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bluehairedtracii · 4 years

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Hooks and Coins|| Harry Hook x Reader Soulmate AU!

Requested: by @lemonypink

Warnings: Harry being cute

Pairings: Harry Hook x Swann-Turner! Reader

Author's note: Oh my gosh this took so long! I’m literally so sorry! My motivation for writing has been a little iffy lately. Buuutt I’ve also been binging Criminal Minds soo it kinda gave me a creative push to start writing again. (Spencer Reid fics comin in the future) Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy this fic as I get back into writing again.

P.S. Melody is Melody from the second little mermaid movie, and I know she's kinda not mentioned again in the fic but just know that this is y/n’s best friend and that’s who she is lmao. I also thought the Coin would fit well in here because of the movies just sshhhh. Enjoy!!!!

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"it's soon! I swear!" The night of your 16th birthday, the day your life would change.

The day you get your soulmate tattoo.

"Are you sure??" Melody whines. "I'm positive! Look, it's not even 12:00 on the dot yet- ONE MORE MINUTE!" You look back from the phone on your lap to your right wrist.

"It's twellveeee." Melody cooed.

"Please please please..." You muttered still hopeful.

Then it hit, well stung. "Ow, ow, I feel it!"

"Let me see!" Melody basically climbed on top of you and saw it before you could. She gasped "oh my gosh y/n..." "What? What is it?" You tried to pull back your wrist to see, but Melody kept it steady.

"Y/n, as your best friend, I have to warn you as to what you're about to see...."

"C'mon Mells, it can be that bad." You sighed and tried to pull away from her.

"You have to PROMISE Me that you won't freak out?"

Annoyed, you sighed and smiled "I promise." "Okay.." she released your hand. You rubbed your wrist and looked at the small tattoo, "A Hook?" "Not just any hook... Penny told me about this." "This is the same hook as the famous Captain Hook himself! It must be his son!"

"Captain? So my soulmate is a Pirate? Like Dad and Mom?" Melody nods almost worried.

"Awesome."

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"It's late Harry, your sister is gonna kill us if we get caught and wake your dad." Gill rubbed his eyes as he walked towards the galley of the ship.

"I know, but this is where the best lighting is...in a few minutes, I'll get me soulmate...well uh, tattoo I mean." He whispered and unlocked the door, cursing at the squeaky floors.

Harry turned on the lamp nestled on his father's desk. The room lit up illuminating the maps that his father and oldest sister had drawn up while sailing the open seas. He dreamed of nothing more than doing that, sailing and hailing a crew of his own, but for now, he follows Uma’s orders.

“One more minute Harry.” Gill whispered looking at the tickless clock on the desk.

“Aye, ow! fff-!” Harry cupped his hand and flipped it to see his wrist, he bit back the pain as he saw the black ink form on his wrist. He’d been confused and tried to make it out as it formed. “Bloody hell, this sure is detailed in’it?” Gill loomed over Harry's shoulder, wondering what it was himself, Gill was sure he wasn't ready for his soulmate yet if he had to endure this much pain.

Harry closed his eyes and exhaled as the pain stopped.

He opened his eyes to see the grim Aztec Coin staring back at him.

“Holy shi-” “Gil do you know what this means?!” “She’s spooky?” “No GIl, you git, She’s a pirate! and she’s a Turner...” He says in awe as he smiles down at his wrist.

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A few months later both of you seemed to forget. The events of your daily lives getting in the way. You’re training to go off on a sailing trip with your dad for a few months, and Harry is… currently Helping Uma get revenge on Mal by kidnapping Ben.

But.. you were unaware of this. Obviously.

Lonnie and you were fencing/sword fighting in the school’s courtyard (for fun) when you saw the boys rushing into the limo. You both caught up to them and questioned them immediately.

“What’s going on here Jay?” Lonnie snickered full well knowing what’s happening because she overheard it earlier passing their room. “We.. uh..” “we’re going with you..” Lonnie cut the pair off. And this is how you went to the Isle of the Lost for the first time.

They had told you the plan but left out the part about who they were going to have to deal with if the plan went south. You were nowhere near nervous. All those times you’d trained with Lonnie and your parents at the shop basically were all for this moment. Your pirate self was ready.

Mal handed over the wand and you cringed a bit. “She’s gonna know it's fake…” you turned to Lonnie and whispered. “Shh I know, get ready..” you prepped your sword and placed one hand on your lapel while the other was free to toss the swords.

That’s when everything went south. You and Lonnie sprung into action and helped the others. The sounds of metal clashing mixed with the creaking of the ship and the salty sea air made you happy, it filled you with adrenaline. It felt like you were at home.

2 people fighting you at once, then three, then none, one by one you tossed them overboard.

You were caught in the crossfire between Carlos and some other goons so you ducked under them and sprung onto your feet right into someone else's back.

You both turned to each other, swords ready, you saw him and you felt that burning in your body. The one that your friends always said happened when you met your soulmate… “Ow!” “Oi!!” Harry lurched back and held his hand. And so did you.

“You…” he pointed at you “are you…?” you held up your hand and showed your tattoo. He gasped and smiled “I knew I’d see you one day..” you said in awe. You heard Uma yell for Harry and his smile faltered into a smirk.

“Sorry lass, no ‘ard feelings right?” “Obviously.” You struck your sword first and your swords clashed with each other. “I knew you were good Turner, but not this good.” he laughed as you both turned a corner of the ship. “Thanks! Maybe I can teach you sometime Hook, You seem a bit rusty!” “Oi! My ‘eart Lass.. that one hurt!”

You snickered and he had caught you by a wood post “awe, our first dance is over now?” your eyes sparkled. He smirked ”Aye if this were different, i’d very much like to get to know you lassy…” he got closer almost closing the gap in between you two. And his lips brushed yours before you heard Mal and Lonnie yell that it’s time to go. You smiled “sorry Luv, it’s time for me to go!” you kiss his cheek and push him away into a hole that’s in the ship. “Oi! That’s not fair!”

You were the last one to leave and thought of an idea, you caught up with them and helped Mal to kick off the ramp back to the car. “Find me!” You blew a kiss to Harry and smiled, and so did he. on the inside, of course, he had to be “mad” for Uma’s sake. But right now he was anything but. He just met his Soulmate and she was everything he dreamed of.

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Almost a year had passed when you had first met Harry. And you constantly think about him every day and so does he.

He sat at the bow of the ship looking out to the ocean thinking about you. It’s all that he’s been thinking about actually. He’s waiting for the day you can be with each other and in each other's arms. You literally took his breath away, because you kicked him, but he was entranced by your skills and beauty. He dreams about learning with you, meeting your folks, owning a ship, and most importantly.. Sailing away with you to see the world. He was stuck here.

Though he didn't know that you had convinced Ben (it took a lot of convincing) to let Harry over onto the isle for a while. Your boating trip with your dad had gone so well that you also convinced your dad to let you go alone this time. Your parents knew how a forbidden love felt more than anyone else. The love between the two of them, a humble blacksmith that was the son of a pirate and the daughter of a wealthy governor who found that boy so long ago. They were never supposed to be together in society's standards, but their love was the strongest bond. They granted their blessing to you, they knew you'd be safe. You’re a strong pirate and they want to see you the happiest you can be.

You smiled and looked out the window of the limo as it crossed the bridge. Mal and Evie both came with you so they could help you find him and tell him the news. You guys slip onto the docks while Mal and Evie keep guard on the limo and watch you just in case you need back up. “Ursulas…” you smile and cross through the swinging doors, you found him and you felt the burning feeling in your body again. So did he. “OI!” he dropped the basket of chips he was holding and growled at the mess he made. He was fuming until he locked eyes with you. “My princess has come back to me?” he smiled and walked towards you completely forgetting about the fries as he kicked them to the side. “Hey Hook.” you smiled and felt his hand on your face but he backed away. “Woah Turner you ain't gonna kick me ‘gain right?” “no.” you laughed and you both hugged each other.

He took the two of you outside “what are ye doin here luv? I mean, you don’ ‘ave to make any excuses to see me, but you came all the way from the other side.” he laughed and pushed back a strand of stray hair behind your ear. You blushed and held one of his hands, but unknowingly played with one of the rings on said hand. He bit his lip smiling at your nervousness. “U-Uhm.” you were surprised by the nerves in your voice, you were never this nervous before. This boy is going to wreck you. “It took major convincing, but I finally convinced my family and Ben to let you come to Auradon with me for a three-month sailing trip…” you smiled and looked at him. His eyes lit up and he lifted you off the ground and spun you around. “Are ye serious?! Of course I'd go with you!” “Great! We leave…” you check your watch on your left arm. “ In 30 minutes!” “Aye! I need to pack!” you laughed.

he backed you into the wall. You smirked, “oi, I've been trying to do this ever since the first time we met.” He closed the gap between you two and the feeling of his soft pillowy lips on yours brought you comfort and warmness. You kissed back and ran your fingers through his dark locks as he tightened his grip around your waist. You never wanted this to end. “25 minutes!” You heard the girls yell and you pulled away and laughed. “I've finally found my Turner..” “And I’ve finally found my Hook..”

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hollyhomburg · 5 years

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Close to you

(Gangster! Yoongi x Goodgirl! Reader) (Rags to Riches Au)

Summary: Nobody likes Yoongi, not your older brother or your friends. But with him, you feel more protected than possessed. And though he might be a gangster and more than a little dangerous himself- that makes all the difference. From drug dealer to producer, from rags to riches, you’re Yoongi’s person- his muse- his soulmate.

Tags: good girl x bad boy au, blood, drugs, Yoongi with tattoo's, references to making good ol’ sweet love, Rags to riches! au, brief mentions of drunk sex, Yoongi is soft and squishy and just loves the reader a lot.

A/n: This is more a story than a fic- with a little bit of an open ending to it- legit when I was editing this it tripled in length.

W/c: 9.8k

Song rec: Lover by Taylor Swift

You and Yoongi play basketball together, late at night in the park near your college. You don’t know how you started meeting up, but now you do nearly every day. You gather with the others at the edge of the court when the street lights turn on. Maybe it’s just to let off some steam from your busy college schedules, less than ideal lives, or just plain because you like the game.

It’s a mish-mash of different people from different backgrounds, misfits and goody-two-shoes alike, pros and newbies at different skill levels, but everyone is pretty good.

The games are never serious and no one really ever keeps score. The teams change depending on who tells what joke who gives what jibe. Lines are drawn in the minutes before you start, sides taken based off inside jokes and playful feuds.

One night when a regular named Wonho wears a crop top and calls it ‘fashion’- teams are drawn based on who thinks it’s ridiculous or not. (You and Yoongi are on the same team that night- because of course boys should be allowed to wear crop tops).

You’re always the last two to leave the court at night, sometimes just before the lights shut off at midnight, sometimes you have to hop the fence if the security guard has already come around to lock up. You joke that he might have a vendetta against your group- you always say until the very last moment the court closes and he grumbles about leaving early.

And on the nights where strangers lean in- when the streets don’t feel so safe and shadowy figures that seem recognizable at a distance linger longer than they should. When there’s another stabbing or a rumor of a girl getting taken off the street, Yoongi is the first to ask if you want him to walk you home.

You try reserving your impression until you know him better. But the tattoos on his arms and on his chest, peaking out over the low collar of his tanktops lead you to make conclusions that you’re not proud of.

Your first interactions with him are brief at best and you know just from how he looks that you should be careful around him. The others might play at being rugged and dangerous but Yoongi doesn't have to pretend.

You realize this when he stats to walk you home. No one messes with him, the other gangbangers on the street don’t catcall you when yoongi walks you home. Shop keepers seem to Nodd at him if they feel brave and close their doors the second they see him if they don’t.

Yoongi seems pretty abnormal for a typical gangbanger, He doesn't fit the trigger happy sadistic stereotype that the media paints others of his ilk in.

When he first asks to walk you home, You blush and let him because Yoongi is cute, charming even, and he’s nice company, even if he does look a little threatening sometimes.

You wouldn’t let him walk you home for any other reason then just...needing the safety he provides, not at first, not when your overprotective older brother doesn't let you date at all. You have a dating ban until you graduate college and as long as you sleep under his Roof.

He’d even tried to squash your interest in the pick-up basketball games when you first started going- but you needed an outlet, justified it by saying you weren't apart of any sports teams and needed to exercise. it isn’t safe on the streets so late at night, he says (and he’s not wrong- it isn’t.) he tries to get you to stay home each night or tries to guilt you into only playing on the weekends during the daytime.

But try as you might, every time he says it isn’t safe or brings up a carefully worded story by the news on the infestation of gangs in the city, you can’t help but picture Yoongi’s face. And maybe it isn’t safe for everyone. but the way he looks at you- guarded but curious and with a hint of mirth over the edge of a ball during a pass, makes you think that it’s safe for you.

You weren't exactly sheltered here, in your nice apartment on the edge of where town turns from seedy to bougie. You straddle the edge of gentrification Unable to fit in perfectly with either side. You’ve already had to move your apartment twice since you moved in with him after rent hikes and new policies made your past apartments just too expensive.

The first time your brother catches sight of Yoongi, on the stoop of your apartment building just as your brother gets home from work- perfectly mistimed, he goes apeshit when he realizes that Yoongi’s just dropped you off. Your older brother takes one look at him and says that you shouldn’t date gangsters- that Yoongi will just bring your trouble one day.

“Jesus Christ- he was just walking me home it's not like it's a big deal” and you remind him that you’re not dating- that you’re just friends and Yoongi is just being nice- and that your brother should be glad you have friends that want you to get home safe.

He tries to keep you from going out the next night and threatens you with few words not to keep seeing him. You’re late to the game because of it sucking off your pink sweatshirt and growling out that you need to work off some steam. “join my team” Yoongi says, making the others pause with a wave of his hands.

They reach for water bottles while you get your shoes on, Yoongi tucks the ball under his arm and stands while you finish lacing up your shoes. “you good?” he asks, “yeah just my brother being a dick and making me late.”

You know he says it’s all for you so that you’ll do well and school and get a good job later in life and have it easy, unlike either or your parents. but sometimes it feels like he just wants to control you needlessly. Yoongi nods and you see something- the mention of older brothers darken his gaze, you wonder why. “He pitch a fit after he saw me last night?”

“Oh you know it,” you say with false positivity. “But don’t worry you can still like- walk me home if you want, I liked talking to you yesterday,” you say, Shooting him a smile that makes his cheeks turn a little pink, he clears his throat “if it makes you feel safer of course” He reassures, ever the gentleman, and goes to shoot some free throws while you finish getting settled.

The blush doesn't fall really, especially when you meet his eyes over a pass a few seconds into the pell-mell start of the game. And you start to think that Yoongi with his tattoo’s and his roguish exterior might be the perfect amount of rebellion to get out from underneath your brother's thumb

Of course, Yoongi ends up being a lot more than that.

When you walk home together you talk about everything, sometimes stopping to get some food from a street stall, or passing a bottle of soju back and forth if it's a Saturday or a Melona ice pop if it's hot enough. you learn a surprising amount about him- you had no idea that Yoongi attended the same college as you, though he’s a few years older than you, in the year above, and only part-time because of his ‘job’.

He says this kind of cryptically he’s never come out and said what he does for a living to you before but you know, even if he doesn't say so at first. there have been times where other people pause at the gate to the court and gesture for Yoongi and you can see little packets of things being handed off, or he has to leave early. A curly red-haired guy that pops up often enough to drag Yoongi away who is equally as tattooed and threatening.

but whatever these mysterious people are, you know it’s secondary to Yoongi. after all one of the first conversations you ever have with him on the way home is about music. He confides in you and tells you of his big dreams of being a music producer one day after you urge him. He already knows your dreams of being a screenwriter- and the struggles you’ve had balancing your dream with your family.

Thought you both definitely went different directions with that, you just decided to double major in something more ‘practical’ in your brother's words, whereas Yoongi left home. “I’m gonna make it one day- I just know it, it’s the only thing I've ever wanted.”

And really anyone else would tell him that he’s stupid for having high hopes- his parents and older brother did after all- and he hasn’t talked to them in years after they disowned him for following his dream. But you just smile at him and tell him, “I believe you can do anything if you work hard enough for it.” Yoongi hides his blush by pulling up his hoodie.

Yoongi is a gangster of course, but the drugs he sells to put himself through college aren’t anything dangerous, even if he and his corner partner Hoseok, end up running from the police or another gang most nights and has been shot at twice in the last year. Hoseok has a scar from that night just above his shoulder- barely a graze.

People come and go for the nightly basketball games, but somehow- you and Yoongi are always the ones who linger the longest no matter how cold it is. If someone cared to ask, you might say you’re Already half in love with each other from ever smirk thrown over a shoulder during a game. Every “good shot” when you make a three-pointer sends you spiraling further down.

What started out as an easy way to piss your brother off, has turned into the kind of friendship that you would swear on. The day you roll your ankle Yoongi won’t take no for an answer and gives you a piggyback ride home.

“You need to eat any more this is hardly even a work out,” he teases, bending down so that you can reach the button for the streetlight. “You tip your nose against the nape of his neck and inhale a deep breath, he smells nice, he has the kind of scent that you could just wrap yourself in and cozy down. The action makes pleasant shivers erupt down Yoongi’s spine. The weight of you so gladly held that he almost misses it when he was to let you off. And he makes you promise to wrap it as soon as you get up the stairs.

The next day, the pink bandage sticks out from over your ankle socks and you bring Yoongi a brown paper bag from the fried food stall on the street. Smiling as you hand it over, “as a thank you” you justify, teasing him for his blush that starts up when he realizes you’ve remembered his favorites.

Yoongi’s secret is that he might be in a gang, but he’s also fucking soft as shit. He loves dramas and romance movies and he has a sonnet of Shakespeare tattooed under his arm and carefully stylized roses above his heart. Yoongi is a total hopeless romantic. He loves everything to do with romance. Even if all of the people he’s ever loved have broken his heart.

He doesn't sleep around a lot, doesn't let himself get close to people that often because people leave so much more often than they stay. And it’s almost like you’ve always been able to see through him- those times that you’ve talked about the dramas you both happen to like on the walk home,

And he lets you talk as much as you want about the different minute details of the dialogue and the stage directions, asks you why you like a certain love story or don’t and leans in- and you can tell he actually cares what you like and enjoy, is actually listening to you.

The same care that you return, when you share one of Yoongi’s shitty earbuds and listen to all of Yoongi’s favorite love songs. And steal the napkins he writes sappy lyrics on when you go out for hot chocolate after the game. The care that you show when you pretend that you don’t know that most of the lines of simple prose he writes are about you.

The first time you snag one and keep it away from him, you catch a look at the line of lyrics and find them- startlingly tender and honest. it’s hard to believe that walking you home is my favorite time of day when at the end of it I have to say goodbye to you, my secret is that I never want too.

You’re so shocked that he snags it out of your hand easily and he shoves the napkin in deep in his pocket. But the damage is done, you're wide-eyed and looking, his face bright red, cheeks round as he nibbles on his lower lip and shyly looks away, “don’t- don’t like- freak out or anything I just like writing about you is all- it’s not like, a big deal or anything.”

But the next day, you just smile up at him, wiping away the sweat at your temples proffering “walk me home?” like you have no idea what it means to him. So easily giving him the quiet acceptance of a part of him that he doesn't show anyone.

You goofily get too close when you guard him sometimes tackling and holding around his neck or wrap your arms around his waist during the warm-up games you play sometimes, giggling at his shout of “yah-”. When you manage to steal the ball from him- your specialty- you might not be able to make every three-pointer but you can always get the ball away from him or any of the others. Yoongi doesn't get angry or too competitive, just shakes his head and smiles.

You rarely ever see Yoongi around campus, even less rarely interact with him, though he will return your wave when you give him one. You see him one day when you’re walking between classes with one of your friends, Jaebaum who was your lab partner for chemistry last semester but had become your friend after joint commiseration over how terrible chemistry was.

“How do you know that guy?” the accusation is low and a little startled, his eyebrows pulling together into a glare that makes your hand fall from your wave. “We both go to the same pickup basketball games, why?”

Jaebaums jaw tightens as he looks back, but Yoongi’s already disappeared into the music building. “that guy deals drugs for half the sororities and fraternities at this school- just surprised me is all, I didn’t think that you would know him. You said you play basketball with him?”

You tell him more about them- not that you’ve ever hidden your secret. And he pushes until you agree to let him come with you. Maybe he’s just curious, but you’re just trying to be nice is all- Jaebaum is a friend even if his overprotective friend thing gets a little annoying.

You swear- what is it with guys and trying to protect you, Yoongi is the only one whose never made you feel inferior for it.

You’ve never brought someone to the games before but others have in the past, and Jaebum is introduced with little fanfare, though Yoongi goes eye him over the edge of a basketball and raise an eyebrow in your direction, you can hear his voice “really?”

maybe the night would have gone better if Jaebaum didn’t literally check Yoongi onto the concrete halfway through the game. The other players literally stop to a standstill, because no one is ever that aggressive. The ball bounces away unattended as Yoongi is quick to get up and shove Jaebaum back.

You’re quick to step between the two of them a hand on either of their chests as Yoongi growls out “what the fuck is your problem?” Even if Jaebaum is a bit taller, Yoongi doesn’t back down. Of course, the second Yoongi makes eye contact with you he backs off, though you do see his jaw roll in annoyance. And that’s more than you can say for Jaebaum, Who takes a few more words before he gets back to the game.

He lingers when the game finishes and usually, you’d stay for another, but no one else seems to be in the mood for it. You and Yoongi still pass a ball back and forth and Yoongi shoots a jab his way when pauses by the chainlink gate.

“Get lost asshole- and just for the record, acting all high and mighty around me doesn’t change the fact that your frat buys coke from me on the weekends and I know for a fact one of you brothers was looking for GHB last week,” Yoongi is merciless though putting all their dirty drug habits that he is only too privy too as their dealer out in the open.

Jaebum pales as you send him a shocked glance because you really didn’t know his fraternity did shit like that. GHB is like- serious stuff, and its reputation isn’t great. And fuck- Jaebaums even invited you to parties at his fraternity, who knows what was in the drinks of those other girls.

A glance at him tells you that Jaebaum really had no idea what his fraternity brothers were getting up to in their spare time but the damage is already done. Jaebaum turns to you pleading “Y/n please believe me- I didn’t know they where-”

“Jae” you cut him off, suddenly more shakey than you’d like, “I think you should go,” he doesn’t listen stepping closer, “Nah come on- let me take you home,” he pleads palms open.

Before he can get close Yoongi steps Infront of you subtly keeping a hand on your arm to reassure you. “I’ll walk her home- don’t worry Jae,” he adds mockingly. “She’s safer with me anyway.”

You and Yoongi pass a ball back and forth, the last to leave as usual after that but he’s unusually silent. Until the streets go quiet and he finally lets his feelings spill onto the asphalt. “Wow, you really know how to pick them huh,”

You check the ball back to him, a little harder than Nessicary “You know that’s what my brother said about you when he first met you right?”

“What?” Yoongi dribbles the ball as he shakes his head, you can see him actually getting angry as he makes a three-pointer and misses by a longshot, you catch the rebound and pass it back. “your brother doesn't even know me- not really.”

“I know that Yoongi and believe me- I never would have let him come if I knew he was gonna like” you trail off, struggling to find the right words. Yoongi concentrates enough to make the shot finally and takes a step back to see if he can make the next one. You return the rebound again.

“If you knew he was gonna try to intimidate me? Try to stake a claim on you or something like you’re a fucking thing when you’re-” Yoongi breaks off, swallowing back his anger and shaking his head like he’s ridding himself of his fury, even though you can see it boiling in his dark eyes when he turns them on you.

“Don’t you know how frat boys treat pretty girls? or where you just naive enough to think that one could be different when they all silently allow their brothers to do what they want,”

You pass it back hard, and it hits Yoongi’s chest hard. stinging a little- “Don’t you dare call me nieve Yoongi, not when you’re being hypocritical as fuck” you argue- you know Yoongi isn’t really meaning to be mean, not at all.

And Yoongi just- givens a particularly hard pass to you the same way you just did to him and your arms don’t come up quick enough and it hits your face. It’s not the first time that you’ve ever been hit in the face by a basketball, you’ve had your fair share of bloody noses. And anyone who plays knows the particular not-quite-painfull- stinging sensation that makes shocked tears spark in your eyes.

Yoongi immediately rushes over to hold your head and apologize profusely and he Dabbs at your nose to get rid of the little bit of blood that's dripping out of your nose with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. Apologize tumbling out of his lips,

“Oh my god I’m so so sorry- please believe I didn’t mean to- fuck- I'm sorry” and you’re not angry- you know he didn’t mean it at all- that it was an accident you just weren't paying attention. And Yoongi is panicked looking down at you and cradling your face in his hands, brushing your baby hairs back away from your face and it’s not even really like that bad or hurts or everything, your face is just mostly numb.

You can't help it- you start laughing, and he looks down at you wide-eyed “oh my god you should have seen your face- you look like you just accidentally stepped on a pets tail or something- holy fuck Yoongi I'm fine-”

But then Yoongi leans in, his forehead against yours in the lit basketball court, closing his eyes and looking like he hates himself for hurting you even a little bit- even accidentally. He looks so upset with himself and that he’s hurt you. For all of your close moments, your almost relationship-esce tender moments you and Yoongi aren’t so physically close so often. Even though your laughing, he sighs all the tension going out of him. “not my fault you follow me around like a puppy or something- you're just so- you’ve got this-” he makes a frustrated noise, “god you’ve always got me so tongue-tied”

And you still for a moment, standing in the middle of the court, a little blush paints his cheeks as he realizes how close you are.

On the basketball court, with your nose bleeding and Yoongi looking at you with all that love he’s hidden on display, you realize that there shouldn’t be anything stopping you from nurturing that affection that he’s so blatantly showing right now, that he always does whether you acknowledge it or not.

And maybe he’s always shown you that, maybe it was always there in the way he walked you home, the way he checks to see that you’re alright whenever you take an elbow or fall during a game.

Tender and protective almost like Yoongi is your bodyguard or something. But unlike others, Yoongi knows you can handle yourself and he’s only there so you don't have to deal with it alone. He might be protective, but he’s never claimed ownership of you like others have.

For a moment the lights flicker and go out plunging the two of you into muted darkness, especially here, where the streetlights barely bleed. It’s not an unusual occurrence, the court is kind of old and shitty and it’s probably just the security guard being passive-aggressive to you and try to get you to leave early again.

In the darkness you tilt your head forward and kiss him, your lips slotting together. After he manages to overcome his shock his hand fists in your hair underneath the hood of your hoodie. His tongue briefly licks out to paint heat into your chest that blooms like the roses on his. Before you pull away and Yoongi’s so breathless from just the taste of you.

And then the lights come back on and he’s just shocked standing there while you take the ball and try to make the shot Yoongi couldn’t make failing at first because your hands are shaking a little.

Yoongi runs his hand over his face and through his hair and tries to stop himself from grinning and quiet the rapid pounding of his heart. You shoot a three-pointer and make it- “holy shit Y/n you-”

“You don’t have anything to worry about when it comes to other guys Yoongi” and he’s just standing there blushy and quiet. “if that's what that thing with Jaebaum was about,” you pass the ball back to him, and he huffs.

“It was more about him treating you like a possession but okay- fixate on that I guess,” you don’t buy his ire at all.

He walks you home and kisses you again on your stoop and quickly pulls the closure of your hoodie over your face and runs away. “You punk Yoongi!” you shout at him, waking up the neighbors- but he doesn’t care, his heart feels too light to be bogged down by anything like disapproving outsiders.

later that night when they’re selling on the street corner, Hoseok levels Yoongi’s never falling smile with a raised eyebrow “what’s got you so happy tonight?” and Yoongi just tilts his head back against the brick building and smiles at the sky, unable to keep it off his mouth now.

“Nothing man, nothing at all” and of course that's a lie- Yoongi’s whole body is light with how much of something this is, his thoughts tripping over with little snippets of you. God, he feels like a little kid, excited to see their crush the next day at school.

You only kiss when the lights go out, in the shadows of alleyways, hands ghosting over places too intimate for public and for even the street lights. safe in the darkness where no one can see either of you and you can just be Yoongi and Y/n. The city melts away along with all of its problems and leaving both of you alone.

You only kiss when he walks you home, or when you sneak him into your bedroom on the colder nights through the front door or up the fire escape. And he’ll press you into the sheets of your bed, his bare arms, and the black ink on his chest and his inky hair contrasting with the white sheets of your bed, and he touches you so softly, every second building to linger, to cherish, to love.

You only kiss him when he surprises you, like the night after he goes out to dinner with your older brother to try and impress him. Yoongi’s white button-down barely hides all his tattoo’s but he does take all the piercings out of his ears. To both of your surprise, he manages to not make a horrible impression and actually earn your brothers approval (but only a little).

He only kisses you when you steal his leather jacket- pulling you close by the lapels, or when you steal his thrasher hoodie and he doesn't even realize you have it until he sees you walking around campus with it on, and pulls you into the deserted bathroom on the third floor of the science building because for a quick make-out session.

Who knows maybe Min Yoongi really likes kissing you, maybe he just really really likes you too, maybe when you text at night Min Yoongi finds himself burying his smile into his pillow, texting you back, “goodnight sweetheart, can’t wait to see you tomorrow,”

For your first date, he takes you out to dinner and then to a bar that closes early but has a legit ball pit. Complete with disco balls, a bunch of fancy setups and Instagramable pastel pink floral walls, and serves it’s sangria in glass teapots.

It’s pricer than usual bars, but it’s worth it- to get giggly and tipsy with you and bother the other patrons by starting a war throwing the clear plastic balls that look like bubbles back and forth. You use an inflatable heart- complete with bright silver glitter to block his attack and tackle him into the pit, shocking a giggle out of his chest that seems to shimmer into the open air.

And he takes a photo of you laughing below him when he heaves you up and into a pile, giggling brightly too. You snap a photo of him too and he looks all harsh and grungy against the pastel background, lounged out like a jungle cat in his black ripped jeans and black teeshirt. his darkness juxtapositioned with all of the pink.

You end up printing out the photo and hanging it up by your mirror in your bathroom where you eventually hang little tickets from late-night rap shows that Yoongi takes you too- or the tickets for the free day at the local zoo and a few romcoms. Little memories of your times together that you can wake up and see, and keep a piece of him close that way.

He prints out your photo too and keeps it in his wallet. He doesn't take it out and look at it often, but sometimes when he knows you’re asleep and he’s still out on the chilly street, the fingerless gloves you got him for his birthday warming his hands. He’ll finger the edge of his wallet and the edge of the photo that sticks out a little, and smile to himself- imagining that you’re wrapped up warm in your bed, maybe curling up in one of his shirts that he’d lent you- you always say you sleep better in them.

And he thinks about maybe sneaking up to the fire escape that leads to your window when he’s done for the night, tapping out a hello on your window until you wake and let him into your warm embrace. Quiet and taking his shoes off by the window so that his heavy steps don’t alert your older brother in the room over.

And maybe he could cuddle you a little before class, relax into your arms for a few hours. The lack of sleep would be hell to pay for later- and really, Yoongi also has papers due and assignments to complete not to mention exams to study for that need his time if he wants to even think about graduating anytime soon or keeping his scholarship until then. But he indulges in the idea of it, all the same, closing his eyes and imagining it just for a minute when he feels that photo, letting his memory’s drift back to your first date.

Sometimes on the really cold evenings, you’ll take the train home instead of walking- even though it gives you less time than you usually have. you grab the last train home and sit close. He taps out a pattern on the back of your hand, your skin unmarked unlike his. Each of his knuckles is marked by a symbol for a royal flush.

A ten of clovers on his thumb, a jack of diamonds on his index, then a queen of spades, king of hearts, then the ace of spades on his pinky. The tattoos are newer, you’re pretty sure Yoongi didn’t have them when you first met.

“How do you have so many tattoo’s?” you ask, you know by now that Yoongi only deals drugs to pay his many bills that aren’t covered by his scholarship. Because he has too to survive and not because he particularly likes being apart of a gang. His copious amount of inc seems like too an expensive habit for him to keep if he’s paying for it out of pocket. Yoongi watches you trace over the marks on his knuckles.

“There’s this tattoo artist across town, he’s pretty good makes a half-decent living or would if his boyfriend didn’t have this like- rare disease or something. I’ve never really asked or looked it up- but anyway, their insurance doesn't cover it and it would be like thousands of dollars a month retail. But I get them a couple months supply at a time for like a quarter of that- and as long as I deliver it to them every few months, Namjoon lets me sit in his chair after hours as a thank you.”

“Didn’t realize you-” “dealt in medical stuff as well?” Yoongi asks, raising an eyebrow, not judgementally but really, anything there is a market for Yoongi’s employers have him sell. but you don’t talk about Yoongi’s drug dealing. the less you know about the gang the safer you are. You nod, and Yoongi sits back, pulling you a little closer, your stop is nearing, and he knows that he’s going to have to say goodbye to you soon after that.

“The first time I met him it was like- not great. He was so panicked didn’t look at all the type to be buying drugs either. But he stuck around and kept asking if I could get it until I could, and then I started delivering it to his place instead of having him come to me and like, you know how dangerous it is and like walking around with that amount of cash. It isn’t something you do if you’re smart or unprotected. And I think he just started giving me free ink because I cared enough to drop it off instead of having him come to me.”

You lean over and press a kiss to his cheek- “Min Yoongi- friendly neighborhood drug dealer- who would have thought you’d be so kind,” Yoongi tilts away at your teasing because really, by now you know just how gummy soft Yoongi is and how true the statement is.

He’s always checking in, and he’s kind of the older brother of sorts even to the others at the basketball court, always the first one to playfully shove the gangly limbed kid named Jungkook who's hung around the courts since forever (and has only recently sprouted up taller than him).

Or he’ll ask you and Jungkook’s grubby thin friend Taehyung (that sometimes comes to games sporting black eyes and leans into Jungkook like he’s the only thing keeping him up) if either of you wants something from the 7/11 across the street.

He’s always soft to some of the younger high school kids that come by and play. The ones that obviously don’t have good role models at home. And you know by the way Yoongi sometimes gets self-critical that he doesn't think of himself as a good role model by any means- but he is a good person.

The streets might have made him rough around the edges and fierce by necessity, but Min Yoongi has never and will never lose his kindness.

And maybe that's why you love him, why you feel so safe with him, why you smile every time you see him and why your heart beats quick whenever he looks at you like you’re the only people in the room. You know deep in your bones that Min Yoongi might not look it on the outside, that he carries the weight of what he does like a bulletproof vest and has more than a little baggage, but he’s a good man.

The first night he takes you back to his apartment he’s a little shy about it because he knows it’s basically a closet. It’s in the bad part of town too, but it’s mostly clean and at least it doesn't smell too much like mold. There's only a single wall separating the kitchen from the half room where his single bed is tucked. But he does have nice windows, they’re the only thing that drew him to the apartment, a good view of some neon lights across the street and a full glass tilted roof where it used to be a covered balcony.

The producing equipment that he’d saved up for and his school things pushed and piled on the desk in the opposite wall. his stacks and stacks of notebooks full of poetry turned lyrics that maybe he’ll never put a song to. You could probably reach them from the bed if you stretched out really far. Along with a keyboard that he’d won after he’d beat a DJ in a game of pool. His clothes sit in bins underneath his bed that he shoves and pulls his blanket over to try and hide the drabness of it.

But you don’t judge at all, you don’t mark on the frayed edge of Yoongi’s duvet, or on the dust gathering on the sill of the windows. Or the bars that block the view. You smile at the band posters on the wall and the movie poster by his bathroom and giggle when he turns on the colorful Christmas lights he’s strung up over his bed and he asks why you’re smiling.

“This room is so you Yoongi- like I don’t even know how to explain it but it’s like I just walked into you- you know?” Yoongi does know, and his chest warms with the thought of this, this place is his home and only his safe haven (besides the court). It’s the representation of his everything. Maybe a little grey, a little worn around the edges but still comfortable, still warm.

You just stand there and look out the windows at the street corner below while Yoongi boils some milk for hot chocolate. And when it’s set he holds around your waist and hooks his chin over your shoulder, swaying slightly to the music that always lives in him while you look out the window, quiet and contemplative.

“I know it’s not much but you could move in if you want after we graduate- or maybe get a bigger apartment together and pool our resources for something nicer- if you want too.” you’ve been together for about a year now- even if the beginning of your relationship was a little more loosely bound.

“Really you’d want me to live with you?” Yoongi shrugs and blushes and you kiss his cheek sweetly making him flush a darker red. And Unlike how he would if he was with anyone else, he doesn't turn away or try to hide how he looks at you, so wanting and soft, almost hopeful.

He leans his cheek against your head and sways a little, tasting the lyrics and the beat on his tongue he would write about this moment- maybe they’re nothing- maybe there shitting and sentimental- I showed you the drabby parts of me and you told me it was enough, we felt our love with simple feelings, simple people all the same, and I know I’ll love you forever if only you would stay.

“Of course I want you to move in sweetheart.”

You start to sleep over some nights- the nights when your brother has to go on trips for work or it gets too late for you to walk back. Yoongi doesn't live in the safest area and he never lets you walk home alone, but he does try to limit your exposure to his world. The drug dealers on the corners giving him nod as he passes, but he does catch them looking at you- their stares confused and lingering.

It makes Yoongi worried. He starts picking you up from class too just in case.

You still play basketball late at night, and sometimes, when your both sit on the sidelines, you trace his tattoos and he tugs at your ponytail out and at the end of the night so that your hair falls around your face, Yoongi always walks you home. And maybe you steal his hoodie every night so that you can sleep surrounded by the smell of him.

But then, a few weeks after he finally graduates (you take him out to dinner to celebrate and get him the very very nice gift of soundproof headphones since he was still using the shitty earbuds that came with his phone) Yoongi doesn’t come to basketball.

Thoughts who know him well linger about for a few minutes after you’d usually start, but he doesn't show. You’re distracted the whole time, casting a glance to the gate to see if he’ll appear there, checking your phone when you take breaks until you give in and text him.

He doesn’t answer his texts when you send him one or pick up your phone when you call. And you’re starting to get worried when you walk home. Of course, you know what Yoongi’s had to pick up more “hours” whatever that means in the wake of his graduation and therefore the expiration of his scholarship.

You’ve thought about the possibility of him being arrested before, waking up in a cold sweat thinking about it. You try not to let Yoongi know how much it stresses you out. Your brother has told you more than once, “He’s going to get himself killed one day” or “he’s going to break your heart.”

but you always reply, “You don’t know him at all, he’s not like that, and he’s safe when he’s out- he’s always cautious,”

You walk the whole way home peering down every alleyway and knawing on your lip in worry. Wondering if maybe you should stop by his apartment and see if he’s there- after you drop off your books of course. Only to find Yoongi sitting on the stoop to your apartment building. He gets up with a pained groan when he sees you, knees cracking, his shattered phone dark and left on the stoop next to him. You drop your bag when Yoongi looks up and you catch a glimpse of his face underneath his hoody. Your school things spilling onto the sidewalk

“I swear I’m fine- It’s only cuz I was outnumbered that they got me so bad, my nose isn’t even broken.” he’s sitting on the toilet with you in between his legs dabbing at his split lip while he holds a bag of peas to his black eye and alternates laying on it his bruised collar bone. You’d been mostly silent since you saw him, but- when you see how gingerly he’s holding his battered body. And suddenly you’re crying, barely containing your sobs as they spill over your lips and you drink in him, thinking about the possibility of him landing himself in the hospital or an early grave.

Yoongi wraps his arms around you and pulls you close, burying his face in his sweatshirt you’re wearing. It smells like a piece of you and a piece of him. “I’m okay baby girl really, please don’t cry over me” you smoothing your shaking hands up and through his hair. You pull away from him a little. It breaks Yoongi’s heart to see you crying because of him.

“I can’t do this Yoongi, I’m always be worried if you’re going to be beaten up or arrested or shot at, I can’t be with you if I don’t know you’re safe.”

He swallows, blinking through his own tears- but really the choice he makes is instinctual- he would never even think of doing anything else. “What if I quit then, what if I stopped and found another job somewhere else- somewhere safer.”

You pull away looking at his face, seeing his brutal honesty the truth there. Yoongi has never been one to lie to you so if he’s saying it- he means it. “I’m serious about you, about us, I-” neither of you have dropped the L-word yet and all of a sudden Yoongi’s throat feels like he’s closing up because he’s never loved anyone who hasn’t left. But you’re worth it- you're worth the risk of shattering his heart.

“I love you so much, and I want to be with you, and if this- this is your deal-breaker, then I’ll stop.” You nod, and Yoongi reaches up to wipe away your tears with both of his thumbs. His hands rough from basketball, and the little scrapes on his palms, but still comforting in the way you can feel his intention in every touch. And leans his forehead against yours, you stretch your hand back to shut off the lights and kiss him in the darkness.

You’re glad your brother is saying late for work and leaving early because you can pull Yoongi through your dark apartment and into your room as long as you’re quiet. You kiss every bruise on his body from his cheekbone to his bruised knuckles, sitting over his lap in just a large white t-shirt. Your bareness pressed all to him and Yoongi touches you gently like he would a treasure.

Yoongi makes love to you and every stuttering movement of his hips is a swan song to anyone else he might love- because you’re it for him. His gentle hands smooth over your hips as you lose yourself among the covers, and his careful but firm touches.

He lets himself taste your skin, and luxuriate in the softness plucked delicately between his lips like the strings of an instrument, to suck your blood to the surface in a melody of red and pink. Gentle and slow and lingering like he’s letting you know that there is no rush for this like he’s staying like he’ll do anything you ask. He wants to be with you until you don’t want him anymore.

And you let him know you’ll always want him with every sigh, every bitten back moan of his name, and every scratch down his back that you want to mark him and keep him as yours as well. You let him know you’ll stay with every kiss from your red mouth a brand, and every sigh and keen a promise for the endless time left. You’re marked as well- even if he can’t see it you’re his and he’s yours, as sure and as permanent as the tattoo’s on his skin.

Yoongi cleans up his act. Talks to the gang and they let him quit as long as he agrees to still occasionally sell at college parties- and it’s enough for you. You move into Yoongi’s apartment much to the ire of your older brother, the semester after he graduates and a semester before you do.

And though it might be small it becomes your place, the place where your love takes full form and is stitched into every inch. You get a few plants and hang them by the windows and a small two-person table set into the wall where you have your meals together- Yoongi teaches you how to cook in your pajamas, a freshly-minted pop song crackly from the old Bluetooth speaker. You hang hooks for your coffee mugs underneath the cabinets to save some space.

Yoongi hasn’t had a family in years, his own parents and older brother disowned him when he left for Seoul to try his hand at music, and he only occasionally speaks to his brother on his birthday or Christmas.

He’s only been able to go to college and get a degree because of his own pure stubbornness and having good enough grades in high school and on the entrance exam to get a scholarship.

He’s only had himself to rely on for the last few years, and that changes almost overnight. He starts to build a family with you there, even if it’s just the two of you, you still are a family.

You’re the first person he sees when he wakes up in the morning, nestled into his chest all soft and delicate. You’re the first person he calls when he gets any sort of good news. The person he surprises with bulgogi on Friday afternoons just because.

At your graduation, Yoongi shouts and cheers you on, louder than any parent would, your brother laughing next to him. He may not approve of Yoongi entirely- but he respects Yoongi for how much he cares about you and how much he tries. Though the approval there might be tenuous, Yoongi makes it clear that he isn’t going anywhere.

You don’t mind the small bed in his apartment because you know you’d end up lying that close anyway. The large duvet spilling onto the floor as you curl up underneath it and pretend that you’re two bears in hibernation, chests and bones aligned all perfectly and comfortably, everything else outside of your little cave dangerous and frightening but it’s quiet and safe in each other's arms.

He gets you special tickets to a behind the scenes tour of a new drama that's coming out as your graduation present. And he holds your hand the entire tour, drinking in your wide-eyed enthusiasm the same way you do when you hear his music.

He gets a less dangerous job as a bartender at a club that the gang owns (because they’re still his friends even if they’re less close and see each other a little less. It’s not ideal but he’ll take what he can get until he manages to find a job where he can use his degree).

You finally meet Hoseok just after Christmas when Yoongi lets it slip that he doesn't have anyone to spend the new year with. And though he might be surprisingly upbeat there is the same darkness there that you recognize from when you met Yoongi, The kind that has little faith in the world but a whole lot of hope for change.

And Yoongi really thinks it's sweet- you treat Hoseok like you might a little brother even though he’s older than you by a few years. You make an effort to invite Hoseok out for dinner more often, and when Yoongi asks you say, “He seems a little too skinny, like no one’s taking care of him.”

Eventually, you convince him to stop dealing drugs as well, and Yoongi gets him a job working as a bartender soon after he gets the hang of it himself. And Yoongi spends most nights cleaning glasses with Hoseok endlessly flirting with any pretty girl who walks in the door. And Hoseok just laughs any time they try to flirt with Yoongi- because yeah he has someone waiting for him at home.

And then one random Tuesday he’s making jokes with a guy at the bar in an expensive suit jacket, and he realizes fate might just have it out for him- in a very good way.

It’s kind of his job to chat with the patrons when it’s not a DJ night. The booth in the corner sits and taunts Yoongi with the promise of someday- and Yoongi swears to himself that he will work his way into that booth one day, with sheer stubbornness and hard work.

He’s just joking around and kind of making fun of the guy when he gets on the topic of music and Yoongi says “You’re joking if you think that's a good song the kicks all wrong and the chorus has a wonky beat that just doesn't fit.”

The guy laughs and looks at Yoongi with sharp appraising eyes and says “I’m the one that produced that song boy” and then laughs some more when Yoongi freezes, flushing hard and stuttering out an apology. And holy fuck- this guy is basically what Yoongi’s dreamed of being since he was a teenager and first discovered his love for Music they talk more about it, and Yoongi tries not to be excited or drop his mixed tape or anything- he plays it cool as he can.

The next night he brings Yoongi the raw track on a drive and says, “I want to see how you’d alter it- try and impress me.” and Yoongi does, works on it day and night for a few weeks.

And you let him- come and stand by his desk and give him coffee when you get up to go to work just after he gets back (you’re only in between grad school and college now- but you’re working to save up money so that you don’t have to take out so many loans) and when you get back from your shift at a coffee shot you find him still hunched over his computer dead asleep, and sleepily tug him into bed for a few more hours sleep.

Yoongi hands over the finished track the next time he see’s the producer at the bar and he calls Yoongi the next day and offers him an internship. Yoongi thanks him for the opportunity profusely and promises him that he won’t disappoint. And when he gets off the phone he calls you- bugs you until you pick up and when you get home you jump and scream and dance around his small apartment. You both go to the convenience store and get a bottle of cheap wine and some melon ice pops and stay up after his shift to watch the sunrise.

And Yoongi can’t help but think that if you had never made him quit his job dealing drugs if he never started playing pick up games and met you- he never would have gotten the job and the bar and now he wouldn’t be here, on the precipice of everything he’d ever dreamed of.

well almost everything, because when he looks over at you, tipsy sitting against the window with a pillow under your butt grinning and tipping your shoulder sweetly into his- he thinks that being a producer is only half of what he wanted.

You make love on the floor of your bedroom- even though there’s the bed right next to you because your love is the kind that need not be confined to a single place (in Yoongi’s flowery words) even if he’s the one that ends up with rug burn on his knees later.

There are other conversations that happen in front of those windows, with kisses pressed to your lips in total darkness if it weren't for the neon lights. “do you think we should move?” “give it a few more weeks love,” he says, pressed between a kiss on your shoulder.

“you’ve been hired for over a year Yoongi- they’re gonna give you your own solo project any day now,” you snort. “is it weird that I can’t help but worry I'll be fired or something?” he holds onto you tighter.

You sooth him with a hand down his arm, your words velvet soft in the darkness, “no not at all- it’s just that the studio complained that a line of your sheet music got slipped into my rough draft last week, and maybe things like that wouldn't happen if we didn’t share the same desk.” a laugh shocks out of him “fuck we need a larger place.”

And then months later, when you’re thinking about moving, and Yoongi has his heart set on this one bedroom with small office space and a killer view over the river- expensive but still kinda tight. And you can’t help but think...you might need more than one room at one point in the future.

“did you ever think about having kids?” you ask, nervously drumming your fingers on the counter his hair curling against the nape of his neck. He’s been growing it longer recently, no longer does he get it done in the jagged undercut that he used to.

His sleep shirt is one of his old ones, no matter how big his paycheck has gotten Yoongi will always sleep in his threadbare basketball shorts and a washed-out tee. It’s almost like when he falls asleep he goes back to that same boy you first met years ago. With too many tattoos and not enough hope that his dreams would ever come true.

His eyes go wide over his cup of coffee, and he sets it down before he even takes a sip, mulling over your question for a moment before he answers “Only with you, why?”

Years later, after your screenplay gets picked up by a popular channel. when you’ve long left behind your tiny box of an apartment and traded in for an upgraded space closer to where both of you work. Yoongi is nominated (and wins) an award for a song he produced for an idol group.

You accompany him to an award show with his same tattooed arms around your waits, though the ink has faded a little bit. He still goes back to the same shop he used to though he pays now that he has enough money. Yoongi has even steered enough people (rappers and other producers) towards the shop that the tattoo artist can charge more and actually afford legitimate prescriptions no longer has to live through shady backroom deals.

A few more tattoos have been added, the first line of the first song he ever produced that made into onto an album, a little lightbulb for you, and more roses added to his chest. Lacing their way up his neck ending just below the date inked onto his neck- your anniversary.

And when he’s asked about you by reporters he introduces you as his muse. There is no small amount of fanfare for a well-known music producer and a screenwriter that's recently gained notoriety for her gang inspired drama. The bulbs of cameras flash, dizzying if it weren't for Yoongi’s steady arm around your waist.

“We’ve been together for years, and she’s always stood by me and encouraged me to be the best version of myself and follow my dreams. I know I wouldn’t be where I am if I didn’t have her which is why this award is as much for me as it is for her”

And the reporters clamor over themselves to ask you questions too asking you about the open ending of your book, if there is any hope for a sequel of your drama, and what the open ending meant. “I think the best thing about stories is that you get to wait and see how they end, so I won’t let anything particularly telling go before it’s time for you to see it,” you say, teasing even though everyone knows that none of the actors that starred in your drama have schedules for the next season- and are likely slated for a continuation even if your company hasn’t announced the sequel yet.

You and Yoongi take your seats to the side, but in the front row. During the award show, at the moment when the lights go low just before the idol group that Yoongi produces for starts to perform on stage, you and Yoongi tilt your faces together. And it feels like hello- like all of the time before that you’ve kissed in the dark when your lips meet.

The moments when you’ve both found each other in the darkness, met in the middle, to be nothing other than what you are. Both you and Yoongi are brought down to your barest forms, just two people in love and better for it. Stronger together than you are apart.

The lights go up, you and Yoongi clap harder than anyone in the stands as the starting notes fade in and the choreography starts as well, another song that Yoongi’s produced, one of many in the future

And maybe no one would know you’ve kissed if it weren't for your lipstick on his mouth.

#yoongi x reader #bts drabble #bts fanfic #bts mafia au #bts gang au #min yoongi x reader #suga x reader #min yoongi #min yoongi fluff #min yoongi angst #bts fanfiction #bts fluff #bts angst #bts #bangtan boys #bangtan #bts scenario #bts reactions

8K notes · View notes

jello-fello · 3 years

Note

For the ask meme- yes. The whole fucking alphabet. Any fandom of your choice for any of them -kipp

LMAO THE WHOLE THING? THIS SHOULDNT BE ALLOWED-

A - Your current OTP(s)/OT3(s)/OTX(s)

Honestly besides the Constant love for Mell and Kai, Ash and Eiji from banana fish, and Reki and Langa and Joe and Cherry from sk8 right now. Also i like Lawlight from specifically the 2015 death note tv drama. OH. AND ALSO. SEKI AND SHIMIZU FROM OYASUMI PUNPUN I LOVE THEM

(Side note ngl Detective Roberts and His Ex-Wife are v nice together i like them)

B - A pairing you initially didn’t consider but someone changed your mind

Ellspen from Self Aware. LIKE LISTEN. I KNOW I WRITE THE THING. BUT I NEVER CONSIDERED THAT UNTIL READERS STARTED SHIPPING IT

C - A ship you have never liked and probably never will (be nice)

Uhhh idk I never thought about it. Ig i’m not really a fan of Aizawa/All Might? that’s the first ship to come to mind. oh and also Hawks/Endeavor. not my cup o tea, never will be

D - A pairing you wish you liked but just can’t (again: be nice)

Any ship with Tanaka from haikyuu that Isnt him and kiyoko. like art of him and enoshita or him and noya are Cute, but i just dont ship it

E - Have you added anything cracky/hilarious to your fandom, if so, what

Does writing “Regenerate, Fate” count

I also have Goose Yagami meme and the yelling cat meme but it’s death note

F - What’s the longest you’ve ever been in a fandom

BNHA fandom has been since... november 2017ish

G - Do you remember your first OTP, if so who was in it

.........................................................................Klance.

H - What is your favorite source text for fandom stuff (e.g., tv shows, movies, books, anime, Western animation, etc.)

(ngl i dunno what this Means so sorry if my answer doesn’t make sense but-) I really like anime and animation, but also i really like comics and manga, more so now that im Making a comic

I - Has tumblr caused you to stop liking any fandoms, if so, which and why

I don’t think tumblr’s ever stopped making me like a fandom, but just like. stop going in tumblr’s tag for it. for example 15ish year old me was NOT ready to see the things in the undertale tag that i did. oh god the horrors.

J - Name a fandom you didn’t care/think about until you saw it all over tumblr

i dont think tumblrs ever led me to starting a show/getting into a fandom, but pinterest has. most of my fandoms have been through seeing random things on pinterest ngl

K -Say something nice about someone in any of your fandoms

Vigilantedekus is The Best and I Love Them

L - Say something genuinely nice about a character who isn’t one of your faves (chars you’re neutral on are fair game, as are chars you dislike)

Matsuda from death note might’ve been played as the “Funny because he keeps fuckin up” kinda chara, but i do like that he was the one to shoot light and that he had that kind of outburst about light’s dad. BUT ALSO MATSUDA’S THEORY IN THE END OF THE MANGA? RIGHTS.

M - Say something genuinely nice about a ship that you don’t ship (or its shippers, or anything related to you)

i dont have anything specific in mind, but all fandoms have DOPE artists

N - Name three things you wish you saw more or in your main fandom (or a fandom of choice)

head empty no thoughts

O - Choose a song at random, which ship or character does it remind you of

Right now “The mind electric” reminds me of Jamie from SA, “Butterfly’s Repose” reminds me of Mell And Kai

P - Invent a random AU for any fandom (we always need more ideas)

uh uh uh uh Self Aware but without Aviancorp. That’s the only difference. The au is just what kind of ripple effect it would have on everyone and their lives

Q - A ship you’ve abandoned and why

nothing’s coming to mind

R - A pairing you ship that you don’t think anyone else ships

Sobs. Seki and Shimizu from Goodnight Punpun. I only say them for this because theres So Little People who know them

S - Show us an example of your personal headcanon (prompts optional but encouraged)

Athen (my oc, Choosing(02)) wants to see hatsune miku because he uses a voicebank to speak and “! she sounds like me!”

T - Do you have any hard and fast headcanons that you will die defending, about anything at all (gender identity, sexual or romantic orientation, extended family, sexual preferences like top/bottom/switch, relationship with poetry, seriously anything)

I’m going to do these with my OCs instead. because while im the author, they’re headcanons because most of them i cant Really make canon:

Athen has a mothman pajama set. He and adam have matching “Humanfucker”/”Robofucker” shirts

athen Has seriously wondered if adam would leave him for mothman

athen gets a pet roomba named Hal

Jamie would be a good parent

Sam (one of the dead kids from Subject 402/SA-) would’ve been a soccer player if she lived

Letho (the Other dead kid) would’ve been an art student

if jordan(Kai) had a Normal Life and WASNT a human experiment, he wouldnt be very accomplished in school despite being a genius, he’d be kinda a delinquent and getting in trouble a lot

If mell had a younger sibling, people would probably think HE’S the youngest one. they would not believe he were older if they were close in age

U - 5 favorite characters from 5 different fandoms

Mob from Mob psycho

L and Light are tied

Aizawa and Shinsou and Deku are top faves ig

ash and eiji from banana fish. love them. AND SHORTER> LOVE HIM

i like punpun as a character but if i had the chance i would prolly throw hands

V - 3 OTPs from 3 different fandoms

Mell and Kai - Self Aware

Shindeku OR tododeku - bnha

(Letho and (Redacted)) - Self Aware (but like. the au if letho Lived)

Ash and Eiji - Banana Fish

W - 5 favorite ships and 5 kinks you like best for said ships

I think we all know my fave ships from this post so far. no need to do this question lmao

X - top 5-10 characters who are yoUR PRECIOUS BABIES AND YOU WILL DIE DEFENDING THEM

MOB. WOULD KILL FOR HIM BUT I KNOW HE WOULD BE :( AT ME FOR IT

ngl there aren’t many Precious Babies. like I’d say Hinata is a precious baby but haikyuu ends when he’s like fuckin 30 so what counts as a precious baby hmmm

Y - What are your secondhand fandoms (fandoms you aren’t in personally but are tangentially familiar with because your friends/people on your dash are in them)

my dash gets so much TMA

Z - Just ramble about something fan-related, go go go (prompts optional but encouraged)

this post is long enough,,,

#long post #ask #ask meme

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bmcrbb · 4 years

Text

artist claims

sorry for the delay, there’s some personal drama taking up my time to blame here & also a small bit of classic procrastination. but here we are, with ARTIST CLAIMS.

here’s how this works!

i’m gonna put a list of fics below the read more line, and they’re all numbered, but do not have author names on them. your job is to pick your favorite 3 fics, and then enter their numbers into this form. that’s it! a fic may end up with multiple artists, and we may do a round 2 for any unclaimed fics.

here we go!

1. Marked On My Grave

Summary:

Really, Christine hadn’t expected much to come out of her life after dropping out of Bard Highschool. Her job opportunities were low, and Bard College was out of the window entirely. Shady deals made by angry princesses didn’t exactly help, nor did the pillaging pirates and necromancers-for-hire. And the necromancer’s mechanical henchmen were just the cherry on top of the very, very dangerous cake! But Christine really couldn’t say no to an adventure, could she?

Ships: Hints of Christine Canigula/Jenna Rolan, background Jake Dillinger/Michael Mell, background Brooke Lohst/Chloe Valentine

Tags & Warnings: Fantasy Au (Inspired by DND), Minor Non-Graphic Violence, Mentions of Blood, Mentions of Unconsciousness, Brief Mention of a Concussion, Mild Cursing

2. Reconnect

Summary:

Jeremy is a single dad trying his best. Michael is also a single dad trying his best. After a falling out in high school, they haven't seen each other for years. When their sons become friends, they're forced to talk through their problems and figure out how to get along. Michael never really thought of Jeremy as anything more than a friend, but now...

Ships: Michael/Jeremy, Christine/Brooke

Tags & Warnings: Refrenced Abuse (from squip and from a parent), Slow Burn, Child Original Characters, jeremy heere fights the PTA

3. off key, but in tune (we reach a crescendo)

Summary:

Marching band! (No squips!) Rich has been in band since freshman year, he's been aware of Jeremy since they joined at the same time even if they played different instruments. They weren't friends but they weren't not friends. Eventually Jeremy brings another kid with him - they're sophomores now. Rich isn't necessarily good but he's the only other person who plays baritone. Michael picks it because no one else plays it. No one except Rich.

They spend their time at the back of the marching field, helping each other get their uniforms straightened out, crammed in the back of the band bus with Jeremy, falling asleep on the way home from a competition. Nothing becomes something becomes everything. Michael helps Rich read music, Rich helps Michael's form. Sophomore year turns to Junior year turns to Senior year. Long nights at competitions, winning awards, holiday concerts, state band competitions. At some point they realize that this might be what love is.

Ships: Michael/Rich

Tags & Warnings: Rich's dad sucks, implied self harm (nothing graphic), I'm not totally sure of all the details yet but they're sad and learn to navigate. Maybe past suicide attempts referenced. maybe underage drinking/smoking weed

Notes: the kids are all lgbtq and neurodivergent im not exactly sure on everything yet, rich has adhd michael is autistic and has adhd. slowburn all that good stuff, michael and rich play baritone, rich moves up to sousaphone and michael is a drum major senior year. jeremy plays flute. the others will be in it not totally sure whos where yet. jenna is yearbook tho.

4. Dead Poets

Summary:

Brooke loves poetry and dreams of becoming a poet herself, but when Chloe starts belittling her for it, she decides to leave it in the past. Flash-forward to junior year, and Brooke feels like her only purpose in life is to follow Chloe around while being constantly reminded that she's inferior to her. She could leave, but fearing what others would think and knowing that she's been in love with Chloe since kindergarten prevents her from doing so.

The only place that provides her solace is her favorite place behind the school, and one day, she stumbles upon someone there—Richard Goranski, a guy who loves poetry and literature as much as she does, and is also struggling with an unrequited love. Hanging out with him revives her will to create poetry, and together they learn how to cope with their problems. Unfortunately, things also get a whole lot more complicated, and Brooke realizes that perhaps that's how beautiful tragedies were written—they were experienced first.

Ships: Chloe/Brooke, Platonic Brooke/Rich, Rich/Jeremy, Christine/Brooke, background Jake/Chloe

Tags & Warnings: There are suicidal thoughts (Brooke seriously entertains the thought of killing herself at one point, but doesn't push through with it or even do self-harm at all. Meanwhile, Brooke discovers Rich's scars from doing self-harm, and learns that he's tried to kill himself before) and mentions of depressing things (like tragedies, so there will be mentions of blood and violence and stuff like that, but it's pretty brief), homophobia, Alternate Universe, Suicidal Thoughts, Self-Esteem Issues, Friendship, Inspired by Poetry, Hurt/Comfort, Heavy Angst, stuff like that. Oh, and there's a bunch of fluff at some point, and the S.Q.U.I.P. doesn't exist.

5. take my hand, take my whole life too

Summary:

Expensive Headphones fake dating AU.

Ships: Rich/Michael

Tags & Warnings: No Current Warnings, Fake dating, Wedding, Fluff

6. friended

Summary:

Focused mostly on platonic relationships and the aftermath of everything, i know one plot point that i wanna include is michael’s moms taking in jake after the house fire and rich + jer bonding

Ships: Jeremy/Christine/Jake, potential Rich/Michael

Tags & Warnings: Mentions of the squip abuse, Homophobia, Alcoholism, Platonic michael/jake, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort

7. love shack (that’s where it’s at)

Summary:

Brooke decides to capitalize on the annual Valentine’s Day Dance (the second most attended dance at Middleborough High, second only to the Freshman Fling. The prom DOES NOT COUNT, Jake.), and she sets up a little matchmaking stand outside school.

Two things she wasn’t expecting happen:

1) Matchmaking is a surprisingly profitable business

2) She doesn’t want a match of her own

Ships: brooke’s aro and that’s the whole point of this fic but, background Jeremy/Christine, Jenna/Thalia, & some very very background stuff

Tags & Warnings: Brief Homophobia, aro!brooke, figuring out your sexual identity, School Dance

8. Being Scared Keeps Us Alive

Summary:

Superhero AU where Jeremy is Spider-Man and Michael is like the blogger but anyway best friends turned boyf riends eventually with some twisty villainy occurring in the background

Ships: Jeremy/Michael

Tags & Warnings: Blood & Violence, Superhero AU

9. For The Better

Summary:

Chloe puts in the effort to change for the better, and her and Brooke find that maybe theres a little more than friendship between the two of them.

Ships: Brooke/Chloe, Jeremy/Christine

Tags & Warnings: None Currently

10. Let’s Get Inside Their Brains

Summary:

Jeremy Heere is a surgical resident. He’s the son of the now-deceased well-known surgeon Anne Heere. This is something he tries to hide from his peers. He falls for pediatric neurosurgeon prodigy Christine Canigula when he starts working with her. Christine is hesitant to start things with him because of him being a resident but she falls for him anyway. Jeremy also deals with trying to handle the legacy of being a Heere and the expectations that were set for him before he was even born.

Christine’s character is not just falling for a resident and that is not the only plot. She also struggles with the complicated task of discovering how to deal with a startling new epidemic of implants in people’s brains that change their behaviors. She can’t figure out how to fix the problem even with her prodigy level skills. Her attempts at removing the implant create strange behaviors in her patients that she doesn’t know how to explain. Sometimes the surgeries fail completely and people die on the table.

Jeremy has a knack for neurosurgery and is picked by Christine to work with her. Together they try to understand what exactly is going on and how to fix it without killing the patients or causing strange behavior that can’t see to be fixed.

Ships: Jeremy/Christine

Tags & Warnings: Medical procedures, mentions of past abuse, Dark, Alternate Universe

now, again, ARTISTS, please select your top 3 fics and fill out this form. first come, first serve! please have it filled out by JULY 23RD, or i will chase you around with a wooden spoon in your dms

#be more chill

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meapistrash · 4 years

Text

More Sheith S/omething In The Rain AU!

flight instructor!Shiro, office worker!Keith. They met each other in high school and reunite after 18 years, during which Shiro had gone abroad. Ryou is Shiro’s younger brother and Keith’s schoolmate in high school.

Their first dinner after 18 years:

They had dinner at a pasta place downtown because Keith wanted something saucy and Shiro wanted something with noodles – Altea had deprived him of noodles for far too long and Shiro was taking every chance he could to make up for the noodles and pastas he didn’t get in the last eighteen years.

(Keith laughed at that joke, which made Shiro’s inside dance in a strange way. Shiro blamed it on being married to Adam for so long that even the smallest thing could set him off.)

“So? What’s your story?” Keith said as Shiro had just shoved a giant mouthful of spaghetti into his mouth and almost choked on it. Keith laughed and handed him a tissue.

“What story?” Shiro wiped his mouth.

“The story of the past - I don’t even know how long? When was the last time I saw you? Your high school graduation?” Keith cocked his head in thought. “Oh my god, that was like… almost twenty years ago!”

“Yeah, I’m getting old.”

“Come on, life is only just getting to the interesting bits.”

“Your definition of interesting sounds very different from what I’ve been living.” Shiro chuckled.

“That sounds like a story to tell, Shiro. Come on, what have you been up to since I last saw you?” Keith looked at him expectantly, chin resting on his palm in an entirely too cute manner that made Shiro want to spill his entire gut. But then he remembered the recent events that lead to where he was now, and held his tongue, if only to preserve whatever good image Keith still had for him.

“How about you tell me about what you were up to? I’m sure you already heard a lot of stuff about me through Ryou and my parents.” He offered instead.

Keith pouted dramatically for a second before he relented, speaking a bit softer than before. “Well, it’s not as glamorous as yours, that’s for sure. After high school, I went to uni, got a degree and started working. Been at the same place ever since.”

“That sounds like a giant oversimplification for the most interesting twenty years of a person’s life.” Shiro pointed his fork at Keith accusingly and watched as Keith laughed, if a bit dryly. “Ryou said you went to DPU. Management, was it?”

“Yeah.”

“I was actually surprised when I heard that.”

“How come?”

“I don’t know. I always thought that you were aiming for something a bit different...” He bit his lips, wondering how to ask the question without sounding offensive. “I just didn’t think you’d end up with a desk job. That isn’t to say that Management isn’t a great degree to study, though.”

“Yeah, I get what you mean. Lots of people have said that to me,” Keith replied a bit dryly. “I did try, at first. I was doing paramedicine, but then… well, Dad died – I’m not sure if Ryou ever told you about that.”

Shiro nodded somberly. “I heard. I’m sorry I couldn’t come back for the funeral.”

“No, it’s fine. You weren’t the worst offender at the time,” Keith waved a dismissive hand at him. “But it was ages ago, and I changed to a different degree – something that gave me a more stable job. I was kind of losing my passion in the first place anyways, so it was just logical.”

“And how did your sister react to you doing that?”

“Romelle?” Keith bit at his fork. “Well, she didn’t say anything, honestly. She was just getting into high school, so she didn’t really care much for what I did. We weren’t as close back then. The one who gave me a bitching was actually Ryou.”

Shiro chuckled. “He does tend to bitch a lot doesn’t he?”

“My god, he does. He understood my intentions, he just didn’t approve of my methods. But things worked out in the end, so it wasn’t all for nothing.”

Shiro nodded. “And are you guys still living in the old house, or…?”

Keith shook his head. “No point in staying there, honestly. Me and ‘Melle live in District Four. We got a small apartment each in the same building.” It was one of the districts that experienced a large popup of apartments in recent years, as Shiro had learnt. It was closer to the CBD and was generally more cramped as they tried to shove giant apartment complexes where there were previously the old apartment buildings that were only a few stories tall. They were more popular with single people or couples without kids. Shiro had searched for a place there before deciding to stay with his parents for a while first, because while money wasn’t the issue, Shiro couldn’t find himself living alone after having been cohabiting with someone else for so long.

“Wow, that’s pretty good. And you say your life isn’t glamorous.” He whistled. “Makes me and Ryou sound kind of pathetic for living at our parents.”

“Oh please Mr. I-got-into-one-of-the-best-space-research-program-in-the-galaxy-with-the-IAA.”

Shiro scratched his neck. “Well, as you can see: I got in and I got out.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to…” Keith cringed and took a bite of his food to stop himself from talking. Shiro didn’t miss the barest glance to Shiro’s right arm – or the chunk of metal that was now his right arm. It remains one of Altea’s greatest medical feats, and Shiro was perhaps one of the luckiest people in the universe to have a state of the art prosthetic, courtesy of one Allura King.

That story was a popular one that had ran on the news for weeks straight back in Altea.

#sheith #sheith fanfic #vld fanfic #vld keith #keith kogane #vld shiro #takashi shirogane #meapwrites #sitr au

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megabadbunny · 6 years

Text

Minuet, Part VIII

“You help so many people,” she says. “Why won’t you let anyone help you?”

***

(ten/rose angsty post-gitf au/fixit; this chapter sfw except for language)

(full-size image)

Minuet, Part VIII

Pulling his robe close around him, Mickey shuffles down the corridor, stifling a yawn as he waves at other guests amidst the sounds of his grumbling stomach and his slippers slip-slide-slapping over the floor. His empty stomach has compelled him to embark on a valiant (if a bit drowsy) quest to the dining hall, to discover whatever delightful assortment of extravagant ceremonial dishes the Temple has provided for breakfast—but first there’s the matter of proper clothing, left behind in his haste to escape the Doctor’s nonstop chattering.

God, he hopes the Doctor has already stepped out for the day. If he hears one more hint of conspiracy theories or hydrologic events or ridiculously-prolonged event durations, Mickey, it’s just not meteorologically feasible!, he’s going to scream so loudly the neighboring solar systems will hear him.

But probably Rose and the Doctor have both already eaten, or they’re eating now, Mickey thinks. He imagines them quibbling over alien toast, or pointedly-not-talking-to-each-other while sipping their alien tea, or hurling snide quips at each other between mouthfuls of jiggly-faced alien eggs. Mickey rolls his eyes. Maybe he’s lucky and they’ve already departed the hall, and he can avoid the teeth-gritting awkwardness and tension that keeps blossoming between them. Or maybe he’ll just nab a plate of something and hide in his room until the storm passes. Both the literal and metaphorical storm, that is; the lightning and its violent cracks and splits in the dark sky overhead have got nothing on Rose and the Doctor’s pointlessly stressful nonsense. Why don’t they just kill the tension and shag already? Mickey scoffs to himself as he pushes open his bedroom door.

Then his eyes widen as he takes in the scene in front of him and the irony of his last thought hits Mickey with all the subtlety of a slap to the face.

Like a hunter stalking wild game in the forest, Mickey’s gaze follows a path of tracks, starting at the door in a cluster of shoes dropped pell-mell on the floor, his and hers mixed, leading up in a tangle of flung-off tuxedo jacket and jewelry and oxford and necktie and discarded bedclothes and women’s underthings to the bed itself, canopy-curtains tossed aside to reveal two occupants lounging about within. The Doctor looks as rumpled as Mickey has ever seen him—more than, actually, Mickey’s fairly certain he looked more composed in his post-regeneration coma—clad only in a tee shirt (hopelessly wrinkled) and his tuxedo trousers (even more wrinkled) and a pair of mismatched socks (has Mickey ever even seen his socks?). His hair is a right mess, sticking up even more than usual, as if it’s alarmed to find itself in such a state; it’s an odd counterbalance to the Doctor’s relaxed posture, leaning back against the headboard as he reads some book he procured from goodness-knows-where. And Rose—

Well, Rose is just naked and asleep. Not much else to be noted about that.

At least that answers the question of whether she and the Doctor have gone to breakfast yet.

Mickey’s eyes flicker briefly over Rose’s body, more out of confusion than anything. She’s lying on her stomach, a duvet hastily half-tossed over her—did the Doctor hear Mickey coming and cover her up, he wonders? Because the Rose Mickey knows always kicks off her blankets halfway through the night whether she’s clothed or not—so all her crucial bits are covered. (Not that Rose would particularly care if Mickey saw her in such a state anyway. Nothing you haven’t seen before, she’s often said, with a shrug, while she changes right in front of him. Mickey, of course, will say nothing, but blushes furiously.)

Frowning, Mickey glances at the Doctor, a question forming on his lips. The Doctor shoots him an imperious look over his glasses. It’s a challenge, Mickey thinks. Go on. Say something. I dare you. Mickey bristles at the thought.

But then he notices the way the Doctor’s hands fidget with the book, fingers drumming quietly on the cover and sliding along the pages in a manner that Mickey would almost describe as nervous, if he didn’t know any better, and oh—this isn’t some bullshit macho display after all. The Doctor doesn’t plan to lock antlers. No, instead he’s wary. Waiting. Like he’s nervous about Mickey will react. Like he might even actually care about Mickey reacts.

Wordlessly, Mickey scoops up his clothes, offering the Doctor a curt nod. The Doctor dips his head in reply, his shoulders visibly loosening, and Mickey turns to go. But upon reaching the door, Mickey has a second thought.

“You break her heart, I break your skull,” he says to the door. He turns back round to hit the Doctor with his very best threatening glare. “Got it?”

“Fair enough,” the Doctor replies evenly.

Mickey nods. “Damn right it is.”

He eases the door shut behind him, quietly, in an effort not to disrupt Rose’s sleep. Out in the hallway once again, Mickey expels a deep breath, leaning against the wall. A twinge of jealousy flares up somewhere in his chest, a tiny burning gnawing thing burrowing between his ribs. He closes his eyes and tries to will the hurt away.

Rose loves the Doctor. God help her, but for whatever reason, she loves him. And in his own strange way, maybe he loves her too. (Probably he loves her too, Mickey thinks with a grimace.) But as much as it stings, Mickey’s not going to be the one to stand between them and their happiness.

Besides—it’s high time he pursued some happiness of his own.

Eyes open, he pushes off the wall and heads back to the other room. Today’s pursuit, he thinks, should begin with a little investigation into this whole missing-priest-conspiracy business. Might as well get in a little snooping while Rose and the Doctor are otherwise unoccupied, right? He’s more than capable of doing things on his own, after all. Who knows, maybe he’ll even solve a little mystery or two without them.

But first: breakfast.

***

Rose is not surprised to wake up and find the bed empty beside her.

She only allows herself a little disappointment. It isn’t as if she expected anything different. The Doctor doesn’t do domestic; he’s made that quite clear. And this—waking up in a bloke’s room, lying naked in his bed, the morning after—it doesn’t get any more domestic than this. Honestly, she’d have been more surprised if she’d awoken and he was still there. A few minutes of affection and attention and he’s totally overwhelmed; he’s sort of like a cat, that way. The humor of that comparison does not escape Rose.

Drinking in a deep yawn, Rose sits up and stretches, muscles straining satisfyingly against each other a thick early-morning haze, only to indulge in a great flop back on the mattress after, limbs cast out like a starfish or a child making a snow angel. A sleepy, contented sigh escapes her lips. She can’t remember the last time she felt so well-rested, or the last time she was this pleasantly sore between the legs, for that matter.

But soon the itch to move (and perhaps more importantly, to scrub off an evening’s-worth of body glitter and sweat and various other things) becomes overwhelming, so move she does, swinging her legs over the edge of the mattress so she can snatch the Doctor’s abandoned tuxedo-shirt off the floor and pad over to the en suite for a shower. The water is deliciously hot, rolling over her hair and skin in soothing sheets, and Rose silently thanks her lucky stars that this planet has the gift of indoor plumbing. Good grief, but she’d missed her hot water in eighteenth-century France.

Lost in that odd timeless quality of a good shower, an unmarked bout of moments passes, Rose’s thoughts suspending in sluggish liquid laziness. She curiously inspects the range of available soaps and cleansers, each likely intended for a different species, some of them sweet and fruity-smelling, some of them harsh and astringent, others earthy, the smell of dirt fresh and clean. Ultimately Rose settles for the bottle that smells most familiar and scrubs away makeup and sweat and sex and something uncomfortable that’s haunted her skin ever since that jump through the mirror five and a half months ago, watching it all wash away down the drain in a swirl of suds and glitter. She dries herself off with a luxuriously fluffy towel, reveling in the glide of soft cotton fibers that brush over her like a kiss.

Just as Rose finds herself wishing for a toothbrush, she notices one lying on the bathroom counter, one that looks suspiciously like the stock the Doctor keeps in those bottomless pockets of his. Upon unwrapping it, the scent of Venusian spearmint floods her senses and she brushes her teeth with a grin that won’t quite go away. It was an oddly considerate gesture on the Doctor’s part—if a bit domestic, she thinks, her grin widening. After, she pulls on the Doctor’s tuxedo-shirt and doesn’t even bother with half the buttons before stepping back into the bedroom, humming at the surprise of crisp cool air against her still-damp skin.

“Blimey, took you long enough,” mutters the Doctor, and Rose startles to find him in the room, back in his old suit, lounging on the bed and splayed over backward as if he flopped there out of sheer impatience. A plate of goodies sits next to him, its contents already picked-over and jostled by the Doctor’s movement. “You just took a shower yesterday, how could you possibly already require such an extensive—”

His eyes find her and his words falter. His eyebrows knit together. He swallows.

“That’s my shirt,” the Doctor says flatly.

“Technically, it’s the Temple’s shirt, isn’t it?” Rose replies, laughing as she plunks down next to him on the bed and plucks something warm off the breakfast plate. She’s got no clue what it is, but it’s salty and starchy and good. “And good morning to you, too, by the way.”

“It’s evening.”

“The hell?” Rose peers out past the bed-canopy at the sky flashing overhead. Lightning cuts a bright white arc through the stormclouds, interrupting the inky darkness with patches of watery pink and red. It looks exactly the same as it did the night before, and the evening and the afternoon, for that matter. “How long was I asleep for?” Rose wonders.

“Fourteen hours and sixteen seconds,” the Doctor replies. “Give or take a few seconds.”

Rose laughs, raking a hand through the wet strands of her hair. The motion causes her shirt to ride up, exposing several inches of thigh that weren’t exposed before, and if she hadn’t been paying attention, Rose almost could have missed the way the Doctor’s eyes flickered down to her legs before resuming their blank stare into nothingness.

Hiding a smile, Rose shifts, lying down on her side next to the Doctor. “So—” she starts to say, but immediately the Doctor springs up so quickly the mattress ripples in his wake.

“So anyway, just thought I’d check in after your endlessly long sleep session and even longer bath, see if you were up for a bit of nosing around—overheard a bit of gossip whilst I was pilfering nibbles, something about the cleaning room and the High Chauncery’s personal chambers and strict orders to avoid each other at all costs, all very promising, nothing says conspiracy like refusing to let the staff do their job,” the Doctor babbles, hands shoved firmly in his pockets as he slowly backpedals away. “Figured it merited a good checking-out if you were up for it, so I’ll just leave you to eat and get dressed, shall I…?”

“Oh, god,” Rose sighs. “Doctor, please don’t tell me you’re gonna be all weird about this.”

“Weird?” the Doctor scoffs, mouth opening and closing ineffectually several times before any other noise decides to come out. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean. I’m being perfectly normal, thank you very much, and I rather resent the notion that I might be anything otherwise. I’m the picture of normal. The very portrait. The very realistic, well-lit, well-painted, brushed-by-Vermeer-himself portrait, thanks.”

“Did Vermeer ever get all flustered about a woman wearing his shirt and nothing else?”

“I’m sure he did.”

Then, after a pause, “…nothing else at all?”

“Let’s find out,” Rose says brightly, fingers flying down to her shirt-buttons.

Stammering, the Doctor darts over, stilling her hands with his. “Ah,” he stutters, “as delightful as whatever you have in mind undoubtedly is—”

“And it is,” Rose says with a grin.

“—with everyone else away at this evening’s ceremonials, I was thinking this might be a good time to do a bit of investigating—”

“Mm-hmm.”

“—or rather, you know. Poking around a bit.”

Rose’s eyes widen with mischief but the Doctor’s hand claps over her mouth before anything salacious can escape it. “Good grief, is that all humans think about?” the Doctor laughs. “At the shops, down the pub, on the bus, when’s the next time I’ll get to squish bits?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

“It’s a wonder the human race manages to get anything else accomplished.”

“Pretty much, yeah,” Rose agrees, voice muffled as she smiles against the Doctor’s palm.

“Indeed. However, if we’re going to get in any snooping this evening, we’d best hop to it, distraction-free. So, if I remove my hand,” the Doctor says, fighting the smile that threatens to quirk the corners of his mouth, “will you promise to behave?”

Rose shakes her head no.

Sighing, the Doctor shifts back. “I suspected as much.”

***

A few moments and nibbles and a fresh pair of trousers later (but still clad in the Doctor’s borrowed shirt, because she’ll be damned before she passes up any available opportunity to fluster him), Rose follows the Doctor through a series of chambers in the Temple, each one smaller and more round-walled than the last. But even amidst the air of conspiracy and subterfuge that lies heavy on them like a thick woolen cloak, pressing more and more urgently as they creep ever-closer to the Temple’s heart, prompting them both to regularly swivel round on a sharp lookout for stray guards or Votaries, Rose feels lighter than she has in months.

“So tell me about this conspiracy,” she says, idly glancing about the place as the Doctor scans orb after orb with the sonic. It isn’t the library they visited the day before, but rather, a sort of private records-room, as the Doctor described it, but Rose will have to take his word for it; all she knows is that the orbs are white, they glow, and every time the Doctor takes a reading, he scowls afterward in impatience. “What do we know so far?” Rose continues, tabbing one of the globes.

The Doctor rolls his eyes, but he can’t hide a grin. “Weren’t you paying any attention yesterday?”

“Nope,” Rose says brightly. “So gimme the scoop.”

“Well, unfortunately there’s not a whole lot to scoop so far, I’m afraid,” the Doctor explains, setting down one orb with a huff only to pluck up another. “Just a few frustrating questions, none of which have any apparent answer.”

“Being?”

“Why is the Allstorm suddenly so long, why are there so many foreign guests in attendance for what should be a cozy local religious ritual, and why has our Most Grant and Generous Host up and disappeared into the ether?”

“And you suspect that something big and bad’s to blame, and we’ve got to stop it.”

“Well.” The Doctor shoots her a glance over his spectacles. “Don’t we?”

Shrugging, Rose picks up one of the orbs to judge for herself. “Sure. Yeah. Maybe.”

The Doctor piques an eyebrow in question.

“You’re probably right,” Rose says. “I’m sure your Spidey-senses are tingling for a reason.”

“Yours aren’t?”

“Eh, I dunno. The missing host is fishy for sure, and I don’t know much about storms, but as far as the international guest list goes…” Rose hands her orb to the Doctor with another shrug. “I’m probably still just stuck a bit in the 1700’s is all. They’d celebrate anything, they would. And I mean anything. One time Reinette threw a party cos she got some new porcelain. She threw a party for a bloody set of dinner plates.”

“Aw, come on, Rose. The birth of the infamous celestial blue underglaze is worth at least a little bit of a hootenanny, isn’t it?”

“No,” replies Rose stubbornly. “And if I never hear the phrase bleu céleste again, it’ll be too soon.”

Chuckling, the Doctor turns back to his orb, his spectacles alternately flashing blue with the light of the sonic and electric-white from the lightning arcing overhead. “So your theory is that the guests are here just because they’re poncy and rich, and poncy rich folk will leap at any chance to party?”

“More or less.”

“Not a bad thought. Got any ideas about the other two-thirds of our problem?”

“If you’re forced to stay here for a whole month without a mystery to solve, you’ll go mad?”

“Cheeky,” says the Doctor, the corner of his mouth quirked in amusement as he scans a new globe. “Was that terribly fashionable in the French court? The cheekiness?”

“Oh, Louis absolutely adored it,” Rose says with a wink.

“I’ll bet he did,” mutters the Doctor.

Rose smiles. Something about this—the investigating, the banter, the still-familiarity of it all even after half a year away, the Doctor’s intense concentration written in the crease of his brow over those stupidly sexy specs of his—something about it all just makes Rose want to hug him, throw her arms around him and squeeze tight. Maybe kiss him, and see where that takes them. But before she has the chance to enact any part of her plan, the Doctor looks up at her over his specs again, eyebrow arched sharply as he says, “Can I help you?”

Rose shakes herself. “Sorry?”

“You’re staring.”

Rose begs herself not to blush. “Yeah? So?”

“Why are you staring?”

“I dunno. Just thinking about…things.”

“What things?”

“Just…things.”

“Because we haven’t got the time for canoodling right now, you know.”

Laughing, Rose shakes her head, willing the redness in her cheeks to die down. “Canoodling? God, you really are old.”

“How’s that?”

“Cos only old fogies say stuff like that anymore. And for your information, I wasn’t thinking about anything like that at all.”

“Really?”

“Really,” says Rose stubbornly. “Cos y’know, that was just a joke earlier, humans thinking about sex all the time. Despite what you may think, not everything revolves around you and, you know, canoodling or whatever—”

But her words are cut off by a tap behind the far wall, resounding through the room, and the Doctor stiffens in response, his head snapping to at the noise. It takes Rose approximately half a second to realize that’s one of those invisible-door-opening taps. They’re about to be discovered, and despite Uruud and the other Votaries’ claims of hospitality, Rose knows that this is one of the few places they won’t be welcome in.

“Oi!” shouts the guard as they step through the magic doorway, shining a light on Rose and the Doctor, freezing them both like a pair of deer in headlights. “Oi, you two! Guests aren’t permitted in here!”

“Right,” says the Doctor, stepping in front of Rose and the table full of scattered globes, shielding them all from view. “Of course. We’re so sorry, complete misunderstanding—”

“What are you doing in here?” the guard asks suspiciously.

“Canoodling?” Rose offers.

“We got lost,” the Doctor says quickly, stepping to the side to block the guard’s view as he tries to peer around him at Rose and the orbs. “We got lost looking for a place to—erm—”

“Canoodle,” Rose supplies, kicking herself.

“—and, well, nothing gets a human girl all hot and bothered like a roomful of private records, does it?” the Doctor laughs weakly.

The guard looks from the Doctor, around to Rose behind him, down at the misplaced globes surrounding Rose, back to the Doctor again. He does not look convinced.

“Sorry, but I think I’m going to have to take you in,” says the guard, reaching for something behind his back. A weapon, Rose thinks, and she freezes.

“And that’s our cue,” says the Doctor, grabbing Rose by the hand. “Time to run!”

Fingers cinched tightly round hers, the Doctor sprints through the records-room past rows and rows of glowing orbs, pulling Rose along for the ride as the guard chases after. Rose runs as fast as her legs can take her, neglected muscles tensing and complaining after months of sedentary stillness, but even amidst that, Rose is grinning like a madwoman, because she’s missed all of this, god has she ever missed it. She stifles a laugh as they run from one chamber to another to another, past columns and pools and guests, the guard close on their heels, adrenaline pumping like hypercharged jet fuel through Rose’s veins.

“Really, Doctor,” she laughs breathlessly as they run. “Nothing gets a girl all hot and bothered like a room full of records?”

“What’s that you said about canoodling?” the Doctor shoots back.

“I panicked!”

“Yes, that much is evident!”

The Doctor pulls Rose through chamber after chamber and the guard doesn’t lose sight of them once, his footfalls dogging them every step of the way. Fear and excitement braiding themselves together in Rose’s gut, she clings to the Doctor’s hand all that much harder, secretly relishing the mad rush of it all.

“Here,” announces the Doctor as they arrive at a huge curved wall, and a rap of his knuckles opens a doorway into one of the great halls, full to the rafters with guests and celebrants swirling about the place in some sort of ceremonial dance. Ducking beneath the wings of a large feathered guest, the Doctor draws Rose into the teeming crowd, away from the prying eyes of their pursuer. Once inside, Rose marvels at the sight all around them, celebrants moving and swaying to the ritualistic and rhythmic beating of drums pulsing beneath the soft flutter of winds and strings. The music swells and expands to fill the room, suffocating even the thought of space, cleaving to the dancers and adherents with an almost intoxicating closeness, leaving Rose dizzy as the drumbeat marches to the beat of her own hammering pulse. The celebrants surrounding her pull her in like an undercurrent, dancing to the beat in an elegant amoebic mass spinning and swirling beneath the lightning-split sky.

“Shall we dance?” Rose teases, half-expecting the Doctor to roll his eyes and snark at her again, but to her surprise, he nods. “Camouflage. Good thinking,” he says, pocketing his specs before stepping directly into the stream of guests, pulling Rose close.

Funny—Rose had sort of thought, when she’d ever allowed herself to think of such things, that if she and the Doctor ever transcended their unspoken boundary of clasped hands and too-tight hugs, then all that ever-present chemistry burning between them might fizzle out, doused like a candle at evening’s end. Not a bad thing, that; candles can’t burn forever, and when their spark has reduced to a gentle smolder, one can safely go to bed with a sense of ease and contentment, curling up for a comfortable and well-earned sleep. But with one of his hands guiding her round, the other clasping her close by the waist, pulling her chest against his, packing them both together so tightly she can feel each and every breath as it enters and leaves his body, it becomes apparent that no, that flame was not extinguished, it’s burning bright as ever, and probably has no chance of doing otherwise anytime soon. At least that would explain why Rose feels so warm all of a sudden, why her cheeks can’t seem to stop burning.

The Doctor spins her in time with dozens of other celebrants, elegantly following the steps of the dance as he scans the room for their pursuer, his glance aloof and oh-so-carefully casual. Distantly, Rose wonders whether he already knows this ritual dance or if he’s just stupidly good at improvising; presently, she’s too busy being distracted by the proximity of their bodies and the feel of his hands on her again to register much of anything else. She faces him again, pressed close once again, and he offers a grin. “Hello,” he says, and Rose remembers a similar sequence from before, a galaxy and a year ago. Almost feels like a lifetime, now.

“Hello,” she replies, a smile blossoming slow and sweet across her lips. She’s got no clue what steps she should be following right now but at least her time at court taught her how to fake it ‘til she makes it, if nothing else; she follows the Doctor’s lead with relative ease, laughing when she falters and her feet skip a beat along with her pulse. “Seem to be doing a lot of this lately, don’t we?”

“What, watching for guards while we stumble over our own feet?”

“Dancing, you great prat,” Rose laughs. A change in tempo means time to change partners and Rose switches off with a flourish, grinning disarmingly at the large rhinoceros-creature that glowers at her before taking her hand. (Though to be fair, Rose actually hasn’t got a clue whether it’s specifically shooting daggers at her, as glower seems to be the creature’s default state.) She twirls back into the Doctor’s arms afterward and there it is again, that heat, that electricity; the lightning flashing overhead has got nothing on the connection burning and buzzing between the two of them, Rose thinks.

“It’s nice,” she admits, her fingers nervously edging upward to fiddle with the lapels of his suit-jacket. “The dancing, I mean. We should do it more.”

The Doctor hums noncommittally.

“You don’t think so?”

“I don’t particularly think one way or the other, at the moment. I’m more preoccupied with our guard friend and wherever he might happen to be. I’ve sort of lost sight of him.”

“Right,” says Rose, nodding. There are other things at hand. Big things. Important things. Much bigger, more important things than the press of their bodies together, warm and close, soft and tense all at once, their clothes whispering against each other as they move, leaving Rose practically vibrating with anticipation, reminding her in full technicolor detail of everything they got up to the night before, his hands slipping beneath her dress, his lips on her skin, her mouth wrapped around his—

“It can’t happen again, you know.”

Shaking herself, Rose frowns. “Sorry?”

“Last night. What we did, what we said. It can’t happen again.”

“How did you know—you didn’t read my mind or something, did you?” Rose asks, startled.

The Doctor shakes his head. “Didn’t have to.”

“All right, I get it,” Rose sighs. “I know you like to tease about that sort of thing, humans and their silly animal instincts and all, but it only makes sense that it’s on my mind, Doctor. It only just happened last night. It’s not like I’m some crazed addict—not like it’s really the only thing I ever think about.”

“It’s on my mind too, Rose.”

“Oh.” Her cheeks reddening, Rose considers the implications of that, wonders what he’s thinking, if his recollections are anything as vivid as hers, what else is going through his mind right now. “Then…why?”

“As lovely as it might have been, it was ill-advised at best, dangerous at worst,” the Doctor explains, still scanning the room, and now Rose suspects he’s just using their pursuer as a convenient excuse to avoid looking at her. “And it’s dangerous precisely because it’s on my mind. It’s a distraction, and we can’t afford distractions. That’s how we end up in the predicament we’re in right now—it’s how things get overlooked, mistakes get made, people get hurt.”

Rose stops in her tracks, staring at him as the crowd bustles and sways around them; the Doctor stops as well, hands moving back to the safety of his own body, depositing themselves firmly in his pockets. “I’m sorry,” he says softly. “I know it’s not what you want to hear. I don’t particularly like saying it. If I had my way, we’d just pretend it never happened. I’m only saying anything now because, well, it seems prudent, and only fair in light of everything, to make certain my stance on the subject is clear.”

“And what about my stance on the subject?” Rose asks with a disbelieving laugh.

“It’s just a bad idea, Rose. You know it is.”

“No, I don’t,” Rose insists, crossing her arms protectively. “I don’t know that. Last night—”

“I just said last night was ill-advised.”

“You’re wrong,” says Rose. “You’re wrong about this whole thing. Cos you’re not worried about hurting other people. You’re worried about yourself.”

Frowning, the Doctor opens his mouth to protest, but Rose cuts him off with a hand wrapped round his arm, pulling him off to the side so they’re no longer buffeted by dancers and music and other things pounding mercilessly on their senses. Once they’re safely ensconced in a semi-private alcove, Rose sighs.

“Look, I know you’re lonely,” she says, and it hurts for the words to leave her mouth, almost as much, she thinks, as it hurts for him to hear them. “And I know that’s the biggest reason you keep any of us around. To fill the quiet. To make the universe seem new and bright again. To not feel so lonely anymore.”

The Doctor’s mouth twists unhappily and Rose has to force herself to continue. “And I’m happy to do that for you, I really am,” she says. “And if this is truly as far as you want things to go between the two of us, then that’s fine. If that’s what you really want and need, that’s fine. I won’t push you. But the thing is, it doesn’t seem like that’s true. It’s more like, you want things, but you think you shouldn’t have them. Like you don’t deserve them.”

The Doctor fidgets uncomfortably and Rose bites her lip in worry. Things were going so well just moments before—how did they end up back here, how are things already so tense and strained again? Not that she expected sex to really resolve anything, but last night, it had seemed like things were at least edging toward improvement. Why do they keep talking and working only to circle back round to the same bleak conclusion?

Well, while she’s pushing things, she might as well push all the way. No point in holding back, now.

“It isn’t just about the sex,” Rose says, and goodness, but she’s really blushing now. “But you do all these things—you make us feel special, like we’re exceptional, like we’re these bright spots you were so, so happy to find, and then on a dime, you turn right back around and make us feel like the lowest, smallest beings in the universe. You take us with you on these amazing adventures, and then when you’re done with us, you leave us behind. You pull us near only to run away when you realize just how close we’re getting. And we don’t get any say in the matter—when you’re done, you’re just done. And it hurts, Doctor, and it pushes people away. It’s only going to make you lonelier in the end.”

“You haven’t got a clue what it’s like to be truly alone,” the Doctor replies quietly.

“No, I don’t,” Rose agrees. “And I wish you didn’t either. Because you don’t have to.”

Wordlessly, the Doctor looks up and away, at anything in the room but her; Rose steps closer, reaching up to place a gentle hand on his cheek, a soft and undemanding plea for him to face her again.

“You help so many people,” she says. “Why won’t you let anyone help you?”

“I don’t need it,” the Doctor replies.

Rose arches an eyebrow in disbelief.

“Actually, I’ve changed my mind,” says the Doctor, pulling away so he can rock back on his heels. “I’ve got a definitive opinion on dancing after all. You’re right, it’s lovely, we should do it more. Starting right now. Right resolutely now, in case our little guard friend comes back to look for us again. Shall we?”

“How do you really feel about Reinette?” Rose asks, before she has a chance to talk herself out of it.

Now the Doctor stares at her. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“Why are you asking about her again?”

“I want to know.”

“Does it matter?” he asks incredulously.

“It does to me.”

“Why on earth should it?”

“It just does.”

Casting about in disbelief, the Doctor scowls. “Fine. What do you want me to say—that I’m drawn to clever, accomplished people? I’m fascinated with them? That I admire talent and beauty and generally impressive people and places and things whenever and wherever I might find them? It’s all true, I won’t deny it, never have. And I don’t think I have to apologize for it, either.”

“Do you love her?”

The Doctor scoffs. “Really, of all the reductive and oversimplified things—and a ridiculous notion to boot,” he says, looking at Rose with that horrible you’ve just dribbled on your shirt look, the one that suggests he’s very displeased with her for exposing him to her silly brain and its silly limited capabilities. “It’s an impossible question to answer by your standards, because love means too many things for humans. You love your parents and your family and your friends, certainly, but you also love your dog and your favorite ice cream flavor and the latest big thing on telly. You love fashion and science and sleeping in to ungodly hours and apparently pestering me with idiotic questions. The word love means everything, therefore it means nothing. It’s a useless platitude, a saccharine sentimentalism invented purely for the sake of films and fairy tales and song lyrics sugary enough to give you a dozen cavities.”

“Cool,” says Rose drily, because when the defensive cynicism comes out in full force, that’s how she knows she’s really getting somewhere. “So are you gonna answer my question, or haven’t you got all of the usual insults out of your system yet?”

“No,” he says, throwing up his hands in defeat. “That’s your answer, all right? No. Fascination and admiration and even infatuation don’t automatically add up to love, and if you think they do, then you should reexamine your maths. And you’ll just have to forgive me if I don’t conform to your very human standards of what fondness and caring and romance should look like—I’m sorry I’m not in the habit of vomiting out my feelings at every available opportunity, or opening myself up to things that will only amount to a horrendous amount of pain in the end, or carving off chunks of myself to give to people left and right until there’s nothing left of me, nothing, nothing at all. I’m sorry. All right? And that’s it, that’s all I’m going to say on the matter, I’m done, Rose, I’m officially done.”

“Okay,” replies Rose.

Wide-eyed and staring, the Doctor blinks in surprise. “Okay? So that’s it? We can drop this now, move on?”

“Yeah.”

“Really?” he asks suspiciously.

“Really. I learned everything I need to know.”

“And what’s that?”

“You’re a coward.”

The Doctor doesn’t reply, just watches her sharply, brow furrowed in frustration and hurt.

“You can deny yourself all you want, hiding behind the whole curse of the Time Lords business or your self-righteous self-martyrdom or your magnificent higher calling or whatever other noble-sounding excuse you want to come up with,” Rose continues, offering a sad little smile. “But at the end of the day, really, I think you’re just afraid to be happy.”

“Oh, come on now, that’s just—”

“It’s like you think you don’t deserve it cos you had to make some impossible decisions, like joy is some kind of zero-sum game and anything good you might have is taking joy away from someone else somehow, or like you think the universe will punish you or something, and—and honestly, how self-centered is all that, anyway?—but, just, look. Is this something you want, or not?” asks Rose, exasperated. “Just tell me honestly. If you don’t want us to be anything more, if you’re happiest with us just being mates, that’s all right. I’ll respect your wishes. If that’s what you really want.”

“It doesn’t really matter what I want,” the Doctor mutters.

“Of course it does,” insists Rose. “Doctor—do you think that way about anyone else? Would you ever tell someone else that how they feel doesn’t matter?”

Again he doesn’t reply.

“What about me?” Rose tries again. “Do my feelings matter? Do you want me to be happy?”

“Of course. Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Well, I want you to be happy,” Rose replies stubbornly. “It would make me happy to see you get what you want. Even if it’s not exactly the same thing I want. You deserve happiness as much as anyone else. It would make me very happy for you to know that. Yeah?”

Staring at her in dumbstruck silence, the Doctor swallows hard. His gaze shifts uncomfortably elsewhere, a hand carding through his hair as he considers—what he’s considering, Rose doesn’t know, but she worries about his next words, whether he’s weighing them, perhaps measuring the potential damage of them.

Rose hides a sigh of disappointment. It’s all too much for him, probably. She’s pushing him too much. She’s being unfair. This is too much to expect of him.

She can’t ask him to feel the same way she does.

“Look, Doctor. I just—” Rose starts to say, but he cuts her off with a hug, enveloping her in an embrace so tight it squeezes the breath right out of her. Her arms return the gesture on instinct, instantly wrapping round his waist and drawing the rest of her near so her face can burrow against his chest, her arms resting snugly against the small of his back. His double heartsbeat taps a reassuring rhythm beneath her cheek, thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump, and Rose relaxes a little, sighing in relief. Probably this is among the Doctor’s many hidden talents and gifts, this magical ability to hug and squeeze everything bad out of her until she’s left with nothing but quiet contentment. Or maybe that’s just how it feels anytime someone really needs an embrace and receives it. Either way, it’s a really fucking good hug.

“It’s not that simple,” the Doctor says softly. “But…thank you for saying it, anyway. It means a lot.”

“Yeah. I love you, you know.”

Her pulse racing in her ears, Rose’s voice is so small she thinks the Doctor might not even hear it—and maybe that would be just as well, anyway—but he stiffens, nodding. “I know,” he says quietly.

Stepping back, the Doctor casts his gaze downward, struggling to meet her eyes. “Rose, I—”

“Rose!”

On reflex, Rose’s head jerks at the sound of Mickey calling her name; she still watches the Doctor, waiting for whatever he was going to say, but his attention has already shifted, his focus switching in a millisecond.

Rose curses Mickey’s terrible timing. What was the Doctor going to say?

With a frustrated sigh, Rose turns to see Mickey swimming toward them through the crowd, Naami following close behind.

“Rose, we’ve done it!” Mickey says excitedly. “We’ve figured it out!”

“Figured what out?” asks Rose, lost.

“The conspiracy!” replies Mickey in hushed tones, glancing all about the chamber to ensure no one overhears. “The Doctor was right, something’s going on, but it’s not what you think—Naami, tell them!”

Naami nods, her face lit up in an eager grin. “So the High Chauncery hasn’t been seen in years, it’s true, but that actually isn’t too uncommon in his line of work, right?” she says, glancing from Rose to the Doctor and back. “As you know, Therran High Priests are renowned galaxywide for their scholarship and piety—”

“Of course we all knew that!” Mickey laughs nervously.

“—so of course, none of us ever questioned it. Priests might retreat into study at any time, for any reason, and they could be gone for any number of weeks or months or even, as in this case, years. But after the Doctor’s remarks on the High Chauncery’s absence, I thought I might ask round with some of my connections, just out of curiosity. We’re involved in imports, you see, so if the High Chauncery was bringing in new materials for study, then we’d be the first to know. But that’s just the thing—he hasn’t ordered any sort of religious texts for years now.”

“Because it turns out someone murdered him unceremoniously?” asks the Doctor.

“What? Of course not!” laughs Naami, daintily shielding her mouth with her hand. “Murder? Don’t be absurd!”

“Well, all right, then,” says the Doctor, nonplussed. “That’s unexpected. But certainly not unwelcome.”

“A nice change from the usual,” Rose adds.

“True, a very nice change.”

“That’s not the interesting thing, though! Tell them about the interesting thing, tell them what the High Chauncypants keeps bringing in,” urges Mickey.

Leaning in close, and whispering in a hushed tone, conspiratorial, like anyone around them might hear and gasp in shock, Naami tells them, “Giant mirrors, boatloads of argon, and silver iodide.”

Rose and the Doctor both blink in confusion. That’s not at all what Rose had expected to hear. She was thinking something more along the lines of illicit beasts or exotic drugs or, heck, at least some kind of rare spice. But this…this just sounds like a silly school science experiment, and honestly, after everything, that’s a little bit of a letdown.

“Oh, no,” says Rose awkwardly, glancing at Mickey with a shrug. “Not that stuff!”

She leans close to the Doctor to whisper, “What is that stuff?”

“Well, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say someone was building a big laser,” says the Doctor, frowning. “But I’m not certain how the silver iodide factors in, unless—”

“That’s them, over there!” a voice shouts over the din, and Rose turns at the noise to see their pursuer hovering at the edge of the crowd, pointing at her and the Doctor. Their single guard has been joined by several others, now, all of them staring in their direction. Staring, and grimacing, and brandishing a host of dangerous-looking, pointy weapons.

So much for that famous hospitality, Rose thinks with a gulp.

“Get them!” commands the guard.

“Split up!” Rose shouts as she pushes Mickey away with one hand, grabs the Doctor with another. Pulling the Doctor along, she bolts through the teeming crowd, ducking beneath arms and tentacles and wings; a glance back tells her that Mickey and Naami, though startled, have taken off running in the opposite direction. A half-dozen guards bridge the gap between them, shouting at the dancing celebrants to disperse as they break off to chase each pair.

“Here!” says Rose, pulling the Doctor between two huge elephantine aliens that sway to and fro over the floor, distracted both by the music and the guards’ continuous shouting. The guards struggle to catch up, stopped at every turn by errant celebrants and guests milling about the place in confusion, but after a lifetime of navigating London’s busy and tourist-filled streets, Rose has no problem weaving in and out of the throng, spotting a good-sized gap here, a narrow-but-tenable squeeze there. Before too long she’s drawn the Doctor out of the main hall and into a side corridor, their feet slapping hard against the marble floor as they sprint away from their pursuers.

“Not that way!” shouts the Doctor as they round a corner only to find more guards, and he yanks Rose off in another direction, guiding them both by the grace of his eidetic memory. They weave in and out of chamber after chamber, back through the dining hall and the menagerie and the pools and the garden, past shocked celebrants and shrieking animals and churning waters, lightning violently splitting the sky overhead as they run and their pursuers close in.

“What’ll happen if they catch us?” Rose gasps, throwing a look over her shoulder at the guards and their many, many weapons. And right at that second, as if someone was only waiting for her to ask, a shrill squeal fills the air and suddenly the Doctor is yanking Rose to the side just in time to avoid a barrage of blaster-fire, smacking the wall right beside her and leaving a smoldering crater behind in its wake. Rose lets out a cry as blaster fire rings out all around them, exploding the walls all around and the floor at their feet, filling the air with smoke and shrapnel. Another barrage of fire and Rose feels a beam graze her shirt, its scalding heat missing her skin by mere millimeters.

Heart hammering, air burning in her lungs, Rose wills her legs to run faster.

They sprint round another curve only to reach a dead end. The Doctor halts in his tracks, his grip tightening round Rose’s hand as they both skid over the floor. Rose watches as the Doctor whips back round to face the guards, glances back at the dead end in front of them, brow furrowing as he frantically tries to calculate.

Oh, god. That face. It’s been six months but Rose still recognizes that face. It’s the Doctor’s we’re gonna have to do something supremely stupid and hope for the best face. His we might die, but then again, we might not face.

“Doctor—” Rose starts to say, but, jaw set in determination, he doesn’t say anything, just takes off again for the far wall, yanking Rose along with him.

“No!” shout the guards behind them, their voices high and shrill over their clattering boots and firing blasters. “Halt!”

They reach the wall and Doctor raps a desperate beat against it until it springs open, a doorway parting to reveal a tempest of howling winds and punishing rains roaring loud enough to drown even the sounds of blaster fire all around them. Water and hail scream down in sheets, buffeted by the winds and hammering against the ground like shards of glass on pavement. Thunder pounding relentlessly overhead, the pitch black of the sky and the air are illuminated only by the beams of light piercing the sky, flooding the world in a flash of blinding-white and blood-red.

The Allstorm, Rose realizes, and she shrinks back in fear. She opens her mouth to plead with the Doctor, but terror has crept up her throat and stolen her words.

Pausing only long enough to steel himself with a steadying breath, the Doctor steps through the door, and Rose follows him into the storm.

***

Next Part (forthcoming)

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feynites · 6 years

Text

@lillotte17 and I were talking about maybe hooking up Daewyn and Thenvunin in the Sharp and Shiny Bagel AU, so I did a bit for it!

Thenvunin has just managed to get his last lock of hair into his curlers for the evening, when he hears the ominous shrill of one of his songbirds in distress.

Not coming from the back garden, in fact, but coming from the front of the house. Where no songbirds should be, none at all.

He’s out of the door in a flash, hurriedly yanking his evening gown closed and thankful that he at least already has his slippers on. The streetlights are on, and all of his birds should be asleep, but it doesn’t take Thenvunin long at all to spot the flash of bright purple feathers in one of the narrow, silvery trees that act as an informal barricade between his front path and the sidewalk.

Another distressed cry has him pelting pell-mell down the front walk, forgetting for a moment to worry about the neighbours and what they might think. Purple feathers - that will either be Windcrest or, more likely Sunset’s Smile - it’s nesting season for songbirds, and Sunset hadn’t been entirely pleased with the materials that Thenvunin gave her, for some reason. He had been planning to get her some alternatives tomorrow, but apparently she had decided to take matters into her own hands, and somehow escaped.

She probably figured out how to from watching Screecher do it. No matter how many shielding wards and fences Thenvunin puts up, that menace always escapes on him! Not that Screecher ever really goes far, but still. There are much too many ways for a pet bird to get injured out in the wild. Thenvunin reaches the tree and confirms that the bird is indeed his Sunset. She has the red marks on her stomach, and it looks as though she hurt herself somehow. Probably passing through one of the barriers meant to keep her in. Thenvunin will have to check for gaps, and have someone over to do the wards all fresh again. He never has had the knack for it, himself.

But, more pressingly, his bird is distressed and stuck in a place that she’s not supposed to be.

Thenvunin tries coaxing her down, just to see if he can manage it. He extends an arm up towards the branches and starts making cooing noises, but even though she answers him, she just intersperses her replies with sounds of distress, and refuses to move off of the branch she’s on. Her wing feathers look bent, though it’s hard to tell in the evening light, with the shadows from the tree branches in the way.

Thenvunin considers going to get a ladder. There’s one just by the back door. But that would mean leaving Sunset by herself, and what if she tries to follow him?

No, he’ll just have to climb.

With an internal curse and a prayer that no unfortunate breezes stir his evening gown, he tightens his belt, checks up and down the sidewalk - no one seems to be out, at least, and the nearest neighbours have their curtains drawn - and then starts shinning his way up the tree. Wincing as the bark scrapes his calves a little.

It’s a sturdy tree, though, and not too tall, and he just needs to reach Sunset…

The sound of tires slowly moving down the road escapes him, as the tree rustles nearby. He doesn’t hear the sound of an electric window sliding down, either, though he does notice the shift in light, as a set of headlights come in close. But that’s as much warning as he gets before he’s startled by the sound of a baby’s upset cry breaking through the night. His hands shift, impulses at odds with one another, and in an instant he manages to loses his footing.

Thevunin falls out of the tree, and lands squarely on his backside.

The baby stops crying, wherever it is, but sunset starts up again. Thenvunin winces, and then hurried tries to get back to his feet. His cheeks burn as he realizes that his evening gown has gone entirely askew - and he feels dread in his gut as he hears a car door open and close.

“Are you alright?”

The owner of the voice is not a man who Thenvunin recognizes. The only minor consolation he can draw from the situation is that the man is dressed fairly ridiculously himself; wearing a set of loose pyjama pants, and an off-white t-shirt with some sort of band name printed on the front. No shoes. It’s a warm night, but Thenvunin’s excuse is that he had just rushed out of his home - judging by the car parked next to the sidewalk, this man had been driving around like that, for some unfathomable reason.

Still, he gets himself up, and straightens himself out.

“I’m fine,” he says. “Thank you for your concern.”

The man gives him a wholly unwelcome once-over, at his assertion. His gaze lingers on Thenvunin’s hair, in its curlers, and then trails down over his robes, stopping briefly at his bare feet, before flitting up to his eyes again. Thenvunin’s gut twists in humiliation. He folds his arms, and very nearly marches back inside, before he recollects that poor Sunset is still stuck up her tree.

“Were you climbing a tree in a bath robe at nine o’clock at night?” the stranger asks him.

Thenvunin lifts his chin.

“I hardly see what business it is of yours what I do,” he snaps back, and does not appreciate the way the man’s eyes flit to his biceps. Entertaining lascivious thoughts, no doubt. Thenvunin just wants him to leave, but he hesitates a moment longer, and then he hears - of all things - the sound of a baby crying again.

This time, though, he can easily tell where it’s coming from. The parked car just behind the stranger.

The man turns himself and hurries back over to it, leaning in through the window.

“Hey, hey,” he croons. “It’s okay, Tin-Tin, I’m right here. I’m just helping the loony man who fell out of a tree, but he’s okay, nobody got hurt.”

Thenvunin bristles.

“I am not a ‘loony man’,” he insists, managing to keep his voice low, despite protesting. When the stranger glances back towards him, he folds his arms.

Sunset starts warbling in distress again, though, and that undoes him.

“Oh my poor girl,” he says.

“Is that a songbird?” the stranger asks, squinting back at the tree, as the baby seems to settle. “I didn’t think those were wild…”

“They aren’t,” Thenvunin informs him, shortly. “Sunset is one of my birds. Somehow she managed to escape the enclosure around back, and hurt herself. I was just… well. Trying to get her down, before anything worse could happen.”

Sunset warbles again, and he gives in and croons back at her. Let the man on the street think he’s out of his mind, he probably already does anyway, so Thenvunin has nothing to gain by stressing his poor bird out any further.

The stranger watches for a moment. Looking at the tree, and then at the car, and then ogling Thenvunin once again.

“Well, you… probably shouldn’t go climbing up that tree again. You’ve scraped your calf pretty badly,” he observes.

Thenvunin glances down, and, past the sting of humiliation and the worry and surprise of this ordeal, sees that he’s right. The itching sensation at his ankle that he’d barely been aware of is blood, and the skin of his calf is scraped and split. He wince, and then thins his lips.

“I can hardly leave her here, she’s hurt herself,” he counters, gesturing to Sunset. “And who knows what might get at her out here? The neighbours cats are darlings but I wouldn’t trust them an inch with one of my birds…”

“Well,” the man says again, and lifts a hand to scratch at the back of his neck. He looks very scruffy, and is still dressed entirely inappropriately for driving. Though, Thenvunin supposes, some parents do tend to drive their infants around at night. Reportedly it helps them sleep. Thenvunin absolutely does not stare at the flex of the stranger’s neck muscles, though, nor take note of his square jawline.

“Well,” he repeats, for a third time. “If you could just maybe keep one eye on Tin-Tin here, I could climb up and get your bird?”

Thenvunin’s eyebrows shoot up.

It’s not an offer he would have expected. Especially considering that the stranger is hardly better dressed for tree climbing than he is. But it doesn’t take a genius to suppose the obvious ulterior motive behind the kind offer. Rescue the scantily-clad neighbour’s pet, and then get invited inside, and then…

…Find somewhere to put the baby?

Obviously not a very well thought out plan. And Thenvunin almost never lets strangers handle his birds, for good reason.

On the other hand, he needs to get Sunset safely out of that tree. So perhaps he can play the situation to his advantage.

“You would have to be very careful, sometimes animals in pain can bite or scratch,” he says. “And… I’m sorry.” The rest of the offer catches up with him, then. “Did you name your child Tin-Tin?”

The stranger blinks at him, and then laughs.

“Ah, no,” he says. “Not exactly. Her name’s Tinuviel, but that’s a really old-fashioned name for a baby. Really old-fashioned. I think I had a great-grandmother named Tinuviel… which might be where my aunt got it from, come to think of it. Anyway, I just started calling her Tin-Tin for fun. She’s not really my baby, I’m just looking after her while my parents make arrangements to take her in. She’s my cousin.”

Thenvunin blinks at the explanation, and then recollects a recent report in his Vhenadahl News subscription, about a Dalish couple who went on a hiking weekend and were buried in an avalanche. He’d felt very badly upon reaching the part about their young daughter, Tinuviel Mahariel, losing her parents. Barely a year old and already struck by tragedy.

Sunset warbles at him again, and Thenvunin makes up his mind. Even if it does lead to some awkward prevailing upon, or expectations of gratitude and indebtedness, he supposes he shouldn’t leave his poor bird up there to just sicken and get worse while he twiddles his thumbs. And this man doesn’t seem keen to just leave him to make another attempt at climbing himself. With a sigh, he heads towards the car, and peers in. Wondering about the sort of person who would entrust a baby to a complete stranger.

Not, he supposed, that he’s necessarily being extended much trust. The man only moves over to the tree, and after looking at it for a moment, starts climbing it with the car still completely in his line of his sight, and the keys jangling from one of his pockets.

Thenvunin divides his attention between watching Sunset and the stranger, and looking in on the little baby.

She does look to be about a year old. Bundled up in footie pyjamas with leaf prints on them, with a few tufts of pale hair on her head, and a stuffed bunny next to her carseat. Her eyes are closed, and it seems she’s drifted off. She’s a cute little bundle, though, and Thenvunin has a difficult time knowing where to direct his urge to fret. But Tinuviel seems to be fine, and Sunset is making distressed noises again, so he turns his attention back to the tree in time to see the stranger carefully pull her off of the branch.

“Don’t press her wings!” Thenvunin insists. “I think she’s hurt them.”

There’s a sleepy protest from inside the car, and he puts his hand to his mouth, wondering if that was too loud. A glance back reveals the baby moving in her car seat. Mouth working and hands and feet jostling a bit. But after a breathless moment, she settles back down, and Thenvunin’s attention is once again torn away by the thump of feet landing on the ground.

The stranger has Sunset.

Thenvunin rushes over to reclaim her from him, eager to check her over and to know what sort of damage might have been done. Sunset struggles a bit in unfamiliar hands, and remains a bit agitated even once Thenvunin has got her. But she doesn’t bite him as he gets her on his forearm, and she doesn’t rip at him with her talons, either.

“Oh my poor dear,” he fusses. “Let’s get you inside, and see to your wings. Oh… um…”

Pausing, Thenvunin looks back at the man - who, in turn, has headed over to his car again.

“Thank you,” he offers, a bit tensely.

The stranger shrugs.

“What are neighbours for?” he replies. “I’m Daewyn, by the way.”

Thenvunin swallows. And here it is, then. The exchange of information. Though he supposes the man already knows his house address. He lifts his chin, and resigns himself to his fate. Surely there will be a repeat visit, now. When there are no longer babies and birds to distract from things.

But… he really does owe the man, at least…

“Thenvunin,” he offers.

Daewyn grins at him.

“Thenvunin. Pleased to make your acquaintance,” he says, with another positively lurid once-over.

Oh, Thenvunin is certainly doomed. He shivers, and holds Sunset closer, and then sniffs.

“Yes, well, you just keep your eyes to yourself, ser. There are babies and birds about, and I have to attend to my injured pet. So if you’re looking for compensation, then you’ll have to come back some other time.”

Daewyn has the audacity to look taken aback. But then, people so often do.

“I’m not looking for compensation,” he insists. “Like I said, just being neighbourly. You take care of your bird. I gotta get Tin-Tin home anyway.”

On that note, he raises a hand, and then opens up the driver’s side door again. Thenvunin hears him murmur something, but doesn’t catch the contents of it. He watches for a moment as the car pulls away, and then heads off down the street. Driving slowly, and then turning in towards a driveway at the very end of the lane. One of many houses on the street that had been up for sale, though, a fair few of the new development ‘for sale’ signs have gone down this month.

Sunset nips at him, and Thenvunin turns his attention apologetically back to her.

“I am so sorry,” he says. “Let’s get you seen to. Oh, what did you do, you silly thing? I’m going to have to get Doctor Lanaya to make a house call just for you again. But no, I’m not scolding you, you’ve been through enough…”

He croons at Sunset as he brings her carefully back inside.

There’s no point, really, in paying attention to where he lives. That Daewyn will probably be back. Thenvunin wouldn’t be surprised if he came by tomorrow, even. Although, as he passes by the hall mirror and catches sight of his reflection - evening gown muddied, hair coming out of the curlers he just put in - he reconsiders. This is not, by far, his most poised or alluring look.

Perhaps he has been spared the trouble after all.

Certainly, that would be no means disappoint him. Even if the man did rescue one of his birds. And have a rather nice build. Thenvunin was hardly noticing any of that, not at all.

#bagel pride #daewyn x thenvunin #also gonna tag with #sharp and shiny ship #and #aili x uthvir #since they are likely to intersect

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exoticcal · 7 years

Text

Michael Mell x Reader: Colors

IMichael Mell x reader, Soulmate AU where they can only see color when they meet their soulmate?

A/N: Requested by @isolatedgingernerd !! Sorry it took so long!

Grey.

Everything is grey, just in different shades..

It’s normal for people to see everything in grey, but for the lucky ones they gets to see color. By lucky ones I mean the people who found their soulmates, the person who you’re destined to be with for the rest of your life. In ways, I envy them.. They get to see the colors that I can’t even imagine seeing.

I’ve heard from many different people that you start seeing colors when you meet them, it could be a burst of color suddenly filling your vision or it could be slow and drawn out. I don’t know which one I’d prefer having, all I know is that I want to see things in color for once. Just like some other kids my age.

Great.. Time to go to school. I’m a senior going into Middle Borough High School and I’m practically going in head first. I’m the new kid starting today, my parents thought it would be a good thing to move across the country and live in New Jersey for my final year of high school. All negative thoughts aside, I have the slight hope that maybe, just maybe, I’ll meet my soulmate here at this school or maybe in town!

I make my way up to the front doors of the school and take a deep breath, trying to calm my sudden nerves. Maybe people are friendly here? I pull open the door and make my way in and towards the office, barely seeing anyone in the hall.

“Excuse me, ma’am?” I ask, standing in front of a lady behind the main desk.

“Yes?” Her voice sounded like she’s been smoking fro 20 years, so gravely and aggressive.

“I-I’m new here an-”

“You need your schedule and locker information. Yes, I understand.” She interjects, typing away on her keyboard. “Name?”

“Uh, (Y/N) (Y/L/N).” I look around the simple yet jam packed office, noticing a flyer promoting auditions for the play laying flat on the other end of the main desk. I could totally sign up for a backstage position.. Maybe an acting part? I carefully read where the sign up sheet is when papers are being shoved into my hands quickly.

“Class starts in 15 minutes. You have some time to look around, and maybe go to the cafeteria for breakfast if you want.” She says quickly, going back to her computer and typing away again. I quietly thank her before making my way back out into the hall, looking around.

The flyer said the sign up sheet would be near the theatre, I could take a look real quick. I find myself walking in the direction where the theatre could be. This school is somewhat big. I turn right down a hall and am greeted with a hall somewhat full of students talking, opening their lockers and just walking through.

Frantically I look on the wall to see if there are signs pointing to where the theatre is, I manage to walk through the crowd on the other side I see an arrow point left towards the theatre. Making my way there, passing through more small crowds of people I sigh in relief when I show up in front of the theatre. I’m not really big on theatre but this could be a way to meet new people.

Walking over to the sign up sheet, I scan over the writing on it and look at the slightly list of names. Hesitantly I grab the dangling pen and put it up to the paper when I hear loud whispering coming from near me. I turn my head and spot two people, a cute kind of short girl who has short dark hair with a wide smile holding hands with a taller lanky guy who looks.. nervous?

“Are you signing up for the play?!” The girl chirps, surprising me a little bit and making me drop the pen.

“I-I uh, well-” I feel my face heat up.

“You startled her!” The guy calls out to her as shes making her way over to me, grabbing my hands.

“Please sign up! Our theatre department is declining rapidly and we need more people to join! You don’t even have to act, you help out backstage just tell your friends to join too!” She rambles.

“B-But I don’t have any friends. I just started here today..”

“Well,” The lanky guy walks up to us, prying his from what it looks like, girlfriends hands off of mine and holding one. “If you sign up for either acting or backstage you’re destined to make a friend or two.” I smile slightly, looking back at the poster.

“We can be your friends too!! Right Jer?” The girl questions him before carrying on. “I’m Christine and this is my lovely, handsome soulmate Jeremy! We’re seniors this year in the theatre department.”

“I-I’m (Y/N), I’m also a senior this year.” I respond to their introduction, feeling my face heat up. I give them a shy smile before turning and writing my name down on the list. “I’d love to be your friend.” The sound of a bell ringing sends me into a slight panic, I don’t even know where my classes are or where my locker is even at.

“Hey, what class do you have first?”Jeremy asks starting to walk down the hall, sensing I’m panicking. “We can help you find it, that bell was the warning bell. It just lets us know that we have 7 minutes till class starts.” I sigh in relief and following him, fumbling around with the papers that the receptionist handed me earlier.

“It says I have.. Biology with uh…”

“Whitman?” Christine interrupts quickly, her facing lighting up. I give her a nod, making her slightly squeal in response. “We have class together!!”

“Nice! That makes me feel better.” I say, smiling at her.

“Okay, that’s figured out. Did you already find your locker?” I shake my head, showing him my locker number. “Oh, well you’re lucky cause that locker, if I’m not wrong is relatively close to the science room.”

After minutes of us casually talking, me opening my locker and stashing my stuff in, Christine and I are in our class sitting next to each other. An hour and a half goes buy and I find myself growing more comfortable with Christine, I muster up the courage and ask her the question that’s been in my mind since I met her and Jeremy.

“So.. You and Jeremy are soulmates?” I look at her as we gather our belongings, getting ready to walk to the next class.

“Mmhm!” She nods, looking at my paper and guiding my to my next class.

“So.. You can see color?” I sheepishly ask, following after her.

“Yup! It’s a different world when you can see color.” She gushes.

“That’s really cool.. How long have you guys known each other?”

“Well, we went to middle school together and I never really noticed him. From what he’s told me, he saw bits of color whenever he would see me but never thought anything of it. That is until last year, we were at a Halloween party and he asked me out which I declined because while he was seeing color I was still seeing grey.” I stops in front of my classroom door, leaning on the wall. “That is, till this whole incident happened, which is a long story that I could tell you about in the future, and he asked me out for lunch and colors slowly started appearing.”

I stare at her, slightly envious yet I was happy for her. “That’s amazing Christine. I’m happy for you.” I put on a small smile.

“Yeah.. I’ll see you after class at lunch right?” She asks as I start to walk into the classroom.

“Yeah, just find me and I’ll sit with you guys.” She nods before leaving to go to her class.

This next hour and a half goes by extremely slow, I find myself dying of hunger since I made the dumb choice to not eat breakfast. The other students start file out the door and I find myself follow the crowd into the cafeteria, grabbing some crappy school food and scanning the cafeteria tables. Spotting Christine, flailing her self around trying to tell me where they’re sitting at. I laugh quietly to myself before making my way over to the small table with a group of other students sitting with Christine and Jeremy.

“Guys! This is (Y/N)! (Y/N), this is Rich, Jenna, Chloe, Brooke and Jake!” I smile at every person she introduces me.

“Nice to meet you all.” I softly cheer. Setting my plate on the table next to Christine then setting my bag on the ground beside the seat, plopping down on to it to prepare to eat

A plate drops onto the spot of the table, directly a cross from me. I look up and lock eyes with a handsome, really tall kind of nerdy guy, his eyes get wide for a moment, before he sits down looking at his food and blinking rapidly.

“Finally decide to join us!” Jeremy jokes, flinging his arm around him. “(Y/N), this is Michael. Michael, this is (Y/N).”

“Nice to meet you, Michael.” I smile at him. He nods in response, putting his headphones on. Ouch.. Does he already not like me?

“Don’t worry, Michael is kind of weird sometimes.” Christine whispers, somewhat loudly to me.

“I can hear you, you know.” I laugh, making him snap his head up to look at me. His eyes going wide again and his hand covering his mouth, turning to Jeremy.

“Dude, you’re turning red.” Jeremy states, looking at Michael. Michael punching him in the arm lightly with his free hand. The two quickly ensuing in a little play fight. Christine and I watch them while we eat, Christine rooting for Jeremy and me rooting for Michael, whom I barely know. We start laughing at their actions with each other and suddenly something comes into my view. I look around at the cafeteria to see what it was, but it was all grey.

What was that?

I turn my head and look at Michael and there it is again. I freeze, my hand going over my mouth.

“(Y/N) are you okay?” I hear the girl named Brooke ask.

“(Y/N), what’s wrong?” Christine ask, placing her hand on my shoulder.

“Wh-What color is that?” I point directly in front of me. Michael and Jeremy both agreeing with each other to stop play fighting. Michael turning back to me, looking at my finger and then where I’m pointing at.

“What, (Y/N)?” Jeremy asks, confused.

“Wh-What color is Michael’s hoodie?” I feel my eyes stinging and filling with tears. “I-It’s bright.”

Gasps come from almost everyone at the table, only Michael not reacting. I look up at his face and see a lighter color of what color is on his hoodie placed on his cheeks. We stare at each other before Christine butts in.

“It’s red, (Y/N). Is that what you see?”

Tears start to pour down my cheeks as I nod, covering my face slightly.

Michael who hadn’t said a word, gestures at me then around in the air and mumbles to Jeremy, “I don’t know how to react to all of this, dude..”

“All of what?” Jeremy looks at him.

“There’s color, everywhere. Dude, are those freckles on your face? What the hell??” Michael gasps.

“Y-You can see all colors?” I quietly ask.

“From the moment we met eyes, yes. I didn’t know how to react, everything was grey and suddenly.. Poof! The color of your eyes were the first color I noticed then almost immediately everything else became colored in.” I wipe the ongoing tears from my face and I look around, this color red being apparent while slowly but surely other colors starting to come into play.

“(Y/N).. Do you see all these colors?” He asks, unsure of himself.

“ I-I see the colors you’re wearing.. Then some other colors here and there.. It’s just fading into my vision.”

“Holy thit!” The guy Rich exclaimed. “How did thith nerd get a thoulmate already?!”

Everyone at the table then starts to excitingly converse with one another while Michael and I stare at each other, not knowing what to say, do or how to react.

Michael leans in towards me and whispers, “Do you smoke?”

“I’ll try it out.” I whispers back, smiling at him. He stands up gathers his stuff, grabs my tray and gestures for me to follow him. I comply, get up and grab my stuff, following after him. Our table watching us leave out the doors of the cafeteria, calling out nonsense to us.

“M-Mind if I hold your hand?” He stammers, playing with the end of the sleeves on his hoodie. I hold my hand out in response and he quickly takes hold on it, rubbing circles onto the back of it. He leads me outside and to his car.

“Nice PT Cruiser.” I snort, joking with him.

“You dig it, baby.” He smiles over at me, shooting me a wink. He unlocks the doors and we get into his car, look at each other after we shut the doors and get situated. It’s silent, we’re just looking at each other. Inspecting each others faces and outfits, the color of our shirts to the color of our hair to the color of our lips.

Lips.. His luscious and a pinkish tan color. I subconsciously lick my lips before looking up at his eyes to see him doing the same, both of us flushing pink? We slowly lean in towards each other and our lips connect.

Slow and sweet, we pull away after a couple seconds and he turns and starts his car. Grabbing my hand and placing a kiss on the back of it.

“I’m so happy..” He mumbles into it, looking at me his eyes slightly glossy.

I squeeze his hand in response, “I’m happy too.” He smiles, wiping his eyes before he starts to drive of out the parking lot.

Not letting go of my hand. Bringing it up to his mouth for a kiss every now and then.

I’m getting to see the colors that I once thought I wouldn’t ever see,

because of him.

#THIS IS SO LONg #i apologize #Soulmate au #be more chill #be more chill x reader #be more chill imagine #michael mell #michael mell x reader #michael mell imagine #AU #writing

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actualbird · 7 years

Note

//downs entire cup of coffee ok. ok so uh. au where jeremy is a movie (movie!) actor who just landed his first major break as the male lead in a romcom with fellow co-star christine canigula, part-time actress, part-time broadway star, fulltime america's sweetheart. hollywood LOVES jeremiah heere, even if he's a lil overwhelmed by the sudden red carpets and paparazzi swarms. chloe works as head makeup stylist, brooke is in the costuming department, (CONT)

sfhdkjJJSFHSDHFDSHHHH DAMN SUNNY BACK AT IT AGAIN WITH THE INCREDIBLE AUS IM GONNA YEET

i CANNOT BELIEVE michael mell does not know who jeremy heere Is because everybody knows who he is. the hype for the movie (which is named Play Rehearsal because why the fuck not) is A Lot and jeremy gains a dedicated fanbase who watches every episode of an obscure tv show he’s been in, digs up shots of him doing various theatre productions through college, and one (1) shaky hand camera video of jeremy dressed a door in a pre-school play. jeremy is charming and kind and just the perfect amount of shy that makes people fall in love. when he gets signed on for the movie, everybody goes nuts.

jeremy is really fucking happy because here he is!! filming a movie!! (MOVIE!!) with christine canigula (CHRISTINE!!). he really is an incredible actor and he and christine have fantastic comedic and romantic chemistry. he loves acting and he loves his job and usual stress/doubts aside, he’s loving working on this film

but also ACK the attention is really overwhelming. logically, he knows that it comes with the job, but he went from basically a nobody to Rising Star. jeremy blended in seamlessly throughout his childhood, almost a professional at being a background character you overlook, and now. he’s getting recognized when he goes out to do groceries. he loves his fans so much!!! but also it’s rather nervewracking!! he didnt think he’d start fantasizing about days where he could go out and not get noticed, but here he is. he just wants a donut.

when he brings this up to chloe, she tosses him a pair of sunglasses. brooke takes those sunglasses and gives him a pair of much cheaper much less inconspicuous Not Designer sunglasses. jeremy gets the concept and digs out an old faded hoodie from high school and a cap (because he’s watched the scene in ca:tws. it’s incognito time) and makes that his Going Out And God I Hope Nobody Notices Me outfit. despite making it look like an idiot, it actually works.

until michael mell, the dude who doesn’t know who jeremy heere is cuz his media consumption is stuck several years back and even if he was watching movies from the present, isnt the type to give any fuck over hollywood/actor buzz. he’s just a guy who’s lost on the streets somewhere in los angeles and he’s never gonna make it to—oh nvm yo dude can i have some directions

it has been SO LONG since somebody’s looked at jeremy and just kinda looked at him like a normal dude. no eye widening. no asking for a picture. this guy just flashes a bright smile that’s totally movie worthy, thanks jeremy, and leaves.

thatd be the end of that but they just keep meeting.

jeremy gets a coffee? oh hey it’s lost guy! (this is where michael introduces himself to jeremy. he’s a programmer and he’s a bit new around here and when michael shakes his hand jeremy swears he understands that bit in the script of Play Rehearsal about heartbeats and hitched breaths. jeremy introduces himself as jeremy. jeremy heere. he waits for the pin to drop, for the recognition to come, but it doesnt. michael just quirks an eyebrow and says, “alright then, james bond.”)

(they share a table at the coffee shop and end up talking for the entire afternoon)

3am and jeremy’s at the corner store because Snacks and oh god hey it’s michael with a basket full or energy drinks oh god, what are you DOING. they criticize each other’s 3am food choices and it’s so much fun. the cashier stares at jeremy (Jeremy Heere) a little awestruck, but doesnt say anything. michael doesnt notice.

they finally exchange numbers when michael literally fucking runs into jeremy while theyre on location for filming and STILL. NOTHING. jeremy doesnt mind anymore and is just happy he’s got a friend who doesnt know or care about celebrity shit.

but then of course you cant get out scot free 100% of the time. paparazzi gets a shot of jeremy, in costume, looking dashing, the perfect romcom lead, laughing and smiling at an Unknown Man.

(”He isn’t my boyfriend, oh my god,” Jeremy says into his hands. “I literally just met Michael a few weeks ago. We’re friends. He’s really nice.”

“And you’re telling me,” Jenna says very slowly. “That he has no idea who you are?”

“I mean, he knows I’m Jeremy Heere but he doesn’t know I’m Jeremy Heere.“ Jeremy’s life is so surreal that that sentence can make sense.

“Was he living under a rock?” Rich asks, disbelieving.

“Under a Gamecube, probably, I don’t know.”)

idk how long i wanna push michael not knowing but my point is that jeremy Really Likes michael and totally doesnt wanna scare him off. the jeremy michael knows is nerdy jeremy who likes video games and not celebrity jeremy who makes people swoon with perfect smiles.

so jeremy doesnt Tell him. and michael says just figures that jeremy likes hanging out at really weird times and loves hoodies and caps and sunglasses and always looks over his shoulder because of his anxiety. oh the fun these two will have…

SECRECY!! JEREMY PINING BECAUSE HE FEELS THAT MAYBE HE MIGHT NOT BE ABLE TO DATE MICHAEL IF HE’S A CELEBRITY TYPECAST FOR ROMANCES!!! POSSIBLE MEDIA SHITSTORMS!!! MICHAEL MELL THE CLUELESS PROGRAMMER!!!

THE POSSIBILITIES FOR THIS ARE ENDLESS BUT I NEED TO STOP THIS RIGHT NOW BC THIS IS TOO LONG. FUCK. THANKS FOR THIS AU WHICH WILL NOW HAUNT ME

#bmc #boyf riends #celebrity au #marshall #i cant believ how good this au is sunny fufucfk #hc #this au is off limits for writing okay it's our baby thanks

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listentotheshityousay · 7 years

Note

protector is literally killing me. it's BEAUTIFUL. people have spent thousands of years trying to put words to the feeling of being in love and you write that Ache so. fucking. beautifully. /I/ hurt just reading it. thank you so much. that being said, (bc ur taste has won me over forever, BLESS), could you rec some of ur favorite bmc fics? (ik u answered an ask with some awhile back- I was wondering if you had any more?) TYSM in advance and i love you+your work to PIECES 💖💖💖💖

this ask delights me endlessly. thank you so much, anon!! I’ve been sulking over my ch6 draft today so this really helps my anxiety shut up 💕

okay so for anybody who didn’t see it before, here is a post from a while ago where I listed some of my favorite bmc fics. since then, I’ve been able to add several more fics to my catalogue of faves, so here’s some more fics I didn’t get to rec last time! all of them are boyfs except for one pinkberry fic!

Engagement Sequence by Kalopsia / @danisnotofire

“You shot my fucking client,” Michael growls. The phone, on speaker a few inches away, practically rattles with Michael’s vaguely concealed anger.

“No,” Jeremy says, his voice calm as he carefully folds his one good suit and places it into his bag. He has no idea who he’s talking about, but it doesn’t matter. “I shot my fucking mark.”

There’s silence on the other end, and for a moment Jeremy thinks he’s hung up. But then he speaks again. “I’m going to shoot you.”

“Find me first,” Jeremy challenges, because this is who the Squip has made him, this is who he is, and clicks the red button to end the call.

Jeremy and Michael are both assassins. They’re not looking, but they find each other anyway.

look, this fic murdered me in a back alley and then dissolved my body in acid and I would 10/10 rec the entire experience. please, for the love of everything, just read this fic.

ways to cope by KatMelody / @theyugiohtrashcan

“How long?” Michael asks, voice painfully soft.“Um… I… it was just an acci—”“Jeremiah. Please don’t lie to me. How long?“

the one in which jeremy heere is so, so bad at keeping secrets.

check the warnings on this one before reading, because it deals with self-harm. but I really loved how the topic was dealt with, and if you’re okay with that kind of subject matter, it’s definitely worth a read.

a crimson headache, aching blush by pondify / @playground-ghost

He supposes that it began, as it always does, with Michael.

this is a very short take on the boyfs as friends with benefits, and the pining in it is exquisite. do you like angst and hotness packed into 865 words?? here is your treat for the day.

I could lay right here and burn in you all day by cataclysma / @lifehateslemons

"You better fucking look at me.”Jeremy’s response is instant. His eyes snap open, immediately going to meet Michael’s intense gaze. Michael’s eyes are narrowed, dark behind the shields of his glasses. Fuck, he looks really hot like this.

in which jeremy is a kinky fuck and michael’s kink IS jeremy

hello do you like porn featuring 1. submissive jeremy 2. dom michael bossing jeremy around who then 3. immediately turns into a gentle soft boyfriend as soon as jeremy’s gotten what he needs??? here, have some scorching deliciousness.

Work in Progress by Nymm_at_Night / @nymm-kirimoto

Drarrymotter1015 and MoonGoon forge a friendship through fanfiction. On the other side of the screen, Michael and Jeremy try and figure out what’s left of theirs. Otherwise known the Fanfiction Writer! Au nobody asked for, but I wrote anyways.

okay look, you want to laugh your ass off over the boyfs unknowingly writing porn together over the internet?? because this fic’s got A+ banter, genuinely interesting story progression, and painful emotions all rolled up in the guise of the most meta-feeling fic of the year.

a little unsteady by starlithorizons / @starlithorizons

Michael’s hidden domain has always been the rollerskating rink - a home away from home. Jeremy isn’t so suited for the environment.Maybe he can fix that.

oh my god just READ THIS, I love this fic so much. I’d give it both my kidneys if I could. some really excellent jeremy-michael friendship with a bunch of good pining packed in, as well as some of the best comedy I’ve seen this month.

when i’m close to you (we blend into my favourite colour) by sulfuric / @playertwojer

statistically, most people don’t take more than five seconds to say something to their soulmate after realizing the universe has paired them together. brooke and chloe take approximately six years, but better late than never, right?

this is a pinkberry fic (with a hint of boyfs) that really hits it out of the park with the soulmate trope. poignant, sweet, and full of growing pains. it’s top quality pinkberry material that spans over their entire friendship.

*also there are exactly four WIPs in the fandom that I actually read and I’d die for all of them (I’d highly rec EVERYTHING from the following writers)

no such mirrors by Kalopsia / @danisnotofire

Jeremy didn’t know of any other superhero that had to commute.

Sometimes he was alone when he got the text, and it was easy to slide open the window and sling on over to whatever disaster was striking the City That Could Never Catch a Break. Other times it was during things like his parent’s divorce hearings, in Hackensack, and he’d have to spend his bar mitzvah money on a cab ride to the bridge and change into his spandex in the bathroom of a Dunkin’ Donuts. Even at home, he’d have to spend fifteen minutes slinging webs across highways and toll booths and the George Washington Bridge before he even saw what he was up against.

At least Christine could fly.

(or, the AU nobody asked for in which Jeremy is Spiderman and the rest of the crew has superpowers, except Michael, who has No Idea About Anything except for the fact he’s Spiderman’s #1 fan)

am I repeating an author in this list?? of course I am. surely you’ve heard of this spiderman au fic. no? then you better read it. it doesn’t pull any punches, seriously, and I’ve never been happier to be beaten up by a fic.

Brightly Wound by left_uncovered / @left-uncovered

Michael has loved Jeremy for years. It just takes him a while to figure it out.

Or: the five times Michael pined obliviously for Jeremy, and the one time he realized it.

this is like, peak Pain material, which this author excels at, so I encourage you to read it, because it’ll teach you to enjoy the suffering. funnily enough, I’m pretty sure I followed this writer for their stellar porn, but I always rec the pain. just read all of it.

Like Mother, Like Son by hurricanesunny / @hurricanesunny

Jeremy gets a text from his mom after a year of no contact.

okay this fic is like, the best post-canon fic you’re gonna find in this fandom. I’m not kidding. it’s gut-wrenching and handles so much of the consequences of the musical’s events with such care, and god, it’s an exercise in riding an emotional turbo rollercoaster. if a fic could save a life, it’d be this one.

is this a forest? ‘cuz there sure is a lot of pine by reptilianraven / @actualbird

“How do you say ‘I love you’?”

“Oh, wow, holy shit,” Michael coughs. Is his face warm? It better fucking not be. Pull yourself together, Mell. Breathe. “Where’d this sudden romantic side of you come from?”

Jeremy, uncharacteristically calm, shrugs. “I figure it could be a nice icebreaker for Christine, or something? I don’t know. It’s stupid, you don’t have to tea—”

“Mahal kita,” Michael says. The things he does for this boy. This boy. “I love you in Tagalog is mahal kita.”

The misadventures of Michael Mell, pining best friend extraordinaire.

everybody who knows me will know that I stan bird so hard and would happily elope with any/all of their writing, so of fucking course I’m reccing this one. honestly, if you’re a bmc fan, this is the must-read fic, and honestly I doubt I need to rec this because everybody knows it already, but I couldn’t skip the opportunity to remind everybody that my bird bias is strong as ever, so.

okay, that’s it for now. happy reading!!

#be more chill #bmc #fic rec #long text post #also hey anon once again thank you so much #this ask cheered me up so much #anonymous #ask and you shall receive

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i-used-to-wear-the-fedora · 7 years

Text

BMC Jeremy is Missing AU [Rewrite] In Depth

Ch.12 A Good Samaritan

“Hey d-Mr.Heere!” Both Jeremy’s dad and the man he was talking to turned to see Jeremy using Michael’s body to walk over towards the two.

“Michael? What are you doing in here? Shouldn’t you be in school?”

“Oh you know-lunch break and stuff. But ugh I heard something about you needed money?”

“Actually it’s Dr.Graham over here who needs the money. I’d give him some but I barely have enough for groceries.”

“M-maybe I could give you the money!”

“I couldn’t-”

“P-please for any friend of my da…Mr.Heere.” Jeremy felt slightly guilty as he reached into Michael’s pocket and pulled out the money. But it was for a good reason. “Here.” The man smiled as he took the money from Michael’s hand.

“Thank you….”

“Jer…Michael. Michael Mell.”

“Thanks Michael. You know you remind me of my son Craig, he’s around your age. If you need anything just let me know.”

“Really, it’s okay. Just being a good samaritan and stuff.” The doctor smiled waving goodbye to Mr.Heere before walking away leaving Jeremy and his father alone.

“Michael, that was very nice of you.”

“Thanks…Mr.Heere. It seemed like the right thing to do. So, you’re grocery shopping?” Jeremy asked seeing his dad’s small list.

“Yeah, Jeremy’s birthday’s coming up in a few days…gotta make sure I don’t burn it this year. Wouldn’t want a repeat of last year.” Jeremy remembered his birthday last year, he and Michael took a bite and instantly spit it out to find that under the three layers of frosting was a cake burned to the point of blackness. He couldn’t stop a laugh from coming out as he remembered that.

“Oh my God, I remember that. It tasted so bad so we just split up the frosting and put it on top of our ice cream.”

“I-I remember,” Mr.Heere as he chuckled leaning his kart. “I still have pictures of the two of you right after with food all over your faces.”

“Hey, I was hungry.”

“You looked just like when you were six on Halloween and you got into the sugar sticks. That was everywhere me and Jackie were cleaning it out of the right for weeks.” Jeremy stopped when he said Jackie. His mom. Did his mom come to his funeral? Did she talk to Dad?

“How is…Jeremy’s mom anyway?” Mr.Heere stopped laughing as he unknowingly looked at his son. “Sorry if that’s too personal.”

“No it’s alright son. Jackie’s being Jackie as usual. She still hasn’t talked to me since the funeral.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No it’s alright Michael, it’s not like you’re the reason she’s angry at me.” A beep went off on Mr.Heere’s phone making him look down at his phone before turning his kart around. “Sorry I got distracted, talk to you later Michael!” Jeremy waved goodbye as he watched his dad walk away.

“See you later…dad.” Jeremy smiled. He actually talked to his dad. Money now gone Jeremy walked over to exit. Munchies wouldn’t have tasted nearly as good as the feeling in his, or was it Michael’s?, stomach. He could give Michael his body back….but on the other hand lunch was still going on at school. Jeremy couldn’t believe he was actually excited for school food but it was better than nothing.

“Hey Christine are you alright?” The girl looked up from her math book to see Jenna staring at her. “You look like you just ate a lemon. You thinking about something? …somebody?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Christine, you shouldn’t bottle this stuff up.”

“What’s there to bottle up? I mean it’s not like I’m friends with the girl who convinced me to make Jeremy run away in the first place.” Jenna back up as Christine snapped at her. “Sorry, I just don’t want to talk about it okay? This all so much take in at once.”

“Christine, we need to talk about this.”

“Later.”

“You’ve been saying later forever, we can’t keep ignoring Jeremy. Especially since it’s actually Jeremy now.”

“Ms.Rolan, Canigula, is there something you’d like to share with the rest of the class?” The teacher glared at the two girls who quickly quit talking as the woman went back to writing the equation on the white board. Christine not even looking over at Jenna anymore looked at her book hoping to not have to make eye contact.

“Eugh…what happened?” Michael’s head hurt as he looked around, his vision still coming back. “Wha…?” Looking down he saw various stains on his shirt that looked like food making him even more confused. When did he eat? Wait…Jeremy. Jeremy took control of his body. Darting up he saw he was in his bedroom, on his bed. Jeremy was standing not too far away looking over some pictures on the wall. He noticed Michael awake as he jumped seeing his friend.

“Michael, you’re awake!”

“Jeremy what…happened? And why do I feel like I just ate my mom’s pancakes?” Grabbing his phone Michael saw it was seven at night. “Seven? Jeremy how long were you in my body?”

“Oh-er, well I…a few hours? I just intended on getting a few snacks at Walmart but then that kind of fell through and your mom wanted to make dinner plus you had a lot of Doritos and other stuff in your kitchen-”

“So you used my body to eat time of junk food?”

“Don’t worry-I didn’t way peanut butter or anything and I brushed your teeth!” To test that statement Michael ran his tongue around his mouth. It tasted like a combination of mint tooth paste, Doritos, Mountain Dew and Oreos. Not a pleasant combination.

“Eugh, Jeremy why?”

“I’m sorry Michael…I just wanted to taste food again.”

“But did you have to eat so much? I feel like I’ve gained two pounds.” Heading himself up Michael walked over to pick up the discarded cardigan. “I don’t think I can even bring myself to get a slushie tight now.” Michael reached into his pants pocket to pull out the money he intended to use to buy a said slushie but was surprised when he found nothing in the pocket.

“Hey where’s my money?” Jeremy looked guilty as Michael asked about the cash.

“I kind of…lent it to dad’s friend…” Michael made an annoyed face at this causing Jeremy to flinch.

“Is there anything else I should know about?”

“I’m sorry Michael.” Michael immediately faltered when he saw Jeremy’s face. Even as a ghost Jeremy seemed to look like he was about to cry.

“It’s alright dude, really. Just next time you give me a heads up before?” Jeremy nodded, the look know gone as he went to hug Michael but stopped when he realized the awkwardness that would bring. Jeremy really missed being able to hug Michael.

With Dustin:

Dustin stood in the salt circle around him in the darkened school bathroom as he placed the unlit candles around him before picking up the book he got in the library nervously looked it over.

‘I don’t know if I want the ghost to be real or not. I mean if its real and I do summon him I don’t think he’s going to like me…’ Taking a deep breath Dustin began to read.

“Oh sacred spirit come from afar, come now and prove that you are.” Nothing happened for a few seconds promoting Dustin to shut the book when a sudden breeze passed through the bathroom. The lights began to flash on and off as the stall doors swung scaring the teen when candles became lit followed by the feeling he was no longer alone in the restroom. Scared out of his mind Dustin called out, “Jeremy are here?”

His response was the the door to the bathroom slamming shut just as quickly as it opened making Dustin jump as the candles went out again leaving him in there darkness. Realizing the wet feeling in his pants Dustin was suddenly very glad he decided to do the ceremony in the men’s room.

Ch.13 Night of the Party

Michael stared down at the math assignment, internally groaning. God why did this face to be so difficult?

“The answer’s sixty nine over five.” Michael jumped slightly as Jeremy appeared next to his desk.

“Jesus!”

“Oops sorry dude.”

“You need a freaking bell around your neck.”

“Well I don’t think that’s possible. But the answer is still sixty nine over five.”

“How do you know?”

“Advanced Pre-Calc, I had Ms.Petrov before, remember?”

“Nope.”

“Here let me help you with this.” Jeremy’s hand went to touch Michael’s who flinched away, retracting his hand.

“Can you not do that? It’s just ever since Walmart I don’t think I’m comfortable…”

“With me touching you?”

“Yeah. That.” A sad look crossed Jeremy’s face for a moment before disappearing.

“I won’t, I’m just showing you where the decimal sould go before you make it a fraction.”

“Okay,” Michael followed Jeremy’s instructions getting half way through the problem when his phone vibrated in his pocket. Picking it up he saw it was a text from Jake.

yo Mikey I’m throwing a bomb ass party tonight and u r invited- -no thanks no thanks?- -don’t like parties come on dude, please?- it’ll just be me and the rest of the drama squad- except Chloe- she’s angry- -… -idk please?- -… -fine awesome!- c u tonight at my place- btw, pepperoni or bacon for pizza?- -def. pepperoni coolio-

Michael pocketed his phone as he looked up to see Jeremy had disappeared again. Michael looked down at his homework surprised.

‘Weird, thought was only halfway through.’

The page had all been filled out except for the last one. ~~ Chloe checked her phone again. Still nothing from Brooke.

'Damn it, how long is that bi-Brooke going to ignore me? She would’ve usually cracked by now. God damnit.’

The last text she’d sent was from less then a minute ago, she knew Brooke has seen her messages at this point. She was being ignored. By Brooke. And this was really starting to piss her off. Checking Instagram she went to Brooke’s page to see she had been unfriended by the blonde.

'Why doesn’t Brooke want to talk to me? Wait, I already know. That freak, Michael. Ever since he started claiming he could see ghost boy Jeremy Heere Brooke suddenly stopped listening to me-’

“Ms.Valentine, I’m trying to teach. Please put that phone away.”

“Does Jake invite you to a lot of parties now?” Jeremy asked as they stood in front of the mirror in Michael’s room as the living boy tried on another one of his red button up shirts. “Also, these literally all look the same. Do you just buy your shirts on bulk?”

“Sometimes. And not really. Or at least I never go.”

“Why not? You’re being invited to Jake freaking Dillinger’s party. That’s like the most awesome thing that could happen to you in highschool.”

“Yeah going to a loud, crowded house party surrounded people drunk of their asses because people feel sorry for you sounds really awesome.”

“Feel sorry for you?”

“The only reason I’m invited is because feels bad about what happened to you.”

“Oh…then why are you going tonight?”

“Well I just thought I haven’t ever really gone to a highschool party and it’s only like five people. If I’m lucky Chloe won’t be there,” Michael decided on one of his identical red shirts taking off his hoodie allowing Jeremy to see his chest. The teen turned away until Michael walked past him towards the bathroom. Heading over to the medicine cabinet he brought out a bottle of old spice Jeremy got him for his birthday. Michael made a face as he shared it on. “Aw, Christ. This smells horrible. Jeremy is it obvious?”

“I don’t know, I can’t smell.”

“Oh.”

“Wait I got you that three years ago. You’ve never work it before?”

“It seems with a good reason, do you think I have time for a shower?”

“What time does the party start?”

“Seven.” Jeremy’s head peeked through the wall before coming back into the bathroom.

“It’s seven thirty.”

“Yeah I still got time.” ~~ “So when’s Michael supposed to get here?” Rich asked looking up from the game of Mario Kart he and Jenna were playing.

“Yeah it’s like eight o'clock already,” Christine said snapping out of her nap, “Maybe we should call it-”

“No he’ll be here any minute maybe he ran into traffic or something.” Jake was playing with his red cup nervously, unable to remember if this was his third or fourth cup of beer. Brooke noticed this taking the cup away from him.

“Jake he lives two blocks away. He didn’t get stuck in traffic.” That’s when the front doorbell rang prompting Brooke to open the door and see Michael dressed nicer than earlier. “Woah, Michael you…” She trailed off when her nose caught a whiff of the scent she new all too well. Covering her nose she unconsciously backed away, Michael noticed.

“I took a shower but even then it didn’t wash off.”

“You smell like my ex Peter, he always smelled like Old Spice.” Jake walked past the blonde, barely fazed by the scent as he pat Michael on the back.

“Glad you could make it bro! Here,” he handed Michael a red cup, “drink up, the nights just beginning!”

“I’m not much of a beer guy-”

“Come on dude, just a drink or two.”

Michael looked over towards Jeremy who nodded. Just…one beer wouldn’t hurt.

An Hour Later:

“~And I will always love you!~” Michael sat on top of the kitchen table moving his head as he sang along to the music. Everybody else was either gone or passed out on the floor for some reason except for Michael who fell as he tried to get off the table. “Oh come on Jeremy~ I know y-you’re here, pfffttt Heere, somewhere~” There wasn’t a response as Michael drunkenly stumbled towards the door. “W-w-well you guys this was fun but I need to go home~ Bye~”

He fumbled with the handles for a few moments before finally opening the door as he felt a small buzzing sensation in his neck.

'Man how much did I drink? Pfff who cares. I need to go home and wait…where’s Jeremy? Jeremy’s missing, I should find him.’ Through his buzzed haze Michael stumbled out of the driveway to the street giggling all the way as he came to a stop in the middle of the road to look up at the sky. 'Woah, there’s so many stars or maybe I should try and count them…one, two-’

“Michael!” A voice called out to the teen at he turned around but instead seeing the source he saw a bright light coming towards him.

'Aliens? Cool, maybe I should go towards the light.’

“Michael!” That was the last thing the teen heard before the sounds of screeching breaks and someone screaming.

Ch.14

Michael’s head pounded as his eyes slowly opened, a beeping should came from nearby.

“Mmmmm….” The whiteness of whatever room he was in was blinding. 'Jesus Christ my eyes.’ His vision came into focus as began to look around the room. He was in a hospital bed, the being was coming from a heart monitor. There were two seats next to the bed, his mom was asleep, her head hanging slightly off the arm of the chair. Turning around he saw Jeremy pacing in front of his bed. His friend came to a stop when he noticed Michael was awake.

“Michael!” He rushed over to the other teen’s side.

“Jeremy?” This came out as a hoarse whisper as he tried to sit up but quickly laid back down from the pain in his chest. “…fuck…Jeremy, what happened last night?”

“You don’t remember?”

“Nothing past getting to Jake’s party…” Michael clutched his chest in pain as he said that, “Christ it feels like a car hit me.”

“That’s because it did.”

“Wait, what?”

“You were in the middle of street when a car hit you. You’ve been asleep for the whole day.”

“Holy Shit.” Michael tried remember anything from the drunken haze that was the party last night. Nothing was clear except for one thing…“I-I think I was looking for you.”

“Why would you be looking for me? I was right there.”

“N-no you weren’t. I remember you weren’t there.”

“Where else would I be?”

“I don’t know, but you weren’t there.” Jeremy didn’t say anything annoying Michael but before he could say anything Michael’s mom snapped awake at Michael’s louder voice.

“Michael, thank God you’re awake!” She went to hug him but pulled away when he winced. “Oh right sorry.” Instead she kissed him on the cheek before giving him a familiar look of disappointment. “Just what the hell were you thinking? Going to a party without telling me, getting drunk and running into the street? You almost died Michael.”

“How do you know I was drunk?”

“Michael I can still smell it on you.” Michael didn’t respond as his mother sat back down in her chair. “You’re grounded until next week. No leaving the house except for school, no car-”

“No phone?”

“You don’t even have a phone anymore, it was crushed in the accident.”

“Oh…”

“I didn’t eat any of your friends to the police but I did find out it was this Jake Dillinger who threw the party so I’m going to have a talk with him.”

“Mom-”

“End of discussion. Now I’m going to go get a nurse.” She left the room slamming the door behind her. Michael looked back at Jeremy who was now sitting in one of the chairs. What the hell was Jeremy hiding from him? Why was he lying? Multiple questions ran through his head but he kept them in when the door opened again as both his mom and a nurse came in.

“-thank you, have a great day mam.” Mrs.Mell signed the last paper before opening the door so that Michael didn’t hit his leg brace on anything. Three fractured ribs, a sprained ankle and a concussion. Nothing too serious and they had already given his mom the prescription for his pain medication. Getting on the car needed help lifting his foot without hurting himself.

The drive home was awkwardly silent. Pulling into the driveway he handed her his car keys before they went up to his room together as she set him in the bed before leaving the room, locking the door behind her. Jeremy was now on the floor staring at Michael before the boy climbed out of bed heading over to his window.

“Michael what are you doing?”

“Leaving.”

“What? Why? You’re really screwed up right now.”

“Maybe but I’m not going to make any progress helping you from a bed.”

“Helpi-Michael what are you talking about? You’re hurt and it’s starting to rain. How are you even going to climb down?”

“The tree.” Michael said this as he lifted the window sill.

“Michael stop those just hurting yourself more, what do you even expect to do? Walk all the way to Jake’s house? Newsflash, that’s crazy.”

“How’d you know I was going to Jake’s house?”

“That’s besides the point.”

“No it’s not. And why were you lying about last night? About being there the whole time? I know you weren’t. If you were you would’ve taken over again and pushed me out of the way.” Jeremy was silent as Michael said that making the bespectacled boy let out an annoyed sound. “Yeah that’s what I thought. I’m leaving and you can’t stop me.” Michael was about to take a step out but suddenly found he couldn’t move as his body froze. “What the hell? Jeremy?” Turning around he saw his friend staying to come in and out of existence, like he was…glitching.

“Activating Emergency Memory Core: Processing.” Wait. What? Emergency Processor Core? Michael watched frozen as Jeremy came in and out for minutes before fully coming back.

“Jeremy, what the fuck is going on?”

“I’m sorry Michael, I can’t allow you to hurt yourself anymore like this. As your SQUIP it’s my duty to keep you happy and safe.”

“W-what are you saying? SQUIP?”

“I’m sorry Michael. I am not the real Jeremy. I am not a ghost. I am a Super Qualified Unit Intel Processor. Your friend Richard Goranski slipped me into your Mountain Dew drink the night before school started. It wasn’t just you getting sick that night.”

“W-wait, you’re saying Rich gave me you?”

“To make you feel better. He saw your declining mental and physical state and wanted to help.”

“Y-you’re kidding. You have to be real, all those memories, the possession, what you did in the bathroom-”

“Michael, I only remember things about Jeremy that you do. I have access to your body that allows for possession. The bathroom lights were electricity charges I put out.”

“But the stall doors-”

“Michael, I can explain it all.” Michael felt tears falling down his face as Jere-the SQUIP let his muscles unfreeze as he fell down to the floor. “I’m truly sorry for the pain over caused you but if it makes any difference I treasure the relationship we shared.” Michael didn’t say anything as he wiped his face off trying and failing to compose himself. “I’m going to guide you how to get out of the house, in a much less dangerous way so that you can talk to Rich. It seems apparent that you two have things to talk about.” Michael didn’t say anything as he got off the floor and followed the A.I. outside of the room.

Ch.15 Confrontation

Rich sat in front of his TV playing Call of Duty when there was a knock at the door.

'Weird,’ Rich thought walking towards the door, 'I thought Jake was working today.’ Opening the door he was greeted by a scowling Michael who was wearing what looked like pajamas with a scowl on his face and a brace on his ankle.

“Bro, great to see you’re still alive! Jake told me about last night, you got hit by car? That’s-”

“I know Rich.”

“Know? Know what?”

“About the SQUIP. It told me.”

“Oh.”

“Oh? That’s all you have to say?”

“Well what do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know, how about sorry for giving you a computer that pretended to be my dead best friend?” Michael made his way into the house now grabbing Rich by his shirt. “What the fuck?”

“Hey I didn’t know it would try and pretend to be Jeremy but it helped you right?”

“Helped me?! You knew the whole time and you just let it happen?”

“Michael, the night before school started you looked like shit. You have washed your hair in days, your bags had bags and I saw the cuts on your arms. Believe it or not as your friend I actually care about what’s happening to you. So…I slipped one into the Mountain Dew I gave you.” Michael let go of the smaller boy’s shirt as he shoved him away, backing away so that he could leave against the wall. Tears were running down his face again as he sank down to the floor. Rich sat down next to and Je-the SQUIP say on the other side of him.

“I-I don’t know what to do now…”

“If you want, the can get rid of me Michael. I’m not helping you and now I’m not even fully functioning.” The words came out of Jeremy’s mouth making Michael even more confused. “Ever since the alcohol last night I haven’t been properly functioning. Glitching in and out, unable to look up previous data, of you walked away right now and I didn’t know where you were going I shouldn’t be able to follow you Michael.”

“Rich…”

“Yeah dude?”

“The SQUIP wants me to get rid of it.”

“Do you want to get rid of it?”

“Kind of…but at the same time…it’s all I have left of Jeremy. I don’t want to lose him again.”

“That’s alright dude. I understand but if you ever want to, I have some Mountain Dew Red.”

“I know, but I think I need some help. Like serious help. And maybe some distance from Squeremy.” Rich burst out laughing as Michael said that. “What’s so funny?”

“Squeremy? Oh my God! That’s amazing.” The newly dubbed Squeremy smoked at that at that name.

“Squeremy. I like that.” It took Rich a moment to stop laughing before he could articulate his words again.

“B-but seriously, about the help thing? Why don’t you see that therapist dude Jeremy’s dad has been seeing?”

“That actually sounds like a good idea. But maybe Squeremy could stay here? Just until I get back?”

“Uh, sure. I guess.”

“Thanks dude,” Rich nodded his head before hugging Michael. The teen thought about pushing him away for a moment before accepting the embrace. An actual human touch. He doesn’t even think about Squeremy hearing the thought, human touch.

Something the SQUIP knew it could never provide Michael.

“-so Michael is this your first time coming to Therapy?” Michael sat in the red chair just across from the therapist’s desk fiddling with the stress ball that was on the desk next to him.

“I went a few times last year but that was just the one at the school. She didn’t help a lot.” The man’s house was big, Michael had to walk through the living room to get to the office that was decorated with various papers and certificates. It felt almost claustrophobic with how tightly packed it was.

“I’d imagine, schools are where the therapists that got straight D’s are sent,” Michael let out a snort at that, “but don’t tell anyone I said that. My sister’s a teacher counselor.”

“I won’t. At least, as long as you don’t tell my mom I’m coming here. She found out yesterday and “double” grounded me. Whatever that means.“

"You know, you remind me of my son when he was your age, sixteen?”

“Nah I’m seventeen.”

“You’re kidding? You look younger.”

“Yeah I get that a lot.” The man was about to say something when his phone rang. He made an annoyed face as he looked down at the screen.

“It looks like Mr.Heere’s calling again. Do you mind if I take this? It mayhem be a while…”

“No, it’s chill got my stress ball,” Michael have the red ball a squeeze to emphasize his point.

“Alright, I’ll be back as soon as possible.” He left the room closing the door behind him. It was a few seconds. Then a minute. Then a few minutes. Michael got up to stretch his legs to avoid boredom. God the stress ball wasn’t helping….heading over to the deal he saw a picture of the therapist and a teenage boy. It seemed old and frayed, the man looked a lot younger. The teenage boy must have been his son. Curious Michael looked around the desk area when he saw an album labelled family photos.

'I shouldn’t…’ But there was no little voice in his head telling him directly not to. That voice was back at Rich’s house playing Call please Duty. Taking the album out of the book case Michael began to flip through it. More pictures of the boy in the frame. Further in he saw photos of the man with two boys, one a few years younger than the boy in the frame. Another son? Foiling further he stopped when he saw a familiar photo.

It was a picture of him, Jeremy and Jeremy’s dad at the park for Jeremy’s sixth birthday party. 'Mr.Heere must have given him this…’ Flipping through he found a few other pictures Michael recognized from Jeremy’s house. 'Jesus Mr.Heere, what did you-wait.’ Michael turned the page again and saw a photo of Jeremy only…he was with Dr.Graham.

Jeremy was sitting in a chair and the doctor was behind him smiling. Jeremy on the other hand…his mouth was in more of a grimace than a smile and his eyes were wide. Flipping further the pictures of Jeremy and the man became more frequent, Jeremy looking worse with every page turn. Dr.Graham, the man who moved next door to Jeremy’s dad, became his therapist…

Michael felt himself get sick as be realized who’s house he was in. He needed to leave, call the police he-

“What the hell are you doing?”

#be more chill au #be more chill #jeremy is missing #michael mell #jeremy heere #boyf riends #meremy hell #the drama squad #christine canigula #jenna rolan #rich goranski #jake dillinger #chloe valentine #brooke lohst #jeremy's dad #the squip #rich's squip #squeremy #michael's mom

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heavtheange · 7 years

Note

Spider!Jere is in the middle of a battle with a foe in the city when all of a sudden, he crashes next to his number one fan (and best friend outside his superhero identity), Michael Mell, who does not know of his secret. The villain sees this as an opportunity to take the civilian hostage and does so, and Spider!Jer does not take kindly to this...

So, by the way @furornocturna is submitting the prompts, I’m assuming that most of these stories are gonna be Protective!Jeremy for now. Doesn’t mean it’ll be forever, just means that it will be more common than others. Just giving y'all a heads up.

The Birth Of A DamselSpidey!Jere AU

It’s not easy being Spider-Man; Jeremy has come to terms with this a long time ago. However, that doesn’t mean Jeremy likes being tossed around like a yo-yo by his arch nemesis, The SQUIP, who had electricity and levitation powers. That was still not fun.

Jeremy (or as he is currently known as, Spider-Man) tried shooting his web plenty of times but kept on getting slammed into buildings and sidewalks. The SQUIP was set on making Spider-Man’s life a living hell. Why, Jeremy still wasn’t sure, however he concluded that he had a severe case of being a massive dickhead.

That seems about right.

Eventually, the SQUIP began to pull Jeremy back towards him, his body barely moving. Jeremy thought that SQUIP was going to monologue to him, like super villains usually did around this time when they think they have won. Seconds later, the superhero couldn’t have been any more wrong.

“Batter up!” The SQUIP threw Spider-Man with all of his might, making him practically fly for a long moment until his world literally came crashing down when he smashed through a window and slammed into a concrete wall. The hero slid down to the floor and was completely limp. Luckily his powers allowed him to heal really fast, but that still doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt like all hell. Suddenly, Jeremy heard a voice.

“S…Spidey…?”

Jeremy could recognize that voice anywhere. It was the voice of his best friend, his Player One, Michael Mell. Michael had been his best friend for as long as he can remember. The duo did things like playing video games and smoking weed at the same time, as well as other weird activities that only the two of them would enjoy. They swore an oath that they would conquer the world one day, and Jeremy still kept that promise to heart.

Then Jeremy got bit, and Spider-Man cane along. The teen was sure that Michael had a hard-on for his Spidey persona ever sense he saw him swinging across the rooftops for the first time. He even made an online blog about it, acting like a freelance reporter from time to time. He’d do anything to get the story and to watch Spider-Man save their small New Jersey town. Of course Jeremy didn’t tell him that he was in fact Spider-Man, at least not yet, not wanting for Michael to get kidnapped, hurt, and/or killed.

Which is why Jeremy really didn’t want Michael here right now.

The boy struggled to speak, and his best friend spoke first “S…Mr. Spider-Man…sir…do you have any idea where my friend is? I haven’t seen him since the attack happened, and I’m worried…” Jeremy flushed behind his mask, he hated to admit it, Michael sounded so cute when he’s worried about him. He snapped back to reality after a second of bashful daydreaming. After a moment, Spider-Man finally found the strength to speak. “M…Michael…” The other teen looked confused, slightly scared even. “H…How do you know m- AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!”

Jeremy’s eyes snapped open and he sat up to see the SQUIP statically floating away backwards while flipping him off with one hand and with the other gripping on to…oh…oh no he fucking didn’t.

“MICHAEL!!!”

Michael, his best friend since childhood, was being taken away by his arch nemesis. He looked scared out of his mind, gripping onto the SQUIP’s arm for the sole reason of not wanting to fall down and his glasses threatening to fall off his brown nose. The teenager, now hostage, looked like he was crying hysterically, shouting things that Jeremy could not understand from the far distance. He even reached a hand out towards him, a clear gesture for help, finally making Jeremy stand up and walk towards the window.

No matter what, he was going to save Michael Mell, and kill that fucking tic tac once and for all.

Spider-Man started swinging from building to building, trying to catch up to both the SQUIP and Michael. It was long and tedious, making Jeremy’s arms get tired after a long while. Finally they made it to the top of a skyscraper, the moon shining behind the even shinier SQUIP, and the hysterical hostage.

“So, Spidey, you made it. Took you long enough,” the villain smirked. “Help me…please help me…” Michael silently pleaded to Spider-Man, making his blood boil.

“Let. Him. Go.”

The SQUIP chuckled lowly. “Come on. What’s wrong with having a little guest watch me rip you to pieces?” He tightened his grip on the damsel, causing him to whimper. Jeremy was tempted to cry at the sight of him trembling in fear. “What do you even want from him?!” The psychopath simply shrugged. “Nothing, really. I just wanted to fuck with you.”

Spidey smirked under his mask. “Really? Cause I was about to do the same thing.” The SQUIP tilted his head in confusion and Spider-Man used the opportunity to trip him over with his webs and drag him toward him. The SQUIP tried to shock Michael out of anger, but Spider-Man took him out of the villain’s grip with his web and bring him behind a vent. Jeremy managed to dodge the SQUIP’s verifies static attacks and tie him up in his web while Michael cried in relief behind the vent.

Spider-Man was certain that the SQUIP would get out of those webs eventually, and will still be alive (much to his dismay), but the SQUIP’s defeat was not the main issue at the moment. He had to take Michael to safety.

The two of them swung from building to building, Michael clinging onto the hero as they did. It was at times like these that Jeremy wished he could tell his best friend his secret about being Spider-Man. He wanted for the two of them to swing from building to building together, to lay on a gigantic web and cuddle while they watched the night sky, to use his special webs in be-. Jeremy shook his head as he flushed again, only this time ten times harder. No matter how hard he wanted to tell Michael about his secret identity, he knew that he couldn’t do it. He knew that Michael would be in even more danger than he was with the SQUIP, he might even get killed or worse. Jeremy didn’t want his best friend to go through with being his Gwen Stacy.*

Eventually, the two made it to Michael’s room, and Spider-Man let the boy off of him. “You okay?” He asked, looking up and down to see if there were any injuries. Michael shook his head slowly, eyes still puffy from crying. “Y-Yea…I’m fine…T-Thank you…Thank you s-so much for saving me.”

Jeremy resisted the instinct to hug him right then and there. “It’s my pleasure as well as my duty…no need to thank me.”

A stray tear escaped Michael’s eye while Jeremy kept on speaking. “By the way…I saw your blog.” Michael flushed and tensed up at the statement. “Y-You…you d-did?” Spider-Man playfully nodded. “Yea…I did. You’re really talented.” Michael looked to the ground and rubbed the back of his neck while the hero continued. “You should definitely continue, but please try not to go into the face of danger head on just to get an article done next time, K?” Michael looked up and quickly nodded. “Okay, w-whatever you say!”

As a cute gesture goodbye, the super hero patted Michael’s head. “Stay safe, okay?” Spider-Man swung away, leaving Michael a blushing, sweating mess. Hey, it was better blushing in possible arousal than sobbing in fear, Jeremy reasoned.

Later that night, Jeremy went over to his best friend’s house with Mtn. Dew and Hawaiian pizza, Michael’s favorite. Throughout the night, Michael couldn’t stop talking about Spider-Man and how scared Michael was and how grateful he was for the rescue and how Spider-Man knew about his blog. Jeremy listened to all of it, extremely relieved to see Michael smile after the rough day he had.

Michael was safe, and he always will be under Jeremy’s watch.

(Sorry if it may seem a little sloppy. I’m still working on the codes of Tumblr, so if you see strange codes next to some of the text, just note that it is my noobness and I apologize for that)

(Also, thank you so much for @furornocturna for giving me wonderful prompts to work with! The world needs more Protective!Jeremy, dammit!)

(*Heh, get it, cause Gwen died in Amazing Spider-Man 2? Heh heh…I’m still dead inside after watching that scene.)

#bmc #bmc musical #bmc michael #bmc jeremy #bmc squip #spider!jere #spiderman au

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stillalicebyheart · 7 years

Text

Knotted

Pairing: Michael M. x Jeremy H. x Christine C. (meremine) Word Count: 1,347 Summary: Fluff on fluff on fluff. Soulmate AU;

@aroacethetic-shitpost requested: 28 and meremine

28. the one where some people can see the red string of fate and follow it to their soulmates.

Jeremy was 5 when his teacher started talking about the red string of soulmates – something that appears once fate decides that one specific person was meant to be with you forever, and sometimes it’s meant romantically or platonically. The only set thing was that they were meant to be in your life. He found it fascinating, the idea that someone was supposed to be around forever, meant to be there for you no matter what happens.

And it explained things later on after his mom left when he was 15; she and his father had met, dated, married, had a child, and the string still never appeared for either of them until she started working at a new law firm and met a girl that swept her away. He was happy she was happy, happy that she had finally met that person, but he still struggled with her leaving. His father took it harder; she’d taken off after promising him everything and left him with nothing. It took a while to rebuild it all, but they did, and he was the ring bearer for him mom and new step-mom.

When he was 13, he met Michael Mell – best friend, Apocalypse of the Damned extraordinaire, and multilingual. Their friendship blossomed over a shared love for Pokemon, Pac-Man, and Mario, and Michael opened his eyes to so many things he never even thought of… Crystal Pepsi, for one.

When he was 15, he noticed the red string that connected the two of them. It was a simple thing that didn’t surprise him; they were sitting side-by-side in Michael’s basement playing Left 4 Dead for the millionth time when the thin, red chord wrapped around his left pinky with a bow made its appearance, brought to his attention by the slight tug he felt when Michael pulled his controller to the left. They both felt it and for a moment everything froze, both characters on screen stopping as the two looked between them, then back at each other with huge grins. It was the best day of their lives; the reassurance that they’d always be there for each other no matter what.

(“So… what now?”

“It means we’re bound.” Jeremy grinned. “You are literally stuck with me for the rest of time.”

“Hey, but that means you’re stuck with me too, so looks like you’re the real winner here.”

Jeremy had laughed at the time, but he was right – Jeremy hit the jackpot.)

Nothing changed; they were still close as ever, if not more, because of it. Michael Mell was still Jeremy Heere’s best friend. Jeremy was perfectly content with it that way. Michael, however, wasn’t, but he wouldn’t say anything for fear of Jeremy getting mad at him. He thought it was a platonic soulmate; Michael could live with that.

Around the same time, still at 15, Jeremy met Christine. And started crushing on her. Hard.

He wanted everything for her, for her to be successful and loved and happy. Unfortunately, she didn’t even know his name – or, that’s what he thought. Then he was signing up to do the play with her and she was so happy to see him walk through the doors, a large grin on her face as she exclaimed his name with a light in her eyes he hadn’t seen before; it made him extremely happy, and by extension, Michael was happy.

But weeks later, on opening night of the play, that fated red string showed up again, stretching across the length of the stage, his right pinky with a light bow on it – he could still clearly see the one around his left, through the curtain and connected to where Michael was sitting, so it didn’t make sense as to why he had a second one. Maybe it was the whole ‘platonic vs. romantic’ soulmates and he was lucky enough to find them both in such a short period of time. He gave an experimental tug on the new string, watching at it pulled taught and Christine’s attention was pulled from the conversation she was having with Jenna and down to her hand. He let out a silent laugh, waving with the same hand to show her; needless to say, it was the best performance they had since rehearsals had started.

(“Are you kidding me? We’ve been soulmates and kissing for two whole months now and never even knew?” She’d laughed, her eyes sparkling just like they had that day he’d come in for the first rehearsal.

“Well, to be honest, I suspected it… I mean, I’ve had a crush on you for, like, a year now.” He’d pressed their foreheads together. Standing in the parking lot, with stage makeup and costumes still on with blissed out smiles, his hands gently cupping her face with hers around his middle, he couldn’t have thought of a better way to find out she was fated to be with him.

“Oh, Jeremy,” Her quiet giggle had passed between them like a whisper before she gave him another kiss. “You had a crush on me? How embarrassing.”

“Had? No, I think I still do.”)

After that day, the three fell into a familiar pattern; Michael would walk to school with his ‘platonic’ soulmate, the three of them would eat lunch together, and then Christine would walk him back home, with Michael coming over after a few hours for a group movie night every once in a while.

It wasn’t until 3 months later when they were at the mall, Christine’s hand gripped in Jeremy’s and Michael’s arm linked with the other on their way to get frozen, that things changed again. Jeremy didn’t know; there was no way he could other than them telling him, but Christine had stopped suddenly with a glint in her eye, following something it seemed only she could see until Michael unlinked their arms and was following the same line as her. A moment later, they both burst into laughter, high-fiving in the middle of the walkway like one of them had just told a great joke.

(“I’m not surprised at all by this, it was bound to happen.” Michael grinned.

“We literally just found out we’re soulmates and you’re making puns?”

Their laughter rang out at the joke, and Jeremy just stood looking dumbfound.

“Wait a sec – soulmates? But how…?”

“Not sure, man. But there’s a blue string from my hand to hers, and that can only mean one thing.”

“It’s blue? What does that mean?”

“Wait, yours isn’t blue?” Christine motioned between the two boys, head cocked to the side in curiosity. “What color is it?”

“Red.” Both responded instantly, Jeremy continuing. “Just like ours.”

She shook her head with a chuckle, crossing her arms with a smile that teased, ‘I know something you two idiots don’t.’

Michael glanced between the two, evaluating things in his head for a moment before his eyes grew wide, looking at Christine, who just nodded. He laughed this time, looking at Jeremy.

“Why am I always the last to figure things out?”

“Because you’re an idiot.” Michael stated simply.

Jeremy rolled his eyes, thinking things out: why would he have the same color string for both his girlfriend and his best friend while they had a blue one? Obviously, what he felt for Christine was romantic, so why was the other string the same color? He wasn’t in love with Michael, as far as he knew, but the longer he stood there the more it made sense. He loved cuddling with him, waking up next to him, his smile, how happy he got after they won a game… He’d be lying if he said the thought of kissing Michael wasn’t something he’d thought about before, but he chalked it up to being lonely at the time. Now, though, it was clear, and he face palmed when he finally figured it out.

“Of course… God, I am an idiot.”)

They had a short discussion over fro-yo as to what it meant for all of them. The conclusion?

The best possible outcome fate could have conjured.

#bmc #bmc fic #meremine #soulmate au #be more chill #i don't know how i feel about this??#i only just figured out how i wanted it like an hour ago its barely been proofread but here take it #my works

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sugarfreeslushies-blog · 7 years

Text

Practice makes perfect?! { Michael Mell x Reader }

A/N: This is based on an AU Fic I’m currently developing, it’s slightly based on Wadanohara and the Great Blue Sea (more like, I got inspired by the soundtrack to write it) ; I might make this multichapter, maybe not, I’ll see. The full work would be way darker, this is a more lighthearted version, to be honest.

Quick rundown, Reader is a Royal, Michael is their childhood crush (and Jeremy is their childhood friend??), this is sent in a Fantasy-ish setting with ~magic~ , the original game plan was Jeremy/Reader for this AU but this scenario fitted better for Michael/Reader, so idk, in this AU they are in a Poly Relationship? I’m not sure, it was a wild idea of mine.

TW; light injuries (nothing serious) ; swearing

Wordcount: 1,871

Fresh, salty air fills your nose and you take a delighted sigh. You adore your little, secret spot by the cliffs.

Here, you usually are alone, here is your place to blow off some steam and be for yourself.

The only noise you're having here, is the more or less vigerous crashing of the waves against the rocky cliffs beneath you and today, there wasn't much noise.

You were thankful for that, it was exactly the calmness you needed today since you weren't feeling your exact prime today.

Grazing your fingertips against the rough and dry periderm of the tree you were leaning against, your gaze goes to the Horizon. The Ocean is glistening like a sea of diamonds and pearls under the bright sun, the waves move soft and easy today.

Shifting your view to the harbour of your hometown you see a countless amount of ships, the small ones of the fishermen and bigger ships, from foreign kingdoms, you suspect.

All in all, there should not be anything to be upset or worry about. Today, is a mellow and beautiful day, a day that should be lived without any worries.

You know better though, there will be a banquet soon, where way too many royals from other kingdoms would be attending, you'd be under stress to keep up a good posture and make your family name appear in a good light-

„{Y/N}?“- You scoff a little, how come you imagine the voice of your childhood friend and crush, the son of the Royal Judge and a mere Swordsman, Michael M-

You feel a nudge on your shoulder and a shriek escapes your mouth, you scramble and grab the nearest object to defend yourself with against the intruder. Your magical powers were limited to a pitiful amount,

A wooden stick. Panting you begin to actually register who is standing infront of you. The dark haired boy looks just as terrified as you, he has stepped a bit back, not to be too threateningly close to you.

The stick drops from your grip and you quickly get up.

„M-Michael, oh god, I'm so sorry“, you begin to apologize to the recovering boy, who just nods a little irritatedly and starts to make gestures, showing you to calm and most importantly, slow down.

He finally clears his throat and speaks up, „{Y/N}, hey, uh, it's okay? I guess? I mean, you tried to attack me with a stick just now, but, uh, really it's cool.“ His expression is still a little twisted into a confused and threatened one but he recovers.

A comforting smile graces his lips and it makes your heart sing.

It relieves you to hear he isn't mad at you for your childish move.

„So“, he begins again, motioning you to sit down with him again, you note, he made the time to see you and it honours you, „What's wrong {Y/N}? When I saw you in town this morning, you seemed pretty low.“

Totally ignoring his question, you shoot „How did you find me here?“ right back at him. He sighs and runs his hand through his short, dark hair.

„{Y/N}, you know you told me about this place before, right?“

Oh, you do remember telling him about it, Michael is intelligent and doesn't forget things like these too easily.

A sigh escapes your lips and you nod slowly. The boy deserves his explaination now.

„Actually, yeah, I'm not feeling too good right now“, you reply and fumble a little with the sleeves of your navy tunic. You're glad he's here with you and is willing to listen to you.

„You probably heard of the upcoming banquet, yeah? Well, it kind of stresses me out, you know how shitty I am with magic and I definitely do not want to cast a negative light onto my parents' name.“

Towards the end of your vent, your voice gets quieter and you drop your head so your forehead touches your knees.

„When's the banquet exactly, I kind of forgot“, he inquires and you feel his eyes on you.

„In about a month from now on“, you reply and you furrow your eyebrows and return his look, „Why are you asking?“

„I, uh, I might want to help you feel more secure with your magic?“, as soon as he finishes his sentence, your eyes grow a little wider. Was he serious?

„You, you would honestly do that?“, you pressed on, a hopeful and slightly fearful glint in your eyes.

„{Y/N}“, he begins, dragging your name a little, you swear you can make out an amused glint in his eyes as well as an expression of „if-i-wouldn't-be-honest-i wouldn't-suggest-it“. So you interprete it as his way of telling you „Yep, I'll help you“.

You feel the dread slightly churn in your stomach. He's honest, he wants to help you.

'God', you think and look a little longer at Michael's features, his striking dark eyes that are framed by his glasses always catch your attention, 'He's so amazing for wanting to do this but-'

„Michael, listen, I don't think I can do this“, you speak this part aloud, insecurely wrapping your arms around your legs. Your gaze dips to the horizon again as the boy speaks up again and catches your attention.

„{Y/N}, listen, we're going to try at least, alright?“, he encourages, flashing a gentle smile at you, „Also, I've been told it's supposed to rain soon, so I think, this would make the perfect opportunity, right?“ After a short moment of self doubt, you nod slowly.

There's no going back now. You realize, albeit a bit too late.

It is raining almost endlessly now, you don't know if you were delusional, but you swear to have heard the growling of thunder sometime or saw a lighting in the sky.

You and Michael made your way to a glade in a forest nearby your hometown, so the two of you could peacefully practice. It was and is still beyond you how you had honestly agreed to this. Maybe you agreed in the heat of the moment, because you didn't want to feel like a wimp infront of your crush or for the honour of your family, but now it is official and you are here alone with the dark haired boy.

Despite your insecurity about the current situation, you take a deep breath. You assure yourself with the thought that rain makes your magic stronger, thus making you more capable of performing it. You will not be totally screwed.

Michael Mell is one of the mages, that used electric energy as their magic. It’s common for children to adapt this kind of magic, since it is the easiest to deal with. Though you swore, that something about the way Michael expressed his seemed special and unusual to you.

It’s a small misfortune that the dark haired boy’s powers are enhanced during this weather too.

You see him open his palms, small, white flashes already zapping from it and you feel your legs tremble slightly. 'Now would be a good time to turn around and just make a run for it', you note and actually consider it for a moment.

However, you decide to keep your shit together. It was definitely not in your interest to look like a weakling infront of the guy you have been somehow into since childhood.

Oh no, you would not go down without a fight, even if you'd totally get your ass kicked in the process. It had been clarified that neither of you would purposely hurt the other and if either asked to stop the fight, it would done, no exceptions.

You mirror his movement, your palm slowly opens as well and as soon as it does, you see raindops shoot together to a ball of water just inches above your hand. A confident smile graces your lips as you send the ball flying in Michaels's direction. He charges his attack the moment you do, both collide.

The waterball you had formed doesn't stand a chance against Michael's flashes and explodes at the impact. You frown as the water splashes to the ground right infront of your feet.

A wave of disappointment rushes over you. You had expected better.

It would have been great to successfully charge an attack, you think a little bitterly.

All of a sudden, an idea comes to your mind.

'How long would it take for me to control and channel the rain so it would come down on him like a wave?', you feel like it is a silly idea.

Indeed, in the end you don't get to make your plan reality. It is a little bit too far fetched for your current level of handling your magic, anyway.

You are put into mild discomfort since you feel that Michael is slightly trying to sabotage you here. It's illogical he would and in fact, he isn't. You know that, but you can't help but feel like that.

The both of you do fight a little and even that surprises you. Michael never seemed like the guy to use his magic for anything other than practical purposes. He helped repairing lamps in the castle and among the folk, he makes sure certain machines run well.

On the street he shows tricks to kids, who are yet to learn to use n

His caringness warms your heart. 'Michael Mell is a wonderful person', you hear and you whole-heartedly agree everytime. If the possibility was handed to you, you would get more involved with him, actually date him.

He even shows tricks to children on the street, who have yet to learn which magic they can control best.

The realization that it probably would never work out anyway, clouds your head and takes away your awareness of the situation for a moment, a moment that ends critically for you.

You are struck by an attack. A loud pained groan errupts from your throat as you collapse to the ground. While you are panting and try to blurr out the pain from your leg, you feel a soft touch on your shoulder. Michael kneels down besides you and you can sense his alertedness.

„Oh my god, {Y/N}“, he sounds horrified as he looks softly touches your arm, „I'm so sorry, I swear to god, I really did not want to hurt you.“

He stutters out a few more apologies until you look at him. There is still a pained look in your eyes, but you try to keep it together. „I-it's okay“, you press out through your teeth, „I-I can handle it, it's probably just a gash, you, uh, didn't get me properly I suppose.“

„Still, we need Jer to look over this, alright?“, he speaks, you just agree under your breath and immediately inhale some air sharply as you feel him wrap an arm around your waist and ordering you to put an arm around his neck. „I can't teleport, so, uh, we need to walk.“

You oblige, already worrying about how to get to the Healer and most importantly, how your further „training sessions“ are supposed to look like.

You quickly come to the conclusion you don't know. You're not a fortune teller, afterall.

#Michael Mell #BMC Michael Mell #BMC Michael #Michael Mell x Reader #BMC Musical #Be More Chill #Be More Chill Musical #BMC AU #BMC Imagine #Fanfiction #Fantasy AU #Alternate Universe #AU

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cacowhistle · 7 years

Text

i love you too much

Chapters: 1/5 Fandom: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Rich Goranski/Jeremy Heere Characters: Jeremy Heere, Rich Goranski, Jake Dillinger, Michael Mell, Brooke Lohst, Chloe Valentine, Christine Canigula, Jenna Rolan, Ms. Lohst Additional Tags: Hanahaki AU, ye it's hanahaki, SQUSBANDS, thats the ship name, I love it so much Summary:

rich doesn't have a crush.

he doesn't, he doesn't, he doesn't.

oh god, yes he does.

read it on ao3

The clock on the wall read 4:31, and Rich was sitting in the auditorium with Jake, Jenna, and Christine, going over lines for this year's show, The Little Mermaid. Rich got to play Flounder, and he was fucking thrilled.

"This is dumb. If she really had a crush on this guy, Ariel would just - fuckin' - ignore her father even more and swim up to the prince whenever he's nearby. Long distance relationship. Make it work. Dedicate yourself to this. Don't go make deals with a shady sea witch who probably killed your mother." Rich had his chin resting on his hand as he read over the lines, eyes half-lidded and the words tumbling out without thought.

"But it's love, Rich! She is dedicated, she's giving up her voice for the prince!" Christine grinned at him from where she sat, perched on the back of the seat rather than in the seat itself, still going over her lines.

"Yeah, but at the very least she could've like, learned sign language or something - or fucking written stuff down ? She knows how to write. She could've written what she wanted to say, she's a dumbass." He flipped the page, eyebrows furrowed.

Jake leaned back in his seat, snorting. "Crushes are dumb anyways."

"Says the guy with a crush on Dustin Kropp," Jenna piped up as she idly flipped through her script, smirking. Christine glanced over at Jake with wide eyes, giggling.

"Oh, shit, Jenna's revealing all sorts of good stuff today. Anything else to report, Jen-Jen?" She leaned forward eagerly, half-focused on the script, half-focused on Jenna. Her knee was bouncing as she turned the page of her script, going over the lines under her breath, head cocked to listen to Jenna.

They all knew that Jenna and Christine were hardcore pining for each other.

"Brooke and Chloe were making out in the girl's bathroom during lunch today. If you were wondering where they were. I had the brilliant luck to walk in as they were doing it." Jenna looked up at Rich and Jake, raising her eyebrows. "Wonder how much longer they're gonna last."

"Knowing Chloe, not long." Jake shut his script, leaning forward again, obviously done with trying to be productive - normal for him. "Although, it is Brooke."

"That's true." Rich flipped the pages of his script back and forth, gaze flicking over the words, but his mind not registering them. "It is Brooke. Chloe's head over heels for her, I'm sure they'll last for a good long while."

He was confident in his words - Brooke had loved Chloe for years, and Chloe had just started to return the sentiment. The two were incredibly happy and seemed to have everything they wanted. They planned to move up to Boston, get an apartment and two cats. They had everything planned out. They'd already started looking for places to move to. In the meantime, Chloe was staying at the Lohst household (well, the Lohst-Goranski household at this point - Rich lived there too, Ms. Lohst knew his dad was shitty and had taken him in almost immediately. She was a goddamn angel in Rich's eyes). They all knew Chloe's parents wouldn't approve of the relationship.

Rich loved Brooke like a little sister, and so naturally he had to threaten Chloe. If she hurt Brooke, Rich would be hunting her down and beating the shit out of her. Of course, he knew Chloe would never try to hurt Brooke on purpose, and that thought calmed him a little. Nobody in the Lohst house would actively try to hurt anybody. It had not been that way in his old house. He was relieved to be out of that shithole. He was loved in the Lohst house. They cared about him - all of his friends actually cared about him. It was nice. It was really, really, really nice.

Rich snapped back to attention at a hand waving in his face, and he snapped at it. Christine jerked her hand back, rolling her eyes. "We were talking to you, dumbass."

He shook his head, blinking away his previous daze. He got lost in his thoughts like that far too often for his liking. "Sorry, sorry. What were you saying?"

"We wanna know who you, " Christine jabbed him in the chest, and he yelped, "have a crush on."

Rich rolled his eyes. "Chris, I don't have a crush on anybody. We've been over this. Several times."

"Liar." Jake didn't even look up, he was flipping through his script again. Rich shot a glare his way.

"You're the one lying," He retorted, rolling his eyes.

As he spoke, his eyes flicked up as Jeremy and Michael walked into the theater, talking. He found himself staring for much too long as Jeremy laughed at something Michael had said. The boy buried his face in his hand, shoulders shaking, eyes bright. Upon realizing that he was, in fact, staring, Rich jerked his gaze away, knowing that he'd probably gone red. He felt like his heart was crawling up his throat as Jeremy and Michael walked over, and he gripped the hem of his tank top with his hands.

Shit, he didn't have a crush on Jeremy, did he? It wouldn't be a bad thing if he did, he just… didn't think he had any crushes at the moment. Shit, maybe he was wrong. He coughed into his hand, the coughs harsh and grating against his throat. He was surprised that it hurt so much. Maybe he was just getting sick, who knew?

He looked down at his hand, his heart stopping at the three smooth, white petals that rested in his palm. He swallowed nervously, tongue darting around his mouth, running over his teeth as if searching for other petals that might've gotten stuck in his mouth. Upon finding none, he hastily shoved the petals into his pocket, trying to pretend that nothing had happened. He was fine, he was sure of it. People had probably randomly coughed up flowers before. He'd eaten flowers on a dare before. He'd done it the other day because Michael had bet him ten dollars he wouldn't do it. They made plenty of bets like that.

Well, Rich "Is That A Goddamn Challenge" Goranski went home with ten dollars that day (and Brooke "My Brother Is A Trainwreck" Lohst judged him for eating those flowers).

He was snapped out of his confused haze by a voice. "Rich? You okay over there? You look like you're gonna get sick." Michael furrowed his eyebrows in concern as Rich hesitated with his response.

"Yeah, I'm fine." He flashed a smile, hoping it was reassuring. I already am sick.

He pushed that thought away.

His confidence practically vanished as Christine spoke up. "Hey, Michael, we're talking about crushes. We want the dirt, who are you into?"

Rich found himself getting nauseous at the mere thought of crushes, and looking at Jeremy just made his head spin. His heart was pounding, the sound in his ears getting louder, and louder, and louder, and eventually it was too much as Jeremy began to answer the question. Rich didn't want to hear it - he didn't, he didn't, he didn't. He kept himself calm on his exterior, but inside he was a disaster. His thoughts were swirling and buzzing, raging like a thunderstorm, panicked and tangled and mixed up. He tried to keep himself steady, not wanting to cause a scene or something.

So. He liked Jeremy. That was a fact. Did he like Jeremy as more than a friend? He still wasn't sure.

At least, he wasn't sure until he looked up at Jeremy again, who was grinning, face flushed red from embarrassment as Michael droned on about something - probably something stupid, not that Rich cared. And Rich felt himself getting lost in those blue-gray eyes, and he cursed himself inwardly. Oh god , he was so fucked, he was so fucked. He was a gay mess right now, that's what he was. He forced himself to look down at the script in his hands. Hoping for a distraction, he tried to focus on the words, focus on something before he got lost in his thoughts (and Jeremy) again. Anything to get his mind off of Jeremy and his budding crush.

"Rich, dude, are you sure you're okay?" It was Jake this time, and the conversation had come to a halt as everyone noticed how strange he was acting.

Rich forced a smile. "Been… sitting for too long. Gettin' kinda restless. I might take a walk to the costume closet and chill for a bit." That was a believable lie, right? And maybe he could find out if Jeremy currently had any crushes or not.

"Sounds good, dude." Jeremy tilted his head. "Want someone to come with you?" He ignored how his heart pounded when Jeremy spoke, at how his hair flopped down over his eyes when he tilted his head like that.

His gaze flicked over the group, and his eyes landed on Jenna. He grinned. "I'll take the Jen-meister with me. If she wants to come, that is."

The girl looked slightly taken aback but shrugged. "Sure, why not. Y'all are wearing out the conversation. We get it, Jake has a crush on Ed Sheeran."

Christine giggled, rolling her eyes (she was so into Jenna). Jake just groaned, burying his face in his hands. "You're all terrible people. I make a joke one time, one fucking time. "

"Say that to the Ed Sheeran poster in your closet. I have pictures." Rich laughed, getting to his feet. "Alright. C'mon, Jen. Racks of shittily organized costumes await."

Jenna stood up as well, leaving her script behind as the two wandered in the direction of the costume closet. Jenna was the first to speak on the way there, although Rich barely heard what she said, and just hummed in response.

"Rich, dude, that's not an answer. Why the hell did you ask me to come along?"

They entered the costume closet, and Rich began to sift through costumes, busying his hands - a distraction, something to keep him occupied so he could keep it together. "Uh, I - what do you know about Jeremy? Like, relationship wise? Who he dated, all that stuff. If he - uh, likes anybody now?"

Jenna looked offended, scowling. "What, you brought me along just to get information out of me? That's shitty, Rich. Just ask him yourself."

Rich felt his chest tighten at the mere thought. "No, no, I'm sorry. It was pretty shitty of me, Jen, but - but it's important. It's really fucking important." He coughed twice into his hand, shoving the slick white petals in his pocket again.

Jenna looked at him with a strange expression for a moment - bordering on concern, curiosity, and nervousness all at once. "Uh - okay." Her face twisted back into a scowl, and she started listing information. "He dated Brooke for two months, Christine for five, and he briefly dated Michael for three weeks. Happy?"

Rich felt his heart race. He liked guys. Thank fuck, he was into guys, praise the goddamn lord he was into guys. "Almost. Is he dating anybody now? Have any crushes?"

Jenna shook her head, and Rich felt almost relieved for a few moments. He could actually do it. He had a slight chance. "Thank you so much, Jen. This - this is really helpful."

She frowned, studying him for a moment. "If you don't mind my asking, why do you care about this?"

Rich hesitated, debating on whether or not he should tell the truth. He opted not to. "Uh. Not really a specific reason. Just… curious."

The girl raised an eyebrow, obviously not believing him. "You're a shit liar, Richard."

Rich forced a smile at his full name, gritting his teeth. "I'm not lying, Jen. I'm just curious."

He didn't like this. He had a crush, yes, and he was okay with that - but something felt off. Something about how tight his chest felt, something about how he could hear the tiniest hint of a wheeze in between each breath he took, something about the coughing and the flowers - it all rubbed him the wrong way, something was just… wrong. And he couldn't figure out what, he couldn't put it together - it was frustrating him.

He shoved a few more petals into his pocket.

#squsbands #bmc #bmc fic #i dont usually post my fics here but #yknow what #might as well #hanahaki

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