The Midnight Subway

*Y/N's room in hotel Obsidian*

Five: The world is ending and-

Y/N: Yes, I'm watching a Sitcom, sue me.

Five: ....*sits next to Y/N*

Y/N: you're such a Ross sometimes.

Five: does that make you my Rachel?

Y/N: Well, I always considered us as Chandler and Monica- you being Monica.

Five *shrugs*: fair enough

Klaus from under the bed: And i'll be your Joey

*Y/N and Five scream*

ding!

. . . kozume kenma. affection, oh affection.

truth be told, kenma loved soaking up your affection for him.

he acts as though he wasn’t that excited, reasoning that he was busy with a game he’s playing, but the unmistaken eagerness in his body language says otherwise. all of a sudden he rested his head on your desk, drowning out the sounds around him. sleep threatened to lure him into its enticing embrace, and he shifts slightly.

because you were brushing his hair gently, so careful to untagle the small knots on the ends of his hair, humming a soft tune.

kenma swore he felt like he was in heaven.

“so pretty,” he hears you coo. “you’re like a cat, ken. how cute.”

there’s really not much of a fight in him to tell you off. he just lets you do whatever it is you want with him—massage his scalp, braid his hair, delicately comb his hair—and he could care less because the words died down on his throat once he felt your touch.

“brush my hair again, please,” he murmurs, slightly raising his head, eyes blurry of sleep that almost got to him when you had suddenly stopped.

“ok, ok. lay back down.”

kenma hums, pleased. he lets you have all of your attention on him, occasionally answering the puzzled questions of your classmates if he were okay. you merely mouthed, “he’s a bit sleepy,” which they shrugged and didn’t mind that much. after all, it was almost a normal thing to see students fall asleep during their free periods.

when kenma did wake up, he felt like he had the greatest nap of his life.

he fell asleep rather quickly, too, which surprised him.

“what time is it?”

“almost three,” you answer.

“oh,” he blinks, feeling the little braid you did on his hair. kenma nodded.

he kept the braid until after volleyball practice ended.

“since when did you learn how to braid?” tetsurou asks with a teasing smile.

“none of your business,” kenma replied, rolling his eyes. “pack your bag quicker before i leave you.”

“so mean! i was just wondering.”

he thinks he’ll ask you to brush and braid his hair more often from now on.

noomon © 2023. do not copy, modify, or translate my work.

No one else could've played Chandler Bing. Thank you for making us laugh and always putting a smile on our faces.

We will miss you and you will always be remembered.

Rest in peace, Matthew Perry ❤

𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐛𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐩𝐭 | 𝐚𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐞𝐫

You learn how to be someone’s girlfriend. Or, 5 times Hotch raises your expectations (+1 time you raise his).

7k words, new established relationship to established relationship, lots of fluff and some small angst, hurt/comfort, fem!reader, civilian!reader, calls him aaron, basically hotch treating you well

༺༻

1. Soup. 

"Are you hungry?" Aaron asks, hands at the neck of his shirt as he loosens his tie. 

You've never seen him do that. It's a lot to take in.

"A little, are you?"  He's lucky that you remember to answer.

His smile lights you up inside and out, a warm, casual quirk. "Famished." 

"Should we make something?" 

He turns from the doorway and moves into the kitchen. You have to twist on his couch to see his movements. 

"No need. I should've asked if you like it, but I made vegetable soup. The kind with mini dumplings." 

You look down at your legs and squeeze your thighs together until your knees tap. You're too shy to go and meet him where he's standing, but perhaps sitting and having him wait on you is arrogant. And awkward. 

The couch is plush under your hands as you stand. You'd slipped off your shoes at the door, and your socked-feet slide over the tiled floor of the kitchen as you make your way to his side. Aaron lights the stove, atop which stands a tall cooking pot. 

"When did you have time to make that?" you ask, soft with awe. 

"I knew you'd be coming over. I started it this morning." 

"And if I didn't like it?" 

He turns his gaze to yours, pot lid held aloft. "Then I would've ordered in for us. You're sure this is okay?"  

You've never had somebody cook for you before. Homemade, fresh ingredients, and the intricacy of the dumplings too, it all impresses and amazes you. You feel very special. Like you're worth all the effort. 

"I'm sure. More sure if you let me try it." 

His laugh startles you for its rarity. "Okay. It's not done," he warns. 

"Just to taste it." 

He stirs the warming soup with a big spoon for half a minute, the heat on high, before scooping up some broth and holding it above a cupped palm. "It's probably not very hot," he says. 

Oh, you think, excited and sick with nerves at once. He's going to feed the soup to me. 

Something out of a movie, something you didn't know people actually did for their significant others, Aaron waits for you to open your mouth and offers the spoon. You slurp and feel heat rise to your cheeks at the clumsy sound. 

"Aaron," you say, soft and obsessed after you've swallowed, "it's really nice. You made that yourself?"  

"I can cook," he says defensively. 

You lick your lips, giggling. "I can tell. That was really good. Though it was definitely too cold." 

"Mm. It has to cook through some more. Reduce. Do you want to shower?" He puts down his wooden spoon, head tilting to one side gently. He assesses your expression, and brings a curved hand to settle over your cheek. The tip of his index finger kisses the delicate skin under your eye. "No, maybe not. You look tired." 

You probably shouldn't say something like that to your brand new girlfriend (you scream internally at the word, every single time since he asked you a week ago) but Aaron speaks factually. You don't think for a second that there's any malice there, any hidden critique. His words shine with concern. 

"It's Friday. I'm always tired at the end of the week." 

His hand falls to your shoulder. "I can imagine." 

"You can go shower, if you like. I'll watch the soup." 

"I need one, huh?" 

He must know how well-kept he looks even now. You're not sure you've ever seen him dishevelled. 

"Definitely need one," you try to tease. It comes out murmur-quiet, and Aaron takes pity and kisses your cheek. 

He leaves to shower and you 'watch' the soup — you stand at the stovetop and soak in it's emanating warmth, stirring it every now and then to prevent the bottom from burning. The shower runs muffled from the bathroom, and your mind wanders as it tends to do. It's an undeniable fact that Aaron is naked right now, the thought opening an avenue of images you've been trying not to think about all day. It's your very first time spending the night after a couple of weeks of dating, and now you're together, if Aaron wants to have sex tonight you'll say yes. He's handsome, and his build suggests a certain… tenacity. 

His hands would convince you alone. Big hands. 

You look down into the simmering pot of soup and smile harder than you have any right to smile. He's done everything right, all the romance; he'd asked you out clearly with no doubt of his intentions, which had shocked you; he'd brought you a bouquet of flowers on your first date, which had delighted you; and he hadn't tried to take you home, which had surprised you. 

Modern romance often doesn't feel very romantic. Things with Aaron are different. 

Hell, he's so sweet he probably won't make a move unless you make one yourself. 

You'd prefer to be squeaky clean tonight, you've decided, just in case. When he gets out of the shower, you'll tell him you've changed your mind.

The shower shuts off. He appears a little bit after that, in new clothes, towel around his neck and feet either side of your own as he sidles in for a damp and quick cheek kiss. 

"Sorry I took so long. Are you ready to eat?" he asks, taking the spoon from your hand to give the soup a big, gran stir. 

"Actually, could I shower?" 

If he's surprised at your changed mind he says nothing, only turns down the heat of the stove. "Of course you can. Come on, I'll show you how it all works." 

His 'come on' is accompanied with a guiding hand at the small of your back. You let yourself be guided. The heat of his touch fills your stomach and doesn't abate, no matter how cold you run the spray. 

2. Phone calls. 

It's the week after that when you're supposed to be spending the night again. You're excited for two reasons, the first and smallest being that he had been what you thought and more in bed, that itself an expectation raised, and it had felt like connection at its brightest — he'd been sweet, and he'd been rough but never, not ever once cruel. A perfect night. The second, and biggest, is that he's honestly just the nicest person you've ever met. He's your boyfriend, a phrase you don't say in front of him because he's admittedly older than you, and you can't imagine he calls you his girlfriend. Partner might be more apt. He's your boyfriend and he's openly fond of you. Openly more than that. It's new to be doted on as ardently as he dotes on you. 

He touches you like he can't believe he's touching you. He talks to you like you're gold dust, all smiles and laughs heavy with admiration, and he listens. You've never felt listened to in the way you do when you're with him. 

So many conversations are just one party waiting for the other to stop talking until it's their turn. You think, maybe, Aaron would let you talk for hours. He would listen the whole time. 

In summary, you're basically thrumming with excitement to see him again. You've missed him some, but mostly you've spent the week bouncing off of walls waiting for the next time you get to talk to him. 

His text is disheartening, to say the least. 

Hey, honey. I have to cancel our plans tonight. I'm sorry, and I'll explain as soon as I get the chance. Please take care of yourself for me until I can.

It doesn't make you mad. While it is extremely short notice, and your heart hurts to the point of frustrated tears, you know it isn't his fault. He's been clear about his job at the FBI and what that means for you both. How it will without a doubt pull him away from you during dates, the middle of the night, special occasions, the works — this had been after a small disclosure about his commitment to his son, Jack, and how he's a father first — and how it will definitely cause some strain. 

"But," he'd said, "I want you, and I want this to work. So if you can be patient with me, I'll try to make it worth it." 

He's been successful every time. After he'd cancelled your third date, he'd quickly rearranged it and apologised with a modest but beautiful bouquet of flowers. 

Somewhere between the fifth and sixth date, you hadn't seen him for two whole weeks, and every worry you'd had about his intentions had been abated by a steady stream of encouraging text messages and the occasional photograph. Nothing crazy, but sweet things, like the cookies he and Jack had made that night, captioned, I'd save one for you if I thought Jack would let me, or a sunrise in a different state, captioned, This looks like the dress you wore to Lemaira. 

Later that night, you're unhappy and frowning still, a small carton of ice cream freezing your fingers to the cardboard and a spoon in your mouth when your phone starts to ring. 

You aren't expecting it to be Aaron. You aren't in the habit of calling one another, even though you'd secretly wished he would while he's away beforehand. 

It's nearing eight o'clock. 

"What time do you call this?" you joke, smiling despite yourself. Again, the excitement that comes with talking to him wells at the surface. 

"I know, I'm sorry," he says, sounding very tired. 

You slouch down into your couch cushions, ice cream on the armrest, remote for the TV on your chest. You click the volume button down, down, down until the TV's near silent. 

"I'm kidding, mostly. Are you okay? I've been a little worried." 

Understatement of the century. You know sudden cases of violence often draw him away from Virginia, but this had been sudden sudden. The lack of information had made you think the worst, worse than serial killer and bombers and hostage situations. You'd thought Aaron was in danger himself, and then you'd tried to suffocate that thought. He'd never worry you like that even if he were. 

"I'm fine. Sorry to miss you tonight." 

"I'm sorry to miss you too," you say, voice disjointed, too earnest. You scramble to hide the depth of your feelings. "Where are you?" 

"I'm in St. Louis. Where are you?" 

You laugh, curling onto your side with the phone pressed up against your ear. "Where am I? I'm at home." 

"What are you doing?" 

"I was watching TV." 

"Yeah? Did you eat anything yet?" 

You think to the takeout you'd bought and shoved in the microwave, not hungry at the time but knowing knowing would be. "Not yet. Why are you asking?" 

"I want to know." 

"I told you in my text I would take care, Aaron." 

"Honey," he says, pet name like a warm palm over your heart, "my definition of taking care and your definition are very different. Promise me you'll eat something."

"Of course I will. Easy promise." You scratch the couch fabric absent-mindedly. "Have you eaten?" 

"Yes," he says, the sound of a closing window in the background. "It's awful how much take out I eat. All these cases, there's never any time to cook real food." 

"Why, what did you have? And surely there's some uber healthy options out there, like, a chickpea salad-" 

"That costs thirty dollars? I'm not struggling, honey, but we both know that's obscene." 

You're laughter takes on a giddy quality as you cross your leg over the other, picturing his smile as his laughter echoes breathily down the line. You really, really wish he were here right now and that you were having this conversation face to face. You know he'd smile and try to hide how smug he feels at making you laugh. His hand would reach over any gap to touch some silly part of you, forearm or collar or the skin under your ribcage. 

"Are you okay?" You say his name to drive the point home. Your voice is quiet — you're hesitant to offer, worried you're crossing a boundary. "Aaron, I know you don't like bringing it home, but you aren't home, so… I'm here." 

"I know. It's nothing I want you to worry about, there's an ongoing situation here, bomb threats coming in quicker than the local P.D can handle. They need us to vet them and figure out if any of them are real." 

You think about it for a few seconds, the silence small but not uncomfortable. If you were under that kind of pressure, you'd be hurting. Chest pains, anxiety shakes, a migraine. 

"You'll be safe?" you ask. 

"Always. I'm not in any danger. And I need to get home, I owe you a Friday." 

"You do," you mumble. 

There's the creak of a box spring mattress, and the sound of a lamp being clicked. On or off, you don't know. When Aaron speaks, his tone is dulcet and hushed but distinct. You feel it in your chest. 

"Tell me about your day," he murmurs. 

You lay it all out for him in detail. He can barely reply when you hang up, sleep thickening his affectionate, "Goodnight, honey." 

3. His bleeding heart.

"What kind of kid were you?" he asks.

You look up from your notebook, surprised. Aaron has been silent for what feels like an hour now, laid out on the picnic blanket with your sweater bundled up under his head while the sun warms your skin. 

"I was…" You let your pen roll into the centre of your notebook and close it. He's laid his paperback flat across his chest. You think he might be very interested in the answer. "It was a long time ago, but I think I was lonely." 

He nods like this is what he'd been expecting. "Me too." 

It's a gorgeous day out. The sky is a light, bright blue with few clouds. They block the sun occasionally, providing a short and bittersweet shield from the heat. The grass surrounding is shockingly green, rippling in the breeze. 

"You were?" you ask. "What were you like?" 

"I was quiet." 

"That's not surprising," you say mildly. 

"No, I guess not." 

You abandon your notebook and lay down beside him. Worrying what you look like from this angle, you cover your jaw with your hand and turn toward him ever so slightly to show you're listening. 

"I liked affection. I remember my mom used to say I was a siphon for it. I'd be all over her, and she'd have nothing left to give anyone else." 

"That's not true," you deny. Every ounce of affection that you given him, he has returned tenfold, and that's inspired a lot of kindness in you, for him and for the world. "You're like an amplifier, if anything." 

He smiles to himself and turns his gaze skyward. "I wish we'd met before." 

"Me too," you say, leaving little room for debate.

"You're so kind," — he adorns you with each word like a gift, a tiny star of praise — "I think you're the kindest person I've ever met." 

He laughs. It's a catching sound, contagious as anything. You giggle with him and shift closer. Your arms touch, your hips. 

"Baby," you murmur, almost lamenting, "d'you ever think your ability to see the good in people is- It's indicative of the good in you... You've given more of your life than most to keep other people safe. That's the kindest thing a person can do." 

He tangles your hand with his where it had been resting on your stomach. You're pretty sure you can feel every line of every fingerprint as he works your fingers together, a snug fit like one of those wooden brain teaser puzzles: How do you pull these two pieces apart? From the outside, it looks impossible!

"I think I'd be different, if I'd met you before. I'd be kinder," he says. 

You can't agree with him. It's obvious who he is. You know more about him now than you ever have before. His late wife, how she'd been the best mother they ever made. His son, and how he moulds Aaron everyday into a better man. His friends, who trust him, who adore him. All these people have a hand in who Aaron is now, and while you wish you'd been around from the start, now will have to do.

"You're plenty kind," you say. Understatement of the century. 

"Sorry," he says with a laugh, "With you-" He cuts himself off, head-shaking from side to side as he pulls your joined hands up slowly. 

Your arm bends and then turns as he pulls it toward his face. He unlinks your fingers to steer your forearm, aligning it flat over his lips. The first kiss is a surprise, light like the feathered edge of a flower petal, and the second isn't dissimilar. 

The third melts you, veritably, the parting of his lips emphasised by the dull scratch of teeth against your pulse, the wet heat of his tongue. Three becomes four, and a final fifth, crescent moons pressed into your skin like he's trying to tell you something. 

You've no clue what. You likely couldn't say which way the world turns, not when he's kissing you. Not like this. 

Aaron has an acute ability to talk without talking. Hello's and thank you's and I care about you's woven into quick kisses, the swift squeeze of his hand over the slope of your shoulder.

These ones say something you don't want to speak aloud, lest you jinx it. 

The sunlight fades. A big grey cloud covers the sun.

"I think it's gonna rain," you say. 

A raindrop splashes in Aaron's eye. 

"Fuck," he says, which is hilarious, because he never swears in front of you. You hadn't known he cussed at all. 

The downpour is slow and then sudden, spitting rain dotting over you both like a fine mist as you stand, a thicker, faster outpouring chasing your heels as you hurry to the car. You realise you can't outrun it even if you sprint, and so you stop, Aaron's hand in yours tugged like a rubber band. He bounces back into your chest with the picnic blanket under his arm, your books tucked somewhere inside. 

He doesn't ask what you're doing. He's made the same deduction as you, or maybe he trusts you, or maybe he's indulging you. 

"Your hair," he laments. 

"Doesn't matter," you say. 

You lift your chin up for a kiss. Aaron ducks down to give you one. A raindrop runs down the bridge of his nose to the tip of yours. 

4. In sickness. 

You insist that it wasn't the rain that made you sick, but honestly there's no way to tell. You'd kissed for slightly too long, and the rain had been surprisingly cold. Now you aren't very well, and you have to cancel Aaron's sleepover. 

You hold out as long as you can, but come Friday afternoon it's clear you aren't getting better. You wake to a text from Aaron, two texts, and it makes you smile through shivery coughs. 

I can't wait to see you tonight. Do you need anything before I get there? Miss you. Sent 6.26AM.

Is everything okay? Sent 9.17AM. 

Usually you'd have answer his morning text within the hour. 

Hi, I miss you too, so much, but I don't think we'll be able to see each other tonight. I've got the flu :( I'm sorry. And sorry I couldn't answer your message until now, I was sleeping. 

It's another hour before he answers. You rouse from your gross snotty stupor to squint at the phone. It's surprisingly long. 

I'm sorry it's taking me so long to get back to you, things are tense here right now. You don't have to be sorry for either, I'm glad to hear you're resting. You could have told me you were sick. Is it okay if I come and see you tonight anyways? I would love to check on you. Don't rush to answer, and call me if you can. 

You call him with reservations. 

"Is this a good time?" you ask weakly, forgoing a hello. 

It takes him a little while to speak. You assume he's leaving a room, closing a door. "Now's fine. How are you?" 

"My throat hurts and it's a little hard to breathe, but I'm sure I'll live." 

"You've been to see a doctor?" 

"It's not that bad." 

He sighs. "You sound tired. And sore. Why didn't you tell me you were sick?" 

"You don't have to baby me, I'm really okay." 

"Have you considered that I'd like to baby you?" 

Not really. You can't imagine anyone would want to deal with you. You're a mess, you look awful, you don't smell great, and you're not good company. You can't think of a single reason Aaron would want to be anywhere near you right now. 

"No," you say, "I hadn't." 

"I'd love to look after you." 

"You could be doing something fun with your Friday. You could see Jack." 

"Jack's going to Kings Dominion. And Fridays are our day, you being sick doesn't make me want to see you less."

You hadn't said that, but he'd inferred it. Of course he had. 

You and Aaron decide that your sleepover will go ahead after all. Or, he persuades you very gently. You spend three hours doing tasks that should only take one. You shower, you clean your room, and you do the dishes. By the end of it you're sweating enough to need another shower but you aren't a quitter, so you open the freezer and stick your head in, hands braced against the refrigerator door. 

You're excited to see him. You always are. Too bad you look so wiped out. 

It's almost 6.30 when you hear his knock on the door. You'd been waiting for him and started dozing at the kitchen table, your neck a mess of twisted nerves, your hand numb from supporting your head. You shake it out and open the door, sheepish. 

"Hi," you croak out. 

He has a lot of stuff with him. His familiar overnight bag, a briefcase, two grocery bags, and a bouquet. 

"Aaron, why," you moan, covering your face with one hand as you move back down the hall to let him in. 

"Not the greeting I'd hoped for." 

"I can't greet you, I'll make you sick." 

You get all the way to the kitchen and think, triumphantly, that you've escaped his 'greeting'. He puts the flowers down carefully on the kitchen counter as you try to come up with a thank you that doesn't make your eyes burn. The grocery bags are placed without ceremony on the floor, and his overnight bag falls onto the kitchen chair. You watch him unbutton his rain spattered coat, and your triumph fades when he peels out of it and instantly reaches for you. 

"Aaron," you mumble, stepping into his arms. He knows you can't say no to a hug, not after a week of not seeing him. 

"I missed you," he says, arms around your back, lips at your temple. "You're running a temperature." 

"It's not that bad. 101." 

"Honey, 101 is bad." 

"Not as bad as 102." 

"Not as bad as 102," he concedes. You can hear his voice rumbling in his throat, and feel it in his chest and yours.

He takes as much of your weight as he can, leaning back so you're forced to arc forward. Your face slips into his neck, and you're thinking, this is what it's like? To be held, sick, with nothing to give? It feels good.

"Please tell me the next time you're sick," he murmurs. 

You definitely will. If this is what it's like, roaming, cautious hands over your shoulder blades, a strong nose stroking lines against your warm forehead. 

"Thank you for the flowers." 

It's squished against his skin but he hears it. "You're welcome. Do you want me to put them in a vase?" 

"I can do it." 

"I think that might defeat the purpose. They're a gift, not an extra chore." 

"Nobody ever got me flowers before you, so it doesn't feel like a chore at all." 

He encourages your face back enough to look at you. You have to mouth breath on him because your nose is all stuffed up, and it is not something you're happy to do. You look down so he can't feel it. 

"I'm gonna do something really cheesy, and you can tease me about it later, okay?" 

You look at him from under your lashes. "'Kay." 

"Close your eyes," he whispers. 

You let your eyes shut. Aaron cradles your face in both hands and pulls your face toward his chin, in your rough approximation. 

Heat fans against your eyes. He kisses your eyelids, the left and then the right, the most gentle press of his lips you've ever felt. 

"It's killing me to see you like this," he says, and you're grateful for the pinch of humour behind it. "Couch or bed?" 

"Couch. I wanna watch a movie with you." 

"Good. I wanna watch a movie with you, too." 

Aaron does everything. You're too tired to notice, but when you're better, you'll add it all up. He makes you dinner and breakfast and lunch and enough for the day after that, too. He trims down all your flowers and places them in a vase on your window sill. He recleans your room, cleans your bathroom, and plays nursemaid diligently. He makes you take your temperature in front of him, and then he fawns and makes you hug an ice pack, stays the night again when he's supposed to go home. 

It sucks, but your temperature falls, and when your insides stop cooking themselves you start to feel better. On Sunday morning, when he has to leave, you feel the strange pang of being cared for unconditionally like the wind being knocked out of you. He'd done all of that because he cares about you. He'd wanted to see you fed and well and happy, and he hadn't gotten anything out of it in return. 

5. The test-drive.

"Hi, Jack," you mumble, rubbing wetness out of your sleep-heavy eyes. "Good morning." 

"Good morning," he says cheerfully, of his father's disposition. 

"Did you," — you yawn wide and turn your face so neither of them can see — "sleep well?" 

"Yeah, thank you. Why are you so tired?" 

Aaron's standing at the stovetop making oatmeal. You stand at the counter beside it, hips touching but facing opposite ways. "I'm still getting used to your dad's bed." 

It's true. There's something about someone else's mattress that makes you ache. 

"What is it about my mattress you can't get along with?" Aaron asks in good humour, adding a generous pinch of salt to the saucepan. 

"It's more comfortable than mine," you say with a self-satisfied laugh. 

Aaron pecks your damp cheek and skirts around you to fill three identical bowls of oatmeal next to three identical glasses of orange juice. Jack cheers when his portions are placed in front of him, and he digs in even though it's ridiculously hot. 

Aaron had explained once that he's basically trained Jack to eat it scorchingly hot by accident. Years of oatmeal straight off of the hob versus a growing boy with no patience. You watch in awe as Jack scarfs it down. 

You and Aaron are doing this thing. You've called it the test-drive in your head. He wants to see how well you and Jack get along, likely, and how well you handle living together, too. (Though you absolutely don't think you'll be moving in together quite this soon.) That's your working theory. He'd asked you if you'd be interested in staying for the week a month ago, and you had, and it had been a dream. This is week two, and it seems to be going just as well as the first. 

It's definitely revealing. To see each other's routines. And an adjustment. You have to see all the gross stuff, no avoiding it. 

Though stuff you might consider gross he enjoys. Like watching you put on body lotion, he'd loved that more than words could express. And watching him shave, you'd loved that more than you'd thought you would. You'd sat on the lip of the tub and he'd listened to your morning murmurings, half asleep and excited as always to talk to him about everything. 

Getting to know Jack more has been a joy, too. You've met him nowhere near as many times as you would've liked and done family things: bowling, pizza places, the movies, a baseball game. 

Eating breakfast together is way more fun. Especially because Jack likes you. 

As soon as you sit down he starts to tell you about school. You listen, sipping your orange juice while you wait for the oatmeal to cool from lava. 

After breakfast, the three of you head back to your respective bedrooms to get dressed. 

That's something else you adore, you and Aaron undressing and redressing together in the space in front of his closet, the intimacy of casual nudity, and the way his hand closes around your hip to move you out of the way of his shirts. 

You're pretty much inseperable until you get to the car park. A firm believer in kids receiving as much love as they can from everybody, you offer Jack a hug before you part ways everytime. Sometimes he says yes, though most times he says, "Thank you, Miss Y/N, but my hug quota is full." 

Today, he squeezes your waist really hard and says, "Have a good day bye," like it's one word.

"Have a good day, baby," you tell him, laughing as he jettisons into the passenger seat of Aaron's car. 

Aaron usually gives you a swift kiss and goodbye like his son. Today, he brings his hand to your neck. You stare him straight in his dark eyes as he does, marvelling the shock of straight lashes outlining each one, and the permanent wrinkle between his brow from frowning. 

Placing two hands on either shoulder, you use his frame to rise on tiptoes and kiss it. 

"Don't frown too much today, okay, handsome? Have a good day." 

He cups your face in both hands as your heels touch the ground. His hands are warm, kind as he pushes both palms over your cheeks and your ears. He covers them, and your heartbeat amplifies, a thumping sound fighting his skin. Then he slips his fingers behind your ears and the roaring fades. 

"I love you," he says. 

You beam at him. "Really?"

"Really. I love you, honey. Have a good day."

As if. If he thinks he can walk away after dropping that on you he's got another thing coming. 

You throw your arms around his neck and all your weight into his front, almost barrelling him over. You have to stop yourself from wrapping your thighs around him, 'cause then he really might fall over. 

You dig your face into his neck, searching for something, for the perfect place to rest your cheek. "I love you, Aaron." 

There isn't a chance in hell he didn't already know it. 

"I got you something," he says. 

You laugh in surprise and tighten your hold on him. "Why? This is gift enough." He loves you. It bounces around in your chest. 

"Because I'm not stupid enough to miss what I have right in front of me." 

You lean back so you can kiss him, ignoring his hand as it reaches into his pocket. 

"Baby," you say, a hair's width from his lips. You kiss him again for a second, thrilled, but curiosity pulls you back. "You have it now?" 

He takes a step away from you and reveals the box in his pocket, long and thin. It clicks open on a silver hinge, and inside velveteen lies a simple chain.

"Is that a diamond?" you ask, breathless. The stone at the end of the chain shines like nothing you've ever seen before. 

You don't know a thing about them other than that they're expensive. You can't see Aaron Hotchner of all people buying a fake. 

"A small one," he says modestly. 

Your eyes burn. You're happy to the point of tears but you refuse to cry. 

"And it's for me?" you ask. 

He laughs and you laugh too, the sound slightly sniffly. 

"Of course. Do you want to wear it?" 

"Now? Yes, more than anything," you say, smiling hard, cheeks appled and aching. "Are you serious?"

"More than anything." 

Corny, you think desperately. Do not cry, that's so cheesy. 

"Are you sure you don't want to wait until my birthday?" 

He gestures for you to turn around, the chain hanging from his finger. You turn, feel his hands brushing against your neck as he lays it across your chest and pulls it together behind your nape. 

"Your birthday gift is better than this." 

Better? You could burst. 

The clasp closes and he rubs his hands down the backs of your shoulders. 

You turn back around, face dipped to your chest in efforts to see the necklace. It's short but long enough to spot the diamond hanging under your collar. 

"I've never had a diamond, before," you mumble, hands pressed to your chest. Your heart bumps under your hand. 

"Thank you," you say, looking up, "baby, you didn't have to. You don't have to get me stuff like this, it's a lot." 

"I don't think it's too much. You give gifts when you're grateful. I'm grateful to love you." 

He's expecting you this time, unwavering when your arms slide over his shoulders. You breathe in the smell of his skin and he does the same, his face pressed to the top of your head.

Jack is late for school that day. You apologise to Aaron more times than you can count, and every time he only smiles and says, "It's okay. I love you." 

+1 

Aaron misses your first anniversary. 

It's a very important date to miss, and you have a right to be upset. 

But. 

You always knew from the very first date that this was something that could, unfortunately, happen. You'd been lucky to get him for your birthday, luckier still to see him on his own and treat him with the delights he deserved. You'd figured eventually something would happen to throw a spanner in the works. 

What you aren't expecting is the lack of anger. 

You aren't mad at him, not one bit. It would be okay if you were, even though it's not his fault, because this is so big. You're celebrating the best year of your life alone, and that's no fun. You and Aaron had planned to go away, two days in a fancy hotel, Jack with Jessica and no worries. 

He can't ignore a bomb threat in the capital, and he wouldn't want to. 

You know a missed anniversary is a lesser weight than innocent people dead. You know Aaron wouldn't be able to forgive himself if he didn't go. You know he regrets leaving you on such an important day. 

Maybe one day, you'll be angry with him. Today, you only miss him. 

I love you. I'm sorry. I'll be back very soon. Happy anniversary. 

He sends that after a grovelling, short phone call, in which you assure him that it's fine. Your voice is tight with tears, you miss him like crazy, and he hears it though you try to hide it. 

I will make it up to you. 

You don't have any doubts. 

You feel a little sorry for yourself, and then you send him a text of your own. 

I love you, so don't be sorry. Get back safe and sound and consider yourself forgiven. Happy anniversary, my love. 

Followed with what's likely too many hearts for good measure. 

Still, still, he doesn't believe it's okay. You know he's human, and he loves you, and that makes it easy to predict how he's feeling — worried that you're angry, worried that you'll leave him, worried this won't work for you. 

And you're only human yourself. You can't say how you'll feel in another year, or two, or five. You can't imagine how depressing it might be to miss the holidays and birthdays and anniversaries with him year after year, but you want to be patient. You want to forgive him for the things he has no hand in, and you do. 

You get a visitors pass for his office once you're cleared and take the elevator up, checking your text messages for the fifth time, just to make sure. 

I'll be home in a couple of hours, the plane touches down in two. Love you. Sent 4.53PM. 

It's the day after your anniversary, a Monday, and it's nearly 7PM. You smile at people you've seen in passing the few times you've visited his office before and don't bother trying to sit in Aaron's office, knowing it's locked while he's away. You travel the spare steps and sit at the top of the landing, hands clutching the neck of the bunch of flowers you're holding nervously. The cellophane crinkles. 

You hadn't answered him. It was cruel to leave him hanging, but you didn't expect him to come home so soon. He's too damn good at his job. 

The elevator doors open in the quiet. Barely anybody lingers now in the late hour, and the voices of the BAU echo. 

Spencer sees you first. Morgan second. They stop at the beginning of the office. 

Aaron sees you third.

You spring to stand up on your feet, and then you feel very tall and very seen and descend the steps rather than draw more attention. 

"You said seven," you say, not sure what else to say, not with people watching you. "This is definitely closer to eight." 

Aaron thankfully isn't too proud to speed walk to you. Your heart skips as you meet him, flowers crushed half to death as he gets his arm behind your neck, hooking your head in the crook of his elbow. 

He kisses you roughly. Heat floods every inch of skin, your breath rushes out of your nose with a sigh. 

He pulls back. 

"Happy anniversary," you say quietly, smiling at the sheer relief in his eyes. 

"It was yesterday," he says, quiet too. 

"Happy one year and one day, then." You push him away from you gently. "Don't suffocate your roses." 

"You got me flowers." 

"You get people gifts when you're grateful," you parrot. 

He takes a step back and accepts the flowers. On the message card, you've written, bashful and clumsy and adoring, I'm grateful to love you. One year and more. 

He moves the bouquet into one hand and wraps you up in another huh, firm-armed, chin over the top of your head, though he intersperses his embrace with dainty kisses pecked from one temple to another. 

"You aren't mad?" he asks, worried about the answer. 

"No," you say honestly. "Not mad. Missed you like crazy yesterday, but I get you today. I can make it work." 

When you break apart a second time, you both buckle under the weight of his colleagues watching.

"Thank you," Rossi speaks up, grand and wry, "we thought we'd have to endure his moping for at least a week. Your understanding spares us all." 

"Nice, Dave," Aaron says. 

"I've got your paperwork, Hotch," Morgan offers. 

Aaron has the good sense to accept it before Morgan can change his mind. His friends say goodbye, and Aaron pulls you by the hand back to the elevator bank. You couldn't wipe the smile off of his face if you tried. 

The elevator doors have barely closed when he's leaning down to kiss you again. 

"Thank you," he says. 

"You really don't have to say thank you," you murmur, bumping your shoulder with his. "You got home safe. That's all that matters." 

His next kiss is bruising. The sound of cellophane crushed between you makes you laugh. He kisses you through it, his smile pressed feverishly to yours, over and over and over.

༺༻

thank you for reading! if you enjoyed please consider reblogging, i promise it makes a difference to me <3

It’s More About Looks Than Skill (X)

Pairing: Ryuk/Reader

Summary: Ryuk finds himself gaining feelings for Light Yagami’s best friend, but she doesn’t know he exists. When he makes the grave mistake of touching her, he makes things a lot more complicated.

Notes: New year new chapter, but let’s hope I update more frequently than that now lol. Please leave me a kick in the ass so I stop procrastinating, thanks! And also big thank you to the immense support. Love you guys <3

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list! If I wasn’t able to tag you, please check your settings and send me another ask.

Chapter X

She really couldn’t help herself. What sane person wouldn’t start screaming the second they hopped onto a Shinigami’s back and started flying? She clung onto Ryuk’s neck for dear life, her legs wrapped around his middle while his wings flapped them higher and higher until they’d reached a thick level of fluffy clouds with the dark sky above them. There, the wings stopped flapping, and she found herself gliding through the air, her hair being pulled back by the gentle breeze. She realized how harshly she was squeezing Ryuk, and quickly loosened her grip to a point that she was still comfortable she wouldn’t be able to accidentally let go.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured in his ear. It was actually very beautiful, now that she took a good look around her. Below the white, she could see all sorts of lights from the city flickering through, as if they were mirroring the stars above.

“I can take it. I just wasn’t expecting you to scream, is all,” Ryuk replied gently, “I thought you wanted to fly?”

Keep reading

A Fate You Can’t Escape

Summary: Hungry and alone in the bunker the reader decides to take the Impala into town for a quick trip to get dinner. But things don’t go as planned and the reader tries her hardest to escape the consequences of her actions before the brothers return from their hunt. But as things go from bad to worse the reader begins to discover that some times you can’t escape your fate.

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 8,900

Warnings: Car Accidents

You were laying on the couch in the Dean cave watching some new show on Netflix when your stomach just started rumbling. You tried to ignore the grumbling, but it got to the point that you couldn’t anymore. If you didn’t eat something soon you were gonna be sick.

You groaned, you knew there was practically no food in the kitchen. There might have been a slice of bread, but that wasn’t gonna hold you over. Neither Sam or Dean were home, Garth had picked them up for help with a case in the area and they promised to pick up supplies and grocery’s on their way back. The problem was you expect them back two hours ago and you hadn’t heard from them.

You could wait for them, but you had no idea when they were going to be back and even if you manage to wait for them then you would have to wait till dinner was cooked.

Another violent grumble in your stomach told you that you weren’t going to be able to wait and decided to go into town yourself and pick up some food.

Although that brought up another problem. Your car was still out of commission after the last hunt you took it on. The impala was still in the garage, as Garth had picked the boys up, but Dean rarely lets you drive it, hell Sam barely gets the chance. You knew that Dean would not be happy if found out you took his baby, especially without asking first.

There were course several other cars in the garage, but half of them weren’t in working order having sat so long uncared for. Dean has been fixing them up in his free time, as a hobby and way to clear his head. But lately, we’ve been so busy with back to back hunts we’ve hardly had any downtime. And the ones Dean has managed to fix up were stick shift and you had no idea how to drive them.

Without any other option, you headed to Dean’s room to get the keys to the impala. You thought about texting him, but he would probably make up some excuse and tell you they were on their way back now and just to wait for them. Of course, that’s what he said the last time you talked and yet they still weren’t here. You figured that as long as you didn’t linger around, you’d be able to get the food and come back before them.

“Pizza for Y/N.” You said to the man behind the counter, he nodded his head and went back to fetch it.

Y/N, that’s a pretty name.” Said the elderly woman standing at the counter waiting for her order.

You gave her a short, but polite smile, “Thanks.”

“It’s so pretty, and it really fits you.” She stepped closer to you, closer than you would have liked, but you fought to hide your discomfort as she was just being a sweet old lady.

“And your hair. It’s so pretty!” She said reaching out as if she was going to run her hand through it. You immediately stepped back only for her to follow. You didn’t want to be rude but she beginning to make you uncomfortable.

You turned away from her staring back at the kitchen hoping your food would come out soon as you kept a watch on her from over your shoulder. Your feeling of uneasiness grew even more when she began asking you questions you were and where you lived. You made up a lie about just passing through town but then her questions only grew.

“Alright pizza and wings combo.” The man said setting the food down on the counter. You let out a sigh of relief and quickly paid for your food and rushed out of the restaurant.

The interaction left you feeling uneasy and you had this unshakable feeling in the pit of your stomach. You sat in the impala for a few seconds to makethe sure she didn’t follow you out and you even drove around the block a couple of times in hopes to settle that uneasiness.

After circling two blocks and another grumble of your stomach that reminded you how hungry you were, you got back on the main road and headed out of town.

You were driving out of town faster than the posted limit because you wanted to get back and dig into ‘your food. You weren’t concerned about speeding as it was a clear evening, no one was around, and Dean always drove at least fifteen over the limit.

You were about two miles out of town, coming across ‘Bendman’s Curve’ as the locals referred to it due to something that happened years ago. The curve was sharp and you slowed down to a more manageable speed, you were probably still driving a little faster than officials would have liked, but you have driven it many times and knew you would be fine at this speed.

That was until you were halfway through the curve and saw a water tank had tipped over and was laying on the side of the road. That wasn’t the problem though, the problem was the tank burst and was currently spilling all over the road. Between the angle of the curve and the water on the road, it was too much. The tires began to spin out and skid and the next thing you know you had last control of the front wheels. As a result, the impala was sliding across the road and despite all your efforts you could not regain control of the car.

Before you knew it the impala came to an abrupt stop as it crashed into the guardrail.

You pull your pounding head up from where it had collided with the steering wheel and as you brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear, you felt something wet. Blood. A look in the rearview mirror showed a large gash on your forehead.

You weren’t worried about that though. Despite the fact that everything was blurry and how light-headed you were feeling, you pushed past that feeling and climbed out of the impala.

Standing up was a mistake though, and if it wasn’t for the fact you were leaning against the impala you would have fallen to the ground. You slowly pushed yourself upright and made your way around the impala.

You inspected the area you crashed into. The front fender had taken the brute of the impact, causing the siding to cave in. The headlight had popped out too.

You were overwelmed with emotion. Dean was gonna kill you.

This car was his most valued possession. It’s the only thing he’s ever known since the age of four. He took care of his car, more than anyone else would. He washed and waxed it on a set schedule, he was constatly under the hood making sure everything was running just as it should be. The impala was more than just a car, it was a safe place he could take shelter from the monsters when he was a kid, it was a warm sight to see as John came back to pick him up from whatever motel he had dumped him at. It was the first car he learned how to drive and the first and only car he owned. She was his baby and the only home he has ever known. Even now that they have found the bunker and a constant place to rest their heads, the impala was truly where both boys felt at home, especially Dean.

Dean hardly ever lets Sam drive her, and the only time he’s ever let you drive her was because he got hurt on a hunt and Sam wasn’t around, and even then you had to plead with him that he couldn’t drive in the state he was in.

What were you thinking taking Baby without even asking Dean? He would have been mad, no not mad furious if he got home before you and found out you took her out for a ‘joyride’. But now, after he gets a look at her, mad wouldn’t even come close to the rage he will be feeling.

God how could you be so stupid, taking the impala was stupid enough but you knew how much Dean loves her, you should have taken extra care of her, you shouldn’t have been driving so fast, you should have watched the road more carefully for hazards.

You brought your hands up to head, ‘What did I do? What did I do?’ Kept repeating in your head. ‘If only I had driven slower, or if I left the restaurant right away instead of driving mindlessly around the block, or maybe if I waited longer.’

What you wouldn’t do to fix this.

Suddenly the pain in your head grew immensely. You felt dizzy and light-headed, and you went to grab your phone and call for help, but before you got a chance darkness overtook you.

You groaned as you opened your eyes. Your back and neck hurt from the position you were in so as carefully as you could you moved to sit up. It took you a few moments to clear the fogginess in your brain and get your eyes to focus, You were unsure of where you were.

As became more alert, you found yourself sitting in the impala, the ache in your neck and back due to the fact you had been hunched over the steering wheel. You began to remember what had happened, Bendman’s curve, the water truck, and the accident.

But the strange thing was you were no longer there. You vaguely remember passing out at the scene of the accident but now you find yourself waking up in a different place. Normally that wouldn’t be such a unnatural thing somebody found you, and called for help. But if that happened you be waking up in a hospital or even an ambulance. Or if Sam and Dean had found you, you’d find yourself waking up in the familiar sight of the garage in the bunker.

But that’s not where you found yourself. The blinding neon lights flashing in front of you put you back at the restaurant. How you got back here though, you weren’t sure.

You climbed out of the impala and made your way around to the front and were astonished to find baby’s front was unblemished. Her fender was shiny and pristine just like she was the day she rolled off the line. Dean really did a fine job taking care of her.

A fact that only made you feel more guilty for taking her without permission. You weren’t sure why or how you had such a vivid dream, but you were thankful for it. You had foresight of what could happen and you knew what to avoid.

You climbed back into baby and started her up. This time you wasted no time and got on the road. You drove her carefully, making sure to follow the speed limit and keeping your eyes moving for unexpected hazards in or around the road.

When you made it back to Bendman’s curve you were relieved to find the road clear and the water truck no where to be seen. Not willing to take any chances you slowed down below the curve’s speed limit. This curve was named after a tragic accident after all. You made it through the worst of the curve and you began to gently accelerate out of the curve.

You saw the black pickup truck driving towards you in the other lane. You watched it carefully and even moved over toward the side of the road when you thought it was going to crossover into your lane. When it readjusted its position in the center of the left lane you began to move back over. As you approached it closer you continued to watch it, though everything seemed fine.

Until it wasn’t.

Just as you were about to pass the truck, it crossed over into your lane and there was nothing you could do to avoid the head on collision. The impala came to a sudden and violent stop as it collided with the pickup truck.

Ringing. That’s all you could hear as your mind worked through the haze. All you felt was pain, excruciating pain. There was a deep pounding in your head, your chest ached due to the fact you had been jolten into the dashboard, and your legs had been pinned and crushed.

You were having a hard time focusing on anything other than the pain radiating throughout your whole body. You tried hard to concentrate and make your eyes work but your vision was fuzzy and disoriented. You could hear muffled voices, but you couldn’t make out what was being said.

Sacred and worried you began to wiggle and try to turn in the direction that voices were coming from. Which you soon found was a mistake as the pain doubled. You froze where you were, the position painful and uncomfortable but moving proved to be worse.

God, why is this happening to you!? You had a warning, and you took every precaution to make sure the ‘dream’ you had didn’t come to fruition but now not only did it happen but it was worse than predicted.

Forget the rage Dean would have towards you for taking his baby. He was going to kill you for destroying her.

“Miss, can you hear me!” A fuzzy voice was shouting at you. You couldn’t focus on it as you having a hard enough breathing right now.

After a couple more minutes you found that the pain had lessened in intensity, but you knew that wasn’t a good thing. Combined with the fact that your eyes felt extremely heavy and you found it a struggle to keep them open, you knew you wouldn’t have long if you didn’t receive medical attention soon.

Many regrets flashed through your mind. Not taking more time for yourself. Not living your life to its full potential. Not taking chances. Your mind showed you images of the green-eyed man who had captured your heart. He didn’t know about the crush you had on him and now he never will.

“Stay awake,” a voice commanded. But as much as you wanted to you couldn’t follow the demand. Not being able to fight anymore, your eyes slipped closed and the muffled voices around became silent.

You woke with a start, taking in the surroundings around you. You were confused trying to remember what happened. You remembered bits and pieces. You somewhat remembered the crash and you vividly remember the pain.

But your body felt fine now. You even sat up and took stock of your body looking for injuries and moving around feeling for any sort of pain. There was a creak in your neck from the way you had been hunched over the steering wheel, but other than that you were fine.

Baby herself was unharmed as well. Her once caved in dashboard was in perfect condition, the windshield was no longer a spiderweb of broken glass, and her frame was no longer bent out of shape.

You were back in front of the pizza parlor, after having just picked up your food. You were confused as to what was happening. Twice now you had been in an accident, or at least your thought you had, but then you woke up right back here.

Did you fall asleep? Was it all just a dream? But if it was just a dream, why do you fall asleep? You had been perfectly alert before picking up your food and now you’re passing out behind the wheel of baby? It just didn’t make sense.

Something was off, you could feel it in your gut. But yet you were always known to have vivid and wild dreams, it why you had a hard time believing that monsters were out there when you first attacked by one. You couldn’t have been sure that it wasn’t just your crazy imagination.

One thing was for sure though, you weren’t going to solve anything sitting here in the parking lot and the grumbling in your stomach reminded you how famished you were. Whatever was happening or more likely not happening, you could figure it out back at the bunker with the boys. Speaking of the boys you knew you need to get home before they did or rather when Dean did and spotted a Baby sized whole in the garage.

So ignoring everything that just happened, every confused thought you had, you got back on the road heading home. Your cleared your mind of everything that was happening and made getting home your first priority. Nothing else mattered. If something was going on, well it should stop when you were in the protective walls of the bunker, and if not well then you worked it out in the safety of the bunker with the boys while you chowed down on your food.

But your urgency to get home was less because of the strange things you thought you were experiencing and more due to the fact you wanted to get home before Dean. Real or not, twice now you had experienced deep regret about taking his car without even asking. You could imagine how angry he would be at you, for not only taking her but letting her get damaged on your watch. You didn’t want to feel that way again. You didn’t want to see the anger that would cross his face, anger which you caused. You didn’t want see his heartbroken stare as he took in the damage of not only his precious car but his home and his whole world. You would never forgive yourself for causing him such pain and you would never be able to get his hurt expression out of your head. It would haunt you in your dreams, even now just imagining it had left you shaken. The only way to make sure that didn’t happen was to get home before he could notice she was gone.

So you drove home, ignoring everything else happening in town, your only focus was on the two lanes ahead of you. The closer you got to home the more tension you felt lifted from you, you were going to make it. Everything was as it should be but as you approached Bendman’s Curve this nagging feeling in your gut grew. It was so much that just before entering the curve you pulled over to the side of the road.

You sat there trying to compose yourself. You felt silly sitting here, too afraid to move forward. You felt like a coward, but for the life of you, you could not make yourself precede forward.

Another rumble of your stomach reminded you of how hungry you were. You glanced over at your food sitting on the passenger seat. You wanted nothing more than to go home and dig into it, yet still, you couldn’t force youself to move. The thought briefly crossed your mind about eating here in the car, but you quickly dismissed the idea. Dean had a strict rule about eating in his baby. He let snacks and other small things go on long road trips, but never were you allowed to eat meals in his car, he strictly forbid it. Not willing to risk leaving a mess for Dean to find you chose just to wait until you got home, you be lucky enough if you got Baby home before he noticed, you weren’t willing to take the chance of committing two offenses.

You were lost in your own thoughts when suddenly a black truck came zipping out of the curve. Your eyes widen in shock as it drove past you, close enough that it almost hit you, in fact, if you hadn’t been parked on the side of the road they would have definitely hit you head on as the truck had crossed over into your lane.

You sat there, heart racing with adrenaline at the near miss you just had until the dream you had woken from came flashing back to your mind. That was the same truck that had plowed you down in your dream, from its color, to its make and model, to even the mud stains lining the driver’s side of the vehicle. Something was happening, any doubts you had that it was just a fluke, your imagination, or some crazy coincidence were gone. If you hadn’t felt some uneasiness in your gut that made you pull over you would have sure been flattened under the dashboard as the result of the collision.

You remember Sam briefly telling you about the vision or rather premonitions he used to get years ago. Could that be what was happening to you? It was the only reasonable explanation you could come up with, but then again it didn’t make sense. Sam’s premonitions were caused by the demon blood yellow eyes had given him as a baby. You weren’t one of ‘Azazel’s children’, you had been born five years prior so why was this all happening to you? And why now? You had gone your entire life without any of this happening, so what’s causing it now?

Now the urgency to get back to the bunker was even stronger. If those truly had been visions and they depicted you getting in a car wreck on your way home, then you were in trouble. You still had seven miles left, curse the bunker for being located so far from town, and just because you manage to nearly miss the accident a few minutes ago didn’t mean more couldn’t be along the way, there were a lot of idiot drivers after all.

In fact, the reoccurring theme in visions seems to make that pretty obvious. You avoid the first accident by taking a different route, you missed the second by pulling over at the right moment, two accidents was more than just a coincidence, there will be another.

You let out a frustrated yell when you opened your eyes. Once more you were back at the pizza parlor, this time a loose beam under the bridge slipped as the impala rolled over it. There was nothing you could do as the road slipped away right under your wheels and you went crashing into the watery grave below.

That was the seven time you had tried to make it home, each time a new problem rose up preventing you from completing the trek home. You felt stuck like there was nothing you could do. No matter how safe you drove, you never made it back. Some careless driver or unforeseen circumstances always won.

You had even tried to drive a completely different route home. One that would have taken you far longer to get home and risked the boys beating you home, but at the time you felt it was a safer option than the usual route, given that you died on it six times already.

It didn’t matter want you did or didn’t do, you always crashed, you never make home, and you always ended up right back here to due all over again.

Though you have noticed that no matter how long you took the loop never faltered. Every time you woke up, you woke at the same time, each time, 6:23. At first it had been a blessing it meant that you still had time to beat them home but as the loop continued your looked at the number with disdain. You were trapped in an unless cycle.

The only thing you haven’t tried was waiting the hour out. You hated doing it as you wanted more than anything to beat the boys home, a fact you don’t even know why was so important anymore given everything going on.

You still had no idea what was going on. Was your loop tied to the hour? Was it some sort of bad luck on the roads? Who knows? But right now your only option was to stay off of the road. Maybe when the hour passes this will be all over. Maybe once it gets later the amount of people on the road will dwindle down and you would have fewer hazards to worry about when you try once again to go home.

You still wanted to beat the boys home, but this was the only card you had left at the moment. You decided you rather take the chance of Dean finding out you took Baby without asking and the anger that would result than the rage he would feel when you crashed her. Plus you had expected the boys nearly two and a half hours ago. You’re not sure what has delayed them but maybe it might take them even longer to get back and you could still beat them home. Right?

You walked into the restaurant and found an open table and dug into your food. You had to hold back a moan after the first bite of the pizza. God, it was so good! It almost made you forget all of your regrets.

You’ve had pizza before, but never one quiet like this. It was cheesy, but not overpowering and the sauce was thick and rich, the best consistency, which prevents the crust from becoming soggy, an issue you had with a lot of pizza places. Since you moved into town with the boys it quickly became your favorite and you honestly hated getting pizza anywhere else now.

You took your time enjoying every bite of your food, to savoring it, and too waste time. When you finished you had time to kill and you check for a message from Sam or Dean. There was nothing and you were conflicted as to if that was good or bad. The lack of communication could be from whatever was holding them up or if they had made it back Dean could be waiting until you got home to unleash his fury. You weren’t sure if you wanted them to text you, to let you know that they were home, or for Sam to give you a heads up that Dean wasn’t happy.

As you stared down mindlessly at your phone willing the time to pass faster. You had twenty more minutes to wait before you could back on the road. As you waited you glanced around the restaurant for the old woman from earlier. She was nowhere to be found which made you chuckle in an annoyed way.

All of this started because of her. She neglect the curiosity of personal space and just overall creeped you out. All because of that interaction you drove around town in circles in fear that she was following you. You wondered if you hadn’t wasted time, if you had gone straight home would you still be stuck in the situation you were now?

As the seconds ticked by of the last minute of the hour, you watched in anxious anticipation. You squeezed your eyes shut at the last second in fear of what might happen when the hour went passed. You kept your eyes closed for a few moments. When you opened your eyes would you see the dashboard of the impala or the booth you had been sitting in?

You expected to feel something when the hour mark passed. A whoosh as you transport through space and time, dizziness as you reset in the loop, pain, anything at all.

After several moments of nothing you slowly pride your eyes open. Relief flooded over as you opened your eyes to find yourself still in the pizza parlor. You looked at the time 7:25. You broke the loop.

Not wasting another second you ran out the door and back to the impala, not even bothering to clean up garbage as you raced out the door. You’d feel guilty about it later, but right now nothing mattered but getting back to the bunker, hopefully, before the Winchesters did.

You ran across the parking lot and into the driver’s seat. You moved so quickly you even fumbled trying to put the key in the ignition. When you finally got it baby roared to life, a sound that would always bring a smile to your face, maybe you like Dean in that sense.

Despite your rush to get home, you had not forgotten about everything you have gone through. How could you, it had become a curse upon you, a fate that you couldn’t escape. Until now.

You made sure the path was clear and pulled out of the spot you parked in and then drove off towards the road. There was a car approaching fast, though it looked like you would have just enough time to pull out. But given your history today, that was not a chance you were willing to take, so you waited the extra seven seconds till the car passed. You pulled out the parking lot and made it a little down the road before you came to a stop at the traffic light. Once it was green you proceed ahead heading home.

However, in the corner of your eye, you saw it. A car coming from the opposite direction who thought they could make it running the red. There was nothing you could do to react, nothing you could do to stop the collision that was about the happened.

You were shaken in the impala as the car collided with the driver’s side of the car. The impala was pushed off the road and onto a nearby sidewalk.

Your head had made a violent impact with the window when the car smashed into you. Your head was ringing and your vision was blurry, a feeling you were becoming all too familiar with.

You let out a long and exasperated sign. You couldn’t do this anymore. Thirty accidents. Thirty failed attempts to get home. No matter what you did the outcome was always the same. You had reach your breaking point. You had no ideas left and were out of hope. What was the point to keep trying when nothing changed?

You sat at the scene of your latest accident, the impala’s front had been pushed over to the side of the road while the back end remained in the road. Some idiot had rammed into her from behind.

This accident was different from the rest. Taking stock of your body you couldn’t see or feel anything wrong. All of the previous crashes were serve enough that you had been injured in the impact. You weren’t sure if you died each time or if the loop had reset when you passed out. But this time you were completely alert.

You were confused and unsure of what you should do now. You had never lasted this long after the accident. All you knew was that you couldn’t do this anymore and not wanting to waste another second of whatever time you had left, you pull your phone out of your back pocket. While anyone else would be calling the police or their insurance representatives when placed in a situation like this, there was only one person you wanted to talk to.

The ringing seemed to go and on. You didn’t know what you were going to do if you couldn’t get a hold of him. The constant reliving of the same event was one thing but for that loop to change and you couldn’t get a hold of the one person who could help you out. Well, that felt like a fate worst than death. One thing you knew for certain was that you could not take this anymore.

“Hello. Y/N you there?”

You hadn’t even realized he picked up, you had been too lost in your thoughts. “DEAN!” You shouted.

“Hey sorry, we’re late we ran into some trouble on the way back. I’ll explain it all when we get back.”

They weren’t even home yet. God that hurt. Despite all your wishing that you could beat them home now you wished he was home, so he come and help you out of the hole you seemed to be lost in.

“Dean I need help.” You said urgently, emotion overtaking you. There was no doubt Dean could hear the distress in your voice.

“Woah Y/N what happened?”

“I….I…I” You were now gasping as you tried to explain what you have been through.

“Y/N take a breath. Slow Down.” He ordered. “I need you to calm down so you can tell me what happened.” Someone how your body had responded to him and you took several deep breaths feeling your heart steady a bit. “Good, good girl, now what’s going on?”

“I didn’t know where you were and I got hungry, so I took the impala..” You paused waiting for his reaction. A sharp inhale, a grunt of anger, or something. Yet there was nothing he had either reacted in his facial expression knowing you wouldn’t be able to see or he was hiding his reactions as he didn’t want to upset you further than you were right now. “I just went to the pizza parlor, but now I can’t get home.”

“You can’t get home?” Dean interrupted you sounded slightly annoyed but then were quick to hide it.

“No like I literally can’t. I’ve tried at least thirty times. Something always stops me. Every time I get hit or run over and then I wake up right back at the restaurant. Dean, I don’t know what to do.”

“Alright Y/N calm down where are you now?”

“Highway 42 just passed the fallen barn. Dean, I’m so sorry.” You said crying. “I never dreamed that any of this would happen when I took your car. I should have never done it, taking her without asking, I really don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Calm down Y/N, it’s gonna be alright. Are you okay, are you hurt?”

You looked over yourself once more, “No I don’t think so they hit the back this time.”

“Okay stay right where you are. We’re on our way just stay there.”

It was roughly an hour later when you saw Garth’s beat up car pull up. Dean was quick to jump out of the car and run over to the impala. The rest of the emotion you had managed to hold back came flooding out as soon as you saw him.

You expected him to run to the back to see the damage that occur in the collision, the damage that you caused. But he didn’t, instead, he ran to where you were leaning against the hood. You looked down as he approached. “Are you okay?”

“I…I’m f… fine,” You crooked out. “I wasn’t hurt.” You weren’t able to look him in the eyes too ashamed of what you’d done and afraid to see the look on his face, the anger and the hatred that you were sure had to be there. “Dean I’m so so sorry. I know that nothing I will ever do will be able to change what I’ve done, the damage I’ve caused. And I know you probably never be able to forgive me, but I just need you to know that I truly am sorry.” You cried.

“Y/N sweetheart look at me.” He spoke in a gentle voice. And that nickname he used, you knew it meant nothing, he’s used it all the time on victims he came across. But your heart couldn’t help but flutter in response.

Dean put his finger under your chin and gently lifted your eyes to meet his. “I’m not worried about that. I’m more concerned with how you are.”

“Dean you haven’t even see it yet, the damage that …that I caused.” Another tear slipped down your cheek.

“All that can wait. Whatever is damage can be replaced. You can’t.” Dean brushed the tear from your cheek and tucked a strand of hair that had fallen in your face behind your ear. You watched his eyes furrow at you when he did.

“That’s bleeding a lot Y/N.” He brought his hand up to your forehead and touched the gash on your head and you winced in response. “Why didn’t you say something?”

You looked at your reflection in the windshield of the impala. “I didn’t know, I honestly didn’t even feel it.” You confessed. Dean led you back to the driver’s seat and sat you down and then he moved to the back of the impala. You tried to get a look at his face, to see his reaction once he saw the damage, but you couldn’t get see from where you sat.

Dean pride open the trunk of the implala and return to you with the first aid kit. He began to fuss over your wound, cleaning the area and preparing to bandage it. “Dean really I’m fine.” You said trying to stop his hands and moving your head away.

Dean was persistent though and his one hand easily caught both of yours and held them out of his way while he continued to work. “Y/N that was a lot of blood.”

“You know how head wounds are, they’re overdramatic. Really I feel fine.”

“Nevertheless let me take care of you.”

Dean was finishing placing the bandage on your head when Sam came walking over. “How are you feeling Y/N?”

“Just peachy.” You said with a slight sigh.

He gave you a sympathetic look. “Mr. Davis over there takes full responsibility for the crash,” He must have flashed his badge and had been handling the scene. “He said he leaned down to grab his phone which had fallen and wasn’t watching the road.”

This was a fact you had already known as you had talked to the man after you got off the phone with Dean. Dean had yet to show any anger or any inclination that he was upset about the accident, until now that was. You watch Dean’s eyes narrow as Sam spoke then he closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. You could see the rage bubbling below the surface, but when he opened his eyes again all you saw was concern for you.”

“I called Garth at the motel, he’s on his way with a tow truck as she’s not gonna anywhere and I figured you’d rather fix her up yourself.”

Dean nodded his head in response. “Yeah, I saw that too. Back left wheel popped.”

“Dean I’m sor…”

“Shhh Y/N”, Dean said placing a gentle hand on your cheek. “The damage is not that bad. Sidings dented in on the back side and the tire popped on impact with the truck. But that’s nothing I can’t fix. I’m just glad you called me when you needed help.

Sam knelt down next to Dean, “Speaking of Y/N what’s going on?”

You ran anxious fingers through your hair, “I’m not sure I decided I wanted food and went to the pizzeria, got back on the roa to head back and I got into an accident. I passed out only to wake back outside the pizza parlor to do it all again.”

You went on to tell them everything you have been through, every accident, everything you saw and felt on your countless attempts to get home. Sam and Dean nodded their head as you explained everything and when you finished they paused thinking it over.

“And how did you break the cycle?” Sam asked.

You shook your head. “I didn’t. I don’t know what happened I still may reset now.”

Dean looked at his watch and shook his head. “It’s been over an hour since the crash I think if you were gonna reset it would have happened already.”

“So why didn’t I?”

“You said you passed out after each accident right?”

“Yeah, due to the trauma I endured during each crash. I never made it past five minutes afterwards.”

Dean nodded his head in response. “So every time you’ve lost consciousness the loop has reset.” Sam finished Dean’s thoughts.

Dean frowned, “Which means you still could reset if you fall asleep.”

His words made your eyes widen and send a shiver down your spine in fear.

“It’s alright Y/N. We’re gonna figure this out.” Sam said placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. “Can you try and recall anything that you encounter that was strange or out of the ordinary?”

“You mean besides getting into thirty crashes in a row?” You deadpanned, You shook your head, “I don’t know all I really did was drive. I would go different ways or at different times in hopes I could get back, but it never worked.”

Sam and Dean’s faces mirror each other as they puzzled over what could be the cause of your endless cycle.

“Though there was this woman.” You said as you remembered how this truly started.

“What woman?” Dean asked.

“When I was waiting for the food there was this older woman at the counter waiting for hers as well. She started making causal conversation with me but then she started creeping me out.”

“What did she do?” Sam inquired.

“Nothing really. I mean there was the whole neglecting the curiosity of personnel space thing, but is more of the feeling I got. She left me uneasy and for a moment I thought she was following me, so I drove in circles around town trying to lose the tail I thought I had.”

“And then what happened?”

“Once I thought I shook her I got back on the main road to head back to the bunker and then I got into my first accident.”

“Did she say anything unusual?” Dean asked. You furrowed your brow, “You know like something that might lead to our kind of work. Chanting, spells, or anything?”

You shook your head, “Not that I know of. She tried to touch me, but I stepped back.”

“Touch you? How?” Dean asked voice slightly raising.

“She compliment my hair and then tried to run her fingers through it.” Sam and Dean shared a look communicating wordlessly. “Guys, what is it?”

Dean brought his hands out to you, “May I?” He asked as he reached for your jacket.

You nodded your head in response. Dean began running his hands up and down your coat. What he was searching for you weren’t sure, but he left no trace unturned as he scanned your sleeves and your pockets.

When he reached in your left pocket his hand stilled. You watched him pull out a small brown bag wrapped closed with leather. A hex bag.

You couldn’t believe you had no idea it was there. All this time you had been carrying it around with you and you hadn’t even felt it. Nor had you felt the woman place it in your pocket, but I guess that was the whole point.

Dean quickly took at his lighter and burned the bag into ashes effectively ending its cruel spell. You felt relief flow over you as you watched it burn. It was over. It was finally over.

“Damn witches.” You mumbled in embarrassment. You were nowhere near the level of expertise that Sam and Dean were but you still felt like should have figured it out sooner.

“Yeah, they are tricky bastards.” Dean said sharing a knowing glance with Sam.

“What do you mean?”

“The reason we were late, was because of witches they put a border spell around the town and we couldn’t leave until we broke the spell.”

“What’s that have to do with any of this.”

“We caught one of the witches. Their coven order then to do whatever possible to distract us.”

“Distract not kill? Doesn’t that seem strange?”

“That was exactly our thought.” Sam said. “And it looks like you got the same hit. I think it’s got something to do with Rowena, she was acting very strange the last time we ran into her and whatever she working on she clearly doesn’t want us getting wind.”

“Yup, but that’s something we can figure out later. For now, you need to rest.”

“Dean I told you I feel fine.”

“Sure you do, but head injuries are nothing to mess with. You may feel fine now because of a delayed reaction. Plus we don’t know what kind of trauma that might linger after thirty head injuries.”

Later that night

After getting back to the bunker you reheated your food, it was a miracle it was only slightly shaken in the crash. It would have really been a letdown if you endured all that for nothing. You ate with the boys and talked over the day’s events.

Once you were done you were feeling stuffed and tired so you laid down to take a nap

When you woke though you didn’t feel well rested instead there was a throbbing in your skull. You glanced at the clock seeing it was just after midnight. Not feeling like you would be able to sleep you decide to eat or research or whatever, you would decided on the way.

However, when you walked out of the room and started making your way down the hall you heard a clanging noise and despite the ache in your head, you followed the sound.

It led you to the garage where you found Dean working away on his baby. “How’s it coming?” You asked announcing your presence.

Dean stopped what he was doing and turned around to face you. “She’s coming along.” He said placing his tools down. In truth, she was looking better. Dean had already replaced her wheel and he was working on smoothing out her surface.

Despite his success though you still felt guilty. “Dean.” You said your voice changing as the emotion came back.

Dean looked back at you, “Y/N, don’t.”

“Dean,” You repeated, “I know I’ve said it before but I’m so sorry.”

“I know Y/N. I’m not angry at you.” He admitted.

Your eyes widen in shock, “How? I know I don’t need to tell you this, but she’s more than just a car Dean. She’s been the one constant thing in your life. She’s protected you and looked after you more than anyone else ever has. She is where your heart is, where your home is, and where you are truly the happiest. And I knew that. I don’t know why I thought I could just borrow her, especially without even running it past you.”

Dean rested his hands against the impala and leaned on her, “Why did you.”

You brushed your hand through your hair, “ I don’t know. I guess it was because I never get to drive her and I thought it would be a short trip. I guess I was feeling a little rebellious. I’ve told you about the girl I used to be, shy, innocent, and always following my mother’s orders. I guess I just saw it as a chance to break a rule without consequence and without you knowing. Though if I would have known what would happen I would have just starved until you guys got back.”

“You could’ve asked Y/N.” He said in a genuine tone.

“Oh come on Dean. Are you seriously trying to tell me you wouldn’t have made up some excuse for me not to? You hardly let me drive her as it is or Sam for that matter.”

Dean smirked as he thought it over, “I suppose you got a point there. How are you doing?”

“Okay.”

“No lasting effects from the multitude of head bashing?”

“Nope.” You lied. In truth, your headache was starting to grow in intensity so much so that the light was starting to bother you. “You know it’s funny all that I went through, after every crash and I reset back in front of the restaurant and all I could think was I got a second chance to fix this. To get her home before you figured out I took her and get her back safely. If I just called you after the third, fourth, hell even the fifth crash, I could have saved myself a lot of time and pain. I was focused on trying to escape the hand fate dealt me I missed what was really happening.”

Dean let out a small chuckle, “Yeah I guess so. Do you remember it all?”

“Yeah, it wasn’t like your endless loop with the trickster. I remember all the pain I went through and every last minute thought that crossed my mind as the end drew near.”

“Like what?”

“Oh um, just you know the usual stuff.” You said sheepishly. “Stuff I didn’t do, things I didn’t say, and that sort of thing. Love not shared.” You added softly at the end.

Judging by the way Dean’s eyes lit up though he seems to have heard you. He came to your side. “You know I was so worried when you called me tonight. You sounded so worried, so frightened. I didn’t like that. I didn’t like not being there for you.”

“I’m sorry. I was just so afraid I was gonna reset and I didn’t know what else to do.”

“Don’t be. I’m glad that you called me when you needed help. And for the future Y/N, I don’t want you ever to be afraid of calling me when you need help because you’re afraid of how I’m gonna react. If you need help, I’m there. We could work out whatever else later.”

“Thanks, Dean.” You said a warm feeling settling in your chest. “I really appreciate that.”

Dean hummed in response, “So this unfounded love. Anyone I know?” He asked.

You felt your cheeks heat up as the blush rose to them. You wanted to lie as you were ashamed to admit your feelings. You’ve had a crush on him for three years now and every time you tried to confess your feelings it’s as if you’re hit with laryngitis.

But based on the way Dean was looking at you, with the knowing smirk, you knew he would see through your lie. “Just someone who I love very much. He takes care of me in so many ways. Looks out for me and helps me out even when I don’t know it or think I need it. He makes me feel loved and special and makes me believe that there is good in life. He makes my heart flutter with his endearing pet names and his touch is so gentle and sweet.” You looked away from him choosing instead to look past him at baby where he had been fixing her. “I know he doesn’t reciprocate those feelings in the way that I do, but that’s okay because to be loved by him, even as a friend is more than I can ever ask for.”

Dean followed your glance back at his car. “You know you were right she does mean a lot to me. And don’t get me wrong I would kill anyone who tired to take her from me, but there’s one thing you got wrong.” You looked back at him. “Baby is not where my heart lies. My heart lies with the woman who stole it. She’s a dream I never thought I’d get and I cherish every moment I have with her. Whether we’re laughing at cheesy old movies or singing along to the music on the road. I would love more than anything to take her as mine and spend the rest of my life with her.” Dean said grabbing your hands in his own and leaning in for a kiss.

You weren’t sure if this was real, a dream, or a crazy hallucination brought forth by your aching head but either way, you weren’t gonna let this moment pass by. You closed the gap between the two of you as you mapped out his mouth with yours. You only parted when the need for air forced you to and you pull your lips back with a big smile on your face.

Dean had a matching smile of his own and the two of you stood there in each other’s arms happy as can be. Dean stared into your eyes lovestruck for several moments until suddenly his expression changed as his brow raised, “How’s the head Y/N?” He asked amused.

“Good.”

His brow raises further with a smirk on his lips. “Really so you wouldn’t mind if I got back to work pounding out this siding?”

“Actually..” You began before Dean interrupted you.

“Your head hurts doesn’t it?”

“How did you know?”

“I recognize the sign of a concussion Y/N and your dilated pupils and droopy eyelids are a clear giveaway. Why didn’t you say something sooner.”

“I didn’t think it was anything more than a small headache.”

Dean gave you a bitchface, “With all the head trauma you’ve had today?”

“Not hold on we don’t know that the last twenty-nine have lasting side effects seeing as I reset after each one?” You counter.

Dean shook his head smiling. “Come on.” He said taking your hand and leading you back into the bunker. “We’re getting you some Advil and getting you back to bed.”

“Only if you stay with me.”

“Always sweetheart.” He said while placing a kiss on your temple.

canon garrett

My Favorite The Maze Runner Fanfictions 🏃‍♂️

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Daichi: I love all my children equally! hinata, yamauguchi, *looks at smudged handwriting on his hand* kagayllama, tanatoe, noma and *squints* sushi