Latest Posts by annewashere - Page 3

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.

Well. Look at that. Anyways, I wrote this last night while I was drunk.

Peter looks at you from across the room, disgusted by ur gayness.

“Ew. How could u be gay. That’s so gross and totally wrong.” He says.

You look at him like he’s the numbest bitch in the planet. “Peter. Ur literally so stupid. Even frogs r gay.” You counter, still being gay as ever.

Peter narrows his eyes at you, “yeah well those frogs are going to like hell.”

YOu let out a loud laugh and simply counting r to stare at him. “You wanna get fucked by a gay grl.” You tease, beckoning him to come to the bathroom with you.

Peter’s eyes go very wide, but he is intrigued. Even if ur very very gay. So he stands up and goes to the bathroom with you.

You look him in the eyes and smile again. “So what u ganna do for me baby girl?” He asks, a big ass smirk when j his face.

“I’m ganna fuck u until you can’t walk” u say, pulling down his pants.

“Oh god please” peter moans, grabbing your hips and pulling you close. “I want u to tick me so hard please” he begs. Kissing your very soft juicy lips.

You let out a moan, kissing him back very passionately. “Mmm Parker” you grunt, despite not even liking men.

You finish stripping him from all his cloths, then you take off your own. “Wow Peter ur so sexy. I can’t wait to fuck your fat cock”

You push him onto the sink and slowly begin to sink onto his big ginormous fat cock. It feels so good inside you which makes you leg out a loud moan. You grip his hair tight, tugging his brow curls. “Mmmm sexy.”

You groan.

His hands grip ur hips ahead he leads ur hips up and down on his big man

Ohhhhhhh” he cries, kissing ur neck sloppily. “Gosh ur so hot baby” he cries, feeling u on his cock.

You let out another moan before hopping off his big dick, flipping him around, and bumming in his big juicy asshole.

Peter cute too, squirting all over the sink. “Ohhhh shit that felt so good” he moans.

+++

Peter found out he was probate about three months later. He couldn’t. Be more scared of having a gay bitches baby. How could he possibly have the bay of a gay Bo. Like what. Anyways, he was so very pregnant and Tony was so upset because his son is so young and so very pregnant.

But Steve thinks that it’s a miracle from the gays that he’s pregnant with your gay baby.

So Peter is told he has to has it because it’s a gay blessing from a hot sexy woman who got him prhegnage

So he keeps being very very primate u Gil it’s time to deliver. And he had the hunky ads baby and feels so proud cause he’s a mommy now.

But ur a mommy too.

Peter reali3/ he’s so gay because he’s a mommy a fan yoruens a mommy so you’re hay.

Peter is ashamed of his gay self and decides to tie. The baby to bucket because his one hand will be a better mummy them him.

The end.

+++

I’m so so so sorry. Also, if you commented on the OG 🤨 I tagged you

Taglist

@saltistic-dumbassss @t-hollanderrerr @crumpets-are-better-with-jam @clairebearfr @superficial-saturnrings @innieblogg @thetallscorpiobee @spider-biter

Hi can I ask for a blurb where Peter accidently hits the reader while playing or something like he sometimes forgets about his super strength but fluff at the end please 🥺.

this got away from me but this was so fun and cute to write!

“I kinda want a black eye.” 

Your boyfriend slowly lowered the bag of peas on his left eye, his elbow dropped daringly, forcing you to look at the dark purple hue. 

“Oh, really?” 

You nod, “it looks gnarly but it’d be cool to have one.” 

“Baby, my heartbeat is currently taking place from my eyeball. You don’t want one.” 

Stretching across the space on the couch you raise Peter’s hand back up so he can ice the bruise some more, it does look painful. 

“I think if you loved me you’d give me one.” 

Peter took a second to see if that sentence would resonate with you but it hadn’t. 

“We should go to the women's shelter and spread that knowledge.” 

You scoff, “they weren't asking for it, Peter. I am.” 

Your boyfriend lowered his temporary ice pack and reached a hand out, his thumb rubbed under your eye, you almost thought he was thinking about it. Almost. 

“I’d never. I would, however, patch you up if you ever got one.” 

“Do you have a friend that could-” 

“No.” 

—------------------------------------

Oh FUCK did your eye HURT. 

It was on a level ten throb level, it felt like a ring stretching to your eyebrow and nose. You couldn’t even open it, all you could do was press your hand to it and try and stop the pressure from building, it didn’t work. 

You were able to blink it open just enough to be blinded by the living room light, you’ve never been so light sensitive. Squeezing it shut you winced, you tried to be understanding and calm; it was an accident after all. But the pain was spreading all over your face and you had a target right on the corner of your right eye, and it hurt. 

If your right eye could open it’d be shedding tears too, you had one continuance stream coming from your left eye. 

Your voice bubbles with pain, “petey, it hurts.” 

Your boyfriend couldn’t even breathe right now, he had hurt you. The one thing he swore he would never, could never do, and he did it. Panic flooded his body, panicked he’s caused serious damage, panicked you’d be scared of him, panicked you’d dump him, panicked your dad would come curbstomp him. 

“It hurts so bad,” he knows you’re calling out for him, he knows you need him, but all he could replay was the ‘whack!’ in his head. It wasn’t gentle in the slightest, you whipped away from him with a hiss, your hand immediately covering your eye. You had been okay at first but after a minute had passed it became nearly unbearable.

Peter knows how bad a black eye hurts, and he just gave you one. 

His short, barely there breaths start to stutter.  

And suddenly Peter couldn’t see because his vision was muddled by tears, he tried to blink them back but they ran. He can’t remember the last time he’s cried, but this brought him to his knees. He never wanted to punish himself more than in that second. He should’ve been quicker, he should’ve known you were behind him, he has those goddamn senses and they did nothing in that moment. 

“Peter!” A desperate cry for attention, you don’t know what to do, it hurts more than you could imagine. 

You look up at your boyfriend still standing in shock where he jumped away from you after hitting you directly in your eye. A wrestling battle, you had tried to take him down after he’d pinned you three times. In an effort of a sneak attack you crawled up the couch and tried to jump on his back where he sat on the floor. You dived and at the last moment his hand… well you don’t know what he was trying to do but it connected hard to your cheekbone. 

Your back hit the couch and you held your hand as you hissed and groaned in hurt, Peter scrambled up and backed up behind the coffee table, as if he was scared to be around you.  

He’s crying, your boyfriend’s crying. You’ve been punched and he’s crying. 

“I’m.. I’m sorr.. Fuck.” Peter snaps out of it, you need him. He crosses to the couch in two steps, his hand cupping your cheek. It makes everything in him deflate when you flinch as he touches you, he bites his bottom lip to stop a sob. “Baby, I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” 

His heart hurts as you cry, his thumb taps at your hand covering the damaged eye. The one he caused. 

“Let me see it, please?” Peter said it like a question, like he’d ever be lucky enough to have that privilege. 

You sob, “it hurts.” 

Peter blinks, more tears. He can’t believe he’s crying over this, he also can’t believe he hit his fucking girlfriend. 

“I know, I know it does, baby. Please let me see it.” 

You choke in air to stop your crying, it works. You slowly lift your hand off your eye, it’s not throbbing as much but the pressure has inflated tenfold and you couldn’t open it if you tried, it was swollen shut. You tried to gauge a reaction out of him, to see how bad it is. You forgot your boyfriend had the world’s best poker face. 

Peter wanted to curl up into a ball when he saw the damage. 

It was bruising, and swollen and you couldn’t open your eye and it was all his fault. 

His fault, his fault, his fault. 

If he was normal, if he was a normal boyfriend, this wouldn’t have happened. A normal teenager doesn’t have the strength to hold a ferry or stop a runaway bus, he does. And he used that strength on you. 

His powers, his abilities, his strength.

His fault, his fault, his fault. 

“You need ice.” Is all that could come out. A wince wraps over your face when you nod, you try to sit up and groan. “Everything hurts. How do you do this? Pain has to affect you differently, right?” Peter ignored you as he backed away, you don’t think he’s ever been so aware of his surroundings and actions. 

He shouldn’t be getting ice, he shouldn’t be putting it in a plastic bag and wrapping a rag around it, he shouldn’t be grabbing you tylenol extra strength, he shouldn’t be icing your black eye he caused. 

His fault, his fault, his fault. 

It scared you how quiet he was, the accidental punch was just that. You weren’t upset at him or scared he would do it again, you were scared how odd he was acting. He was strangely quiet and standoffish, when he came back to you with ice and pills you watched him think about holding the bag to your eye but stopped and put it in your hand. 

He shifted his weight and looked at the couch, he stepped back and sat on the coffee table. 

Peter cried and was quiet and standoffish and scared to touch you. He was terrified of himself, you may be physically hurt but he was emotionally broken, his one major thing washed down the drain. Accident or not he gave you a black eye, and it was tearing him up inside. 

You hummed when ice hit the hot skin, suddenly it didn’t hurt. 

“Am I right, super high pain tolerance?” 

It’s like you broke through a wall, Peter looked up at you like he just found out you were in the room. 

“I hit you.” 

You would’ve rolled your eyes if you could’ve. 

“That’s a little dramatic.” 

Peter shook his head, upset you weren’t upset. 

“I hit you hard, I hurt you. I…” His hand pulled at his curls so hard you grit your teeth. “I fucking hit you,” he whispered it, like his own mind couldn’t wrap it around. 

He doesn’t pull out the fuck word often. 

You thought about reaching out for his hand, but you think that’d made things worse. 

“I’m not scared of you, petey. It was an accident.” 

“I swore i’d never hurt you, that I would never hit you and I didn’t-” 

“Mean it.” You cut him off, “you didn’t mean it.” 

Peter rubbed at his jaw and blinked, you saw tears puddling and you wanted to do nothing more than hold him. He couldn’t stop thinking about it, you lowered the bag of ice from your eye prepared to switch seats. He wouldn’t let you. 

“Ice.” Cold and hard, like you had no other option. You didn’t question him, you followed instructions. 

“Remember when you asked me to give you a black eye months ago?” 

It was a joke. Sure, you saw a tiktok with a girl who had one and you couldn’t deny it looked a little cool. Then seeing one on Peter the same night you couldn’t shake it. You were just playing around, it’s not like it was that serious. 

“I was joki-” 

“I told you I'd never, and I did. I hit my girlfriend and gave her a black eye.” 

Disgust. That’s what it was. He was disgusted with himself. 

You sat up straight, your lip curled up. 

A black eye? Sick.

“Wait, really?” 

Peter looked up at your excitement, it came from nowhere. 

“You gave me a black eye? I have a black eye right now? For real, for real?” 

This wasn’t a cute or funny thing, and he won’t let you make it be one. 

He hit you.

“This isn’t funny, I hit you and you’re happy you got a black eye?” 

“Pete, I forgive you. And not just cause you gave me a black eye, because it was an accident and you didn’t mean to and you’re obviously extremely remorseful.” 

“But I-” 

You reached out for his hand, “forgive yourself. You forgive yourself.” 

It wouldn’t be instant, until your eye healed, which would be at a much slower rate than him, he wouldn’t be able to fully forgive himself. 

“No more wrestling.” 

You scoff, “no more sneak attacks, how about that?” 

He shook his head, “I don’t want this happening again.” 

“If the situation was reversed would you want me to hold it against myself?” 

Peter scoffed, “absolutely not, but it wouldn’t hurt me like it does you.” 

“So you do have a super high pain tolerance.” 

He snapped and ripped his hand from yours, “yes, I do have a super high pain tolerance. I also have super strength and give my girlfriend black eyes.” 

You held your hand up, the other one slightly freezing from the cold but you were too scared to take it off. 

“First off, plural. Second, please stop. You’re making me feel bad, I’m really okay and I’m not mad and I forgive you a thousand million percent.” 

Peter inhaled sharply, he has to believe you. He’s more shook up than you are and he guesses he should agree with you, you were the hurt one. If you forgive him he could try and do the same.

“I think you need to give me a black eye to even it out.” 

You gasp like your offended at his words, your hand lays over your heart. 

“I’d never!” 

Your boyfriend ran his tongue over his teeth and gave you a dead stare, his hands pushed him off the coffee table. His words grumbled, “toxic.” 

me @ y/n when they do something i’d never do:

like babe this isn’t us ?? get it together

“You promised you wouldn’t forget me” + ambrose please?

+ “I wished every day to hold you once more”

I haven’t written Ambrose yet so I hope this is somewhat good!!

Ambrose’s house arrest was a touchy subject. He had his family, of course. He could act like that was enough, but he craved more. He would feign indifference.

He often remembers his life outside of the Spellman household, the people he met, the lovers he had. He remembers, but wishes he could forget. There is nothing worse than those memories. The memories taunt him in his dreams. Y/N haunts him in those dreams. 

The bed was suffocating as he attempted to unwrap his body from the sheets. The dreams, again. The same face he’s seen every night for 75 years in this house. He rubs at his eyes, trying to get rid of the thought, but he can’t drop it. Y/N. They had lost contact after everything that happened with the Vatican. He’s tried to find traces, but to no avail. You did not want to be found. The feeling of betrayal was the only thing he had left from you.

“How long has it been, Ambrose? 70 years?” A voice from across the room made him scramble in his bed.

“Who’s there?” He was never one to be scared, but the voice was hauntingly familiar. It was just there, in his dreams. Was he still dreaming?

The room is dark, he’s unable to see a thing. “You promised you wouldn’t forget me.” The voice teased, bouncing of the walls from every side. It itched at him as he stood up from the bed, hating the way the voice taunted him. This was all too familiar. He fumbles around the room for his light, flicking it on.

Ambrose meets the same face he’s seen every night for 75 years and he’s positive he’s dreaming. Except, the hair is different, the eyes aren’t as bright, but that’s the same seductive smile from years ago. Not a single word seems to be able to escape his mouth, even though there’s a million of them swarming his thoughts. “Y/N.” Is all he can say, eyes wide. “You’re not real.”

“Why would you say that?” You questioned, reaching a hand out to touch his cheek. He responds instantly, leaning into your touch. It feels like you never left. “It’s me, Ambrose.” You reassure him.

He searches for something that would tell him otherwise, but he finds nothing. It has to be you. “I wished every day to hold you once more.” He confesses, eyes pleading with your own. He’s never felt so vulnerable, yet so complete at the same time. “Why did you leave?” He finally questions, but doesn’t pull away, too scared you’ll disappear.

You open your mouth to answer, but Sabrina bursts into his room. She looks frightened, but stops in her tracks when she sees the scene in front of her. She steps forward tentatively, reaching a hand out to Ambrose. “Ambrose…” She trails off, eyes apologetic as she touches his arm. “There’s a sleep demon in the house, this…” She glances at your figure. “This isn’t real.”

Ambrose turns to meet your eyes again, wondering if what his cousin is saying is true, but you’re gone. He can still feel your hand on his cheek. He was simply reliving all the other dreams he’s had for the past 75 years. The real torture is waking up, the real torture was him believing you’d ever come back.

“You have to wake up, Ambrose.”

Bucky: *runs to Y/n with open arms*

Teen reader: *moves out of the way*

Bucky: Hey, what was that for?

Teen reader: I thought you were going to hit me, what were you doing?

Bucky: I was going to hug you

Teen reader now confused: Why would you hug me?

Bucky: WHY WOULD I HIT YOU????

everything happens for a reason - zuko x fem!reader // masterlist

⇦ back to masterlist ⇦

status: wip, tag list is open!

summary: As a servant in the Fire Nation, you’ve learned that life is often unfair. But as you venture through a tumultuous relationship with a certain prince, you come to realize a very tricky lesson: everything happens for a reason.

warning(s): angst, hurt/comfort, hurt without comfort, threats of death, parental death, betrayal, there is a lot of sadness but that comes along with a zuko fic lmao. there is a happy ending though! i promise 

timeline | playlist | ao3

current wc: 114,915

CHAPTER 1 . I am not your concern

CHAPTER 2 . And out of the blue, I fell for you

CHAPTER 3 . I feel so much, I get carried away

CHAPTER 4 . The night was full of terrors and your eyes were full of tears

CHAPTER 5 . I can go anywhere I want, I can go anywhere just not home

CHAPTER 6 . The thing about forever is that it’s a fucking lie

CHAPTER 7 . I think my ways are wearing me down

CHAPTER 8 . Used to do these things so effortlessly, somehow

CHAPTER 9 . I fell in love with a war, nobody told me it ended

CHAPTER 10 . I hate you for what you did, and I miss you like a little kid

CHAPTER 11 . Memories, where’d you go?

CHAPTER 12 . Living in the state of dreaming

CHAPTER 13 . But there was one thing missing, and that was the moment I knew

CHAPTER 14 . How could you be so reckless with my heart?

CHAPTER 15 . I thought I had you figured out

CHAPTER 16 . I miss you more than anything

CHAPTER 17 . And maybe I don’t quite know what to say

CHAPTER 18 . Don’t speak, I know just what you’re thinking

CHAPTER 19 . Can we go back to the world we had? With a love so sweet it makes me sad

CHAPTER 20 . Guess it’s true, I’m never getting over you

CHAPTER 21 . Meet me in the afterglow

CHAPTER 22 . I’ve been waiting on you

CHAPTER 23 . You’re coming back, and it’s the end of the world

CHAPTER 24 . Finally, I have found a way to be happy

paper rings // gilbert blythe

or,

the 4 times gilbert blythe fell in love with you, and the 1 time he knew he’d do it all over again

⋆ ࣪.      ⁺⑅     ⋰˚     *.ﾟ    .˳⁺⁎˚     ˚⁎⁺˳ .    ༺ ˖

gilbert blythe x fem!reader

wc: 5.7k

i like shiny things, but i’d marry you with paper rings

a/n: trying something new here! i’ve never used this format (five times // one time- i tweaked it to make it four and one since i’m exhausted) so i hope you all enjoy <3 also fair warning that this is not historically accurate. but i actually spend my summers in PEI (and have for my entire life) so i think my portrayal of the environment at least is good! also, this is rushed as per usual :)

⋆ ࣪.      ⁺⑅     ⋰˚     *.ﾟ    .˳⁺⁎˚     ˚⁎⁺˳ .    ༺ ˖

one. when he walked you home from school.

the late june air was sticky in the avonlea schoolhouse, clinging to skin, beads of sweat gathering by brows. sunlight spilled through the windows, and even billy andrews couldn’t muster enough enthusiasm to tease anyone in this heat. pinafores too heavy for this weather, the girls gathered in one corner, pretending to read the excerpt mr phillips had picked out for today, but in honesty, you were all just complaining about the summer heat.

“i can’t wait until i have my hair up,” ruby gillis sighed, casting a longing glance across the room towards the boys. “my ribbon does suit my complexion, of course- but it’s much too hot in summer to have my hair down.”

murmurs of agreement spread throughout your little group. “i tried it one time,” whispered anne dramatically, “when marilla was away. it was rather romantic, but the pins hurt a great deal.”

sitting in between jane andrews and tillie boulter, you tried not to zone out. gaze drifting across the classroom, you caught gilbert blythe’s eye from where he was sitting with the boys, and he shot you a quick smile. you gave him a shy one back, and looked away before you could blush. you’d known gilbert forever- his family was close to yours- but something had changed recently, and you couldn’t quite put your finger on it.

mr. phillips finally dismissed the class, and in a rush of rowdiness, the boys all excused themselves from the schoolhouse, whooping and hollering about a potential skinny dip in the wild waves. in a flurry of giggles and secrets, your friends gathered their books and rushed outside (in a rather unladylike manner- but it was summer and the world was their oyster, so who cared). you knew diana was hosting a tea party over the weekend- complete with ice cream, she’d said!- but as far as you knew, there were no plans for tonight, save the beach trip the boys had talked about. trying your best to avoid the heat for as long as possible, you lingered in the coatroom, taking the time to adjust your hat into place. but you weren’t alone, and you startled as a familiar face appeared over your shoulder.

“gilbert,” you said, his name sweet on your tongue. “you’re not going to the beach with billy?”

he shook his head. “i’m not quite in the mood for that today. but i was wondering. do you want- can i- would you like some company on your walk home?”

heart in your throat, you looked at the boy you’d known your whole life. was gilbert blythe asking to walk you home? you nodded wordlessly, and his eyes immediately softened. there was a nervousness you’d never seen in him before, a cautiousness, as if he were treading on eggshells and was terrified to break them. “i- i’d love that, gilbert, thank you.” a smile slowly spread across his face, and you seemed to see him in a new light. noticing the things you hadn’t before. the softness of his dark eyes and the way they sparkled. the gentle curve of his jaw. the way he smelled like rosemary and mint soap and the blythe farm’s apple orchard, mixed with a hint of cinnamon. the way gilbert blythe was the prettiest boy you’d ever seen.

“great,” he said, finally breaking you out of your reverie. “i wouldn’t want you to get heatstroke, after all. it’d be ungentlemanly of me to let you go home without making sure you’re alright in this heat.”

your stomach erupted with butterflies, and you walked in silence with him as you left the schoolhouse. treading along the path, your footsteps settled into the same rhythm, and eventually gilbert spoke, his voice clear among the songbirds and crickets. 

“how’s your family? i haven’t seen them in a fortnight.”

his tone was proper and gentlemanly, but curious and kind. you looked shyly up at him. gilbert was tall, taller than you, sturdy with broad shoulders and a grin that showed off a lopsided roguishness once in a while on his otherwise serious face. you gripped your books a little tighter, trying to focus your thoughts back to the conversation. “they’re good, thanks for asking. mother’s been wondering about you, though. she’s wanted to drop soup off for your father, but wasn’t sure if he’d appreciate it. it’s been a while since you were over, so she doesn’t know if he still likes biscuits or bone broth.”

gilbert scuffed the ground with his boot a little bit, looking down at you contemplatively. “that’s kind of her,” he said. “he’s barely been able to keep anything down, but he likes soup. i’m not sure about the biscuits, but i’d certainly like some. i wouldn’t mind some of your mother’s plum preserves either. i haven’t had much time to go into town for food lately.”

you’d noticed. there were shadows under his eyes, and he’d always been on the lanky side, but since gilbert had taken on more of the farm work you’d observed his cheeks grow more drawn. his muscles had grown, too- another result of all the wood chopping you knew he was doing- but he lacked energy, and your heart ached for the boy. cicadas chirped as you walked in unison through the path, minding the garden snakes slinking through the tall grass, and an idea sparked in your mind as you passed the field signaling close to home.

“gilbert,” you said thoughtfully, stopping in your tracks. “mother was going to make a layer cake today, with raspberry preserves and clotted cream. i’m sure it’s cooled by now. we can have a little picnic, you and i- we have lemonade at home too, that rachel lynde brought us, and father thinks it’s too tart, so he wants to get rid of it. you can bring some home for your father as well. mother wouldn’t mind, i promise- i can make us a picnic basket, and we can sit in that field.”

gilbert turned towards you, and you couldn’t quite decipher the expression on his face. “i don’t want you to pity me,” he said quietly. “much less drag your family into it.”

“no, no,” you said quickly, fearing he’d interpreted your invitation the wrong way. “just a picnic, to catch up, as friends. we haven’t talked in a while. i miss you.”

he bit his lip. you could almost see the gears turning in his head. “alright,” he said finally. “it’s almost summer, after all. i think- i think i’d like that.”

when you reached your house, your mother was more than happy to oblige, giving gilbert a big hug and fussing over how much taller he’d gotten since the last time she saw him. you cut two pieces of cake and put them on plates in the straw picnic basket along with the bottle of mrs. lynde’s infamous lemonade. your mother even let you bring the crystal glasses used for special occasions- she trusted the both of you well enough to know that you wouldn’t break them. covering up the basket with a red checkered tablecloth, you and gilbert set off again, waving goodbye to your mother and finding a spot in the field where there was a tree with enough shade to sit under. clover and goldenrod and cornstalk bloomed in the field, and the cool, sweet grass tickled the bottom of your dress. gilbert, beside you, leaned back against the tree, his broad shoulder touching yours, and spooned a large amount of cake into his mouth. it was the happiest you’d seen him in months. the thin layer of ruby jelly in between the vanilla layers coloured the cupid’s bow of your lips, and gilbert realized in that moment that he wanted very badly to take you into his arms and kiss you. but the moment was fleeting, and gilbert was left with the idea of love lingering on his mind.

that was the first time gilbert blythe realized he was falling for you.

two. when you showed up on his doorstep in the rain.

rain poured outside, streaking the windows and trickling down the roofs of avonlea’s houses. sorrow hung in the air, and black clothing had dominated the church the day prior. it was not often that avonlea had funerals, and when they were, they were a somber affair, impacting every one of its citizens. especially now. it seemed as though the whole world had watched mr. blythe’s casket descend into the soil, and now the rain was fertilizing it. perhaps flowers would bloom on top of his grave. the entirety of the little town hoped so- anything to bring comfort to the blythe’s only son.

you’d seen gilbert at the funeral, features etched with sorrow, tears brimming at the corners of his eyes. but he’d looked resigned as well- putting on a strong face for those who could not. ruby had sobbed hysterically, as had rachel lynde, and even marilla cuthbert had shed a tear. normally, you would have talked to gilbert. you’d been over the day before mr. blythe had died, bringing with you a sweater you and your mother had knit together to help keep him warm. you’d known his health was declining, but it was even more heart wrenching seeing gilbert that way- expression unmoving, body stiff as he accepted the gift. you’d only had a moment with him before mr. blythe erupted into coughs again- a second in which gilbert’s mask slipped and you truly saw the fear plaguing his mind. you’d wished you could have said something to make it all better. but you hadn’t. you couldn’t.

and now you were on his porch, clutching a package of baking soda biscuits and a small posy of forget-me-nots in your hands. you were shivering from the cold rain, and you’d gotten soaked on the way over, but it was worth it. there seemed to be barely any movement in the gray house- you couldn’t spot any candles lit inside from the windows- and you were wondering if gilbert was even here when all of a sudden the door swung open and he appeared.

his expression was unreadable, brown eyes deep with emotion and seeded in sadness. “hi,” he said. “gil,” you breathed back. 

after a moment of silence, the words came back to you. “these are for you,” you said, reaching out. your hands were shaking, and whether they were from nerves or the cold, gilbert couldn’t tell. he took the flowers and the parcel from your outstretched hands, almost unsure what to do with them. “they’re biscuits,” you said, mouth dry, trying to fill the quiet. “mother’s baking soda ones. you mentioned you liked them one time, and we were out of plum preserves, but i-”

“thank you,” gilbert said, and although it sounded slightly robotic, his words felt genuine. you looked at your shoes, unsure of what to say next. your parents had always taught you to say “i’m sorry for your loss” to someone grieving, but the phrase felt too unfamiliar. “i- i’ll leave you to it, then,” you stuttered, backing away from the door and turning to go. you didn’t want to intrude- even if he was your friend. because that’s what you were, right? friends. friends visited during difficult times. friends didn’t want to hug all the sadness out of him. but gilbert’s voice cracked when he spoke next, and you turned around.

“no,” he said clumsily. the words are rushed and jumbled from his mouth, and he stumbles over the next ones too. “please. you’re freezing, and soaking wet. come in.”

up until then, you’d hoped you didn’t look that bad. your straw hat had managed to protect the top of your head, but the rest of your hair was stringy and dripping over your shoulders. your cheeks were also flushed, and even in what should have been a moment focused on his own grief, gilbert found himself worrying that you’d catch pneumonia in this weather. he hadn’t expected anyone to visit today, especially not in a rainstorm. 

seeing the concern in his eyes, you realized that walking all the way home in a thunderstorm was probably not such a good idea, so you stepped in cautiously per gilbert’s invitation. the house was warm, but everything seemed dim and gray. the door you knew led to mr. blythe’s bedroom was closed, and you could see gilbert’s eyes darting towards it as well, as if he were praying you wouldn’t say anything. gilbert set down the parcel of biscuits on the kitchen table and looked around for something.

“do you have a vase?” you asked quietly. “i can fill it up with water for you. i thought the forget-me-nots would bring a little light.”

gilbert nodded, but sucked in a breath. you turned to him with a questioning look. “the vase,” he said, voice dry. “it’s in his room. mrs. lynde brought some peonies over while he was still sick, and i didn’t take them out. he’s always hated peonies- he thinks they’re too big and bold. but he would’ve loved these.”

you lightly touched the small forget me not bouquet, felt the soft petals under your fingertips. “you don’t have to use a vase,” you replied softly. “a mug will do.” gilbert stood motionless in the middle of the kitchen, and you maneuvered around him, carefully filling up the pottery with water and placing the flowers in it.

he seemed rooted to the floor, even when he focused his gaze on the posy. your glance met his, and the sorrow was evident. gilbert hadn’t cried at the funeral- you’d never seen him cry. but now tears were brimming at the corners of his soft chocolate eyes, threatening to spill over, and in a moment your body overtook your mind and you had wrapped your arms around gilbert in a hug.

for a moment you regretted it. but then he was hugging you back, clutching your arms, holding onto you as if you were his lifeline. and in a way, you were. you could feel his hot breath on the back of your neck, hear his muffled cries. due to his height, your face was nestled in the crook of gilbert’s neck, and the two of you stayed like that, intertwined, for several long moments. 

when gilbert finally pulled away, he knew that for better or for worse, you would be there for him until the day he died. 

three. when you exchanged christmas presents in the snow.

to be honest, you hadn’t expected gilbert to come back from the steamer, or trinidad. you’d kept in close correspondence with him, saving the letters he sent you in a special drawer in your writing desk. you memorized his handwriting- the candid tone recalling his tales- the stamps on the envelope. but it still came as a surprise when he’d arrived back.

everything had been awkward at the start, but as soon as gilbert told you all the tales of his travels, you’d slowly slipped back into your old dynamic. there was still a line the both of you were toeing, trying to test out the boundaries between platonic and whatever the two of you were. when you’d met bash, he’d given you a quick wink and told you he’d heard all about you, but other than that, you were positive gilbert just wanted to stay friends. “he can’t love me,” you’d told the avonlea girls a few days prior. “the letters didn’t mean anything, he was just lonely.” but all of them agreed, even ruby- who had been zoning in on moody spurgeon ever since gilbert had left- that there was something more in his words, that it wasn’t all in your head.

and now it was christmas. gilbert, bash, and the shirley-cuthberts had all come for dinner (you’d grown close to anne the past year, and it had taken some convincing but since your father knew matthew so well, marilla had deemed it acceptable). the dinner had been lovely- your mother had brought out all the stops for gilbert and bash- roast goose, scalloped potatoes (island ones, of course), cranberry jelly, chicken pie, spiced gingerbread. flames crackled in the fireplace, biting gusts of wind rattled the windows, and blurred glittery ornaments adorned the pine tree in the center of your living room. dinner was over now, and the adults were gathered around the table and swapping stories of old. anne was there too, heavily engaged in a discussion with bash, but the social aspect was getting to be somewhat exhausting, so you quietly slipped out the back door to have a few moments alone.

in a rather unladylike fashion, you got up and sat on the fence by your house, snowflakes tickling your nose, watching the sun slowly begin to set. hues of pink and orange tinged the sky, and you were surprised you could even see it right now- the weather suggested a cloudy sky. the sound of snow crunching came from behind you, and to your surprise, gilbert was coming towards you. he had his brown cap and his red flannel on, and he looked so cozy that you somehow wished you were cuddled up in his arms. pushing the thought away, you greeted him as he came to sit on the fence beside you.

“enjoying the night so far?”

“quite,” gilbert replied. there was a sparkle in his eyes that danced, one that had been noticeably absent since his father died. you suspected it had something to do with bash’s uncle-like presence, and maybe anne’s too- it was well rumored that he’d fancied her for a while when they’d first met. gilbert looked off into the sunset, puffs of his breath materializing in the cold air, and you shivered involuntarily. he offered you his wool mittens wordlessly, and you gratefully put them on, although they were too big for you.

“oh,” you said, remembering something. he turned towards you, watching you intently as you pulled out a small package from your coat pocket. it was wrapped in festive paper, and you’d written his name on it in swooping calligraphy.

“for me?” gilbert asked. he carefully unfurled the wrapping paper to reveal a small leather bound book embossed with “the complete illustrated medical dictionary (pocket edition)” on the front. “i’ve had it since you left,” you said, breath catching in your throat. “i kept it for you. all this time.”

genuine joy shone in gilbert’s eyes. he flipped through the pages delightedly, marveling at the drawings inside. “thank you,” he grinned. “i actually have something for you too.”

breathlessly, you awaited your gift, snowflakes fluttering down and landing on you. they decorated your hair and its festive ribbon for one fleeting moment before melting, and you swore there was nothing as beautiful as this moment, exchanging gifts with gilbert in the snow, watching the sunset sweep across the dove-gray sky. finally, gilbert found what he was looking for in his pocket, and produced a tiny box.

“it doesn’t look like much,” he warned, “but i found it on my travels. i was waiting to give it to you. i wanted it to be the perfect moment.”

carefully opening the small box, you gasped as the lid revealed a necklace with a pendant. a small silver locket shaped like a heart, the kind one could put a photograph in. “gilbert,” you breathed. “this is- this is beautiful.”

and it was. the locket lay on a delicate chain, and it was engraved intricately, with elaborate designs. your mittened hands fumbled to take it out of the box and inspect it more, but gilbert took it from you with a small smile. “let me help you,” he murmured, and made to fasten it on you. you stood still, hyper aware of how close gilbert’s hands were to your face. his fingers brushed against the back of your neck, securing the necklace, and you caught yourself from flinching. you didn’t know what to say, except for thank you, so you repeated yourself again. 

“a thing of beauty is a joy forever,” gilbert quoted, somewhat uncharacteristically. “keats,” he added after a moment, referencing the poet he’d read the phrase from. “i wanted you to have something to remember me by.”

“to remember you by?” you laughed. “what, are you going on the steamer again?”

he could tell the thought sobered you, so he shook his head, shrugging. “no. i just think…you’re a wonderful girl. the loveliest in avonlea.”

“i think you’re wonderful too,” you said shyly, which was about as many words as you could manage right now. the loveliest girl in avonlea? goodness. 

the sun had almost set by now, and the sky was turning dark- a good cover for hiding the red tint spreading across your face. “we should go back inside,” you said hurriedly, and the two of you made your way over to the door. you stopped before opening it, basking in the glow of the oil lamp on the porch.

“gilbert, i-”

overcome by sudden anxiety, you handed back his warm mittens. “thank you,” you said, the words lingering on your tongue. “for everything.”

quickly, so fast you almost missed it, gilbert leaned down, brushed a stray wisp of hair away, and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. “merry christmas,” he said simply. and then, the two of you went back inside, as if nothing had happened at all.

as soon as you entered, bash noticed the locket and smirked. gilbert shot him a warning look, lest he say anything. the two of you immersed yourself in separate conversations- you with anne, him with marilla and your mother, while matthew silently observed your father and bash discuss politics. but you kept stealing glances at each other as if you were speaking a secret language that only the two of you knew, and each time it filled you with comfort.

it was a cold christmas, but you felt the warmest you had been in a while– and, as luck would have it, so did gilbert.

four. when you climbed a tree.

and so summer rolled around again, fading into august. university loomed on the horizon. childhood was over- gone were the days of butterflies, bumblebees, and scraped knees. yet you could pretend, and so you did. 

the soft salt breeze tickled your face, sending a pleasant feeling down your spine. you were with gilbert- on his farm, in the orchard. it was just the two of you- most of avonlea were in charlottetown for the island county fair, granting you the opportunity to do whatever you wanted, since no one was around to see.

so you took advantage of that. no more were the stolen glances, the sneaking around, your only physical touch with gilbert being brushed hands- and even then you’d both deemed it risky. neither of you wanted word to get around yet. sure, there had been rumors and some of your best friends knew (only the ones you were sure wouldn’t spread anything around). but here, now, the world was your oyster. and the two of you soaked it up blissfully.

you were lying on the grass with your head in gilbert’s lap, weaving a flower crown as he read a book- an old poetry collection ms stacy had lent him. the clouds were glorious fluffy shapes in the blue sky, and you pointed them out to gilbert every once in a while. your fingers deftly twined the daisies and their stems, finally tying them all together in a knot, creating a perfect circlet, and setting it teasingly on gilbert’s dark hair.

he smirked, leaving it on. “made it for me?”

“a pretty crown for a pretty boy,” you replied, smiling from your position in his lap. he was solid, sturdy, his hand resting securely on your waist. you felt safe with your body close to his, arms and legs intertwined. and he was pretty- “the prettiest boy in avonlea,” you said, mimicking his words to you from last christmas. he laughed and set the book down, taking the flower crown off and resting it gently on your hair. “it suits you,” gilbert said softly, and he was right.

the two of you stayed like that for a while, absorbing each other’s presence. you charted the rare freckles scattered across the bridge of his nose as if they were constellations, tracing them with the tip of your finger. it tickled him, and he smiled down at you. he finally returned to his book- “i want to read you something”- and blissfully, you obliged, settling down to listen.

“i almost wish we were butterflies and lived but three summer days- three such days with you i could fill with more delight than fifty common years could ever contain,” gilbert read from the poetry collection in his lap, a break from the constant medical anatomy books he was usually seen carrying around. you recognized the fragment of poetry- “keats,” you said, “just like what you said to me last winter. when you gave me the necklace.”

a smile tugged at gilbert’s lips, and you pulled out the locket from under the neckline of your dress to show him. “i’ll never take it off,” you promised him, right then and there. “it’s like a little piece of you with me, all the time.”

“you better not,” he teased. “cost me a fortune, that one. even more than all of those romance books i’m always secretly buying you in town.”

you sat up and shoved him jokingly, tousling his dark curls to purposely peeve him. gilbert’s hair wasn’t tidy all that often, but he’d let it slip once that he always tried to make it look nice for you. struck by a sudden flash of inspiration, you jumped up. “let’s go pick some apples.”

the blythe orchard was infamous for their strawberry apples, the only place in avonlea where they were available. contrary to popular belief, this was simply a variant of apple, and not a strawberry hybrid. all too happy to appease you, gilbert took your hand and led you to the best tree on the land. most of the other boughs were still blooming with apple blossoms, but this tree was different.

he pointed to a low-hanging branch, one blessed with red fruit. “my father always picked the first apple on this tree in august,” he told you, tone contemplative and wistful. “he said this was the tree he kissed my mother under for the first time. he thought if the first apple of the season was picked here, at this tree, it brought the harvest luck.”

nostalgia flickered in gilbert’s eyes, and you knew he was missing his father more than usual. “let’s do it, then,” you said, finding your voice, fingers delicately intertwined with his- giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “we’ll each pick one. in honor of him. a new tradition.”

the words you’d spoken may have been simplistic, but to gilbert they meant the world. without his father, it had been so incredibly difficult at first to do anything- carry on old traditions, much less creating new ones. but here you were, by his side, looking up at him with adoring eyes, and giving him the opportunity to heal and grow. gilbert knew he could never put into words how much it truly meant to him.

you let him go first, watching him scamper up the tree like a squirrel. he seemed a boy again, plucking an apple from the highest bough and descending nimbly. when you started climbing, you found your footing easily, but doubt wracked your mind- imagine the horrors if mrs. lynde and her posse heard about this, climbing trees like a chimpanzee! - and so you opted for a lower branch, reaching it deftly. you reached for an apple and held it high victoriously. some hint of pride shone in gilbert’s eyes.

“to making new traditions,” he said- a toast with the notable absence of glasses brimming with champagne. “to making new traditions,” you repeated, and in that moment, you in the tree and him on the ground, you swore you could see hints of a future- one with new traditions and old traditions, little feet running around and everything in between. today was flawless.

and it would’ve been perfect, except for the sound of the branch cracking under your weight. you weren’t too high up in the tree, but inevitably, you landed on the ground, a crumpled heap of petticoats and ribbons, crying out softly upon impact.

you’d never seen gilbert this way, in ‘doctor mode’, simply put. he was immediately beside you, voice laced with concern, checking you over for scrapes and bruises. you were fine, mostly- just a little shaken up and scared, save for the red-hot throbbing in your wrist. the pain didn’t exactly warrant crying, but you weren’t used to the funny feeling, and tears welled in your waterline anyways. gilbert, telling you to take deep breaths, helped you sit up.

he’d noticed straightaway the way you held you wrist, cradling it slightly away from your body, and murmuring words of comfort, he started prodding your knuckles, gently examining the swollen area. you winced, but it wasn’t too bad. “i don’t think it’s broken,” gilbert said finally, deeming it a sprain after careful inspection. “but let’s get you back home. i have some bandages- i’ll wrap it just in case.”

tears threatened to spill over again as the two of you walked from the orchard to his home. gilbert noticed, and stopped. “hey,” he said softly. “it’s okay. i’ll make you some herbal tea. that should help with the pain a bit.”

“it’s not that,” you made out, a small pout forming on your lips. “we were having such a wonderful day, gil, and i ruined it all. i’m sorry.”

“whoa, whoa, whoa,” he said, his brow furrowing. “you didn’t ruin anything. you got hurt, it happens. and we have the rest of the afternoon to be together- i’ll tell you what, how about once we get back to the farmhouse, we’ll make the most of it, okay? we can still have some fun.”

a wobbly smile formed on your lips, and you nodded. gilbert cupped your face gently, and looked into your eyes. “i love you,” he said, voice nervous but firm. “just let me take care of you.”

your heart caught in your throat. he’d never said that before. contrary to the rumors, he hadn’t even kissed you properly yet. “i love you too,” you whispered, voice hoarse. and before you could think about it too much, you went up on your tiptoes and pressed a small kiss to gilbert’s lips.

they were soft and sweet and filled with promise and hope, and he leaned into it, your bodies closer than they’d ever been. his hands ghosted the small of your back, your hips, your shoulders, and it felt like home. when you finally pulled apart, there was a twinkle in his eye you’d never seen before. a twinkle of something called joy.

when you got back to the farmhouse, he finally settled you on the couch, comfortably sipping a cup of tea and trying wholeheartedly to braid your hair. he’d always wanted to learn, and since you were currently unable to do it yourself, he deemed it the perfect opportunity. it made you laugh- his fingers, usually nimble and clever, were clumsy in your locks, and the braid you ended up with was slightly sloppy, but filled with adoration. a realization fluttered through your mind, and set its claws into your future. you loved gilbert- gilbert loved you- and though you wouldn’t say it out loud, at least not for several years, he would make a wonderful husband.

five. when you said “i do”.

the spring skies were blue today- flowers were blooming- grass was green. “a lovely day for a wedding,” mrs. lynde had told marilla that morning, and all of avonlea agreed. 

you were walking down the aisle in a few minutes, getting ready in reverence. a delicate white veil lay on your hair, the one passed down through your family for almost a century. the lace dress fit you perfectly, intricate embroidery accentuating your waist. your mother’s simple pearl earrings adorned your ears, glowing in the morning light. in your hands were a bouquet- a single spray of forget-me-nots, periwinkle blue, an ode to gilbert’s father, who had loved them so. and at the same time, a tribute to your past together, that awful rainy day after the funeral filled with grief and tears and emotion, yet what had brought you closer together. something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue. all was well. you were ready.

the springtime realm of gilbert’s yard was immersed in devotion. petals decorated the grass down the aisle. your dearest friends and family observed, and the wedding itself passed in the blink of an eye. there was not a dry eye during the vows, and gilbert’s words were even more poetic than you had ever hoped. he promised to love you- to care for you- in sickness and in health, to be your rock. it was not the fanciest wedding- there were no messes of tulle and satin and roses- but it was yours, and you couldn’t be happier.

you were husband and wife. the dawn had come anew. and that night, when gilbert fell asleep watching you breathe, finding solace in the rise and fall of your chest, he knew without a doubt that he would do it all over again.

Gally: Valentine’s day is just a consumerist holiday that holds no real value other than drive people insane buying heart shaped chocolates for their significant others and pos- y/n: I wrote you a poem. Gally, already crying:You did?

F. R. I. E. N. D. S

Not sure how spot on I'll be about writing these but I'm willing to try 😊

Chandler Bing - requests open

Friends Secret - another request from @malfoys-demigod Chandler is secretly dating Joey's little sister. The rest of their friends know except her brother.

No More Games - request from @crimesolvin friends to lovers where they both have liked each other and are definitely really close friends, but both are terrified to admit it till something happens to reveal it

Assisting Crush - Request from @achromaticerebus super cheesy chandler fluff where reader lives on the floor below and has been secretly crushing on chandler and the elevators are out of order. Everyone has to use the stairs for the day, but reader has a sprained ankle or crutches so he helps her out.

Ross Geller - requests open

Romantic Rooftop - Request from @mimi33p Ross and y/n are hanging out on the rooftop because they both can't sleep and then Ross ends up confessing his love for her

Joey Tribiani - requests open

Relationship Lie - request by @ohjava. Joey help Chandler and Monica hide their relationship. But the reader hears Joey say he slept with Monica, even though they're dating. Will he be able to clear the confusion before she leaves him.

Protective Bing - request from @malfoys-demigod Reader is Chandler’s baby sister. Joey and the reader are secretly dating. But her brother finds out and goes protective big brother on his roommate.

Green Sibling - He is dating Rachel's sister but olny rachel knew about it and the others find out after a big suprise from Y/n.

Part 2 - request from @tyrionsprincess29

I want a Mini Us - request from @bvbwestfall where everyone's doing there own thing after the season finally and Joey goes to the central perk learning his girlfriend wants a baby because she's almost in her thirtys

Tag List - just ask to be added

@rosie-posie08 @lover-of-books-and-tea

Joey x reader - sharing

Oooh, if you do Joey, could it be 4 time the reader shares their food and one time he share his, and surprises everyone. I know it much be a bit ooc but I thought itd be cute - Anon 💜

A/N: sorry if he’s outta character I’ve gotta work on getting his character just right

The first time, you were sitting on the couch at Monica and Rachel’s silently nibbling on some chips while the others were bickering in the back.

“Hey, you good?”

You turned to face Joey and smiled softly as you nodded your head.

“Yeah, just bored. Chip?”

Tilting the bag toward him you gave it a little shake with a grin on your face.

“Hell yeah!”

Joey shuffled closer to you, sharing the bag of chips with you as you guys ignored what was going on in the background.

They second time you just sat down at the coffeehouse, Gunter brought over your sandwich and coffee and sat it down in front of you.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

He walked away and you watched Joey shuffle his way over.

“Is that.. two sandwiches…?” He asked.

“Sit Joe.”

He grinned and sat in front of you, taking one of the sandwiches to eat. You didn’t like eating in public alone, this was was perfect for you. And Joey was always hungry so it was perfect for him.

The third time you just happened to be passing him in the hallway as you were going to see Chandler.

“Hey Joey, try these chocolates.”

“Ooo okay!”

He took one and you watched his face go from confusion to happiness.

“Woah! They’re so good what are they?”

“I have no idea, my mom sent me them.” You laughed.

He took another couple from the pack before he went to go walk away.

“Wait here!”

You handed him the pack and smiled.

“I’ve got more at home.”

“Yes you’re the best!”

With that Joey kissed your cheek and wondered back into his apartment.

The fourth time was you simply couldn’t finish your pizza.

You weren’t feeling well so you closed the lid and handed it over to him.

“Finished already?” He asked.

“Yeah, I’m not feeling great…” you mumbled.

“Oh, do you need anything?”

“No… I’m just gonna crash on the couch…”

He grabbed you a pillow from his room and covered you up with his quilt.

This time he didn’t accept your food, he set it on the side, but took one slice from it.

“I’ll be back.”

He left, but again took another slice.

A few months later, and you were wondering Monicas and Rachel’s apartment, you were hungry and couldn’t find anything interesting.

“Come on (Y/N), dinners gonna be ready soon.” Ross laughed.

“I’m hungry!”

“Well hi hungry, I’m Chandler.”

You glared at him slightly and he laughed a little.

The door open and closed and Joey came wondering in eating a grilled sandwich.

“Ooo what’s that?” You asked.

“Cheese, ham, turkey, chicken, others things I can’t remember.”

You nodded your head alone and he came over, holding it out to you.

“Want some.”

You shrugged, taking a bite and the whole room went quiet.

“What?” You and Joey asked at the same time.

“Joey never shares his food with anyone.” Rachel said.

“Yeah, he tackled me off a chair once just for eating his meatball sandwich.” Chandler said.

You flicked you eyes towards Joey before shrugged slightly and he did the same.

“I don’t know what you mean, I share with you guys.” He said.

“Yeah, he shares.”

Everyone started protesting at this and you and Joey just laughed.

“Want another bit?”

“Ooo yes please!”

“Seriously!” Ross yelled

Spark| Masterlist

(Gif is not my own! Original poster @thehungergamesrenaissance​)

Total Word Count: 20.7k

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

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

could i please request a blurb w hotch like the scaring off a creep one u did with james 🥹🫶

Thank you for your request! fem!reader, tw unwanted advance

When a creep at the bar won't leave you alone, you look for the most intimidating man in the room. You know it might make things worse for you, but his suit jacket screams businessman, maybe lawyer, and while lots of lawyers are scumbags, he's standing with another man and two women, neither of which are under his arm, so you take your chances. 

"Hey, I'm talking to you." A cruel hand tightens around your wrist.

"I already told you I have a boyfriend," you say, pulling your hand away from the creeper's reach. 

"I already told you I don't believe it," he says. 

You rag your hand out of his touch and weave through people, until you're close enough to almost throw the businessman off his feet as you slot yourself under his arm. He stiffens, and his friends all react defensively, but luckily he puts up his hand and nobody tries to tackle you. 

The creeper is a couple steps behind you, and he doesn't see the strange reaction your 'boyfriend' has to your hiding in his side, thankfully.

"If you don't leave me alone," you say as bravely as you're able, hand curling with real nervousness into the businessman's shirt, "my boyfriend's gonna ask you outside." 

Creeper looks at you, shocked, and then at the businessman with raised eyebrows, as if to say, Is she fucking for real? 

The businessman's arm settles properly around your shoulder, his hand braceleting your naked upper arm. 

"Did you hear her or not?" he asks, and his voice is so steady, so commanding, he startles not only the creeper but you, too. 

"I can repeat it for you, if you'd like," says his dark-haired friend. She's almost as fierce as he is. 

Finally, finally, your creeper admits defeat and turns away. You watch him walk all the way to the door, and then you turn around and hang your head. 

"Sir," you say, "I am so, so sorry to just barge into you like that." 

"Are you hurt?" he asks. 

You look up, blinking. "Oh, no, not really. He grabbed me pretty hard, but that's when I came up to you." You smile at him and his friends. "You're the most intimidating person here. No offence." 

He rolls his eyes at the wave of his friends' raucous laughter.

"He absolutely is," says a shorter blonde woman, grinning. 

You nod your apologies at all of them and turn back to the maybe-not-businessman, who's really quite handsome both smiling and glaring. You decide you like the smiling more. 

"Could I buy you a drink?" you ask. "As an apology? Or a thank you." 

"No." He holds his arm out like he might steer you away and your heart drops, but he adds, "I'll buy you one. If that's alright." 

There's nothing forceful in his offer. The pit fills. Excitement blooms.

"That's alright," you confirm, words coloured by a tell-tale happiness. 

He guides you to the bar with a big hand behind your shoulder. Good-natured laughter follows from his table of friends, as well as a short but enthusiastic cheer of, "Go Hotch." 

"What's a hotch?" you ask, perplexed.

He laughs, a light, airy thing, at odds with his stern looks. "No idea. My name's Aaron, by the way." 

Here you will find all of my Gally fics.

Will be updated with every new one that comes out!

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My Favorite The Maze Runner Fanfictions 🏃‍♂️

Fluff : 🌺    Smut : 🔥    Angst : 😭    None : 🌲 My work

If you like these characters don’t hesitate to check the new arrivals, I update every day according to my readings.

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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?”

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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

Tumblr Top 5: Hottest Horror Movie Characters

Enter the sick and twisted minds of @wearewatcher's Shane Madej and Ryan Bergara as they countdown their top five hottest, steamiest, most sopping wet horror movie characters, with a little help from unofficial official Tumblr mascot, Coppy.

Bitches be like “I dont have a type.”

Its me...im bitches.

In the middle of the night

Y/n shout-whispering : Gally ? Gally can I sleep with you ?

Gally lifting the covers still sleepy : sure sweetheart, come here

Y/n snuggling with him : Thanks

Gally : So what's the problem ?

Y/n pulling up the covers : Nothing I just missed you

Gally chuckling : There's a spider in your hut right ?

Y/n dramatically : That thing was huge ! I swear it's a shucking monster !

Five : "I think you're still suffering the effects of your party last night."

Y/N : "All I drank was Redbull!"

Five : "How many?"

Y/N : "Eighteen."

Annoying

Five Hargreeves x Reader

Summary: It’s no secret Five finds you annoying. In fact, he frequently tells you this. Maybe he even goes too far. But when someone else insults you, Five realizes that only he’s allowed to do that. Reader is gender neutral.

Warnings: Hurtful comments said to the reader

Word Count: 3500

A/N: I’m alive! So long story short, I lost the motivation to write for a while which caused my spontaneous hiatus. I honestly wasn’t sure if I would post anything again. But then, I rediscovered comfort in writing, especially when it’s about my best boys. 

My posting from now on may be a bit sporadic as I’m back in school but I do intend to keep posting.

Anyway, here’s my favourite grumpy boy as a treat!

Five Hargreeves had gotten used to working at the Commission. He still hated every second of it: the job, the people, the killings. But he had adapted, just like he had in the apocalypse, and had fallen into a familiar routine that made the situation easier to swallow. He had finally accepted his job and made peace with it. That is, until you came along.

You also work at the Commission as a field agent and until recently, Five didn’t even know of your existence. Then one day, you came into his office and tried to chat with him. He was bewildered of course and told you to get the hell out of his face. But his rude words didn’t deter you. Instead, you asked him if he wanted to be your partner in the field. Again, Five was shocked and told you absolutely not. Unfortunately, you don’t seem to take no as an answer.

Every day since then, you kept popping into his life. Every day you would make nice with him, do him favours, and were overall friendly with him. Every day, he offered you nothing but a cold shoulder. Every day you asked him to be your partner and every day he told you no.

It was extremely aggravating to say the least. He tried to report you to the Handler but she told him you were doing nothing wrong. She even made some suggestive comments that made Five regret ever going to her for help. So he was on his own.

Except none of his usual moves worked. You never shied away from his negative presence. If he blinked away, you would somehow find him again. There seemed to be no way to remove you from his life.

He’s sitting in his office working when he hears a sound he has come to dread. “Knock knock,” you say as you open his door, not waiting for a response. He once asked you, “What if I was doing something private?” but that only made him flush at the accidental implication and you laughed.

“Not now,” he mumbles, not taking his eyes off his work.

“Yes now,” you say, entering the room and taking a seat on the other side of his desk. He doesn’t know why he hasn’t just removed the chair since the only person who ever used it was you. “I brought you coffee!”

This causes him to glance up, only a little, and what a mistake that turns out to be. There you sit, a beaming smile spread across your face. Your eyes tend to light up when you smile, bringing attention to how stunning they are. Thoughts like these make him feel queasy, at least that’s what he’s deeming it to be. His face also tends to heat up and his breathing acts funny. He’s considered a few times that he was sick, but every test indicated otherwise.

This is another thing that bothers him so much about you. You bring unknown feelings that Five has never experienced before, and he hates feelings, let alone unfamiliar ones.

“The answer is still, and always will be, no,” he says blankly, his eyes focused on his computer but he isn’t paying attention to what’s on the screen.

“But I haven’t even said my pitch yet!” you complain. Without looking, he knows you’re looking at him with big puppy dog eyes. He would never admit, even to himself, that they affect him. “I think today’s speech is much better—”

“Doesn’t matter, still a no.”

You ignore him and clear your throat. “As your partner—”

“Stop.”

“I would bring you freshly made coffee every morning, just the way you like it,” you continue. He decides to stop talking to you altogether. With concentration, he’s able to read the words on the screen and continue typing. “You can still take lead on the missions, though you’ll find I’m fairly skilled on the field. This will also reduce the danger of getting hurt, and if one of us does get hurt, the other can patch them up.”

It is a pain to tend to my own wounds, Five thinks before mentally berating himself. He’s supposed to be ignoring you. And besides, he’s been taking care of himself for years, he’s used to the difficulties by now.

“Another bonus, is that with me as your partner, the Handler won’t be on you as much,” you say, and despite himself, he listens. “She’ll know that someone else has their eyes on you, and with my reputation, she’ll trust me with it.”

Now that actually sounds desirable. The Handler is always checking in on him and keeping a watchful eye on his actions. She knows he’s a good agent, he’s proved that by now, but she still worries that he might betray them. This makes him a loose canon in her eyes. Plus, with her attention elsewhere he’ll be able to make more progress on his secret project to return to his family—

Stop it, he tells himself. This is exactly what you want. You actually have him considering the possibility of becoming partners. The more your voice fills his ears and the more he thinks about what it would mean to have you as a partner, the more his face starts to burn.

He can feel himself losing control over his emotions and he panics. Clearly, ignoring you is not the solution.

“That’s enough!” he yells, causing you to pause mid-sentence. He looks over at you to see your wide eyes staring at him. For the first time, he sees a crack in your positive shield. He continues. “God, just stop already. I am so sick and tired of you groveling at my feet, it is so annoying. Why won’t you get this through your head? I am never partnering with anyone, especially not with you! So for the last time, leave me alone!”

A deadly silence fills the room. Five is panting from his outburst and when his anger recedes, he finds he’s shocked at himself. He’s never had an outburst like that, never yelled like that before. Sure he gets angry and frustrated all of the time, but he hardly ever yells and his words are never that venomous. He just got so riled up with his emotions…

You also seem shocked. You try to cover it up, but he can still tell. You seem unsure of what to say and your usual peppiness seems to have vanished as well. Five isn’t sure how to feel. He also isn’t sure of what to do.

You then clear your throat. “Well then,” you say, trying to piece yourself together. “You seem busy so I should go.” You grin but its wobbly and it doesn’t meet your eyes. And despite himself, he feels sorry. You wordlessly stand up and exit his office.

The silence remains and Five is left frozen. After a moment, he shakes his head and tries to feel unbothered by what just happened.

†††

A few hours have passed since his conversation with you, and Five is out of coffee. He blinks to the Commission’s break room but then he sees you there. You’re standing at the counter with your back to him and in a moment of panic, he blinks to behind a wall just around the corner from the break room.  

He curses silently. He can’t believe that he’s hiding from you after earlier. Maybe he just doesn’t want to deal with your emotions. Or maybe he’s hiding from his own.

He’s about to just toughen up and deal with it when he hears someone else entering the room. “Y/N, how nice to see you,” he hears someone say. He looks to see a woman approaching you. Five thinks he’s seen her around but doesn’t recognize her. He’s tried not to make friends here or fill his mind with useless information. This means he only knows a few people including you and the Handler.

“Cassandra,” he hears you say in a bitter tone. He frowns. He’s never heard you speak like that.

“How have you been?” Cassandra asks and Five doesn’t know why, but she sounds ingenuine despite her cheery tone. He also suspects her smile to be too friendly.

“Fine.” You don’t even look over at her as you continue whatever you were doing at the counter. It isn’t like you to be short with people, and Five wonders if it’s because of what he said.

“I heard you got in trouble with the Handler this morning,” Cassandra says. Oh shit, Five thinks. He isn’t sure if that happened before or after he yelled at you but either way, he doesn’t envy your morning.

“Yup,” is your only response. Cassandra doesn’t seem satisfied by your response. She walks over and leans against the counter next to you.

“That must have been awful. I hope she doesn’t fire you soon,” she says with false concern. You still don’t glance her way. You simply nod your head absentmindedly as your focus remains locked on the kettle in front of you, waiting for the water to boil. Cassandra just keeps talking. “Are you still bugging Agent Five about being his partner?”

Five’s ears begin to burn as the conversation steers towards him. Now more than ever, he thinks he should leave this private conversation, but his feet remain glued to the floor. What does he care? he tries to tell himself, but it doesn’t work.

He watches as you grip the counter tightly. Unfortunately, Cassandra also seems to notice and she takes that as an answer. “Aw you poor thing,” she says, putting her hand on your shoulder only for you to shrug it off.

“Look Cassandra,” you say, your voice filled with agitation. “I’ve had a really bad day, if you could just—”

“I can only imagine,” the woman says, and Five is starting to really dislike her. “It must be hard, getting rejected day after day. I’m surprised you haven’t given up.”

“Fuck it.” You push yourself off the counter. You turn around and Five ducks back around the corner. “I’ll come back later.”

There’s a moment of silence before, “Do you know why he keeps rejecting you?” Five risks a glance to see that you’ve turned back around.

“What?” you say, surprised by the question.

“It’s the same reason why all of the others rejected you,” she says, which takes Five by surprise. He didn’t know there were others. An illogical flare of jealousy rises in him before he stomps it out.

“You’re annoying,” she says, her tone one of false sympathy. “No one wants to be around you. You come on way too strong and, sweetie, you reek of desperation.”

“S-stop,” you say, in shock but also seemingly hit by a bullet of emotions. Even Five is surprised.

“You’re just a nuisance,” Cassandra says. “A pest that no one can get rid of. That’s why you’ve never found a partner and that’s why you never will. I mean, who could like you let alone stand you?”

“Cassandra…” you say and Five can hear the quiver in your voice. He doesn’t know why, but the sound makes his chest tighten.

“Face it, Y/N,” she says, now standing right in front of you. “You were always meant to be alone.” Finally, Five can’t take it anymore. He walks out from around the corner and glares at Cassandra. He finds himself loathing her. Only he is allowed to call you annoying.

Cassandra glances past you and looks surprised to see him there. Just like that, she has on her friendly looking face again. “Oh hey there Fi—” she starts to say to him.

“Get out,” he spits at her. Her eyes widen at his venomous tone but decides to listen, scurrying away. It’s nice to see his fearful reputation precedes him. There’s a silence that settles in the room once she’s left. You seem to be frozen in place, not even turning to face him. He isn’t sure what to do himself, whether to somehow approach you or to ignore you entirely.

Luckily, his decision is made for him as you wordlessly walk back up to the counter towards the kettle. Five clears his throat, trying to rid himself of this awkward feeling, and walks up beside you.

He doesn’t address you, after all he normally isn’t the one to start the conversation. Which is why it’s so odd when you don’t. The two of you move about silently, completing your individual tasks. He finds he can’t even look at you, for the downtrodden look on your face still inflicts pain upon him. Finally, after an agonizing amount of time, you speak.

“Five,” you say, also clearing your throat. “I, uh, I have some good news for you.”

He sees that you’re trying to plaster on your usual happy appearance but it’s broken and he can see right through it.

He expects you to say something along the lines of “I forgive you for earlier” or “I made you some coffee.” He expects you to forgive him and act as normal. He did not, however, expect your actual words.

“I will no longer be bothering you with my presence.” Normally, these words would send him jumping for joy. After all, this is what he’s been wanting. But after the conversation he overheard, something gave him pause.

“Oh?” he says, at a loss for words as he is caught off guard.

“Yeah,” you say with a forced smile. “I’ve realized that I haven’t been respecting your feelings, as you have made it more than clear that you don’t want me as a partner and that you never will.”

He hears your voice crack towards the end and he can’t help but compare your words to Cassandra’s. “Yes I uh…I appreciate that,” he says, hesitant with his words. He isn’t sure what to make of all of this.        

“Right,” you say, straightening yourself. You pick up your mug and turn to fully face him. He tries to ignore the shine of incoming tears in your eyes. “See you around. And uh, sorry for bothering you.”

Before he can say anything else, you turn and exit the room, leaving Five in a state of uncertainty.

†††

When Five walks into work the next morning, he’s not on edge like he usually is. He normally expects you to greet him on his way to his office, but there’s no sight of you. After Five recovered from his shock, he decided he should be happy about the situation. Sure, he didn’t want you to get hurt, but he got what he wanted.

He settles into his office and gets to work. He reaches to take a sip of his coffee when he realizes there’s nothing there. Oh, right. You normally got his morning coffees for him. Not a big deal, he thinks. If anything, this shows what a nuisance you had been for changing his routine.

Throughout the next couple of days, he starts to realize what an impact you had made on him. For one, the coffee doesn’t taste as good, which is odd. Then he noticed his plant started to die. Five didn’t even know he had a plant. He got rid of it and suddenly felt that his office was colder. He knows it’s illogical, but he didn’t realize how it brightened the room.

And most of all, he found his normal routine to be rather dull. Normally, you would interrupt his work and give a small relief to the boring workload. His room is quieter than ever and the days start to blend together.

But this is what he wanted wasn’t it? To finally be on his own? It’s not like he missed your ramblings, or the sound of your laugh, or your happy disposition, or the way you brightened his day. No. He’s better off alone…

He doesn’t even believe himself. He scowls. How could he let this happen? How could he let someone in and affect him so much to a point where he missed them? He thinks about ignoring his feelings and soldiering on, as is his way, but the thought of going on like this for God knows how long makes him reconsider.

Goddamn you.

†††

He had never seen your office before. He didn’t even know you had an office up until now. He thought, a bit conceitedly perhaps, that he was the only field agent with an office. Maybe you weren’t exaggerating when you said you were good.

Your door is left open, possibly to be more inviting and welcoming. It’s perfectly you. Five looks in to see your head down, writing something at your desk, and takes a moment to consider you. God, he had missed you. He feels a little excited just seeing you there. Is he that lonely and desperate?

He knocks on your door and stands in the doorway. You lift your head and your eyes widen in surprise to see him. He tries not to look uncomfortable under your gaze.

“Oh! Hey Five,” you say, cautiously. You’re not as bubbly around him anymore, almost afraid to scare him off. He doesn’t like it. “What can I do for—”

Before you can finish, Five drops a file onto your desk. You look at him in surprise. There’s a silence. “What’s this?” you ask.

“Read it,” he snaps at you, his nerves getting the better of him. You open the file and he sees surprise overtake your whole face.

“This…this is a request to have me as your partner,” you say quietly, not knowing how to react.

“This has nothing to do with your pestering, by the way,” Five says. “I thought about it and came to my own conclusion that a partner would be beneficial. I thought since you were already willing, it was the simpler choice.”

As he speaks, he watches your disbelief change into joy and a bright smile returns to your face. It’s almost infectious.

“This is incredible,” you say. And then something changes and your smile drops into a frown, which makes him upset. Not that he was doing this for you, but he thought you’d be happy. “But I thought…I thought I annoyed you. What changed?”

He feels guilt tug at him. It seems his outburst stuck with you. “I…might have overreacted the other day. You do annoy me, but I didn’t mean it like that.” You nod at this and he senses it isn’t enough to convince you. Fuck it. He’s already in this deep. “I suppose, as a gesture of good faith as your new partner, and only for this occasion…I owe you an apology.”

Your eyes shoot up at him and he falters. Then he clears his throat and prays no one else is around to hear this. “I am…sorry, for any hurt my outburst may have caused you.” He could count on one hand the number of times he has genuinely apologized to someone. But apparently it works, as your frown is gone.

“Oh, um, thank you,” you say, unsure how to respond to his sudden change in character. There’s an awkward pause before you smile. You hold out your hand and say, “Partners?”

It’s such a sweet gesture of forgiveness that Five finds his mouth twitching upwards. “Partners,” he says, shaking your hand. He ignores the sparks he feels when his hand touches yours. But he has been sentimental for far too long.

He ends the handshake and clears his throat once more. “To be clear, this is not an official contract, you still have to sign the paper,” he says but the smile cannot be erased from your face.

“Yes, of course! I will handle that right away,” you say. “This is so exciting! You will not regret this.”

“I better not,” he says. “This doesn’t change anything between us, we’re not friends.”

“Yet,” you say with a cheeky smile. He is much more relieved to see you acting as your normal self again.

“Y/N I’m serious—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. This is going to be so fun,” you giggle, seemingly ignoring what he just said. “Thank you.”

You’re looking up at him, a soft smile on your lips and a twinkle in your eye. He falters again as he feels heat rising in his cheeks. He looks away.

“No need to thank me, just make sure that request is signed and submitted.”

“Aye, aye, cap’n,” you salute him and he takes this as his cue to leave. He turns and you call out, “See you around!”

He doesn’t respond, or rather he can’t. He’s already starting to regret this and not because of the reason you think. Seeing you all happy and excitement caused his heart to swell with a feeling he isn’t familiar with. He doesn’t like this unknown territory and change. But he has to admit…

It felt kind of nice.

𝐆𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 | 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞

sʏɴᴏᴘsɪs | ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 𝟣

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: 𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐞’𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞! 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐚 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐤𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐬 𝐢𝐧, 𝐬𝐨 𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐚 𝐬𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐈 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞! 𝐀𝐥𝐬𝐨, 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 + 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧’𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲! 𝐔𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐮𝐩𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞! ♡

“Yah! You’re billowing dust all over me!” You giggle as Su-Hyeok all but shakes the fabric of the infirmary beds excessively, sending unwanted particles in straight descension your way following the height difference slope between you two. He smiles at you cheekily over where he was currently holding onto the corners of the white linen, repeating the motion once more to send your hair flying into a mess.

He finally stops long enough for you both to fold the sheets nicely and stretch it taut over the very last cot in the room. Taking a step back, you eye the result of your hard work for the past few hours as you scan the now pristine room, each bed surface without a wrinkle in sight.

Most other students would disagree with you that cleaning duties was their favorite of the student requirements at Hyosan High, but you found it to be therapeutic in a way. Strangely, or maybe not so strangely considering your career choice for the future, you were in your element with anything and everything even remotely close in relation to the medical field. Or, it could be the fact that Su-Hyeok would always try to sign up as your cleaning partner before anyone else has even had a chance to look over the room assignments for the week—all that just to spend more time with you.

You dramatically slide your hands back and forth across each other, dusting them off. Nodding your head in satisfaction as you survey the surroundings, you proudly exclaim, “Look! Isn’t this just perfection, Su-Hyeok?” As you’re smiling at the end product, you don’t catch him gazing at you fondly.

“Yeah, more than perfect,” he mumbles to himself. With only the two of you in the room, it’s hard to miss, though you don’t register the full meaning behind his words.

Holding up your hand for a high five, he returns it, intertwining your fingers together to tug you towards him, the movement practically sending you crashing into his chest. Flustered, you opt to tease him instead to ease the tension you always feel around him. “Yo–You’re too close. I can smell your feet from here, Su-Hyeok.”

“Bear with me for a second,” he chuckles as he pulls you nearer. You can’t bring yourself to look up into his face as he smooths down your hair—entirely his fault from beating the sheets against your head earlier instead of the posts in the room that serve an obvious purpose. Except, you don’t have to worry about that as once he’s finished, he lets go of your hand and bends down to your level, making direct eye contact as he pats your head playfully. “Now, you’re presentable.”

You scoff, mock offended, finally stepping away from his personal space in hopes that the blush on your face isn’t as visible as you imagine it to be. “Are you saying I wasn’t before?” Su-Hyeok puts both hands up in defense, countenance teasing, before flopping unceremoniously onto the nearest bed.

“Aish!” You reproach. “We just made them!” He ultimately springs back up in fear of your relentless whacks to his chest. Glancing at the clock, it was already well into early evening, so you decide to call it a day. “Let’s go! Hopefully we can catch up with the others outside on our way to the entrance!”

“Race you there!” Su-Hyeok dashes out of the room without so much as a second glance, leaving you dumbfounded as you chase after him, dodging other students in the halls also on their way home.

When you finally make it outside, you and Su-Hyeok both spot Gyeong-Su and Cheong-San in the distance. Decidedly heading there together, you deliberately bump shoulders, trying to make the other fall over to no avail. Lightly kicking him in the shin as petty revenge for having sprung a race on you earlier, you sprint off toward your friends in front before Su-Hyeok has time to react.

You don’t give Cheong-San any indication of your presence until you jump on his back, arms around his neck. He stumbles, but doesn’t fall as Gyeong-Su whips around in surprise before seeing it’s you. He laughs at Cheong-San’s struggles as you finally let go. “It’s your little sister from a different mister!”

Growing up together and being the only child in your respective families, you, Cheong-San, and Su-Hyeok have always been close enough to the point that showing up at one another’s residences became commonplace. Mr. and Mrs. Lee never fail to bring up the fact that you’re the daughter they always wanted but never had to pull their son’s leg whenever you come around. Actually, now that you think about it, even when you’re not, they still do so out of habit, resulting in you getting an earful from Cheong-San the day after about how his parents’ affections are prioritized in the wrong order. You frequently laugh it off, but deep down, you’re grateful that the whole family is so protective of you, particularly Cheong-San, almost as if he was your brother by blood.

Though exasperated, when you cutely open your arms for a hug, Cheong-San rolls his eyes and gives in. “One day, you and On-Jo are going to annoy me to death,” he says as you guys let go.

“What an honorable death that would be for you,” you stick your tongue out at him.

“Don’t I get a friendly hug too, Y/N?” Gyeong-Su asks before pulling you into one.

“All this tenderness is making me want to throw up,” Cheong-San says as Su-Hyeok reaches the group.

“I think that’s been long enough,” Su-Hyeok warns, jealous.

“Nope,” Gyeong-Su refutes, not letting you go to make a point, causing you to laugh. He releases you soon after though, before Cheong-San has a chance to scold him.

“I get a kick in the shin and they get hugs?” Su-Hyeok grumbles, nearly sulking.

“If you wanted one so badly, you could’ve just asked.”

“No flirting before dinner, guys. I’ll lose my appetite.” Gyeong-Su puts an arm around Cheong-San’s shoulder, amused at the scene in front of him.

As Su-Hyeok spreads his arms wide, you mirror him, before handing over your backpack, heavy with beginner’s medical textbooks. “Free hug for you from my lovely backpack.” Gyeong-Su cackles at the priceless expression on Su-Hyeok’s face while Cheong-San just shakes his head, tired of the familiar behavior between the two of you he’s had to witness against his will over the years as the eternal third wheel.

You wave as you see On-Jo and I-Sak approaching, the former shoving Cheong-San’s shoulder so hard, he drops his phone on the ground, rattling against the gravel from impact.

“My phone!” He scrambles to pick it up.

“Hey, gopher. Let’s go have some fried chicken,” On-Jo says, jutting out her backpack.

Regardless of their endless bickering, he doesn’t hesitate in taking the bag from her, though you’re not really surprised. You’ve known about Cheong-San’s massive longtime crush on On-Jo before he even knew it himself. To this day, you’re still waiting for him to make something happen, though you expect to be waiting forever.

“It hasn’t opened yet,” Cheong-San says, peeved.

“Yeah, it has. Your mom said she’s testing out a new recipe today,” On-Jo counters as Gyeong-Su hits Cheong-San, somewhat affronted. You assume they’ve already been over this once before the girls arrived. On-Jo and I-Sak pull you to their side, linking their arms through yours as everyone confirms their attendance to the impromptu chicken dinner invite.

“Ohhhhhhh,” Gyeong-Su drawls excitedly. “Is this a triple date?”

“Mwoya? How annoying.” I-Sak couldn’t be more disgusted as she drags you and On-Jo away speedily towards the school’s entrance, leaving the boys trailing behind to Gyeong-Su’s happy whistle rendition of Auld Lang Syne, extra backpacks and all.

»»————-————-————-————-————-————-————-—««

“There’s the cute couple!” Cheong-San’s mom bellows, referring to you and Su-Hyeok, handing over the largest platter of fried chicken you’ve seen in your life. She immediately embraces you before you even get a chance to sit down.

The boys convene on one side while you and the girls take seats opposite them, somehow paired up as Gyeong-Su had hoped for.

“Mrs. Lee, we’re not together,” you correct as you dig into the plate in front of you, the mouthwatering smell of freshly fried chicken wafting through the vicinity.

“Do we get extra fried chicken if we are?” Su-Hyeok inquires, genuinely curious. You kick him under the table and Mrs. Lee looks on, entertained.

Somehow, the lighthearted conversation as your little group eats shifts to more serious matters when Mrs. Lee heads back to the kitchen to reevaluate the briny recipe with her husband after taking everyone’s feedback into consideration.

“Ah, right. Did you guys catch wind of what’s circulating around school about Mr. Lee? I-Sak starts.

“What about him?” Cheong-San questions, as everyone turns their attention towards I-Sak, wondering what the latest gossip was.

“He emits the odor of a rotting corpse.”

Cheong-San sighs. “Na-Yeon’s the one who spread that rumor, right?”

You roll your eyes. “Knowing her, of course she did.”

All five pairs of eyes turn towards you, scandalized. “Wow, this is the first time that you, the nicest person in the world, have clearly expressed your dislike for someone,” Gyeong-Su states to everyone’s agreement. “Our own future doctor and resident angel with a pure heart full of compassion finally has one person on her hit list,” he teases.

“Pshh, stop it you guys. Refrain from giving me these grand nicknames I can’t live up to. An angel, seriously?” You deny, slightly embarrassed at them putting you in such high regards.

“Su-Hyeok surely thinks so, in a literal sense—" The person in question elbows Gyeong-Su forcefully, on the brink of sending him toppling over in his chair. Everyone laughs as Su-Hyeok shoves a drumstick into Gyeong-Su’s mouth to shut him up.

“Don’t force it, Gyeong-Su. I think he likes Nam-Ra.” As the words leave your mouth, everyone snaps their head your way, staring unbelievably, almost comically so.

On-Jo recovers first. “So, you’re saying he likes someone smart, kind, and beautiful. Hmm, sounds like someone we all know,” she stares right at you.

“Yah, Y/N, you’re supposed to be the smartest one out of all of us here, including almost the entirety of the school. How are you so dense?” Cheong-San clucks his tongue, frustrated.

“Excuse you? I can feel him burning a hole through the side of my face trying to get a glimpse of her in class,” you defend. Up until now, Su-Hyeok hasn’t said a word, though he resorts to beating his forehead lightly and repetitively against the table.

“Care to remind me who’s beside Nam-Ra and sits in the aisle seat?” I-Sak looks at you pointedly.

“It’s me, obviously, that’s how I can tell.” Gyeong-Su ends up choking on his chicken as he snorts while the others just give up.

“Anyway,” On-Jo moves on, circling back on the conversation. “What I-Sak says is true! Mr. Lee was absent for a short while after his son went missing, then showed up one day to class with a deathly smell.”

“How would Na-Yeon know the smell of a cadaver? It’s not like she has any experience being in close contact with one; I doubt the majority of us have.” Cheong-San criticizes.

“No idea, but if it’s the only one she’s not accustomed to, she can’t be wrong about the unidentified scent. He did act exponentially bizarre in the aftermath of what happened to his son,” On-Jo clarifies.

“Poor Jin-Su was an outcast from what I remember. I heard he got bullied severely.” I-Sak looks down at her plate, pitying the boy.

“I feel sorry for him, and Mr. Lee as well. Can you imagine knowing your child getting mistreated but not being able to do anything about it? I wouldn’t be able to bear it, much less fathom what his thought process was at the time,” On-Jo pauses before bringing up another matter. “Do you guys recall him leaving class last week all of a sudden?”

“He had written all these biological terms in English, madly, in some sort of craze on the blackboard,” you detail. “The sound of the chalk was eerie when it scraped so wildly across the board’s surface.” Everyone nods as Gyeong-Su asks you what Mr. Lee had written, with your history of having studied abroad before entering high school. “I’m not quite sure what they meant. It was just a bunch of complex information about parasites, viruses, and cells. But the thing is, his writing wasn’t complete. Those notes seemed like it was solely for him to comprehend,” you deduce.

“He’s known around the school to have been a genius in his prime.” I-Sak stops before adding as an afterthought. “Though, I guess he’s still considered a genius now.”

“Geniuses often go crazy,” On-Jo murmurs.

“You may accumulate a hundred problems, but for the rest of your life, I suppose you’ll never have to worry about that being one of them,” Cheong-San says wittily.

Gyeong-Su laughs as On-Jo scolds him. “Are you looking down on me? Grades aren’t everything.”

“Be careful, Y/N. You might go crazy one day,” Su-Hyeok jokes.

“If I do, I’ll bite you first.”

Gyeong-Su taps your empty plate with his chicken bone, tone fake reprimanding. “Now, now, my dear Y/N—that’s not very school appropriate.”

Before you can get back at him, I-Sak’s rushed reminder sends everyone fleeing from the table, clearly running late to their English academy. After all of your hasty goodbyes to Cheong-San’s parents, Gyeong-Su is the first one out the door, afraid of your wrath-filled kicks if he were to stay any longer. He knows better than to mess too seriously with a black-belt.

You and Su-Hyeok don’t attend the same academy—well he just doesn’t attend one at all—so you two have fallen into a routine of him walking you home everyday after school even though your house is next door to his.

As you walk, the back of your hands keeps brushing against each other’s, close enough to touch but not enough to hold. That is, until Su-Hyeok boldly reaches over to clasp them together without hesitation, always making sure you’re on the inner side of the sidewalk.

A few blocks later, you shiver against the cold, realizing you should’ve heeded your mom’s advice this morning about putting an extra layer on top of your thin green cardigan. Su-Hyeok takes off his black blazer for you to wear, disappointed in having to let go of your hand for you to put it on properly. The only problem was it’s completely too large on you, the sleeves dangling in a funny way and the length almost a dress, but it serves its purpose and smells entirely like Su-Hyeok.

“Aren’t you going to be cold?” You ask him, fretting, despite how touched you are by his actions.

He entwines your hands again and drags you closer to his side. “Not really.” He glances down at you. “I think I’m warm enough.” It’s hard to suppress your smile as you huddle a tiny bit closer, his red name tag lined up with your heart.

When the door of your house comes into view, you reluctantly draw your hand away from his, proceeding to take off his jacket, intending to return it. Before you can so much as get it past your shoulders, he stops you.

“Give it back to me tomorrow,” he smiles shyly at you.

“Alright, thanks.” You shuffle your feet, suddenly at a loss on what to say. When did things become so awkward? “Well, this is me,” you point to your gate as if he didn’t already know. “It’s getting late, you should go.”

“Not until I see you inside first.”

Your heart is warm as you turn around to head in. When you lock the gateway behind you, he calls to you through the opening between each metal post.

“It’s not Nam-Ra that I like.”

The statement is entirely too random until you remember the conversation at Cheong-San’s family restaurant.

“Then, who? Do I know her?”

“You do—very well.”

“Will you tell me?”

“I’ll let you know before the end of tomorrow.”

“Then, see you tomorrow, Su-Hyeok.”

“Always.”

sʏɴᴏᴘsɪs | ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 𝟣

© 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭 𝐠𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐍𝐞𝐭𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐱’𝐬 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐔𝐬 𝐀𝐫𝐞 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐛𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞. 𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨, 𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞, 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐳𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫-𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐭. 𝐀𝐥𝐬𝐨, 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐳𝐞, 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞, 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐛𝐮𝐭𝐞, 𝐨𝐫 𝐮𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦 𝐢𝐭 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐚 𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞.

“my arm is going to lose circulation if you keep doing that.”

tsukishima glares—or attempts to—at you and scoffs. of course you won’t budge. “it’s not going anywhere, can you let go please?”

you pout, displeased with your boyfriend’s comment. you haven’t seen him all day and only 30 minutes ago had you entered his apartment. needless to say, you currently cling to him like a koala.

he wrangles himself free of your grasp, relieved for his lungs and limbs. walking over to your shared closet—really just his clothes you steal—he rummages before finding something and tossing it your way. “here’s a sweatshirt. that make you feel better?”

you feel your frustration spill over and look at him with a frown. “that’s not the same thing!” you cry, tossing the clothing aside, “why would i want that when you’re right here?”

he blinks, glaring at the sight of your small tantrum. “hey, chill out.” he flicks your forehead before kissing the very spot.

he becomes silent, knowing he can’t argue with your logic. for once, you actually have a very valid point. and maybe, just maybe tsukishima likes when you’re clingy.

you sniffle, watching him settle back at his desk. you’re prepared to go and slip the sweatshirt on but you’re stopped when he softly calls your name.

“come here.” he scoots his chair back and pats his lap.

you stare at him with wide eyes, and wait for someone to pinch you. to wake you up from your dream.

tsukishima blushes a light red, the color spreading through his cheeks and the tips of his ears. “i’m going to retract my offer in a minute if you don’t hurry up.” he threatens, and you can tell he’s flustered by the way he awkwardly has his arms open.

you practically leap into his lap, and he grunts softly at the impact. another blush creeps up his neck and you plant several kisses on his skin. he adjusts you so your legs wrap around his waist as he sits in the chair.

“is that better now?” he asks, his voice rumbling against you at a frequency you know and love.

you curl impossibly further into him. “much better now.” a pleased hum leaves you and you smile.

you hear kei humming a song you recognize as one from your shared playlist and you become elated. he’s not the best singer, but he only really ever hums or sings when he’s around you, and nothing can beat the feeling of being special.

one of kei’s hand slip up your lower back and he rubs small circles up your spine. the gesture makes you drowsy, and you feel yourself begin to fall asleep.

when kei feels the weight of your head on his chest, he almost says your name before he looks down. his heart swells when he sees you fast asleep, hands gripping onto his t-shirt. you look so…peaceful in his hold and he’s glad that no one else but him can hold you like this. see you like this. never in a million years would he want to see you in someone else’s arms.

he smiles, carefully shifting you in his hold so that he can still work. his large hand cradles the back of your head before he presses several kisses to your forehead, his silent way of showing how grateful he is for you. of being able to have you and cherish you and love you like he should.

after awhile he decides to take a break. he picks you in his arms before he moves to your shared bed. he hears you call his name, your voice small and confused.

kei carefully slides in next to you, hushing you quietly. “it’s okay. you’re okay, sweet girl. just go back to sleep. i’m right here.” he says softly, pulling you on top of his chest.

“m‘kay.” you mumble, closing your eyes again.

and you’re sure you’re not hallucinating but if you weren’t so drowsy, you could clearly hear kei mumble ‘love you’ before you fall back asleep.

do not copy and or repost. likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated though! (c) 2022 hyeque

Y/N: Okay, truth or dare?

Sherlock, shrugs: Truth.

Y/N: How many hours have you slept this week?

Sherlock:

Y/N:

Sherlock: ...Dare.

Y/N: Go to bed.

Sherlock: I don’t like this game!

Y/N: Zoe always gives Daniel flowers, it would be nice if you did the same.

Zack: Alright.

Zack: *gives Daniel flowers*

Daniel: Thank you, but... why?

Zack: I'm confused as well.

Y/N, Zack, and Jay are sitting on a bench

Daniel: Why do you guys look so sad?

Y/N: Sit down with us so we can tell you.

*Daniel sits down*

Zack: The bench is freshly painted.

𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐏𝐎𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐎 — 𝐈𝐖𝐀𝐈𝐙𝐔𝐌𝐈 𝐇𝐀𝐉𝐈𝐌𝐄

"you know, i'm perfectly capable of going to the grocery store on my own," you tell iwaizumi, lingering a step behind him as he walks down the aisle, scanning the items neatly lined up on the shelves. he only hums in acknowledgement. you click your tongue in mock annoyance because, despite your resistance to his assistance, you don't mind having him around. still, you're not used to being coddled like this. "being pregnant doesn't mean i can't walk. my feet aren't defective."

"just hush and let me help," hajime speaks, resting one hand on the top of your head while the other reaches for a bag of brown rice. the weight on your head is comforting, a reminder of why iwaizumi is really here. ever since you read the positive test and the man who was meant to be with you walked out, iwaizumi, your best friend, stepped up and became your lifeline—attended all of your appointments, started reading baby books in his free time, calmed you down whenever you were feeling overwhelmed. he made sure you weren't making this journey alone.

"can i at least push the cart?" you attempt to negotiate. you may not mind having him here with you, but you'd be lying if you said that following him around while he did all the work wasn't getting boring. "wouldn't it be safer to have something in front of me in case i trip?"

"how could you trip?" he asks, more humor in his voice than usual. "you just told me that your feet work fine."

you groan at the way he twists your words, hands coming up to unconsciously rub at your belly. it's become a habit of yours, caressing the steadily growing bump whenever you're stressed or bored. it gives you something to do and floods you with an immeasurable amount of contentment.

"oh, congratulations, dear." you turn at the sound of a frail voice. an elderly woman on the opposite side of the aisle looks at you through squinted eyes, a gentle smile pulling at her lips. you figure she's referring to your stomach.

"thank you."

"how far along are you?"

"eighteen weeks." you smile. iwaizumi intently watches your interaction—the way your eyes light up and how your hands protectively cradle the little bulge. "this little one is the size of a sweet potato."

the fruit and vegetable comparison was always a little silly to you but it came in handy during moments like these. this specific week actually helped you remember something that slipped your mind while you were making the list of items you needed.

"oh!" you snap and point at iwaizumi. "that's what i forgot earlier. i'm going to go grab a few."

"hold on, i'll-" your hand shoots up, palm out, to stop him from finishing his sentence—one that you're positive would include him insisting on joining you.

"hajime." you're more than grateful to have someone to lean on but at this rate, you're going to forget how to live as an independent being. "i can walk a couple aisles down and bag some vegetables on my own."

"right," he curtly nods, "i'll stay and wait for you here."

you hurry off to grab the sweet potatoes your obstetrician recommended adding to your diet and leave iwaizumi to aimlessly shift back and forth on his feet.

"you must be excited." the familiar voice catches the man's attention, leading him to face the nice old woman.

"i'm sorry?"

"about becoming a father," she clarifies.

his lips part in understanding and he nods. there's no harm in letting one woman neither of you will see again think that he was the baby's dad. it happened quite often but you always brush off the assumptions by jokingly saying "i wish." it's never bothered iwaizumi—people's first thought being that he was the father or the fact that you corrected them. he expected as much when he offered a helping hand. what he didn't expect was that his heart would jump every time he heard any variation of the word. he kept that to himself, though.

the woman slowly approaches iwaizumi and places a soothing hand on his arm. he has to look down to meet her eye but when he does, he's met with nothing but warmth. her eyes crinkle with her smile. "i'm sure you and your wife will be great parents."

she continues down the aisle, leaving iwaizumi with her words. his arms rest on the handle of the cart as the woman's statement echoes in his head. parents. at the moment, hajime's a support system—driving you around on errands and helping with chores around the house. the two of you haven't discussed what his role will be after you've given birth, but, despite that, he knows he wants to be there for you and your baby every step of the way if you'll have him.

"i'm back and bearing potatoes," you announce your arrival, dropping the vegetables in the cart. your gaze falls to iwaizumi who's staring ahead, his eyebrows knit together in deep thought. you reach out to smooth the crease between his brows with your thumb. "what's wrong with you?"

"nothing." what's on his mind is a conversation better had not in a supermarket. "come on. let's wrap this up and get you home for lunch."

"gosh, you sound just like a dad," you comment through a laugh, hooking your arm around one of his.

like clockwork, iwaizumi's heart skips another beat. it feels different this time; he figures it's because you're the one who said it.

thanks for reading! comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

Deadpool: So… I’ve seen you’ve been spending a lot of time with Peter recently. Y/N: No, Deadpool, it's not what it looks like, I swear. Deadpool: Oh really? So no reason for me to be jealous? Y/N: No! You’re the only one for me. Deadpool: Is that so? Y/N: I promise! Peter and I are just dating, okay? He's my boyfriend. Deadpool: So there are no best-friends-feelings involved? Y/N: You are still my one and only best friend! he's just the love of my life, nothing more! Deadpool: But I’m still the platonic love of your life, right? Y/N: Of course bro! Deadpool: Bro... Peter: What the-