#Remote File Transfer | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sweatervest-obsessed · 2 years ago

Text

You're Keeping Me Down

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader (she/her)

WC: ~5.8k

TW: mentions of trauma, mentions of Maeve, kissing, previous relationships, swearing, alcohol, so much crying, bad decisions, girlbossing

A/N: ayo....angsty teehee. I hope y'all like it! It's a sequel to Dedicated to New Lovers and was inspired mainly by Sara Bareilles's Gravity, some Harry Styles, and other sad songs. I hope y'all enjoy it!! I really do love reading all of your comments, and tags, and feedback because it makes me so happy to know you guys are enjoying the writing!! <3

“You may not control all the events that happen to you, but you can decide not to be reduced by them.” ~Maya Angelou

Something always brought you back to Doctor Spencer Reid. No matter how hard you tried, no matter how much you fought it, something about the universe could not keep you away from him for too long.

It was like the two of you were attached at opposite ends of a string, always pulling you towards one another, ignoring whatever you had been feeling beforehand.

There was nothing you could do to escape him. You had tried traversing the globe, studying in Greece and Turkey, or taking vacations in the most remote villages of China; you had even done a two-week expedition traveling to Antarctica. But somehow, some way, Spencer Reid stayed in the back of your mind.

Sometimes, it was like he was right next to you. You could still feel him next to you in your bed, or if you were alone in your car, your hand was absently reaching toward the passenger seat, only to feel the leather and not his leg.

Maybe it was because all of those stupid little facts he had spouted to you were resting in the back of your mind, popping up when you’d come across anything he would have told you about.

It was something you missed. He would just ramble on about anything to you, watching the joy on his face as he continued to speak, so grateful to have an audience, to have someone who cared. But you’d have to remind yourself that Spencer chose her as his audience instead of you.

Her.

The guilt of Maeve’s death followed you around more than Spencer did. At first, it was anything to do with therapists. The thought of choosing someone to speak to outside of your circle was a betrayal you had felt, and you couldn’t bring yourself to do the same. Then it was your distrust of your friends, watching as they became less and less frequent in your life.

Work was all-consuming. You knew this fact well. Being one of the top profilers in the FBI meant that news of your transfer went fast, and the job offers came even quicker. But you decided to take some time off to rediscover the girl you once knew, someone outside her job.

The BAU was simply your life for the past eight years. You worked at the BAU, you dated inside of the BAU, and your friends were all within the BAU–It was honestly a joke that it all had decided to come crumbling down once you felt secure in your life, in your job, in your relationship.

You had filed the paperwork that allowed you to take two months of paid leave, not to leave the department. Your social media suddenly became filled with images of Ancient Greek monuments, Italian Vineyards, the French and Swiss Alps, and cities you once only visited in your wildest dreams.

Escaping reality was the best way to rediscover who you are. And so you tried.

When you returned from your two months, you had walked into the BAU bullpen and straight to Hotch’s office. Your skin was tanner, and your hair was a bit lighter from all of the sun. You were suddenly this confident woman again, but you weren’t who you were before, making you nearly unrecognizable.

“Y/N, please come in.”

You smiled warmly at Hotch, giving him a quick hug.

“You look good. How were your travels?”

You smiled and leaned against the wall, not wanting to sit since that meant you would be here longer than you wanted.

“It was everything I needed it to be, Hotch .” You nodded to the file on his desk with your name on it. “I take it Garcia ‘accidentally’ discovered my file and decided to drop it off?”

Hotch sighed and opened the file, looking over at you. “Of course she did. I thought you were just transferring after your leave; I didn’t know you were leaving the Bureau entirely.”

You nodded, a sad smile making its way onto your face.

Hotch looked at you, replicating the same sad smile.

“I wanted to tell you in person since I didn’t want you to find out via paperwork, but I should have known to come to your office first and then file it instead of filing it on my way to your office.”

A soft chuckle passed through Hotch’s lips as he nodded. “We’re going to miss you more than before, Y/N.”

“I won't be gone forever, Hotch. You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

“I know.” He rounded the desk, giving you a quick hug, arm on your shoulder. “You have my number.”

You gave him a quick smile, nodding, “Don’t worry, Jack will still be getting weekly updates about my travels, and expect a box of goodies occasionally. I have to uphold my reigning title of the coolest aunt ever.”

As you left Hotch’s office, you didn’t notice Spencer at the coffee station. You didn’t see as he watched you quickly drop a note off on Emily’s desk and another on Derek’s desk before stepping into the elevator for the last time for the next two years.

You didn’t notice the heartbreak in his eyes, and you didn’t notice the fact that he had overheard as you told Hotch you weren’t coming back to the FBI at all.

But somehow, you found yourself back in that same elevator, visitor badge clipped to the new dress you had received as a gift from a friend during your month-long stay in India last year. The fabric draped across your body, highlighting how beautiful your curves were, and the colors brought out this newfound radiance in your skin, your eyes, your smile...

Color was the newest development in your life. The BAU meant that everything was in professional shades of blue, black, white, or maybe a subdued purple or green if you felt risky. But suddenly, your wardrobe burst through the rainbow as you experimented with patterns and shades, basking in this newfound joy beyond the world of suits.

Eighteen months of experimenting–with life, with colors, with places you called home, with love.

You had two brief “love affairs” as Garcia lovingly called them. One was only two weeks long, but the other was a few months. Yet both were missing something special and could barely converse with you. Maybe that was how Spencer felt. And the sex wasn’t all that great either.

And yet, after Eighteen months, an award, four nominations, a cat, a mediocre short-term relationship, and one groundbreaking dissertation that led to a Ph.D. later, you found yourself back in that damned elevator.

You inhaled sharply as you heard the tiny ding, doors opening up to a sight that made your stomach twist. It was truly bittersweet to be back, to visit the place that once carried everything in your life, and to have it be so foreign to you.

But what was not so foreign was how one Derek Morgan looked up as the door opened and his eyes filled to the brim with light.

“Well, well, well, look who it is.” He dropped his file on his desk and met you in the middle of the side aisle of the bullpen, pulling you into a bone-crushing hug. “My woman.” He muttered into your hair, giving you an extra squeeze before pulling away slightly.

“What’s up, sexy.” You laughed, thrilled to hear he hadn’t changed too much while you were away.

“I’m sexy? Have you seen yourself recently?” He laughed, and you gave him a twirl, eager to show off one of your favorite dresses. “And where did you get this? Wait, wait, let me guess.”

You pursed your lips, failing to hide the smile that was beaming across your face.

“Was it your time in Taiwan? No no…Pakistan?”

“So close. India. Maybe next time, champ.” You patted his arm, turning your head at the gasp behind me.

“Do my eyes deceive me, or is that Doctor Y/N Y/L/N, world traveler extraordinaire?”

“JJ, you saw me three days ago.”

JJ pulled you into a hug. “Yeah, over Facetime,” she grumbled, not even trying to pretend she was upset at the sight of you in person. “You seriously have to stop sending Henry so much stuff.”

“Some of it is for the other one, too.” You muttered to her, knowing she wasn’t fully public with her pregnancy at the BAU just yet.

“I’ll be right back, I promise, I just have to say hi to Hotch first.” You placed your hands on their arms, turning towards Hotch’s office. As you went to knock on the door, it opened, leaving you face to face with the only person you weren’t ready to confront just yet.

“Hi.” He breathed out.

And fuck you, he looked so good.

“Hi, Spencer.”

You watched as a wave of emotion rippled across his face. His name almost tasted weird in your mouth, not something you’ve often said in the two years apart.

“I’ll, um..” He moved to step out of the way, letting you maneuver into Hotch’s office.

But you had also tried to move, causing you and Spencer to almost collide, causing his hand to barely grace your waist. A spark flew through your skin at the thought of his touch, causing goosebumps up and down your body.

You both muttered an apology, eyes not leaving the other until you quickly moved into Hotch’s office, causing him to move back, still watching as you closed the door in his face.

While you spoke to Hotch, catching up, Spencer was down in the bullpen at his desk, barely even trying to move them away from the windows.

JJ and Derek stood around his desk, looking from the office to Spencer and back again.

“She’s back.” He said simply when Kate approached them, wondering why they were all standing around, staring at Hotch’s office.

“Who?” Kate crossed her arms, looking between the agents, hoping for an answer.

Spencer said your name for the first time in a very long time. And it was almost as if his brain whirred to life, like some part of him had been dormant for a long time.

“Doctor.”

Spencer gave Derek a weird look. “What?”

“It’s Doctor Y/N Y/L/N now, Pretty Boy.”

Spencer let his mouth fall into a small oh, letting his mind sink deeper and deeper into the pit of you.

When you had originally left, Spencer decided to try and ignore you. It didn’t work, but he wouldn’t seek you out purposefully. He never looked up your name and tried to steer clear of the conversations involving you. But he wondered why you had never mentioned wanting to get a doctorate beforehand. He would have remembered something like that. He should have remembered something like that. ______________________________________________________________

The thought of Spencer’s fingers on your waist was the only thing you could think about for the rest of the day. Your skin hadn’t stopped tingling, and suddenly you wanted to drown in his touch, let his hands roam over your body and— “Stop it.” You said out loud as you put in your earrings.

Your mind wasn’t playing far.

“What did you say, sweetheart?”

“Nothing, just talking to myself!” You called back, sighing as you smoothed out the front of the dress you had changed into.

The team had decided to throw you a welcome-back party that night, generously hosted by David Rossi. And since they had all wanted an excuse to get dressed up, you gave them that much, meaning you had to dawn heels and a touch of makeup to accentuate the features you wanted. It also meant you got to pull out another stunning dress you had bought.

Celebrating your doctorate, which you completed a year early, you had flown to Milan with Emily Prentiss and decided to go shopping, which is how you ended up with the current dress you were wearing.

It fits you in all the right places, showing off just enough cleavage to be tasteful but maybe tempt something a bit more. You wondered if Spencer would like—

“God, I forgot how hot you look in that dress.”

“Emily Prentiss, I could kiss you on the mouth.”

Emily laughed and looped her arm through yours, staring at the two of you in the mirror.

“Thank you for flying in on such short notice.” You whispered, unable to take your eyes off of the reflection staring back at you.

“We can call the whole thing off right now…”

You shook your head and smiled at her. “It’s for me. And I really want some of Rossi’s cooking right about now. Especially now that I can compare my worldly experiences with the Italian Masterchef himself.” You laughed, causing Emily to laugh with you.

“Let's get going, yeah?”

The ride to Rossi’s house on the outskirts of Washington D.C. made for a relaxing drive, filled with updates from your best friend about each other’s lives, even though it had only been a month since you had seen each other last.

“I think you’re being perfectly reasonable, hun.”

“You’re saying that because all I do is cry these days,” you grumbled, kissing the head of the black cat in your lap.

Emily laughed and took a sip of her wine. “Or maybe I just know that you need a change of scenery. You’ve dedicated your entire life to the BAU and now you need to explore the entire rest of the world.”

“I think you just want to go to Greece with me.”

“You know how much I love Mamma Mia….”

You cracked a smile and picked up your glass. “Maybe Em, I’m not sure…I just…”

Emily watched as you looked up, trying to keep the tears from your eyes.

“I know he’s not worth the tears,” you mumbled, but you exhaled slowly. “It’ll just hit me sometimes.”

She stayed quiet, watching as you slowly worked through whatever was happening in your head.

“It’s like he’s right next to me sometimes. I…It’s like sometimes my own head is against me for not talking to him. I heard a song the other day, and I immediately turned to tell him something about it and–It’s like he’s ruling over my mind—” You huffed angrily. “I feel like I’m not making any sense–god.” You downed your wine and placed the glass on the table. “Maybe I’m just meant to wallow and drink wine and be completely useless for the rest of my life…past my prime, past my worth. I was so—I was so fucking sure he was the one…Like there's this strong attachment to my chest and I’m connected to him for eternity, regardless of whether he loves me or not.”

Emily pulled you into her arms while you cried, rubbing your back.

“You are so much more than him, hun. You will go out in the world, figure out who you are again, and stand so tall, just how you’re supposed to.”

“So tall.” Emily looked at you as she parked the car in Rossi’s driveway.

“Just the way I’m supposed to be.” You whispered, looking over at her, smiling. ______________________________________________________________

You’ve been to Rossi’s more times than you could ever admit, but it managed to take your breath away every single time. After his first wife had passed away, he had put in a garden near the edge of his backyard, providing beautiful color for you to look at from the porch.

Somehow, you always had a half-full glass, managing to have someone always get you a new drink when you seemed low.

You managed to talk to Jack and Henry, telling them all about the wonders of the world you had seen, then being pulled away by Garcia to discuss that brief love affair you had in Argentina, which then led to telling Derek about your time in England, studying for your doctorate.

Gratefully, you excused yourself when Rossi announced that dinner had been served, leading you to the tables set up in the backyard, filled to the brim with all your favorite foods. He had simply done too much.

Dinner was filled with smiles, laughs, and chatter about the ‘good ol days’ and the newer memories being made. You had become acquainted with Kate Callahan, Emily’s replacement. She seemed nice enough, but you both were hesitant of one another.

Spencer was sitting across the table from you. The two of you would catch glances at one another, passing moments where you couldn’t help but notice the way the wind ruffled his hair or the way the garden’s fairy lights reflected in his eyes.

“So, what brings you back to Washington,” Hotch asks you the question every person at the table has been dying to hear the answer to.

“Oh! Well…” You blushed slightly and shrugged. “It’s not that big of a deal, but I was just offered a position at Georgetown as an adjunct professor. If I take it, I’ll teach classes for at least the next semester. That is if I like it more than King’s College in London..”

The table erupted into congratulations, ending with a toast from Rossi.

You all raised your glass in “Salut”, and took a sip from your drink, but you couldn't help but look at Spencer, who was already looking at you.

Excusing yourself from the table, you went inside quickly, walking towards the kitchen sink. You ran your hands under the cool water before splashing it across your face.

“Y/n…”

There it was. The moment you had been dreading. The two of you were alone, no one else to buffer you, no one else to take your arm and drag you to the dance floor.

“Spencer.” You turned around, your body leaning against the sink. God, you felt so small, so unable to watch yourself.

“That’s a–that’s a beautiful dress.”

“Milan.” You mused, fiddling with the ring on your pinky finger, unable to look away from the man before you.

“Ah.”

The silence hurt. Watching the two of you must have been painful because you could feel it. You once told this man everything about yourself; he once knew how your day went by one singular sigh. He could have told you what you were in the mood to eat for breakfast just by how you woke up.

But now, you didn’t even know what to say.

“Georgetown.”

You nodded and looked down at your nails, seeming that they felt like a safer bet to look at. “Yeah, uh…should be fun. Can I–” You looked up at him. “Can I ask you something?”

Spencer’s head nodded, and you pursed your lips, looking out the window and watching as your friends and family all laughed together and ate together.

“When I was…um.” You cleared your throat, willing away the tears that had instantly sprung to your eyes. “When I was packing up all my stuff two years ago…I found the…W-Was it for her or…” You braced yourself for impact. Waiting for him to respond.

Spencer’s eyes glassed over, and his mouth formed a small oh. He fiddled with his ring finger and looked out past you through the window. He couldn’t bear to watch the travesty he was about to cause.

“You.”

“Oh.” Fuck this. Fuck. You had sobbed over finding it for three hours while packing and then sobbed again as you moved out. Somehow, hearing it out loud was worse.

He was going to propose to you.

Spencer Reid had wanted to marry you. And god, that hurt. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with you, and then he told you that he wasn’t in love with you anymore.

You didn’t care if you were reserving a spot in hell for yourself by damning an already dead woman. Her death meant Spencer could feel an ounce of the grief you just dug up. A sliver of the pain.

Suddenly, you felt his hand on your jaw, a thumb on your cheek, wiping away the tear that had escaped your eye. “I am so sorry.” He whispered.

And that broke the damn.

He pulled you into his arms, and you let him, surrounding yourself with Spencer. Letting the smell of his cologne wash over you, letting him squeeze you tightly like he used to so long ago. The feeling of his chest rising and falling gave you such comfort that your brain was screaming at you to run away from it. You had finally built all your walls back up; you felt as if you could finally exist, but here in his arms, the world was silent.

In his arms, you felt fragile; you felt so small. All of the strength you had was gone. And it felt so fucking good to not have to be the strong one, the person with the brave face.

“I’m so sorry.”

His lips kissed your hair, arm running up and down your back, trying so desperately to bring back that sense of comfort he once could provide you. And it was fucking working. God, why was it working. Why did it feel good? Why couldn’t you pull away?

“Spence…” You mumbled into his shirt, that had been stained by your tears. You shook your head. “I can’t…We can’t…”

He pulled away from you slightly, eyes saddened, and you couldn’t tell if it was because you were rejecting him or because he still loved you just as much as you loved him.

“I love you.”

You pulled away from the kiss, hand on his chest, smiling brightly at him. “What?”

It was the most beautiful you had ever looked, Spencer decided.

Your lips were puffy from how much the two of you were kissing, hair messy from his hands running through it, eyes wide with just as much love repeated in his own.

“I love you.” He repeated, smiling beyond measure.

“Say it again.” You mumbled, yanking him back down to your lips, kissing him again and again.

“I love you so much, y/n y/l/n.”

You pulled away, laughter filling up the entire room. Pure joy echoed and bounced off of the walls.

Spencer bit his lip, pulling away slightly. You hadn’t set it back.

“Spence…” You cupped both cheeks with your hand, thumb rubbing over his bottom lip. “I love you too.”

Just saying it caused you to giggle, full of love and pure joy.

Loving anyone else would have caused you to gag–it still does.

But the memory makes you shudder, causing you to step out of his arms, quickly wiping away your tears or trying your best to.

The thought of love made you want to rip your head off. It made you want to sink to the bottom of the ocean and never resurface.

Spencer said your name, making you shake your head.

“You don’t love me Spencer. You haven’t for a long time.” The admission caused a resurgence of tears, making him take a step towards you. “No, Spencer, no.”

You shook your head again. “I-I can’t…you hurt me. You…you left me for someone you had never even met. She was–god.”

“I never loved her the way I love you.”

“No.” You whispered, chest heaving. “No, no. You can’t..fuck. Don’t say that shit–why would you say that shit to me.”

“Because it's the truth.” He said softly, too calmly for you to just ignore it.

“How can you stand there and say that to me? You don’t mean it—You can’t..” The past two year’s worth of therapy, of moving on, of becoming your own, came crumbling down because fuck, you didn’t know what to believe anymore. “How can you just…You don’t fucking mean it.”

“I know you don’t believe me, but I–”

“Don’t believe you?” You laughed at that, tears mixing with the stabs in your chest, dropping past your mouth as it laughed and laughed and laughed. “Then why did you fucking leave me. Why–Why–Why did you tell me to move out and…God Spencer, why did you come here tonight.”

You were almost hysterical at that point; all Spencer could do was watch. He couldn't touch you because every time he tried, you’d move away or lose some part of your mind even more.

“What about me was so–so–so, so boring, so understimulating to you, so desperately ignorant that you told me you didn’t love me anymore, that you kicked me out of our home, that made you reconsider wanting to marry me. And you know, I get it, I do. You found someone on your level intellectually, I get it. But still, I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life–what did she have that I didn’t, huh? What about her made her more appealing to talk to than me? ”

“She…”

“She what, Spencer.”

“I wasn’t–”

“No.” You were leaning back against the counter, trying to gain some semblance of yourself back from the spiral you were on. “Don’t lie to me. Don’t give me some ‘unworthy’ thought process because maybe you’re fucking eidetic memory doesn’t remember all of the conversations we used to have, but I fucking do. I couldn’t cut them out of my skin if I tried, and god did I try.”

Spencer stared at you, dumbfounded. He didn’t know what to do; he couldn’t function. All he could do was watch the pieces of you shatter all over, reliving the exact moments you were, but instead of being able to make it right, all he could watch as you closed yourself off more and more.

“Y-you tried?”

“God, Spencer, did you even look at me during those months.”

“I…” He just looked at you, really looked at you. “I couldn’t.”

You scoffed, wiping away the tears on your cheeks, and straightened out your dress.

“The only fucking thing I know is that if I don’t walk away now, then I will hate myself for the rest of my life for letting you talk me back into loving you again. And the worst part is, I still do. I don’t think I could ever love anyone again because of how much love I have for you, after everything we had been through, but—”

He kissed you.

Or you kissed him.

You weren’t sure.

But all you knew was that his hands were on your waist, and your hands were on his cheeks, and his lips were touching yours, and everything felt so right within the world, and your body was against his and just–

“Fuck.” You quickly pulled away, both of you panting, staring at one another, unsure about what happened.

You two just stared at one another for what felt like forever until you heard Emily call your name from the porch. You took another step away, back against the kitchen counter, smoothing your hair and crossing your arms.

Emily walked in and eyed the two of you, misreading the tension as something more antagonistic from before than what had actually happened.

“Uh, Rossi made you a cake…” She looked between the both of you, watching as you nodded at her, standing up fully. You followed behind her, sparing one last look at Spencer, who was just looking at where you were standing.

______________________________________________________________

“Uh, hi, sorry, could you point me toward Agent Hotchner’s Office.”

The person whose shoulder you tapped turned around and gave you one of the most beautiful smiles you had ever seen.

“Well hello, gorg–”

“Derek. Don’t be rude.” The woman next to Derek had elbowed him in the ribs, preventing more HR training for the both of them. “Hi. You must be Y/n. I’m Penelope, and that’s Derek, don’t mind him.” She looped her arm through yours and started to lead you towards the little staircase on the side of the room.

“Hotch’s office is right up here.”

“I–Thank you, Penelope.” You smiled at her.

“I’ve read your file.” She whispered, smiling back at you. “I’m really excited to work with you because you are one impressive woman, let me tell you.”

You blushed slightly, about to respond, but Penelope had knocked on Hotch’s door, causing a voice to tell you to “come in.”

“Welcome to the team.” She pulled away, leaving you to enter Aaron Hotchner’s office for the first of many times.

You opened the door and smiled at the man at the desk. “Hi, I’m–”

“Y/n Y/l/n, You have a very impressive resume. Please, take a seat.” He stood to shake your hand, gesturing to the chair before his desk. You quickly scanned the photos along the walls, the books on his shelves.

“Everyone knows who I am before I know who they are.” You laughed slightly, taking the seat.

“Yes, well, We’re all very excited to have you join us here.”

The memory of your first day hit you like a wave when Aaron pulled your seat out for you back at the table outside. You stalled for only a second, but it was long enough for any of the various profilers at the table to notice something was off.

You smiled through the speeches, and you laughed at the jokes and cried at the sweetness of your friends, but you were somewhere far away, dreaming about the moments that led you up to where you were.

“And that is why I am glad to have you back because clearly, the universe respects you enough to let us all come together to celebrate the return of our Y/n.” You raised your glass and cheer with Rossi, standing up to hug him.

“Now.” You smiled at all of the faces that looked up at you. “Let us eat cake!!”

The table erupted and while Rossi cut slices for each of you, you sat back down, listening to what Garcia was telling you, but your eyes kept darting to the person directly across from you.

You could feel his eyes any time they were on you, and you knew they were fleeting glances, but it was just too much.

“Want to take a walk with me through the rose garden?”

You nodded, standing up and accepting Derek’s arm, letting him lead you towards the garden, enjoying the fresh air and the sudden weight off of your shoulders. You couldn’t feel his gaze anymore but you knew he was still looking at you.

“What’s next on your list of adventures.” Derek looked at you, watching the millions of emotions race across your face before settling on a smile and a shrug.

“I’m not sure yet. You know about Georgetown, but I don’t know about D.C. anymore….”

Derek nodded and pulled out the chair at the small wire table. It sat under a trellis filled with gorgeously bloomed roses and baby’s breath. The smell was almost overwhelmingly fragrant.

You gratefully took it and watched as he went and sat across from you.

“You looked like you got a bit overwhelmed back there.”

“What happened to not profiling me like I asked?”

Derek chuckled, “It’s not profiling if it’s written on your sleeve.”

You sighed and looked out at some of the flowers. “I don't…”

He let you work through it in your mind, just glad to keep you company while you figured your shit out.

Eventually, you spoke up. “It’s weird.”

Derek hummed in agreement.

“I don’t know. Just. I felt like I was doing so well, and I was becoming my own person, figuring out who I was, and then I come back here, and suddenly I’m back to being that twenty-two-year-old kid who breezed her way through the academy. It’s like I did everything in my power to end up where I did, and then the universe told me I fucked up and should have done something else.”

“I don’t think you fucked up in the slightest. Do you know how many people you saved?”

You went to brush off his comment, but Derek didn’t let you get a word in.

“I know your entire world got completely fucked over, but you were meant to be in BAU. You were supposed to be there. I cannot think of my life without you, I know Garcia can’t, and I know Emily would tear you a new one if you even brought up to her the possibility that you being in her life was a mistake.”

“Yeah, and now I’m thirty, with a doctorate and a cat, and no idea what to do with my life.”

“But you also just spent the last two years seeing the world–how many countries did you go to…”

You pursued your lips, trying to count in your head. A blush spread across your face as you mumbled the number.

“Sorry, wanna repeat that for me?”

“At least fifty…”

“That’s what I thought.” A very proud look crossed Derek's face, smiling at you.

You looked down at your left hand, fiddling with your ring finger. No matter how hard Derek tried, no matter how much you enjoyed his company and the way he was keeping your ego healthily inflated, you couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that you could have been married–you could have been happy.

“He told me when he bought it.”

Your eyes snapped to Derek’s, and he looked at you with such soft eyes.

That was something you had always loved about Derek. No matter how much he cared for you, no matter how gently he was being, he never treated you like a piece of glass.

“He, uh, I was the only one he told.”

You nodded, waiting for him to continue.

“When did you find it?”

“When I was moving my things out of the apartment.”

“Damn…”

“Yeah.” You laughed. It was colder than usual but still antagonistic at the whole situation. “I…um. I found it on the last day when I was cleaning out my bedside table. He knew I never went into the bottom drawer because I literally never kept anything in there, but I checked because, you know, I was asked to leave, and…there it was. It was just…It’s ironic, really, how perfect it was, too. They say that if a guy can’t get the ring right, then he’s not the one for you, but no one preps you on if it’s the perfect ring, perfect size, but you had just broken up two days before you found it…”

Derek nodded, letting you ramble.

“I feel like I’m being weighed down by a million different things, yet they’re all him.”

“What are you going to do about it?”

“I have no fucking idea.”

"Sometimes good things fall apart, so that better things can fall together." ~ Marilyn Monroe

Part 3

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tags: @lilrios-world @gubzgirl @mynameisnotokay @hereforfun22-blog @yoursarahg @mega-kittyglitter-1 @onlyspence

#x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader fluff #spence reid x reader angst

1K notes · View notes

440mxs-wife · 1 month ago

Text

After All This Time

Pairing: Dean x F!Reader. Other characters: Sam, Jody, Charlie, Benny (not a vampire), OFC Paulina Foster. Mentioned: Donna, Eileen, OMC "Shadow" (friend of Paulina), Reader's ex and her boss.

Word Count: 13,753 (I know, it's a whopper)

Warnings: Mentions of cheating, Fake Dating, Best Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Mean Girl, a little light cursing

Summary: Reader moves into the apartment across the hall from Dean. They meet under less than ideal circumstances, but become best friends, which evolves into "more than friends" territory. A new resident, Paulina Foster, moves in a couple of doors down from Dean, and he's determined to ask her out. Only, she doesn't want anything to do with him. One night while out drinking, the Reader casually mentions that Dean needs a fake girlfriend to catch Paulina's attention. He seizes on the idea, and asks the Reader to be that for him. Unable to turn him down, she agrees, only it works a little too well. Will the Reader ever get the chance to declare her feelings, or will she have to let him go?

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Are you sure she said she'd be here this time?"

"Yeah," Dean replied. When all you answered him with was a raised eyebrow, he hung his head and sighed in defeat. "Okay, well, maybe I overheard her say to her friends that she might be here tonight. I didn't hear if they specified an arrival time," he admitted.

For the last six weeks, you've had to hear about this "perfect" woman, Paulina Foster, who recently moved in two doors down from Dean's apartment. For the last six weeks, he's told you about nearly every conversation, however brief, he's had with her in the hall. For the last six weeks, he's been upset that she's ignored him or turned him down every time he's asked her out on a date. And because of her, for the last six weeks, you've suppressed the urge to tell Dean how you feel about him.

Dean has been your best friend since you moved to town five years ago from New York City. You had broken up with your boyfriend after finding out that he cheated on you with another woman. To add insult to injury, the "other woman" was your direct supervisor, and she wasn't shy about holding it over your head. She reminded you at every opportunity that you weren't enough for him, but that she was, and thus was able to steal him away from you.

Because working for her was no longer an option, and a transfer to another department wasn't available, you gave your notice. Well, sort of. Before leaving for lunch, you discreetly packed your few personal items in your messenger bag. Then you dropped off your badge at the security desk, waved goodbye to the guard on your way out, and never looked back.

A week later, you moved into Dean's apartment building, across the hall from his place, in a spacious 2-bedroom unit. The second bedroom doubled as a guest room and your office, since you now worked remotely as a freelance writer. Your file was assigned to Charlie Bradbury, who was your point of contact for your employer. She functioned as a sort of "handler," to whom you uploaded your work for approval and publication. As a nice bonus, she became your other best friend along the way.

The first time you met Dean was on a Friday night, about three weeks after you'd moved in, on a day in which nothing went right for you. First, you woke up late for an important meeting, with no time to shower, so you had to slog through it looking less than ideal on camera. Then there were no coffee grounds in the canister. Later, you grabbed a quick bite for lunch, then used the rest of your break to shower and feel human again. When you got re-dressed, you noticed a hole in your favorite pair of socks.

As you returned to working through your daily assignments, more trouble revealed itself. Your internet connection began having intermittent outages due to "scheduled network maintenance," or so the provider told you. Quitting time couldn't come soon enough, except the more you wanted the day over, the more it seemed to pass at negative turtle speed. Once it was over, all you wanted to do was pour yourself a glass of wine, pull on your favorite hoodie, and curl up with a good book.

Unfortunately, none of those things was in the cards for you that night. Loud music and laughter from the apartment next door were the straws that broke the camel's back. You decided to emphatically express your displeasure to your inconsiderate neighbor. Depending on how that went, you were aware it could mean total avoidance of all future contact with said tenant.

You threw open the window in your spare bedroom that led out to the fire escape, the one you so happened to share with Dean's apartment. In your haste to chastise your partying neighbor, you misjudged the opening to your window and smacked your forehead on the frame. Hard.

Cursing and holding your head from the impact, you took several deep breaths to try and ease the pain that was beginning to make itself known. More slowly this time, you poked your head out the window and glanced to your right, where you could see a few people laughing, drinking, and talking together.

One of them turned in your direction, and with a friendly smile, raised his cup filled with his chosen beverage in a salute to you. "Ah, bonsoir, chérie! We're having a little party over here to celebrate the start of the weekend! If you want, it's not too late to come on over and join us, 'cuz we're just getting started," the man proclaimed, his smile growing wider.

You winced at his boisterous greeting and the continued loud music, which was doing nothing to ease the escalating agony in your head. "No, I think--ow," you gasped. "I think I'll--'celebrate' from over here, thank you," you gritted out. "But, if you could please keep the noise down--"

"Wait, hold on there a minute, chérie. Are you okay? What happened?" the man asked.

"I'm fine, just hit my head," you replied wearily. "Look, it's been a really rotten day for me, and I would love some peace and quiet. So, again, if you could--"

The man poked his head back into the apartment and yelled, "Hey, Dean!" A few seconds later, another man appeared. The one he called "Dean" had spiky, sandy blond hair, and broad shoulders, which were covered in red and black flannel, from what you could see of his body.

"Whatsamatter, Benny, you need another drink already or something?" Dean joked. Benny leaned over to whisper in Dean's ear, and you wondered what they could possibly be talking about. You didn't have to wait long, because Dean's smile dropped and his eyes shifted in your direction, with what looked like concern on his features.

You could feel your head pounding with the beat of the music, and it was eating away at your ability to be polite about the noise. "LISTEN!" you shouted then immediately regretted it as you winced and felt a wave of dizziness crash over you. In a fraction of a second, Dean was scrambling out of his window and had crossed the fire escape over to your apartment.

"Hey, whoa, take it easy, sweetheart," he soothed. "I'm Dean Winchester, your next door neighbor. What's your name?"

With your head still throbbing, you managed to give him your name and watched as a soft smile spread over his handsome features. Your gaze was then drawn to his vibrant green eyes that reminded you of soft spring grass. His eyebrows were drawn together in concern, and for some reason, you had the urge to smooth out that crease in his forehead with your fingertips.

Before you could act on this impulse, Dean had already climbed through your window. Between himself and Benny, they were doing their best to guide you through your apartment. "There we go, sweetheart. Let's get you into the living room, to your nice, comfy couch, then we can take a look at that noggin of yours," Dean suggested.

You mumbled what sounded like "okay", which the men took as sufficient agreement to continue to the living room. Once you were seated on the couch, Benny headed for the kitchen to look for something to use as an ice pack. He found a package of frozen peas and wrapped it in a tea towel, which was hanging from your oven door handle. "Here you are, chérie," he remarked gently as he held out the makeshift ice pack to you.

"Thank you, Benny," you replied as you held it to your head. Eventually, he returned to the party next door, while Dean stayed with you. He must've said something to his friend before he left, because the volume on the music next door seemed to have decreased. You tried to tell Dean you were fine, that he should go back to his place as the host of his party. But he would have none of it, as he was determined to first make sure you were okay.

Over the course of the evening, you and Dean asked questions back and forth. You thought he was just trying to keep you conscious and alert in case of a concussion. In reality, he was using the incident as an opportunity to get better acquainted with his pretty new neighbor. The noise next door gradually dwindled down to soft music. On his way out, Benny poked his head back into your window to bid you both goodnight.

After that night, a friendship started to develop between you and Dean. It started simply enough, chatting about the weather while picking up your mail each day. As weeks went by, your time together expanded into meeting for coffee on Saturday mornings. The shop around the corner from your apartment building had the best pastries for you and pie for Dean.

While friendship was the easy part, your feelings at some point had shifted into the "something more complicated" category. His casual touches to your arm or the small of your back in a crowd, or calling you "sweetheart" only sped up your heart rate. However, he never gave you any indication that he thought of you as anything more than a best friend. So, you did your best to ignore the butterflies in your stomach that appeared anytime you were with him and locked away your feelings.

Charlie knew of the situation between you and Dean, though she only knew what you told her. She'd tried several times to get you to move to Chicago, saying the two of you would have so much fun working together. Part of her argument was that if Dean hadn't made a move by now, he probably wouldn't, and that you might want to think about moving on from him. Off and on, you had given moving some thought, but hadn't taken any action yet.

That was until one Friday night, when you were out with Dean at the bar, as usual. He went up to refill your drinks, but it was taking longer for him to return. You scanned the room for him and noticed he was talking with some brunette while he waited. It looked like there was quite a bit of flirting going on between them. The next thing you knew, he had taken off with the brunette and left you behind without a single word.

Since Dean drove that night, you ended up taking a cab home, which made you angry because he'd left you behind. In fact, you were so upset with him that you looked up some real estate listings in the Chicago area. But then Dean called the following morning to explain. There was still some residual anger, which you expressed to him. Then he apologized and, just like that, the thought of leaving passed. However, nothing could've prepared you for how this night was going to end.

***

"There she is!" he whispered excitedly. His eyes followed the movements of a gorgeous woman in a glittery black bodycon dress, her blonde tresses cascading in waves down her back. The four women trailing behind her were no doubt her friends, as they were similarly dressed. You deduced that they must be the women Dean saw in the hallway as they chatted about tonight's plans.

When you took stock of your own appearance, you felt a bit underdressed compared to the newest arrivals. You were wearing black jeans, a red T-shirt with a small pink sequined heart on the front, black booties and a black cropped denim jacket. The outfit was comfortable, and you felt confident when you wore it. Up until now, that is.

"Did I tell you she smiled at me the other day?" Dean asked. "I'm making progress," he declared proudly.

"Yes, Dean, you did tell me that," you sighed. "You know, it's almost like you're some lovesick puppy, the way you act around her. You shouldn't make it so easy for her. Some women prefer the thrill of doing the chasing, to go after something that belongs to someone else and take it away."

"What?? Paulina wouldn't do that, she's not like that," he retorted.

"I'm not saying she is," you hastily added. But I'm not saying she isn't like that, either, you thought to yourself. "I mean, how else do you explain the many women who don't think twice about going after married men?"

"I s'pose that's true," he conceded.

You took a sip of your drink and chuckled to yourself. Dean heard your laugh and wanted to know what you thought was so funny. You tried to wave him off, saying it was nothing, but he was persistent. "I was just thinking....never mind. It's a stupid idea." When he still wouldn't let it drop, you sighed deeply before responding. "What you really need is someone to pretend to be your girlfriend. Once Paulina sees you're 'taken', she may change her mind and give you a chance."

"Wow," Dean whispered.

"I know, it was a dumb idea, which is why--" you didn't get to finish your thought because he interrupted.

"No, that's IT!! All I need is for you to pretend to be my girlfriend. If your theory is correct--and I'm not saying that it is--then once Paulina sees we're together, she'll say 'yes' to a date with me," he grinned.

"Whoa, whoa, wait a minute, bub, I never volunteered to pretend to be your girlfriend," you countered. "And I said 'somebody', I didn't mean 'me'. Besides, if you go through with this, there's a real possibility that someone could get hurt," you reminded him. 99% chance it'll be me.

"I can't ask any of my exes, for obvious reasons. And as my best friend, you know me almost as well as my own brother does. Therefore, it'll be convincing," he pointed out.

"Dean......"

He turned to face you fully and locked eyes with you, then he took your hands in his. "I know this is a lot to ask of you, but I have a feeling about this girl. I just need to get my foot in the door with her. Will you help me do that by pretending to be my girlfriend?"

His eyes pleaded with you to agree to participate in this hair-brained scheme. If your theory was correct, then the arrangement may only last for a matter of weeks. Long enough to get the point across and create an opportunity for Dean. Also short enough that you can hopefully break it off without getting any more attached to the man who holds your heart. This has disaster written all over it, you silently mused. On the other hand, as long as he's happy, then.... "Okay, Dean."

***

"You did what?!?" Charlie nearly screeched into the phone. "Are you out of your mind?!?"

As soon as you got home, you called your other best friend for reassurance. Instead, she blatantly questioned your decision making skills. "It's only until this 'Paulina' sees us together and is convinced that we're a couple, then I'm sure she'll make her move," you muttered. "Which may not be too long, because I think it's already starting to work."

"What makes you say that?"

>>Flashback<<

After you agreed to be Dean's fake girlfriend, he whooped in excitement, then threw his arms around to hug you. He picked you up and twirled you around a couple of times before setting your feet back on the ground. As you looked around to see if anyone was disturbed by your outburst, your eyes landed on Paulina, whose attention suddenly shifted to you and Dean. Well, mostly Dean, but that was the whole point, wasn't it?

"All right, all right, calm down, Dean," you laughed, the butterflies flapping in full force.

"I'm sorry, just happy you decided to help me with this. Hey, I think there's an open pool table, wanna shoot some 8-ball?" he asked eagerly.

"Sure, why don't you grab the table and set it up, while I get us some fresh drinks," you offered.

"Okay," he chirped. Before he left, he leaned in and gave you a loud, smacking kiss on the cheek, then winked. You watched as he practically skipped on his way to the pool tables, while you stared after him, dumbfounded, your lips parted in surprise. The clanking of glass beer bottles behind the bar broke you out of your trance, leaving you smiling fondly at him while shaking your head.

Sighing deeply before picking up your empty drinks, you headed to the bar to order refills. You placed your order and paid the tab, then leaned your back against the counter and rested on your elbows.

While you waited, you watched as Dean finished the setup for the first game of 8-ball. On your way back from the bar, though, your heart sunk when you saw Paulina standing next to him. She was laughing and occasionally laying her hand on his arm. A deep calming breath later and with your mask in place, you closed the distance, placing your drinks on the nearest table. You stepped closer to Dean, slipping your arm around his waist and placing your hand on his chest. "Hey, babe, sorry the drinks took so long," you remarked, then pretended you didn't see Paulina until that moment. "Oh! Who's this?"

"Um, hey, sweetheart, th-this is Paulina. She's new to our building, lives two doors down from me. Paulina, this is m-my....," he trailed off at a complete loss for words.

"I'm his girlfriend," you supplied, along with your name. "You'll have to forgive him, Patricia, he's been stuck under the hood of a car, around wrenches and power tools all week," you giggled then turned to face Dean. "Should we start our game? You can break if you want to, honey."

He stammered out a reply in the affirmative, which Paulina took as her cue to leave. You watched as she gave one last appreciative glance at the way his jeans clung to his bowed legs and perfect backside. The way she checked him out made your blood boil. However, you had to remind yourself that this wasn't real. He wasn't yours, probably never would be, and he can do whatever or whomever he wants.

>>End of Flashback<<

"Seriously? He forgot your name?" Charlie asked.

"Like I told her, it was a long week for him," you defended.

Charlie rolled her eyes and snorted. "You've been best friends for five years now. The supposed 'object of his desire' finally talks to him, and suddenly he forgets your name? I'm sorry, sweetie, but this whole arrangement has disaster written all over it."

"Jeez, Char, tell me how you really feel," you grumbled. "And of course it does. How I let him talk me into doing this is beyond me. At the end of it all, someone's heart is gonna get broke, and I'm 99.9% sure it will be mine."

"Then why do it? Tell him you're backing out because you've changed your mind. Or, you could confess how you feel about him."

"I can't back out, Charlie. You know how I've been in love with Dean for a long time," you admitted softly. "And if I tell him that, I'm afraid it'll ruin everything. I don't think I can take the rejection when he doesn't see me that way. Nope, this is how it has to be, and it'll have to be enough. All I want is for him to be happy, even if it's not with me."

You talked for a little while longer before saying your goodbyes and promising to talk more later. After you went through your nightly routine, you climbed into bed and reached for the book you were currently reading. For some reason, though, the words on the page seemed to swim in front of your eyes and you couldn't focus. You knew why, of course. As if he sensed you were thinking about him, your phone pinged on your nightstand with a text message.

Dean: hey, in case I forgot to tell you, thank you for doing this. you truly are my best friend.

You: you're welcome. goodnight, Dean.

After you pressed "send", you switched on the "do not disturb" setting and returned your phone to your nightstand. Since it was obvious that you wouldn't get any reading done, you marked your place, closed your book, and slid it into the drawer. You turned off the light, plunging your room into near-total darkness, except for the bits of moonlight streaming through the slats of your blinds. As the minutes ticked by, your eyelids began to get heavy, until they finally closed for a much-needed but not necessarily restful sleep.

***

Dean stared at your last text message, wondering what you meant with such a short reply. He considered the night to have been a success. He finally got to talk to Paulina aside from the small talk that occurred briefly in the hallway. Though he was puzzled when you called her "Patricia" after he'd been telling you all along that her name was "Paulina". Wait....could you be....jealous? He dismissed the thought, telling himself that you don't think of him that way.

It isn't as though his mind hadn't wandered down this path many times before, of having something more with you. But as he'd said, you were his best friend. You know him almost as well as Sam does, and probably even better than Benny knows him. His mom adores you, and you were there for him when John passed away from a heart attack.

Ever since that night you met, with the way you had yelled over to his apartment to keep the noise down, he'd felt there was something different about you. Those feelings had only grown as he'd gotten to know you better over the years. However, he couldn't bring himself to ruin such an important relationship by confessing he was in love with you. Especially since there wasn't any concrete evidence that you returned his feelings. Once he decided he had no chance of a romantic relationship with you, he set his sights on the building's newest resident, Paulina.

He couldn't believe your suggestion of a fake relationship with you as his "girlfriend", but it made sense. It was human nature to want what we can't have. Therefore, when Paulina saw him dating you, it would make him appear unattainable. Sounded simple enough.

She would see it as a challenge to see if she can take him away from you. When she did, the theory will have been proven correct, and you would break up with him. Then he would be with Paulina, like he wanted. But why didn't that thought send a thrill of excitement through him? Is she even who he really wanted? Dean closed his eyes, willing himself to fall asleep, not quite ready to answer these questions.

***

A few weeks go by under your new "arrangement" with Dean, and though you were close before, the lines were becoming even more blurred. His touches lingered a little longer than usual, his smiles were a bit softer when he was around you. When you walked together, he would randomly grab your hand, intertwining your fingers, and give you a knowing smile. His hand on the small of your back or around your waist sent a signal to anyone who saw that you were with him.

His friends were starting to ask questions about your relationship, as were his mom and Sam. Some of them congratulated the two of you, with exclamations of "FINALLY!" rippling through the friends and family group chats. On your side, Jody, Donna, Eileen, and even Charlie remained cautiously optimistic about it, only wanting what was best for you. At the same time, they silently plotted a backup plan for Dean's demise, should he ever hurt you.

One night at the bar, you and Dean were on a double date with Sam and Eileen, with the women playing a game of pool opposite the men. When it was your turn, Dean left to get the next round of drinks, as it was his turn to buy. Sam took his shot, then Eileen took hers. You looked around to see why Dean wasn't back yet, then your stomach dropped when you saw the reason. Paulina was leaning up against the bar, keeping Dean company while he waited for the drinks.

"Who's that?" Sam pointed.

"Huh? Where?" you pretended not to notice.

Sam gestured again to his brother as he chatted with the mysterious woman, who was laughing and brushing her hand along his arm. "Over there, that woman," he remarked.

"Oh, her? That's Paulina. She lives in our building, a couple of doors down from Dean," you replied with a shrug, trying to appear nonchalant.

"Why is she touching him like that, and why does this not bother you?" he asked. "Do I need to say something to him?"

"Sam, no! It's not like that. She's just uh-a friend, a-and I trust Dean," you answered, swallowing hard to keep your emotions in check.

Sensing something amiss, Sam pulled you away from the pool table so your conversation would not be overheard, but he was still in eyesight of his wife. "What's going on with you two? I swear, if he's cheating on you, I'll kick his ass," he growled, ready to storm over to the bar.

"No, Sam," you placed a hand on his chest to stop him. "He's not cheating on me," you assured him. Can't cheat on a 'fake girlfriend', you thought bitterly.

"Then what is it? You two have been dancing around each other for the past five years. Believe me, we're all tired of the 'will they, won't they'. Now that you're finally together, it looks like Dean's eyes are elsewhere and you aren't all that bothered by it. So spill."

You took a deep breath trying to steady your nerves before you responded. "Okay, I'll tell you. BUT you have to promise to keep it between you and me. And do NOT let your mother know." Why should her heart get broken in all of this? you thought. Sam reluctantly nodded and drew an "X" over his heart, then you explained the situation.

"Wow," he exhaled deeply. "You know you're both idiots, right?"

Your eyes widened and your jaw dropped. "Gee, thank you so much, Sam, for your support. I'm so glad I told you about it," you retorted and moved to go around him and back to the table, but he caught your arm.

"Whoa, wait a minute. You're one for allowing him to use you like this, but I understand why. HE'S the bigger idiot for not realizing that what he's looking for is right in front of him," he finished softly.

"Charlie isn't too happy about the deal either," you shared. "She thinks this has, and I quote, 'disaster written all over it'. I've been in love with Dean for as long as I can remember. However, if that means letting him go so he can be happy with someone else, then that's what I have to do," you replied.

Sam brushed away the few tears that had slipped down your cheek. "You say the word, and I'll knock some sense into that brother of mine, okay?" he promised. "I have no problem smacking him upside the head, if that's what it takes."

At the mental picture he painted, you gave him a watery smile. "Thank you, Sam. I'll let you know if I need to call in that favor." You wiped away any remaining tears with your sleeve, then took a deep breath to calm your nerves. "Am I good?" He nodded, then casually slung an arm around your shoulder as you both walked back to the table.

By the time you and Sam returned, Dean was also back with the next round of drinks. He noted how close you were with his brother and felt an unexpected twinge of jealousy. Though he knew it was irrational because Sam had Eileen, it didn't completely go away, either. When you reached his side, he leaned in close to your ear. "You two looked rather cozy," he murmured.

You drew back slightly to look him in the eye. "No more than you and Paulina," you replied quietly, then moved to take your shot.

For the rest of the evening, the tension between you and Dean only grew, until you could no longer stand it. You decided to end your night out before midnight, claiming to be feeling a bit tired from not sleeping well lately.

Sam and Eileen were sorry to see you and Dean go, but assured you that they would likely be leaving soon as well. Hugs were exchanged, with Sam's lingering a bit. "'Member what I said," he mumbled. You patted his back in response, then pulled away and took Dean's outstretched hand.

***

The ride home was eerily silent except for the music on the radio being played at a low volume. "So, you're not sleeping well? How long has that been going on that you're not getting a good night's sleep, sweetheart?"

Well, you thought. Hmm. It could be because I'm in a fake relationship with my best friend. Except I want to be in a real one with him and I'm too much of a coward to say so. Or, maybe I wish that my heart didn't break every time I see some other woman touching you when only I should have that privilege. Perhaps it's because I realize I have no right to feel the way I do, not when I agreed to do this for you. Only you don't say any of this out loud to Dean.

"Been kind of busy with work lately, that's all," you shrugged. "Charlie keeps sending me assignments, and they're too interesting to pass up, so I agree to do them. Hopefully my workload will stabilize soon and I can go back to normal." You swallowed hard before you continued. "I saw Paulina was at the bar tonight."

"Yeah, I talked with her while I waited for our next round of drinks," he replied, a smile growing on his face. "Said there was this band playing at some club in a few weeks, and asked me if I wanted to go. She knows one of the guys in the band, and said she could probably get me in for free."

"Oh? Really? That sounds like fun," you replied, hoping you sounded neutral. "Seems like our little plan is working."

"Well, I wouldn't say it's working," he remarked. "It's progress, though," he grinned. You hummed in response and gave him a tight smile.

When Dean pulled the Impala into her parking space, it took all of your willpower to wait until he came around to open your door for you. The walk to the elevators and to your respective doors was quiet, the air filled with a tension that hadn't been there before tonight. Neither of you felt like talking, so it remained unsettled between you.

Though you lived across the hall from each other, Dean always insisted on stopping at your door first, and wouldn't leave until you were safely inside. You discreetly fished your keys out of your front pants pocket as soon as you stepped off the elevator, hoping he didn't notice. Just before you slid the key into the lock, you felt Dean's hand on your shoulder, causing you to turn around.

"Are you sure everything's okay? You've been kinda quiet since we left the bar," Dean asked.

"I'm fine, Dean. Promise," you answered, giving him a quick smile, then returning your attention to unlocking your door.

He snapped his fingers. "I almost forgot! Mom wanted me to invite you to dinner this Sunday. You know, now that we're 'dating'," he smirked and added air quotes.

You froze with your key only halfway turned in the lock. If you couldn't keep Sam from figuring it out, Mary was going to see right through you in a second. "I'm sorry, Dean. I wish I could, but I have something else going on this Sunday. Please give her my regrets," you finished, turning your key the rest of the way and gaining entry to your apartment. "Good night, Dean." You leaned over and gave him a quick peck on the cheek then closed your door.

Dean stood and stared at your closed door for a few moments, then turned towards his own door. He shuffled across the hall and fumbled through the ring of keys until he found the right one. After he unlocked the door and opened it, he glanced back at your door. What is going on with you, sweetheart? Why won't you talk to me? he asked himself. Shaking his head, he entered his apartment, then he closed and relocked the door.

***

The following week, you and Dean were getting together for your usual Friday night dinner-and-a-movie. You had made some chocolate chip cookies and mini apple pies, while Dean was responsible for the pizza and popcorn. With a couple of bottles of your favorite beverage tucked under your arm, you stepped out of your apartment, locking the door behind you.

When you turned to head across the hall to Dean's place, you couldn't believe what you saw. Paulina and Dean looked to be deep in conversation, her hand running up and down his bicep, even occasionally squeezing it. Her other hand held a lock of her hair and was twirling it between her fingers. Knowing they wouldn't notice, you rolled your eyes, took a deep breath, and plastered a smile on your face.

"Hey you two!" you greeted them.

Dean took a small step away from Paulina and held out his arm. When you were close enough, he curled it around you and pulled you against his side. "Hey, sweetheart," he replied and pressed a kiss to your temple. "Whatcha got in the container?"

"Just some chocolate chip cookies and maybe some mini apple pies," you grinned.

"Ohhh, woman, you are too good to me. Love me some pie, especially apple," he gushed.

"So, what movie did you pick out for us to watch?" you asked.

"Nope, can't tell ya, 'cuz it's a surprise," he smirked, then turned to Paulina. "Now, if that heater gives you any more trouble, give me a call and I'll see what else I can do."

"Heating problems?" you questioned. "Probably best to have the landlord take a look at it, just in case, don't you think?"

"It's nothing serious, and I think I got it fixed for now. Ready for our dinner-and-a-movie night?" he inquired, giving you a little tug closer to his side.

"Absolutely. Have a good night, Paulina," you remarked as you followed Dean into his apartment. What you didn't see was the glare of pure jealousy on Paulina's face as you closed the door behind you.

***

Dean had ordered your favorite pizza and you put one of your two beverages in the fridge. You grabbed paper plates and the container of goodies, both of which you placed on the coffee table. Dean was busy scrolling through the streaming services to find the movie he had in mind for your evening. The strain between you from last week seemed to have somewhat dissipated, leaving behind two best friends enjoying each other's company.

Halfway through the movie, there was a knocking at the door. Dean paused the movie and the two of you looked at each other and shrugged before he got up to see who was there. "Paulina?"

Of course it's her, you silently muttered as you rolled your eyes. "Everything okay?" you asked. She strode into the apartment, wearing a thin tank top and a pair of pale pink boy shorts. Her arms were wrapped around her upper body, presumably in an effort to keep herself warm.

Seeing her discomfort, Dean rushed over and grabbed a blanket off the back of the couch, then draped it around her shoulders. He rubbed up and down on her arms and her back to start the warming process. He bent down to look her in the eye and smiled. "Better?" he wondered.

"Much better, thank you, Dean," Paulina replied. "Do you think you can fix my heater again? It's so cold over there," she practically purred.

"Shouldn't take too long," he answered, then caught your gaze. "I'll be right back, I promise." Without waiting for your response, he took his tool box out of the closet and headed over to her apartment.

For what felt like an eternity but was only a few minutes, the silence stretched between the two of you. Though you were convinced that this was some sort of setup to separate you and Dean, you decided to at least try and get to know her. "So," you began. "How do you like the town so far?"

She shrugged in response. "I guess it's not too bad," she remarked. "Wish it was bigger, though. More clubs to go to, then maybe we can get some decent music groups to play here," she muttered.

"Oh, that's right, Dean mentioned you had a friend in a band who's going to be at one of the clubs here in, what, a couple of weeks?" you inquired. "That sounds like fun."

"Yeah, they'll be here on the 13th, at Eclipse. Every time the band stops by, my friend gives me a couple of tickets," she responded.

The 13th? you thought. "That's my birthday. I don't usually make a fuss about it, except Dean does. He gets me flowers and then takes me out to dinner," you smiled as you casually checked your watch. What is taking so long? Why doesn't he just call the landlord to fix it?

"And, how long have you and Dean known each other? You two seem really close," Paulina asked.

"About five years now. We have a lot of the same friends, who also know each other outside of Dean and me. He's got a younger brother, who I would consider one of my close friends as well," you remarked. When she hummed in response, you detected a subtle shift in her demeanor. "What?"

"Oh, I just think it's....kind of sad, really. Pathetic, even," she answered, eyes narrowed at you.

You bristled at her comment and fought like hell to keep your composure. "What exactly are you getting at?"

"I mean, you've known each other for five years and you just started dating, while I've barely been here for a couple of months. And, he's over there fixing my heater instead of watching movies with you. Like I said--pathetic," she sneered.

"You wanna talk about 'pathetic'? 'Pathetic' is when you run around in shorts that are so skimpy, that your ass is hanging out of them. Or wearing tank tops so small your boobs are ready to pop out. All to get a man's attention," you shot back. "That's pathetic."

"Oh, and I suppose now you'll tell me that it's what's on the inside that counts," she mock-pouted, then let out a vicious laugh. "Maybe that worked for you for a while, but I know your ex cheated on you with your boss." Your eyes widened slightly at her statement. "Yeah. One of my friends told me what happened. She's friends with your old supervisor. Seems like you have a pattern of losing men to hotter women."

You rose from the couch, picking up your empty bottle and depositing it in the kitchen sink. "I think it's time I called it an evening. If Dean asks where I went, tell him he knows where to find me." With as much poise as you could muster, you left the apartment and crossed the hall to your own.

A few minutes later, Dean returned to his place. When he didn't see you at first glance, he thought you may have been in the bathroom, but the door to it was open. "Where'd she go?" he asked.

"Oh, she told me to tell you that she was tired of waiting around for you and that she was leaving. Something about having somewhere else more important to be," she answered.

Dean knew how much of a homebody you were and loved to hang out with him to watch movies. This made him skeptical at Paulina's response. "I'd better check on her," he remarked on his way back out the door.

"She won't be there. I saw her leave her apartment just before you got back. You know, I'm here, now. I would love to watch a movie with you," she purred.

He debated giving you a call to check in and make sure you were all right. On the other hand, the whole point of the agreement was to get Paulina interested in spending time with him. In turn, his hope was that it may lead to a long-term relationship with her. And here she was, asking him to watch a movie. "Let's pick out a new movie, then," he agreed as he reached for his drink and picked up the remote.

***

With another work week finished, you slowly closed your laptop and slumped back in your desk chair. There hadn't been much interaction between you and Dean without Paulina being around, not even when collecting your mail. He hadn't reached out to you after that disastrous dinner-and-a-movie night ended with you leaving his apartment early. You wonder what he thought when he noticed you were gone before he got back from fixing the heater. Or, more importantly, what Paulina had told him to make him not check in with you.

As you were contemplating what you should do next about Dean, your phone buzzed on your desk, causing it to dance around. When the caller ID showed "Charlie", you dismissed the pang of disappointment that it wasn't Dean. You plastered a smile on your face and answered as cheerfully as possible, hoping she wouldn't see right through you.

"Hey there, Charlie! How's it going?" you began.

"I wanted to ask if you still had that guest room all set up," she inquired.

"Of course I do, but why?" you asked.

"Because I'm about to give you the greatest gift possible for your birthday on the 13th," she replied cryptically.

"Ooh! Tell me, tell me, what is it?" you begged.

"I probably should make you wait to find out, but since I'll need someone to pick me up from the airport on the 11th--" she didn't get a chance to finish before you let out a squeal of excitement.

"AAAHHHH! No way! That's so awesome that you're coming to visit for my birthday! I will be at the airport with bells on," you promised.

She spent the next few minutes going over her itinerary with you, including her flight numbers and when to expect her to arrive. "I've also been talking with the others in the chat, and we want to plan a night out for your birthday. I'm talking dinner, drinks, dancing, the three D's," she explained. "The big question is, will there be a fourth 'D'? As in, will Dean be there?" she added cautiously.

You paused, reflecting on the events of the past week. "I....haven't talked to him much this week. I think we must keep missing each other at the mailbox," you chuckled nervously. "I--we--should let him know about the party. I'll give him a call, send him a text message, or something, so he knows about it."

"As long as you still want him there," Charlie responded carefully.

"Of course I do! Regardless of the situation with Paulina, he's still my best friend, and I want him to be there. Besides, he wouldn't dare miss my birthday," you affirmed. However, your voice sounded more confident than you felt at the moment, and Charlie easily picked up on it.

"All right, spill. What happened?" she sighed. You explained the events of a few Fridays ago, how Paulina interrupted in her skimpy pajamas and Dean didn't hesitate to run to the rescue. Then you relayed your conversation while you were alone in his apartment with her, all the horrible things she said. You wondered if that had something to do with why you and Dean hadn't spoken much this week.

"It's my own stupid fault, Charlie. I mean, this was the main objective, right? I pretend to be his girlfriend long enough to give him a chance to wedge his foot in the door before Paulina can slam it closed. Once that happens, I fade into the background and resume my role as his best friend, while he rides off into the sunset with his dream woman," you finished.

"Pity? Party of one? Your table is now available," she teased. When you didn't respond with even a half-hearted chuckle, she tried again. "Look, maybe that is what happens, where you go back to being his best friend, but it doesn't have to go down that way. If being with Dean is what you want, then you should fight for him."

The two of you talk for a little while longer before she gets a knock at her door with her food delivery. It occurs to you that you haven't left the apartment all day to pick up your mail, let alone get something for dinner. You'd survived the day by mostly nibbling on fruits and other snacks, plus keeping up with your water intake. Charlie comes back to the phone long enough to remind you to let Dean know about the party, then she says goodbye, thus ending the call.

***

After pulling on some shoes, you grabbed your keys and headed out the door. You hoped you would run into Dean so you could invite him to your birthday party. As you closed and locked your door, the one to his apartment was opening. But instead of seeing Dean, it was Paulina, leaving, dressed only in a towel covering her body and one atop her head. From off to Dean's side, she threw you a knowing smirk, her arms loosely hugging her body.

You quickly looked away and started for the elevator, only for luck to not be on your side when Dean called out your name. Pausing a little ways down the hall to the elevator, you turned to face him. "H-hey there, Dean," you waved tentatively. "I was just on my way down to pick up my mail, so don't let me keep you and Paulina." You gave him a quick smile and backed away a couple of steps before he caught your hand.

"Wait a second, this isn't what it looks like," he hastily remarked. Oh, that was original, he mentally face-palmed. "Paulina came over earlier in the afternoon, said her shower quit halfway through and asked if she could use mine. That's all. She's going back to her apartment, now that she's done." He looked at her pointedly until she tsked loudly and rolled her eyes in exasperation before returning to her apartment.

When she was out of sight, you glanced at Dean again. "There's no need to explain, Dean," you assured him. "That's the beauty of this arrangement, isn't it? You wanted a way in to spending time with Paulina. Looks like it's all working perfectly," you noted with a shrug, pressing the "down" button for the elevator.

As the two of you stood waiting for the elevator, there was an uneasy silence that neither of you were sure how to break. Dean tried first. "So, how've you been? Haven't talked to you since our dinner-and-a-movie night was interrupted."

Memories of that night came flooding back, including the conversation between you and Paulina, alone in Dean's apartment. Your eyes were cast downward, your shoes suddenly becoming the most interesting object in the world. "Uh, yeah, I've had a lot of new projects to handle, which has kept me occupied. In fact, this is the first time in a couple of days that I've even left my apartment, so I should have quite a bit of mail waiting for me."

"Oh," he replied. "Because when I got back to my place, you weren't there like I thought you'd be. I didn't think I was even gone very long. I guess maybe you decided that you had somewhere else more important to be, like out in town with friends."

Your head snapped up, eyes wide at his unusually snarky remark. "What??" you whispered. "Where in the world would you get an idea like that?"

"It doesn't matter where I heard it," he defended. "Look, if you didn't want to hang out with me that night, you could've just said so. Instead, you take off before I get back? Without a word? That's not like you. At least Paulina was there to watch The Breakfast Club��with me," he muttered.

That was your movie. Yours and Dean's. It was the one you had watched together at least 100 times and could quote back and forth, no matter the situation. And he watched it with her?? You could feel the anger building and the tears stinging behind your eyes. There was no way you were going to let them fall in front of him.

"Dean, I had no idea how long you were going to be gone fixing Paulina's heater. Besides, as you pointed out, she was there, waiting for you, which was the whole point of what we're doing. Therefore, I'd say 'Mission Accomplished'," you added sarcastically.

"But--"

"And I didn't go out in town with anyone that night. I left your apartment and went back to mine, where I changed into pajamas, then went to bed with my book. Not that it should be any of your business, though. Because, hey, it's not like I'm your real girlfriend, right?" you retorted. As soon as the elevator stopped and the doors opened, you bolted through them. You ran past the mailboxes, out the entrance to your building and quickly slid behind the wheel of your car.

Dean rushed after you, but by the time he caught up, you had already backed out of your parking space. He stood hunched over, his hands on his knees while he tried to catch his breath. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he wanted to take them back. The surprised and hurt look on your face from what he said was something he didn't want to be the cause of ever again.

With a chirp of your tires, you sped out of the parking lot. You didn't know where you were headed, only that you needed to go somewhere to think. And there was no way you could do that if Dean was around. So, you hopped on the road to take you to the outskirts of town to get as far away from him as you could.

***

Dean trudged back into the building, now worried about where you'd gone by yourself at this time of night. He ran through your conversation in his head, wondering where exactly the wheels fell off. Since Paulina had gone home after her shower, he was going to invite you in for a redo of the Friday night that got interrupted. Guess that's out the window for now, he internally grumbled.

He thought about calling Sam to get some brotherly advice on how to make it up to you. But he thought better of it, because then he'd have to explain about what was going on between you. He couldn't call his mom or your girlfriends, either, because they'd tear him apart for what he said to you. I'm a man without a country, he mused.

When he returned from picking up his mail, Paulina was waiting by his door. "There you are, Dean, I was so worried about you. I heard what happened out here after I left," she gushed.

"I really don't want to talk about it right now, Paulina. You should go home, I'll see you later," he murmured.

"But wait! I wanted to tell you, I got tickets for us to Eclipse. You know, that club to see my friend's band?" she tried again.

Dean paused after crossing the threshold into his apartment. With his door still open, he turned around to face Paulina. "When is that again?"

"The 13th. I thought we could get all dressed up, and go out for dinner first, then we head to the club," she suggested.

"Let me check my schedule. I think I have an important event going on that night, so I'll have to get back to you. Goodnight, Paulina," he stated more firmly this time.

As his door was almost closed, she stopped it with her hand and pushed it open a little more. "Dean," she began, "are you sure you should be alone tonight? I mean, I'd be pretty upset if my best friend took off like that so late in the evening. Especially after an argument," she added.

Dean tilted his head towards the ceiling and heaved a deep sigh. "I suppose I could use some company. Might take my mind off of things," he agreed and opened the door to let her in.

Paulina had to work hard to hold back a squeal of victory, but she kept her composure. By the time you get back, Dean will be all mine, she vowed to herself.

***

Up the winding road you drove until you reached the top of Stargazer's Hill at City Park. You pulled over into a parking spot, then tucked your phone into your pocket. Some picnic tables dotted the open space, and were a short distance from where you'd parked your car. You climbed up on one and sat on the table, with your feet resting on the bench.

Taking a deep breath, you leaned back on your hands and tilted your head up at the glittery night sky. Now that you were away from all of the light pollution, it was easier to see the billions of points of light covering the inky atmosphere above you. On your right side, your phone buzzed with an incoming phone call. Caller ID: Sam.

You sighed harshly before picking up the call. "Look, I don't want to talk about it, Sam. Not right now anyway," you declared.

"Whoa, what's gotten into you?" he asked, bewildered.

"What, you mean your brother hasn't called to talk to you? I'm surprised," you replied.

"About what? Never mind. What did he do this time?" Sam inquired.

"Nothing. If he didn't tell you, I'm not going to either. Goodnight, Sam," you started to hang up but then remembered. "The only thing I will tell you is that Charlie will be here on the 11th, and she wants to get together with everyone on the 13th," you mentioned. Your friend group had met Charlie on more than one occasion. Fortunately, she fit right in as if she'd been around since the day you'd met all of them.

"For your birthday? That's great! What's the plan?" he wondered.

You mentioned that you and Charlie were going to spend the day together on the 12th, hanging out and catching up with each other. On the 13th, she wanted the group to go out to dinner somewhere, then for drinks and dancing at The Element, one of two clubs in town. You gave him the approximate times for each phase of the evening, in case he and Eileen wanted to join you.

"I think we can squeeze in some time to make an appearance for dinner and dancing. What did Dean say when you told him? I know he likes to make kind of a big deal about your birthday," he added.

"We're not exactly on speaking terms right now, at least I'm not. I'll send him a text message or something when I get home," you murmured.

"Wait, you're out by yourself? At this time of night?" Sam asked.

"Geez, Sam, I'm up on Stargazer's Hill in City Park. Not like I'm in the middle of nowhere. But don't worry, Dad, I'll be going home after I pick up something for dinner," you muttered.

"I am worried about you, somebody has to be. And if my brother's being a jackass, as I suspect he is, then it falls to me to worry about you," he defended.

"Okay, Sam," you sighed. "I don't feel like arguing with anyone anymore tonight. I'll text you with the info about the 13th." You said your goodbyes and the call ended. After placing your phone in your back pocket, you got down from the picnic table and walked to your car.

Once behind the wheel, you leaned your head back in your seat and took a deep breath. As angry as you were with Dean, you still wanted him to be there for your birthday party. You pulled your phone out and sent him a text message about it, then started the car and headed towards home.

***

Dean sat slumped on his couch, an unopened bottle of water on top of a wooden coaster that was shaped like a vinyl record. It was from a set you had found when the two of you visited the Rock N' Roll Hall Of Fame last year. His eyes focused on the phone in his hand, almost willing you to call it. All he wanted was confirmation that you had returned safely home. The rest could be figured out later, but there was no way he would sleep unless he knew where you were.

Paulina sat on the couch with him, but was keeping a respectable distance. At the moment, anyway. She could see the background of his phone was a picture of the two of you, fireworks from the 4th of July going off in the background. No matter, she thought. I'll show him that between you and me, I'm the better option as a girlfriend, and not you. "Dean? You've been staring at your phone ever since you got back."

He tore his eyes away from his phone to glance at Paulina, giving her a half-hearted smile. "I really wish I knew where she was, if she was safe," he murmured. "I don't like the idea of her being out there alone at this time of night."

Paulina narrowly resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "You know, I'm sure she's fine. Probably needed some 'alone time' to figure things out," she suggested.

"Maybe. But you didn't see the look on her face, Paulina. I shouldn't have snapped at her like I did. I need to apologize to her," he added. He stared longingly at his door, missing the flash of light at the arrival of a text message from you.

I have to distract him from his phone, she thought. "Um, Dean? Could I please get something to drink? A soda, or a water, maybe?" she asked.

"Yeah, sure. I'll be right back," he promised as he rose from the couch. "I should leave this here, then I won't be tempted to stare at it, pathetically waiting for her to text or call. Here," he held out his phone to Paulina. "Will you please put it on the table, next to my bottle of water? Think I need something stronger."

She made a show of doing as he'd asked, but as soon as he was out of sight, she picked it up again. Fortunately, it was unlocked, so she wouldn't have to guess his code and risk locking him out if she guessed wrong too many times. She accessed the message app, found your text about the party and deleted it. Sorry, 'bestie', but all's fair in love and war, she smirked to herself.

***

When you pulled into your parking space at the apartments, you turned off the engine and leaned back against the headrest. A glance at your phone as it sat in the cup holder had you debating on whether or not to check it for a response from Dean. You didn't recall hearing a notification of a return text, but then again, your music was up a bit loud.

On the way up in the elevator, you continued to resist the temptation to check your phone. Before turning the key in the lock, you looked over your shoulder at Dean's door and debated on whether or not to talk to him. The decision was made for you when you saw Paulina tiptoeing out of his place, and was on the phone with someone.

You froze in place, not wanting to draw attention to yourself by moving. The last thing you needed was a confrontation with Paulina. As she walked away, you heard snippets of conversation like, "be there on the 13th" and "Dean can't wait to meet you". From what you heard, you figured it meant one of two things. Either Dean saw the message, ignored it, and made other plans, or he hasn't seen the message yet. For now, you decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, then entered your apartment and locked the door.

***

The next couple of days were spent getting ready for Charlie's arrival from Chicago and the festivities to take place on Saturday the 13th. Fresh sheets were put on the bed and fresh towels placed in the bathroom for her, along with her favorite drinks and snacks in the kitchen. You picked her up from the airport and grabbed some burgers and fries on the way home for dinner.

On the 12th, you went shopping with Jody, Donna, Charlie, and Eileen to find you the perfect dress for your party at The Element. You found a black lace, off-the-shoulder swing dress with a high-low hemline. A pair of black Mary Jane pumps with crystals around the edge of the buckle completed your apparel choices.

As you lay in bed that night, you thought about the events of the day, which brought a smile to your face. Your smile faltered a little when you realized you haven't heard from Dean at all since the day you stormed out of the building. Not even a reply to the text message about the party at The Element tomorrow night.

His silence made you wonder if your years of friendship were truly over, all because of the situation with Paulina. Though you closed your eyes, any meaningful sleep would elude you for some time that night.

***

All during the day on the 13th, your phone randomly pinged with calls and text messages from friends and family. Some of them would be joining you for dinner at Ravelli's, your favorite Italian restaurant. Those not going to dinner with you were going to meet you at The Element later that evening for drinks and dancing.

Each time your phone notifications went off, you eagerly checked it, waiting to see that one name: Dean. Though with everything that had happened recently, you weren't sure you would see anything from him.

Still desperately wanting to give him the benefit of the doubt, you shook off the negative thoughts and continued to get ready. Before exiting your room, you pulled out your phone and sent Dean a simple text to see if, despite the tension, he would be at the restaurant. You dropped your phone into your sparkly clutch purse and headed to the living room to meet your friends.

At Ravelli's, the maître d' escorted everyone to the private room in the back. Appetizers were ordered, followed by your beverage orders being served. Once everyone had a drink in hand, Charlie proposed a birthday toast to you, bringing a warmth to your cheeks. Others followed, and the room was filled with laughter and other happy sounds.

"By the way, where's Dean? I thought for sure he'd be here," Jody asked, her gaze turned to you.

"I-I think said he's um....working late," you stammered.

"Tonight of all nights, chérie?" wondered Benny, who was sitting to your right.

"We-we haven't been able to see much of each other these past few days. Been busy working late at the shop, you know," you chuckled nervously. "Shall we order? What's everyone having?" you wondered in an attempt to diffuse the growing tension.

Once the orders were placed, you excused yourself to the restroom. After you washed your hands, you sent a text to Dean, asking him if he's on his way to meet you at the restaurant. One last check in the mirror, and you were out the door, only to run into someone on your way. "Oops, sorr--oh, hey, Sam!"

"Never mind that, why isn't he here? Did you even tell him? And what is this 'working late' business? I drive by the shop every night on my way home, and the Impala isn't there," Sam replied, crossing his arms over his chest. "What's going on?"

Your gaze dropped to the floor. "Not now, Sam. Please," you implored. "We really haven't spoken since that night, and truthfully, I've been kind of avoiding him ever since. He didn't even reply to my text message about tonight."

Sam swore under his breath. "That idiot," he mumbled while he thought for a few moments. He hooked his arm around you and pulled you into a hug. "Listen, I know he's my brother, but you deserve better than the way he's treating you. Find your happy, even if it isn't with Dean."

You pulled back to catch Sam's gaze. "Thank you, Sam," you whispered. You gave him one last squeeze and returned to the table. Once you were seated, you pulled out your phone and sent Dean another text message before locking it away in your purse again. Sam had also returned and within a few more moments, your meals were being brought out to the table.

***

Across town at Eclipse, the other club

Dean's hand was loosely curled around his beer, with drops of condensation slowly rolling down the bottom half of the bottle. He was slouched in his chair, staring at the stage and waiting for the band to start. As such, he missed how his phone lit up with yet another text message, with someone asking where he was and why he wasn't with you.

Paulina arrived at the table in time to see the last one come through. "The band's about to start, if you want another drink or to use the restroom or something," she suggested.

"Yeah....," Dean murmured.

"These are great seats, aren't they? Right up front," she beamed. "Shadow really came through for us, like he always does."

"Yeah....," he whispered. "Wait, what? Who's Shadow?"

"He's my friend, silly, the one who got us these tickets. Seriously, are you okay, Dean? You seem a little distracted tonight," Paulina pouted.

"I'm sorry. It feels like I'm supposed to be somewhere else tonight," he replied, then stood up from his chair. "I'm gonna go to the restroom, splash some cold water on my face and I'll be back." He turned and gave her a wink before forging a path through the crowd to the bathroom.

As soon as he was out of eyesight, Paulina shifted in her chair with a huff, crossing her arms over her chest. She was annoyed at Dean for being so inattentive tonight. And, to top it off, he'd been miserable ever since his argument with you, which was something she couldn't understand. Why would he want to be with you, when he can be with me? she inwardly fumed.

She glanced down in time to see yet another text message come through, this time from someone named "Jody". Immediately on its heels was a phone call from his brother, Sam. "Ugh! Why won't they leave us alone!" she snapped, swiping to decline the call. His phone wasn't unlocked this time, but she caught the code once when she was peering over his shoulder. A few clicks, then a few more swipes deleted any evidence of the texts and phone calls.

***

At the club, Benny picked up the first round of drinks, while Charlie slipped over to the DJ's booth to request a song. Before you knew it, the DJ announced that it was your birthday and the whole club sang "Happy Birthday" to you. Once the embarrassment subsided, Benny held out his hand and asked you to dance, which you accepted.

Though it was your favorite slow song, and it felt good to dance with someone, you couldn't help that your mind was definitely elsewhere. In the background, you registered that someone was talking to you, but the voice sounded as if underwater.

"Chérie? Are you all right?" Benny asked.

"Hmm? Yeah, sure, I'm fine. Why, what'd I miss?" you wondered.

"Nothin', I was askin' if you were having a good time. You've had that faraway look in your eyes ever since dinner or whenever anyone asks you about Dean," he replied.

Your eyes dropped to the floor and you cringed at being caught not paying attention. "I'm so sorry, Ben. It's not you, it's--"

"Dean," he supplied. You nodded sadly in response. "I hope you can forgive me for saying this, but he's not being a good boyfriend to you. He should be here, with you, on your most special of days."

"You're right, he should be," you murmured. "Only, I'm not the one he really wants." At his puzzled look, you launched into an explanation of the deal between you and Dean. He listened intently, nodding in the right places and didn't interrupt. You finished with a deep sigh and waited for his response.

"Well," he started. "That's really--"

"Pitiful, I know," you muttered.

"No, I was gonna say that's mighty noble of you to do that for him," he remarked softly. "He doesn't know about your affection for him, or, if he does, he's ignorin' it. But, with what you're doin' fer him, you've pretty much told him to his face. Any man who would go after some other woman on purpose after gettin' even a fraction of your love doesn't deserve it."

Tears prickled behind your eyelids, but you fought to keep them in check. "Thank you, Benny. That's probably one of the most beautiful things anyone's ever said to me," you affirmed.

"You're welcome, darlin'. And I meant ev'ry word," he replied with a grin. He tightened his arms around you a fraction more, while you rested your head on his chest and closed your eyes.

***

Dean's phone lit up after the last song of the set ended. Caller ID said it was Sam, so he knew it had to be important. "Excuse me, I've gotta take this," he hastily stood up from his chair and walked outside of Eclipse.

"What's up, Sam?" he answered.

"Where the hell are you??" Sam snapped.

"I'm at Eclipse with Paulina, where the hell am I supposed to be?" Dean shot back.

"Oh, I don't know, maybe at The Element for your best friend's birthday," he retorted. "You already missed dinner earlier at Ravelli's. Believe me, your absence did not go unnoticed."

"What are you talking about? That's tonight?? Nobody told me about any plans for her birthday," Dean remarked. "We haven't seen much of each other for a while, and--"

"Yeah, I'm aware of that, and I know about the little 'deal' you made with her to get Paulina to notice you. If you ask me, you're going after the wrong woman," Sam muttered.

Dean ran his hand across his face, trying to collect his thoughts. Maybe Sam was right, as much as he hated to admit it. But about this? He had to talk to you, let you know how badly he missed you....and to apologize. "All right, I'll be there in ten minutes. Don't let her leave, okay?" he pleaded.

"I won't. Just get over here and fix this, Dean. See you soon," Sam assured him.

He poked his head into the bar to see Paulina chatting with Shadow and the other members of the band between sets. She'd be okay with them while he sorted out this thing with you, then he would come back and pick her up.

On the drive over to the club, he mentally kicked himself for forgetting your birthday. It had never happened, not in five years, that he had missed it. Then again, he hasn't exactly been in his right mind since....Paulina. Could be Sam had a point, that he was going after the wrong woman. Time to find out tonight.

***

Seven minutes later, Dean walked into The Element, scanning the crowd for you. He works his way through, quickly says 'hello' to everyone in passing, and brushes off their remarks about where he's been.

He stopped short when he saw you on the dance floor with his best friend, Benny, whose chin rested on the top of your head. There's a sweet smile on your face and your eyes are closed as the two of you sway back and forth.

Dean felt the color drain from his face at the sight. When the song ended, you and Benny took a step back from each other, though your hand was still in his. Am I too late? he wondered. Wait, he knows how I feel about you, so why does he think he has the right to dance with you? His fists clenched at his sides at the thought.

As you reached the edge of the dance floor, you gasped at seeing your best friend. "Dean?" you whispered.

"Can we please talk? In private?" he gritted out.

You released Benny's hand and caught his gaze. "I'll be right back, Ben," you smiled.

Dean took your hand and you walked with him to an empty table. "Why didn't you tell me about tonight? Celebrating your birthday together is something we usually do," he pointed out.

"We used to do a lot of things, Dean. Key words, used to. And I sent you multiple texts about tonight, even after you were such a jerk to me that night," you seethed.

"What are you talking about? I never got any texts from you or anyone else. No phone calls, nothing," he snapped.

"Maybe you should check with your real girlfriend on that. I wouldn't put it past her to delete that kind of stuff off your phone," you accused.

"Of course you'd think that about her," he sneered. "Are you still pissed about what happened that night I went over to fix her heater?"

"It's not just about what happened on that last dinner-and-a-movie night, Dean. It's every time that woman is around, I cease to exist in your eyes. Which, yeah, I guess that's the point with this 'arrangement', isn't it. I just didn't–"

"'You just didn't' what? C'mon, tell me," he demanded.

You shook your head and started to walk towards the door to leave the club, but he caught your hand. "Let me go, Dean," you warned.

"Not until you finish what you were going to say," he stated firmly.

"I didn't think–" you stumbled again.

"WHAT?! Just say it!" he thundered.

"I didn't think it would hurt this much, okay?!?" you shouted. "I didn't realize how much it would tear my heart to ribbons to see you with someone else," you admitted. "I know, it's my own fault since it was sort of my idea, and I agreed to do it. I mean, you asked me to and it was important to you. I was willing to do whatever would make you happy, even if I wasn't. But now....it's best for me to bow out gracefully with what's left of my dignity....and my heart," you choked out.

By now it occurred to you that the entire club had gone silent, even with the music. When his grip on your wrist lessened, you ripped your hand away. Your eyes met Charlie's across the room and she rushed over to guide you out to her car. She helped you get settled then climbed in herself to drive back to your apartment.

Dean stood frozen in place as he watched you walk out the door with Charlie. He felt a pull on his arm and when he looked down, he saw Paulina, fury in her eyes. "Paulina? I--"

"Save it, Dean! How could you just abandon me at the club like that? First, you've been distracted all night. Second, you never came back from your phone call," she huffed.

"I'm sorry, I should've come back inside to tell you where I was going and made sure you got home okay," he admitted. "Remember how I told you I thought I was missing something important tonight? Well, I was, because I should've been here. It's her--"

"Birthday, yeah, I know all about it Dean," she replied sarcastically. "Your phone has been blowing up all night with all these annoying text messages and phone calls asking why you weren't here."

"What?" he whispered. "You deleted my notifications? How dare you invade my privacy like that!?!" he roared.

"They wouldn't leave you alone! All I wanted was one night out with you to hang out with my friends," she spat.

"Ever since you moved in, I've been trying to get to know you. I thought you were someone that if we got together, we could maybe build a future," he explained.

"I don't see why any of that has to change, Dean. I can see a future with you. We belong together," Paulina implored.

"Maybe now you think that's true, but before, you never gave me a chance to ask you out for coffee, a drink, a date, anything. You didn't show me any kind of interest until you thought I was in a relationship."

"That's not true, Dean. I was new in the building, had to make you work for it," she added weakly.

"Well, I don't play games. You know, it happened exactly like she said it would. You wanted what you didn't have, so you decided you'd take it--take me--from the one who did have me. Just to see if you could do it."

"So all of this was to prove a point?" she screeched. "You never were in a relationship with anyone?" Dean shook his head while fury took over Paulina's face "I can't believe you tricked me into believing you were with that--that--"

"Do not even THINK about finishing that sentence," he warned. "I may not have been her boyfriend before, but damn, if I don't wish that I was now. I can't believe it's taken me this long to figure it out," he remarked.

"I don't see what's so great about her," Paulina retorted.

"I'll tell you. She's supported me through everything I've done. Like when I bought the garage from Bobby when he retired, and started running my own shop. She was there for me and my family when my dad died of a heart attack. She's celebrated my highs and helped me through my lows," he explained.

"You'd rather be with a sappy, average little nobody, than a woman like me? I don't understand, how is that even possible?"

"Well, it doesn't matter if you understand it, because it's basically reality. I'm in love with my best friend. Right now, I owe her a massive apology and so much more. And this?" he motioned between them. "Is done." He turned on his heel and walked out of the club to find you.

"Oh yeah?? You think you're soooo special, Dean Winchester? Well, you're not. There are plenty of guys out there, better than you, and more worthy of my time!" Paulina ranted. She turned just in time to see your friends advancing on her position.

"I think it's time for you to leave. You're not welcome here, not after the crap you just pulled," Jody remarked, arms crossed over her chest. Echoes of the same sentiment rippled through your group of friends and even some of the bystanders.

"Fine. Let her have him, then. All he ever did was talk about her anyway. They deserve each other," Paulina muttered under her breath as she spun on her heel and marched out of the club.

"You bet your ass they do."

***

"Are you sure you want to do this, Charlie? I mean, if you don't want to cash in the other half of your plane ticket, I'd understand," you offered.

"I know you would, honey, but I'm sure. And I didn't buy my ticket, the company did, so in a sense I'm saving them money. Anyway, what better way is there to help heal a broken heart than a road trip with your bestie, I ask you," she quipped.

"Okay, you got me with that one," you laughed. "I'm almost done in here, if you want to wait in the living room for me." She nodded and gave your shoulder a squeeze before leaving you to finish packing.

As you were zipping up your suitcase, you thought you heard a specific pattern of knocks at your front door. You paused then slowly walked out to the living room to listen, only to hear the knocks again. "What should I do?" Charlie asked.

"Sweetheart, I know you're in there. I'm so sorry for what happened. Please let me in, I need to talk to you," Dean pleaded.

You looked to Charlie for guidance on whether or not to let him in, but she looked as undecided as you. "I've said all I'm going to say to you for the time being, Dean. Please, just let it go for now and maybe we can talk later," you tried.

"No can do, baby," he replied immediately. "It's been too long without you, and I'll admit it, I'm a mess. I can't eat, haven't slept much, if at all, and I....miss you. The sound of your voice, even if it's because you're yelling at me. Your text messages, whether short and sweet or long ones sharing your thoughts on life. Your eyes, despite how you love to roll them at me. And....your smile. I especially miss it, because I haven't given you much reason lately to show it to me."

By this time, tears are silently streaming down your face. Your heart wanted nothing more than to yank the door open and throw yourself into his arms. However, your head remained cautious, on edge, and waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Despite your doubts, you decided to give in to your heart a little and gestured for Charlie to open the door. The man on the other side did indeed look miserable, like he hadn't slept in weeks. "Hey, sweetheart," he sighed, giving you a tender smile.

Still skeptical, you maintain your distance from him with your arms crossed over your chest as you allow him to enter your apartment. "What about Paulina?" you asked warily.

"Gone. We're done. Over with. Turns out you were right. She erased all of my text messages and declined my phone calls that said anything about tonight," he affirmed.

"That b---" Charlie blurted out, but stopped and gave you a sheepish smile. "I'm sorry. I'll be in my room if you need anything." From behind his back, Charlie gave the I'm-watching-you gesture. You barely had time to suppress a small grin before returning your attention to Dean.

"Dean, I'm sorry that you and Paulina didn't work out. I know how much you wanted it to. Even though I wasn't your real girlfriend, the experience was better than I could've imagined," you admitted.

"You've thought about it? About us?" he asked.

"For a long time, yes. So many times I came so close to telling you, but then when you started to go on about Paulina, I couldn't say anything. Now, when the next woman comes along, I'll be pushed to the background again," you remarked softly.

"That's not gonna happen," he replied firmly, shaking his head.

"You can't know that for certain, Dean, and I can't chance it. My heart won't take it," you countered.

"I do know for certain, because there won't be any other women. The only one I want is you. I've thought about us, too, for a long time. I had no idea if you felt the same about me. I couldn't risk our friendship if you didn't love me the way that I love you," he confessed.

"You love me?" you whispered.

Dean nodded. "I do. After all this time, it's always been you, sweetheart. It might have taken me a little longer than everyone else to see it, but I am yours. Will you be mine?"

At his confession, more tears began to stream down your cheeks. "Of course, Dean. I always have been yours. Always will be," you added.

Throughout your conversation, Dean had been taking small steps towards you to close the distance between you. When his hand reached up to caress your cheek, you jumped, which elicited a nervous giggle from the two of you. He leaned closer and tenderly brushed his lips over yours, then drew back a bit.

Your hands slid up his chest and curled around the back of his head. You briefly teased the short hairs at the nape of his neck before pulling him closer again. When your lips met this time, it was like fireworks had gone off in a kaleidoscope of colors. To feel the movement of his mouth on yours was like a dream from which you never wanted to awaken. You could faintly taste the remnants of the beer he had earlier, while he licked away the coarse salt from your lips, courtesy of your margarita.

When you were almost out of oxygen, the kiss was broken, leaving the two of you trying to catch your breath. "That was amazing," he whispered, touching his forehead to yours. "I love you, sweetheart."

"That kiss was miraculous," you added. "I love you too, Dean."

From the other room, Charlie yelled, "FINALLY!!" You and Dean burst out into laughter at her statement as she returned to the living room.

"Hey, Charlie? I um....don't think I'll be taking that road trip after all. But I will still see you off at the airport tomorrow," you agreed.

"I figured as much," she smirked. "And don't get too comfortable, Winchester. You pull a stunt like this again and I have to come out and fix it? I. will. end. you."

"Understood, but I promise, no more stunts like this. Not now that I have my girl," Dean replied, curling his arm around you and drawing you closer to his side.

Charlie rolled her eyes. "Well, I'm going to bed, because I have an early flight tomorrow. Try to keep the noise down, huh?"

"I swear, only sleep. For tonight anyway," he grinned and waggled his eyebrows then held out his arm. "Ready, sweetheart?"

You playfully rolled your eyes as you hooked your arm around his. "Ready as I'll ever be. Follow me, my love."

When you reached the doorway to your room, Dean paused. "By the way, I'm sorry I forgot to say this earlier, but 'Happy Birthday, baby'," he remarked softly, brushing a lock of hair behind your ear.

Your hand cradled his jaw as you gave him a tender smile. "Best. Birthday. Ever."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Tags:

@winchest09 @deanwanddamons @janicho88 @yourelivingwrong @akshi8278 @magssteenkamp @lyarr24 @hobby27 @jessica-noel94 @jensengirl83 @wayward-dreamer @idreamofplaid @like-a-bag-of-potatoes @winchesterprincessbride @ejlovespie @deandreamernp @emoryhemsworth @never--doubt @watermelonlipstick @makeadealwithdean @krazykelly @imherefordeanandbones @rooweighton @coleslibrary @soaringeag1e @sams-sass @phoenixisred @hintsofhoney

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester au #dean x reader #au dean x reader

50 notes · View notes

horanghaejamjam · 1 year ago

Text

Jigsaw - {CS}

↪ Summary: You are the lead detective in an investigation surrounding one of the most infamous killers the city has ever seen. Unfortunately for you, Jigsaw knows you're onto him and has played you like a game at every turn, threatening the case and your status. Your determination to catch him finally gets you a lead, only for you to find yourself tangled in a special trap that he designed just for you. Let the game begin.

↪ Pairings: Jigsaw Killer Choi San x Female Detective Reader

↪ Rating: M 18+

↪ Genre: Non-idol/Slasher/Horror movie au/ Suggestive / Fluff/Friends to enemies to lovers

↪ Word Count: 5.7k

↪ Warnings/Contents: References to classic horror movies, mainly Saw, Silence of the Lambs, and Scream. Mentions of death/murder/being shot (not detailed). Seonghwa and Mingi both make cameos in this story with a few other members being mentioned. Swearing and implied smut (MDNI). San being a teasing little shit, makeout sessions, fondling over clothes.

↪ Side Notes: To the wonderful @pinkywritings hi darling I was your assigned Ghost Writer for the @atinyhalloweenproject. This is my first time writing for San and I had a lot of fun with it so I hope you enjoy it! Sorry it is so late I wanted to have it out by Halloween but due to the sudden weather change we haven't had power. I tried to make it longer to make up for that so hopefully it doesn't feel rushed and was worth the wait!

I honestly may do a part two to this or an expansion later on because I love the idea of Jigsaw San but we'll see.

↪ Click here to see my other Ateez stories

↪ Click here for other kpop masterlists

↪ Click here to join my fic taglist

“Police officials are seeking any leads in identifying the man known only to the public as the Jigsaw killer. He is believed to be linked in multiple disappearances and murders that have taken place around Seoul for the past three months. The victims were all found in various handmade traps and had a puzzle piece drawn somewhere visible on their body. At this time investigators have no leads and are asking the public for any knowledge they may have on this public threat.”

The reporter's voice faded to nothing as the volume on the TV was lowered to zero. You groaned softly to yourself as you tossed the remote to the side, running your hands through your hair as you sat forward on your couch. It had been just over a month since you were assigned the Jigsaw murder case, the last detective backing out after the man in question threatened to target his family. The case was quickly transferred over to you, one of the best detectives in your field, but it was very quickly starting to test your patience.

Whoever this Jigsaw was, he was a clever man. He left no trace, no evidence, nothing that would allow you to track him down. You went through surveillance, interviewed the family and friends of the victims, tried breaking down his traps for any clues, but any lead always led you right back to square one. You had tried to be patient, hoping that eventually he would slip up and give you something, but it was starting to sound like wishful thinking. Even worse, he knew who you were and started calling you out directly. You would find notes addressed to you, pictures, voice messages, all calling you out and taunting you. It was like he was playing some cruel game with you and you had no choice but to play along or risk losing everything. You couldn’t even walk to work anymore without some reporter chasing you down demanding an explanation or any evidence you had in the case. It came to a point where you only went to the office when called, and the rest of your work you did from home.

Various evidence pictures and case files were thrown across your coffee table, a few rough notes scribbled in between. You had been looking at the same files for the past couple of hours, dissecting every last word to see if you had missed any connections. Your last victim had been found 72 hours ago, and you knew you only had a day at most before the next one. There were a few things you had discovered about Jigsaw, and the main one was that he worked on a schedule. Once someone was reported missing, it would be three days before their body turned up and the cycle would start again. Whoever this man was, he clearly enjoyed his patterns, and that is what you found yourself looking for, any pattern you may have missed.

“Working from home again I see?” you practically jumped out of your skin as you heard the deep voice of your roommate behind you, turning around to see his tall frame leaning over the couch.

“For Fucks sake Mingi you almost gave me a heart attack!” you whined, reaching up to lightly smack at him, “what are you doing here anyways I thought you weren’t coming home tonight.” You and Mingi had been friends for as long as you could remember, having met back in high school and staying together through college and your time at the police academy. He was like a brother to you at this point and you trusted him so you didn’t mind if he saw your work, even if he technically wasn’t supposed to. Mingi always found your work to be fascinating and would bug you randomly about cases, which only grew more when you started investigating Jigsaw, though you assumed it was just because you got to bring your work home now. Just as you predicted, he made his way to the other side of the couch and took a seat next to you, picking up one of the crime scene photos to get a better look.

“I was going to stay at Yunhos tonight but something came up and he had to cancel,” Mingi explained, running his thumb over the picture he was holding, “ouch this looks like it would have been painful, what is it?”

“That’s one of Jigsaw's latest traps,” you answered, snatching the photo away from him, “I’m looking through it to see if I can find any missing clues.”

“Have you found anything?”

“Sadly no, he’s very good at covering his tracks. It’s been a month and we still don’t have any leads on this guy, it’s like he’s a ghost or something.” Mingi hummed softly as he continued to look through all the pictures, careful not to mess them up knowing you would yell at him if he did.

“Now I’m no expert but, are you sure you’re only looking for one person?” he asked, catching you off guard.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean all these crime scenes you’ve shown me have been pretty big and this says it only took three days, seems like a lot of work for one person if you ask me.” Mingi explained, “and that’s why your patterns wouldn’t line up like you want them to.” You blinked up at him dumbly for a moment as you processed his words, looking back down at the file you had basically memorized by this point. You didn’t want to admit it, but Mingi had a point.

“You know that’s actually not a bad idea,” you muttered.

“I can be helpful sometimes you know,” he bragged with a laugh, earning himself a punch to the shoulder. He didn’t have time to retaliate though as you were packing up all of your things and rushing towards the door, “Wait where are you going?”

“I need to check on something, don’t wait up for me!” you called back, pulling on your coat and running out the door as he called after you. In your rush you hadn’t realized that you dropped part of your case file on your way out, nor did you notice Mingi pulling out his phone to call someone as he closed the door to your apartment.

ღ ღ ღ ღ ღ

You made it to the crime scene in no time, an abandoned warehouse located just on the edge of the city. You parked your car a bit away and pulled out a flashlight as you made your way inside, ducking under the caution tape and pulling your jacket closer to yourself as you looked around. The clean up crew had gotten most of the scene cleaned by now, but the trap itself was still there. A weirdly broken mess of chains and blades that you wouldn’t have been able to put back together if you wanted to, making you wonder how Jigsaw even came up with the idea in the first place. You shook the thought out of your head and made your way to one of the blades, leaning down to inspect it carefully. It was sharp with a curve to it, but almost messy in design as if it was handmade. To test that theory you took a look at another one and noticed the same thing except this one was thicker and less curved despite being set up the same way. The chains themselves were also a bit sloppy when you looked at them closely, almost as if they had been done in a rush. It wasn’t as clean as Jigsaw's normal work, and now Mingis suggestion that you were dealing with more than one culprit seemed more plausible.

You took your phone out to snap a picture just as the door to the warehouse opened, a new light pouring in and a familiar voice calling your name.

“Over here!” you called back, flashing your light in his direction so he could see you. Quick footsteps made their way towards you before a familiar figure came into view. Park Seonghwa, a senior detective that had transferred over to your department a little over a year ago and assigned as your partner. You had been against the idea at first since your original partner had been killed only a few weeks prior during an investigation gone wrong. The chief had insisted it would be for the best though since you needed the help and Seonghwas cool and more collected nature would balance you out nicely which would prove to be true. Your impulsiveness had driven the older detective crazy a few times, but for the most part the two of you got along well and you could even consider him a friend. He was wearing a long black coat and matching gloves and his hair was long and falling into his face rather than slicked up like normal, probably because he had been at home resting when you called him.

“Would you care to explain why you called me out here in the middle of the night when I haven’t heard from you in the last 48 hours?” Seonghwa questioned, unable to hide the annoyance in his tone.

“I’ll make it up to you but I figured this couldn’t wait,” you muttered, going back to inspect the chain again, “I’m trying to prove a theory about something.”

“That theory being?”

“What if Jigsaw isn't working alone?” you challenged, “what if it’s more than one person, that would explain why nothing lines up.” Seonghwas eyes widened a bit and you could have sworn you heard him mutter something under his breath, “what did you say?”

“Oh nothing,” he brushed you off, “what made you so convinced of this new theory? Did you find something?” You froze for a second, not wanting to expose yourself for letting a member of the general public view the case file.

“Just a hunch,” you lied, “but I mean look at the way this trap was built, it's messy compared to the others, almost as if it was made by someone else.”

“Or maybe Jigsaw just ran out of time and rushed on it,” he argued.

“Can you just humor me for five seconds Seonghwa,” you groaned, “maybe I’m wrong yes but isn’t it at least worth looking into?” Seonghwa rolled his eyes but gave in, walking to the other side of the trap to get a better look. You were too distracted by your own work to pay much attention to him, meticulously looking through every detail of the trap despite not actually knowing what you were looking for. Your instinct was telling you that there was something there you were overlooking, something that was hiding in plain sight, you just had to figure out what that was.

“Hey Y/N,” Seonghwa called out after a few minutes, “I think I found something.” Your head shot up and you quickly dusted yourself off before making your way over. Seonghwa was standing in the corner of the warehouse holding what looked to be a tape recorder. “I found it tucked away over here, may have gotten knocked around during the investigation,” he explained.

“Does it say anything?” you asked, taking the recorder from his hands and pressing the play button. There was only static for a moment before a robotic voice spoke up, like someone was speaking through a voice changer. Despite that, you couldn’t help but feel like the voice seemed familiar to you, but it was hard to tell through the editing.

“Hello Detective Y/L/N,” the tape addressed you, sending a chill through your body, “these past few weeks you have been running around in circles trying to discover who I am. You have been closer to the truth than you realize but you always end up blindsided by your work and, as a result, you overlook the answer that is right in front of you. I have enjoyed silently watching you up until this point but now it is getting quite boring so why don’t we make this a bit more fun? Do you like games, detective? I hope you do because I want to play a game with you. I have left a riddle for you, the answer to which will tell you all you need to know about who I am and what I do. You have 48 hours to find the riddle and tell me the answer or you will find yourself and those closest to you in a very undesirable situation. The timer starts the second this recording ends, let’s hope you are as clever as everyone says you are. Let the game begin.”

You felt your blood run cold as the tape came to an end, barely registering Seonghwas hand on your shoulder as you tried to process everything you just heard. Seonghwa tried talking to you but you ignored him, pushing his hand off and rushing back to your car, your partner not far behind you.

“Where are you going? We should report this to the office first!” he called after you.

“What good is reporting it going to do? You heard him Hwa I have 48 hours to figure out who this guy is or we’re all screwed, I can’t waste time.”

“So what you’re going to rush into something and get yourself killed?” he argued.

“Better than doing nothing and getting everyone else killed,” you snapped back, “now if you’ll excuse me, I need to find this riddle he’s talking about.” Seonghwa called after you again but by this point you had gotten in your car and were already making your way back to your apartment. Part of you felt like going home was a bad idea, but you also couldn’t help but feel like something was pulling you to go there. The same feeling of familiarity that you got hearing the tape returned, making you feel more and more uneasy as you pulled into your apartment complex. Like you knew who Jigsaw was and yet the image of his face was blurred any time you tried to imagine him.

Mingi didn’t seem to be home when you got back, his shoes were gone and the light was off. You couldn’t focus on that though, as your attention was drawn to the stack of papers placed neatly on your coffee table. You carefully walked over and looked through the pile, recognizing pictures from all the different crime scenes you had investigated so far, each one marked with red ink.

‘Y/N, doesn’t this random pattern seem a bit too random?’

‘This is quite close to home don’t you think?’

‘The truth has been in front of you the whole time.’

‘Why do I do what I do?’

‘Did you miss me?’

You ran your hand through your hair as you continued looking through the pictures, realizing that the riddle was basically going to send you on a scavenger hunt. It would take forever for you to go back through each crime scene and look back through everything to find out what he was talking about. Even worse, it was pretty late and you could feel exhaustion slowly taking over you, slouching over the coffee table and eventually laying against it as you fell asleep trying to decipher the riddle.

You were jolted awake by the sound of your phone vibrating, groaning softly as you sat up and reached into your pocket for the device. You half expected it to be a call from Mingi or Seonghwa, but instead you were greeted with the same robotic voice from the night before. Only this time, you were able to hear his actual voice a bit more and it was one you swore you had heard before.

“Good morning Sleeping Beauty, I hope my riddle didn’t keep you up all night,” the voice immediately woke you up, straightening your posture as you looked around.

“Who is this?” you asked.

“Aww I’m almost offended you don’t remember me, we go way back you know,” the voice responded, “I’ve missed you Y/N, and even if you don’t remember me now I know you miss me too.” You paused for a moment at his words before realizing now was not the time to worry about that.

“Why are you doing this?”

“That. my dear detective is for you to find out, you always did enjoy the thrill of a good challenge didn’t you? I figured you would have solved my puzzle by now but since I believe in giving people a fair chance I’ll give you another clue. One of those puzzle pieces doesn’t quite belong, once you find the answer I will be waiting for you in the place we last met, don’t keep me waiting Doll.” With that the call ended, causing you to groan in frustration and toss your phone to the side.

“I’ve had about enough of these damn games,” you huffed, rubbing your hands over your eyes. You looked through the pictures again before one in particular caught your eye. It wasn’t one of the Jigsaw crime scenes, but instead it was a picture of an older house, one that you recognized from your last murder investigation with your old partner, San. The memories slowly came back to you and that’s when it finally clicked for you, the puzzle and the reason the voice sounded so familiar to you. That was impossible though, San was dead, you had been at the hospital with him when the doctors told you there was nothing they could do. There was no way that San was still alive, and yet you would recognize his voice anywhere. Shaking your head, you grabbed your phone and stood up, calling Seonghwa and telling him to meet you at the house in question as you left your apartment and got in your car. The whole ride there you tried ignoring the feeling of dread that came over you, hoping that your intuition was wrong.

ღ ღ ღ ღ ღ

Seonghwa was already at the house before you got there, leaning against the wall with a blank expression. “I take it you found the answer to your riddle?” he asked as you walked past him, leading him inside.

“As much as I hope I am wrong I think I did,” you confessed, “and if I’m right the clue we are looking for should be here somewhere.” Seonghwa stood still in the middle of the room as you frantically looked around, digging through his pocket and following your movements with his eyes.

“This isn’t one of the crime scenes,” he pointed out, “what exactly are we looking for?”

“Jigsaw said to find him at the place we last met and this place was the only one pictured that wasn’t one of the crime scenes,” you explained. Seonghwa hummed softly at your answer, but you ignored him as you continued looking around.

“Why here then, what’s so special about this place?” you froze for a moment at the question, an action that didn’t go unnoticed.

“This was the last place I investigated with my first partner,” you answered, “he was shot during the investigation and I thought he was dead but I’m starting to think I was wrong.”

“You think it’s him,” Seonghwa stated rather than asked, to which you nodded.

“I don’t know why he would do such a thing, but it all lines up.” Seonghwa sighed and glanced down at his watch before making his way towards you.

“I’m surprised you know, you solved the riddle faster than we thought you would, we’re a bit ahead of schedule.” His words made your blood run cold, freezing as your head turned to look at him.

“What did you just say?”

“I’m sorry about this Y/N,” Seonghwa apologized, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a syringe, “just know I don’t make the rules, I’m just the delivery guy.” Before you could react to his words he had grabbed you and injected you with what you assumed was some kind of anesthesia, your body going limp in his hold almost immediately and your vision going black. The last thing you remember hearing was his voice and footsteps approaching before you completely lost consciousness.

When you returned to consciousness the first thing that you noticed was that you couldn’t move. Your arms and legs were handcuffed to a chair that also appeared to be bolted to the floor so you couldn’t tip it over. Tugging at your restraints, you glanced around to find that you were in some sort of workshop, various trap parts and gadgets tossed around multiple workbenches. At the front of the room were what appeared to be security monitors, each watching different parts of the city that you could just barely make out.

“I have to hand it to you Y/N,” a voice said from behind you, “the last detective didn’t make it nearly as far.” The sound of footsteps echoed through the room before a figure appeared in your vision, wearing a full body red and black hood. Even though his face was covered by the hood, you could feel the presence of your former partner.

“How, I thought you were dead,” you whispered, not sure what to feel at the moment. In any other circumstance you would be over the moon to know he was alive, but how were you supposed to feel knowing he was the serial killer you had been anxiously tracking down. Shock, betrayal, anger, sadness, confusion, all of these emotions swirled through your brain like an endless whirlpool, pulling you in deeper and nearly bringing tears to your eyes.

“Everyone did,” San replied, turning away from you to face one of his work benches, “the doctors said it was a miracle, that no one thought I would make it through the night let alone make a full recovery.” You could hear him messing with something, but couldn’t see what it was, struggling to look past his shoulder as he continued talking, “I tried to find you after you know? I thought you were the only one left that cared about me, and yet even you managed to turn your back on me.”

“I always cared about you,” you argued, “that’s why I’m trying to understand why San, why did you do this?” It was at this point that he finally turned to face you, pulling the hood back so you could see him properly. He looked almost the same as you remembered, but there was a cold gaze in his eyes that almost made him feel like a stranger. This wasn’t the warm hearted and cheerful person you used to consider a friend, he was a killer. Despite this, however, you couldn’t help yourself from falling for his familiarity, almost as if you could convince yourself the old San was still in there, somewhere.

“You never realize just how valuable life is until you are inches away from death,” he explained, “the adrenaline and the fight to survive, it almost feels like you are being reborn. The more I thought about it, the more I realized how corrupt the world we live in truly is, because no one really knows how to appreciate the life they are given until it is nearly taken from them. You may not understand it now but trust me my methods will help make the world a better place.”

“You’re killing people because you want them to appreciate life?” you questioned, wondering if he was actually being serious. There was no way a person's mind could be that twisted, right?

“You think I’m a killer?” San asked, not needing a verbal response since your glare was enough confirmation, “that’s where you’re wrong you know. I have not killed anyone, all of my games are survivable as long as the player has the will to fight for it. Those who failed the games basically killed themselves.” You wanted to argue that putting people in these death traps still made him a killer but he cut you off, “Seven people have won so far, seven people who had that will to live and had the chance to be reborn. They understand what it truly means to be alive and now they help me spread my message. You may not understand me now, but I really do hope that you will be the next.”

“So what, am I the next person that gets to be put in one of your death traps then?” you groaned, tugging at your restraints. San pouted a bit but shook his head.

“Your game began the minute you took the case from Detective Kim,” he explained, “you and I always seemed to have an understanding so I had hoped you would pick up on my clues and join without a fight, but you were far too stubborn to listen. Eventually I had to cut my losses so I had my apprentices plant fake evidence to finally get you here, it was the only way.” Your heart dropped a bit at the word apprentices, your mind immediately going back to Seonghwa and how he was the one who brought you here.

“So you’re telling me the whole time,” you trailed off.

“Seonghwa was working for me, yes, Mingi as well, they both survived my games and agreed to help with the cause and when you took over my case I knew I could use them to guide you in the right direction,” San explained. He took a moment to glance at a clock on the wall before sighing and making his way over to you. San rested his hands on the arms of the chair and used them to prop himself up so he was leaning over you, “As much as I have enjoyed our little chat I’m afraid we do not have much time. I really do like you Y/N so I will give you a choice. Join me and together we can help change the world for the better.”

“And if I refuse?” you challenged.

“Well then I guess we’ll have to play a game,” he hummed, leaning away from you, “The second I walk out of this room it will lock and a timer will start. Behind you are two doors, each with a different combination, one door will lead you to the exit, and the other will lead you to me. If you choose to leave then you will be free but you will lose your chance to catch me. If you choose to come after me, then you have a chance to learn the truth at the risk of your freedom. The combinations are hidden in this room and you will have exactly one hour to find them and leave through the door of your choosing, and trust me you don’t want to know what will happen if you run out of time.” San chuckled softly before pulling away and walking behind you, “This is your last chance to accept my offer Y/N, I would hate to lose you like this.” He waited for a moment but when you didn’t respond he sighed, “Very well, let the game begin.” You felt him place something into your hand, which you quickly realized was a key, before the door slammed shut and San was gone.

ღ ღ ღ ღ ღ

It didn’t take you long to unlock yourself, taking a second to rub your wrists as you stood up and made your way cautiously around the room. You did your best to stay calm and not look at the clock as you examined the doors and then looked around for the combinations, which you quickly realized were hidden on his tools. The question was, do you free yourself and turn your back on the case, or do you risk it all and try to go after San. The rational part of your brain was screaming at you to just get out of there and not look back, and yet you quickly found yourself moving on autopilot. Before you could really process what you were doing, you had entered the code for the door labeled “Truth” and ran through it, stepping into a dark hallway and letting the door lock behind you.

You took a moment to compose yourself before heading forward, placing your hands against the walls to help feel your way through the space. All the doors were locked until you came to one at the very end that was cracked open, revealing what looked to be a makeshift office space, with nothing but a desk and filing cabinet in the room. You poked your head through first, looking around for any sign of life before slowly stepping inside and making your way to the desk, only to gasp as you felt another body pin you to it.

“I knew you would come after me,” San whispered, spinning you around so that you were facing him. Your body was pressed between his and the desk, his arms caging you on either side as your eyes locked.

“I can’t let you get away with this,” you argued, trying to wiggle away from him but San was stronger so he held you in place.

“Come on Doll, you and I both know that’s not why you came after me,” he teased, “maybe it was at first but if that was the case now you would be fighting me harder.” He was right, even if he was stronger you knew you could at least hold your own enough to get him away or subdue him long enough to call for help. Yet you couldn’t bring yourself to actually fight him off, struggling against him enough to save your pride but not enough to actually push him off. “So tell me,” San continued, “why did you really come after me, was it because you were curious about my work? Or, was it because deep down you missed me?” Honestly, you weren’t even sure if you knew the answer, your body having reacted before your mind could catch up.

“This isn’t right,” you argued, reaching your hands up to push at his shoulders.

“And yet here we are,” he teased, backing up enough to wrap his arms around you and pull you closer to him. Your bodies pressed together and your arms instinctually made their way around his neck which made him chuckle. “I always knew you were special, you understood me in a way that no one else ever did. Stay with me, nothing will be able to come between us.” San leaned down until your lips were centimeters apart, his breath tickling your lips with every word. You tried not to give into him, knowing that this was wrong, but you also couldn’t deny the thrill that ran through you just from being near him. You had always cared for San when you two were partners, hell there was even a time where you could argue that you did have a crush on him. That was back then however, when he was the sweet and easy going detective that decorated his desk with mini plushies and would whine if you forgot to get him a pastry on your morning coffee runs. This version of San wasn’t like that, even if the allure was still there, he was cold, twisted, and a killer.

“I can’t do this,” you argued, “you’re not the man I once cared about.” You tried to turn your head away from him, but he gripped your chin to force you to look at him.

“Yes I am, behind all of this it is still me and I can prove that to you,” he whispered, “just let me show you.” When you shook your head again he huffed, loosening his grip for a moment before it tightened again, “Fine then, how about another game?”

“I already won your stupid game though!” you challenged.

“Yet you still haven’t learned,” he fought back, “the least you can do is give me a chance to convince you. If you don’t give in then I will go with you to the station and turn myself in, but if I win then you quit being a detective for good and you stay with me.” You gave him a questioning look, at this point more than positive that he had gone insane. However, if playing his dumb games meant putting an end to Jigsaw, then you were more than willing to oblige.

“Alright fine, deal,” you reluctantly agreed. You only had a moment to register Sans smirk before he was pulling you against him again and connecting your lips. One hand stayed pressed against your back to keep you against him, while the other tangled itself in your hair, tugging slightly to get a reaction out of you. The kiss wasn’t rough or forced like you had expected, instead it was gentle and passionate, like he wanted to take his time with you. His lips were surprisingly soft against yours, and you began to slowly melt against his movements. You kissed him back and allowed him to have more control, whining softly against his lips when he tugged a bit harder at your hair. Your own hands trailed down his body, tracing his shoulders and chest for a few moments before daring to go a bit lower. San groaned as he felt you palm him over his robe, tightening his grip on your hair and deepening the kiss as his own hand reached down to grab at your thighs and your ass.

All your resolve melted away at his touch and you found yourself giving into him completely, relishing in the way he invaded your senses. All rationality had left completely, replaced with an unusual desire as San explored your body. As desperate as he was, his touches remained soft and left you craving more whenever he pulled his hand away. San walked you back until you reached the desk, lifting you up enough to sit you on top of it and slotting himself between your thighs as he finally pulled away. You only had a second to catch your breath before you were pushed back slightly and pinned down by your hands. San hovered above you with a knowing smirk, taking a moment to enjoy your flustered expression before leaning down to whisper directly in your ear.

“Looks like I won. Game Over!”

Ateez taglist: N/A

Please see my pinned post to be added to the taglist.

#sandsofirenet #atinyhalloweenproject #san x reader #choi san #ateez x reader #ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fluff #ateez smut #san fluff #san smut #kpop #kpop x reader #kpop fanfiction #horror au #slasher au #au #ateez au

426 notes · View notes

dan-the-womans-blog · 10 months ago

Text

Title:"Partners in Every Sense"

The air in Quantico buzzed with the usual hum of activity. The Behavioral Analysis Unit (BAU) was bustling as always, agents moving with purpose, files being handed off, and the ever-present sound of the espresso machine in the break room trying to keep everyone running on caffeine and determination. Derek Morgan sat at his desk, skimming through case files, his sharp eyes flicking over details with practiced ease. He was in his element here, surrounded by the intricate puzzles that made up human behavior.

But today, something was different.

Agent Y/N L/N had just joined the team. She was a legend in her own right, having made a name for herself in the FBI’s Hostage Rescue Team. Her transfer to the BAU was the subject of much discussion. Known for her unparalleled marksmanship, tactical prowess, and an uncanny ability to read situations, she was as intimidating as she was effective. The rumors didn’t do her justice, though; she was even more formidable in person.

Morgan looked up as the door to the conference room opened. There she was. Her presence was magnetic, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. She was tall and athletic, with piercing eyes that seemed to miss nothing. She carried herself with the confidence of someone who had faced down the worst humanity had to offer and come out victorious.

"Agent Morgan," she greeted, extending a hand. Her voice was calm and steady, a perfect match for her composed exterior.

"Agent L/N," he replied, taking her hand in a firm shake. He couldn’t help but notice the strength in her grip, a testament to her physical training. "Welcome to the BAU. Heard a lot about you."

"All good, I hope," she said with a faint smirk, the hint of a challenge in her eyes.

Morgan chuckled. "Mostly. You’ve got quite the reputation."

"Reputations are just stories," she replied, her gaze unwavering. "I prefer to show what I can do."

Over the next few weeks, Y/N seamlessly integrated into the team. Her insights were sharp, her strategies flawless, and her ability to take control in the field was nothing short of impressive. She and Morgan found themselves working closely on several cases, their skills complementing each other perfectly.

One particularly challenging case had them tracking a serial arsonist who was escalating in both frequency and severity. The team was spread thin, and Morgan and Y/N were partnered up to follow a lead in a remote area.

As they drove through the winding roads, the tension in the car was palpable. Not because of any friction between them, but due to the gravity of the case. They both knew how high the stakes were.

"You ever think about what you'd be doing if you weren't an agent?" Morgan asked, breaking the silence.

Y/N glanced at him, a small smile playing at her lips. "Not really. This job... it’s in my blood. What about you?"

Morgan shrugged, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Same here. Hard to imagine doing anything else."

Their lead took them to an abandoned warehouse, the perfect hiding spot for someone who didn’t want to be found. As they approached the building, Y/N's senses were on high alert. She signaled for Morgan to follow her lead. They moved silently, their years of training evident in every step.

Inside, the warehouse was a labyrinth of old machinery and forgotten debris. They split up to cover more ground, each moving with the precision and caution of seasoned agents. As Morgan rounded a corner, he saw a flicker of movement. Before he could react, a figure lunged at him, knocking him to the ground.

The struggle was brief but intense. Morgan managed to get the upper hand, pinning the assailant. It was the arsonist, his eyes wild with desperation. Just as Morgan was about to cuff him, a second attacker emerged from the shadows, aiming a weapon at Morgan.

A shot rang out.

Morgan looked up to see Y/N standing there, her gun smoking, the second assailant dropping to the ground. She moved with swift efficiency, securing the scene and ensuring there were no more surprises.

"You okay?" she asked, her voice steady but laced with concern.

"Yeah," Morgan replied, catching his breath. "Thanks to you."

They exchanged a look, one that spoke volumes. In that moment, there was a mutual respect and understanding that went beyond words. They were more than just colleagues; they were partners who had each other’s backs.

As they drove back to headquarters, the adrenaline still pumping through their veins, Morgan couldn’t help but feel a deepening admiration for Y/N. She was everything he valued in a partner: smart, fearless, and utterly reliable.

Over the next few months, their partnership grew stronger. They became a formidable team, their synergy in the field unmatched. Off duty, they found themselves drawn to each other in a way that was both exciting and unexpected.

One evening, after a particularly grueling case, they found themselves alone in the gym, working off the stress. Morgan watched as Y/N hit the punching bag with a series of precise, powerful blows. He admired her focus and determination.

"You're pretty amazing, you know that?" he said, walking over to her.

She paused, wiping sweat from her brow. "You’re not so bad yourself, Morgan."

He grinned, stepping closer. "No, I mean it. I've worked with a lot of agents, but you... you’re something else."

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes softening. "Thanks, Derek. That means a lot coming from you."

There was a moment of silence, charged with unspoken feelings. Then, with a confidence that mirrored her own, Morgan closed the distance between them, his hand gently cupping her face. She didn’t pull away. Instead, she leaned into his touch, their lips meeting in a kiss that was both tender and filled with the promise of something more.

From that night on, their relationship evolved, deepening into something neither of them had expected but both were eager to explore. They were still the same fierce agents, but now, they were also something more: partners in every sense of the word. And together, there was nothing they couldn’t face.

#derek morgan #derek morgan criminal minds #cm #cm fanfiction #cm fandom #cm fic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds #derek morgan x reader #derek morgan x you #derek morgan x y/n #idk what else to tag

91 notes · View notes

filehulk · 9 months ago

Text

ApowerMirror

This program offers a phone mirroring solution that introduces unique features not commonly found in similar software. Evaluating ApowerMirror’s capabilities will provide a detailed understanding of its functionality and position in the market. Smartphones play a crucial role in both work and leisure, often surpassing full-sized computers in efficiency, cost-effectiveness, and portability.…

#ApowerMirror #Cross-Device Connectivity #Device Sync #file transfer #Mobile Screen Sharing #PC to Phone #Phone Mirroring #remote control #Screen Mirroring #screen recording

0 notes

mostlysignssomeportents · 2 years ago

Text

Amazon Alexa is a graduate of the Darth Vader MBA

Next Tuesday (Oct 31) at 10hPT, the Internet Archive is livestreaming my presentation on my recent book, The Internet Con.

If you own an Alexa, you might enjoy its integration with IFTTT, an easy scripting environment that lets you create your own little voice-controlled apps, like "start my Roomba" or "close the garage door." If so, tough shit, Amazon just nuked IFTTT for Alexa:

https://www.theverge.com/2023/10/25/23931463/ifttt-amazon-alexa-applets-ending-support-integration-automation

Amazon can do this because the Alexa's operating system sits behind a cryptographic lock, and any tool that bypasses that lock is a felony under Section 1201 of the DMCA, punishable by a 5-year prison sentence and a $500,000 fine. That means that it's literally a crime to provide a rival OS that lets users retain functionality that Amazon no longer supports.

This is the proverbial gun on the mantelpiece, a moral hazard and invitation to mischief that tempts Amazon executives to run a bait-and-switch con where they sell you a gadget with five features and then remotely kill-switch two of them. This is prime directive of the Darth Vader MBA: "I am altering the deal. Pray I don't alter it any further."

So many companies got their business-plan at the Darth Vader MBA. The ability to revoke features after the fact means that companies can fuck around, but never find out. Apple sold millions of tracks via iTunes with the promise of letting you stream them to any other device you owned. After a couple years of this, the company caught some heat from the record labels, so they just pushed an update that killed the feature:

https://memex.craphound.com/2004/10/30/apple-to-ipod-owners-eat-shit-and-die-updated/

That gun on the mantelpiece went off all the way back in 2004 and it turns out it was a starter-pistol. Pretty soon, everyone was getting in on the act. If you find an alert on your printer screen demanding that you install a "security update" there's a damned good chance that the "update" is designed to block you from using third-party ink cartridges in a printer that you (sorta) own:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2020/11/ink-stained-wretches-battle-soul-digital-freedom-taking-place-inside-your-printer

Selling your Tesla? Have fun being poor. The upgrades you spent thousands of dollars on go up in a puff of smoke the minute you trade the car into the dealer, annihilating the resale value of your car at the speed of light:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/23/how-to-fix-cars-by-breaking-felony-contempt-of-business-model/

Telsa has to detect the ownership transfer first. But once a product is sufficiently cloud-based, they can destroy your property from a distance without any warning or intervention on your part. That's what Adobe did last year, when it literally stole the colors from your Photoshop files, in history's SaaSiest heist caper:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/28/fade-to-black/#trust-the-process

And yet, when we hear about remote killswitches in the news, it's most often as part of a PR blitz for their virtues. Russia's invasion of Ukraine kicked off a new genre of these PR pieces, celebrating the fact that a John Deere dealership was able to remotely brick looted tractors that had been removed to Chechnya:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/05/08/about-those-kill-switched-ukrainian-tractors/

Today, Deere's PR minions are pitching search-and-replace versions of this story about Israeli tractors that Hamas is said to have looted, which were also remotely bricked.

But the main use of this remote killswitch isn't confounding war-looters: it's preventing farmers from fixing their own tractors without paying rent to John Deere. An even bigger omission from this narrative is the fact that John Deere is objectively Very Bad At Security, which means that the world's fleet of critical agricultural equipment is one breach away from being rendered permanently inert:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/23/reputation-laundry/#deere-john

There are plenty of good and honorable people working at big companies, from Adobe to Apple to Deere to Tesla to Amazon. But those people have to convince their colleagues that they should do the right thing. Those debates weigh the expected gains from scammy, immoral behavior against the expected costs.

Without DMCA 1201, Amazon would have to worry that their decision to revoke IFTTT functionality would motivate customers to seek out alternative software for their Alexas. This is a big deal: once a customer learns how to de-Amazon their Alexa, Amazon might never recapture that customer. Such a switch wouldn't have to come from a scrappy startup or a hacker's DIY solution, either. Take away DMCA 1201 and Walmart could step up, offering an alternative Alexa software stack that let you switch your purchases away from Amazon.

Money talks, bullshit walks. In any boardroom argument about whether to shift value away from customers to the company, a credible argument about how the company will suffer a net loss as a result has a better chance of prevailing than an argument that's just about the ethics of such a course of action:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/28/microincentives-and-enshittification/

Inevitably, these killswitches are pitched as a paternalistic tool for protecting customers. An HP rep once told me that they push deceptive security updates to brick third-party ink cartridges so that printer owners aren't tricked into printing out cherished family photos with ink that fades over time. Apple insists that its ability to push iOS updates that revoke functionality is about keeping mobile users safe – not monopolizing repair:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/22/vin-locking/#thought-differently

John Deere's killswitches protect you from looters. Adobe's killswitches let them add valuable functionality to their products. Tesla? Well, Tesla at least is refreshingly honest: "We have a killswitch because fuck you, that's why."

These excuses ring hollow because they conspicuously omit the possibility that you could have the benefits without the harms. Like, your tractor could come with a killswitch that you could bypass, meaning you could brick it at a distance, and still fix it yourself. Same with your phone. Software updates that take away functionality you want can be mitigated with the ability to roll back those updates – and by giving users the ability to apply part of a patch, but not the whole patch.

Cloud computing and software as a service are a choice. "Local first" computing is possible, and desirable:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/03/there-is-no-cloud/#only-other-peoples-computers

The cheapest rhetorical trick of the tech sector is the "indivisibility gambit" – the idea that these prix-fixe menus could never be served a la carte. Wanna talk to your friends online? Sorry there's just no way to help you do that without spying on you:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/08/divisibility/#technognosticism

One important argument over smart-speakers was poisoned by this false dichotomy: the debate about accessibility and IoT gadgets. Every IoT privacy or revocation scandal would provoke blanket statements from technically savvy people like, "No one should ever use one of these." The replies would then swiftly follow: "That's an ableist statement: I rely on my automation because I have a disability and I would otherwise be reliant on a caregiver or have to go without."

But the excluded middle here is: "No one should use one of these because they are killswitched. This is especially bad when a smart speaker is an assistive technology, because those applications are too important to leave up to the whims of giant companies that might brick them or revoke their features due to their own commercial imperatives, callousness, or financial straits."

Like the problem with the "bionic eyes" that Second Sight bricked wasn't that they helped visually impaired people see – it was that they couldn't be operated without the company's ongoing support and consent:

https://spectrum.ieee.org/bionic-eye-obsolete

It's perfectly possible to imagine a bionic eye whose software can be maintained by third parties, whose parts and schematics are widely available. The challenge of making this assistive technology fail gracefully isn't technical – it's commercial.

We're meant to believe that no bionic eye company could survive unless they devise their assistive technology such that it fails catastrophically if the business goes under. But it turns out that a bionic eye company can't survive even if they are allowed to do this.

Even if you believe Milton Friedman's Big Lie that a company is legally obligated to "maximize shareholder value," not even Friedman says that you are legally obligated to maximize companies' shareholder value. The fact that a company can make more money by defrauding you by revoking or bricking the things you buy from them doesn't oblige you to stand up for their right to do this.

Indeed, all of this conduct is arguably illegal, under Section 5 of the FTC Act, which prohibits "unfair and deceptive business practices":

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/10/the-courage-to-govern/#whos-in-charge

"No one should ever use a smart speaker" lacks nuance. "Anyone who uses a smart speaker should be insulated from unilateral revocations by the manufacturer, both through legal restrictions that bind the manufacturer, and legal rights that empower others to modify our devices to help us," is a much better formulation.

It's only in the land of the Darth Vader MBA that the deal is "take it or leave it." In a good world, we should be able to take the parts that work, and throw away the parts that don't.

(Image: Stock Catalog/https://www.quotecatalog.com, Sam Howzit; CC BY 2.0; modified)

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/26/hit-with-a-brick/#graceful-failure

#pluralistic #alexa #ifttt #criptech #disability #drm #revocation #nothing about us without us #futureproofing #graceful failure #darth vader MBA #enshittification

288 notes · View notes

seniorpollinationtechnician · 11 months ago

Text

Ethan spent the next three hours in his cluttered office, surrounded by stacks of old files and a mess of digital archives on his computer. Eventually, ISAAC's voice broke the silence. "Ethan, I have located several encrypted documents closely related to your search history. Shall I bring them up?"

After a vocal confirmation, ISAAC remotely accessed Ethan's computer and began displaying a series of decrypted files with some title variation of 'Chrysalis_2023'. Project Chrysalis had been one of his most secretive assignments while working with the government where he had been tasked with engineering a containment and analysis system for biological entities. The government's vague description alluded to 'non-terrestrial biological entities', which Ethan naively interpreted as some advanced biological research.

The digital files were heavily redacted but offered enough information to remind him that he had physical evidence as well. He eventually found a folder containing detailed schematics alongside his own annotations on the nature of the project. One document in particular, an incident report, caught his eye.

Entry Date: 04/12/2023 Subject: NTBE X-23 Humanoid organism measuring 1.8 meters (6 ft.) in height. Bipedal locomotion. Epidermis is a pale yellow tone. Facial structure similar to that of a human being but with eight black eyes arranged in a symmetrical pattern. Indecipherable markings around the eyes. Subject arrived unconscious and has not regained consciousness throughout the observation period. Subject X-23 was transferred from the recovery unit into the primary containment chamber at 1100 hours. Upon entering the containment unit, the subject's vital signs surged. Subject X-23 abruptly regained consciousness and exhibited erratic behavior. Witnesses claimed to have seen something move within the subject's skin. Vocalizations consistent with an unknown language were recorded (see audio log 0134-B1). Linguistic analysis is ongoing. The subject shortly underwent a rapid biological transformation. Epidermal surfaces split open, extruding long, vine-like protrusions tipped with bioluminescent nodules. The cranial structure split open longitudinally, revealing a maw lined with razor-sharp teeth. At 1400 hours, Subject X-23 initiated a violent attack on the containment unit. The material composition used proved insufficient. A containment breach occurred at 1405 hours. Specimen X-23 lunged at Dr. ■■■■, inflicting a fatal laceration to the abdomen. Security personnel were authorized to terminate the threat. Subject X-23 was neutralized at 1410 hours. Residual specimens are being collected for further analysis. The containment unit is undergoing repairs and biohazard decontamination. Further research is on hold pending reevaluation of containment protocols.

#ts4 #the sims 4 #the ■■■■■■ legacy #ts4 legacy #the sims #I couldn't resist posting an extra chapter #love me some breached containment

60 notes · View notes

jades-typurriter · 5 months ago

Text

Secure Connection

As promised: more Posie!! I wrote this one toward the end of last Spring after a couple of conversations with friends regarding the malleability of digital bodies (as well as still having Many Thoughts about the way code can give them new compulsions, after writing something about Annie and a new taur-shaped chassis for a friend's Patreon). Enjoy reading about her dealing with a corporate-mandated "hardware" update!

CW: Genital TF, this is another one that's As About Sex as it can possibly be without being about sex

Posie sat, sulking—steaming, even—in her office. It was a small side room off of the main floor of IT personnel, system engineers, and other technical employees of her corporation. Much like a central server, it was placed for easy access to the department-wide administrative assistant, and much like a server room, it was snug, windowless, and awash with the calming drone and relaxing warmth of an array of exhaust fans. Though she was free to project herself nearly anywhere on the company’s campus, this was where her consciousness was housed, and where she felt most at home. It was also the only place she could get any damn privacy, a luxury that she was deeply grateful for at present.

A newly-downloaded file weighed on the back of the Renamon’s mind. More literally, it was somewhere in the racks of drives that made up her long-term memory, to and from which mission-critical information was transferred in the course of doing business. Had somebody asked where exactly the file was stored, she would have been able to list the specific drive and the exact directory address, but she had de-prioritized the allocation of her processing resources for the download. Once again, she had received an assignment from her superiors, and once again, she was hesitant. She may even have admitted to being recalcitrant. She resented the orders.

The package of data in question was an update for her own software, a suite of new tools to allow management to offload yet more menial tasks onto her in the name of “efficiency”. Forget that she could diagnose a software issue faster than any of the engineers could even open a remote connection to the malfunctioning device. Instead of allowing her to take the reins, they saw fit to divert more of her attention to the least impressive among talents, and the one she already put to use the most often: transferring data.

This wouldn’t have been much of a problem, ordinarily. After all, Posie resided in the beating heart of the network, the nexus through which the vast majority of information was sent and received. It could be… meditative. Parsing streams of ones and zeroes, overseeing the flow of packets, redirecting traffic to equally spread the load across modems and routers so as to optimize travel time. It could even have been considered relaxing, if a worker of her caliber needed to relax. Instead of offering her a vacation (pah!), however, the update felt more like it heralded a demotion, denying her even the ability to pluck like harpstrings the miles of copper and gold that lined her facility. She was expected to deliver this data on foot.

Management justified this humiliation with practical concerns: some information, much like the old records she was often tasked to dispose of, was so confidential that it could not be sent via wireless transmission. Even hardwired connections were too fallible for the likes of next-generation schematics and financial access keys—a single compromised workstation, or compromised worker, could spell the loss of the company’s upper hand in its market. She wasn’t even going to be afforded the dignity of carrying an external hard drive to the destination. That would require the slow and tedious process of physically moving from one place to the next; this was one of the only times that she regretted the freedom of movement that was so coveted by her flesh-and-blood peers.

With no room to make exceptions for security protocol, she gripped the edge of her desk, brow furrowing, eyes squinted shut in consternation. Eventually, she huffed, rose, and turned her attention to her “physical body”, summoning up the file in much the same way that one would approach a plate of food with a pungent odor. The Renamon steeled herself and began to more closely examine its contents. She read the raw code similarly to how one might read words on a page; however, where the turning gears of the organic mind would, almost unconsciously, conjure up an image as a result of those words, her mind kicked off a series of involuntary, autonomic processes.

Her body carried out the instructions on her behalf. Once she started, she had no control until she finally reached a stopcode; it was the nature of being a program herself that code had as much of an influence on her mind and body as her own thoughts, her own will. In opening the package, she reluctantly consented to the changes that management saw fit to make to her. It was better than the eventual forced-deadline sort of update that software companies were so keen on using nowadays, and at least choosing the time and place allowed her to make herself presentable again before having to face another person.

Having parts of her code—her very body—rewritten by the update was a strange sensation, not unlike having your thoughts dictated to you by an outside force. Stranger still was that she could feel the exact delineation between her previous self and the patches of… well, the patch. She could feel it quite strongly, as a matter of fact: beneath her skirt of simulated sky-blue fur, between her legs, she could feel her mesh being edited. Stretched. Reshaped. The vectors that made up the triangles of her wireframe soul were being rewritten, mathematically transformed. A shape began to protrude from the once-flat span at the bottom of her torso, at first round and indistinct, but quickly increasing in resolution.

The Renamon struggled to process the sensations as a long, slender connector began to take shape. This often happened with changes to her body plan; inputs streamed into her mind from directions, locations, that previously never sent any signals, and the new additions seldom had their sensitivity adjusted downward for her convenience. In this case, it was highly sensitive, delivering reams of data to the base of her skull just from brushing up against her own fur, or the gentle flow of air from the computers in her office. It made sense, given that it was supposed to be a high-capacity transfer tool, but she was too busy buckling at the knees and clutching at the desk behind her so she didn’t fall flat on her rear for the thought to occur to her.

Her processors demanded more cooling, kicking into high gear as they formatted the two new storage devices that accompanied the connector, tailor-made for packing confidential data as tightly as possible. The sound of whirring fans filled the room, stirring her fur and sending shivers up and down her back; she could only hope that the rushing exhaust made enough noise to drown her out, whimpering despite herself. The new drives were larger (and more unwieldy) than the ones that were built into her chest, much to her chagrin. She was forced to adjust her stance and her gait as she found her footing again, spreading her legs wider than she was accustomed in order to give them enough room.

The spinning in her head slowly settling down, she slowly began to compose herself once again, taking stock of the new additions. They were cumbersome, to be sure, and she lamented how they jutted out from her otherwise sleek form and burdened her with less-graceful posture. It didn’t even match her fur! The software engineers that had concocted the code had at least included one small mercy: a compartment for the connector to retract into, nestled in the fur above the storage drives. No such luck for the drives themselves. She supposed she would just have to adjust to walking with delicate hardware in tow. As she went to smooth her fur over her lap again, her paw recoiled away. Some kind of… static discharge was left in the fluff. A memory leak, perhaps? The fact that such a malfunction could be caused just from having the connector brush up against her fur appalled her, deepening her frustration even more. They couldn’t even test the update for bugs before shipping it out to her. She shook out her paw and finished arranging her skirt as best she could before working up the composure to finally leave her office.

Picking up the payload for which all this fanfare had been arranged was at least a quick, easy process. She stopped into the office of the manager that had assigned her the task; she offered a businesslike nod and, knowing that she was always itching to skip niceties in the name of saving time, he offered a straightforward wave at his personal terminal. She held a paw over the computer tower and, in the time it took for electricity to arc to her fingertip with a tinny zzzrt, she had already searched his directory for the relevant test files and copied them to the newly-installed drives. Wireless transfer, yes, but only technically. The engineers had specifically asked a member of another division, whose computer network wasn’t connected to their own; it was as though she had picked a folder up from his desk and walked out with it.

Moving the file was just as uneventful. It was far from the first time that she’d navigated the sprawling corporate property, and even if it were, the maps existed just outside the orbit of her thoughts, ready to be summoned to mind at a simple impulse. What she was not expecting, however, was the technician who was waiting in the server room to which she was asked to deliver the file. While she preferred to work in the isolation of rooms that were set aside specifically for hardware, she was far from unused to being in the presence of the other people responsible for maintaining the company’s systems. That said…

“Can I help you?” The Renamon icily asked.

“Oh, I don’t need anything! I’m just here to take notes on the transfer.” Her tone was cheery; evidently, she wasn’t aware how compromising the new additions were. “The time it takes, any obvious issues. I’ll be the one checking the files against the originals, too,” she concluded, hooking a thumb over her shoulder at a monitor behind her.

“I see,” Posie replied through gritted teeth. “You have clearance to see these files, then?”

“Well, they’re just dummy data, ma’am.” At least she was respectful.

“And the proprietary hardware I’ve been… equipped with?” she forced out, keeping her synthesized voice even.

“Oh, for sure I do. I designed it!”

Oh! she seethed. So she knows pre-cise-ly the position he’s put me in.

“Well. I suppose there’s no point in delaying things, then.”

“Ready when you are!”

With tense shoulders, she turned toward the server rack, eyes darting over it, searching for where exactly she was supposed to connect to the array. After glancing over the contents of each drive, she found the one she was supposed to copy the data into—deposit would be more apt, as it was her understanding that the files would be automatically flushed from her system—and found a port that would allow her to access it. Conveniently, it was around waist height. She wondered, crossly, whether that had been an intentional design decision by this engineer as well. As she looked at it, she felt a twinge from the connector; on its own, like a Bluetooth device automatically searching for signals, it slid itself out from its fuzzy little compartment.

Her skin was abuzz, and her fur stood on end. She couldn’t quite tell if it was coming from the connector itself, or if it was the feeling of the programmer’s eyes on her If she could take a deep breath, she would have then. Without any way to stall further, or to tell the leering young woman to take her test files and store them somewhere indecent, she simply pushed forward with dropping off the damned data.

The instant the connector grazed the metal of the port, lightning shot into it, through her body, and into her head, making it swim with electrical potential. A stuttering, lagging thought made its way to the surface of her mind: they really had overtuned the sensitivity. She stifled a gasp and suppressed the urge to lay into the engineer (electrons were eager to flow out of her even without proper alignment with the contacts in the port, and didn’t she know that discharge like that could damage a piece of hardware?!), willing her body to keep pressing the stupid connector into the socket.

Even as she tried to get it over with already, something in the back of her mind compelled her to draw back a bit. If she had been restraining herself from reprimanding the engineer for risking the hardware, then she should at least do it the service of ensuring she was properly aligned, shouldn’t she? She obliged the impulse, and the motion all at once became much jerkier, less controlled. The friction of the port against her connector was enough to send her tail snapping back and forth, and she could tell that the temperature in her own server’s room had risen by a fair few degrees. Back and forth, wiggling side to side, she continued to readjust and realign herself, driven by unfamiliar code and overwhelmed by the signals pouring into her. She lost herself in the task, forgetting herself, forgetting her surroundings, until finally the technician cleared her throat.

“Ma’am,” she ventured, blushing and wide-eyed. “What, um. What are you doing? You should just need to plug it in.”

“I’m.” Her interruption had snapped the Renamon back to reality. She was mortified, tail sticking straight out and back ramrod straight. Her cheeks burned mercilessly. “I’m calibrating the connection.”

“Calibrating?”

“Did you want your files transferred with or without corrupted and incomplete data?” She snapped, hoping that her authoritative tone would head off any debate. “Assign me experimental hardware and then ask me to be reckless with it, hm? Should I be taking notes to give to our superiors?”

“I—alright, I guess you can’t be too careful,” she stammered, sheepishly pressing her legs together. “That was even something I tried to work into the design, so, c-carry on?”

“Thank you,” Posie blustered, turning back to the server rack. She did so slowly, reluctantly relishing the feeling of sliding around within the socket. She allowed herself one or two more “practice” attempts, hoping that it wouldn’t arouse too much suspicion from the engineer. Ultimately, just like before, there was no use in continuing to stall, and when she was able to bring her body to a stop, the rational part of herself was eager to be done with this entire torrid affair.

With more force, she pressed the connector inward one final time, trembling as the latch began to press against the opening. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, she continued, overwhelmed by the volume of electricity surging into her. The latch gave, compressing as it continued to slide inside, until finally it clicked into place, securing her to the array of drives and finalizing the connection.

All at once, a torrent of data poured out of her, an electron tsunami that felt like it threatened to spill out of the socket in which she was hilted. More data was transferred in the span of a few seconds than she was used to consciously processing, having cultivated such skill in delegating and compartmentalizing with background processes. Once again, the world around her was utterly drowned out; the strength fled her legs, and she clung to the steel bar that reinforced the top of the server rack, threatening to topple the entire system. Her self-control abandoned her as well and, forgetting the engineer, she cried out with an airy, wild, distinctly foxlike yelp. She screamed in surprise, gasped at the deluge of information, moaned because there was no room left in her mind for thought to do anything else.

Quickly, the disks of the server rack had finished writing the files she had carried to them, and her own drives were thoroughly purged. In another building, the radiators serving her processors shed heat at their absolute limits, and fans worked overtime to bring her back within her safe operational range. As her overworked circuitry began to chug through the backlog of sensory information, the entire experience caught up with her—including the detail that this entire shameless display had been carried out in front of that underhanded little engineer. She blinked, hard, and whipped her head to face her. For as hot as her own ears felt, the young woman’s face appeared to be glowing even brighter.

“What. Was that.”

“Um—”

“I’m used to new adjustments requiring desensitization, or even adjustment on their gain,” she growled, voice low and eerily even. “But that was a bridge too far to just have been miscalibration. Why did you design it like that?”

“Well, y-you remember how I mentioned, um, having considered an early disconnection?” Posie’s frosty glare didn’t waver, so the tech continued, answering her own rhetorical question. “That was, uh, the safeguard. Against early disconnection. I, figured it’d just be easier to make it so you wouldn’t want to unplug—”

“Do you think you have the au-thor-ity to go making changes to my mind, young lady?!”

“I-I can roll back the update if you want—”

“I think you’ve done QUITE enough!” The Renamon declared, despite herself. Perhaps it was genuine distrust, or perhaps—perhaps she truly couldn’t tell which desires were her own, at the moment. This would require careful study of her own system files.

Another small click broke the silence following her outburst, and the dongle began to retract from the server’s port and back into Posie’s body. Now free to move around, she dusted and fluffed her skirt and leaned down to look the engineer in the eye.

“I trust that you can report to your supervisor that I performed to your expectations,” she hissed. “And that there will be no need for any further discussion of your little project.” The programmer nodded, eyes even wider than before—and cheeks even redder? The Renamon scoffed, sneered, and spun, storming out the door, already allotting time in her schedule for the next time that she would be called upon for such a delivery.

Utterly unsurprisingly, she had been correct in her assessment that her superiors would take every opportunity to save their organic employees’ time at her expense. Confidential deliveries became a regular part of her routine, and though she had great disdain for being reduced to a mere courier for so much of the workday, she insisted upon completing the task to her usual, lofty standards.

Posie was as prompt as she always was, dropping everything to ferry information between privileged parties, striving to reduce latency even in more analogue forms of communication. There was the occasional complaint about how long downloads took once she had finally arrived at her location, but she was quick to remind such impatient recipients that the decision to follow this protocol came from on-high, and that even for someone who worked as quickly as her, great care for the safety of the data was a corner that simply could not be cut in the name of rushing around.

She was as meticulous about ensuring proper alignment with the port, fine-tuning her contact with the wires within, as the first time she had experimented with the new tools, and complaints about noise from the server room were easily dismissed as the usual stress of supporting her formidable computational power. After all, she was often venturing out of the range of her home network, hosting herself entirely on the recipients’ systems; was she at fault when they couldn’t handle the information throughput they asked of her?

Once the deliveries had become more routine, and none of her peers bothered to check in when they felt it was taking too long or getting too noisy, she began to find enjoyment in the solitude of her work, just as with the other, admittedly more tedious, tasks she was expected to carry out. With fewer prying eyes to judge her performance, she could make herself more comfortable while handling transfers. She didn’t have to worry that anybody would walk in on her in the debased state she often found herself in while connected directly to a data center, leaning her full weight on the poor rack, tongue lolling out and chest heaving air to keep her cool.

Then again, if somebody—especially that little technician who’d saddled her with these “upgrades”—wanted to question her efficacy, that was more than fine by her. Posie was a woman who prided herself in her work, and would seldom turn down a chance to demonstrate her first-rate hardware and unparalleled optimization. She would be more than happy to demonstrate just how quickly she could pump out information, and just how much throughput she was capable of.

Thank you for reading! If you want to see more of my work, you can check it out here and here!

#writeblr #trans author #furry fiction #renamon #tf #transformation #office lady #OL #cock growth #penis growth #indie author #mrow oc: posie #my writing #short story

23 notes · View notes