Yaz did look at her then, and she was surprised at what she saw. The Doctor wasn’t looking at her with fire in her eyes; her whole face was relaxed, and Yaz saw a quietness in it she hadn’t seen before. Part of her wanted to interpret that quietness as love, but-- she wasn’t sure if that was really there or she just wanted it to be.

“I like you,” she said. “As a friend, or as more than a friend, or-- or whatever. I’m really glad I met you, Doctor.”

“You should know,” the Doctor said, “the people I get involved with, it doesn’t always end well.”

“I decided ages ago,” Yaz said. “I’m taking that risk.”

To her surprise, she saw tears in the Doctor’s eyes.

“I’ve pushed people away,” the Doctor said. “Spent years mourning. Not traveling with anybody because I wasn’t willing to risk losing them.”

“I know,” Yaz whispered. She was dizzy with uncertainty now, with wanting to know how this conversation was going to end.

“But I need to take that risk, Yaz,” the Doctor said. “As long as you know what you’re getting into.”

Yaz nodded. Now there were tears in her eyes.

“I know,” she repeated. “And I can make that decision for myself, Doctor. I need you to trust me to make that decision.”

“I do,” the Doctor said. “I trust you.”

“So,” Yaz said. “Does that mean you-- want to date?”

“I’m rubbish at dating,” the Doctor warned. “Just to warn you. Humans have all these rules, and really I just want to travel with people whose presence I enjoy.”

“That’s not a no,” Yaz said.

“Yasmin Khan,” the Doctor said, and Yaz shivered to hear the Doctor say her full name like that. And then the Doctor slid closer, and Yaz’s mind went blank.

She and the Doctor sat on that step for the rest of the party. They mostly talked, but Yaz got to lean her head on the Doctor’s shoulder, and the Doctor was holding her hand, and not even Sonya coming outside to bother them into leaving with a snide  remark of, “I thought you weren’t dating,” could bring her mood down.

“Does this make us girlfriends?” the Doctor asked, as they got out of the car. “Like you were saying earlier?”

Yaz tried to remember what she was talking about. Earlier felt like it was miles away.

“I think it might,” she said.

“Brilliant,” the Doctor said, and she kissed Yaz goodnight outside her door.

#doctor who #dw #thasmin #writing #fic #thirteenth doctor #yasmin khan