#I imagine they have definitely met/interacted at least briefly

[islandiis]

"it’s lemonade. it won’t hurt you."

love this one | always accepting

The heat that creeps up Fannar's neck and spreads across the bridge of his nose is plain to see, and he turns his head away so that he can cough into one hand. The path of least resistance would just be to shut up and drink it, and he worries that if he doesn't do just that that he might come off as rude — but even water sounds painfully unappealing right now. It's been three days since he's eaten or drank anything, he's pretty sure, but he always gets quite averse to everything when his geology plays up. This isn't anything new, and no need to draw attention to it.

"Y-Yes, um — I'm sorry," He answers for lack of anything better to say. Fannar coughs into one hand again, and then smiles sheepishly. "I don't think I'm going to drink it. Would you like it, instead?"

[starry-eyed-svt]

Sleepy Woozi is Cuddly Woozi ~ Jihoon

eee this is my first imagine for SVT in a long time... I hope you all like it! it's a tad cheesy and didn't really have a direction. I was inspired by a tiktok video seeing Woozi snuggle up to others when he was sleepy hehe

Word Count: 760

Genre: Fluff

“How do you feel about a movie night?” Seungkwan asked over the receiver. 

I was currently on my bed sprawled out, definitely wasn’t planning on going anywhere this evening. 

“What movie?” I asked curiously as I inspected the chipping paint on my nails. 

“Still to be determined.” Seungkwan answered. 

“Who will be there?” I asked. 

“Everyone. So are you in?” Seungkwan asked and I could hear the growing impatience in his voice. I paused a beat thinking it over before finally putting him out of his misery.

“Yes, of course I’ll be there. Thank you for inviting me.” I answered. 

“8 o’clock, see you soon!” He replied and hung up. 

I pulled my phone away from my ear to look at the time. I had an hour and a half before I had to be at the seventeen house. 

I got up and made myself a little more presentable. Still definitely in comfortable clothes, and did the bare minimum for hair. 

I left soon after and picked up some candies and treats to share. When I arrived I knocked on the door. 

Vernon answered and smiled letting me in. 

“Glad you could make it.” He said. 

“Me too.” I responded as we hugged briefly. I followed him to the big movie room. The boys were spread all over. On the floor, on couches. I waved as they said ‘hello’. 

My eyes wandered looking for any seating left. I wasn’t too keen on being on the floor. That is when my eyes landed on him. Lee Jihoon. Probably the member that liked me the least. He was sitting on a loveseat and there happened to be an empty space next to him. 

“Is this seat taken?” I asked Jihoon after ambling over to him. He glanced at the open spot next to him and shook his head. “May I sit there?” I asked, and he nodded. I smiled softly and sat down. 

Jihoon and I didn’t interact much. He was always busy producing music. That didn’t stop my heart from pitter pattering anytime I saw him. 

“Have they decided on a movie yet?” I asked him. He turned his head and his eyes met mine. I could see the sleepiness in them. 

“Yeah. I think it’s one of the Marvel movies. I can’t remember.” He said honestly then turned his attention to something one of the others was saying. 

Everyone settled in, snacks were distributed, lights turned down and the movie, Spiderman Far From Home started playing. 

I folded my arms and focused on the movie. It wasn’t long when I felt a pressure on my shoulder. I glanced over and Jihoon’s head rested comfortably on me. He was out like a light. 

I felt my cheeks warm as I tried to focus back on the movie. That was a task I was unable to do as Jihoon shifted and got more comfortable. Before I knew it I was cuddling my crush. The person I thought liked me the least. Maybe it’s just because he’s sleepy. I’ve seen him like this with other members. Whatever it was I decided I would just be grateful for this little snuggle I got. 

I didn’t realize I had fallen asleep as well until there was a bright flash. My eyes peeled open and I was faced with a grinning Soonyoung who had his phone out snapping pics. I noticed the movie was over and the lights were back on. I felt Jihoon shift next to me and groan burrowing deeper into my side. Then he seemed to remember who had sat next to him and he shot up with a look of embarrassment across his face. He apologized profusely. I told him it was alright. The other’s just cackled and chatted about the incident. 

“I’m sorry.” Jihoon said again, as the others had finally moved on to chat about something else. 

“It’s fine, really. I fell asleep too.” I said and gave him a small smile. I was shocked to see him return it. 

“You’re really comfy by the way.” He said and melted back into the loveseat. 

“Thanks, so are you.” I replied and followed suit. 

Jihoon laughed, he actually laughed at something I said and I could feel my heart rate speeding up. 

“Promise to be my cuddle buddy next movie night?” Jihoon asked. 

“Only if you’ll be mine.” I answered. 

Jihoon held out his pinky and I wrapped mine around his. Maybe he doesn’t hate me like I thought he did. I am excited to see where we go from here. 

[artistically-unique-girl]

It’s that time of year again (even though I really don’t do this yearly, more like whenever I remember to post) for me to post the art I’ve made recently. There will definitely be a trend of LMK (Lego Monkie Kid) art here because I’m currently hyperfixated on Monkey King things. (but honestly he’s a mood and I wish I could have someone like him in my life because I need that chaotic energy in my life). Anyways here’s the art, which is mostly ocs but I don’t care lol

Okay so to start us off on what I’ve drawn is (newest to oldest):

Xiaoyue (the first two pictures) is one of my lmk ocs. She is Mk’s sister and pretty much his Macaque just without the trauma (which comes during s2/s3 when LBD briefly gets into Mk’s head and causes him to attack his sister which results in her getting a scar. She is blind in that eye, but I forgot to show that so imagine her eye is a grayish color instead or she’s simply wearing a colored contact).

Next up is Red Son. Though it’s more of a redesign/AU design because I was on a redesign kick, but I really enjoyed his design in lmk (at least his outfit) so I just changed up his colors and added more bull features on him along with the five rings that Guanyin put on him in JttW (though I believe one is supposed to be around his head like with Monkey King, but I decided to put it on his neck instead. Sort of like a necklace).

Next is a lil mini comic thing (that I used a reference for that I found on Pinterest) of JttW Wukong and pre-curse Bao (another lmk oc who’s pretty much transcended to anything Monkey King related lol) when they first meet and pretty much fall in love with each other. Though they have technically met before then, back when Wukong was causing trouble in heaven for the Jade Emperor. The two never really interacted for various of reasons, but young Bao did find Wukong to be a breath of fresh air (metaphorically speaking) compared to everyone else in heaven. (If you want Bao backstory I’ll give it just send an ask and I’ll spill the tea lol)

Next up is Qingling (another lmk oc lol) who is a young goddess that can turn into the twelve different animals of the zodiac as well as communicate with them. The purple robe is from when she was placed to guard the map of the Samadhi Fire with Nezha, who pretty much became her mentor but not really (he just taught her how to fight so that she’d be able to actually guard the map). The red robe is from when she left her position, which happened some time before the events of the show, and met Mk (who she gained loyalty to and a crush/partner which is totally based off of a rp with a friend). She’s pretty much like Mk, but more on the side of being similar to early Monkey King (mostly because she used to terrorize people with her powers for the fun of it plus she honestly didn’t know how to treat mortals before meeting Mk since she was sort of taught that they were beneath her).

Next we have Possessed AU (my own little AU) Bao, which is about how Bao ran away from heaven upon finding out Wukong had been trapped under a mountain (she had a crush on him and was overreacting lol) and ended up meeting Lady Bone Demon, who used her powers to possess the vulnerable young goddess. Unlike “Mayor”, Bao is a mute and does what either LBD or Mayor tell her to do (she’s referred to as his receptionist many times to mostly hide her true identity). The staff was something created for Bao by LBD to channel her powers and allow Bao to use both LBD’s bone magic (like Macaque did in s3) and her own sunlight magic. (If you want to know more about the AU just send an ask, I’d be happy to answer it)

Next is actually a fusion design/redesign/AU design for Macaque. It’s a mixture of his 2009 Monkey King show design and his LMK design. I really liked the design of young Mac so I thought it’d be fun to merge the designs. It’s kinda like his true form, or at least my version of his true form. I’ll eventually draw the full body version of it lol.

Lastly is a random thing I wanted to make that got stuck in my head for days before I actually drew it and I love it so much. The two characters have evolved from just random characters to ocs that I’m slowly making a world around. For now they’re just referred to as the Princess and the Vampire since I don’t have names for them yet. Though I do know that he’s the “villain” of the story and their lives are intertwined with each other no matter what they do.

Alright. That’s all, for now. Feel free to send in asks about any of my ocs or AUs, I’m always down to talk about them with anyone who’d listen. Also feel free to ask my opinion on lmk stuff since it’s apart of my current hyperfixation. Anyways, have a lovely life!

[maybe-a-little-wicked]

Character relationships I think Hope Mikaelson would have with other characters from the TVD universe:

Elena Gilbert: I think Elena is genuinely happy for Hope and doesn’t judge her based on her father, though it might be different if she’s around her kids. I think Elena has learned enough to know that people can change and grow and be different from their family. I think Elena would take a very nurturing approach with Hope, but I don’t think Hope would like Elena very much. Even though Elena doesn’t judge Hope, I think she still has a tendency of judging others and Hope knows the world is too grey for that. 

Damon Salvatore: I think these two would have to get over initial suspicion, mostly from Damon’s side. I think he would be wary of her because of Klaus, but I think if they did ever manage to get along it would be a hoot. They have a similar sense of humor and a similar moral code imo. 

Stefan Salvatore: I think like Elena, Stefan would not judge Hope, or at least try not to. I think he’d try to guide her like Alaric tried to, but I think he would do a better job of it. Stefan knows very well how dark people can get and would try to always make sure she never felt she had to go that way. 

Bonnie Bennet: Once Bonnie got over her initial suspicions and wariness, she’d act as a guide for Hope around magic. I think Bonnie would teach Hope more about the morals and ethics around magic than her family did, but she wouldn’t completely ignore the topic of darkness like the school. I think Bonnie would be someone Hope would go to for advice. 

Kai Parker: I know these two briefly met, but I would’ve loved to see more interaction because I think it would be very interesting. I think Kai would be curious about Hope and would likely try to use her for magic and rituals. However, I do think he’d think she was funny and enjoy that she can go quip for quip with him, but he’d be annoyed by her moral code. He would ultimately betray her in some form. 

Katherine: I’m honestly not entirely sure how this relationship would go. Katherine would definitely hold Klaus against her, like Aurora, but I also think Katherine wouldn’t be fully driven by revenge, especially if there was a way she could manipulate Hope for her own means. I think Hope would put Katherine in her place a little bit. 

Caroline: I know these two have interacted as well, but we don’t get to see too much of it. I imagine Caroline didn’t have the suspicions and worries that Alaric did. She saw Hope as a kid needing guidance, just like all the other kids at the school. I imagine out of everyone, Caroline is capable of seeing the true Hope; the dark and light parts of her, and she’s not afraid of them because she saw those parts of Klaus too. She believes Hope is the kind of person Klaus would’ve been if his life hadn’t been what it was. 

[reikunrei]

Read your lights post! Honestly I'm inclined to the uncharitable read of "the creators didn't think about it" but your way is so much more fun! So here's my thing that maybe connects-

I think I saw.. particles? When Henry was a kid figuring out his powers, and that makes me think the psychic powers are intrinsically connected to the ud. I feel like it's maybe not actually a physical space?

I imagine it's some sort of astral plane and interaction with the rsu is what makes things physical. Like, ud->rsu = mind monsters get physical bodies and fuck shit up, nightmares are real ect. Rsu->ud= you are now in a spooky mind palace and physics isn't real.

Like, maybe just interacting with it even a little gives you powers, but kids are more likely to get the hang of it. Maybe the mind flayer is responsible for Henry getting powers, and latched onto will the same way for some reason.

Or maybe it's explicitly Henry's mind scape, full of the kinds of predators he loves. Like, maybe when he massacred those kids, he was sending them to the ud in his head, and el just did an uno reverse when she sent him there instead. Oh! Maybe he sent the kids to the ud and that's where the Demogorgons come from!

IDK this is probably super basic stranger things theory lol but you got me thinking about it now

oooh this is all interesting!! I also feel like you might be right about those particles being around Henry? I wouldn’t be able to describe the specific scene or anything, but for some reason I can picture it. Whenever I watch it again I’ll have to keep an eye out in seasons 4!

I also agree that at first I was like “oh they just fucked up with the lights” when the xmas ones behaved so OBVIOUSLY different, but then the fact that they behaved how you’d expect them to in the final episode with Jim and Joyce, it just SCREAMED something deliberately fishy. like, why not just make the lights blink on one at a time when they move under them? like even if they changed them to be glowy in later seasons, why allow these two distinctly different behaviors to exist in the same season? time and again I’ve seen that they put so much love and care into the details of the show, and while some might just be accidents, stuff like this for things that are SUPER important can’t just be brushed off imo

I also love love love theories about what the UD really is and I think your idea of it not actually being a real place is really interesting! like, it was never a physical space until it touched a physical space (the RSU) and could take its attributes. I’ve very briefly thought about just why the UD looks like Hawkins. like did it always look like that? did it just freeze on that date bc they touched and it was “moving” before that? was it just a nothing landscape like we see when 001 first gets sent there, and when it met the RSU, it only then mirrored it? why? all interesting questions that I hope we get answers to!!

I’ve also definitely thought about his victims and I’m intrigued by the idea that they’re what turn into the creatures there. I personally believe that his victims are still “alive,” or their essence is, in Vecna’s mind and they’re giving him strength (or I’d at least think it’d be cool if they were all still floating around in his head).

thanks for reading, and thanks for your input!! I love discussing the lore of the show and the UD hehe

[aemonds-sapphire]

Caution: Slippery When Wet — Dabi x Reader (Smut)

Summary: Dabi just wanted to take a shower, and he didn’t care that you were in the way.

Warnings: NSFW. Orgasm denial. Overstimulation. Vaginal fingering. Quirkplay. Unprotected sex. Praise. Creampie.

Word count: 3.6k

A sudden loud bang snapped you out of your steam-induced daydream and had your heart skip a few beats in distress.

“What?!” you gnarled, eyes gazing through the foggy shower door only to be met with a pair of turquoise eyes.

Dabi.

“You done in there or what?”

Panic filled your entire body at once. “Get the fuck out!”

Any indication that you might be blessed with a peaceful shower session soon flew out the window as the young villain showed no intention of budging.

Thoughts on Dabi? You’d rather not have any. And not because you loathed him. Far from that Your body made sure that the most hostile emotion you had towards him was unquestionable sexual tension. Therefore, you really, really needed to train your mind not to fixate on him or the possibilities that might come from any interaction with him. In order to cope with this, you tried your best to mask your genuine feelings with resentment.

On the off chance your paths crossed while living together with the rest of the league, you always had your mind set on antagonizing him. You dreaded the possibility of anyone figuring out that — albeit buried deep within you —, you craved him.

“Not happening. I need a shower.”

Sliding the glass door, you peaked your head through the narrow slit only to be met with Dabi covered in... slime? From his dark hair all the way down to his boots.

“What is that awful smell?” you grimaced as the foul stench filled your nose.

“Collateral damage,” he said with a blank expression, eyes on yours. “You can thank Toga for that.”

You rolled your eyes. “Go wait outside. I’m almost done here.”

No answer.

“Out!” Yyou half-yelled, feeling heat creep through your cheeks, thoroughly glad that the fog glazing the shower door kept most of your body hidden from his gaze.

No answer yet again.

“Dabi!”

He shrugged and proceeded to remove his knee-length coat showing no concern that you were intensely staring at him, mouth agape in shock.

His filthy shirt went off next, revealing the uneven edges of his staple-covered skin across his upper chest. Your heart was racing at double speed and all your brain could conjure was that you most definitely should not allow your eyes to roam across his body like that. Dabi was too fucking hot — pun fully intended— for his own good, and suspected he knew that

That proved to be enough to snap you out of your trance. “Why are you taking your clothes off?!” Yyou blurted out, failing to realize how ridiculous that sounded given the context.

Dabi paused briefly as he was about to undo his belt. “Not showering with my clothes on... the fuck?” he remarked, arching a brow and glaring at you like you’d grown a third arm.

Panic hit you instantly. “Uh—Just wait!”

His slender fingers unbuckled the belt swiftly. “Doll, you’re wasting time. All that rambling and staring... could be done already.”

He was not wrong.

It suddenly dawned on you how easily he’d always manage to crawl under your skin. Whether he knew the effect he had on you or not, it remained unclear. But something inside you clung to the idea that, whatever it was that you felt for Dabi, it was somehow reciprocated.

Patches of suds began trailing down your temples and forehead, causing further distress.

“Just...” your voice trailed off, but sudden outrage burst from within you. “Don’t you have some decency?”

“No.”

He had managed to strip all of his clothes off until he was only left in his underwear, and he was about to—

“No! No fucking way!” you shrieked in dread, quickly having to wipe a few suds that were stinging your eyes. “Leave it—“

But before you could mouth further protests, you saw him yank his underwear down, which caused your eyes to reflexively close tightly.

A low chuckle was heard. “Calm down, princess. I won’t even look. Just wanna rinse off this slime.”

You were positively mortified from all this mess, and a large part of you cheered in pride as you managed to kept your feelings towards him out of the way.

For now, at least.

Immediately, you withdrew your head from the rack, and shoved the shower door shut, with one hand keeping it in place while the other reached out to grab a bottle from the corner shelf.

Dabi tugged at the door a few times before sighing. “Seriously? You gonna throw a... bottle of shampoo at me?” he drawled out, a slight hint of amusement taintIng his voice. “Terrifying. I can see why Shigaraki scouted you,” he added in blatant mockery.

The sudden confrontation had you wish some random hole in the ground would prop open and swallow you whole, effectively putting an end to this.

Your eyes flew open at once and you glared at the bottle in your hand that read: ‘Strawberry passion — let your senses be filled with bliss and calmness’. Now that was fucking ironic.

Another tug.

“Don’t make me burn this shit down.”

You scoffed. “You keep your eyes fucking shut, then. Not even a peak.”

“Sure, doll.”

Admitting defeat, you scooted to the corner of the stall, your back facing him as you heard the door slide open. You felt him brush past you, but managed to keep your composure. There was no point in stressing about this. Dabi was merely your... colleague? Coworker? Fellow... villain? It came with the territory, right?

You grasped the shower head and raised your arm to have warm water pour down on you. For a brief moment, you were able to ignore the man behind you, and just kept on rinsing as fat as you could to terminate this awkward situation.

Just a few more seconds...

But, of course, life seldom went as planned.

“Sharing is caring, doll,” his low voice rumbled, and you felt his breath fanning the nape of your neck, causing you to jolt.

The sudden proximity sent your brain into overdrive. Every single hair in your body stirred as goosebumps spread from the shiver running down your spine. Your breath caught in your throat when you felt his hand wrap around yours.

You tried to muster a few words, but the overwhelming sensation of having someone you felt so attracted to being so close to you, definitely proved to be a harder task than you’d imagined.

“Eyes shut...” you managed to mumble as a reminder, feeling the curtain of water shift to your back and ultimately leaving your body entirely.

Dabi let out a sigh of relief. “Fuck... this feels good.”

His choice of words had heat spread across you like wildfire. Unfortunately, the sudden loss of a heat source had your body quivering in an attempt to keep your temperature from dropping. You wrapped your arms across your chest out of reflex, but it did little to help.

That din’t go unnoticed by the young villain. “You cold?”

“Ju-just... hurry up...” you said between teetering teeth.

Silence fell between you two before you heard vague splashes of water. “I can warm you up.”

He was close to you once more. Too close. Close enough that you could feel his hot breath near your ear, and something else nudging at your backside.

Your head turned to glare at his half-hooded eyes. “No, thank you...”

His lips were dangerously close to yours, and from that angle you could see the way the metallic hoops on each side of his face strained but a little when he drew a faint grin.

“You sure you don’t want me to fuck you?”

That gave you a whiplash.

As soon a those words left his mouth, you gasped in confusion. “What?!”

But there was nothing to be confused about. It was a rhetorical question from him. You were suddenly aware that he knew. That he had been able to read your signs all along.

Dabi placed the shower head back in its holder, pressing his back fully against yours in the process.

That’s when you felt all of him.

From the hardened nipples to the cool edges of his staples, and all the way to his hard cock pressed against your ass. You shuddered under his touch, causing it to settle right in between your ass cheeks.

“Dabi...”

He bucked his hips lightly, his slippery cock gliding with ease as a deep growl ripped from him. Haziness swarmed your mind, and you pressed both hands on the cold tiles for support, welcoming the water that poured on you from the shower head.

“Say my name again...”

“Why...” you mewled back, swaying your hips sensually against him.

What the fuck...

This was probably a bad idea. You weren’t even sure how you allowed things escalate this quickly. Dabi could snap anyone in half if he felt like it; he could also incinerate anything just as easily. You supposed the dangers of meddling with someone this volatile added to the allure.

And he was aware of that fact.

He fed on it and used it to get you to surrender yourself to him.

“Say it,” he repeated his request, bringing both hands to grasp your hips.

Your eyes snapped open once he pressed a soft kiss on your neck.

“I hate you.”

You mentally slapped yourself for being so weak. Those words carried no weight whatsoever, and they only served to heave a taunting chuckle from him. Even though this entire situation had your face burning with heat, the rest of your body still struggled to keep your temperature up, causing you to shiver from time to time.

Dabi excelled at reading body language like no other. He took pride in being able to know someone’s true intention just from the way their body reacted to his presence. He was no stranger to the inner workings of women when it came to him; he knew precisely which strings to tug in order to get them to crave his touch.

You were no different.

In fact, you had completely and miserably failed at keeping your thirst for him at bay.

And with unprecedented expertise, Dabi had your body to bend to his will, granting you one of your deepest desires.

You felt his palms heat up against your skin.

“I... hate you...” your voice came out in a weak tremble.

Were you trying to convince him, or yourself?

His hands began sliding up your sides, leaving trails of warmth in their wake. You realized you were no longer quivering from loss of warmth; your shudders were stemmed from the way Dabi was slowly and carefully feeling you up. His heated hands moved to your breasts, and without any notice, he had both your nipples being rolled in between his fingers.

Instinctively, you bucked against him. “Fuck...”

Dabi let out a hiss in response. “Sure you hate me?”

He pinched your nipples lightly before grazing his staple-covered palms along the sensitive buds.

“Yes,” you blurted out firmly.

The metallic hoops spread across his palms teased you further.

But before your throbbing clit could welcome the new stimulus, he halted and the heat pooling on his fingertips quickly died down. “So you want me to stop.”

“No!” you protested as his hands abandoned your skin.

“Then what?” Dabi inquired, bringing one finger to trail down your spine, prompting your back to arch downwards and your ass to spring up invitingly. “All these mixed signals... tss.”

You managed to suppress a moan when you felt his slippery cock slide down to tease your entrance.

“Dabi...” you let out, trying to find a few words to say. “Eyes shut.”

He chuckled. “Doll... I have my cock pressed against your ass and leaking for you... does that even matter?”

Of course not. You weren’t even sure why you had said that... your mind was playing tricks on you.

Even so, you weren’t so lucky the second time around, and when he slapped your swollen clit with the tip, your mouth fell open in a strangled cry. You highly doubted the slick tiles would be able to support your body as he proceeded to place his cock in between your damp folds.

“Hold on tight, doll. I need to prep you for my cock first,” his voice dripped with lust. “Be a good girl and bend over.”

Your pussy clenched impulsively.

To say you were completely and ridiculously turned on was the understatement of the year. No amount of rationality would help you now. You were too far gone, and your desire for him clouded any shred of judgement in you.

There was no point in resisting him any longer.

You strongly held on to the shower faucet, in the hopes of it being enough to keep your knees from giving out on you from the overwhelming pleasure spreading across your clit.

He kept sliding his thick cock along your pussy lips coating it in your wetness. It was faintly embarrassing to think of how quickly you’d gotten soaked for him, but on the other hand, you couldn’t really blame yourself for it. Dabi was definitely a natural. You figured he had enough experience to get you all riled up in no time.

You felt him snake one arm around you as his hand travelled down to your pussy. In all honesty, you felt too empty. Even though you hadn’t seen his cock, you had felt it and you craved it more than his fingers at this point.

The palm of his hand brushed against your clit, earning an instant moan from him.

“Dabi... just... fuck me...” you panted in between groans as he teased you with the staples carved into his skin.

Those staples had long caught your attention, but you never thought in a million years that you’d find pleasure in having them brush against your most intimate parts.

His velvety voice came out in a low purr. “Patience... I need you soaked enough to take my cock.”

“I am!” you half-yelled, bucking your hips in an attempt to have his cock placed at your entrance.

The hand teasing your clit stopped abruptly. “Really? Lemme check, then,” just as soon as he whispered those words, he pulled back from you momentarily, pressed one hand on your lower back to have you at a desired angle, before shoving two long fingers inside your wet cunt.

It took all of you to hold back a guttural groan from echoing throughout the bathroom. You bit down on your lower lip, an you reckoned it wouldn’t take long to draw blood. He held you firmly in place with his free hand gripping your hip while he fucked you with his fingers.

“You’re not just soaked... you’re fucking drenched,” he said in bewilderment, curling his digits inside you. “Think you can take a third one?”

You felt another fingertip prodding at your entrance, but you could only nod. There was no way you were going to open your damn mouth. The implications of doing so were far too severe, and you dreaded the idea of anyone outside being able to hear you moan for Dabi.

His third finger struggled at first to join the others. “Tight... just part your legs, doll...”

Doing as he instructed, he finally managed to get the slender digit to slide all the way in, until he was buried in you knuckle-deep. You’d never felt this stretched out before, and the newfound sensation was enough to finally have you let go of your lip and have your mouth fall open in a sigh of pure bliss.

“Now that’s a good girl,” he praised you, while finger-fucking you at a steady rhythm. “You’re literally milking my fingers...”

From the way his voice was starting to emerge fully strained, you figured this was also taking a toll on him. Having your walls involuntarily clench around his moving fingers and hearing him occasionally growl from it, had your ego soar dangerously high. Your entire body was urging you to cum, and as despair overcame your senses, you hand one han settle between your legs to rub your needy clit.

Dabi suddenly stopped thrusting his fingers, and clicked his tongue. “Stop.”

Annoyance hit you hard from the loss of his stimulation. “Fuck!”

His hand grabbed yours. “Let me make you cum. Just me.”

As soon as your gripped the faucet again with both hands, Dabi jumpstarted his ministrations in order to help you reach your much desired high.

“Say my name.”

You truly didn’t want to do that. The fear of losing control and having your moans being heard, kept you from heeding his request once again.

But Dabi had a few tricks up his sleeve.

Both his index and middle fingers pressed against your clit, and you felt the fingertips starting to heat up. He was definitely using his quirk in order to help the heat in your lower belly to intensify. It was a neat trick coming from him, and it was most welcome as you felt the familiar coil of an upcoming orgasm build inside you with each passing second.

“Say. It.”

Obscene soppy sounds left your tight pussy as he showed no signs of faltering his pace. Your eyes fluttered shut and your mouth hung open as you tightened around him, preparing to let a peak of pleasure wash over your body.

“Fuck... fu-fuck... I...” you mumbled incoherently, not able to muster any comprehensible thoughts.

You were so close.

Your hips jolted into his hand, and just as you were about to cum, you felt sudden emptiness and were left clenching around nothing nothing.

“What the fuck?!” You cried out indignantly. “Why?!”

The high inside your suddenly plummeted back to the ground, leaving you on the verge of tears.

Dabi gave your ass cheek a light smack. “Told you to say my name.”

You turned your head to give him a death glare. “Fuck you!”

He pressed the tip of his cock at your entrance. “Besides, I want you milking my cock.”

With one hard thrust, he pushed himself halfway inside you, unable to hold back a satisfied growl. Right then you understood exactly why he insisted on preparing you for him. He was definitely thicker and bigger than average. The sudden discomfort had you clench tightly around him in reflex, preventing him from going balls deep at once.

“Stop... fuck... stop being so fucking tight....” Dabi growled, stilling inside you. “Relax, doll...”

Your took a few deep breaths as your pussy adjusted to his unexpected size. He placed his hands on your hips, brushing his thumbs in circles across your flushed skin. It was most likely Dabi’s own way of offering comfort.

You weren’t sure how many seconds passed, but you were genuinely grateful he was waiting for you to finally loosen up and allowed his cock to finally slide all the way in.

A sudden gasp emerged from within you as his fingers gripped your hips vigorously, guiding you along his length. He started out slowly, but his self-restraint wasn’t enough to keep him from thrusting faster and deeper into you. The pace he set resembled that of someone on the edge of losing their sanity.

“You really wanna make me cum fast with that tight pussy of yours...”

His words were like fuel to the fire that once more threatened to get out of control soon enough. Your hands desperately grasped the faucet as pleasure overwhelmed you. A few more thrusts had your thighs starting to quiver.

Dabi had his fingers on your clit once again, determined to deliver all the pleasure he could possibly provide.

“Dabi... Dabi!”

His hips faltered for a split second. “Fuck... such a good and tight girl...”

You could hardly breathe once he set a new rhythm, which nearly had your face getting pressed against your hands from the brutal force.

“Dabi...” you mewled, feeling droplets of water mix with your own saliva as strings of spit hung from the corners of your mouth. You were officially drooling for this man.

In no time, your vision started to tunnel as you were thrown into the pinnacle of sheer bliss. Your mind went blank for a brief moment, with his name coming out in broken moans. The ecstatic orgasm had your pussy ripple and squeeze around his cock mercilessly as you kept rocking your hips against his desperate to ride out your high for as long as possible.

“Fuck this...” you heard him mumble at one point, his groans overcame your own. “Fuck!”

His own release was nearing, that much was certain. He was pounding into you hard and fast, jackhammering into you like his life depended on it, driving the breath from your lungs.

You had long descended from your orgasm, but you were still left to deal with the overstimulation from his cock sliding in and out of you relentlessly.

Tears soon prickled the corners of your eyes. “Oh my... god... enough.... Dabi...”

He responded by rubbing your clit harder in unison with his thrusts.

“Fuuuuuuck!”

His long drawn out groan let you know he had finally reached his peak. Your own knees began to tremble from having to hold your body in that position for so long, but he made sure you weren’t going anywhere. With a few pumps of his hips in a broken rhythm, you felt hot sprays of cum shoot inside your pussy.

He slapped your ass cheek once he was done, enjoying the sight of your pussy still tightly wrapped around him.

“What a pretty pussy....”

Your heart was still racing and your breath coming out uneven.

In one swift motion, he fully slid from inside you, and you immediately felt his cum drip as your walls contracted. “Let’s get you all cleaned up. Then we can take a proper shower.”

You were fairly certain you might regret what just happened later on, but for now, you chose to brush that aside.

Dabi wasn’t someone easy to read.

He most definitely wasn’t someone easy to get.

For the time being, you’d relish on the fact that you had made him cum. Probably not something curriculum worthy, but it was good for you and your ego.

-

Masterlist

[jean-kayak]

A Size Up

Summary: Living with your best friend proves to be harder than you thought after he changes

Pairing: Jean Kirstein x black!fem!reader

Warnings: smut (18+!!), major size kink, a lot of praise, unprotected sex, fingering (f.receiving), oral (f.receiving), little bit of cum eating, multiple orgasms, reader is picked up, best friends to lovers, confession of feelings, aftercare, fluff at the end like it gets really soft, college!au

Word Count: 3719

A/N: This came from the fact that Jean is 6'3" and for whatever reason, it brought out the size kink in me, also I’ve been having really bad Jean brainrot, so enjoy

This definitely had to be a punishment for something that you did because this is more than torture. You had met your roommate in your freshman year of college, and there no issues there. Everything was perfectly fine, great even.

But then he changed.

The next school year, he had grown, now towering over you, his hair now coming down to his neck as he started to grow in a little facial hair. These new changes affected you in a different way than he usually affects you, and it was absolutely making your life harder.

You had always felt some type of way towards Jean, sometimes catching yourself thinking what it would be like if you were dating, but you always shook those thoughts out of your head. Now you were feeling a different type of way.

You were fucking horny for your roommate and the worst part was that you couldn't do anything to relieve yourself. No matter how many times you made yourself cum, it was like it would start all over again. You literally interacted with him all the time, and there was always something new that would make your panties slick with arousal, and you find yourself in the same position every night, vibrator in between your legs, your hand covering the moans of his name.

And another thing was that this change hit you like a truck. He had asked you if you would be cool with living with him for your final year of college, telling you that he didn't have anyone else to ask and that he was tight on money. You were a little hesitant but said yes anyway. To this day, you still don't know if that was the best or worst decision of your life.

The first incident was when you were walking to the bathroom, jumping when the door swings open, meeting a wet Jean with a towel wrapped very loosely around his waist, and because of how close you were, you had no choice but to lift your head up to look him in the face. "Oh, shit, sorry. Bathroom's all yours," he says easily, before slipping past you, his scent making your eyes close for a split second when it fills your nostrils.

You watch him walk down the hallway, and that's when you notice how defined his muscles are, and you were just looking at his back, only imagining what the rest of him looked like, and you walk into the bathroom, smacking your head on the door when it closes.

It also didn't help that he was always walking around the apartment shirtless, and you finally got a look at what his body looking like from the front, and you swallow heavily as you feel your mouth water.

The bathroom really isn't that big, so there's no way that the both of you could fit in there comfortably, and it was your time to be in there, but he was in a rush and needed something. You had turned around when he came in there with a rushed apology, fucking shirtless of course before reaching over you to grab something from the mirror.

Your breath hitches as you run your eyes down his frame, his abs so deeply outlined that you can barely stop yourself from touching him as your eyes run over his shoulders which definitely weren't that broad when you met him, you can barely see anything behind you. He gets what he's looking for before giving you another quick apology and walking out the door.

You lean back against the counter as you feel your legs trying to regain strength.

A cold shower sounds really good right now.

There was another time where Jean was having an off day, and you offered to watch a movie, his head laying in your lap while your hand runs through his hair, making him sigh contently, and your eyebrows raised when he starts to shift, both of you end up laying on the couch instead of sitting, with him in between your legs.

You don't stop carding your fingers through his hair, and his eyes are trained on the movie, but yours are trained on how big he looks between you as he looks at the TV over your thigh, and the last thing you can think about is watching the movie.

You barely make it an hour, and luckily Jean is feeling a little better, sleep starting to come to him, and you nearly bolt to your room. You try to fight the demanding arousal in your core but you can't, and you wish it was Jean inside of you instead of the plastic toy that does nothing to help you relieve your problems.

~

Now it was your turn to have a bad day, nothing going your way today, and you fight back tears of exhaustion when you walk into the apartment, letting your bag fall softly on the floor as you toy your shoes off.

You let Jean pull you into his lap as you bury your face in his neck, his hands rubbing up and down your back instantly making it feel like all of the stress lift off of you. This was one of these moments where those blooming, high school crush feelings resurfaced, and they always come back whenever he does something considerate like this.

But to your dismay, the lustful feelings were winning out this time. The feeling of his hands on your back felt really nice, but you were only focusing on how big they were, and you shift slightly as you try to think of anything else. "Do you feel better?" he asks, and you smile softly as you lift your head up to look at him.

"Yeah, I do. Thank you, Jean," you say, and you hope he doesn't hear the way your breath hitches when you see how close your faces are and how you still have to look up at him even sitting in his lap. His frame still eclipses yours, and you need to find a way out of this situation before it gets too late.

The air between the two of you shifts as his hands slow to a stop, one resting on your hip as you take a deep breath in. "So, anything else you wanna do?" he whispers, and you're so close to letting that wall breakdown.

And then your stomach fucking grumbles. Loudly.

Both of you laugh softly, the tension that was there broken slightly, and he nods his head towards the kitchen. "There might be some leftovers in the fridge," he tells you, and you nod again, and you swear you felt his hand linger a little longer on your hip as you stand.

You notice some leftover pasta on the stove so you open the cabinet to get a bowl and you realize you can't reach it. You tense briefly when you feel a hand on your hip. "I got it," Jean says, his body thick and heavy against your back, and that tension that was in the room is back.

He sets the bowl down on the counter, and you turn around, his hand returning to your waist when you're finally facing him. He brings his other hand to rub at your side, and once again the feeling of his hands on you makes dirty thoughts swirl in your head, and suddenly you don't feel very hungry anymore. At least not for food.

"You still hungry?" he asks, his voice a whisper, but it's so deep that it sends a shiver up your spine. You shake your head slowly, and he must be thinking the same thing you are because his hands slowly make their way under your shirt, quickly heating your skin.

"Good." And the next thing you feel his lips on yours, and his hands gripping your waist tighter as yours run over his shoulders. He groans as his tongue slides into your mouth, before hoisting you up on the counter.

His hands move down to your thighs, gripping them and pulling you into him, and your legs wrap around his waist as your hands tangle in his hair. He kisses you deeply before sucking on your tongue, making you pull on his hair which makes him moan loudly in your mouth.

"Please tell me you want this," he breathes when he pulls away, both of your chests heaving from the lack of air as his hands run over your thighs and back under your shirt, and you nod your head eagerly.

"Yes, I want this, Jean, I want you," you sigh, and he puts his lips back on yours before sliding you off the counter and moving his hands under your butt, and your legs wrap around him as he carries you to his room, never breaking the kiss. He kicks the door open, closing it with his foot before getting on his knees on the bed, your back falling against the mattress as your arms wrap around his neck.

He kisses you with as much lustful passion as he can while he slots himself between your legs. He kisses down your jaw, waiting until he gets to your neck to pull at the skin between his teeth, before soothing the pain with his tongue. He rolls up your shirt, planting soft kisses up your stomach that makes you shudder before you quickly take it off.

It barely falls to the floor before he already working on undoing the clasp on your bra. That falls to the floor along with your shirt, and you moan softly when he licks over your nipples as you bite your lip to try and muffle it. He looks up at you as he grabs them in his hands, his fingers running over and rubbing the buds softly.

"Don't muffle them, baby, I wanna hear you," he tells you, not giving you a chance to respond before he's putting his mouth back on them, and you do as he says, the soft whines falling out of your mouth as he sucks one into his mouth, his teeth grazing over it softly before he does the same thing to the other.

He kisses back down your stomach, licking at your navel, and he chuckles to himself when you lift your hips so that he can get rid of your shorts easily. "Someone's needy, huh?" he teases but removes the fabric anyway, and his gaze goes dark at the sight of your folds already soaked, and he groans before sitting up to remove his shirt.

He lays back down, adjusting his body before throwing your legs over his shoulders, and you dig your hand into the chestnut locks on his head in surprise when he digs in, his tongue running over your folds to get your slick on his tongue as soon as possible.

He sighs when he feels your legs squeezing around his head, feeling drunk off of your thighs warming his already heated face, and the fact that you taste so good. He spreads your legs, massaging the crease of your thighs and holding them down when you try to move them back.

He sucks at your clit, licking at it with firm circles before he brings a hand down to prod his fingers at your hole. With how much wetness has accumulated, it's not hard for him to make his way in, his fingers stretching you out before finding that bundle of nerves inside of you, making you jump.

"Please, Jean," you beg when he's working on stretching you out with three fingers, and he huffs against your folds.

"Patience, angel. I gotta prep you for me," he says, giving your clit one last suck before he slides his fingers out, and he can't resist putting them in his mouth, licking over every inch until your taste is gone, and then he's sitting up to shed the rest of his clothes.

He throws his clothes on the floor as his dick slaps his abdomen, and what you've been fantasizing about is way bigger than you've imagined, and now his words make sense. He leans down over you, bracing an elbow next to your head as he guides himself towards your hole, covering his head with your wetness.

"I'll go slow, okay?" You nod, spreading your legs a little further, and you throw your head back as you dig your nails into his arm when he starts to make his way in. "Fuck, you're still so tight," he groans, kissing you softly as he keeps his thrusts shallow, slowly inching his way in.

"You're doing so good, baby," he praises, rubbing on your clit to ease the burning stretch. "You look so pretty taking me so well."

"Jean," you moan, your chest rising and falling quickly as you look down to see that he's still not all the way in.

"You can do it, angel. You're so doing so good," and he grunts as he feels your walls pulse around him. "Breathe, baby, you can do it. There you go, atta girl."

He braces his other arm on the other side of your head, breathing heavily to try and control himself as he lets you get used to the rather huge intrusion. You feel so full, fuller than you could've ever thought, and you definitely feel him in your throat. This is even better than you could've imagined, shocked at the fact that your body's going limp just from him being inside you, not even moving yet.

You nod your head when you're ready even though your body is still humming. He grabs your hands, lacing his fingers with yours before he slowly pulls out, a scream ripping out of your throat when he slams back in.

Your mouth falls open as your eyes roll back in your head, overwhelming pleasure coursing through your veins as you chant his name, the pain long gone. The look on your face only spurs him on along with how small you look under him, how you seem to run away from him and pull him closer at the same time.

You look so wrecked taking his dick, and he wants to keep seeing it on your face, snapping his hips faster, and your limp body jolts when he pushes on that sensitive spot, making you see stars, and he aims there as you both get closer to your climax.

Your nails are digging in his skin at every part that you can reach. "You close, baby?" he asks even though he's right around the corner from cumming, and you nod your head quickly, your brain too fuzzy to even think about speaking, and he goes back to rubbing at your clit. "Cum for me baby, you're taking me so well, go ahead," he purrs, and he gives you one last hard thrust, and your back is arching off the bed as white hot pleasure rips through your body.

Stuttering moans follow as you clamp around him, and he watches you come undone, triggering his orgasm as he cums with a loud moan of your name, throwing his head back as he cums inside of you. He thrusts through the last of your highs before slowly pulling out, and you wince as you feel soreness already starting to form.

You sigh heavily as you catch your breath, throwing an arm over your eyes as your heart beats rapidly in your ears. You don't even realize that Jean's left until you feel something warm softly rubbing over your core.

You jump slightly, and he rubs over your thigh as he carefully moves your leg to the side. "Relax, angel, I'm just cleaning you up," he tells you, his eyes going glossy at the sight of his cum dribbling out of you and your trembling legs.

You let your arm fall back down on the mattress as he leaves to throw the washcloth in the sink in the bathroom, and the next thing you feel is the bed dipping next to you. You let him move you into his lap, wincing again when you straddle him.

He rubs up and down your back as he kisses you softly, massaging your thighs that are still shaking before snaking his hands on the inside of your thighs to do the same. "You did so well, baby," he praises, and you hum softly, still dazed from your orgasm.

He leans over towards the nightstand before returning his attention to you. "Here, you still gotta eat." He breaks off a piece of cookie with one hand, dropping the bigger piece before bringing the smaller one to your mouth.

He goes back to massaging your aching muscles as you chew softly before feeding you a few more cookies. Your legs have stopped shaking, but the dulling pain is still there, and you whine quietly when he shifts under you. "Sore?" he asks, and you nod your head without a word. "Don't worry, I got you."

He grabs your legs before softly laying you on your back, and he moves your legs, pushing them closer to your chest. His hands ghost down dangerously close to your core, the touch making you clench around nothing, which isn't missed by him before pushing your legs down.

You grimace when you feel your muscles pull, and he rubs gentle circles on your skin with his thumbs. "God, you're so beautiful," he says, his eyes running down your naked body and zeroing in on your cunt. "I gotta taste you again," he adds, more to himself, and he holds your legs in position, which gives him enough room to reach you without anything getting in his way.

It seems like he eats you out with more enthusiasm this time, desperately wanting to taste you again, and he can see some remnants of white still dripping out of you, so he starts there, lapping it up before he slides his tongue inside, moving it in and out, moaning when he feels your walls clamping around his tongue as your wetness coats the muscle.

He pulls away, a mix of his saliva and your slick connecting his tongue to your lips before sucking at your clit, and the action causes you to pull on his hair, making him moan again. He can feel your legs twitching against him, reaching your climax faster due to still being sensitive from the first one.

Along with yours quickly approaching, Jean's is approaching fast too. The feeling of you pulling on his hair that's only getting tighter makes his dick twitch against the sheets, and he ruts against them. The faster he moves, the crazier he becomes about eating you out. His moans vibrate against you, only sending you higher, and the high-pitched moans of his name coming from you do the same.

"Cum, baby, I wanna taste you, please cum," he begs, his voice borderline delirious, and it takes a couple of swirls around your clit, and your body's tensing harder than it did the first time.

Jean's catching everything in his mouth, rutting against the sheets rapidly as your slick coats his tongue, and all of the images from not too long ago flood his head, and he's cumming against your cunt with a loud groan, his muscles clenching as he spills onto the sheets.

Your ragged breaths fill the room again as you let your body go slack, Jean finally letting your legs go as he licks around his mouth to get as much of you as he can. He flops down next to you, wrapping his arms around you, and pulling you into a deep kiss, moaning softly when you taste yourself.

"Feel better?" he asks, pulling away but keeping his face close to yours.

You give him a happy sigh as you nod, and he's meeting your lips again as lifts your leg to rest across him before rubbing up your thigh and over your ass softly. "So, what now?" he jokes softly, laughing quietly when you do.

"Well, is this part where we confess our feelings?" you respond, and he sighs contently as you run your fingers through his hair softly.

"Only if you feel the same way." He tries to keep it light, but there's still that underlying tone of uncertainty, that maybe this whole thing was one-sided.

You scoff softly as you kiss him again, continuing your strokes in his hair. "Of course I feel the same way, Jean," you say, and he smiles widely.

"Good. Because I definitely want to do that again," he admits, raking his nails down your back gently, making goosebumps rise over your skin. You laugh in response to his words, and he feels his heart skip a beat as he watches you.

And he swallows thickly when you look back at him. "I love you."

You give him a soft yet big smile. "I love you, too." And he can't fight the smile that widens on his face before he kisses you again, fuller this time, gripping your hip softly. You laugh again when he rolls onto his back, pulling you on top of him, and he wraps his arms around you.

"Seriously?" he asks in disbelief, and you nod eagerly.

"Yes. I love you, Jean Kirstein." His face hurts from smiling, and he peppers kisses all over your face, making you giggle loudly, and he tightens his arms around you when you try to move away.

He rolls over so that he's on top before meeting your lips for a chaste kiss, and then he's pulling away to look at you, finally getting something that he's wanted for so long, but thought he would never get.

"What are you looking at?" you ask, your eyebrows furrowing softly.

"My girlfriend," he responds, both of your hearts fluttering at the term, and you raise your eyebrows.

"Really? You're not even gonna take me on a date first?"

"I would very much rather go for another round of amazing sex, but I guess I'll settle for that," he replies sarcastically, and he feels his heart skip again when you laugh. "I love you," he tells you again, saying the words making it feel like a weight had been lifted off of his shoulders.

"I love you, too."

Why do I love using the best friends to lovers trope with Jean LMFAO

[mirohlixie]

Prof. Christopher Bang

Teacher! Bang Chan x Student! Reader (gender-neutral) Genre: Smut, College AU Words: 2,3k Summary: After an almost intimate moment with their professor "Mister Bang", Y/N tries to get his attention by behaving badly, needing to be taught a lesson afterward.

Content Warnings: Degradation, Humiliation, Mild Edging, Oral Sex (Male Receiving), Unprotected Sex, Face Fucking, Spanking, Fingering, Dom! Chan x Sub! Reader

----------------------------------- o --------------------------------------

“Hey, L/N,” he called out. They looked up and met their professor’s gaze. “I want to ask you to stay behind after class. I have a question about one of their answers to last week’s exam,” they nodded and averted their gaze back to their paper. Their cheeks hot from all the attention directed towards them from every corner of the room just now.

They weren’t usually the type who got nervous when they received any kind of attention, but somehow, when Mister Bang called their name, their cheeks turned the colour of a tomato. They tried to focus on the assignment they were given by their professor that class, but somehow the thought of the conversation they’d be having with him, distracted them more than they wanted. Did they really answer the questions to the exam that badly? Cause if so, that would be bad. American literature as a course just sucked, and unfortunately Mister Bang hadn’t been able to make them pass the course.

The bell rang. All students got up and started to leave the classroom. Y/N put their stuff away and slung their bag over their shoulder as they glanced at the professor, noticing his gaze was already trained on them. Well, not so much on them. More on the pair of knee socks they were wearing. They smirked a little to themself, completely aware of what Mister Bang thought of those.

When the last remaining student had left the room, they walked towards the desk in the front of the room. Their professor went to close the door after the last student and walked back, joining them at the desk. They waited patiently, fumbling with their hands as he pulled a paper out of his bag, flexing his arm a little as he did so. Y/N averted their gaze to the floor, not wanting to give away that they’d been looking at him when his eyes met them again.

“So, I actually called they here because there was a problem with a few of their answers on the exam,” he started explaining as he laid the paper out on the table, pointing to one of the answers Y/N had written down. “It seems they aren’t really getting the main idea behind this theory,” he said as he started to explain how their answer was completely wrong. They felt a little embarrassed, as they’d indeed been lost when it came to the stuff they’d had to study for the exam. They didn’t understand it at all, but they were too scared to ask their professor for extra explanations because he was so intimidating to them.

They fumbled with the hem of their short skirt as he explained, feeling like an idiot. Halfway through, their thoughts started to wander. They looked at Mister Bang’s arms, noticing how muscled he actually was. He must work out a lot after class. Automatically, their eyes trailed to his hands. Strong hands, with long fingers. When watching him point to words and sentences they’d written, they could not help but wonder what those fingers would feel like on their skin. How it would feel to have them trail over their thigh and core. Y/N started to blush, quickly trying to hide it with their hair as they pushed the thoughts away. However, they were already thrown into a fantasy of Mister Bang caressing their inner thigh as he kissed their neck, leaving marks for the whole school to see.

They hadn’t noticed they were trailing off until a soft “L/N?” snapped them out of their thoughts.

“Y-yes?” They stuttered, quickly shaking their head to get rid of whatever was going through their mind right now. Mister Bang’s hand now rested on their shoulder and they bit their lip, cursing at the velocity with which their mind had turned this simple touch into a dirty fantasy.

Mister Bang clearly started to catch on to their touch as their eyes unwillingly trailed to the bulge in his pants, imagining how big it would be when he was aroused. His eyes grew dark, and the concern that was formerly there turned into a emotion they’d not seen on his face before. They couldn’t exactly place it, but it mostly resembled lust. His hand slid down their arm, briefly resting on their hand before he took it away again.

“Understand?” He asked, apparently not aware of the fact they had not been listening at all. Or perhaps he knew and simply chose to ignore. Either way they nodded quickly, disappointed that this brief interaction had been shut down by him. His gaze went back to normal and their heartbeat slowed down. “Good. I’ll see you in class tomorrow then, L/N,” he said, smiling a bit before grabbing his bag and leaving the room before they could. They stared as they watched him walk away, releasing a breath. He knew what they were thinking and shut it down, even though he clearly had similar feelings in that moment. God they wanted him. No, scratch that. They needed him. They needed to feel their professor touch the in sinful ways, but he wouldn’t

“Fuck this,” Y/N said, suddenly determined. They were going to get their way. They’d make sure of that.

Days went by in which they tried to grab Mister Bang’s attention again. However, he seemed to be avoiding them. This only confirmed their assumptions; he’d definitely felt something that afternoon. He just wasn’t willing to admit it, or act accordingly. They’d set their mind to it, though. He was going to touch they, he simply owed them that. Y/N tried everything to get him to invite them after class again. The did bad on their assignments, they were late, they were disobedient in class and even tried to get their phone taken by texting friends. Their last resort had been dropping something and bending over with their ass on full display in front of him. However, he feigned ignorance and indifference and let everything slide. At least, that was until that one afternoon.

They’d handed in a bad assignment once again and apparently he’d had enough of it. When class was finished he pulled them aside and waited for all the other students to leave again. He closed the door and locked it after the last one, making their eyes widen.

“What in the name of god is up with you?” He asked, sounding a little exasperated. “You’re disobedient in class, you’re late every single goddamn day and every single work you hand in is terrible. What are you trying to do here, Y/N?” They nearly jumped at his use of their first name. He usually only called them by their last.

“Nothing, Christopher,” they said, reading the name on one of his books, trying to poke just a little more.

“It’s Mister Bang to you,” he snapped. “What is up with your behaviour lately? This is not the good one you always were in my class,” they blushed at the pet name and looked him in the eyes confidently. If it didn’t happen today, it was never going to happen.

“Nothing, Christopher,” they shrugged. “I am just tired of you completely ignoring the moment we had last week. Of you completely ignoring the fact that there is this certain tension between us that I need to get rid of. I need to get rid of it because it distracts me in any way yo can possibly imagine. I need- I need you,” Y/N said, struggling to keep the volume of their voice low.

“Oh?” His gaze turned from frustration into something else. There it was again: the look he’d given them that day after they’d been staring at his crotch. It was dark, it was lustful. “So you need me, huh? Is that why you’ve been disobedient? Because you wanted my attention?” His hands moved to sit them down on his desk. “Is that why you’ve been acting like a brat in my class? Because you needed me to tame you?” His hand trailed to their inner thigh, rubbing slow circles on the skin as they felt their core start to heat up.

“Yes,” Y/N said, struggling to maintain their composure as they looked him in the eyes. “Maybe you need to punish me for all the bad things I’ve done,” they feigned innocence. His eyes darkened even more as his fingers slid up to their underwear and started rubbing over their covered core.

“Maybe I should, if that means you’ll be a good girl,” he smirked as he noticed their breathing speeding up, non-verbally asking him for more. They slightly bucked their hips, desperate for more than that little bit of touching. “Calm down, darling,” he chuckled.

“Make me,” they challenged. They did not have to offer him twice, because in a swift movement he wiped his desk and pushed them down on it, sliding their underwear to the side as he roughly pushed a finger in. Y/N whimpered in surprise as he started pumping it into the fast, the smirk never leaving his face.

He did not give them time to adjust before he pushed another in, making a scissoring motion to stretch them out. They started moaning and bucked their hips more, desperate for his touch. It was exactly how they’d imagined the feeling of his fingers inside them. It felt amazing.

“You’ll have to be quiet little slut. We wouldn’t want others to hear your sinful moans and find out would we? That would mean this pathetic little whore could never get what they were so desperately begging for,” he taunted, which turned them on even more. They bit their lips and tried to be quieter, because he had been right.

As they wriggled under him on the desk, he added a third finger and curled them every single time he was deep inside them. Y/N started to clench, getting close to their release. Right before they could cum all over his hand, he withdrew, pulling a whine from their lips.

“Why’d you stop?” They asked, breathing heavily.

“Because this is a punishment princess, not a reward,” he said, unbuckling his belt and pushing them to their knees on the floor. “Now why don’t you give Mister Bang a treat now? Open that pretty little mouth right now,” he demanded. They quickly did as he told and felt his large member being pushed into their mouth with force. They quickly hollowed out their cheeks as they choked a little in shock. They’d expected him to be big, but not this big. His tip hit the back of their throat harshly every time he thrusted in, making them gag as they took him whole. Drool was streaming down their chin and the humiliation alone was enough to make them all wet and moaning. He stifled his moans as he kept thrusting over and over again until Y/N felt him twitch. Hot cum spurted down their throat and they struggled to swallow all of it before he released they. They panted as he placed them back on the desk, face down.

“Now, are they going to be a good one from now on, little one?” He asked, slapping their ass hard. They whimpered and nodded.

“Y-yes sir, I’ll be a good one,” Y/N promised, desperate to feel his large member inside them. They needed him more than they ever did before. They’d been so close to their orgasm before and their legs were literally shaking in anticipation.

He teased their entrance slowly and they could almost feel the grin on his face. “Now tell me what you want me to do, princess,” his voice darkened.

“Please sir, I need you so bad,” they pleaded. “Please, please I need to feel you inside me. Fuck me hard!” They didn’t care about others hearing anymore. The walls were pretty much sound proof and they needed him too bad.

He slammed his cock inside they without warning and gave they little time to adjust before thrusting into they. Slow at first, making them whimper and whine in desperation. Y/N needed him and they needed him hard. He knew this, he was merely teasing them as a punishment. They heard a low growl as he sped up a little, slapping their ass hard once again as he thrusted into them. They dug their nails into the desk as they gasped at the feeling of his hand coming down on their ass. It hurt, but felt so good.

“More please,” they whined, making sounds Y/N had never heard before. They heard him moan before he sped up even more, pounding into them with high velocity. They heard the sound of his balls slapping against they, grasping their hips with his hands to put more force behind his thrusts. They cried out, so overwhelmed by the feeling of him absolutely wrecking them as they pressed their ass more against him.

Then suddenly he hit their g-spot, sending they into another dimension. They released sounds that were indescribable mixtures between sobs and moans as tears of pleasure streamed down their cheeks. They didn’t know for how much longer they’d be able to handle this and they felt their orgasm approach quickly.

“I’m close sir,” they moaned out. “I’m close Mister Bang,” they heard him breathe heavily as they started to clench around him.

“Cum for me then, doll. Make a mess out of your pathetic body and show me how much of a desperate whore you are for me,” he spat at Y/N, turning them on even more before his hard thrusts into their g-spot made them cum around him hard. Their walls clenched rapidly as he kept on thrusting fast. The sounds they made sent him over the edge too and he rocked his hips into them sloppily before hot spurts of cum filled up their tight hole. Both of them were in ecstasy as he stilled inside Y/N, breathing heavily and whimpering. The latter was Y/N, of course.

As he eventually pulled out, they whined at the loss of his large cock inside them.

“Call me Christopher, love,” he whispered in their ear before pulling up his pants and gathering his stuff quickly. He checked the hallway before quickly leaving the classroom, marking this exit as the first of many exits of memorable meetings between Y/N and Mister Bang.

---------------------------------------o--------------------------------------

[amarimaryllis]

I Do Not Think I Would (Bokuto x Reader)

Pairing: Bokuto/Reader

Prompt/Summary: The rational side of you tells you to leave, but for Bokuto Koutarou, you choose to stay. Alternatively, Bokuto Koutarou’s fangirls are ruthless.

Tags: Angst, Fluff, Haikyuu Timeskip Spoilers

Note: I used she/her pronouns for the reader, Bold Italicized sentences are excerpts from the poem “Love is Not All” by Edna St. Vincent Millay

Warnings: Mild Swearing, Mentions of self-hate, Mentions of insecurity, Bokuto has toxic fans

Part of A Sensitivity to Ephemera

You met Bokuto Koutarou in your 3rd year at Fukurodani, but you had known of his existence for longer. It was hard to not know of Bokuto Koutarou if you studied in Fukurodani. Hell, it was hard to not know of him if you studied in Tokyo in general. Aside from the fact that he was the embodiment of solar energy, Bokuto Koutarou also had a ton of admirers.

Fangirls

Fanboys.

And everything in between and beyond.

However, the first time you ever interacted with him was in Honda-sensei’s room. It was quick, a brief encounter that promised longer ones. Bokuto’s grades had been slipping, and you were his assigned tutor.

“Bokuto-san, this is L/N-san from Class 6.” Honda-sensei introduces you two briefly. “She’ll be tutoring you until your grades are back to… Satisfactory. I trust you to not give her a hard time.”

“Nice to meet you, L/N-san!” Bokuto bows briefly, the grin plastered on his face, unfading. However, there’s a sense of urgency in his stance, vibrating, itching to run off. Probably because he had volleyball training, and nothing in this world could keep Bokuto Koutarou from his beloved sport.

You didn’t know why, but your heart was beating a little bit faster than normal.

Love is not all: it is not meat nor drink

Nor slumber nor a roof against the rain;

After a few weeks of tutoring, Bokuto’s grades were slowly getting better. It wasn’t “satisfactory” yet, according to Honda-sensei, but you guys were getting there. As a celebration, right after volleyball practice, Bokuto drags you to the closest cafe and tells you to choose anything you want because it was “on him” as he enthusiastically stated.

“Bokuto-san, you didn’t have to.” You mumble bashfully as Bokuto sets a tray down and seats across from you.

“Don’t worry about it!” Bokuto grins as he slides the food over to you. “It’s the least I can do since you’ve been such a great tutor.”

A small smile makes its way to your face. “I guess I’ll take it then. Thank you for the food!”

As you eat, you can see Bokuto’s eyes continuously flitting back and forth between a spot on your face and away from it. He looked hesitant, but your sudden speaking urges him to reply.

“Is there anything on my face?” You furrow your brows, raising a hand to wipe at your cheek.

“Ah yeah, wait, not there.” Bokuto reaches over the table, a large hand cupping your cheek before he presses his thumb to the corner of your mouth and swipes to remove whatever it was on your face. “You had sauce on your face.”

Fire and ice could co-exist at once, you concluded. Because if it didn’t, then you would like to present yourself as evidence. You were frozen, but inside you, there was an inferno of different emotions swirling, sparked by a single touch on your skin.

That night, after Bokuto had walked you home and you had settled in for the night, you dreamt of black and white streaks paired with the brightest golden eyes. You let yourself dream. You knew that this was the closest you could get to him. The real world wasn’t as kind to you after all.

While you slept soundly, Bokuto walked home. It was raining, but it didn’t matter to him because as the rain drops onto his skin, he wished that it was your touch that fell upon him instead. And for a second as he imagines, it almost felt like it was.

And though he so desperately wished for it as he lied in bed, slumber never came. Instead, in its place, were a hundred different stories, a hundred different futures, a hundred different lifetimes, and they all ended with the sight of a bashful smile, and the prettiest eyes.

Love can not fill the thickened lung with breath,

Nor clean the blood, nor set the fractured bone;

You gripped at your skirt tightly, fighting back the tears that threatened to escape your eyes. Fear gripped your chest as you watched Bokuto’s sleeping figure from your place on the chair beside the bed. There had been a small accident during Fukurodani’s practice match, a small collision, but it was enough to send him to the infirmary and you running after him.

It was stupid, you think to yourself. You had rushed to the clinic the moment your break started, and by the time you reached the room, you were a mess. The nurse only gave you a cheeky smile before she patted your back and said, “Don’t worry about your boyfriend. It’s a minor injury and it was probably just an ant bite for someone like him.”

Ant bites didn’t usually require sleep for recovery.

Also, he wasn’t your boyfriend, but you’d be the biggest liar on earth if you said that you didn’t want him to be. You were just his tutor. Sure you’d been tutoring him for a long time, and that was enough to form a friendship of sorts, but that was all you’ll ever be: a friend. So why were you acting like you were something more? Friends get concerned, they’ll drop by, check on you, go off once they realize it’s minor and you’re in good hands, and then wait for you to recover. They don’t stay, fussing, practically crying, and worrying over something so small.

You’re so caught up in your thoughts that the sudden placement of a heavy palm on your head startles you.

Bokuto chuckles as he takes in your disheveled state. Your eyes are damp, your hair is slightly messed up, and your skirt is still tight in your grip, but even then, he still couldn’t help but be mesmerized by the way you looked. “Hey hey hey, did I make you worry that much?”

You can’t help it. He’s recovering, you know that, but you couldn’t stop yourself from lunging at him and enveloping him in a hug. “I hate you so much. Promise me you’ll never make me worry like that ever again.”

Bokuto chuckles and you could feel the vibrations since you two were practically chest-to-chest. “If making you worry means you’ll hug me like this, then I don’t think I can make any promises.”

“Bokuto-san…” You attempt to pull away, but find yourself unable.

Sturdy arms wrap around your waist, and your frozen figure is pulled tighter against Bokuto’s body as he engulfs you with his larger frame. “Do you like me, Y/N-chan?”

You freeze.

Oh hell no.

Out of all the conversations in this world, this one was the one you did not want to have, especially not when you were emotionally vulnerable. You didn’t know if you had enough control over yourself to give the proper answers.

“What? No! I mean yes? You’re my friend, of course I like you.” Your fight or flight response to this conversation seems to have given you ample strength to pull away. You attempt to stand straight and face this problem head on, but your feet are pointing you towards the exit.

Ready to run. From this conversation. From your feelings. From rejection.

Bokuto raises a brow, a teasing grin on his face. “Oh, really?”

Contrary to popular belief (see: Honda-sensei), Bokuto Koutarou was not stupid. Very far from it. While he’s not academically gifted, he’s definitely smart on the people side of things.

You were an open book, and Bokuto was taking his time rereading every page.

“I…” You’re unable to answer, unable to find the words that would make the impending rejection hurt less.

“Well, if it helps—“ Bokuto sits up and sets his feet on the ground, lightly grabbing you to make you stand between his legs. “—I like you a lot.”

Your heart stops. Your world stops. Everything just stops. You’re gaping at Bokuto, mouth closing and opening as you try to find the proper words. You want to reply, eloquently, confidently, to save what’s left of your dignity, but you can only blink back at him.

You weren’t expecting this. Bokuto wasn’t expecting this.

A wave of uncertainty flashes through Bokuto’s eyes, and for a second, he wonders if he misread the situation. “Hey, it’s ok if you don’t feel the same—“

“Wait, no! That’s—“ You take in a deep breath, attempting to calm your racing heart as you try to find your next words. For someone who usually kept a level head, you sure weren’t acting like it. “That’s not it at all. I just… Are you sure?”

Bokuto is confused. He could understand the words individually. He could understand the sentence too, but he couldn’t understand its relevance in this context. What did you mean by ‘are you sure?’. Would he tell you if he wasn’t? Why wouldn’t anyone be sure about you? I mean, it’s you.

“Yes? Why wouldn’t I be?” Bokuto grabs your hand, and he laces his fingers through yours.

You don’t answer as you attempt to arrange your whirlwind of insecurity into one coherent sentence that could sum it all up. You didn’t want to burden him with an entire monologue of self-deprecation, but you couldn’t find a way to express the years of insecurity into one sentence that could do that feeling justice.

Bokuto sees this, and his heart breaks for a second. He was familiar with it. He knew those feelings all too well.

Uncertainty.

Doubt.

Self-Hatred.

“Can I kiss you?” Bokuto blurts out, and as he watches you get flustered, he thinks that this is a much better look on you compared to the one you were previously wearing.

You don’t speak. You just nod.

With that, Bokuto grabs you by the waist and reaches up to press his lips against yours.

It was Bokuto who broke the kiss, breathless as he pressed his forehead to yours. It was almost as if you had taken his breath away to breathe a new life into him with a simple kiss. You can feel his warm breath against your lips, his calloused hands gripping at your waist, and at the same time, you feel nothing. Maybe this is what it felt like to know of everything and nothing all at once. Hyperaware of every feeling, every part of your body that was connected to his, but at the same time you felt weightless, floating on a plane that didn’t seem to exist on earth.

“Can I do that again?” Bokut asks with a grin.

You don’t answer, simply grabbing at his collar and smashing your lips against his.

That was how your love story with Bokuto Koutarou started.

And you wish it ended there.

It well may be that in a difficult hour,

Pinned down by pain and moaning for release,

Bokuto’s fans were ruthless.

Bokuto’s fans are ruthless.

The toxic fangirls? Even more so.

Not all of them are terrible to you, some are kind, but there are enough bad apples that you start wanting to run away the moment you see the tree. His fangirls during highschool only ever went as far as gossipping and making snide remarks, but now that you were older and Bokuto was part of the MSBY Black Jackals, they had gotten worse.

Facebook? You don’t spend time there anyway.

Instagram? You’ve always avoided that place.

Twitter? Ah, good luck.

People are ruthless when they hide behind a screen and a fake name. Anonymity has a way of sparking bravery in even the most sheltered souls. There wasn’t a single tweet on your account that had no comment telling you how you’re not good enough, how Bokuto probably only stayed out of pity, how he’d probably break up with you soon, how they could make him happier than someone like you ever could.

Bokuto doesn’t know. He doesn’t have to know. You don’t want to tell him.

You’re never going to tell him.

It’s pathetic, you think to yourself. You’re afraid that if Bokuto saw these comments, the rose-colored glasses he wore would shatter. You were afraid that these tweets would tip him off the edge and plunge him into the sea of realization. The realization that he could do so much better than someone like you.

You were tired. So tired that you just want to give in to the comments and leave. It’s logical, after all. Bokuto would find someone much better than you. He’d go off, marry a girl deserving of him, and she’ll give him a family, a future, and a life worthy of someone like him. And you? You’d be free. Alone, heart destroyed beyond repair, but free. You could move on, move away, move as far as you could: out of sight, out of mind. It was so easy.

Or nagged by want past resolution’s power,

But you couldn’t.

The only thing you could do was stare at the tweets that dissected each and every single one of your insecurities and laid it bare, waved it around freely for the world to see and judge. You could only let the tears fall as the laptop screen glared back at your face. Everything is numb and you don’t feel like yourself as you scroll through every single comment and find yourself agreeing with each and every single one.

Sobs wrack throughout your body as it all becomes too much.

You’re too weak to stay, too weak to leave. So where do you go? Where the hell are you supposed to place yourself in this world when it feels like everything is going against you? Why was the world doing this to you? Why did it have to be you? You weren’t strong enough for this. You weren’t good enough for this, you never were, never are, and never will be--

“Love?”

You immediately slam the laptop shut and throw the covers over your body as if you had been there the whole time instead of sitting at the edge of the bed and crying over comments.

“Hey…” The side of the bed sinks. “Bad day?”

The fucking worst. You thought to yourself, but you only shook your head before burying your head deeper into the covers of your shared bed.

“Don’t wanna talk about it?” You can hear the worry in Bokuto’s voice as he places his hand on your waist over the blanket, rubbing up and down to soothe you.

Some part of you finds the courage to speak, and the words tumble out of your mouth faster than your brain can process them. “Why are you still with me?”

“Because I love you.” Bokuto doesn’t hesitate as he looks at your still-covered figure.

“What if you stop?” You mumble, but it was loud enough for Bokuto to hear,

“Not possible.” Bokuto gently pries the blankets away from you, uncovering your form that was curled up into a fetal position.

“But— Just—“ You turn the other way, unable to look at him. “What if you do?”

“Like I said—” You can feel the mattress behind you dip lower, sturdy arms moving to wrap around your waist as Bokuto nuzzles his face into your nape. “—not possible.”

With that, the tears start flowing once more.

You bury your face into the pillow, not wanting to show Bokuto because you knew that the sight of you crying wasn’t something he liked. He hated seeing you in distress, and he hated that the only thing he could do was talk you through it and comfort you.

“Hey hey hey…” Bokuto pulls away and makes you sit up straight before he sits against the headboard and pulls you to sob into his chest. “Where’s this coming from? What’s wrong?”

“Everything’s wrong.” You spat angrily, your grip on his shirt tightening. Anger at yourself, anger at the universe, all summed up in a single sentence. “Nothing ever goes right anymore, and I’m just—“

Your speaking is interrupted as another wave of sobs. “I’m so tired.”

You can feel Bokuto freeze, his hand that was rubbing your back stopping as he takes in your words. “Of what?”

“Everything.” You murmur, your grip on Bokuto’s shirt loosening as you press your forehead against his neck. “Just everything.”

“Does that include me?” You can hear Bokuto’s voice waver as his grip around you gets weaker. “Are you… Are you breaking up with me?”

You’re silent for a while. Was this it? Was the universe making the choice for you?

Whatever it was, you take it.

You pull away and look down, unable to stare into Bokuto’s eyes. You didn’t know if you could pull through if you could see the look on his face as you say your next words. “If it means that it will all stop, then maybe I should.”

Bokuto’s heart shatters, and his world follows in its footsteps. He can feel the tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. He knew you had been acting off the past few days, but he gave you some space so that you could sort it out until you were ready to finally approach him. But this? He wasn’t prepared for this.

“Why?” There’s a painful tug at your chest as you hear Bokuto speak in such a broken tone. “Did I do something wrong?”

“It’s not you. It’s me.” You cringe inwardly at your statement. Of all the things you could’ve said, you just had to say the most overused line in all of break-up history. “Bokuto, you—“

“It’s Kou.” You can hear Bokuto’s voice crack at the end. “It’s not Bokuto to you, Y/N. It’s Kou. Whatever it is just tell me, please I can fix it—“

“I’m the problem, okay?!” You couldn’t stop yourself from raising your tone, standing up from the bed to distance yourself from Bokuto. “I’m not good enough for you. I don’t deserve you. They’re right when they say that you could do so much better than me—“

You’re cut off as a sob pulls itself from your chest. Your chest is tight, your head is throbbing. Your legs are shaky and you couldn’t stop yourself from falling to your knees as you continue to cry. “I-I just… I know I don’t, but I-I’m so tired of b-being constantly r-reminded that I’m never g-going to be enough.”

“Y/N, none of that is true. Who told you that?” Bokuto’s tone gives away the pain he was feeling, but there was a hint of anger underneath it all.

You don’t answer, shaking your head, continuing to sob as Bokuto moves from the bed to kneel in front of you.

“Love, who told you that?” Bokuto places a comforting hand on your thigh as his other hand lightly grabs you by the chin to make you look at him.

“Everyone.” You wondered how pathetic you looked in his eyes right now. “Not a single day passes by where I’m not reminded by your fans. It’s stupid to keep listening to them, but they’re right—“

Bokuto cuts you off with a brief kiss, just enough to shut you up to give him a chance to speak as he moves to cup your cheek in his palm. “No, they’re not. They never will be.”

You don’t reply. You don’t argue, but you don’t agree either.

“Don’t break up with me, please.” Bokuto cups your face with both of his hands, occasionally brushing his thumb over your cheek as he presses his forehead against yours. “You mean the world to me. You’re absolutely perfect the way you are, and I know you don't believe that.”

You sob at that, and Bokuto is quick to press a kiss against your forehead and pull you into his chest. “If I have to spend my entire life reminding you of that then I will.”

I might be driven to sell your love for peace,

Or trade the memory of this night for food.

Bokuto hovers over you, his arms on either side of your holding him up as he looks at you with the most lovestruck look you’ve ever seen on someone.

“You’re perfect.” Bokuto whispers against your lips before he presses a searing kiss against your lips. “Absolutely perfect.”

Bokuto presses his weight against yours, pulling your bodies closer to each other as he continues to kiss you breathless. You wrap your arms around his neck, an attempt to blur the boundaries of skin, muscle, and bone that separate your soul and his. He pulls you closer against him, his fingers digging deeper into the flesh of your hips as he trails his kisses down your neck and every expanse of skin that was laid bare for him.

“I love you so much.” Bokuto whispers repeatedly against your skin between every kiss he puts on you. “So much.”

As you laid beside Bokuto, his arms wrapped around your waist and your face nuzzling into his bare chest, the thoughts of ever leaving slowly become more distant and fade away into oblivion. His chest rises and falls, and you find your breathing slowly matching his as you observe his sleeping face, peaceful, unbothered by all the troubles of the world beyond your bedroom.

You smile to yourself. All rational thought tells you to leave, but for Bokuto Koutarou...

It well may be. I do not think I would.

A/N: That’s two parts of the collection down, and three more to go! This one was supposed to be the lightest out of the five, but my finger slipped so... Whoops? HAHAHAGDHDHSJHS Anyway, I hope you guys like this one! 💖

[mc-lukanette]

The Last Renewal

(based on this post I did)

Luka mindlessly strummed his guitar as he sat on the deck of the Liberty. Playing always helped him feel out what he should do next or where he should go for the current timeline he was in.

He wasn’t sure how many times he’d used Renewal to go back; not because he’d lost count, but because he’d never kept count in the first place. Sass had asked him before his first one how many times he was willing to go back, and he honestly couldn’t answer because he wasn’t able imagine a number big enough.

Seeing Marinette frown the way she did before he’d ever renewed a single timeline, he didn’t know if there was a number big enough.

All things considered, the current timeline seemed relatively normal, though he couldn’t help feeling that he was out-of-sync with it. It worried him, imagining Marinette falling into misery again despite his best efforts.

But he couldn’t predict what could happen, nor could Sass, so he didn’t want to use Renewal just yet. He’d just do what he’d been doing and see what came of it.

“Luka?”

He looked up from his guitar, surprised by the familiar voice. Marinette was standing across from the boat and rocking back and forth on her heels, gaze occasionally flickering to the gangplank.

“Marinette?”

It took him a moment to realize that he’d been sitting there stupidly, not doing anything but staring at her. He finally got up, setting his guitar aside and heading for the gangplank to allow her onboard. “Not that I’m complaining, but what are you doing here?”

Her posture was straighter than usual as she walked across the gangplank to get to him. She looked down at the deck, briefly biting her bottom lip, then made eye contact. “I wanted to see you?”

His heart skipped a beat and he promptly tried to ignore it. Somehow, no matter how much he renewed the timeline, she still had the power to send his feelings into overdrive.

She shifted in place at his lack of response, asking sheepishly, “Is that okay?”

He forced himself back to reality, returning her smile with a genuine one. “Of course it is.”

“...But?” she inquired with a tilt of her head.

Oh. Had she always been able to read him like that?

Not wanting her to worry, he answered honestly, “It’s nothing. I just... thought you’d be with Adrien and everyone else right now.”

Because it only made sense for her to be where everyone else was; he couldn’t imagine why she wouldn’t. Adrien was there, and since her friends were too, it wasn’t even like she had to be alone with him at risk of her anxiety.

“I know,” she admitted, “but... then I thought about you and how you were here all by yourself.”

He blinked. Her response seemed like such a small thing, but it set a firework off in his heart nonetheless. He felt like he should be used to it, but she’d never just—and so casually—

“Thanks for thinking about me,” he said, “but my mom’s hanging out here somehow. You don’t have to feel forced to stay.”

Giving her an out if she didn’t want to reply, he turned away and walked back to his guitar. Honestly, she’d already made his day just by showing that she thought of him, so he didn’t need her to stick around.

He’d only gotten to grab the neck of the guitar when she spoke up again.

“Sorry. I lied.”

He raised a brow, not understanding what she meant by that. Turning around, he saw her fidgeting shyly and... had she always been blushing like that?

"I wasn't thinking about how lonely you were,” she confessed, “I mean, I was—but it wasn't about you being lonely. Even if I knew your mom was here, I...” She met his gaze. “I wanted to be the one who made you feel not lonely?”

He could only stand there, trying to process that. In all of his renewals, he couldn’t remember anything like this. Renewal did have its flaws, like leaving occasional gaps of in his memory of past timelines, but he was sure he wouldn’t be able to forget something sweet like that; in fact, all of his moments with her were hard to forget.

Smiling at her, realizing that she said it and meant it, he gave her a grateful nod. “I definitely feel that way now.”

She beamed at him in response, looking so proud and happy that he almost found it funny.

He sat back in his original spot and set his guitar on his lap, not complaining when Marinette walked over and took a seat next to him. Her eyes locked with his at first, then moved to his guitar with an expectant look.

He didn’t really think about what to play. He just did it, letting his fingers decide the tune. He didn’t notice that he was playing this moment until he saw that the look on Marinette’s face matched some of the notes.

He mentally acknowledged that he still got lost while enjoying the little times they had one-on-one with each other. After all, he never knew when or if he was going to feel it again. There were timelines where Marinette would abruptly pull away from their friendship, so he had to try not to get too hopeful. She was unpredictable that way.

He really did love that about her though. He supposed it was a character flaw of his, not he had any intention of changing it.

He only realized that he’d stopped playing when Marinette’s hand came to rest over the one he had on his guitar’s neck. He glanced at her, seeing that her eyes were soft and half-lidded as if she were daydreaming about something.

Apparently sensing that he was staring, she peeked over at him, a blush overtaking her face as she pulled her hand away.

“Ah—do you remember how we met?”

“Of course I do,” he answered immediately, almost offended that she’d consider that he could forget.

She giggled at the fast response. Staring down at her lap, she idly twirled a strand of her hair and admitted, “I was actually pretty embarrassed about it for a while. Just—out of all the first impression I could’ve given, it had to be me stammering like an idiot.”

He chuckled, knowing that he couldn’t tell her that he looked forward to it every time.

“It’s not a bad thing,” he assured. When she gave him a weird look, he clarified, “Your song plays for everyone to hear. I think that's amazing, and I'm glad I get to hear it."

She pouted at him, but he could tell by the way her blush reddened that she didn’t object to him saying such things. He knew he might’ve come on a little strong and he didn’t really mean to, but...

Well, she somehow got prettier with every Renewal and he never got used to it.

“T-thank you,” she murmured, a small whine in her voice. Awkwardly toying with the fabric of her capris, she added, “Sometimes, I-I feel like you’re the only one listening...”

The happy skip of his heartbeat turned to an ache. He turned his gaze back to his guitar, already trying to come up with some sort of melody that might cheer her up in case he were to fail at comforting her. He grabbed one of the tuning pegs, twisting it slightly and thinking of using it as some sort of music metaphor that she could relate to.

He was about to bring it up when she cut him off.

“And... then I realized that I’m okay with that.”

He faltered, accidentally twisting the peg far more than intended. That string was definitely out of tune now.

His confusion must’ve shown on his face when he looked at her, judging from how she looked back. Her focus shifted to his arm, her hand reaching up to grab the cuff of his sleeve.

"You're the least complicated person I've ever had in my life, Luka. I know it doesn't sound like a compliment, but it is. It feels like you've always understood me, and that I could understand you back."

He hesitated to respond, remembering how many times he’d renewed the timeline. What if...what if she could sense it and it was affecting her reaction to him? Maybe her powers as guardian reached her even when he went back, or her having had snake under her protection gave her a link to it? Either way, he’d never intended for such a side effect.

“Like we’ve known each other for a long time...?” he prompted uneasily.

She genuinely thought about it, rubbing her chin in silent contemplation. Her conclusion ended up being a simple shake of her head. “No. Just... that you’ve always been listening, and I never really appreciated it.”

He hoped his sigh of relief wasn’t obvious enough to warrant any questioning. Smiling, he replied, “I never felt like you were taking me for granted, Marinette.”

She snorted, then giggled, smiling up at him with a fond gaze. “Of course you don’t. You—you’re too caring. You don’t think of yourself. You’re always thinking of other people... of me.” She let go of his sleeve to nudge him playfully. “If I didn’t already think of others first too, I’d call you a bad influence.”

He giggled as well, though his heart was racing for reasons he didn’t understand. While Marinette seemed rather casual in interacting with him, something about the scene felt... intimate. He didn’t feel like he’d done anything particularly special in the current timeline - he was just being himself - so why—

“I was thinking about it; about that day, I mean,” she explained. “That’s why I brought it up. You comforted me again when I was worried about the ice rink, and once I started thinking about it, I couldn’t stop.”

He did nothing but listen to her, his mind genuinely blank.

She continued, “It wasn’t about no one else listening. It was more than that. You... you’re so you. You know how to make me laugh, you worry about me, you get angry on by behalf, and I've never felt more in-sync with someone than when we were sneaking into the TVi studio together."

She looked back at his sleeve, the cuff slightly out of place from when she’d grabbed it earlier. She went about fixing it, even caressing the button with her thumb.

“And then, I sort of realized... that I wanted more than just you listening. I—” She took a breath, making eye contact with him to help get her point across. “—I want to play for you. Just you. I don’t want anyone else to hear it.”

He opened his mouth, but it’s not working, only letting out a ghost of a word that he’d attempted to say. When he finally did manage to speak, all that came out was, “I... Marinette, I—”

“I love you, Luka,” she confirmed.

“Ah—”

His world went quiet, his mind unable to focus on anything else but the sparkle in her eyes. He replayed the last five seconds in his head, just to make sure he’d heard correctly.

Then, Marinette suddenly let out a breathy laugh, a hand to her chest in what looked to be a gesture of relief.

“That...” She sighed happily. “That was so much easier than I’d thought it’d be.”

If he wasn’t sure before, now he was. “You... you love me? You mean that?”

It sounded dumb when he asked it out loud like that.

She blushed, but her smile didn’t falter. “Yeah. You...you can tell by now, right?”

With that, something clicked. Things that didn’t make sense before now fit together in a neat little puzzle.

He was out-of-sync, just like he’d thought, because he hadn’t noticed that Marinette had felt anything for him beyond friendship. A mild attraction, maybe, but nothing beyond that. After spending so many Renewals seeing her get together with Adrien, he’d unconsciously began to ignore any hints that she had any feelings for him: Luka Couffaine.

Thus, if she looked at him more than usual, he chose not to notice. If she got exhausted by schemes of her getting together with Adrien, he presumed that she was just maturing past that stage and into a “normal” crush faster than usual. If she leaned a little closer when he played guitar for her - oh, she’d totally been doing that today, hadn’t she? - he brushed it off as him imagining things.

But now, he could tell. Now that she told him - now that he knew what to listen for - it was all he could hear. He’d never expected her to actually fall for him, at best thinking that she’d end up single, yet here she was.

He almost felt stupid for not noticing. She’d played the notes for him, but he didn’t hear what they had to say. Somehow, he’d spent so many Renewals understanding how she felt, yet simultaneously not understanding how she felt about him.

He was second-guessing himself all of a sudden. Had she shown interest in past Renewals and he tuned her out? When she’d pulled away from what he deemed to be friendship, was it truly spontaneous or had he chosen to dismiss all the signs she was giving him? Did she love him in any of those instances or was it just now that she ended up being in love with him—

Gosh, she loved him right now.

“I know it’s a lot,” she admitted, the apology implied in her tone. “I’m a lot. I mean, I’m not any good at being subtle, but—”

He snapped back to reality, all questions of whens and hows thoroughly discarded. Like it had wronged him, he shoved his guitar off his lap, leaving him free to pull Marinette into a tight hug.

Her surprised “Ah!” synced with the sound of the guitar hitting the deck. “L-luka? Your guitar!”

“I don’t care,” he whispered into her shoulder. He’d spent so many discarded timelines with that darn instrument that he didn’t feel an ounce of regret knocking it away if it meant leaving his lap free for Marinette.

He might’ve been shaking. Marinette’s concerned tone implied as much as she started to ask, “A-are you...”

She trailed off, as if a realization had started to form. Slowly, her hands came up to rest on his back, followed by her arms as she returned the strength of his hug.

He sighed, needing a moment to breathe her in. Vaguely answering her unfinished question, he replied, “...I’m so happy right now.”

“O-oh,” she squeaked, voice soft and quiet compared to when she’d confessed to him. She seemed to know what he meant by that. “You...you deserve to be happy, Luka. Y-you deserve all the happiness in the world.”

“I already have it,” he assured, gently squeezing her to remind himself that she was here. “It’s right here. You just gave it to me, Marinette.”

She shook, swallowing just to let out a weak, “L-luka...”

“I love you too. I love you so much,” he confessed, the words like a dropped weight that caused him to feel even lighter than he already felt.

Marinette’s fingers twitched against his back, her hands hesitating as if to prolong the hug as much as much as possible. When she eventually did release him, he felt a gentle push on his shoulders that encourage him to pull back.

He had to force himself to do so, having been content to hug her for the rest of the day had she allowed him to. However, he only caught a glimpse of her face, her eyes shimmering, before she was leaning in again, pressing a split-second kiss to his lips.

He jolted, as if he’d just been shocked, but then she kissed him again, this time closer to a full second.

It definitely didn’t feel like that long.

Once she’d pulled away to look at him, he averted his gaze and brought a hand to his lips, cherishing the memory of what he never thought he’d have. Marinette, meanwhile, was giggling, obviously enjoying the effect she had on him.

He made eye contact with her, then finally reached out to take her face in his hands. She hummed in content, placing her own hands on top of his while giving him unspoken permission.

He leaned in, kissing her until their time together felt longer than every timeline he’d erased.

[kakyoinryoko]

I find it crazy that jolyne was born when jotaro was 20... that’s 3 years after the events of sdc, wouldn’t he still be traumatized? I kinda resent araki for not giving us more context for it. Literally just the smallest crumb like, where did he meet his wife? He was so young he was probably in university. Did he get a girl knocked up? I can’t imagine jotaro getting a girlfriend and getting married at 20 and within 3 years of sdc like that is so out character. Jolyne had to be an accident, right? And we don’t even know his wife’s name. Even josuke’s mom got screen time and a backstory, even if briefly. She was a university student. Met joseph. He had an affair. Like, why couldn’t we get that for Jotaro’s wife? It could’ve been so interesting and so much more impactful but no, completely neglected. It’s always bothered me ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

he was 21 actually but that’s not much better. like i’m 21 i couldn’t imagine having a kid at my age. it is crazy young in my mind but i think part of it is just that araki got married 3 months after he met his wife and is a crazy person tbh ! like he definitely just doesn’t think of the age as being weird or too young or too soon after sdc. i don’t think he was thinking about it at all.

i’ve talked about the circumstances of jolyne’s birth a bunch times because i am insane but i’ll do it again. i don’t think she was an accident, partly bc i think being trans greatly enhances jotaro’s narrative as a character (adding Struggles With Gender Due To Alienation From Masculinity to any man who is read as super masculine but still has softer or more feminine aspects to him that are often overlooked or who generally seems to be overcompensating rules every time i do this to everyone. anyway) and partly bc i think jotaro just doesn’t fucking think before he does things a lot of the time. he makes big illogical decisions based on his feelings multiple times through the series and sometimes it works out (killing dio) but sometimes it really really does not (the shit that happens in the made in heaven arc, which interestingly makes for some actual character development because he’s putting his daughter first for a change. but anyway). he seems to like kids from what interaction he has with them that we can see, and they generally tend to like him too (koichi immediately feels that jotaro is a kind and gentle person the second they meet, or if we’re really going back even anne liked him after a while, or that kid with the popsicle who he calmed down pretty much immediately if you want a more immediate example), and family is important enough to him that i can see him wanting to start one of his own, but the problem is he is a repressed gay man who married a woman as well as the most ill adjusted person alive so he is. of course. the worlds first transgender absent father

i think it sucks that jolyne’s mom isn’t a character but to be honest i don’t really see any way to work her into the story in a meaningful way. like she’s a non stand user and unlike tomoko her daughter doesn’t live at home, she’s in prison for most of the part. she could have at least been given a name and SOME lore though i agree. i hope the anime does that if the anime gave anne a name but does not give JOLYNES MOM one i’m going to explode and yes it will be an area of effect attack

[aomineavenue]

Homesick (Miya Atsumu x f!Reader) | 006. dinner disaster

Summary: Six years ago, L/N Y/N wouldn’t exactly say that she loves her life. It had always been problematic but her best friend, Miya Atsumu, since she was eight when she moved to Hyōgo, has always been there for her, and she wouldn’t change it for the world. However, things would always fall apart for her ever since, so she should have expected of such. Running away from her problems seemed like the easiest route to take at the time, so what happens when the past comes barging back into her life demanding answers? Will she be able to confront her demons?

Pairings: Miya Atsumu x f!Reader

Updates: irregular.

Genre: Angst, ANGST I LOVE ANGST, a lil bit of fluff here and there.

Warnings: Language, etc. (Will be mentioned once posted because I don’t want spoilers huehue)

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters except for the reader and my ideas. I do not claim any images used for content in this fic, everything goes out to their respective creators unless it is mentioned that it is mine.

Status: ongoing. | series masterlist

↩ confessions | dinner disaster | realizations  ↪

mia’s note(s): 

can you find the easter eggs in here? 

i am sorry, i am not very fond of this chapter lmao i told you guys im bad at writing that isn’t angst man 

i hope you guys enjoy anyway, lemme know what you guys think!! and tell me if you find the easter eggs mwa mwa

You nod eagerly as you shut the menu in your grip, completely ignoring Reiji’s protests from beside you as the rest of the individuals seated around the table either watch in amusement or curiosity. “I believe there is always a three special course meal that changes every day according to the chef, we’d absolutely love that.”

At the sight of Reiji’s features scrunched up in horror, you inwardly squealed in victory. 

Years have flown by, you’re both practically strangers at this point. Yes, strangers. Just two strangers who know every shameful secret, every hidden freckle, and even every fatal flaw in each other. Who were you kidding anyway? Six years have gone by just like that, but you knew it yourself, deep down that you still strongly cared for the man that now stood before you, his eyes the only thing you could focus on, not even the soft chatter of the other guests or the soft instrumental melody produced by the restaurant’s speakers could capture your attention and disrupt your thoughts. Mesmerized, that is what you are. What even. 

It has been six years and to this day, he still completely steals your breath away. 

Not that it should surprise you or anything. Despite everything, how he had hurt you back when you were both 17 and in your second year in senior high school back in 2013, or the hurtful words that spilled from his mouth from the running emotions that day back at the sports complex when the truth revealed itself, you couldn’t bring yourself to hate him or even be angry. You’ve thought of this a billion times since you left Hyōgo. You have imagined a billion scenarios, trying your best to prepare yourself because you knew. You knew that it was inevitable to stay hidden, to keep your secret hidden. A part of you always knew you were going to meet him again. Not that your reunion was delightful or anything. It was nowhere near such. No matter how many scenarios you created in your head, it had not been enough for you to prepare for any form of response. 

You hadn’t realized it at first when you had met him on that day because of the emotions running high through your veins, but now, standing in front of him, your eyes drank him up completely. Of course, you notice the differences from six years ago. It wasn’t as if he was going to stay how he had been back then, nor was it difficult to notice the changes from the boy you used to adore. Looking at him now, it was clear as day that he had grown up from the charming boy next door to a breathtaking man that you can’t seem to tear your gaze away. 

As your name rolls off of his tongue, you snap out of your trance, blinking a couple of times. Thankfully, you suppressed your emotions quick enough from allowing the warmth that wanted to creep across your cheeks. God, how embarrassing. Did he notice you were practically devouring him with your eyes? Hopefully not. 

However, despite his handsome features, you are suddenly reminded of the last conversation that the two of you shared and it was enough for you to push your mushy thoughts to the very back of your head. Ah, right. You remembered now, before being distracted by Atsumu’s ridiculously handsome face, you were going to give Asuma and Reiji a good smack. If only you had known of this setup, you would have never agreed. Jumping back to reality, you were about to take a step back, wanting to leave the premises, only to be held back by Reiji, gripping onto your arm to stop you. 

You were cut off from your protests, Reiji moving closer to whisper in your ear with the all too familiar tone he uses on you during arguments. Before he could even finish his sentence, you already knew that the excuses you have in mind were no use. There was no room for negotiations. “Stop being stubborn and sit down. Do this for your kids. It’s not like it’s a date or anything.” 

Grumbling underneath your breath at how much of an ass he was, he only replies with a chuckle as he releases his grip on your arm, neither of you realizing the green-eyed monster’s gaze that followed the whole interaction. The two of your friends took their seats, greeting the rest of the party, while you’re left standing there before Atsumu. As you stood there face to face, you didn’t realize the two occupants around the table sharing hushed whispers amongst each other, berating each other for bringing other people along. Meeting his gaze once more, you give him a small nod, “Atsumu. Shall we then?” 

He nods, his voice cracking slightly because of his nerves, “Yeah.” 

However, as you turn to greet the rest of the party, you feel your shoulders grow tense at the realization of what your two friends did once again. They had occupied seats around the table, leaving the only available seats next to each other for you and Atsumu. If it’s one thing you hated, it was when your friends become the meddling monkeys that they are. 

Not wanting to cause a scene, you inwardly groan and occupy the seat next to Reiji, leaving the seat next to you for Atsumu. In spite of your irritation, you find yourself flashing a half-hearted smile at the three across from you. 

“Hi!” the one in the middle greets you happily with an enormous smile plastered across his face, “I’m Hinata, it’s nice to meet you.” He extends his arm across the table, holding out his hand for you to shake, which you gladly take. 

“Nice to meet you too,” you respond with a nod of your head as you release your grip from his hand, just in time to retrieve the menu that the waiter had passed throughout the group. Flipping it open, you avoid the glances from Bokuto and Osamu, who looked as if they were itching an interaction from you, but because of your irritation, you definitely didn’t want to talk to them just yet, they probably had helped your friends in setting this up. “So Hinata-san, I’m assuming you're Bokuto’s teammate?” you ask before tearing your gaze away from his to examine the menu in your hands. You don’t notice the frown that briefly appeared on Atsumu’s lips. 

“Oh, Hinata’s just fine!” he waves his hand with a laugh, “Yes, I’m Bokuto and Atsumu’s teammate. We actually wanted to bring our friend Sakusa here too, but he said he has an emergency at some hospital.” 

"Hmm…" you hum, letting your eyes scan the menu, thinking you might as well enjoy the food, "Oh, I hope everything is okay with your friend Sakusa and it’s nothing too serious, but now that we're here, might as well enjoy and run Rei's wallet dry. Right, Rei?"

You tilt your head a bit, glancing over at Reiji from the corner of your eye with a sly smirk forming on your lips. Ah, the man could only let out a nervous chuckle, knowing full well what you were planning as he recalls a similar scenario a few months back in the very same restaurant that put a dent to his savings because of the ridiculous price of the meals you had ordered that night. Not tearing your gaze away from your best friend, you call for the waiter's attention, who quickly responds by walking over and pulling out his tiny notepad to jot down your table's order. 

"Hello, I'm Daiki and I'll be your waiter for the night." He greets with a friendly smile, not realizing the awkward atmosphere among the group, "What will we be having?" 

Clicking your tongue against the roof of your mouth, you give Reiji an innocent grin before turning your gaze over to the waiter to return his smile with your own, "Hello, Daiki. You see, my friends here aren't really sure what to order, but I told them not to worry since I've been here so many times, so I'll be ordering for everyone!" 

"Excellent, ma'am!" He nods his head, matching your enthusiasm.

You nod eagerly as you shut the menu in your grip, completely ignoring Reiji’s protests from beside you as the rest of the individuals seated around the table either watch in amusement or curiosity. “I believe there is always a three special course meal that changes every day according to the chef, we’d absolutely love that.” 

At the sight of Reiji’s features scrunched up in horror, you inwardly squealed in victory. 

It was going to be a long night.

Mayuzumi Asuma and Suwa Reiji were now considered dead.

To you, at least. And somehow, you knew that, despite them avoiding meeting your gaze alongside with the other three across from you who freely interacted with each other, they themselves knew what they were getting themselves into. They were digging their graves for this stunt they have pulled. 

You’d got to give Reiji credit, though. Despite pushing his buttons by ordering everyone the high priced three course meal, he wasn’t his usually squirmy and irritating self. You had at least expected sharing a heated argument with him after such a display, but instead of giving in, he continued to pursue his plan with the others. 

Oh, they think they were so slick, as if you hadn’t caught on with their little plan. Not a date, they say. It might as well be one, since they’re bluntly ignoring your attempts to converse with them. All was missing was some privacy. At first you hadn’t thought about it when you had tried to share a conversation with Hinata, it was only right for you to get to know someone; you were just being nice. However, before Hinata could respond to your question, Bokuto had dragged him into a conversation about volleyball. You brushed it aside, not thinking anything rude of it, as you knew Bokuto would often speak with anyone out of the blue. It was just how he is. 

You hadn’t even thought about it the second time around when this time; you tried conversing with Osamu, wanting to know about how his business is going so far. Except, the conversation between you and Osamu never happened due to the fact that Asuma had cut you off mid-sentence, engaging the man in a ridiculous conversation about healthy diets. Like, what the heck was that all about? Asuma and healthy diets just don’t sit well with you. Nevertheless, you brushed it aside, shifting your attention to the first course meal of the night that had been placed before you. 

They think they were so smart, trying to pull it off. Ah, but no. You had caught on with their little plan the third time around when you tried to join in Bokuto and Hinata’s conversation. You were instantly shot down by Reiji, shifting the conversation to another topic that only they could understand. 

They were dead men. All of them. 

Placing your chopsticks down, you turn your head towards Reiji’s direction with a false innocent smile curling upon your lips. “Reiji, dear.” 

Ah there it was, catching the nervous bob of his Adam’s apple in this throat with your gaze. "Yeah?"

"I hope you know—” 

Hinata cuts you off by standing up abruptly from his seat, waving frantically towards someone’s direction, “Ushijima-san!” 

You blink before turning your head to look at whoever Hinata was waving to, catching a glimpse of a tall, muscular man nodding towards Hinata’s direction in greeting, a woman trailing close behind him. Not wanting to be rude, you return to your previous position to face Hinata that was seated across from you, “Was that the Ushijima Wakatoshi?” 

Hinata nods as he sits back down, a huge smile on his face. “Yeah, I’m sure you know about him.” 

“I suppose,” you lift your shoulders up in a shrug as you pick up your chopsticks once more, completely forgetting to reprimand Reiji’s actions much to his relief, “I was volleyball manager back then in high school, so I would know a few things, including some players.” 

“Where did you go to school?” Hinata asks, tilting his head a bit as he looks at you curiously. You wonder, briefly, had Atsumu not mentioned you at all since the incident at the sports complex? Weird. 

As you were about to reply, the man seated on your left answers for you. “She went to the same school as me, Shouyou-kun. She was our manager.” 

Hinata stares at you for a second, blinking a couple of times before realization hits him, his eyes widening, “I remember you now! You were that pretty manager!” 

The men around the table chokes and sputters their food, causing you to scrunch up your nose in disgust. Atsumu is first to respond after clearing his throat, “What? I mean, yeah. She was our pretty manager.”  

“I remember her because it was the first time I saw Tsukishima look stupid over a girl,” Hinata chuckles, shaking his head. “But, how come I only saw you once? Were you a third year at the time?” 

Suddenly, the tension was back in the air. You catch from the corner of your eye, Atsumu growing tense from Hinata’s question, and you had to fight the urge to show your own emotions. Everyone else was silent, probably waiting for you or Atsumu to answer. “Ah, I left high school towards the end of our second year, and moved to Kanagawa. I had my hands full at the time, so I didn’t return to high school.” 

“But wh—” Hinata gets cut off by his own yelp, making you raise a brow in confusion. He turns his head towards Osamu’s direction, wincing slightly, “Osamu-san!” 

Osamu lets out a laugh, not looking anywhere near apologetic. “Ah, sorry buddy. I was reaching over Bokuto but you were in the way.” 

An awkward atmosphere engulfs around the table once more. This dinner was certainly not going according to Osamu and Reiji’s plan. Opting to avoid the awkward glances from the other individuals, you turn your attention over to focus on your food while Osamu and Reiji were sending glares towards each other once they realized your attention elsewhere. The two had talked with Atsumu earlier, devising a plan for the two of you to talk things through. Originally, Osamu suggested that the dinner should be just you and Atsumu, but Reiji declined such an idea because of two reasons. First, you would completely decline yourself to go to a dinner and leave Atsuhiro in the hospital despite your mother being present, Reiji knew you too well that the idea of dinner at a fancy restaurant without your sons was a big no. That is, unless a friend of yours were to force you by dragging you to the restaurant. And second, if you were to be left with Atsumu alone, Reiji fears that you would leave almost immediately. 

And he was right for both. If he hadn’t dragged you here himself, you wouldn’t have bothered to go. And if he hadn’t stopped you earlier, you would have ran out the moment you saw Atsumu. However, they hadn’t expected this. Reiji hadn’t expected Osamu to bring two other people, while Osamu hadn’t expected that Reiji was going to bring someone else along. Yes, it was a disaster. 

Reiji had opted to bring Asuma along, because he knew you were going to be suspicious if it were just the two of you going for dinner. You would have accused him of coddling you like a child, it was something he would do now and then when he wanted you to release all the emotions you had kept bottled up. It’s not that you didn’t appreciate him for it, he just knows that if he did such a thing during such an emotional time, you would push him away when Reiji wanted to speed things along. As much as Reiji disliked the father of his favorite twins, he wasn’t going to deprive the little boys any longer of the chance of finally getting to know their father. If he was going to force everything on you, he would do it. He, too, has grown tired of your decisions of run away. 

Osamu on the other hand, only decided to accompany his brother himself but as he and his brother were leaving the apartment, the other two barged out of Bokuto’s room claiming to be starving from the lack of food the past couple of hours because of some intense gaming session on the PlayStation 4 that Bokuto brought along with. Not being quick on their feet, the twins had blurted out they were going out to eat. They unfortunately could not decline the two balls of sunshine. 

Clearing his throat, hoping to shift the tension in the air. “Anyway,” Osamu starts before tearing his glaring gaze away from Reiji over to where Ushijima was seated across the room, “Who is that girl Ushijima is with?” 

“She kinda looks familiar,” Bokuto hums, placing his chopsticks down after finishing his first course meal, shifting his gaze over to Ushijima’s table. 

“That’s the heiress of the Akita Empire,” Asuma answers, “Pretty woman, she is. I didn’t know she was dating anyone.” 

Hinata lets out a gasp of excitement, his eyes going wide. “I wonder if Ushijima-san is really dating her!” 

“Maybe you can ask him at the party…” Bokuto suggests while the rest of his words are drowned out by you, growing bored with the night as you wonder when you can possibly leave. 

Despite drowning out the conversation around the table and focusing on the food, Atsumu pulls you in with his voice from the side, “Hey, I’m sorry about this. I told Osamu and Reiji it was a bad idea from the start.” 

Ah, so it was those two who had planned the whole thing out. You let out a sigh, turning your head to face him to answer, your voice low to keep the others out of the conversation, “There’s nothing that we can do now.” 

“Would you have preferred that it was just the two of us?” he asks, hope laced in his voice. 

Lightly nibbling on your bottom lip, you tear your gaze away from him. Did you? You actually wanted to talk to Atsumu after having the talk with your sons. You were going to express your disappointment towards Reiji and his plan full of flaws. Had they planned this for the two of you to talk? If so, this was stupid to begin with. Something so serious between the two of you and Atsumu should be discussed within private walls, and this was nowhere near private. So maybe, yes. Perhaps, if the two were you alone, then it would have been better. “I guess,” you finally admit, “Maybe the two of us can talk things through properly when this is over. I think it’s time. For now, I hope you can accept my apologies.” 

“And I hope you accept m—” 

Hinata’s loud voice booms excitedly, “Oh remember that party!” 

The two of you snap your attention over to Hinata, the disappointment clear in your features for the disruption. What were they talking about? However, curiosity gets the best of you and you entertain him anyway. “What party?” 

“The Christmas party last year!” Hinata announces with a chuckle, “At first, I was thinking why Reiji-san and Asuma-san here look so familiar then I remember I attended the party with Bo-kun and the others!” As if on cue, the moment those words left Hinata’s mouth, Atsumu and Bokuto visually stiffened, causing you to grow more curious. 

“Ah, that party.” you let out a laugh, nudging Reiji with your elbow, “He’s talking about your all-time favorite party.” 

A scowl makes its way to Reiji’s features, “Please, do not remind me of that horrendous party. I had to move rooms just because of that, and I replaced the mattress too.” 

“You’re so dramatic,” you drawled, laughing along with Asuma as you remember Reiji going crazy the next day after the party. “Just because your guests did the dirty on your bed—” Reiji cuts you off by pinching your side, which causes you to let out a yelp in both pain and surprise.

Osamu interjects with a grin, “Actually, I have a feeling that Sakusa would have died hearing such information. But I would be pissed off too, Reiji. That’s nasty. I would have moved out the whole place entirely.” 

“Right?” Reiji exclaims by throwing his hands in the air, “I couldn’t step inside the room without wanting to poke my eyes out.” 

“That’s why we no longer let Atsumu drink too much because he’ll probably do that again,” Hinata adds, laughing along. 

Once again, silence. 

“Wait, what?” Reiji asks, the first to break the silence. “That was you?” 

Bokuto smacks Hinata’s head before looking away awkwardly. Hinata, on the other hand, takes a minute to realize his mistake before flickering his gaze back and forth from Atsumu over to you, waiting for his mistake to backfire in his face. The rest of the individuals around the table turn their attention over to Atsumu, waiting for his response. 

You were the first to defend him, letting out a laugh. “Okay, enough of this. Let’s leave the past in the past. Let’s not make things awkward, it’s not like Atsumu and I are dating or anything,” 

“Tsumtsum!” a squeal echoes throughout the restaurant and all you could think now was “What now?” 

[moonbeambucky]

Hey Neighbor (Part 4)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Word Count: 2652 Warnings: none

Summary: You had a plan and then life came along with one of its own. With your future almost derailed you worked hard to get yourself back on track and finally everything seemed to be going right… that is, until your new neighbor moved in.

A/N: A huge thank you to my wonderful beta Sam @buckyofthemyscira​ Feedback is always appreciated!

PART 3 | HEY NEIGHBOR MASTERLIST

The past few days have been exactly what you wanted a month ago, peacefully silent, yet somehow it doesn’t feel right. You were able to finish your paper in record time, fully concentrating on your work but part of you missed the incessant music from next door.

There was an odd comfort knowing Bucky was home playing, and with the knowledge of his musical talent you now wanted to hear what he would come up with. Getting to know him briefly was… well, it was something. It could have gone a lot better if you didn’t stick your foot in your mouth.

Bringing up the music related noise was one thing but how you ever managed to bring up the noise of his “nighttime activities” made you wish you could have vanished into thin air, never to be seen again. You had done your best to avoid Bucky ever since, rushing out of or into your apartment as quickly as possible. You weren’t sure how you could ever face him again but you couldn’t deny that a small part wanted to.

Facing your shared wall you imagined where Bucky might be, picturing him on his couch, lounging across the cushions of the soft leather as he leisurely plucks away at the guitar strings, sounding out a melody. Or was he more focused, sitting upright and gliding his dexterous fingers across his keyboard? Was he at his computer editing his melodies? Was he thinking of you?

The silence was deafening. With your palm pressed against the wall you began to lean in with your ear, hoping you could hear anything. With a slight gasp you jumped back, there was noise but not any coming from next door. Your phone buzzed against the coffee table, with Steve’s face illuminating the screen.

“Hey Steve!”

“Guess who I saw going into Sweetgreen?” The strain in his voice clued you in to the right guess, Lillian. “Yup, and she wasn’t alone … yeah she’s still with Jason, for now,” he muttered under his breath, expecting her to cheat again.

“I’m sorry Steve. You know you deserve better than her, right? I know you know this.”

Steve sighed heavily. Even though he knew what you were saying was right, seeing his ex still hurt a lot.

“Thanks Y/N, I do know that, doesn’t mean I’m going to torture myself though and go in there so is it cool if I pick us up something else? I’m in the mood for carbs.”

Chuckling at Steve’s admission you couldn’t help but agree, salads were great and all but all this Bucky stress you’ve put on yourself definitely makes you crave heavier foods.

“Tacos?”

“Mmmm, yes tacos! Extra guac please Rogers!”

You set your table in preparation for Steve to come over with food, remembering to throw your wallet on the table to give him money. The last time he came over you had forgotten, being so caught up in reliving the terrible memory of your interaction with Bucky. Steve might have been right, if he handled talking to Bucky maybe you wouldn’t be so worried about running into him.

“Sam tells me you guys spoke,” Steve said, digging a tortilla chip into the container of guacamole.

You chewed quickly to swallow the bite you had taken. “Why do you always ask me a question mid-chew?” you joked. “But yes, we did speak and…” your voice lifted with anticipation as Steve’s eyes widened, waiting for you to continue. “He gave me the number for Elena Rodriguez. She’s head of the social work department and…”

“Oh my god Y/N please just tell me!” Steve begged.

“I set up an interview with her next week!”

Steve’s eyes crinkled with his excited smile though it faded shortly after as you nervously mused about fitting the internship into your schedule.

“One step at a time,” Steve offered with a small laugh.

He’s right. One step at a time. You didn’t even go on the interview yet, you might not even be hired for it; the thought of which worries you even more, but you remind yourself to breathe and take things as they come.

The elevator ascends slowly, filled with your eager coworkers looking to join the rush home. As it lets off on the ground floor, everyone dashes to the heavy glass doors as you leisurely stroll to the security desk.

Mr. Lee had a big smile on his face as he seemed to be in the middle of telling Steve a story. Slowly you approached the desk, seeing Steve smiling down at something in his hands.

“That’s what I said but Howard was ahead of his time. A comic book movie…” Mr. Lee chuckled. “It didn’t work in ’47 but it sure would be a hit now.”

“Oh, what’s this?” you asked.

Steve held up a sealed copy of a comic book, Kid Colt, which you were unfamiliar with.

Leaning over the desk towards you Mr. Lee spoke, “Tony found that for me in his father’s things. That’s how Howard and I met. He wanted to make a movie outta this. Stark Pictures. He never did though, the whole thing became a big tax write off.”

“I didn’t know you knew Howard Stark.”

“Oh yeah,” Mr. Lee boasted humbly, “Since I was seventeen. He was a good man. You know he was so proud to finally be a father. He worked a lot, probably more than he should have but he had Maria and the nannies bring little Tony over to the office. Tony Stank I’d call him. Oh boy, you could smell those diapers from a mile away it was so bad.”

Hearing Mr. Lee talk about the head of your company so freely like this made you laugh. It also made Tony Stark seem a bit more human. As far as you knew he was a workaholic who may or may not be seeing Pepper Potts. You’ve caught the way she looks at him though, with an extra twinkle in her eye or how she hesitates for the smallest moment to gather herself before going into his office.

“Tony Stank, that’s amazing,” you laughed, wondering if Pepper has ever heard this story before. “Well, have a good night Mr. Lee!”

Steve came around to the front of the desk standing tall, filling out his blue uniform with his broad stature. It was unfair how he could pig out on food with you and not show any sign of it. Meanwhile, your stomach has been rumbling all day from last night’s dinner.

“I’m on the late shift today,” he frowned.

“Poor Stevie,” you joked, wiping an imaginary tear from your eye. “Not that my night will be any better, I’ve got a shit ton of laundry to do.”

“Enjoy the sweaty laundromat then.”

“Oh I will,” you said sarcastically.

The steady hum of the running washing machines drowned out the sound of the newscast coming from a small TV mounted on the wall. It’s muggier inside than out, and even with the door open you can’t escape the permeating smell of cheap soap and mildew.

The wash cycle is nearly over so you move from the metal chair you had been uncomfortably sitting on, listening to music to pass the time, and lazily stroll over to the machine that is spinning your clothes. Quarters jingle in your pocket as you walk, ready to be placed in the dryer as you wait some more. You hate laundry day.

It’s crowded too, with all the chairs taken and other people leaning against the wall. A few kids were running around screaming, not helping their tired mother who looked too exhausted to even reprimand them as she folded all their clothes.

No one looked happy to be there, not even the attendants who had to apologize to the screaming man who didn’t understand why he couldn’t use one of their reserved machines. It was a cut throat world on laundry night, with other patrons fighting to stake claim for the next free machine.

A loud buzz lets you know your clothes are done, you wheel a basket over and open the door. The shadow of the clearly impatient person waiting for your machine blocks the dull light from the fluorescents above so you hope to grab everything quickly without dropping anything on the dirty linoleum floor.

“It’s all yours– oh.” Your mouth hung open, not expecting to see Bucky standing beside you. “H-hey.”

“Hey Y/N. Didn’t want to startle you,” he sheepishly said. “Uhmmm, is this free?” Bucky gestured to the obviously open machine.

You nodded quickly. Not knowing what else to say you stared awkwardly at the basket of damp clothes and said, “I’m gonna dry these.” Smooth.

Turning around you let out a deep breath and worried over what would happen next. It would be extremely rude to ignore Bucky and continue to listen to music. He hasn’t done anything wrong to you, not this week at least, but you were too scared to risk saying something stupid, again.

It would take at least a half hour for your clothes to dry so you put on a brave face and decided to walk back towards Bucky. Dressed in casual black shorts and a white t-shirt, his smooth, toned arms were crossed over his chest as he leaned against a support column, squinting to read the poorly transcribed closed captioning on the TV.

“Hey neighbor,” you said, offering a small friendly wave as he turned his head.

Bucky smiled, standing upright as he turned to face you completely to greet you back. He looked genuinely happy to see you, which made you feel even worse for how you left things.

“I’m sorry if I made things weird the other day. I didn’t mean to,” you blurted out before your brain gave any thought to see if this was a good idea.

Bucky chewed on his bottom lip, the gaze of his ocean blue eyes staring right through you. “Don’t worry about it,” he said with a cavalier air.

“So how’s the music coming along?” You were truly curious, having not heard any sound.

“It’s not bothering you, right?” Bucky winked.

“No, not at all,” you smiled softly. “Are you still working on that one piece?”

Bucky asked which one and you hummed the tune. Closing your eyes you missed the way his own lit up in delight hearing you repeat his melody.

“I know I complained about the noise but honestly it was so beautiful,” your voice lightened and he felt the weight of emotion even through the simple way you described it. “Maybe that’s why I couldn’t focus.”

Bucky adjusted his weight, needing to ground himself after your words made him feel as light as air. His music meant so much to him, working tirelessly to bring to life the sound he envisioned in his mind, to know that the unfinished piece had such an effect already made his heart swell with pride.

He developed his music like a chef crafting a recipe. Each instrument was a different ingredient, carefully selected notes were gathered on the counter, waiting to come together in a symphonic skillet. The flavors of music combine, heating up together the piano is covered in the spice of an electric guitar, with the drumming rhythm simmering beneath the surface as the sound of strings are poured generously over the top.

In the end the dish is a delicious feast for the ears but here you were, happily devouring the unfinished ingredient in its raw form.

“Yeah…” his voice came out breathless. Catching himself Bucky cleared his throat. “It’s actually for an upcoming video game. I can’t say which, but it’s part of an emotional scene when the main character finds his family is gone.”

“I can sense the depth of it.”

“That’s not even the best part,” he explained as his face grew with a wide smile. Bucky became lost in describing the emotion of the violins that would come in. “They’re the voice of the character and when he’s lost everything I have them coming in, crying out in pain. It’s sharp and strong, and beautifully tragic.”

Listening to Bucky describe his music resonated in your soul. You saw the complete love and passion he had for it and once again you felt terrible about asking him to stop.

“I’d love to hear it, if that’s okay.”

You looked at him with hopeful eyes, and Bucky smiled, nodding before he spoke his answer. He couldn’t wait for you to hear everything together.

You passed the time by getting to know each other a little more. Bucky has a younger sibling named Rebecca who moved west to work as an avian veterinarian in a bird sanctuary.

“My parents are lost without them around,” Bucky joked. “Do you know how hard it is to try to explain how to use Skype to them over the phone?”

“Oh believe me, I know. Somehow my mom always calls at the worst time to have me explain the most basic function on her phone that she already knows because we’ve gone over it a million times but…” You threw your hands up as Bucky joined in with your laughter.

When your clothes were dry Bucky gave you some space to fold them alone which you appreciated, not wanting to showcase your intimate items in front of him. He was still a stranger, sort of, but you were glad you were getting to know him.

Checking the time you realized it was on the late side and you still needed to shower before bed. Your clothes were packed neatly into a laundry bag, well most of them were at least. One sock managed to get eaten by the dryer to your dismay, and you hoped its pair was somewhere on your floor having fallen out as you prepped the laundry.

Slinging the bag over your shoulder, you gripped the bottle of detergent with your other hand and walked towards Bucky.

“Hey,” you called out to Bucky who lifted his head from his phone. “I’ve got a few things to do tonight still so can I take a rain check on hearing your music?”

“Yeah, of course.” Bucky did his best to mask his disappointment but he understood. He noticed the slump of your shoulders, balancing the laundry bag high on one side and letting your other limb hang low with the weight of the heavy bottle.

“Do you want me to carry that back?” he asked.

“Oh, no it’s okay, I can manage.”

The apartment was only two blocks away, two long blocks but still, you didn’t want to inconvenience Bucky even though judging by the curve of his biceps it wouldn’t be a problem.

Bucky walked with you to the front of the laundromat as you smiled and said goodnight.

“Goodnight Y/N,” he whispered, watching as you walked down the sidewalk until he could no longer see you in the crowd.

The words stayed on his lips like they were always meant to be there and Bucky has a brief flash of a life he’s never thought about.

A warm bed, made even warmer by the figure curled against him. His breath syncs with theirs and he’s at peace. His heart beats to the rhythm of love and his lips purse together to plant a soft lingering kiss on their forehead. A smile secures itself on his face because he’s truly happy; surrounded by the comforting feeling knowing that when he wakes up that person, his love, will be by his side.

The machine buzzes at the end of its cycle dragging Bucky back to a reality that has him gasping for breath. He steps outside for a minute for air, needing to clear his mind of the vision that seemed so real it scared him; for better or worse he can’t quite say.

PART 5

[andavs]

So I watched Bumblebee...

...

The jeep was bright blue and the most obnoxious vehicle Derek had ever seen, but it was perfect. It was a 1980 CJ5 and once the list of defects was read aloud, he was the only bidder so he got it for next to nothing. Not that the price could’ve kept him from buying it, because Laura had a thing for jeeps. 

Specifically older jeeps, none of that Cherokee or Sahara or SUV kind of models—she liked Jeeps. And she also liked to rant about shoddy craftsmanship of modern models and how they weren’t really jeeps… Derek usually tuned her out by the time she got to the wave hierarchy.

For someone who didn’t actually own a jeep and never actually had, she really liked jeeps.

And she would really like this one.

There was the expected wear of a vehicle over thirty years old and some body damage from an accident; the leather seat was ripped, and it looked like there was a scorch mark near the driver’s side door, a sizable dent in the passenger side. Aside from that, it seemed as though the jeep was relatively well taken care of, until it ended up in a county abandoned vehicle auction.

It would definitely take some work, and he'd probably have to replace everything under the hood, but it was worth it to see Laura happy and excited.

It had been a long time since she was happy and excited.

Now he just had to get it home to get it fixed up, without it breaking down on the side of the road. And despite the fact that he was going to have to fix every part of it in some way, that seemed like the much greater challenge at the moment.

The jeep lurched violently as he shifted, and he struggled briefly to get it into gear. That was where he could really feel the age of the car; he never had any difficulty shifting in his Camaro.

"Clutch, dude."

He slammed on the brakes and the jeep swerved violently to the side of the empty highway. Derek twisted around in his seat to threaten whoever the hell stowed away in the back seat, eyes glowing and furious— 

But the back seat was empty.

There were no other heartbeats, no muffled breathing, and the trunk was far too small for anyone to fit into, even if they did somehow manage to conceal the sounds of a living, breathing person.

"First clutch, then gas—seriously have you never driven stick?"

That time the voice came from the other direction, and he turned back towards the front.

The radio was off, his phone was in his pocket...

“Oh, and there’s a weird kind of delay? So wait a second before the gas or it stalls, and you gotta put some muscle into it.”

Derek did as the disembodied voice instructed and the car jerkily started forward again.

So the jeep was haunted. Cool.

*

The ghost’s name was Stiles, and he was the most obnoxious person, living or dead, that Derek had ever met. He never thought he could have such disdain for a disembodied voice, but the very sound of it was starting to fill him with such a deep-seated rage and irritation that there were new claw holes in the side of the leather seat.

Okay, not entirely true. He’d grown to hate a lot of radio personalities over the years, but at least there were music breaks and they were limited to the hours of their show. They babbled for an hour and then they stopped.

Stiles had no such limitations. If the car was on, he was talking.

And talking.

And talking.

“I was stuck in an impound lot for who knows how long! Of course I want to talk!”

Derek rolled his eyes, thankful that Stiles didn’t seem to be able to see anything, because he would probably have something to say about that too. 

“Well I don’t,” Derek said flatly, hoping his tone conveyed just how much he didn’t want to talk, “so shut up.”

His tone did nothing.

“Was that supposed to be threatening?” He wasn’t laughing, but Stiles sounded entirely too amused, which just pissed Derek off even more. “What are you going to do, hit me?” He taunted. “Punch the dashboard? Run into a tree? I’m dead, dude, you can’t hurt a ghost!”

“Are you sure about that? Because I’m sure I could find a way.”

“Please do, I’d love to watch you fail.”

Derek turned onto his street. He was almost home. In just a few short seconds, he could turn the car off. 

“You can’t even see.”

“But I have a very vivid imagination.”

He turned into his driveway.

“That sounds like a brooding silence,” Stiles continued. “Deep frown, furrowed brow, are you clenching your jaw? I think I can hear teeth grinding.”

As if he could hear anything over the deafening, rattling roar of the shitty jeep.

Derek said nothing as he unclenched his jaw.

“Do you have prominent cheekbones? I’m picturing cheekbones, maybe some artfully tousled—”

“Oh look, we’re home,” Derek interrupted, deadpan, and parked the jeep in his garage.

“Oh no, don’t you dare turn me off! Derek! Der—”

He turned the key and breathed a sigh of relief at the blissful sound of silence.

*

It was a full week and a half before he turned the jeep on again. 

A week and a half of standing in the door of the garage, staring at it for three minutes, and then closing the door and walking away. 

A week and a half of opening the driver’s side door, hesitating, and slamming it shut again (because the lock didn’t catch properly unless he slammed it). 

A week and a half of steadily mounting guilt eating away at his stomach until he couldn’t take it any longer and stormed out to the garage at four in the morning to turn the damn car on, only to be greeted by an irate Stiles calling him a dick and a number of other colorful names. Followed by the deafening squeal of audio feedback in retaliation.

They finally reached a tentative truce; Derek would start the jeep every day, and Stiles would learn to shut the hell up when Derek needed a break.

Starting the jeep daily turned into taking it out for a drive daily, usually to the auto parts store so he could get some advice from the employees about what he needed to buy for it.

“Everything,” was the answer he got, so he sighed and handed over his credit card, silently wondering if this stupid jeep was even worth it. 

He wasn’t giving it to Laura with a ghost, so why even bother fixing it up? He asked himself that a lot, late at night while he stared up at the ceiling in bed. He didn’t need a jeep, especially one with so little room for anything more than two people. His Camaro had a larger backseat, a larger trunk, more power—it was better than the old blue jeep in pretty much every way except getting up a steep driveway without scraping the front bumper.

Except his Camaro didn’t contain the last remaining consciousness of a person. 

His Camaro wasn’t the one thing keeping that person from fading from existence. 

It wasn’t the one thing he enjoyed talking to.

Well, not talking to—bickering with, more like. Arguing. Insulting. Their conversations were usually just shy of mutual verbal abuse, and for some reason, Derek kind of enjoyed it. He was spending thousands of dollars and hours of labor to continue interacting with a single person, in a manner that could barely be considered more eloquent than a YouTube comments section.

Maybe it was because no matter how nasty he got, Stiles gave it right back. Stiles didn’t walk away and cut off contact. He didn’t let Derek’s shitty moods linger in his mind and poison their next conversation. He didn’t drag it up to use it against him. He called him a dick, a tool, a monumental douchebag, and moved on to his next thought.

Except it wasn’t just bickering and insults. Not anymore.

Because Stiles got it. He understood. He understood when Derek went quiet for days at a time and drove through the neighborhood for hours without saying a word. He understood when Derek started the car and just sat there in the driver’s seat in his garage, staring at the unfinished drywall he’d put up and never painted. He never even taped the seams.

“I get it, dude,” Stiles said during one of those days. “So I’m just going to keep talking and you can jump in whenever you’re ready.”

And oddly enough, it helped. When Stiles rambled on from one topic to the next, spewing facts and anecdotes he’d read at some point, it dragged Derek out of his spiraling thoughts and guilt and grief and gave him something to focus on that wasn’t his own self-loathing. His pity parties, as Stiles had dismissively named them, but even that helped in some twisted way.

“I’m not going to be the goody bag at your pity party,” he’d said like he was quoting something, and then given Derek entirely too much information about the bathroom situation in Versailles. 

“You’re going to have to replace the transmission as soon as possible if you’re going to keep driving this,” Dave said, shaking his head at the mess under the hood of the jeep. 

Derek nodded, resigned, and handed over his credit card.

*

For all that Stiles talked, he never talked about himself. Derek wasn’t really sure how the whole ghost thing worked, but if Stiles could remember the entire history of the imperial system of measurement, it seemed like he should remember his own life. And yet, he never mentioned it. The entire history of the Genovese crime family, yes, Derek had heard it twice, but nothing personal about Stiles.

The few times Derek had asked, he got vague answers. The kind of answers that made it sound like he was hiding something big. Talking around specifics, not referencing any names, occupations, locations—anything that could be used to identify him.

Normally, this would be a giant red flag and send Derek running into the night, but Stiles was a ghost. He was dead. He couldn’t even change the radio station, let alone hurt someone, so Derek let it slide. Plus, he was fun. And Derek couldn’t remember the last time he’d used that word to describe anything in his life.

*

“You’re going to have to pound this out,” Dave said, gesturing to the pretty significant dent on the passenger side of the jeep. “What happened? Did you hit a tree or something?”

Derek shrugged, told him it was there when he bought it, and accepted his recommendations for a few body shops in the area. But the thought lingered.

It had crossed his mind before, plenty of times, but never more than a passing thought. It felt strangely invasive, asking a ghost how they died. Was there etiquette for that? How did one approach that subject this far into a relationship?

“Did you die in this car?” Derek asked bluntly one afternoon, ripping off the bandaid with all of the tact and finesse he usually showed in social situations.

Luckily Stiles was used to that by now and didn’t bat a proverbial eye.

“Probably? Don’t remember.”

Derek frowned at the freeway in front of him, letting the roar of the jeep’s new engine fill the silence. “You don’t remember your death?” That seemed like the kind of thing that would leave an impression.

“Weird, right? Kind of seems like a major milestone in someone’s life.”

To say the least.

“Dude, you have to look me up!” Stiles said excitedly, like the idea just came to him. “Stiles Stilinski, with an I.”

Derek didn’t exactly jump for his phone, and not just because he was driving.

“Where’s the I?”

“Everywhere, it’s like the only vowel in my name. Just do it. I need to know if my death was as embarrassingly pathetic as the rest of my life.”

Well that was depressing. And a very effective guilt trip.

When he got home and parked the jeep in his garage, he pulled his phone out of his back pocket and guessed how to spell Stiles’ name. He guessed wrong, and even when he corrected it, he didn’t find anything. Just an old voter record website and some totally locked down social media profiles that didn’t even have a picture of his face.

“Wow, so I made zero impact even in death.”

Derek shifted uncomfortably and kept himself from pointing out darkly that even if Stiles hadn’t, his jeep had made a big one. Into something very hard.

“Okay hang on,” he bounced back quickly, “if my jeep was in an accident, there would be an accident report! That should say what happened!”

This was turning into a much bigger project than Derek expected.

“How am I supposed to find that? You don’t know where it happened, and even if you did, I don’t think the cops give out accident reports to anyone who asks.”

Stiles sighed dramatically. “Just get a laptop.”

*

Derek wasn’t sure which law he’d broken by using a sheriff’s login to access a national law enforcement database, but he was pretty sure he could go to jail for it.

“It’s fine, I do it all the time,” Stiles had assured him, but he had a feeling a sheriff was much more likely to overlook his own son committing fraud with his account than a complete stranger. Even if his son was directing all of it. As a disembodied voice through his car.

Derek glared at the radio and adjusted the computer on his lap. It was a bit of a tight fit with the steering wheel in the way. And also because it was a jeep from the eighties and was roughly the size of an oven.

Stiles stepped him through the search process. When the license plate and VIN number came up with nothing (and who knew their VIN off the top of their head, even in death?), he got more creative until finally, there was one, single result.

“It says here there was a car accident, a hit and run,” Derek summarized as he scanned through the report. “The jeep was found on the side of the road, no plates, no VIN, no witnesses. The unidentified driver was unconscious and taken to the hospital.”

“Unconscious,” Stiles repeated, immediately latching onto the same point Derek did. “So I’m not dead!”

“Would it say if you died later at the hospital?”

“Probably depends on how much later it was. When did the accident happen?”

Derek scrolled up to the date. “About a year ago. You don’t remember any of this?”

“Conveniently, it’s a total blank. Where did it happen?” Derek read off the county name, just two over from where he lived, and not the one he’d bought the jeep in. “Great! Just a few hours from Beacon Hills!”

Derek froze, heart starting to pound. It couldn't be...

“California?” It was a stupid question; the state was huge, everything a few hours away from them was still in California.

“Yeah, you know it?”

“No,” he lied, and if Stiles heard the lie, he didn’t push it.

There was no way this was a coincidence, Derek thought frantically. Beacon Hills wasn’t that big and since he left, he’d never met anyone who knew where it was, let alone someone who came from there.

"You have to find me, Derek, I need to know!" Stiles was practically yelling to get his attention, and when Derek still didn’t respond, he sighed dramatically. "I know it's a pain in the ass, and I'd do it myself, but I’m literally a disembodied voice in a jeep.”

Making him feel bad about the fact that he had a body. Annoyingly effective strategy.

“And how exactly am I supposed to find you?” Derek asked, giving in but telling himself he was just playing along. Warning alarms were going off at the back of his mind, every part of him screaming not to go back to the place where he’d lost everything. But he couldn’t bring himself to outright refuse this one thing for Stiles. The only thing he’d outright asked him to do since buying the jeep.

“You know where the crash happened, right? Look for the closest hospital and start there.”

Derek glared at the radio, not appreciating his condescending tone in the least. Stiles was such a dick sometimes.

Most of the time.

The moments he wasn’t a dick were the real anomalies.

“And say I find you,” Derek returned in his own snotty tone, “how exactly am I supposed to identify you? I don’t know what you look like!”

Stiles scoffed like that was somehow Derek’s fault. “Caucasian male, twenty-five, brown hair, brown eyes, five ten, roughly a hundred and fifty-seven pounds, tattoo sleeves on both arms.”

Derek blinked at how quickly he’d rattled that off, but most importantly, 

“Tattoos?”

“What, I don’t sound like I have tattoos?”

“You’re trapped in my car, you don’t sound like you have a body at all.”

“Watch it, buddy. We don’t know that I’m dead, so this isn’t your car yet.”

Derek had a receipt from the auction and a very large credit card balance that said otherwise.

*

As it turned out, the county of the car accident wasn’t exactly a metropolitan area, so there weren’t very many hospitals to search. In fact, there was exactly one within an hour of the crash site.

“You have to go! Even if I died, they’ll at least have the record,” Stiles said like that was an upside. Like Derek wasn’t about to stroll into a hospital and start asking questions about unidentified dead people like some kind of creep.

“And then I get to be the one to call your family and tell them,” Derek muttered quietly under his breath, and if Stiles heard him, he didn’t respond.

He pulled into a parking spot at the back of the lot, even though there were plenty of open spots closer to the hospital, and sat there for a while, psyching himself up for what was about to happen. He was about to walk into a hospital and ask about the probably protected private information of the man whose ghost was haunting the jeep he bought in a county auction.

Totally normal.

“So are you going in, or…?” Stiles asked after a long few minutes of silence.

"Not if you keep bothering me,"  Derek snapped, but took off his seatbelt anyway. There was no way he wasn’t going in.

“Be fast!” Stiles yelled at the last second before he turned off the car.

*

He dragged his feet a bit to the front desk in the lobby, rehearsing how exactly he was going to phrase this, but the woman behind the computer saw him coming and smiled welcomingly and he couldn't turn back after that.

“Can I help you?” she asked with a cheerful smile.

Derek plastered on his best charming smile in return. His approximation of a functioning human being with basic social skills.

“Yeah, I’m looking for a friend of mine. He was in a car accident last June, in a blue jeep.” He rambled on about a disappearance, devastated family, and how they’d been scouring nearby hospitals for any unidentified patients. 

“Oh, of course,” she said sympathetically. “Can you describe him?”

He rattled off the description Stiles gave him as she typed them into the computer, and waited (somewhat) patiently while the system searched. His claws were leaving impatient pinpricks in the wooden desk, but they would probably wouldn’t be too noticeable.

“And you said this was last June?” she asked, clicking around a few times. “We had one John Doe admitted after a car accident that month, a white male in his twenties, with tattoos.”

Derek’s heart started pounding. That had to be Stiles.

“What happened to him?”

He was having a hard time interpreting her professionally neutral yet still pitying expression. “Oh, sweetie. He’s still here.”

*

John Doe 24, was what the name tag outside the door said, and through the blinds in the window, Derek could see the room was filled with machines, blocking his view of the man lying inside. There was a steady beeping, the mechanical whirs and hisses of a ventilator, something dripping from an IV bag.

The social worker who led him there opened the door and stepped aside for him to enter.

The first impression Derek had was that underneath the smell of hospital and sterile medical equipment, he could smell the jeep. Or the person who had driven the jeep for so many years that the scent of him was permanently embedded in the interior.

His second impression was, once the face under all of the wires and tubes and tape registered…

He didn’t know what he expected Stiles to look like. His voice sounded young, a little high and scratchy, he knew a lot about a lot of things—a nerd, was what Derek would say if pressed. Someone who spent way too much time reading Wikipedia and had a “fun fact of the day” calendar for every year since he learned how to read.

Stiles did not look like a nerd.

He was skinny, his cheekbones prominent, but he’d been in a coma for a year. A little weight loss was probably normal, as was the messy, amateur haircut. Brown hair, moles, an upturned nose, but the real identifying trait was the tattoo sleeves. Runes and symbols, starting at his wrists and continuing up under the sleeves of his hospital gown. Most of the symbols Derek had never seen before, but the ones he did recognize…

The triskele.

On its own, it could be nothing. A complete coincidence. But paired with everything else around it...

Stiles knew about werewolves.

“Is this your friend?” the social worker asked, looking hopeful.

Derek swallowed. “That’s Stiles.”

*

Derek slammed the jeep’s door behind him and started the engine.

“Well?” Stiles immediately asked. “What happened?” 

“You know about werewolves,” Derek found himself saying, even though he intended to work that in a little later. After the whole I found your comatose body in the ICU reveal.

There was a beat of silence before a slightly high-pitched and unconvincing, “What?”

“Your tattoos. You know about werewolves?”

“Well that explains why you took this whole haunted car thing so well.” He didn’t elaborate. “But you saw my tattoos? You found me?”

“Yes, I found you,” Derek snapped. “You’re in a coma and you have symbols from werewolf lore tattooed on your body, including the symbol of my dead pack. Why.” Stiles wasn’t a wolf, he could feel that much from seeing him in person. But the only other group that studied werewolf lore so closely were hunters, and if Stiles turned out to be a hunter…

“I’m in a pack, okay?” He paused, and if he had lungs, he would probably be taking a steadying breath. “I’m an emissary, and now you need to call them and tell them where I am, so they can get me out of this coma!”

“What makes you think they can?” Derek snapped, still on edge and maybe a little scared of losing the most intimate connection he’d made with anyone in years. Which was really just sad.

“My consciousness is trapped inside my jeep, Derek, this clearly isn’t your average coma!”

Valid point, Derek admitted with a bitter eyeroll. He could also admit to himself, bitterly, that he couldn’t keep Stiles in a coma forever so he could keep talking to his car. It was selfish and cruel and probably sadistic on some level. The fact that he was completely inept at connecting to real, live humans wasn’t Stiles’ cross to bear and it shouldn’t keep him from potentially waking up and living his life.

“Fine,” Derek said after a long, loaded pause. “Who should I call?”

“My dad, sheriff of Beacon Hills. He’ll handle the rest.”

*

The McCall pack rolled into town like an army and hadn't stopped working since. 

Now that they'd found him, there was always someone at Stiles' bedside at the hospital, while everyone else had set up camp in Derek's garage to work through the problem. They'd brought a mountain of books, computers, all types of occult paraphernalia—anything they could possibly need to fix this.

Meanwhile, Derek was going through an absurd amount of money buying gas for the damn jeep, because now that they had Stiles back, in any kind of form, the pack didn't want to turn off the car and lose him again.

Derek tried to explain that he’d turned the car off and on countless times and Stiles was still there, nagging him constantly, but they didn’t want to risk it. He wanted his garage to stop stinking of exhaust, but there was no way he could deny a father the chance to talk to the son he believed to be dead for over a year.

(Though he definitely wished there was a way he could deny Stiles’ desire to sing ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall, screaming it into the garage in the middle of the night over the roar of the jeep’s engine.)

Beyond setting up their base of operations in his living room and taking over most of his home, the McCall pack was also able to fill in a lot of gaps and answer a lot of questions. Namely, what the hell happened to Stiles.

A rogue faction of the Argent family had been closing in on the McCall pack at the time he went missing, and given the way both he and his car had been scrubbed of his identity, it wasn't much of a leap to suspect the hunters were responsible.

"But why not just kill you?" Lydia mused aloud. She was settled in the passenger seat of the jeep with four open books stacked in her lap. "Why go to so much trouble to hide your identity when they could've just killed you and dumped the body? We're right by the mountains, there's plenty of places to do it."

"Why does it sound like you've considered doing this before?" Stiles asked, sounding insulted and a little wary.

"Because you really piss me off sometimes," she said dismissively, and moved right along. "There's no way what they did is neater, especially with the risk of you waking up at the hospital."

"It’s because even hunters wouldn't kill an emissary," Derek cut in from the doorway, stepping forward and putting himself out of his misery. It was actually painful listening to young and inexperienced packs try to navigate the intricacies of the culture. "Emissaries are considered neutral and vital to maintaining the balance, and killing one is like declaring all out war, even as a hunter."

"Ha! See? I'm vital!"

Derek ignored Stiles’ interruption. "Leaving him in a hospital to die from his wounds, completely anonymous, is probably the cleanest way they could’ve handled it. If they killed him outright and his body was identified, it would only be a matter of time before his pack traced it back to them.”

Lydia looked at him thoughtfully for a long moment, processing. Then her eyes hardened.

“Then that’s what we’ll do.” She closed the book at the top of her stack with a threatening finality Derek had never mastered. “We’re going to war.”

*

Considering that up until recently, Stiles had become something of an emotional crutch and coping mechanism for Derek, it was ironic that he suddenly found himself filling that roll for all of Stiles’ pack.

Scott, the impossibly young alpha sought him out on the back porch almost every evening, and spent an hour picking his brain on everything from werewolf culture to the guilt he felt for not finding Stiles himself sooner.

“I never felt him die, but after so many months…” Lydia confessed quietly one morning in the kitchen, her hands clasped tightly around a mug of coffee that had turned lukewarm an hour ago. Her eyes were haunted with a grief Derek knew all too well. “It was easier. To accept that I was wrong. It was easier to give up.”

He ran into Stiles’ father just outside the garage door at four in the morning, leaning against the wall with red-rimmed eyes.

“I had alerts for his name, the plates…” he started, and Derek could remember that regret. The constant, unrelenting scream at the back of his mind that he should’ve known. That he should’ve done more. That he should’ve been able to stop her.

“The plates were removed,” Derek explained, hoping to save the man from some tiny bit of what he’d gone through. “The VIN, all of the insurance information, his wallet—anything that could identify him or the car.”

"But he was a—” He swallowed, cutting himself off before his voice got loud enough for Stiles to hear through the garage door. “If he didn't have any ID, it's standard procedure to do a search for missing persons, I should've gotten an alert, I should've found him!"

"Hunters have people everywhere. It's possible the police kept it under the radar for them."

The Sheriff rubbed a hand over his mouth, practically vibrating with emotion.

"My son has been sitting here for a year, as a John Doe. Just three hours away."

Derek had nothing to say to that.

*

"Is he hot? He sounds hot."

Derek froze outside the garage door at Stiles’ question. He would deny to anyone who asked and himself that he in any way cared about the answer.

"He's very hot," Lydia said with an uncomfortably approving tone. "Muscles, stubble, a great ass."

Derek wanted to die.

*

In the end, it was a simple fix. 

In his last moments of consciousness, when the hunters were approaching the crashed jeep to drag Stiles off, he’d run. Not physically, his body had been too broken for that, but mentally. His consciousness fled, and aided by his emissary magic, it jumped to the closest thing capable of housing it.

“At least there wasn’t like, a skunk walking by,” Stiles joked, and Derek was the only one who grinned at the thought. 

“Both his body and consciousness need to be in the same place,” Lydia explained, and she made it sound like that alone would allow Stiles to return to his body. A simple fix.

So Derek disconnected the radio from the dashboard, and the pack took it to the hospital, and Derek was left sitting there in a silent car, staring at the loose wires dangling from the dash and suddenly feeling more alone than he had in years.

The pack hadn’t asked if he wanted to go and he wasn’t about to impose on such a monumental and emotional moment, but he wanted to. He wanted to be there when Stiles opened his eyes. He wanted to see how he looked when he was happy or annoyed, how he looked when he called Derek a dick, if his eyes went distant in those rare moments he went quiet. He wanted to see the recognition on his face. 

But would he recognize him? 

Would he remember him at all? 

Did a ghostly consciousness retain memories of what happened outside of its body, stuck in a car radio?

He started the car once more, a new habit when he wanted to just stop thinking and live in the now, but aside from the rumble of the brand new, powerful engine, it was quiet.

Stiles was gone.

*

“He wants to see you,” Lydia said with some judgment two days later. This time her coffee was still warm and the bags under her eyes and lightened. A book on werewolf traditions was open in front of her, to the chapter on formal declarations of war, so she was clearly intending to make good on her promise of justice for Stiles.

Derek couldn’t say how Scott and the Sheriff were handling things because he was pretty sure they’d been sleeping at the hospital since Stiles opened his eyes. He hadn’t seen them once.

Derek concentrated on pouring himself the perfect amount of coffee and retreated to the garage. The new radio arrived that morning.

*

He was being an idiot, Derek told himself, sitting there in the jeep in the hospital parking lot. The new radio was still in its box in the passenger seat, because though he’d gone out to the garage to install it, he ended up at the hospital.

Stiles wanted to see him, so he clearly remembered him. He wasn’t going to walk into the room and meet the eyes of a stranger.

But he didn’t think he could handle seeing the recognition and then being looked over for something better. Stiles had his friends and family, the people he loved and who loved him, the most important people in his life right there at his side. Derek had a strained and distant relationship with his sister across the country and an unhealthy attachment to the disembodied voice of a ghost that used to live in his jeep.

Stiles’ jeep.

He would probably be wanting his car back now that he wasn’t dead, and Derek wouldn’t deny him that. He couldn’t even if he wanted to, not after everything Stiles had done for him. Put up with for him. He had a stupid, deeply ingrained impulse to repay debts out of self-defense, and restoring the jeep Stiles loved so much could only account for a fraction of what Derek owed him.

“That might be the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” Stiles said, and Derek’s eyes flicked over to the loose wires hanging from the dashboard. 

Great, now he was hearing his voice in his mind. Would he ever escape Stiles’ commentary on every thought he had?

“No,” Stiles answered, matter of factly. “So are you going in, or…?” 

Derek glared out through the windshield at the Subaru parked in across from him, telling himself he wasn’t going to let the phantom of Stiles’ judgment dictate his life. He lasted all of twenty seconds before he turned off the car and got out.

*

The John Doe name tag had been replaced with one that said Stiles Stilinski, was the first thing Derek noticed approaching Stiles’ new room. There was also a slightly creepy illustration of a rabbit with a basket of Easter eggs taped up next to it, even though they were nowhere near Easter.

Derek really took his time staring at it, shamefully stalling but refusing to give in to the soulless, judgmental eyes of the smiling rabbit. He wasn’t being a coward, he just wasn’t going to lose to that damn rabbit.

“Creepy, right?” Scott said as he came up beside him, and Derek nodded. “His dad and I are about to go grab some lunch, but you can go in.”

Derek nodded again, and as the Sheriff passed him, he squeezed his arm reassuringly. Or sympathetically. Derek didn’t know him well enough to know how to interpret that.

A full two minutes after they left, Derek pushed open the door and walked into Stiles’ room.

Stiles didn’t notice him at first; he was frowning down at the remote to the TV, and stabbing at the buttons, trying to change the channel from a sappy Lifetime movie. It looked like he hadn’t quite found his coordination yet, but given that he’d been in a coma for a year, Derek was amazed he was moving at all. Magic probably had something to do with that.

He still looked small in his hospital bed, but his shoulders were broad and suggested he wouldn’t look very small at all once he regained his strength and muscles. There were dark circles under his eyes and a scar in his hairline that was hard to ignore, but he was sitting up and the breathing tube was gone and when he finally changed the channel and sneered down at the remote in victory, his brow crinkled.

Derek’s life would’ve been a lot easier if he’d been ugly.

Stiles looked up to the TV to see what channel he’d landed on, his tongue poking out through his lips in concentration, and froze when he noticed Derek standing in the doorway. Silently, without announcing his presence, like some kind of stalker.

They stared at each other for probably a solid minute, Stiles totally confused and Derek suddenly at a complete loss for anything to say after a month of saying whatever the hell he wanted to Stiles through the radio. Then it visibly clicked on Stiles’ face and he smiled crookedly and reached out, and Derek had no choice but to step forward and take his slightly shaky hand.

A month of talking and driving, arguing, bickering, fighting, and sitting in stubborn, angry silence, and now finally, they were touching.

“Hey, Derek.”

His voice was quiet and scratchy, still regaining its strength after a year of silence, but that was definitely Stiles’ voice.

Stiles was back.

[noona-clock]

The Personal Trainer

Genre: Gym!AU

Pairing: Junhoe x You (Female!Reader)

Warnings: None

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 | Words: 2,395

Finally, after weeks of putting up with your older brother’s badgering, you caved. You relented to his persistent suggestions to sign up at the gym close to your apartment -- and not only that. You had signed up (and paid extra for) personal training.

You really had never been one to find any sort of exercise enjoyable. You hated getting sweaty, and you had yet to find any activity you actually wanted to do. Just thinking about going to the gym and running on a treadmill or doing strength training made you feel like whining. And hiding under your covers in bed. And sleeping for about a week.

It’s not your fault you were lazy! It’s just how you were! It’s who you were as a person, and now that you were well into adulthood, you had come to accept that about yourself.

But, apparently, your brother had not.

He claimed to be “concerned for your long-term health,” but you knew he really just couldn’t stand lazy people and wanted everyone he cared about to love working out just as much as he loved working out.

It would never happen, but you got irritated enough to give it a try.

So, here you were. Wearing brand new workout clothes and scanning your fresh, new membership card at the front desk of the gym.

“Excuse me?” you asked the gorgeous, young receptionist who looked worlds better in a spandex crop top than you ever could.

“Hmm?” she chirped, shifting her gaze up to you. “How can I help?”

“Where do I go for personal training?”

The girl stood up, a beaming, friendly smile tugging at her lips as she replied, “Right over there!” and pointed to a closed-off area to the side of the main exercise room.

“Thank you,” you murmured with a slight grin before heading over there.

“Have a great session!” she called out cheerfully after you.

...How could you be that cheerful working in a gym?

I mean, obviously, a lot of people could be. But you couldn’t imagine it. The only place at which you’d be that cheerful to work would be... like, a candy store. Or a coffee shop. Definitely something to do with food.

Anyway. 

Your heart began to beat faster as you approached the personal training area, and you chewed the inside of your cheek when you realized your trainer -- whoever he or she was -- hadn’t shown up yet.

Then again, you were basically always early to anything and everything, so it shouldn’t have been a surprise that you’d arrived before your trainer.

You let out a soft sigh as you set your bag and water bottle down next to the wall of the fairly small, roped-off area designated for personal training, and then you slid onto a bench to wait.

As the seconds ticked by, you found your gaze wandering out into the main area of the gym -- who didn’t love people watching? Especially when you were just sitting somewhere waiting for someone else to arrive.

To your slight surprise, the ellipticals and bikes and treadmills were not occupied solely by buff guys and fit ladies. There were definitely some of those, but you also saw a couple of -- truly no offense intended -- average people running and cycling their hearts out. There was even an older, gray-haired man speed-walking on a treadmill, and it brought a tiny smile to your face.

At the very least, it made you feel better that you didn’t seem to be the most unfit person here.

Just as you turned back around, you caught a glimpse of someone walking toward the personal training area.

...Maybe your eyes were playing tricks on you, but you could’ve sworn --

You shook your head quickly to dispel the thought.

No. It couldn’t be.

“Hey,” you heard a voice call out.

And it was a very familiar voice.

Indeed, the familiar voice of the person you thought for a split-second you’d seen in your peripheral vision walking over here.

...Great.

You stood, your heart jumping up into your throat as you turned to face...

Him.

Junhoe.

Your ex-boyfriend.

As soon as he saw you, Junhoe stopped in his tracks. His eyes widened slightly, but it was enough to be noticeable.

What -- was he -- I mean, was he also here for personal training or was he --

“Are you my trainer?” you blurted out. Your nerves were very obvious in your voice, and you scolded yourself for letting your anxiety show right now.

Junhoe’s mouth fell open, but it took him a few seconds to actually answer you.

“...Yeah.”

Wonderful.

So, he was a personal trainer now? After your break-up a couple of years ago, you hadn’t kept up with him on social media (but you still stalked his sister on Instagram kind of regularly... not that you would ever admit that out loud), so you hadn’t even known he’d quit his job at the music store.

Now that you thought about it, going from working at a music store to being a personal trainer was kind of an odd jump.

But that was Junhoe for you. He was predictable in some ways, but in many ways, he absolutely was not.

That was ultimately why you’d ended things with him. The romantic aspect of your relationship had been great -- more than great, actually, but Junhoe just hadn’t been stable enough for you. He was too spontaneous for your schedule-loving, plan-everything-within-an-inch-of-your-life self.

But, looking at him now...

Good god, was he handsome or what? He always had been and, apparently, he always would be.

“Ah,” you replied somewhat breathlessly, your nerves slowly sucking all the air from your lungs. “Well. I -- I guess I’m your new -- trainee... person... thing.”

At that, Junhoe’s expression relaxed, and an amused smile appeared on his lips.

“Yeah, I guess so,” he replied with a soft chuckle. He then stepped closer to you, his eyebrows raising just a smidge. “...How -- how are you?”

“I’m good -- doing well -- just fine,” you replied, inwardly cringing at how awkwardly you’d answered him. “Nothing much has changed, really. Same job, same apartment, same cat.”

You knew from your Instagram stalking escapades that things had changed more for him than they had for you since your break-up. He’d moved in with his sister at one point, and he had adopted the tiniest, fluffiest puppy you’d ever seen. And, apparently, he now had a different job.

“That’s great,” he said. The grin on his lips was genuine, and it kind of warmed your heart to see that he really did think it was great that your life hadn’t changed. He obviously remembered how greatly you valued stability and routine and structure.

You were about to ask him how he was doing (despite the fact you had a good idea based on his sister’s Instagram), but he clapped his hands together and said, “Well, we should probably get started” before you got the chance to.

“Right,” you murmured, feeling your heart jump again. You had been nervous about starting personal training before, but now that your ex-boyfriend was going to be your trainer...

Despite the fact this was your first ever personal training session -- and Junhoe knew this -- he didn’t go easy on you.

Maybe he was still bitter about your break-up and had made you work super hard because he wanted you to feel as much physical pain as he’d felt emotional pain a couple of years ago.

...Or.

And this is the most likely option.

Maybe he was just a tough and passionate trainer who didn’t believe in easy exercising.

(You kind of still wanted to believe he was still bitter, though.)

(But no one needs to know that.)

After the hour was up (though, you were hard-pressed to believe it had only been an hour), you found yourself lying on your back, staring up at the gym ceiling, and trying to catch your breath.

The workout had just ended, but already, every part of your body hurt.

“Good job,” Junhoe chuckled, holding his hand out to help you up.

You closed your eyes briefly because you really did not feel like getting up yet. 

“Are you sure?” you panted. “It doesn’t feel like I did a good job. It feels like I did a horrible job.”

“No, no, you did good,” he assured you with one of his signature smirks -- you know, the same one that had been the first thing to make your stomach flip back when you’d met him. “Come on, let me help you up.”

Well. You had to get up some time, so it might as well be now. The sooner you left the gym, the sooner you got to take a hot bath with three pounds of Epsom salts sprinkled in the water.

Weakly, you lifted one hand, allowing Junhoe to grab it and hoist you up. You were basically dead weight because you were so exhausted, but he was able to pull you to a standing position all on his own. And quite easily, too. It was... pretty impressive.

Junhoe had certainly had a great body while he’d been your boyfriend, but you had no doubt his job as a personal trainer had only done good things to his physique. 

...Mm, nope, better not think about his muscles. It’s not good to think about an ex-boyfriend’s muscles. Especially when that ex-boyfriend is standing right in front of you.

“See you Wednesday?” he asked casually once you were (basically) on your feet, referring to your next training session.

“Y--yeah,” you stammered. “Wednesday. Absolutely.”

There was a pause, and you were just about to turn and grab your bag... but then Junhoe broke the silence.

“Listen, I -- if you don’t want me to be your trainer, I can ask --”

“No, it’s fine,” you interrupted, though... to be quite honest... you weren’t really sure why you said that.

Was it fine?

I mean, sure, your session had gone pretty well. In terms of your interactions, at least. You had felt awkward at first, but you’d gotten used to it after a while, and Junhoe hadn’t acted at all like an ex-boyfriend -- only a trainer.

But... still.

Did you really want to see him three days a week? After not seeing him at all for about two years?

(Not seeing him at all in person, that is. You’d definitely seen him in pictures since, as we’ve established multiple times, you stalked his sister’s Instagram.)

But Junhoe’s lips had already curved into a smile at your reassurance, and you would feel too guilty if you took it back now and asked for another trainer.

“Okay,” he murmured through his grin. “Well, then. See you Wednesday.”

You just nodded before hoisting your bag over your shoulder and beginning to make your way out of the personal training area and into the gym -- limping slightly as you walked, mind you.

It felt like it took you about five hours to leave the gym, get to your car, get inside your car, drive home, walk up to your front door, go to your bathroom, and draw a bath.

And now that you were in the bath -- the hot water and scented Epsom salts relaxing your muscles like nothing ever had before in your entire life -- you were pretty sure you were going to stay in here for another five hours.

You tilted your head back, letting the base of your skull rest against the edge of the tub and closing your eyes. You breathed in the healing aroma of the salts and sighed with content.

Truly, there was nothing better after a long day than a nice, relaxing bath.

...Well, actually. A nice, relaxing bath with some music playing.

Opening your eyes and lifting your head, you reached out and stretched your arm to grab your phone nestled in your discarded clothes on the floor.

Just as you opened up your music app of choice, though, your ringtone cut through the silence and made you jump.

Your eyes narrowed when you saw your brother’s picture on the screen, but your heart was still racing with fright as you answered and pressed your phone to your ear.

“What?” you asked irritably. “You interrupted my Me Time.”

“How was the gym?”

You couldn’t stop yourself from rolling your eyes because of course that’s why he was calling.

And you were just annoyed enough to be sassy about it.

“Well, my personal trainer ended up by my ex-boyfriend, so thanks for that.”

Your brother chuckled softly and said, “Junhoe? No way, what are the odds?”

“No matter the odds, it happened, and I’m blaming you.”

“No, no, no, Dear Sister. You will be thanking me when you have more energy and don’t get out of breath walking up two flights of stairs.”

“Okay, those were very long staircases!”

“You’re going back, right?”

You waited a few seconds... let out a long sigh... then replied, “I mean, I paid for two months of sessions. I don’t want to lose that money.”

“Was it super awkward?”

“Well, yeah,” you shrugged. “At first. It got better once we were actually training, but... still. It’s not like I had a pleasant time.”

Your brother chuckled softly and said, “Hey, you never know. Maybe it’s fate.”

You quirked one brow. “...Fate? What?” you asked, entirely unamused.

“You never know!” he repeated in a singsong tone. “Good luck on your next session, keep me posted, okay?”

“Whatever,” you murmured, though you could feel a smirk tugging at one corner of your lips.

“Love you, Sis,” he teased (but you knew he really meant it).

“Love you, too, Bro,” you teased back (but you obviously really meant it).

As soon as the call ended, you tapped on the icon for your music app and pressed shuffle on your relaxing Jazz playlist.

After tossing your phone back onto your pile of clothes, you leaned your head against the edge of the tub again and closed your eyes.

The bath, although it was starting to cool already, and the ambient music were doing wonders to ease your aches -- both physical and mental.

But... your brother’s words kept ringing in your head, for some reason.

You never know.

Part 2

[hurricanery]

What’s a Soulmate? Pt. 2

Hi! This is part two of my previous fic. Amelink AU- ‘What if Amelia and Link had met at a different time in their lives?’ This part is basically the same timeline, from a different point of view. Thanks so much for reading the last part and for sending feedback! ALSO THIS IS LONGGG. sorry

tw: drug use

-------

Amelia Shepherd is 5 years old when she discovers that nothing is ever promised to you. By definition, she learns uncertainty. That your world can be ripped from right underneath you. The feeling is always there.

Age 5 is a blur for Amelia. She remembers everyone doting on her. Her mom and her sisters and her brother. But, that might not be the right word. She’d learn later that the feeling she was experiencing was suffocating. That’s the word she’d been looking for. The people in her life that were once so blissfully unaware, suddenly so overcareful around her.

By age 7 the suffocating feeling had slowed. Maybe her family had moved on from their need to keep tabs on her. Or maybe they’d genuinely grown tired of her. Either way, the feeling was replaced with a new one. She’d love to fantasize. Especially at night. She’d lay in bed and pretend she wasn’t herself. Staring up above her, she’d imagine the ceiling opening up. And then the roof would be flying off. And she would go with it. Not as a person, but a part of the wind and the clouds. She’d float up to the sky and be with her Dad.

Sometimes, she’d think so hard about this, that there would no longer be feeling associated with it. It would just be reality. And it was numb. When this happened, Amelia would tiptoe out of bed and down the hall toward Derek’s room. Derek was always really good at making her realize that the roof was still there. She was made to realize a lot of things at such a young age. She’d look at her older sister, Nancy, who carried herself in such a stoic way, and realize that pain was better when it was hidden. She’d look at Derek, who flinched at almost every loud noise and sudden movement, and realize that she never wanted to look vulnerable. She’d watch discreetly as her mother sat alone at the kitchen table, spacing out as she sipped her coffee, completely jaded by everything she’d been through in the last couple years. Her parents were soulmates. High school sweethearts. Completely each others’ person. She’d look at her mother now and realize that there was no such thing as soulmates.

_______

Amelia is 9 years old when she starts to feel again.

The moving trucks roll slowly down the street and the Shepherd children watch from their front lawn as they disappear. The front door of what used to be their home swings open and their mother comes barreling out, juggling two more boxes.

“Derek!” She beckons. “Come and grab one of these.”

Derek quickly runs to help his mother.

“And the rest of you- don’t just stand there! There’s a few more things inside!”

They load up the minivan and suddenly there’s not much left to do but to say their goodbyes to an empty house. Say their goodbyes to a home and all the memories associated with it. It was time to start new.

_______

The car ride to their new neighborhood is long and boring and Amelia sits all the way in the back, crammed alongside the last of the moving boxes like she’s an object being moved herself. That’s how she’s starting to feel, at least. Like an inanimate object being transported against her will. Her 3 older sisters occupy the seats in front of her, sharing headphones and giggling amongst themselves every few minutes. Derek, who’s seated passenger side next to their mother, turns around with searching eyes. He catches Amelia's gaze through the cracks between headrests and smiles at her in an assuring manner. He doesn’t turn away until Amelia reluctantly smiles back.

The minivan finally pulls into a quiet suburban neighborhood and stops in the driveway of their new home. Before the car is even put into park, Derek and Nancy are jumping out and running toward the house. Lizzie and Kathleen follow quickly after them while Amelia remains trapped in the backseat. She sighs. All she has to do is climb over the middle seat but she can’t seem to bring herself to do it.

“Come on, Amy,” she hears her mother’s impatient voice from outside of the car. The tone forces her out of her frozen position and she finally starts climbing over the seat. When her feet hit the pavement, she looks up at the house. She shifts her gaze to her mother incredulously and before Amelia can even say anything, her mother is grabbing her wrist and pulling her forward.

Out of the corner of her eye, Amelia sees movement across the street. As her mother pulls her toward the house, Amelia turns her head fully to meet the movement. She watches as a boy, about her age, drops his baseball mitt onto the grass and chases after his father. He’s laughing as his dad teases him about wanting macaroni and cheese again for dinner. The boy follows his dad inside and the whole time Amelia is listening to the sound of his voice as he argues playfully. Amelia finds herself smiling at the interaction. She doesn’t know why, but something about the boy’s playful energy sparks something in her. She feels excited, she thinks, at the idea of this boy being her friend.

_______

A couple of hours later, and the idea is becoming closer to reality for Amelia. When 9 year-old Atticus Lincoln stumbles through an awkward introduction on the sidewalk in front of her new home, Amelia cannot refrain from laughing. At first, his presence had startled her. The sidewalk chalk had slipped out of her palm and she’d almost fallen backwards from her crouched position. But, something about his energy had instantly made her feel calm and at ease. Amelia is grinning from ear to ear after watching this boy struggle with his words. After a little back and forth and a lot more laughter, Amelia decides she doesn’t want him to leave. She definitely likes his company. She wants him to stay.

“Anyway, Atticus, do you wanna play a game?”

_______

Amelia is 16 years old when she discovers that high school is her worst nightmare.

She walks up late today. Like really late. More so than usual. She must have missed her alarm. Or, forgotten to set it in the first place. That was highly likely.

Amelia curses herself as she jumps out of bed. All she has time for this morning is a quick teeth brushing. She glances in the mirror briefly, throwing a sweatshirt over what she’d worn to bed and grabbing her converse sneakers from the corner of her room. She slips on her backpack before running down the stairs and out the front door.

No sign of Link. She frowns. She must really be testing his patience. They usually walk to school together every morning. And he’d usually wait for her, even if she was running late. This morning is different though.

Amelia turns the corner, prepared to be alone with her own thoughts for the entire duration of the walk to school. But then she sees him, about a block ahead of her.

“Link!” She yells, desperate. “Wait for me, asshole!”

She sees him slow to a halt. He turns around up ahead of her. Amelia quickens her pace until she’s approaching him.

“Sorry, hi,” she greets him, kind of breathless. He looks her up and down, taking in the sweatshirt and sweatpants combo. Amelia tries not to get nervous under his gaze. But then he smiles.

“Is it pajama day?”

She rolls her eyes at him and shoves his shoulder gently.

“I had literally 3 minutes to get ready this morning.”

“Clearly,” he laughs again. He focuses on her face again, looking into her eyes, and Amelia feels his gaze burning into her. “You look-”

“Tired?” she interrupts him. “Don’t say it.”

“I was going to say hungover.”

Amelia looks away from him, ahead of them as they walk. She tries desperately to not have any sort of reaction to his words.

“Amelia, it’s a weekday,” Link speaks again, concerned.

She stays silent, subconsciously raising her hand to bite at the corner of her thumb nail. He finally looks away from her face and Amelia sighs internally, wishing they could talk about anything else.

“Did you study for the physics test?” Link speaks up again.

“Is that today?” Amelia mumbles.

“Yes…”

“I’ll study at lunch. I’ll be fine.” And she’s not even worried. She knows she’ll do fine. She always does. She feels an awkwardness between them and she hates it. Link usually makes her feel completely at ease. This morning, Amelia can tell she’s made him upset. She nudges his side with her elbow. When he finally makes eye contact, she smirks at him.

“Link, I’m fine,” she whines playfully. “Don’t worry.”

He breaks into a smile. Something that happens naturally whenever Amelia smirks like that. Her heart warms at the sight, watching as his eyes crinkle slightly from the expression. Link has the best smile.

“I know you’re fine. I just think you’ll be less fine when I crush you in this physics test.” He jokes.

“In your dreams!” Amelia laughs, feeling completely relaxed by their banter.

_______

Amelia doesn’t study at lunchtime. Jake, who’s a senior, and someone Amelia always feels the need to impress, invites her to the parking lot and she instantly agrees. Being invited to the parking lot is basically a right of passage and everyone knows it. It’s not just a parking lot. It’s a hang out spot. The place you escape to for a smoke sesh or to find out where all the parties are that weekend. She knows being invited to the parking lot basically means Jake and all his senior friends will smoke her out. So, Amelia isn’t studying at lunch. She’s currently sitting on the open trunk of one of Jake’s friend’s trucks, being passed a joint.

She takes it, placing it to her lips, closing her eyes and inhaling as deeply as she can. She keeps it in for as long as she can before exhaling slowly. She opens her eyes again when she hears Jake laughing next to her.

“Damnnn, Shepherd. Not even a cough? Impressive.”

“She’s not like other girls,” one of Jake’s friends, Eric, adds, laughing with him.

Amelia rolls her eyes, and instead of passing the joint, she takes another hit. She’s impressing them and she likes the feeling. She reluctantly passes it off after that.

“Shep, you coming out tonight?”

Amelia just stares, it’s a Friday night but she’s not sure of what’s going on.

“Big party at Tyler’s place, everyone’s going.”

“Oh, right.” Amelia plays along. “Yeah I’m thinkin about it.”

_______

When the lunch bell rings, signaling class is about to start back up, Amelia only panics slightly. Not only is she late for the physics test, but she’s also completely in the wrong mindset. She feels it as she walks to the science lab, the paranoia sets in as she approaches the door. She hates walking in late. And she hates that she’s too high right now.

She tries to not spark any suspicion as she enters the room, but the dead quiet of the room only makes her more anxious. Everyone has already started taking their tests. She eyes her open seat at the back of the class, and moves as swiftly as possible. She feels a set of eyes on her the entire time and once she’s taken her seat, she reluctantly meets Link’s gaze from across the room.

Amelia flinches at the disappointment on his face.

Link turns back to his test and Amelia glues her eyes to her empty desk before another face interrupts her panic. She looks up just as Mr. Thompson, their physics teacher, places a test down in front of her. Amelia only meets his suspicious stare for a second before glancing down at the paper anxiously. She pulls a pencil out of her bag and quickly writes her name in the top right corner of the page.

She gives herself only a minute to breathe before she reads the first question. Once she does start reading, panic swells in her chest again. She can’t do this right now. She can’t be here taking this test. She doesn’t know what comes over her, but the sudden need to get out of this classroom completely consumes her. She’s not subtle when she stands up, pushing away from the desk hastily. The chair makes a harsh noise as it slides back against the floor and Amelia quickly grabs her backpack, leaving the test unfinished on her desk. Heads turn in her direction as she makes her way to the door. She faintly hears Mr. Thompson calling after her but chooses to ignore it.

She doesn’t stop walking until she’s all the way outside. The cool September air instantly calms her as she walks. And she keeps walking. Physics is her last class of the day and there’s nothing stopping her from just walking all the way home at this point.

_______

She hides out in her bedroom until her Mother calls her down for dinner a couple of hours later. It’s officially the weekend and that means some of the older Shepherd siblings are home from college. Amelia sits at the table and tries to avoid Nancy and Kathleen’s stares. Their mother, Carolyn, clears her throat.

“Girls stop glaring and pass Amelia the salad,” she says sternly.

Kathleen smirks as she starts passing food across the table. “Well, aren’t you going to say something, Mom?”

“Kathleen, not now.”

Amelia’s plate remains empty. The energy is off in the dining room and she doesn’t really feel like eating.

“You can’t keep letting her get away with this,” Kathleen speaks up again, laughing sarcastically and looking pointedly at her youngest sister.

“What’s your deal?” Amelia finally bites back. “I’ve seen you all of three minutes and you’re already mad at me for-?”

“Girls!” Carolyn chimes in. She glances harshly at each of them. She looks back at Amelia before she speaks again. “Amelia...the school called just before you came down-”

“I answered!” Kathleen interrupts with a snicker, Nancy smirking along with her. Carolyn shakes her head at them in warning before she continues.

“Amelia, apparently your science teacher reported you walked out on your test today…?” It ends up sounding like a question.

Amelia stares down at her empty plate.

“She’s probably on pills again. Did you ever get a lock for the medicine cabinet?” Nancy’s harsh words cause Amelia’s head to snap up. She glares at her oldest sister. And for the second time today, she feels the need to escape. She can’t be here right now. In a familiar movement, she pushes harshly away from the table and moves toward the front door.

She doesn’t stop walking until she’s all the way across the street. Suddenly she’s pounding on wood until a front door is swinging open and Link’s worried eyes meet hers. She doesn’t realize she’s crying until she registers the haggard breathing sound is coming from her.

“Amelia?! What’s wrong, what happened?”

“I can’t-” her panicked breathing cuts the sentence short but suddenly strong arms are around her, pulling her inside the house.

Link shifts his grips to her shoulders and guides her toward the stairs, up to his bedroom. The door clicks shut behind them and Link is guiding her again toward the bed, sitting down next to her.

Amelia curses herself, embarrassed by her total lack of control right now. She doesn’t remember letting herself begin to cry. But now that it’s started, she can’t make it stop.

“Amelia,” Link’s steady voice pulls her slightly from her thoughts. He looks at her assuringly. “Breathe. You need to breathe.”

In a gesture, Link makes his own breathing pattern more obvious, in his attempt to get Amelia to match him. She tries. She really tries. She looks into his eyes and lets him hold her gaze, anchoring her, like he’s tossing her a rope and trying to pull her back in.

She needs more though, something more forceful, and then she’s reaching for him. In the most platonic way, she grabs under his elbows, forcing his arms to engulf her small body. Desperate for the pressure of his strong hold.

She waits for him to catch on, and she sighs in relief when he squeezes her tight. The sensation of it is almost like a thunder jacket for a dog.

Amelia is just beginning to calm down when Link’s grip loosens slightly. She looks up at him bewildered. But he just looks calm. He pulls away even more but grabs her hand, standing up from the bed.

“Here, Amelia. Lay down on the floor, this will help,” he soothes, pulling her up from the bed.

She still hasn’t gained any control over her crying, but she listens to his instructions, laying flat on her back on the plush carpeting of his bedroom. She glances up at him and he smiles softly at her, eyes crinkling. Then he’s lowering himself over her.

“Let me know if I’m hurting you,” his voice is soothing. He even chuckles a bit at his actions. How crazy this must look. “My body weight will be like a weighted blanket…”

He’s twice her size but he lays fully on top of her, mimicking her positioning. He relaxes, and Amelia feels the weight of it completely. And to her surprise, it’s extremely calming. The pressure envelopes her nerves and the effects are almost instant. Her breathing begins to slow as they lay in complete silence, both staring up at the ceiling.

“Like a….gravity blanket,” Amelia’s voice finally breaks the silence.

Link chuckles. And now Amelia is smiling wide.

They lay like that for a few more minutes. Amelia is so relaxed and the room is comfortably quiet.

“Did you fall asleep on me?” Amelia whispers, laughing under her breath.

Link rolls off of her, laying next to her instead. He smiles at her, reaching between them and squeezing her hand. Amelia’s chest tightens at the gesture. And then he lets go.

“You okay?” Link asks.

“I am.”

They both resume the position of staring up at the ceiling. Link speaks again.

“You going to that party tonight?”

Amelia turns her head, looking at him in shock.

“Absolutely not,” she answers. Then she laughs again, adding “I’m staying here with you.”

_______

Amelia is 18 years old when she realizes that soulmates can be found in friendships.

She loves college right away. She loves being away from home and away from her family. She finds a good friend group and gets along well with the people she lives with. The only thing missing from her close to perfect equation, is her best friend, Link.  

Her new college friends tease her relentlessly for her dependency on her best friend from home. The way she facetimes Link almost on a nightly basis, or the way she drops everything she’s doing the moment he texts her.

“That your boyfriend from home?” Amelia’s roommate jokes as her phone chimes with a text message.

“More like her soulmate,” her other roommate adds.

Amelia rolls her eyes. “He’s not my soulmate,” she laughs. “But...yes.”

The suspicious glances from her roommates don’t go unnoticed by Amelia. “I’m actually hanging out with Stephen tonight,” Amelia announces proudly.

“Ugh, he’s no good for you.”

“Yeah, definitely not soulmate vibes from Stephen.”

Amelia rolls her eyes again, standing up to get ready to see Stephen.

_______

Amelia likes Stephen. He’s tall and charming with dark hair and bright green eyes. He makes her laugh and provides the sense of calmness that Amelia seems to seek in those she surrounds herself with.  

He’s not a distraction. That’s for sure. Amelia is even starting to think she loves him by the end of the first semester. She feels something every time she looks at him. His wide smile and the way his eyes crinkle when he laughs. Stephen feels familiar. And makes Amelia feel nostalgic.  

And Amelia crushes any thought she has of Stephen compared to Link. To her best friend.

She doesn’t question what it means that every time she arrives back at her dorm after a night spent with Stephen, the first thing she wants to do is call Link.

She smiles to herself as she crosses the threshold to her room, instantly pulling her phone out and relaxing onto her bed. She swells with excitement as she glances at her calendar. It’s almost holiday break and for some reason she misses home.

_______

Amelia is 22 years old when she discovers what it feels like to finally open up.

She hasn’t seen Link in almost a full year, although she still considers him to be her best friend.

It’s finally thanksgiving and both Amelia and Link have returned home from their separate colleges for the weekend. She’s completely shocked when she first sees him. Link looks the same but also different. His hair is longer than Amelia remembers. And he seems taller...and more muscular, too. Like he’d suddenly started working out a bunch.

Link clears his throat, drawing her attention to his face. “Hi, Amelia,” he smiles. And the eye contact almost makes her breath catch in her throat. Had his eyes always been that color?

Link pulls her into a hug suddenly, pulling her away from her thoughts, and Amelia instantly relaxes into the familiar embrace.

_______

That night they end up at the local bar. Thanksgiving eve being the busiest bar night of the year, and basically a premature high school reunion for the entire town. Amelia really didn’t want to go. But, Link was interested in seeing a few buddies from school, and Amelia wanted to go wherever Link wanted to go.

They attempt to stay together for the entirety of the night, but it’s a little hard when there’s constant interruptions by vaguely familiar high school acquaintances.

Amelia sits at the bar and watches Link from across the room as he chats enthusiastically with his high school friends. She didn’t have a huge friend group in high school. She always had friends a couple grades above her, the ones she’d ditch school with. The ones she’d hang out in the parking lot with during lunch. And there was always Link. But that was it.

She catches his eye from where he’s standing across the crowded room and he smiles at her briefly. A moment later he motions toward the door. She frowns slightly before pushing through the crowd to join him.

“You’re leaving without me? What kind of date are you?” She smirks at him as she shrugs on her jacket.

“I wasn’t aware this was a date, Amelia.” Link responds, playing along. “But yes, I am leaving. Early morning and all that.”

“Well let me walk you home.” She continues, voice laced with irony.

“Let’s go home,” he agrees.

_______

They end up back at Link’s house, sitting at the kitchen table. There’s a lot of catching up, and reminiscing. And conversation about the future. Amelia feels a sense of warmness she can’t quite place. Link makes her feel warm. And she can’t stop smiling.

They talk about everything. Learn everything new about each other.

Amelia learns everything about Link’s college experiences. She tries to stay neutral as Link talks about the girls he has dated. She smiles through his drunken hookup stories. She learns that Link wants to pursue medical school, and that news brings her more excitement than she’d anticipated.

Amelia tells Link she wants to follow in her older siblings’ footsteps. She wants to become a surgeon. And when Link promises that he’d always known she’d make way for herself in the medical field, she feels warm again.

Amelia tells him about the relationships she’s been through. And the one she’s currently in.

“You’ll get to meet him this weekend, Link. He’s driving in tomorrow. For dinner.”

Amelia isn’t certain, but she thinks Link’s face falls at that.

“How long have you two been together?” He asks her.

“We met my freshman year. We’ve been dating on and off since then.” Amelia mutters, suddenly the warmth is gone. This conversation feels cold

“On and off?” Link questions.

Amelia clears her throat, feeling vulnerable. “Well, yeah.” She sighs. “We’ve broken up more than once. And gotten back together a couple of times…It’s um…” She pauses, collecting her thoughts. “It’s been, um, I mean I wouldn’t say a roller coaster, but…”

Amelia panics as she watches Link study her face. The analytical features remind Amelia of plenty of past conversations. Plenty of situations she’d gotten herself into and then called on Link.

“Amelia, are you happy?”

The question makes her heart sink and she can’t place why. Maybe it’s denial. Maybe she’s been dishonest with herself. She zones out as she stares ahead of herself, eyes glued to the space between them. Eyes glued to the table. She doesn’t like cold and vulnerable. She wants some of the warmth back. It feels like her body is on autopilot when she stands up on wobbly feet and walks around to Link’s side of the table. She can’t bring herself to answer him, or his daunting question. She doesn’t know why she does it, but suddenly she finds herself crawling her way into Link’s lap, legs dangling off the side of the chair and arms wrapping around his neck.

And then her own words surprise her, too.

“I had the biggest crush on you in high school. Probably since I was 9, if I’m being honest.” And she laughs at her own vulnerability.

She lays her head on his chest, hiding her face away from him. And she can feel Link wrap his arms around her waist. She feels him place a comforting kiss to the top of her head.

“And I, of course, was head over heels for you, but you already knew that. Everyone did.” He whispers, and Amelia is surprised at this response. She didn’t know that.

She laughs into him, and then she finally lifts her head, looking up at him.

“Let’s crash on the couch, yeah?” He offers. “Like old times?”

_______

It’s weird for Amelia the next night at dinner. To be snuggled into the embrace of another man. Not even 24 hours after she’d fallen asleep in Link’s arms.

His words replay in her head on a loop. The way he’d whispered ‘I’ve always loved you, Ames. Always will’ before they drifted off.

And the way that she’d responded. ‘I love you too, Link. You’re my best friend.’

Amelia is confused, and feels vulnerable, again.

_______

Amelia is 25 years old when she discovers that she's probably not destined to be a mother.

When she tells her fiancé of a year, James, that she’s pregnant, she doesn’t know how to feel. It’s overwhelming, that’s for sure. And she feels extremely anxious. She hopes it’s anxious in an excited way, and not for any other reason.

She ignores the uncertainty. She’d always wanted to be a mother, right? This is how everything was supposed to be. Anxiety and all.

_______

Amelia feels numb, three months later, when she has a miscarriage. She can’t quite process what she is feeling.

And it takes a toll on their relationship.

James is shocked. And grows more and more depressed over it.

Amelia takes her anger out on James, and he does the same with her.

They decide to take a break, and James moves out of their apartment. Amelia needs some time for herself. And she can’t quite place if what she’s feeling is relief. But she feels something. Because she knows that this is probably how it was meant to be. Everything happens for a reason.

_______

Amelia is 28 years old when Seattle becomes her true home.

She’s graduated medical school and landed her dream internship at one of the country’s top hospitals.

It’s her first day of work and she hops on the subway train downtown. The train is kind of crowded, and she automatically makes her way to a less dense standing spot. She settles in her spot, mentally preparing herself for a busy day.

Amelia counts down as the train makes it’s stops. Knowing that the next stop is hers, she moves her way closer to the door. It opens and she steps out onto the platform, glancing at her watch, deciding whether or not she has time to stop for coffee.

Her thoughts are suddenly interrupted by another body bumping right into her.

“Oh, sorry,” she mumbles, but she cuts herself off when she recognizes who has just run into her.

“Long time no see, Shepherd.” Link is standing in front of her, smiling widely.

And she can’t help how her face instantly lights up. She laughs, bewildered. Not quite believing what she’s seeing. She finds herself pulling him into the tightest of hugs, laughing breathlessly into his ear.

“What the hell, Link? What the hell are you doing here?” She lets go of him and they’re making eye contact, smiles wide across both their faces. They both seem to need to catch their breath.

“I could ask you the same thing.” He jokes.

Amelia shakes from her daze. “I..I live here now. I start a new job today. Like now, actually.”

Her shock and bewilderment doesn’t seem to die down whatsoever when she learns that Link has landed the same internship as her.

_______

Amelia is 29 years old when she discovers that her 7-year-old self was wrong. Soulmates do exist, and she knows by definition.

She knows what a soulmate is when Link takes her out on their first real date and he doesn’t even make a move, because there’s no need to rush things.

She knows what a soulmate is when she watches Link become the version of himself that is a brilliant, confident, orthopedic surgeon fellow.

She knows what a soulmate is when they finally sleep together for the first time. And it feels like it has been building up over a lifetime. The way they take it slow, reveling in each moment with each other because it didn’t quite feel real.

After their first successful surgery together, they’d gone out with some fellow surgeons, and Amelia knew what she was doing when she asked him back to her place for the night.

Amelia knows what a soulmate is that night. When she looks him in the eye and reaches for the hem of his shirt in question. She feels completely confident in his presence and especially in his arms. Like she was always meant to be there. This is her best friend, and her soulmate. And she’s completely awestruck by how good this moment is. How it can’t compare to anyone or anything else.

Amelia knows what a soulmate is the next morning. When she stirs from her slumber slightly, as familiar fingers dance slowly across her bare back.

She rolls over in bed and is met with her favorite pair of eyes. She mumbles to Link ‘let’s make pancakes,’ and she knows what a soulmate is as she watches him move about her kitchen, covered in pancake mix from the brief food fight that had broken out between them.

Amelia knows what a soulmate is when they move in together. In a tiny studio apartment in Seattle. And Link lets her decorate it exactly how she wants.

And despite their first fight, Amelia knows what a soulmate is. When Link meets her nieces and nephews, and nonchalantly makes a comment about kids one day, Amelia freezes in panic. And then completely avoids him for three whole days.

Amelia knows what a soulmate is when she learns to compromise. Because the two of them cope in different ways. So, when Link has a bad day, she gives him space to bum out, instead of bombarding him to talk through it. Even though she’d want the opposite for herself on her own bad days.

And he’s still her soulmate when they turn 30 and they move into a bigger house in the suburbs. Amelia is excited about each of them having their own office space. Link jokes about ‘room to grow’ and ‘future nurseries.’ Amelia doesn’t say it then, but she warms up at the idea.

When they’re 32, and they’re dancing at their co-worker’s wedding, Amelia knows what a soulmate is. After a particularly hard week at work, Amelia had been taking her frustrations out on Link. And he’d been letting her. He was always so patient. And now as they danced together slowly, Amelia can’t help but rest her head against his chest gratefully. She feels him squeeze her waist gently. She can’t help it when she mumbles ‘Maybe I’ll marry you, someday.’

_______

Amelia is 34 years old when everything falls into place for the rest of her life.

After she’d told Link she was pregnant, they’d both been completely overjoyed. And since then, Amelia couldn’t fight the realization that everything was meant to be this way. Everything had happened for a reason.

She doesn’t hear Link come into the bathroom as she stands brushing her teeth, eyes closed in happy exhaustion as she rests against the sink.

She feels his arms snake around her stomach and her eyes snap open to playfully meet his in the bathroom mirror.

Link squeezes her small bump and Amelia lays her head back into his chest blissfully.

“Let’s go to bed,” he whispers, “before you fall asleep right here brushing your teeth.”

_______

They lay down in bed and assume their favorite position as of recently. Amelia loves it when Link lays behind her, spooning her, arms instinctively and protectively wrapping around her stomach. She settles into his arms and almost immediately begins dozing off.

She feels Link’s breath tickling her neck before she registers his voice.

“Amelia, you’re going to make the best mom to Scout. I can’t wait.” He mumbles, and Amelia smiles sleepily.

“I love you, Ames.” he continues, gently squeezing her bump again. “Always have, always will.”

Amelia is awake just enough to respond “I love you too, Link. You’re my best friend,” before sleep takes her.

Feedback please/let me know if you want me to write more amelink/send prompts!!