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lovelyfictional-imagines · 5 years

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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

#doctor who #the doctor #the eleventh doctor x reader #doctor who x reader #the doctor x reader #doctor who imagine #11th Doctor #matt smith #romance #lana del rey #norman fucking rockwell!#reader insert

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sophisticatedloserchick · 7 years

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Fanfic - Who Are You? - 1/1

Summary: A very special (and mysterious) guest visits both Barry and Iris on their wedding.

Rating: PG

Word Count: 916

A/N: My take on Dawn(?) Nora(?) Allen at her parents (grandparents?) wedding. Tried to make it as vague as possible in case the show proves me wrong.

“You can do this Dawn, you can do this.”

She repeated those words over and over under her breath. Her hands keep smooth down the non-existent creases of her shirt, or readjusting her braid for the hundredth time. At one point she had to sit down with her head between her legs taking in deep breaths. She wasn’t having a panic attacks per se but she was finding it hard to breath.

“Are you okay?” One of the other servers asked her with concern.

“Oh yes, of course I'am,” Dawn said struggling through breaths. “I’m just very excited about weddings you know? People in love starting their lives together. And we get to serve them drinks. How lucky are we?”

“Errr I guess?” Her fellow server gave her a puzzled look before moving off.

It was then that she spotted him. The familiar tall figure at the front of the church. Looking handsome dressed smartly in a black tuxedo. But you could tell instantly that he too was a mess. Pacing back and forth across the floor mumbling to himself. He raised his hands to run them nervously through his hair but would stop himself as to not mess up his hair. At the sight of him Dawn felt all her nerves disappear. The excitement of the day came rushing back.

Dawn knew the rules of time travel. You weren’t suppose do it in the first place but if you did then don’t alter the past. You couldn’t reveal your true identity. You could only be a silent spectator. But seeing the groom in such a frantic state forced her into action.

Dawn grabbed the nearest the tray of sparkling water, took a deep calming breath, before walking over towards him.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Dawn felt like she could fly.

She knew talking to him would make her happy but she didn’t realize how much. She also thought she did a great job at concealing her identity. No way he’s ever realize who she really was. Pleased with herself Dawn walked with a skip in her step to the back hallway to where the server station was.

Lost in her own thoughts Dawn turned the corner expecting there to be more empty hallway. Never did she expect to see up close the figure in front of her.

“Oh my god, its you,” Dawn gasped out before nearly dropping the tray of drink but luckily catching them in time.

“Yes its me,” The bride laughed softly. “I’m sorry do we know each other?”

Dawn felt way less composed for this encounter. Her tongue feeling thick in her mouth, not that her mind was providing any useful words.

She was so beautiful. Looking at her reminded Dawn of princesses she read in fairy tales. Her dress was ivory white the top half a heart shaped corset and the bottom layers of soft white tool. Her perfect dark skin contrasted with the white dress. Her long black hair were piled up on her head with tendrils framing her face. A simple pearl necklace adorned her.

“Are you okay?” The bride moved closer to her. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I’m okay!” Dawn squawked out as she blushed a deep crimson. “Totally okay. Never been better actually. But who cares about how I’m doing. What about you? How are you doing?”

The bride laughed sweetly the more Dawn fumbled with her words. Which made Dawn feel strangely both pleased and embarrassed to get that reaction.

“You remind me of someone,” The bride said once Dawn quieted.

“Oh really….who is that?” Dawn asked in genuine confusion.

“The man I’m about to marry,” The bride broke out into a beatific smile.

“You seem very happy,” Dawn said dreamily.

“Who wouldn’t be when they’re about to marry the man they love,” The bride’s whole face lit up with joy.

“I’m so happy for you,” Dawn gushed. “This is the happiest day of your life. You are going to be so very happy. I just know it.”

“Thank you,” The bride’s eyebrows furrowed in thought. “I’m sorry I swear I must know you from somewhere. Whats your name-”

The bride’s questioning was interrupted by her father calling out her name causing her to turn away.

“Iris? Baby its almost time for us to go.”

“One minute dad I’m just talking to…” Iris turned back to see that the server had disappeared.

“Who are you talking to?” Joe asked.

“I guess no one,” Iris said as her eyes scanned the empty space that once occupied a girl who reminded her so much of Barry. “I could of sworn…no never mind.”

“Getting wedding day jitters?” Joe chuckled.

“Not at all,” Iris said firmly with a sly smile. “I’ve been waiting for this day for a long time.”

Iris took her father’s arm as they headed towards the entrance of the main hall of the church neither aware of the girl watching them from afar with absolute happiness.

#barry allen #iris west-allen #westallen #Dawn Nora Allen #fanfic

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