#it felt like too big of a commitment for something I wasn't already doing......

[antisocialxconstruct]

.

[verdantchan]

Always You

Pairing: Best friend! Bangchan x Afab! Reader

Summary: It’s hard to enjoy a party when your best friend who you’ve been in love with for years turns up with his girlfriend…

Warnings: MDNI, dom!chan, sub!reader, possessive!chan, unprotected sex (don’t be like them) dirty talk, cum eating, multiple orgasms (f!rec) fingering (f!rec) mentions of mastubation, spitting (chan spits on it yk..) tummy bulge, creampie

Wc: 2.7k

a/n: did I write and edit it this in one sitting? yes I did,,, is this also my return to writing fics after 5 years bc I’m so attracted to chan idk what to do?? Also yes 🤪

‘‘Lixieee watch my drink, I nearly dropped it’’ You roll your eyes and smile at Felix as he practically jumps on you. His parties were always rowdy, especially when Jisung wormed his way into the planning. Colourful lights strewn around every pillar and doorway, countless bottles and cheesy red cups littering the granite countertops in the dorm kitchen, the air thick with smoke and the sickly sweet scent of liquor.

Part of you loved how committed the boys were to throwing the most stereotypical frat parties, the perfect way to unwind from the stress of uni life. You scan the room for that all too familiar face but find no sign of him, your shoulders dropping slightly, the disappointment in your chest too strong to ignore.

You and Chan had been best friends since you were 12, your parents pushing you together as an unlikely duo. You'd immediately become inseparable,spending every second with each other. People had always questioned your relationship, everyone thought you must be dating if you were so close, but you and Chan were just friends, at least that's what you convinced yourself it had to be.

You first started having feelings for Chan at 18, you were university freshmen starting the next big chapter of your lives together and you couldn't get him out of your head. His deep brown eyes that sparkled when he spoke about the things he loved, his soft curly black hair that you loved ruffling to annoy him and his dimples that became impossibly deep when he smiled. Being around him was both torture and comfort. Three years later and you were still completely in love with someone who views you as his best friend, nothing more. In other words, you're utterly fucked.

‘’Lix, have you seen Chan tonight? I thought he was coming’’  Felix still clinging to you in his tipsy state. His messy blonde hair slightly covering his eyes and freckle-dotted cheeks, a pink blush dusting his skin thanks to the many drinks he’d already knocked back.

‘’Nah not yet, he said he's coming later after his date’’ he slurs his words a little, all giggly and happy, not knowing the ache his words cause you. You hum in response, suddenly feeling less sociable than a few minutes ago.

‘’Ahhhhh speak of the devil’’ Felix laughs and nods toward the doorway, Chan's broad shoulders making it look tiny. His hand interlocked with hers, observing the room and briefly locking eyes with you before looking away.

Chan had been dating Euna for a few months, but it never got easier seeing them together. 

They'd met in one of your classes, Euna was sweet, pretty  and very popular with both the students and teachers. It hadn’t taken Chan too long to fall for her and spend less and less time with you. He swore nothing had changed between you two but you knew better. It wasn't long after they started dating that Chan began cancelling your plans because ‘Euna planned something’ or he ‘just couldn't make it that day’ You wanted to believe that it would all go back to the way it was soon enough but that day never came, Chan drifting further as time passed. 

You missed his smile, the way he would make you laugh, the way he would bring you your favourite food when you were tired or upset. You thought that maybe one day you would be together, that Chan would see you as more than just his best friend. Sometimes it felt like more between you two. 

He and Euna weave their way through the crowd, her trailing slightly behind, Chan looking back at her every so often with a smile, the sight of them making you nauseous though you wish it didn't. Chan lets go of her to pull Felix into a hug, Euna eyeing you awkwardly as the two of them catch up. Euna had never been rude to you, never made a snarky comment about you being friends with Chan, but she never really said much around you if you were honest. 

‘’Your dress is super pretty’’ you squeak out attempting to break the silence between you two, She offers up a small thank you and a tight smile and turns to Chan as he pulls her into his side, his attention now on the two of you instead of the tipsy blonde Aussie

 ‘’Hey y/n’’ Chan smiles as he lets go of Euna and pulls you into a quick side hug, letting go as quickly as he’d pulled you in, his soft musky scent filling your senses. The four of you make small talk, Chan's eyes catching your own as Felix rambles to Euna about his current pc build. The air starts to feel suffocating, his glances making you feel trapped. You quickly make an excuse to leave, Chan's smile faltering as you excuse yourself from their conversation and disappear into the crowd of bodies. 

It was impossible to think while Chan was standing there, his arms wrapped around Euna unapologetically. The jealousy burning more than the straight tequila sloshing around in your cup, you start to sway to the music begging yourself to forget about him and enjoy your night. You feel a pair of eyes follow your silhouette but you continue to drink and dance, the alcohol making its way through your system and drowning out every thought.

 You feel a figure behind you grabbing your hips and swaying with you, turning your head to see the blurred outline of Hyunjin, his hair in his eyes, a pair of red sunglasses perched on his nose. You let yourself melt into him, you'd always found him attractive anyway. You and Hyunjin move together perfectly, his smooth movements guiding your own as he whispers the lyrics to the song in your ear, his plump lips catching your skin slightly. You finally move your eyes to Chan still feeling someone watching you, secretly wishing it was him. You’re met with a sharp glare, his eyes never leaving you and Hyunjin, his jaw locked in annoyance, you roll your eyes at him and turn around to face Hyunjin winding your arms around his slender neck. 

You turn back to glance at Chan to find him charging your way, ripping you from your dance partner's embrace and towards the stairwell. 

‘’Chan what the fuck are you doing?’’ you yell, trying to wriggle your wrist from his strong grip as he pulls you upstairs and into one of the empty bedrooms.

‘’What the fuck am I doing? What the fuck are YOU doing y/n? Grinding all over Hyunjin like that’’

‘’We are not doing this right now, why does it have anything to do with you, Chan? Why do you even care?’’ venom coating your words, attempting to open the door and leave but being stopped short when he stands in the way, eyes burning into yours. Chan had never been like this with you, what had gotten into him?

‘’What? Are you suddenly into Hyunjin?? We both know he's not right for you y/n’’  his eyebrows knitted in annoyance.

‘’And how would you know what's best for me Chan? We hardly talk anymore!’’ you run your fingers through your hair, easing the tension building up behind your eyes. 

‘’Of course we still talk, you know i've been busy’’ he fires back, disregarding how much space really had built up between the two of you. 

’Give it up Chan and go back to Euna, what I do with Hyunjin has fuck all to do with you’’ you can't deal with the confusion, why is he acting like he's jealous of you and Hyunjin? Why does it matter to him? 

‘’’I’m your best friend y/n of course it has something to do with me, he's not right for you’’ 

‘’Oh my god get your head out of your ass chan, just like you said, you're my best friend not my boyfriend. You can date but I can't? I'm not gonna wait on you to notice me for the rest of my life’’ You turn your face away from him, your confidence and fire slipping as Chan studies you intensely, the room silent apart from your breathing. 

‘’My god you’re an idiot’’ Chan mumbles before grabbing your chin and smashing his lips onto yours, you melt into the kiss at first before snapping out of it and pushing him away

Chan what are you doing?’’ You feel dizzy as you maintain your balance, your hands still pressed against his toned chest. your lungs heaving in time with the thud of the music coming from below. 

‘’You really have no idea, do you? I’m fucking in love with you y/n, why do you think I even started dating Euna in the first place, I wanted to get over you, why else would I jump into a relationship with a girl I hardly knew??’’ The annoyance in his voice evident as he goes on, he runs his hand through his hair repeatedly,  messy waves falling in his face. 

You stare up at him stunned, your lips parted in surprise, he pulls you back in, his lips covering yours as he presses you into him with fervour. He deepens the kiss and walks you backwards, his hands pressing into your hips, his hold nothing like hyunjins. He pulls away his eyes searching yours for something, anything. 

“Tell me to stop, if you don't want this I’ll walk away” his voice is breathy and pained, evident that the last thing he wanted was for you to say now.

You've waited too long for this, for him to need you, touch you. You know it's wrong, his girlfriend just a floor below but you’ve wanted and waited too much to stop and walk away, you can deal with your moral shortcomings tomorrow. 

‘’Please, Chan’’ you whisper, desperate for him to touch you again, clenching your thighs together as heat pools in your lower stomach, your insides on fire for him. He watches how desperate you are for him, your answer clear.

‘’Fuck you’re perfect’’ you look at him pleadingly and he can't hold back anymore, he’d thought about you like this too many times to count, in dreams and when awake. When he can't sleep and he fucks his fist wishing it was you, how pretty your moans would sound as he rocked into you, how tight you'd be around him, how his cum would leak out of your fluttering hole. He was too far gone, a man possessed. 

You gasp as he pushes you back on the bed, his weight pressing you into the mattress perfectly, he licks and nips at your jaw, his hand finding your soaked underwear under your skirt, circling your puffy clit through the slick fabric. 

“You’re so wet for me baby, bet Hyunjin could never have this effect on you. Gonna fuck you so good you'll forget he exists’’ his words making you tingle, his fingers exactly where you need them.

‘’Only want you’’ Your voice comes out breathy and fucked out even though he’s barely touched you and it sends a rush of blood to Chan's already rock-solid cock, straining against the tight fabric of his black jeans.

He sinks two fingers into your tight pussy and you scream in pleasure and pain at the intrusion, his fingers so much thicker and longer than yours, the stretch taking your breath away 

‘’Yeah be a good girl and take my fingers in that tight little cunt, I know you can’’ The way he whispers as your pussy stretches around his fingers and wet squelches echo through the room has you throwing your head back, Chans other hand finding your tits as he stretches you out for him. You shake as he moves his fingers in and out of you, the stretch now dissolved into intense pleasure. He can tell you're close, your eyes closed in pleasure as you sigh out his name.

‘’cum for me pretty, cum around my fingers’’ You moan his name over and over as he rubs your soaking clit and plunges his fingers into your sopping hole,  your back arching in pleasure as he works you through your high. Shouting his name as you cum on his fingers. He pulls his fingers out, bringing them to his mouth and licking them clean. The sight alone already making you needy for more 

‘’Need you so bad baby, need to feel you milk my cock’’ he breathes out as he undoes his belt, desperate to be inside of you. You spread your sticky thighs, your glistening pussy on full display for him. His cock springs free from its confines, his pink tip leaking down onto the rest of his thick veiny length. It was no surprise he had the prettiest cock you'd ever seen. He gives it a few pumps, slapping your clit with his bulbous tip, and you moan in pleasure at the sting. 

‘’Take it, baby. Gonna stretch you out so good, gonna make you mine’’ his voice shaky as he presses into you, your pussy spasming around his hard length splitting you open, he slowly bottoms out with a moan stilling inside you. His cock making your stomach bulge with his size 

‘’Fuckfuckfuckkkk you're still so tight, such a perfect pussy’’ his words coming out more like a mantra, the feeling of you around him making him pussydrunk. He fucks in and out of you grabbing your thighs, spreading you wider for him, watching where you’re joined as he takes you. 

 ‘’talk to me baby girl, tell me how I make you feel’’ 

‘’Love it when you fuck me Channie, love your cock so much’’ your voice strained and whiny, writhing against the sheets as he sets a rough pace. He spits on your pussy, the liquid dripping down to where you meet, the sight only aiding his pleasure. 

‘’Bet you thought about this huh? Thought about how good it would feel when I ruin you, hmm baby? Bet you’d touch this little clit thinking about how good I would fuck you?’’ His thrusts become sloppy as he nears his orgasm, his fingers coming to circle your clit. Your moans getting louder as you get close for the second time.

‘’Cum with me baby, wanna cum in this pussy, fill you up with my cum’’ his thrusts getting more erratic and desperate as you orgasm together. You scream his name, your nails digging into his toned back muscles. Chan stills as he spurts his hot release into you, his cum painting your insides a milky white. He collapses onto you, his muscled chest pressed against your fucked out form, both of you breathing heavily. 

‘’Fuck you're mine, just mine’’ he whispers, his cock still inside you, both your release leaking out around his still hard dick.. 

‘’Yeah just yours, Channie’’ you breathe out dreamily, still coming down from your high  

You both lay like that for a while, Chan's face tucked into your neck, leaving gentle kisses, his cock stiffening again inside of you, the party coming to an end downstairs. Things had happened so fast you hadn't realised Chan brought you to his own room, the purple lights giving his skin a lilac hue. 

‘’Chan. What happens now?” You hesitate not wanting to ruin the moment, praying you didn't just fuck everything up with him with a simple question.

He sighs into your skin snuggling closer ‘’I meant it when I said you're mine y/n, Euna knows she and I are done, she knew I was in love with you. I want this, I want you’’ his voice soft and sleepy. 

Your heart nearly explodes, ‘’I love you too Chan, I want you too’’ you kiss him passionately, his tongue fighting yours for dominance, smiling into the kiss as he begins moving inside you again. It feels like a dream and you can't believe he's in love with you too, that he wants you like you want him. Now you have him you'll never let him go, you have always been his, even if he didn't know it. 

‘’It's always been you y/n’’

-ty for reading!! Alr working on more hehe

[coldsaturn]

hiii! i have a question i thought you might be able to answer: how did aftg originally get so popular? i know it was mostly word of mouth on tumblr (still is, i think) (who says this website is unmarketable!!) but what were the early days of the fandom like? personally i've "only" been here since 2016, and by then the series was already decently popular. i remember at that time that the fandom was really welcoming and kind in a way that felt really exceptional to me, and it definitely contributed to me picking up the books, which is the only explanation i can really think of for why it got a bigger following than some to other books which did receive a whole big-publisher marketing campaign aside from it just being well-written. do you have any theories for why it got so massive on here? and do you know how the first readers found it? i hope you don't mind me asking you this, but i remember your blog from wayyyy back when and thought that if anyone had the answer, it would probably be you :)

Hello! I always get so happy when I can talk about the early days of the fandom <3 Sit down here around the fire, let me tell you about this wondrous tale.

So, story time: it was spring 2013, I had just finished a thorough read of In The Company Of Shadows and I was starving for another black hole. It was automatic for me to look up the goodread lists ICoS was featured in, to see what other titles I could pick up, and ended up on the list called "Online M/M stories that deserve to be published". The Foxhole Court was right there (it's not anymore because it IS published <3), so I read it. That was the start of the end lmao

If I remember correctly I didn't wait too long before reading TRK, but TKM didn't come out until the end of the following year, so in the meantime I all but shelved it as something that had incredible potential but that was possibly doomed to never be completed. Fast forward I think the start of 2015 when I accidentally stumbled upon TKM and I couldn't believe I could finally know how the story ended. Nora had a blogspot where she talked about the books (including updates between TRK and TKM), and I remember trying to get as much info as I could on this series. And that was it. For a bit.

So, by the first half of 2015, the fandom was made by people commenting on her blogspot, on her livejournal, the book pages on goodreads, and Ao3 literally had 2 fics ( webarchive gives you what we saw - btw Don't Speak Against The Sun is FIRE and instantly became a new standard for f/f for me). You can still find all this content online. Tumblr had a handful of scattered posts about TFC, mostly Nora's mutuals/friends on tumblr, and a couple of readers screaming into the void with no one answering their call.

I was pretty active on here, especially in the bellarke fandom, and I engaged with mutuals and other blogs often enough that I knew if I talked about something, at least someone would reply. A mutual was reading The Raven Cycle and got me curious enough to liveblog it myself. Instant love, of course, and if you've read TRC you know how strong the found family vibe is. So at the end of my liveblog (we've reached July 2015) I threw out a comment where I recommended AFTG as another worthy title. With the first book being free while the other two were only a dollar each, it sounded a fairly easy commitment. One mutual decided to read it (if you're reading, hi!!!) and liveblog it, and that got the party started.

A party of 2, and I'm not kidding. While we chatted and made up headcanon after headcanon on the phone, the intention was to get others interested in this story. But they'd never do it if there wasn't enough content around to engage with and motivate them to blog themselves, so we started with quote posts, liveblog reactions, a few timid edits and poems. An important choice was figuring out which tag to use (at the time tumblr search only scrolled through tags, not post content): "all for the game" was an actual sports tag, "the raven king" was the title announced for the next TRC installment, "the king's men" was the last book of the trilogy and it wasn't even the free one, so we settled for "the foxhole court" which was an empty tag. Even now my blog content is organized around "tfc" because of it, even though we took over all the relevant tags. A couple other mutuals I had from bellarke fandom got curious as well, and now we could consider ourselves a proper group. We were so starved for fan content that whatever you put out would be automatically reblogged and enthusiastically engaged with. It was a happy little fandom bubble. Then Nora noticed us and started interacting with us, and you got the birth of what would become the extra content page as she replied to our questions.

I possibly had a little bit too much time on my hands because I appointed myself as fandom archivist and tour guide. I reblogged every single post I saw in the tags, and I started a welcome page where I could keep track of everyone announcing they were reading the series. It was meant as a way to find mutuals to interact with since tumblr hadn't yet "canonized" all the tags, and it was entirely possible to lose each other in dashboard chains. I used to reply to everyone reading the series by "officially" welcoming them into the fandom, linking them the page where they could find mutuals, Nora's blog, and the extra content present up to that point. Oh and there was a fictional exy team where you could choose your position and then put it in your blog for fun or roleplay it. I also used smashword's gift system to buy the series for whoever said they couldn't pay for it, just to try and avoid pirating the book (good for word of mouth, bad for sales). This was on my side, but this fandom had so many people pouring their entire heart out I still get emotional thinking about it.

Everyone (before January 2016) made as much content as they could, be it meta, fanart, fanfics, headcanons, edits, wikia pages etc. We had fandom challenges where we pronounced the names of the characters and aftg keywords with our native accent, others where we said our favorite scene. Every headcanon was the first headcanon ever seen in the fandom. The fun thing was that at the time there was a strong etiquette toward "if you have nothing nice to say then don't say anything" so fan content really went in all directions with basically no limits. We tagged for triggers and that was it, we had free reign. For those who were around at the time, the sin squad was a group of us fans churning out the saddest/filthiest/fluffiest/most problematic content we could think of.

Then we reached January 2016. We were around 300 in the fandom at that point (I know because I counted them, literally), it had been slow but constant growth where each new fan brought at least other two people with them, and we had around 20 posts per day in the main tag. Then someone bridged the gap between us and the TRC fandom. If you ask me how the fandom got really popular, that's it. The TRC fandom was stuck in hiatus waiting for The Raven King, and now you had 300 rabid foxes spamming aftg content on tumblr, using trk as tag, too. Popular fanartists that were active in that fandom helped making aftg known, and semi viral posts did the rest. We went from 300 to 700 people in a couple of months, and shortly after I had to stop adding people to the welcome page because the post broke. I didn't even know that could happen. It wasn't long after that we were featured in the tumblr end of year recap for book ships. We were so many it was suddenly possible to meet in real life! Cosplays, tattoos, merch. You name it, someone in the fandom did it.

But how did it feel when we were only 20 people and a cardboard dog cutout? It felt like the most chaotic book club ever, and every new fan was automatically a friend. Nostalgia is a lying bitch, but I really don't think I'm making shit up here. We had fun and made great memories.

By the way, if you want to see how things were in 2015, you can! Just go through my archive starting from July 2015 (I think 17th) and onward. You can also search my blog for the tags "fandom history" and "started from nothing and now we're here", whereas here you can find a list of aftg fandom tags I used.

Tl;dr We were starving for good content, we wanted to have fun together, and we were lucky enough to half-hijack a bigger fandom in hiatus. That was all the marketing AFTG needed on tumblr.

[mnnuni]

Domestic

Sam Winchester x Reader

Summary: Dean's perspective of Sam and Reader's relationship; Sam and Reader are two cutie patooties Words: 1450 Warnings: none, very fluffy Author's note: I actually don't know if I love this or I hate it

A solid faithful relationship into the hunters' field was almost rare: if they were married they were either consummed for loss or full of affairs and if they had boyfriends or girlfriends they will fight for the distance or the different visions of life. And then there was the rarity, the true love cases, the one in which they would share their life of hunters as easily as a piece of bread.

Dean Winchester never really believed in those rareness, never really believed in love in general... that was untill he really saw Sam and (Y/N) together.

Their love started slowly, it was one of that things that people would say "we already knew" when they eventually announced their relationship.

Dean was convinced that Sam's heart decided from the very beginning of their story that he would beat out of his ribcage only for her in his entire life; Dean saw it in the way Sam didn't just pass (Y/N) the milk and sugar for her coffee for her second cup of that day on their first case together, but he put them in her mug while she read out loud some articles for Dean. Sam didn't put much thougth in that action, but when she realized (Y/N) blushed because he remebred the exact order and amount of products she used after only one time.

But Dean also knew that he approved of their relationship when it was him that proposed to Sam to pick the impala and take (Y/N) somewhere special, just because she deserved all the effort his brother could put in a date and even more. Sam wasn't so surprised about that because he also saw how Dean had grown fond of (Y/N), to the point she was the only girl ever that didn't receive the "hurt my brother and I will end you" speech but it was the other way around.

When (Y/N) confined in Dean one night he really wasn't expecting what she was telling him, after more than an year of being officially with Sam.

"I know he loves me" that was her premise, and Dean could have screamed "WE ALL KNOW" but he let her keep going "but sometimes i whish things were easier" at this the Whinchester quirked an eyebrow and Y/N started rumbling then "I'm not saying it isn't easy with Sam, I just want to say that ... there's never a period of peace in our kind of lifes and we all accepted this when we decided to be hunters, but sometimes I find myself of dreaming one night together without running from something or cleaning up eachother scars... I need normality"

Dean knew that this was also Sam's dream, his little brother wanted this since Stanford, but he also knew that both of them needed to hunt because that was what gave them the hope to make the world a better place and the adrenaline that every man and every woman would need to go throu life.

After this conversation with (Y/N), Dean almost ran to Sam to order him to organize something special for his lady; he wasn't surprised to find him already writing a list of things he wanted to do with her, "I know I didn't give her the right amount of attention these past weeks, shoul I go for a picnic or romantic restaurant?". Dean tried not to smile at his answer, even if he really admired how Sam could know how his girlfriend felt withouth even say anithing and his commitment to their relationship; "The picnic is cute, but not for this time of the year. No reastaurant. She needs something calm, be domestic dude"

He left him like this to think of something, he was sure his brother would have find the right thing.

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

The next day Sam was adjusting one of the bunker's biggest room, he bought a projector and a too big amount of movies -even if he thought that he could never do too much for (Y/N)-

He asked Dean to help him put her favorite couch in there and order a lot of her favourite snacks.

Dean was really proud of how Sam behaved with (Y/N) and for (Y/N), never saw him so whipped for no-one.

When (Y/N) got out of her shower, she was ready to jump into Sam's bed and sleep for two days if she could; instead she found Dean in the kitchen with a blindfold in his hands, "I promise, you will lovee what you'll see after this" he winked and then put it on her face.

"I swear to God Dean, if you're tricking me..." they were walking a pat she never did in the bunker "oh please you love me too" "if you think so...", Dean stopped her in front of a purple metal door and took the blindfold off "oh i know so" he whispered and then proceeded to walk away from there.

(Y/N) was left to wonder what the hell was going on when Sam opened said door and smiled "Hi", it had the same emotion he carried during their first date, (Y/N) smiled too and got on her tiptoes to give him a light kiss. He grabbed her hand and walked her into the room, she would have cried if she realized sooner everything there was in that room.

"You did all this for me?!"

It was clear in her voice that she was emotional in that moment and Sam hated the fact that she underestimated her value for him, "baby, that's nothing. Perhaps I should have done something sooner when I first started to notice you needed some time alone" "thank you". Sam smiled and gave her a kiss.

When they finally settled onto the couch (Y/N) was analyzing every detail there was in Sam's preparation: he put three blankets on the couch 'cause he knew he was too tall to tall for them both be covered entirely just by one and also added few pillows because (Y/N) loved the fluffy feeling of them while watching a movie; he made a little table with every kind of chips the market sold and four bottles of her favorite soda, on the shelf under it there were two or three packages of cookies too. Sam also organised something like fifteen movies, all divided by genre and number of stars (Y/N) gave them when they first talked about it.

Sam chose the first movie of the night -obviously a musical- and settled next to his girlfriend. She was so fucking happy about all Sam had done for her.

(Y/N) put her head on his chest while Sam's arm was around her shoulders, drawing figures on her arms to make her relax some more.

Dean snuck in after the first two songs of the musical and rested with one shoulder leaned on the doorframe to look at them: they were adorable. At first when they were on their honeymoon phase Dean felt the need to puke every two seconds, but now he loved to look at them from afar and be happy of their happiness

(Y/N) lifted her head to look at Sam: he was so focused on the screen,the lights of the scenes illuminated his face in a way that made his eyes sparkle.

"I love you", she whispered and Sam's face turned instantly. She still blushed when Sam looked at her that way, "and I love you".

Dean didn't see the kiss because he closed the door immediately after his brother said those words, that was another of the things that made Dean root for them: they never said "I love you too", like they had to say it just because or to not be in an embarrassing situation; every time they proclaimed their love for eachother they made sure to let the other know how much they actually loved eachother and how they really believed in what they said with that "I love you".

Sam and (Y/N) watched another movie and a documentary, they finished almost all the chips and sodas. After about the half of the documentary (Y/N) fell asleep snuggled up to Sam, who was massaging her head -he already knew that after one cookie she was about to pass out, so he made sure to get her in the most comfortable position and help with his hands in her hair to allow the sleep to finally set-

Dean never got back in that room, because he knew that they would have fallen asleep eventually. He made himself a burger and drank one too many beers, but it didn't matter because that night Dean too slept so well knowing that his brother and his sister were okay.

[cloversnstrawberries]

older brother!platonic yandere!80s slasher & gn!reader w/ dyed hair [headcanons] ! !

intro post | masterlist

additional notes; i'm actually re-dying my hair as i write this, so i think that proves that i'm totally not biased and absolutely not writing this because i yearn for an older brother who'd be willing to do my roots for me so i don't look like i have a big bald spot on the back of my head. because i have blonde hair and it's a very stark contrast to the bright pink. ough. not very yandere in this, but i needed this as a balm to my soul.

warnings; mentions of murder, violence, and killings; zachary's inherent clinginess, slight possessiveness, soft(er) yandere, overprotective behavior, and if there's any more I missed, please let me know!! this is pretty fluffy, actually.

w/c; 1.4k

The first (and only time) you dyed your hair without his help, it was an utter mess. I'm talking hands stained with the dye, if you bleached your hair then the towel was wrecked.

If you lived in a rented property rather than a house owned by your parents; well, lets just say you would've kissed your sweet, sweet deposit goodbye, what the mess you made in your wake.

Whether you bleached it or had hair light enough to just slap the dye on top, did natural or unnatural colors, the result was still the same regardless.

The bathroom was a mess, and he came home from football practice to find you with a plastic Kroger bag over your head; on your hands and knees, trying to scrub the leftover dye from the linoleum tile floor of your shared bathroom. You were in distress over it, if not in tears. Afraid you'd ruined the counter/floor.

You didn't go in blind, per se-- but you only had tips given to you by the few alternative kids, and from the sweet gas station cashier who dyes her hair to cover the fact its graying-- to go off of.

There was both a fear of having decimated your bathroom permanently, and a nagging feeling that you might've goofed up the actual process; damaging your hair indefinitely.

Whether it was the work of a miracle, or just plain old luck-- you didn't damage your hair too much, if it all. You'd missed a couple spots, namely on the back of your head, but other than that you did a pretty damn good job.

The bathroom, however...

When Zachary came home, he immediately started looking for you. Usually you were on the couch, watching TV-- or in the dining room, doing homework. You weren't in either of those spots, and you weren't in your bedroom either.

He knew it was stupid to worry about this-- But the reason behind his anxiety at not finding you immediately wasn't because "oh, what if something happened to them? what if they messed with the wrong kids and got jumped, or they went missing?" (both were unlikely in a town like yours, but not entirely impossible).

No, he was afraid that you'd committed the grave sin of hanging out with someone other than him-- and without his knowledge, to boot. Zachary didn't think you were the type to 'go behind his back' like this, but the fear was still there.

So you can probably imagine the absolute relief he felt when he found you in the bathroom-- but his sigh soon turned to wheezing laughs when he got a look of your sorry state.'

He's still your brother, after all. Siblings were basically made to laugh at each other in situations like these.

Normally, you wouldn't take it too harshly-- but this time around, you couldn't quite handle it. The fear of messing up your hair due to your inexperience, and the idea that your bathroom would forever be stained with your semi-spur-of-the-moment decision...

Well, he was quick to change his tune when you looked about ready to cry-- or started crying harder, if you already were. He stopped laughing, and immediately crouched down beside you, offering some reassurance.

Before heading off to the storage closet out in the hall, grabbing some cleaning stuff and a rag-- you were just trying to use water, which wasn't doing nothing, but that was mostly in part with how hard you'd been scrubbing. The dye wasn't going anywhere with that method.

You two spent about 20 minutes cleaning the bathroom up. By then, the timer you were using to make sure you didn't overdo the dye-time (that you totally didn't nab from the kitchen, but thankfully it'd been one of the few items spared from the wrath of your messy dye job) had already gone off.

Zachary noticed how uneasy you looked, afraid you'd messed up your hair for good. Again, he reassured you, before saying he'd help with the rest of the process.

Your hands were already beyond saving-- but he had enough foresight to go get some latex gloves from the hall closet before coming back to help you.

Then, for the next ten or so minutes, you kneeled beside the bathtub, head bowed over directly under the faucet-- the water was freezing cold, the nice punk girl, Melanie, told you that helped keep the color longer-- so you were taking little breaks when your scalp started hurting from how cold it was.

Eventually, after you were pretty sure he'd gotten all of the extra dye out-- the gloves having gone from clear to almost opaque with your new hair color--, he helped you up and wrapped an old beach towel around your head.

You sat on the lid of the toilet as he took over the duty of cleaning the tub-- telling you to just chill out for a while. once he was done with that, he brought you into his room and you two played on his Atari while your hair dried.

After that whole incident, Zachary borderline threatened you to come to him next time you wanted to dye your hair or anything of the like. Mostly because he didn't like seeing how scared and upset you were when you thought you messed it up :(

Weirdly enough, he'd rather you be mad at him if he messed up-- then see you be mad with yourself for messing it up. Besides, you'd probably forgive him in less then a day.

...Mostly because he's the one who drives you places outside of town, and has the membership card for your local video rental store. You never got one of your own, because he just always let you use his.

Can't really do that if you're giving him the cold shoulder, yeah?

But other than that, he's pretty good with keeping up with it all. It must've been a bit of a funny sight for the old ladies at the local hair shoppes, seeing a boy like Zachary coming in and asking the staff for tips on dying hair. Products to use, what to avoid, how to keep it from transferring-- etc etc.

After the first time, you never spent your own money on the stuff. It was always Zachary who was buying it; you tried getting him to stop that, feeling bad about spending his money on something that was solely for your benefit--

He gave you a withering look that made you immediately shut up and drop the topic, never to pick it up again. In your mind, he was too selfless-- you didn't want to feel like you were using him or anything.

But actually, he was sort of doing it for his own benefit. It let him spend more time with you-- not like he didn't already do that, but it was another sort of bonding activity that could be added to the list of 'our things'. You've never tried to dye your hair alone after the first time, because you knew it'd upset him.

Once he claimed something as an 'our thing', then there was no way to pry it from his grasp-- it'd be cemented in his mind that it was only something you could do with him present or actively participating.

It was just one of those quirks you have to get used to. In this situation, you weren't complaining that much about it, actually. He was very helpful, and it was nice to just be able to sit and do whatever while he did most of the work.

Whether or not you keep with the same color, or change it every week-- he'll help you no matter what, and won't question it. You wanna keep your hair honey brown for 3 consecutive years? cool! you wanna dye your hair different bright, in your face colors every other week? also cool!

He's not one to rag on you about self-expression, however-- if you did choose an unnatural color, you're bound to get stared or gawked at because of it. You were expecting it, and so was Zachary.

That's why he made sure to sharpen his fire hatchet and hunting knife, obviously. There was an uptick in Fools Killer victims after you dyed your hair-- completely unbeknownst to you, Zachary was using your out-of-the-ordinary appearance and the subsequent stares to 'sort out the bad ones',

To find victims who otherwise would've 'hidden their negative intentions towards you'.

[firefly--bright]

forwards, beckon, rebound.

jean kirstein x fem!reader, modern a.u.

summary ; falling in love with jean kirstein was too easy. realizing and living with it, however, was more difficult than ripping your own heart out of your chest - veins and all. warnings ; unrequited? love, mentions of alcohol at the end, a little angsty. a/n ; im not doing well LMFAO its okay guys...its okay.... i have another thing im going to post tn before going on an undecidedly long hiatus so!! i hope you guys enjoy this <3that being said i think college will be the death of me also mini thank you to @\samepictureofjeankirsteveryday on instagram!! i wasnt going to post this fic originally but she lowkey made me want this baby to see the light of day :3 taglist ; @holding-infinity-and-a-book , @mrsnobodynobody , @hopeless-anti-romantic-again , @jeanscremebrulee , @berrijam , @happxme , @cherrypieyourface , @imgayandshesanime , @moonmalice , @kivernova , @potaho3frog , @xakilicious , @katestrophes , @gojo-ana , @ppushable, @candleohappiness , @zombiefiedskeivy , @1ovede1uxe

masterlist is in pinned post! ✿ enter my taglist! ✿ requests for headcanons are open! ✿

middle tile art creds ; @ppushable beloved

Falling in love with jean kirstein wasn't too much of a task.

Realising you were in love with jean kirstein, however, proved to be a big one. 

You dont realise it at first. Of course not, that would be too easy and stupid. You couldn't give yourself the permission to do that - to intrude on someone else's life so easily without guilt; because liking someone, romantically or platonically, has always been a selfish act, one that you were hesitant to commit. It felt like a crime, really. The first time he sat next to you on the couch despite there being more than enough room on the other side of it, cushions perfectly clean and waiting, he sat next to you. 

Nothing came out of it. He sat next to you the whole night - the first night you two got close and talked about your stupid lives even after everyone had called it a night, with two glasses empty of any beverage, already long gone under inattentive care, because you’d rather look at him. His hand was in the air, actions drawing themselves in the space around him, claiming the place to be his without hesitation. He’d say something, you’d make a bad joke, he’d stifle a laugh and lie through his teeth about it not being funny. You’d say something unimportant, his elbow would be on the back cushions of the couch, supporting his head, hand tangling through his hair - not that you were staring at it when your eyes pleaded for something else to focus on. He’d lick his lips absentmindedly, nodding to your story. He’d make a silly, offhanded comment that you’d milk out into another joke, and he’d stutter his responses. The night went on, drowsily, and you decided to reluctantly surrendered to sleep as his eyes slipped closed to your voice, head directly on the back cushions. As if he had forgotten the conversation that occurred two minutes ago - “And.. i mean, yeah, i get it, but- are you.. Are you falling asleep?”

“No, no. of course not. Just… resting my head. Go on.” 

“Your voice just got deeper, man, stop lying-”

“No! Im.. im serious. Im listening. Keep going.”

“Right,”

“Come on, i wanna hear you.”

“... oh. Right, so then…uh.”

“Mhm.”

“Uhm…right so, i got, what she was saying, but then again, why would she need to-”

And the conversation followed with just you speaking, a little hushed, pretending not to notice how his breathing evened itself out completely, his finger twitching every so often. Pretending not to notice, really, because that's all you'd been doing all this while. 

That was your first offense, you suppose. Pretending the love wasn't there. Pretending he isn't this easy to love, this easy to find your way back to. His presence was the one thing you looked forward to with each large group hangout until it was just the two of you - he’d asked you to accompany him going grocery shopping. “Connie wants some stupid fucking water gun.” 

You had laughed, unserious at first. But his voice did’nt waver through the phone, making you wonder out loud, “wait, for what?”

He sighed. You could almost feel his breath through the speaker. “April fools is coming up. Your guess is as good as mine,” he said, “anyway, i’ll come pick you up in ten?” he questions, as if you’d ever refuse. You could. You really could. But part of you wanted to know why connie would need the gun and what exactly he’d do with it just so you could be prepared incase of oncoming attacks. But the other part - the bigger, more selfish, more hesitant one - wanted to spend time with him because the aspect of just going grocery shopping sounded appealing. 

Appealing, as if it was something more. 

Maybe it was. Jean had a way of making every task of yours feel special. His eyes were always on your movements, something you appreciated, his blatant observation an endearing trait after you’d been gone unnoticed for long enough for you to feel non-existent entirely.

You dressed appropriately. Made sure your hair was good enough. Swiped a finger over your eyebrows to shape them before heading out. He was waiting under your apartment, back resting against the shining metal of his car, thumb hovering over his phone as he waited. Your shoes clicked - did they squeak or did they click? The dirt seemed interesting. - and he looked up at you before smiling. “Where do you think the best place to shop for a watergun could be?” an important question. You hummed in faux thought, mind only filled with his cologne, and the fact that his feet were only a couple inches from yours, “i dont know. Did connie not say where? Considering he’s such an expert?” you said, and he snorted. “Right. He just gave me a very specific model to look for. And the money for it, surprisingly.”

You made a joke about stealing the money and buying something “pretty for himself” which was met by slightly reddening cheeks and a scoff. “I look pretty in anything. I mean-” he stuttered over his own words, stumbling over consonants until he landed on, “i- we should..uhm, go. Before it gets too late.” you wanted to ask what you could possibly be late for, but he opened your door for you before you could say anything, and sped-walked to his side of the car. It was the two of you, the silence of his car, waiting to be broken. 

He asked you to play a song. You played careless whisper. He laughed. A full-bellied, deep hearted chuckle that you were sure you’d keep hearing over the course of the next few months if not your lifetime.

When april finally did come, with a summery breeze to accompany it, connie’s prank set itself ablaze. The “prank” being that he and eren would go around - “no, the point is that no one can see it coming!” - college campus, spraying their elaborate victims with a not-so-discreet snicker, not realizing that the cold water was a treat rather than a trick. “If that’s the point then youre fucking failing because your shiny bald head and his fucking stench is enough to let everyone know youre coming from miles away,” jean had said, hands folded over his chest. Armin stifled a laugh while you snickered in broad daylight, unashamed. 

Maybe that was your second offense - finding him fucking funny. It wasnt even your fault, in all honesty, it should be his for being witty and quick on his feet to make a remark that he knew would make you break. And you knew he was out to get you because sometimes he’d lean in close to your ear and whisper the joke against the loudness of the rest of the world - in a language and words only you could hear and understand and almost wait for his prize. Youre not sure if your laugh was his prize or the pride that came with the idea of being funny was, but you presented it to him without hesitation either way. 

How you couldn't realise you were in love with him in those moments always made you question your own instincts. 

It felt like a crime. Little offenses that would add up to one big debt towards the big national system that was out to get you - letting your yearning run rampant and unchecked while you sat on the floor, wondering, questioning, untrusting of your own feelings. What else could you do, really? When your love had been dormant for so long without any interaction, was it really your fault that it did not know when to wake up and tell you that it was real? Your crimes didn't matter. The number of them, their destruction. It wouldn't have mattered if the love would’ve just told you what it was instead of concealing itself under layers of disregard and faux indifference. 

And the worst part is that it didn't even escalate. His actions remained the same and so did your unnerving, unnatural feelings, laying bare-boned in front of you. He’d call you late at night, usually on tuesdays or fridays, and ask you, surprised, what you were doing up this late. You were always up this late, you'd say, even if it was him who called. Youd turn the question to him and he’d tell you about how he couldnt sleep because he was playing a game with your friends. 

“Why are you whispering” he had asked, ever keen about your every action. 

“Sasha’s asleep on my lap,” you said, your hand in between her brown hair, conditioned and soft between your fingers. 

“That doesnt answer my question.” he said. You could hear his blatant smirk through the phone.

“I dont want her to wake up,” you said, a smile of your own creeping on your face, slowly, carefully. It was meant to be there, though, however much you didnt want it to be, like moths to a beautiful flame. 

He hummed. Fluttering of patterned wings flying towards a bright orb. “What else?” god, its like he wanted you to peel apart and let him observe the shredded, unmoving pieces. Maybe he really did.

“We watched the perks of being a wallflower,” “oh?” “yeah, sash said she wanted me to see it-” “you’ve never seen that movie before?” “i mean, i did now,” you muttered, voice now only a little bit higher, smile growing only a little bit wider. Moths to an open, inviting flame.

“Jesus. Thank god she did. Did you cry?” he asked, eager. “Do you want me to cry? Thats telling-” “-no i dont want you to cry,” “hey, im not shaming your fantasies, im just-” “my fantasies dont involve you crying.” you pause before speaking again. “Right.” “i mean- they.. They involve you - like all of you guys, hah, just..not crying. Happy,” you hum. The moths get dangerously, hopefully closer to the burning flame. Its painful and its warm. “Whatever. Did you cry?” he asks, and you allow him a laugh at that. You wonder if he has moths of his own. Maybe dragonflies. They suit him better, you think for a split second, before his fire invites you again with a calloused hand, crackling firewood. “See, the fact that you’re not answering is more of an answer.” You shrug, knowing he cant see it. Part of you wonders if he knows you well enough to commit your actions to memory - enough to know when you're doing them, enough to predict them like a well choreographed dance. “I cried a little. Like, one tear, and then i stopped,”

“Right, sure.” “you know, you forcing an answer out of me is also more of an answer.” you say, flipping the conversation over on it’s head, the dancers doing a somersault on the thin cracks in your ribs.

“what? How?” “now i know you cried while watching it-” “i did not-” “-or else you wouldnt want me to be as miserable as you-” “i didnt cry, i dont even know what youre talking about,” “i can literally ask sasha.” “you wouldnt…do that,” he says, unconfident. you suck in a dramatic breath, pretending to get ready to shout sasha’s name, before he interrupts you with a slight terror behind his teeth, “okay, i cried like, a little,” he says, his voice a little static, but you could hear the expression he was making behind the layers of faux cockiness. You hum knowingly. “Just a little,” “dont sound like that.” 

You breathe out a laugh, smile reaching your eyes, your cheeks pushing against the phone on your ear. “Sound like what?” “like…like youre judging me,” “im not judging you! Im all for crying.” “just not enough for you to do it?” “i’ll cry when i need to.” “and when’s that?” “i dont know, maybe when they declare that, like, all chocolate has lead in it or something, and they ban it.” there was another pause. You gauge his reaction, a flash of regret for your statement, and then a laugh from his end, crystal clear. Even with the phone hindering your view of him, its perfect - the happiness resides in his chest, and it makes it’s way out because of you, crawling into your arms through the shitty microphones that the big companies cant seem to perfect, and youre afraid it’ll catch a hold of you and you would never be able to shake it away; the feeling of his laughter in your chest, shared and kept and bottled up in the shape of something familiar but terrifying and real. You dont realise youre also laughing a little by the end of it. 

“That wouldn't stop you from still eating it.” he says. “Fair point,” you reply, playing with a strand of sasha’s hair between your fingers. Your love has always been louder than you would've liked it to be, its shouts keeping you awake at night, the harmonies - or lack thereof - disrupting your usual schedule. It had to find a way to get out, and you weren't sure where to put it once it did. Where your love could find a place to rest without urgency, silent under a warm gaze. You didn't know where to find it. 

you suppose your next offense - and it was a big one this time, staring at you in the face until you were too scared to look away - was actually noticing. 

not that you didn't before. it wasn't unknown, the fact that he put meticulous effort into his appearance, combing his hair a certain way, wearing different colours that he knew worked, smelling nice. he was the one who made it known, a pretentious boastful laugh about how he'd bought a new perfume after sasha pointed it out, telling the table of five that he actually had the money to buy it and he was going to use it to it's fullest extent. but then you started noticing the unimportant details, the natural ones that came as a habit to him but became holy to you. waving a hand through his hair after it unravelled from its former position throughout the day, wearing the bracelet you had hastily and ironically made for him as if it was a part of his own wrist, regardless of if it matched his outfit or not, his perfume wearing off sometime in the middle of the day, but the residue of it could only be smelt when you were sitting close to him, brushing his shoulder with yours. All the unimportant things, you think, a big weight on your already hesitant shoulders, weak under the boulder you were trying to push. 

The way his voice dipped when he muttered something he knew was unimportant but wanted to be known anyway (you wouldn't tell him you would always keep those mutters in mind - chanted scriptures until they're all your tongue and ears remember). The way he fidgeted with his rings sometimes, slipping them off of his finger and and onto the next, continuing to do that until all his fingers had worn the jewellery (one time it slipped and fell through his fingers, an unnoticeable action, and his fingers hovered mid empty air, grasping metal that had slipped away). The unimportant scar on the front of his right shoulder, only to be seen when he wore a tank top during the summer, when he’d told you he’d saved a dog from a car accident with red cheeks and ears - a telltale lie. You let the statement lay in front of you before smiling with an exaggerated, proud puff of air, after which he had immediately went back to his story to correct it. The reality was that he tried diving into a pool once - only for his shoulder to be scraped up on the diving board, along with his jaw, as he fell. He said this ungracefully, scratching the back of his neck and waving his hand as if it wasn't a big deal - and you would agree, it wasn't a big deal. yet. There was always a yet. You wanted to write down all his words, through his stutters and higher-pitched words, his unintentional pauses, and etch them into your spine. What good were your bones if not to be carved under a weathering, hopeless love that could never prevail? What good were your lungs if not to build a home out of unbreathable air?

Unimportant. You’d call your love that; a universal truth. You couldn't give yourself the permission for more than that, for an offense greater than the one you’d already guiltily committed. 

Falling in love with jean kirstein was out of your hawk-eyed control. Realising you were in love with jean kirstein was an unmistakable, out-of-question, universally bound reality that you couldn't escape. Or maybe one you didn't want to escape. 

You weren't hopeful of a reciprocal or even a secure future. You were never quite the hopeful one, and maybe that's why you chalked yourself up to a non romantic person who’s forbidden to use those big movie words with the big important meanings and the confident and hearty laugh after a confession. Being a romantic took a hell of a lot of hope, something you fundamentally lacked, something that you could never live up to. 

So this was it. Staring at you in your face, his eyes brown and a little golden at the edge like a pot of pouring honey, warmth under those tones, unhidden with full and weighted importance that you never had the permission to receive. His shoulder - the scarred one - is pressed up against the wall and the party is loud and his cup is almost empty, his first drink of the night, and his cologne is fading away only a little, a strand of his hair falling on his forehead. And this wouldn't be a big issue if it wasn't for the fact that you were thinking about it all, the unimportant parallels and the god like, important-unimportant words, etched into your hesitant and tired vertebrae. His smile is soft. Has it always been? Were you deserving of that? After all of your committed offenses? 

“This punch is fucking disgusting,” he says, changing the previous topic, smelling the drink in his hand. You were incapable of speaking, of using your big mouth and small words. “Its.. interesting,” you finally muttered, looking down at your own cup, your thumb rubbing gentle, controlled back-and-forths on the rim of the cup. you‘re not sure how he even heard you but somehow he always does.

“I can make a better one for you,” he says, as if he doesn't have anything better to do. “No, im good. I dont want to get… y’know,” you say, eyes pointing to the vague direction of a now-shirtless connie, waving the shirt in a loop over his head disregarding the beat and rhythm of the song completely.

Jean’s eyes remain on his friend for a while. “Yeah i wouldn't want to get…that either,” he says, and you snort an unattractive laugh, and when you look back up, he’s laughing with you. Smiling at your unimportant sound, his hand holding the cup by its rim and dropping his elbow down so the cup rests somewhere near his thigh. 

Unimportant. All of it. But somehow holy. Human condition. 

He moves towards the kitchen either way, claiming something about having non-alcoholic fruit beer in the fridge just for “this”. He says “this” as if its a confession, something he’s been meaning to get off of his chest, “this” like he knows your unimportant and off-handed comment about not wanting to drink from last week and carrying it around like an effective poem, life altering with every sentence. He says “this” like it's important. Somehow holy, human condition.

And he follows through, with whatever his “this” meant, and hands you a can of some kind of soda. A sip later, you find out its peach flavoured, surprisingly addictive, not too sweet. You steal a glance at the front of it, a bright and vibrant logo greeting you with a smiling mascot of a peach with sunglasses. You look back up at him with a raised eyebrow. “This was a conscious decision?” you ask, turning the front of the can to him so he could see what you were referring to. A smile split his face, followed by faux annoyance and an eyeroll, “thank you, jean, for always thinking of me,” he says, high pitched, and the implications are not lost on you, and he continues when all you do is smile with a breath of laughter, “thank you, jean, you bought me my favourite flavoured drink-” “thank you, jean kirstein, my saviour, for thinking of me,” you say, the sound getting lost somewhere in between your mouth and his. His smile hangs on his face with pride, an action you unknowingly put there. 

God, and falling in love with jean kirstein was so easy. Easier than breathing, more conscious than involuntary blinking, more natural than your fidgeting hands. 

But realising you were in love with jean kirstein was more uncomfortable than the act of being alive, more conscious than the fact that your voice could produce a sound that occupied space, more careful than your hesitant thoughts. 

Everything chalked up to this; loving jean kirstein was easier than any feat you couldve ever done. Any holiness, any prayer, any selfish and hopeless act of greatness that was trapped in your veins.

Realising you’d always love him, realising maybe you’d always be stuck in this limbo was the only thing that proved to be difficult. You're a creature of habit - habitual sighs, rhythmic steps, habitual solitude - and you'd never been prepared for this. But it was okay.

Being in love with jean kirstein - and realizing you’d always love him - was okay. Habitual. All offenses could be just those - offenses. Habitual. You’d learn to live with it as you did all other things. 

✿

[justlemmeadoreyou]

4. heat of the kitchen (restaurant owner!harry x chef!reader)

(part 1 here) | (part 2 here) | (part 3 here)

summary: the day of the gala, but something unexpected happens, leaving you a responsibility that could either make or break your career.

words: 5k

warnings: fluff, a hint of angst.

You had just started falling into a restless sleep when your phone buzzed loudly on the nightstand, making you jump awake in surprise. Squinting your blurry eyes at the bright screen, you felt a prickle of worry when you saw the time - 4:17am. This couldn't be good news at this hour. 

Sure enough, it was Harry's number flashing on the caller ID. With a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach, you swiped to answer and brought the phone to your ear. "Hello?"

"[Y/N], hey..." Even through the tinny distortion of the phone line, you could hear the grimness and exhaustion in Harry's voice. "Look, I...there's been an emergency with my family back home. My mom is really sick and not doing well."

You sat up straight in bed now, any remaining grogginess from sleep instantly swept away by a crushing wave of dismay. You listened in silence as he explained in brief phrases about needing to get on the next available flight to go back to New York right away. He said he wasn't sure when he'd be able to return to Chicago.

"I just didn't have a chance to let you know about this earlier," Harry's low, raspy voice crackled with regret. "I've already spoken with Thomason to take over running things at the event today, but...I'm so sorry, [Y/N]. The timing of this could not possibly be worse."

"No no, please don't even worry about that right now," you interjected quickly, your mind already whirling with the huge implications of what he was saying. Today was the extremely important Martin gala event - without Harry there to oversee the execution of his highly complicated, avant-garde centrepiece dish, the whole thing could spectacularly fall apart in front of all the big-name food critics and chefs of Chicago.

And yet...none of that professional stuff mattered at all compared to the intensely personal crisis your mentor was going through right now. "Is everything...I mean, is your mom going to be okay?" you asked hesitantly, not wanting to pry too much but deeply concerned.

Harry let out a shaky sigh that made your chest clench with empathy for what he must be feeling. "I don't know yet. They're running some medical tests on her this morning to get more answers, but...it doesn't look good so far based on what they've told me."

There was a heavy pause before he added in a rough, strained voice, "Looks like I've got another big battle ahead of me here."  

Despite the gravity of the situation, you felt a pang of fondness at those terse words that sounded so quintessentially like Harry - tackling this heart-wrenching personal turmoil with the same determination and head-on approach he always brought to challenges in the kitchen.

"I'll be okay," Harry stated in a tone that made it clear he didn't want or expect any sympathy or reassurance from you about it. "Right now, all I need is for you to promise me that the gala event today is going to be a complete success no matter what else is happening. Can you handle being fully in charge of running the whole operation and making sure my vision for the centerpiece dish comes out perfectly?"

He didn't need to go into more detail - you knew full well the enormity of the responsibility he was asking you to take on here. Tremors of nerves joined the waves of sympathy and concern roiling through you at the weight of this task. But you didn't hesitate at all before answering.

"You have my word, Chef," you vowed solemnly. "I'll treat this dish and event with the same intense, laser-focused commitment you've been drilling into me from day one - and I absolutely won't let you down."  

This time, Harry's answering exhale held the faintest trace of pride and...something more you couldn't quite put your finger on. "I know you won't let me down. I'm gonna have to go take care of things now, but I'll call again later to check in on how preparations are going over there. In the meantime, just stay calm, stay focused, and execute everything exactly like we've practiced over and over again these past weeks."

"I will. And Harry--" you hesitated momentarily before plunging ahead. "I really hope...well, just please take care of yourself too, okay? Sending you all my best wishes for your mom to get through this."

There was a beat of surprised silence before he responded in a gruff but sincere voice, "Yeah...thanks, [Y/N]. I appreciate that."

With that, the call clicked off abruptly, leaving you alone amid the predawn stillness with nothing but the immense weight of the trust and responsibility Harry had placed on your shoulders.

This was by far the biggest professional challenge you'd ever faced in your culinary career. Not just having to pull off executing Harry's avant-garde, innovative, wildly complex dish to absolute perfection under the intense scrutiny of the biggest names and players in Chicago's food world - but doing so while your mentor battled a hugely serious personal crisis unfolding all the way across the country in New York. Just the thought of it made your stomach churn with anxious adrenaline and nerves.

Still...despite the daunting nature of this task, you couldn't help but feel a sense of opportunity arising as well. This was an unexpected and unprecedented chance for you to truly prove yourself at the highest possible level, to rise up and show you had the skills and mental toughness to handle the most intense culinary pressure situations. You'd worked too damn hard, invested too many long hours of sweat and failures in kitchens everywhere to let this monumental opportunity slip through your fingers.

A feeling of steely resolve settled over you as you climbed out of bed and began methodically getting ready to start your day. No matter what curveball life had thrown at Harry derailing his own ability to participate, your role and mission remained unchanged - you made a solemn vow to him, and you utterly refused to let him down when he was counting on you most in this dire moment. This gala would go off flawlessly, the vision and game plan he'd meticulously drilled into you executed with precise mastery down to every last detail. Abject failure was simply not an option today.

***

By the time the first pale streaks of dawn began filtering through your windows, you were fully dressed and shoving a high-protein bar into your mouth as fuel while heading out the door to the event venue. Despite the early hour, there was already a palpable buzz and energy of activity when you arrived, crews of staffers and organizers darting around in a highly choreographed frenzy as they put the very final touches and preparations in place.  

You spotted Thomason's towering, intimidating form immediately - the harsh sous chef resembled a military general marshaling the troops, barking out orders and keeping everything flowing in an orderly yet intense manner. Straightening your spine, you crossed over purposefully to greet him directly. Thomason's eyes flicked over you appraisingly before giving a short, sharp nod of acknowledgment. "Good, you're here. Let's get you situated and start running through all your station assignments."

Without any further preamble or wasted words, he turned sharply on his heel and strode off at a brisk pace, clearly expecting you to fall into step directly behind him with no delays. Suppressing a resigned sigh, you did just that, matching his stride as Thomason immediately launched into a rapid-fire rundown and delegation of every single responsibility that would fall under your purview for the entire day.

It was...honestly, a staggering amount of crucial tasks and oversight duties to absorb all at once this early in the morning, especially given the giant extenuating circumstance and crisis situation hanging overhead with Harry's absence. But Thomason pressed on in his typical brusque, no-nonsense manner.

Apparently Harry had already briefed the imposing, burly sous chef on the pertinent details of the personal situation he was dealing with, as evidenced by Thomason's uncharacteristic patience whenever you had to pause to fully digest certain instructions or ask for any clarification on assignments. But the gruff kitchen veteran otherwise made no comforting allowances, simply conveying the huge pile of duties you'd need to stay on top of from morning prep straight through to the evening's high-stakes dinner service.

By the time he finally finished laying out the overwhelming laundry list of tasks you were accountable for, a tenuous sense of control had settled over your earlier panic and worries. You could do this. Logistically speaking, it would be the most daunting and high-pressure culinary challenge you'd ever faced by far - but thanks to all the intense training and preparation Harry had put you through, you genuinely felt as ready as you could possibly be. All that remained now was keeping your head down and executing flawlessly with the same pinpoint focus and work ethic he'd instilled in you through those grueling practice runs.

With a grim nod of determination, you turned and started overseeing your assigned kitchen crew in setting up the intricate series of mise en place stations that would be required for pulling off Harry's avant-garde, wildly complex centerpiece dish. All around you, the buzz of frantic activity swelled as area after area of the massive venue was brought online in final preparation for the rapidly approaching arrival times of guests and participants.  

Though you kept waiting for the spike of nerves and adrenaline to hit, surprisingly, a strange sense of calm numbness had instead descended over you - the kind that often surfaced in the middle of an intense, all-hands-on-deck dinner rush back at the restaurant. In these do-or-die, make-it-or-break-it kinds of situations, there simply was no spare mental bandwidth available for anything beyond the critical task directly in front of you in that very moment. Distracting thoughts and nerves got shunted aside as survival instincts took over.

And just like that, you lost yourself in the soothing, almost meditative rhythm of prep work, falling into that laser-focused state of dicing, slicing, arranging each individual ingredient component with painstaking, meticulous care according to the detailed specifications Harry had drilled into you over and over. At one point, you absently accepted a bottled water from one of your line cooks with a murmured thanks, but otherwise operated on auto-pilot.  

You weren't entirely sure how much time had elapsed before Thomason's gruff bark of "Ten minutes!" roused you from your intense, trance-like focus. All around, your crew instantly kicked into an even higher gear, ferrying the completed mise en place components to the designated plating stations in an efficient flurry of motion. You barely registered Thomason sidling up next to you with an evaluating look on his imposing features.

"You did decent prep work so far, kid," he acknowledged in a tone of voice that was only marginally less dismissive than his usual demeanor. "Now let's see if you can actually plate this bastard of a complicated dish without totally screwing the pooch."

With that uniquely Thomason-style pep talk, he gave your shoulder a clap and then strode off to take his place at the all-important expediting position for the evening's service, leaving you warmed by the backhanded compliment. Coming from the notoriously harsh and miserly-with-praise Thomason, those words were basically the equivalent of an ecstatic rave.

Any boost of confidence was welcome at this point, as the first wave of elite guests began trickling into the dining area right on schedule. You could feel the atmosphere in the room shifting, charging with buzzing energy and anticipation as these influential culinary figures saw the artfully designed space, flipped through the rundown of tonight's prix fixe menu, and speculated about what boundary-pushing creation Harry had surely concocted for his centrepiece auction dish.  

Your own adrenaline kicked into high gear as you took your place at the head plating station, flanked by your hand-picked crew who would assist in the extremely intricate assemble of all the individual components coming together. A hush fell over the kitchen as you exchanged looks with your team, giving a final nod of readiness. 

"First courses..." came the terse callout from the expo line. And with that, you immediately snapped into focus, hands moving with the precision drilled into them through countless practice runs as you began plating the initial courses.

From there, the entire high-stakes evening blurred into a cyclone of intense concentration and rapid-fire execution, broken only by the occasional smattering of polite applause from the dining room as each new course made its debut to apparent delight. But you remained steadfastly disengaged from all of that, shutting it out entirely as you moved with economical grace from one fastidiously assembled plate to the next in a state of total flow.

You were aware on some level of Thomason periodically prowling the line, sharp eyes scrutinizing every last component with the intensity of a decorated drill sergeant. But his presence was almost soothing in a way, a low-key affirmation that you and your crew were hitting every lofty mark thus far.

Finally, after what felt like both a grueling endurance marathon and the naturally seamless completion of a singular, continuous motion...it was time. All the other courses had been executed flawlessly, clearing the way for the pièce de résistance - Harry's avant-garde centerpiece dish that would cap off the evening. You took a deep, steadying breath as the first calls came in from the expo line.

"Fire one centerpiece!"

Your hands moved with the precision of a surgeon, each practiced motion flowing seamlessly into the next as you began assembling the first plate of the showstopper course. Around you, your crew worked in the same laser-focused unison, handling each individual component with utmost care and attention to detail.  

Despite the mounting pressure with every new order fire, that strange sense of calm numbness persisted. There was no mental bandwidth to spare on anything extraneous - your entire world had contracted to these series of sequential tasks laid out before you, each one flowing naturally into the next like a continuous stream.

Plating tweezers arranged the final delicate pour of herb-infused olive oil spheres with the same singular focus as you squeezed the pipette to apply the perfectly calibrated dot of acidic reduction. Not a single movement was wasted, not a component out of place as you slid the finished avant-garde masterpiece across to the expo line for final approval before heading out to the dining room.

"Looked good from here, kid," Thomason's gruff voice sounded in your ear amidst the orchestrated chaos, startling you slightly. You blinked, barely registering the stocky sous chef's towering presence overseeing your shoulder before turning your attention immediately back to the next set of hands firing.

On and on it went in that same relentless yet steady cadence, each nouveau plate a pristine reflection of the focus, intensity, and cumulative skill that had been honed into you over months of Harry's rigorous training. Sweat beaded along your hairline, apron dampening as you moved with increasing speed and efficiency under the mounting pressure of continuous fires.  

You were only vaguely aware of the soft crashing waves of polite applause rolling in from the nearby dining room each time a new creation hit the tables. Your ears were trained to more important sounds - the sharp callouts from expo, the curt exchanges between yourself and your crew attempting to maintain the incredible pace.

At one point, you registered Thomason's heavy tread beside you once more, his grizzled voice pitched low to be heard over the controlled pandemonium. "Pretty damn flawless so far, I'll give you that. But don't let your foot off the gas now, we still got a ways to go yet."

A simple grunt of acknowledgment was all you could spare in response as you plated two more centerpiece dishes in rapid succession, sliding them across for inspection. Thomason made a noise of begrudging approval before turning away, freeing you to tunnel-vision once more.  

Swaying slightly on your feet from the physical toll and intense focus, you blinked away the spotties at the edge of your vision. There was simply no other choice - failure was not an option, not after everything you and Harry had invested into this critical moment. 

How much time had elapsed, you couldn't say. All you knew was the continuous cycle of order fires, the increasingly efficient rhythm of your movements and those of your crew. The end goal of seeing this groundbreaking creation delivered to the last diner with the same polish as the first lone plate.

It was only when the final callout came over the line that reality slowly bled back in around the edges. "Last one, centerpiece! Fire for the panel..."  

The clatter of your toolkit was shockingly loud in the relative stillness as you began assembling that climactic plate with even more painstaking care than before. Every component was a masterstroke, each paso doble between you and your crew unfolding in step.

You barely registered Thomason's presence hovering nearby, posture radiating tension and scrutiny, as you slid the final centerpiece across for his inspection. A short eternity seemed to pass as the steely-eyed veteran examined the plate with unsparing intensity from all angles.  

At last, he gave a single deferential nod before calling out the fire to the dining room. "Chef's centerpiece...walking!"

A rousing swell of applause rolled back from beyond the partition as you straightened up, only now allowing the descending sense of accomplishment to wash over you fully. It was done - Harry's groundbreaking, avant-garde vision had been executed to utter perfection.

The surrounding kitchen area seemed to slowly reanimate as the rest of the corps d'équipe emerged from their own hypnotrance–states, exchanging tired grins and backslaps of congratulations. For his part, Thomason wore an expression that bordered on...approving?You could never tell.

"You pulled it off, kid," he rumbled in that trademark gravelly baritone. The stocky chef's clap on your shoulder managed to convey impressed respect more clearly than any flowery praise. "Flawless service from top to bottom. I'll be sure to pass that along to Chef Patino when I touch base."

Your face must have reflected the gratified shock you felt at the gruff compliment, as Thomason's mouth twisted wryly before adding, "Don't look so damn stunned. You did good work holding it all together out there tonight. Real good work."

With that, he gave your shoulder one final squeeze before turning to address the rest of the crew and applauds rippled through the kitchen area. But you barely heard any of it over the dull roar in your ears - the mixture of bone-deep exhaustion and sheer disbelief at what you'd all just managed to pull off against seemingly insurmountable odds.

Gradually, the bustle of post-service breakdown routines fired up around you. But you remained still in the eye of that storm for several long moments, simply allowing the profound weight of your accomplishment tonight to sink in fully.  

Despite the challenges, the unexpected crises that had threatened to derail everything...your tenacity and the depth of your training had ultimately prevailed. Harry's faith in you had been rewarded with an unmitigated triumph.

The realization brought a surge of fierce pride, tempered only by the hope that your mentor had managed to find some shred of comfort amidst his own turmoil tonight. You knew Harry well enough to be certain he would be dissecting every component, evaluating each nuance of the dish's execution with his trademark intensity even from afar.

And suddenly, you very much needed to hear his voice - to fill him in on all the details, reassure him that you'd kept your word right down to crossing every final T. To...well, to simply share in this significant victory with the man whose driving ambition and belief had made it all possible.

As if summoned by sheer force of will, your phone began buzzing from your back pocket with a familiar caller ID flashing. Stepping aside from the lingering chaos, you swiped to accept the call with your heart lodged squarely in your throat.

"Harry? It's me..."

The voice on the other end sounded tinny and wrung-out, yet still utterly suffused with that unmistakable gravel-rough timbre. "How'd it go, kiddo?"

Despite the bone-weary fatigue dragging at your every muscle, you felt a grin tugging at the corners of your mouth as you took in the sight of your crew unabashedly celebrating their collective win. "See for yourself."

With a few quick taps, you switched the call over to FaceTime, angling the camera to capture the wild scene surrounding you. Raucous cheers and whoops of victory filled the feed as Harry got an eyeful of his triumphant kitchen corps living it up.

For a long moment, he was silent on the other end, drinking in the rowdy scene. Then, his low chuckle finally filtered through, slightly watery but brimming with unmistakable pride.

"That's my crew," Harry rasped in a voice gone thick. "Well done, team. Well done."

You grinned fiercely at the screen, willing him to feel every ounce of your conviction as you responded. "We did you proud, Chef. Start to finish."

And just like that, the shaky exhale he released said everything his gruff words couldn't. For all his outward bravado and grit, your mentor's steadfast belief had been vindicated tonight - and his faith in you rewarded beyond even his own expectations.

For the first time in weeks, that shaky tension seemed to finally loosen its grip on both of you. Though the road ahead might still be fraught, this evening's triumph had forged an unbreakable bond of shared understanding and trust.

The entire grueling process of preparing for and executing the ambitious centerpiece dish had pushed both your skills, stamina and mental toughness to their limits. But instead of fracturing under such tremendous shared pressure, your mentor-mentee dynamic had been distilled down to its essential core - that of two committed culinary artists striving relentlessly towards the same creative vision, and ultimately emerging unified in the wake of that lofty achievement.

In that moment, any unresolved tensions or lingering frissons of attraction between you were rendered almost quaint, overwhelmed by the profound sense of creative synergy and hard-won victory. Those undercurrents would inevitably resurface later once the high had faded. But for now, you could simply bask in the warm glow of knowing you'd risen to every challenge thrown your way and come out on top.

Harry must have sensed the shift in your demeanor, the way your posture had relaxed slightly without sacrificing any of that fierce determination. His gruff chuckle sounded again through the phone's speaker, drawing your attention back to his careworn but glowing expression.  

"Listen, pet..." he began in that trademark rasp, once again hitting you with the nickname that made your heart skip a beat,. "I gotta go take care of some stuff on this end. But we're gonna crack open a couple bottles when I'm back, you and me. We've earned it after pulling off a goddamn miracle like this one."

The very thought of the two of you sharing drinks and cutting loose for once, without the weight of impending culinary obligations hanging overhead, struck you as incredibly appealing after tonight's intensity. A warm smile tugged at the corners of your mouth as you gave an emphatic nod.

"You know I'm gonna hold you to that, Chef. I'm thinking top-shelf stuff too, none of that bottom-rung swill."

Harry threw back his head with another peal of laughter. "You got it, you earned it. Gimme a couple days to get things sorted and I'll take you somewhere swanky to celebrate, on me. My way of saying thanks for proving me right about you, Y/n."

Before you could respond, Harry's gaze grew pensive, amusement fading slightly as he searched your expression with uncharacteristic earnestness. "And I mean it, you know. Not just about the drinks, but...well, you really came through in the clutch tonight. I knew you had the skills to pull it off, but seeing you actually do it against those crazy odds? You exceeded every expectation. I couldn't be prouder if you were my own flesh and blood."

You felt your cheeks warming at the uncommon depth of sincerity in his gravelly voice. Though Harry had never been one for emotional vulnerability, in this moment you could see the profound gratitude shining through loud and clear.  

"That really means a lot coming from you, Harry," you managed in a slightly hushed tone, momentarily rendered speechless by the unexpected warmth radiating from him. "You know I'd never want to let you down, especially when you were counting on me most."

The tender moment stretched out in weighted silence, intimate currents flowing back and forth even through the crackle of the video feed. Until eventually, Harry seemed to resurface from that unguarded well of sincerity, giving a slightly blustery clearing of his throat.

"Well anyway, you did the heavy lifting tonight," he rallied in his typical all-business timbre, the hoarse bravado back in full force. "I'll leave you and the crew to enjoy your big victory bash. Just try not to get too out of hand with the partying."

He started to shift away from the camera, clearly preparing to disengage, when his hazel-eyed gaze flicked back to pin you with an unreadable look. A ghost of a smirk played around the edges of his mouth as he seemed to drink you in through the video feed.

"Oh, and one more thing, darlin'..." 

You felt your breath catch at the rich, velvety timbre Harry imbued that endearment with - a departure from the casual, teasing way he usually deployed such pet names. This particular iteration seemed to caress something deeper, more weighted between you.

"I'm real proud of how you rose above and killed it tonight," he murmured in that same honeyed rasp that raised goosebumps along your skin. His gaze raked over you with unmistakable heat and intent. "Showed me that laser-focused mental strength and fortitude I always suspected was in there."

Harry shook his tousled head slowly, lips still curved in that secretive half-smile. "Gotta admit, I clearly underestimated you in the past, darlin'. Won't be making that mistake again."

The suggestive timbre in which he issued that statement was utterly at odds with the mentor-protegee context you'd been operating in mere moments ago. You felt your breath hitch as a warmth bloomed across your cheeks, suddenly hyper-aware that you were still surrounded by your raucous crew celebrating nearby.

Surely you were reading far too much into Harry's words and tone...except his eyes were gleaming with a combination of heat and challenge as they roamed over your features in a way that made you feel stripped bare. As if he knew full well the dizzying, electrifying effect he could have on you - even through a mere video call - and was shamelessly exercising that power.

You opened your mouth to respond, though what you could possibly say to that molten statement you had no idea. Thankfully, Harry seemed to recognize he was quickly veering into the old inappropriate territory and reigned himself in with a rough throat-clearing.

"Anyway, go have fun with the crew and I'll holler at you in a couple days once I get things sorted out on this end," he concluded, all traces of that heated bravado tucked away once more behind his typical gruff exterior. "You've more than earned it, darlin'."

Another searing look accompanied the purring emphasis he gave that endearment before Harry flashed you a stunningly lopsided grin - then the video feed clicked off, leaving you slightly dazed and flustered in its wake.

A long moment passed where you simply stared at the blank screen, cheeks still burning as your mind raced over the cadence of that parting exchange. From the heartfelt gratitude and rare showering of praise...to that inexplicably molten aside loaded with suggestion, it had all left you feeling deliciously unmoored and off-kilter. 

You remained in that uncertain headspace for a while longer, the buzz of your crew's raucous celebration providing a soundtrack as the hours ticked by. Though you made a concerted effort to remain present, to revel in this hard-won moment of glory alongside your teammates, part of your consciousness couldn't help but keep circling back to that searing parting remark from Harry.

You kept thinking about the way he spoke, wondering if there was a hidden meaning behind his words.  Suddenly, your long-suppressed feelings for the charismatic chef surged with volcanic intensity, consuming every rational thought until only one truth remained. 

You decided you were done hiding your desire for Harry– done keeping that ravenous wanting locked away in the name of professionalism.The next time you saw your mentor, you promised yourself you would be completely honest. No more beating around the bush. Only complete, blazing honesty.

You would openly admit the burning attraction you'd felt since first meeting his intense gaze months ago. You would confront the growing tension from all his suggestive comments.

No more hiding behind being professional. You would put everything out in the open, once and for all. Either Harry felt the same fiery passion...or he didn't, and you could finally move on. 

Once and for all.

But the need to finally uncover the truth burned within you, even if it meant risking everything and leaving your heart in ashes - because the constant wondering and uncertainty had become a suffocating torment you could no longer endure. Making that decision lifted a weight off your shoulders momentarily, but you steeled yourself knowing the real challenge still lay ahead, a daunting path that could either lead you to euphoric fulfilment or utter devastation.

♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡

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[aperrywilliams]

More Than You Expect (Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader)

——————

Author Masterlist

Part 1: More Than You Know

Part 2: More Than You Say

——————

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!exBAU!Reader.

Summary: You have a new life, and Spencer isn't in it. But somehow, you both cross paths again. Will it be just like the wind passing, or will it stick?

Word Count: 7k

TW: ANGST WITH "HOPEFUL" ENDING. Strong language. Mention of sex, illicit acts, jail, typical CM things. A character gets injured (nothing life-threatening). If I forgot something, please let me know.

A/N: The last part of the trilogy "More Than You..." It's done, folks. What started like a one-shot a year ago is complete now. Thank you for all the comments I got about this one, your likes, and your reblogs. Tell me your thoughts about it.

——————

Big changes are usually something people are eager for or afraid of. You are in the second group. You don't like changes. There's no way you stayed in the BAU for more than a decade if it weren't in part for fear of making big changes in your life.

It's not that you don't like to imagine new things or dream of something different, but uncertainty is something you aim to avoid at all costs.

Although your predisposition, when you confessed your feelings to Spencer on a fateful afternoon at the BAU three years ago, you knew a big shift was coming, and there was no turning back. That same night, after he left your apartment, you knew it would be the last time you would see him.

And boy, that one was a hell of a change.

After thirteen years of spending together almost every day, he would no longer be a part of your life.

You handed your resignation letter to Emily the next morning. She tried to convince you to stay, but deep down, Prentiss knew whatever reason she could give you, it wasn't enough. You had already made up your mind.

-----------

From one big city to another. New York welcomed you with open arms. The NY FBI field office did, too.

Although you chose to stay as an FBI agent, your job would be slightly different from the one you had been doing at the BAU when you joined the Organize Crime division.

It was a little intimidating at first. There was a lot of action, certainly a lot of undercover missions, a bunch of criminals, too many drug busts and guns. In summary, a lot of everything. But with time, you learned that OC has so plenty of shit targets as the BAU had. It wasn't rare to come face to face with psychopaths sometimes. And your training as a profiler has come in handy more than once.

After you left DC, you never looked back. You asked Emily to please not tell anyone where you would go. You also write a letter to Garcia, pleading not to track you down, assuring her you would be fine, and if the future would make you cross paths again, so be it, but please do not push it. She replied with a full four-page letter, agreeing with your request but giving you her thoughts about why she felt you were doing wrong.

You appreciated her honestly, but it was done.

No listening to Prentiss's instructions, Spencer tried to reach you regardless. Your phone kept receiving daily calls and texts for months. You didn't reply to any of them.

Until someday, it stopped.

You should have felt relief, and sort of you did, but it was a bittersweet feeling knowing the last string that kept it joined to your old life was cut.

That was the change, and you took it.

Were you doing okay? Did you accept it without consequences? No.

But the new job needed to do its magic. You were so consumed by what you were committed to doing that nothing else mattered.

In the past three years, you have gone undercover so many times, some of them with direct life risk, but you were in one piece. You have been shot and stabbed, though, giving you enough scars to talk about.

Your teammates were and are still very surprised by your versatility and compromise. Your philosophy? Do the job, take another case, work your ass on it, and catch the bad guys.

They even started calling you the Lone Ranger. Why? Although your work involves a task group with more agents, most of the time, your missions are in solitary— weeks or months of not having contact with your team until there is some break in the case.

Once the job is done, you return home and just shut off from the world.

You only socialize after work a little or the bare minimum. Just a few colleagues know things about you besides your prominent former career as a profiler in DC. And certainly, nobody knows the true reason why you moved to New York in the first place.

It's better this way, and you are used to it.

And what about your current love life? While in DC, you didn't have one because you were pining for Spencer; in New York, you don't have one because nothing seems too serious to think of it.

Flings? Of course. But that's all. In some way, you became the same kind of person you criticized in Spencer.

Life works in mysterious ways.

-----------

"The NYPD called us an hour ago asking for one of our most wanted, Vincent Clark," your boss, Agent Lindstrom, says as Monday's morning meeting starts.

It's not something uncommon. Local police have their own OC task force, and you have worked together more than once. The weird thing is that from one moment to the next, they request information from a target, of which, in theory, only your team knows.

"And they want information because-" you enunciate the obvious question.

"They're working on a case involving a string of civilian murders in Manhattan, and for some reason, his name came up," Lindstrom fills.

"Murders? It doesn't sound like Clark's MO," John Miller - a colleague - muses.

"Certainly not. NYPD has to be wrong," you back Miller's observation.

"And why NYPD-OC are investigating civilian murders? Does it have to do with some kind of operation?" Adam Taylor - another teammate - asks.

"Not quite. The local task force is helping 1PP because things have been escalating pretty quickly," Lindstrom explains. "But we here must find out why Clark is a person of interest and verify if they're indeed wrong about him. We don't want them to blow up our intel for no reason. So, Taylor and (Y/L/N), you're assigned to go with NYPD and help to clear this up."

That's how you got a new assignment. And not as undercover; that's a shift.

Taylor is driving this time, and you only look out the window, focusing on nothing in particular.

"You okay?" He asks after some time, resting a hand on your knee. You turn to see him.

"Yeah, why?"

"You are too quiet. Maybe you are mad at me?" Taylor asks tentatively. You raise an eyebrow.

"Why would I?" He clears his throat at your question.

"Well. Because, you know, we haven't talked about the other night."

The other night. Adam is referring to when you came back from your last undercover mission of four months and ended up in his bed at the end of the day.

You tensed at his response. You knew it was a bad idea to sleep with him, but you always thought about it as stress relief, and you thought he understood the same.

"There is nothing to talk about, Adam. We both know what it was." You try to sound cool but soft as well so as not to hurt feelings - if they were there.

"Yeah. Yeah, I know. I just was making sure you were okay with it."

Why do men have the compulsion to mask a question that only cares about them, like uninterested concern about you?

"I am. Don't worry," you assure Adam with a confident smile.

To your ease, the conversation ends there.

You always have kept your distance in this job, with the prerogative of not getting involved with colleagues. What went on with Taylor is still bothering you because it was something that shouldn't have happened in the first place.

-----------

The NYPD quarters welcome you with Captain Novak's handshake. Soon, you learn he wasn't aware the locals had called your boss for intel.

"I'm sorry you had to come here. We are already having the FBI help on this," Novak explains. It's a way to say they don't need you there.

But you have a job to do, so you can't just leave.

"Due to the information we got, I think we can be useful too, Captain," you point, as Taylor backs you up saying something similar.

Novak understands he should use all hands available, so he agrees to have you stay and join the group working on the case.

"Yeah. I think any information would be useful in this case. Come on, I'm going to introduce you to the task group working on this." You and Taylor follow him down a hall to the end, where a large meeting room is.

After opening the door, Novak is ready to make the formal introductions.

"As I told you, an FBI unit is helping us on this. Here is the BAU team. Agent Prentiss, Rossi, Alvez, Jareau, Lewis, and Reid."

Your breath suddenly hitch in your throat at the sight of your old team there. And everyone is looking back at you with a perplexed look as well.

Novak continues talking. "These are Agent (Y/L/N) and Taylor from the OC division." After a second of contemplation, Novak let out a chuckle. "Ha, it's weird. I have to introduce two FBI teams working on the same case with the NYPD."

The guy has a bizarre sense of humor, but he has a sense of humor nonetheless; you have to give him that.

Not that you keep a count, but it has been three years, two months, and twenty days since the last time you saw them. Plus seven hours if you consider the last time you saw Spencer. Since the night you kicked him out of your apartment.

You can't help but make eye contact with him. You both look shocked. And how not to be? Neither of you woke up this morning thinking about seeing each other again.

"Agent (Y/L/N), it's nice to see you again. Good thing OC wants to help here. I can tell you about what we have got so far."

Emily speaks, breaking the silence and setting the rules of the current interaction. She is as surprised as everyone, but it would be time for that later.

It's a welcomed way out of the uncomfortable moment, and you take it.

"Sure. Do you think Agent Taylor could catch up with the intel you got from the current suspect?"

Emily nods. "Of course, Lewis, Reid, can you help agent Taylor on that? Captain Novak, maybe you can give some insight from the locals, too?"

Tara and Novak agree verbally, while Spencer only gives a curt nod.

Spencer makes brief eye contact with you before leaving the room.

Hell, what were the odds of something like this happening? You chose OC in another city precisely because you would hardly end up working on the same case.

Well, fuck the improbability.

When you're left alone with the rest, you don't know whether to ignore the elephant in the room or acknowledge the three years in which none of them have heard from you.

"It's good to see you, bella," Rossi cuts your mind spiral.

"Yeah, hope New York has treated you well," Luke seconds.

"I'm sure OC is happy to have you," JJ adds.

Each one of your former teammates offers you positive words you didn't expect to hear after leaving the way you did.

"Thank you, guys," you mumble gratefully.

Prentiss speaks up before things turn too emotional.

"Okay, okay. We'll have time for that later. Now, we need to crack this case. Tell us (Y/N) what can help us catch this unsub?"

You proceed to explain your concern about whether they are focusing on the wrong suspect. Emily listens to you carefully, and the rest share their impressions. There is no clear conclusion, but you decide to proceed with caution, given Vincent Clark's importance to your team.

"Okay. This is what we are going to do. Luke, you and JJ track Clark's associates first. Discretely, of course. Dave, can you check with Garcia about what these buildings in this list have in common?"

Once they are all gone with a task in hand, you stay alone with Emily.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know they would call you for this case," Prentiss muses. Your mouth goes agape. Why is she apologizing to you?

"Emily, it's okay. It's me who should be sorry for disappearing like that. I - I never contacted you, and you have the right to -" You can't finish your idea because Emily cuts you off.

"I know what are you going to say, and no. We are not mad (Y/N), we understand. You didn't want to be found, and we get that."

You surely appreciate her reassurance, but it doesn't make the guilt go away.

"Spencer does, too?"

Emily furrows her eyebrows. "In a way, I think he does. But he won't tell you that," she confides.

It's better than nothing.

"Is he okay, though?" You ask, believing if his life improved after your departure, you could feel a bit less shitty.

"I can't answer that. You will have to ask him."

Emily's assertiveness strikes again, you think. She's right. It's unfair to talk about Spencer with you when you were adamant about her not speaking with him about you.

You nod. "Fair enough."

For the rest of the day, things are pretty hectic. Police officers and FBI agents are coming and going; new information comes to check, and there are more witnesses to interview. There's so much movement that you haven't been able to stop a second and think about how you feel seeing Spencer after three years.

Emily has been cautious about not assigning you tasks where you might coincide, but you still can see him in the police station, and you've even exchanged furtive glances from time to time.

Taylor catches you doing it one of those times.

"What's wrong?" At the question, you turn to see him.

"Uh? No. Nothing." You're too distracted to notice Adam doesn't believe you.

"So, they are your former team in DC," he remarks, trying to get you talking. Since you arrived at 1PP, you have barely said a word not work-related to Taylor.

"Yeah." It's the best you can give him. You know what Adam is doing, but you won't engage. You have a lot on your plate already.

Your mind starts mulling the idea of talking to Spencer. But why would you do that? You were very clear the last time you spoke about your need to step aside. You were explicit to him about not having the strength to keep supporting him in his free fall. Sure, he promised to change and all that jazz, but you knew staying would only have brought you more pain and disappointment.

Despite all the reasoning, in the back of your brain, there is still the question of whether he really did what he said he would do. It's a morbid thought you have sometimes entertained.

Taylor's hand on your shoulder brings you out of your thoughts. You look at him in a daze. "Novak is calling us," he announces, frowning. Adam knows there's more going on in your head than you let on, and he has a suspicion about what - or rather who - it's about.

-----------

It's late at night, and still, there are no clues solid enough to catch the unsub. You all start to feel the exhaustion but keep going. You haven't seen Spencer, Tara, or Rossi in a few hours, so you think Emily sent them to the hotel for the night.

Taylor told you he needed a break as well. So you're alone in one of the offices, going through folder after folder in case you overlooked something.

You're so focused that you jump when you notice the silhouette of someone standing in the doorway.

It's Spencer.

"Jesus! You scared me," you exclaim with a hand over your chest.

"I'm sorry. I didn't want to do that," Spencer apologizes, closing the door behind him. His voice is calm and collected. You inspect him with curious eyes.

"What are you doing here?" You ask, a little harsher than you have liked. Spencer contemplates his response for a couple of seconds.

"Uh, I just wanted to say hi and to know if you were doing okay?"

His voice is unsure, and you look at him in disbelief. It's your confusion that prompts him to continue. "Well, if this had happened months after you left, I would possibly have come to yell and accuse you for leaving like that. Now? Just let's say I wanted to make sure you are doing okay," he clarifies, hands in his pockets.

"Well. I'm doing okay. I hope that satisfies your curiosity." Your response is curt and snarky, and you don't know really why. He hasn't said anything out of the ordinary. Spencer doesn't seem surprised by your tone, though.

"It does. Thank you."

And maybe it's enough for Spencer to turn and leave you alone, but you have the question at the tip of your tongue.

"So you're not mad at me?"

Spencer narrows his eyes. "Uh, I didn't say I'm not mad. I said I'm not here to throw it at you," he clarifies.

For some reason, the answer to your own question ignites an old bitterness you thought was gone.

"Oh, thank you very much," you mock. "A bit bold of you, don't you think?"

Spencer scoffs. "Bold? Bold being mad after you left from one day to the next?"

And there you go. So, Spencer's main problem is that you left in a hurry rather than the reason why you did it.

"What did you expect? Did you think I was going to stay after what happened?" You ask with incredulity, standing from your spot and crossing your arms over your chest.

"Maybe not. But head-ups would have been nice," Spencer matches your sarcasm.

"Yeah, and a goodbye party, too," you deadpan, and Spencer breathes a humorless laugh. Your irony is pushing his buttons the way you know it does, even after all these years. But why are you doing it? You don't really know.

"(Y/N), you literally disappeared! I was - we all were worried. I know you didn't want to talk to me or see me, for that matter. But why leave the BAU like that?"

Spencer looks distraught just at the mention of that fact. You don't interrupt his rant.

"For months, I really thought something bad had happened to you until Emily told me you were actually okay and that I should stop bothering you."

"It took you long enough," you mutter under your breath.

For a long time, you thought your reaction and later decision to leave like that was too much. Maybe it wasn't necessary to drop everything to start over, but you knew if you wanted to leave behind thirteen years of a lot of things, thirteen years of Spencer Reid, you needed to do something big—a major change.

"Yeah. It took me long enough. But don't expect me to be cool about it. It hurt (Y/N). It hurt like hell," Spencer admits.

"Why? Weren't you living the life you wanted?" you ask sardonically, and you see how Spencer's jaw clenches.

"You know I didn't. And I told you back then I realized about that, too," Spencer says, referring to the last time you saw each other—the night you kissed, and he told you he loved you, but you didn't believe him.

"But I get it. I understood why you didn't trust I was telling the truth, and it was fair. But to disappear like that? It was a lot (Y/N)."

In some way, you truly think Spencer's feelings about what happened are reasonable, and even you can understand the grudge he holds against you. But you are not in place to admit that to him. Not when the memory of what happened starts to burn in your brain and heart again.

"Are you done?" Pettiness is the only thing at hand you can use for now.

Spencer sighs. "I don't want you to think I'm admonishing you or whatever you think I'm doing. I really get I did wrong back then, and I hurt you. I'm not dismissing that fact."

"Good! Because here I was thinking you already forgot," you state, raising your voice.

"Jesus, (Y/N). Can you stop that?" Spencer's voice raises, too, to match yours.

You are about to make another remark when the door opens.

"(Y/L/N), we are going to -," Taylor starts to say but is cut off when he sees you with Spencer arguing. You both get startled and turn to see him. "Am I interrupting?" Taylor questions with eyebrows furrow.

"No-"

"Yes-"

You and Spencer reply in unison and make Taylor hesitate. "(Y/N)?" he asks you directly this time, tentatively approaching. He looks worried, and you don't want to make a fuss right now.

"It's okay, Adam. We are discussing something about the case. I'll finish here and join you, okay?" you say, with a soothing hand on his elbow.

"Yeah, okay. Yeah. I'll be with Novak," an unconvinced Taylor says as he retracts from the office, leaving you and Spencer alone again.

When you turn to see Spencer, he has his eyes trained on you, analyzing you. It's a piercing gaze you haven't seen in him in a long time—years, to be exact.

"What?" You ask, trying to break the trance. It seems to work because Spencer clears his throat.

"Nothing. Uh. I should go. Emily must be looking for me," he mumbles before passing you. Almost leaving the office, he turns for a moment.

"I really wanted to know you were okay. I'm sorry for what I said after that."

When the door closes behind him, you are left standing, questioning whether the last ten minutes have actually happened.

-----------

'I'm sorry for what I said after that.'

Why is he sorry? Is it because he didn't mean it? Is it because he didn't want you to know?

It's not that you feel guilty, or maybe you do to some extent. Whatever it is, the thought of Spencer in the past three years has haunted you in many ways and forms.

Yeah, you came to New York to put distance between yourself and him, but what you never saw coming is that sole fact started to weigh on you in many aspects of your life. At first, you thought that due to the bond you both had forged for years, things would not look very good. Sure, it was going to take a lot of work, but you thought time would do its magic.

You tried—you have been trying hard. And even though you still believe it was the right thing to do, why have you yet to make peace with yourself?

Why has happiness been elusive to you? You haven't been able to make real friends; you haven't been able to have a healthy relationship. You've immersed yourself in the job, hoping sooner rather than later, the moment when the pieces finally fit together will come.

Will it ever happen?

When you think about that, your mind wanders to Spencer and whether what you're feeling now is anything like how he felt at the time. Or maybe how he still feels. You don't know. The times you have thought about it always end with the conclusion it's not the same. He had you back then. You don't have anybody.

Seeing him now only has fueled your self-struggle, and although you think it's not fair to take it on him this time, your actions haven't reflected that thought.

After considering your encounter in the precinct office, you concluded the best thing to do is to keep the peace between you both. To be civil and avoid the bickering. You are an adult; you can do that.

What you didn't expect is it hasn't been necessary to put your resolution into practice since you haven't run into Spencer again. The times you've seen him, he's barely made eye contact and immediately gone in the opposite direction from you.

In the meantime, the hours have passed, and you are almost ending your second day on the case, at least with more progress than the day before.

There is a good clue about who the unsub is—Albert Thomas, who has a direct link to Vincent Clark, your target from OC. Indeed, the unsub would be part of Clark's team.

Given that, you and Taylor inform your boss, and he allows you to participate in the takedown only if you can get Clark as well. It would be the conclusion of more than a year of chasing him.

It is a complicated operation, so everyone—officers from the NYPD, the BAU, and the OC division—prepares to catch Thomas and those involved with him.

Upon arriving at the abandoned building where you expect Thomas to be, Emily sends you in pairs to different points. You go with Taylor to cover the back door. Upon entering, you realize it is suspiciously quiet. The lighting is bad, but you don't want to use your flashlight so as not to alert them about your presence. You go first, and Taylor covers you. You arrive at a room where some light sneaks in. You go a little forward and peek, realizing Clark is filling some briefcases with money. He has his back on you, so he doesn't notice your presence.

"FBI! Hands up!" you shout, approaching with your gun pointed at Clark. He turns around but doesn't seem scared. Why? He is not alone.

Unfortunately, that thought comes too late. In a matter of seconds, Thomas pounces on you, throwing you to the floor. Your weapon falls meters from you. You know Taylor is behind you, but you see Clark grab his briefcases and run towards another escape door.

“(Y/N)!” Taylor shouts, and you barely hear him in your fight with Thomas. But you know if he stops to help you, you'll lose Clark.

"Go for Clark!" You shout him back, rolling on the ground after Thomas jabs your face with his fist.

You can't see Taylor, but you know he is hesitant. "Go!" you insist until you hear him running outside. Now, you can focus on Thomas. You manage to asset a blow to his jaw and push him away from you, but as you are kneeling and about to stand, he is on the floor pointing you a gun.

Where did he get that?

He is going to shoot you. You can see it in his eyes. You know the profile, too. He hasn't nothing to lose. You need to think fast. Talking to him won't make a difference. You decide your best chance is launching at him and pray the bullet doesn't hit you badly.

But before you can do so, you hear a gunshot. You close your eyes because you think it's coming from Thomas's gun. When you notice you don't feel any impact and you hear Thomas's screams of pain, you dare to open your eyes.

Spencer is standing with his revolver pointed at him. He was the one who shot, preventing Thomas from shooting you.

You let out a sigh of relief before collapsing to the floor. Although you didn't get shot, you are very beaten up, and the adrenaline rush leaves you without the energy to keep yourself on your feet.

Spencer is fast to catch you before you hit your head. There is commotion around, but you can barely hear anything. Even Thomas's screams sound far away.

"Hey, hey. I've got you," Spencer mumbles, adjusting you in a lying position, holding the back of your head in his hands.

"Thank you," you breathe out.

You won't notice much of what happens next. Paramedics come to check you out, but you only focus on the squeeze of Spencer's hand in yours. It's the only thing that grounds you as your eyes begin to feel progressively heavy. There comes a point where everything goes black, and you lose consciousness.

When you wake up, you are in a hospital bed. You see Adam with his back to you, talking on the phone, possibly to your boss. When he hangs up the call, you get his attention.

"What happened?" Your voice is raspy, so you assume it's been a couple of hours since you got there. Taylor turns and gives you a little smile.

"It's good to see you awake."

Adam tells you he caught Clark, and they can link him not only to Thomas's murders but to all the evidence against him you have been collecting over the last year. Adam also tells you what the doctor said about your condition. Despite the pretty bad blows you got, there is nothing serious, and you will be able to be discharged in a few hours.

"Where is Spencer?" you blurt out, not fully registering what you asked. A slip you quickly try to disguise. "I mean, the BAU. They have Thomas in custody?"

"Yeah. They brought Thomas to check the GWS, and after his discharge, he got into custody. And yeah, Agent Prentiss and Agent Reid came to check on you a few times," Taylor adds to his recounting with a knowing look you prefer to ignore.

Why does learning they came to check on you make your chest feel warm? You blame the medication the doctors surely gave you.

As Taylor said, a few hours later, you are discharged from the hospital with instructions to go home and not back to work in a week.

Your boss gives you the instructions on the phone. He sounds very happy to have Clark in custody and even mentions a promotion for you for such a successful operation.

You should be happy, right? But in all honesty, it doesn't feel like it.

You decide to go home to catch some needed sleep. Maybe sleeping helps to stop overthinking things. But before you can doze off, a ding from your phone grabs your attention.

Emily P: 'I hear you were discharged. We are leaving tomorrow morning. Would you like to celebrate with us and have a drink tonight? For old-time's sake?'

A nostalgic smile forms on your lips. A drink with your old team? Why not? Even if Spencer is going to be there, you already think it's time to make peace with what happened for your own good and mental health.

-----------

The sound of music and laughter makes the bar feel lively and festive. Upon entering, that's the first thing you notice. The second thing you notice is you haven't been to this place for a while, being one of your regulars when you just moved to New York. At the back of the bar, you can see Emily, Luke, JJ, Rossi, Tara, and Spencer talking and laughing, each with their drink of choice. It's good to see them like this, relaxed, enjoying the moment. It brings back very good memories.

"(Y/N)!" Emily calls you, and everyone turns to see you. You wave and stroll where they are.

When you sit down, the first thing they do is ask you how you feel after the beating Thomas gave you. You don't know if it's on purpose or not, but no one is referring to the fact he almost put a bullet in you.

The conversation flows animatedly. While you tell the most notable anecdotes from your missions in OC, they review some of their most important cases from the last three years of the BAU. The ones who talk the most are Emily, Luke, and Rossi. While JJ and Tara rather break jokes and are more affected by alcohol than the rest. Spencer is the quietest of all, but he also participates in the conversation and even asks you questions about the things you say.

If you thought it might be an awkward instance, your former team proves the opposite, even considering the circumstances and reasons why you left the BAU. And although no one refers to it, everyone tacitly knows that it is there.

They don't resent you. They understood you needed to leave, and although you didn't tell them the reasons, they knew. Even Spencer seems comfortable when you have thought he wouldn't.

The conversation comes to a stop when Emily raises her glass, clearing her throat.

"Well. Uh. It's a weird time for this, but I do think things happen for a reason," Emily prephase, looking at everybody. "So, okay. Here we are tonight with an old friend who left the nest a few years ago," Emily looks at you. "To say goodbye to another of our own who is also embarking on new paths," now her eyes settle on Spencer. "I wish you the best in your new life. We'll miss you a lot. To Reid and his last case at the BAU," Emily toasts.

As everyone raises their glasses and cheers, you can't help but look at Spencer with surprised eyes.

Is he really leaving the BAU? After all these years? Did his last case end with him saving you from a bullet?

He gives you a short glance before sipping his beer.

"Come on, we want a speech," Luke demands, and everyone backs him. You're still in shock to say anything.

Spencer's cheeks redden a bit as he clears his throat before speaking.

"When Gideon recruited me for this job, I never imagined all the things I would experience in 17 years working here—the good and bad. I will always fondly remember everyone I met here and had the honor of working with." Spencer's eyes now focus on you.

"On my first day, I was so nervous I thought I was going to mess it up. But in the conference room, I met someone who was also on her first day. Knowing I wasn't the only one helped me not to run away."

Everyone is listening with raptor attention, and you know they are looking at you from the corner of their eyes.

"Do you remember the times we said everyone would leave before us?" He asks you, and now it's your turn to feel your cheeks burn.

"Well, it didn't happen that way. But I guess Emily is right, and things happen for a reason," he muses. "I wish some things could have been different, but we can't change the past," he says before averting your gaze. "I only hope the bond we forged all these years remains, even if we don't see each other that much or at all. I thank you for everything you have done for me, especially at my lowest points. I apologize for the little I gave in return," his gaze returns to you. "Thank you, guys. I'll miss you all."

Everyone clinks glasses, and Spencer's eyes keep on you. Why does the air feel suffocating from one moment to the next? You don't know what to do; the intensity of his gaze is overwhelming, and you think if you don't do something, you will faint right there.

You discretely apologize and get up from your spot. You need air.

Once outside, the cold of the night hits your face, but it is welcomed.

Your heart is still beating fast. Why are you so affected? Is it because Spencer is leaving the BAU? Are the memories he brought back during the toast?

"Are you okay?" A shy voice says behind you. It's Spencer. He followed you outside. You turn to see him with pained eyes, and Spencer worries even more. "What is it? Do any of the bruises hurt?"

Spencer believes your discomfort is physical. How ironic. In the last hours, you had even forgotten the beating you got.

You shake your head. "No, I'm okay. It's not that," you admit, and Spencer doesn't say anything, waiting for you to continue. "Is it true? Are you leaving?" He nods. "Why?"

It's weird how that fact has shaken you—or maybe not that weird. You never pictured Spencer in a place other than the BAU. You even talked about it several times. Like you, Spencer has never liked to make big changes, and you understand him more than anyone because you still feel the same about that.

"It doesn't make sense for me to stay anymore. It has been like that for a while," he shrugs.

"But you love the BAU. You always told me it was your life," you remind him. Spencer lets escape a little chuckle.

"You told me the same thing years ago, and you left nonetheless."

"It wasn't the same," you dismiss, shaking your head.

"I know. But since then, I've been questioning my reasons to stay."

"Why?"

Spencer takes some seconds to contemplate his response.

"Well. Maybe because it should have happened sooner? Honestly, I think the only reason I lasted this long after I was released from prison is because you were there supporting me. And well, after that? It took me months of therapy to realize it and almost two years to make the decision," he confesses. You are quite shocked hearing him talk about prison and therapy. Those things were banned for to mention three years ago.

"Months of therapy?"

Spencer shrugs again. "What can I say? I took your advice. You were right. I needed help to know what I really wanted."

His words bring you back to that night. The last time you saw each other. You wondered for a long time if Spencer got to make sense of what you said to him. Did he understand how hard it was for you to decide to step aside?

"You know? At first, I started it because I had the secret hope you would come back. And I promised you to change. With time and the certainty I had lost you, I began to accept I had to do it for myself."

Spencer's eyes drift to the distance like he can see those moments of realization he had back then.

"Did you?" Your voice is soft, trying not to cut him off from his reminiscence. His gaze comes back to you.

"Yes. And I thank you for it. I know I said a lot of other things at the precinct, but above all, I understood. I still think it's unfair, though."

"Unfair? Why?"

"I pushed you to do something I'm sure you didn't want to. It was me who should have left, not you."

"Spencer-" you start to say, but he cuts you off.

"I know, it is done. But what I said at the toast? I really meant it. I wish some things would have been different. Jeez, there are a lot of things I should have done differently. I wish I hadn't gone to Mexico. I wish I had told you I loved you sooner. I wish I hadn't chickened out when we first kissed."

Spencer's voice trembles a little. He is pouring out a lot of emotions, and you are there trying to digest all of them.

"But you said it yourself. It's done." Your tone isn't accusatory rather than nostalgic. He nods, clearing his throat.

"I know. And I can't go back in time to change it," Spencer acknowledges.

"Why are you leaving, then?" You are not saying it as if it's the wrong thing to do this time; it's more that you need confirmation that he is not running from reality as he did back then.

"Because I need to find my fresh start, as you did it. Well, and because after 17 years, to stay catching serial killers is not healthy, according to my therapist," he pulls a face after his last statement, making you chuckle.

"Am I listening correctly? Will Spencer Reid do what a shrink recommended to him?" you quip.

"What can I say? I'm a new man," Spencer shrugs, and you smile for real.

It's clear to you that he says it jokingly, but there is some truth behind it. It is not that people can go completely against their essence, but time has proven to you that things can change, and it's not necessarily totally good or totally bad. It's just different in shades of gray. And as something different, there is nothing wrong in looking for another change from time to time, even if that throws you out of your comfort zone.

As you both stand there, you realize that things in life are not linear. They are constantly coming and going. It's laugh and cry, condemn and forgive, mess up and amend.

"It's getting cold here," you start, and Spencer nods. "But I know a coffee shop nearby that is open this hour. Would you-? I mean, so we can keep talking. You don't have to, of course. I know you guys have a flight early in the morning." It's tentative; you can't really read him. Are you overstepping? Your overthinking dissolves when you see a grin forming on Spencer's lips.

"I, uh. I'd love to. I mean, to keep talking. Sure."

"Great. Okay. This way," you point, starting to stroll down the sidewalk. You adjust your coat to shield your neck from the cold as Spencer shoves his hands in his own coat pockets, walking beside you.

In a comfortable silence, you both bask in each other company. Is it like it used to be? Not quite. But it's a familiarity you can relish—a newfound understanding of what changes mean between you both.

Enough to lead you to talk for hours, laughing at your own silliness and crying at the painful admissions, causing Spencer to lose his flight the next morning.

Enough to make you leave New York months later and start teaching at the FBI Academy while Spencer gets his tenure at Georgetown.

And who knows? Maybe it's the same understanding that, six months later, will make you pursue a new step after a kiss under the street lights on a cold night in DC.

——————

Spencer Reid's Taglist: @dreatine @nomajdetective @jayyeahthatsme @rosalinasam2 @averyhotchner @lovelyxtom @princessmiaelicia @pastelbabygirl19 @reidsbookclub @alexxavicry @gspenc @spencerreidisbae123 @calmspencer @pauline5525mgg @anamiad00msday @milivanili99 @laylasbunbunny @leahblackk @miaxx03 @missabsey @taintedstranger @khxna @hiireadstuff @pleasantwitchgarden @dysphoricsanity @levi-of-starz @themoonchildwhofell @silver138 @lovelybaka @shinytinywhispers 

For those who asked for a part 2 or/and part 3: @gghostwriter @sebastiansstanswhore @evvy96 @pillsbury-doughgirl @singinghamtaro-blog @atlantica-angels @lukesmainpiece @ladyofhellhounds @gubzgirl @shqwqrma @hereforfun-31 @reader1402 @theoraekenslover @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @s1lngwns

[mazeinthemiroh]

something more.

Genre: Drabble; Fluff, Slight angst, Friends to lovers/Situationship?

Warnings: cursing, reader has major commitment issues

Synopsis: You are afraid of overstepping the lines from friends to lovers. But San? San isn't afraid of something more...

"Don't you wish for something else?"

You looked up from your phone. You and San both were sitting on either end of the sofa, far apart, and yet your feet were resting atop each other's quite naturally. "Hmm?"

"Don't you wish," San hesitated, his eyes glued to his own device as he racked his brains to formulate a sentence. "Don't you wish for something more?"

A small smile played on his lips. You knew what he meant; knew what he was asking. He was cheeky like this; always making suggestions about 'what ifs' and 'maybes' that you eventually shut down. As you would do again, this night.

"No," you said, after thinking for a bit. "This is nice... is it not?"

"Yeah," San replied immediately, his voice ever so soft, "Yes this is nice."

Friendship was a tricky thing. Or, it was for you two, at least. It would be easy if you were both on the same page. But you never were. It's not like there were any major miscommunications between the two of you. It was just... you both had a mutual yearning to be together, forever.

San is more of a romantic than you ever were. But you had made your boundaries: friends only. That's it.

But you felt you were thoroughly deceiving yourself. When you look at San, the one you call your best friend, your cheeks start to burn. Your heart starts to quicken. There's a light in your eyes when you hear his name; a smile on your lips when you hear his voice. Perhaps these weren't just feelings of friendship after all?

And it didn't help that San kept questioning the bond you shared with each other. He felt a massive attraction and he hoped, he prayed, that he wasn't the only one to feel it. And he could feel, just by the way you looked at him, your feelings matched his, whether you spoke them or not. He wasn't going to give up.

Stubborn bastard...

You gazed over at him from across the sofa. "Just lay off it, okay?"

San tutted and shook his head, "You know I can't do that."

"Why?" You felt a spark of defiance ripple inside you as you dropped your phone on the pillow that rested on top of your lap.

For a moment San looked pained. And then he smiled softly and shrugged, "I just can't."

"That's not good enough," you said harshly, but he just smiled. You weren't going to push him away, even if you tried.

"I know," he started, breathing out a gentle sigh before shuffling closer to you. He reached out to hold your hand in his, but you flinched as he did so.

He rubbed his thumb on your palm to calm you.

"I know you think that we might ruin something special," San's fingers started to fiddle with yours, "but I don't think you should let that get in the way when it's us. You and me. There's nothing you can say or do that will make me stop loving you."

You didn't look San in the eye because you felt tears start to form, touched by his words.

"Crossing the line between friends to... more..." your hands were stiff in his, even as he tried to relax you, "it's risky. Friendship is safe. Friendship is light. Relationships... they're serious and complicated."

"Yes," San nodded, "they're messy and unpredictable and fiery sometimes. But have we not been through stuff like that as friends already?"

You didn't respond to him, but your hand relaxed in his. You let his fingers trail over your skin, soothing you in the tenderest of ways.

With his other hand, he cupped the side of your face, lifting your chin up to meet his gaze. There was so, so, so much love shining in his eyes. Love that he couldn't possibly think to put into words because, well, the feelings were just too pure.

You looked at each other like this, until he leaned forward to place a kiss on your forehead. What felt like a big hole in your heart had suddenly healed. He stayed there, like that, lips connected to your forehead, before he pulled you into an embrace, resting his chin on top of your head as your face nestled into the crook of his neck.

And you breathed. And you relaxed, fully in his grasp.

And you realised that he was the first man you had ever felt safe with.

ateez taglist: @a-wandering-stay, @xlovehwa, @yeosangsbiceps, @anyamaris, @acciocriativity, @hawaiian-angel, @toolovelyforyou (let me know if you want to be added/removed)

[judasgot-it]

Hold Me Tight (and Don't Forget Me)

Scenario: Dazai takes you out on a date the day he's arrested. Slight Warning for Jouno being an ass.

Hold Me Tight - BTS

Pt. 2

1.3 k word count

Blue skies and perfect weather - the worst, because that meant that today would be the perfect day before Dazai would ruin it once again.

It was a strange feeling to have. It was too peaceful, like a flock of seagulls waiting to be chased.

There was nothing wrong. And that was what was wrong with it.

"Dazai. Did you do something?"

You knew it was impossible to ask Dazai these questions and get an honest answer - your ability didn't work on him, so it was only a force of habit to want to interrogate him.

In response, he only smiled, like a cat that was too high for the barking dog. It made your skin bristle every time, but today he was handsy - he smoothed down your sleeves, easing your nerves with a gentle touch.

"I didn't do anything that you need to worry about. We're supposed to be focused on us, remember?"

His grin was honest, almost charming. He sipped his coffee rather loudly to make his point, drinking as if to remind you with force that you were in a diner, not at the Armed Detective Agency.

"Well, yes. But I know you, and you're only hiding the inevitable. You can tell me Dazai, we are dating."

It was weak to pull a card like that with him, but it was always worth a shot anyway. As if dating would make a difference in how Dazai acted.

The man was a mystery, sitting in front of you in his casual attire - nicer because for once, he had washed them for this occasion. He looked put together as well, hair nicely done and his face looking as a man in his younger 20s should.

He typically looked a little disheveled, hidden behind his charisma but noticeable with anyone who cared for appearances. A good smile managed to hide a lot of things, and for once you didn't need to think about it.

In your mind, you knew that something was wrong from this. The last time he had taken you out like this, he had known he would almost die from an ability user, and it was his apology beforehand.

The strange sense of doom was disconcerting; but so was Dazai's cold skin. He was always bouncing so quickly between temperatures as if he were a broken heater - but being cold? On such a warm day?

"I know we are. Just enjoy yourself babe, can't you do that for me?"

His smile was warm, enough to reach his chestnut eyes - treated with a light varnish from the sunlight penetrating the windows. Whatever warmth his body did have, he must have given it to you through that smile, because now you felt just a little hot.

"I don't like you sometimes."

You averted from his gaze, still holding onto his hand despite this. Dazai didn't say anything, his fingers gently tracing patterns along the hair on your wrists.

"Your face says otherwise. Looks like you're loving my company."

He leaned in closer, careful of your plates, pulling your face to match his. It was easier to kiss him than to say you had lost.

But still, something was wrong.

Dazai kissed you as if he would walk out like this was his last dinner. It wasn't hungry and yet it wasn't polite - it was desperate and it felt like an apology for a crime he hadn't even committed yet.

Or maybe one he already had.

-

It was only the middle of the day when Dazai had decided that a good way to spend your time would be horse betting.

Gambling seemed like an odd place to have a date, but it hadn't been the worst one of his ideas. At least it was outside, and it made for good conversation - even as he insisted on staying as close to the crowd as possible.

Dazai had thrown around some big money - enough to make you worried he was going to actually kill himself tonight.

He was just...strange. As the races had gone on, he had become more and more nervous, fumbling with his pockets and becoming a sort of weird handsy with you - as if you wouldn't notice the strange clamminess his skin had become.

Cold and sweaty, a strange feeling on Dazai.

You were left stuck in deep thought as you stared at the pale white horse Dazai had bet on, a bold '9' staring right back at you.

"Excuse me"

A soft and polite voice had broken you out of your thoughts, forcing you to look away from the race - you had won, and a little bit of relief was felt knowing that Dazai was at least lucky enough to have not blown his last three paychecks on horse racing.

"Would either of you happen to know who won this race?"

His eyes were closed, while his smile seemed...off. Your ability was near constant in your mind, and you could feel how wrong this man was. He didn't really care which horse won that race.

"Number 9 won." In your silence, Dazai responded for you, smiling as if this were an idle conversation. He hadn't seemed to notice the scheming mask the man wore, like a fox ready to jump for the canary.

"So you won then, right? You seem quite pleased with yourself after all."

"Wow! How'd you know all of that?"

You tried to lean closer to Dazai, almost feeling how wrong the man was. It was almost like he knew something you didn't, and it was disturbing to you. His smile practically was still friendly, nothing wrong. But it felt almost as cutting as a knife.

"After I had lost my sight, I had gained new senses - I can hear your heart rates, smell your fear, and even feel your future in my back pocket."

Swiftly, the man had handcuffed himself to Dazai, revealing a pair of sharp canines behind his wicked smile.

"And I know that you, Osamu Dazai, are going to be arrested for 138 counts of conspiracy to murder, 312 counts of extortion, and 625 counts of assorted fraud. I could keep going, but I feel like your fiancé has heard more than enough."

Dazai turned to you, his face paler than the cumulonimbus clouds that towered the sky behind you. By his expression alone, you could tell he had no idea that this would happen.

"Wait, hold on-"

You held onto Dazai's arm desperately, reaching for the handcuffs that were beginning to tear him apart from you. This felt like a dream turning into a nightmare, and that you were running too slow.

"I'm a Hunting Dog. I know more than enough about you as well, and your ability should have told you that I'm not a liar like Mr. Dazai here."

Maybe that was why he felt so off. It was more than just the way he said horrible things - over 100 counts of murder, with complete and utter truth.

"Y/n."

Dazai looked back at you with a solem look. There were so many emotions in your head, that you could only focus on the words that had come out of his mouth.

"I love you. Don't forget that, okay?"

Abruptly, you felt him pry your fingers off of his jacket, and look back to the Hunting Dog who had arrested him.

"There's no chance of escaping you, is there?"

"Even if you're hiding in the crowd, I would just kill them. I can take liberties with human life. I can kill your darling too, if you don't start walking."

Numbly, you watched as Dazai left. As if it were a dream, you were stuck in place, unable to chase after him and tell him to stop and even explain how the hell he had gotten into this situation.

You hadn't even gotten the other man's name, not so you could curse him out for taking your love away. There wasn't even the chance to scream.

It was a horribly numb feeling, stuck there in that moment, watching as Dazai walked further and further away from you.

Sorry, had this idea for a while. I was gonna use this song for Jouno, then Nikolai, then GOJO but ended up being a depressing Dazai fic once again....sigh.

[atimeofyourlife]

A love written in the stars

written for @steddieholidaydrabbles prompt: Valentine's Day | rated: t | wc: 850 Steve always had bad experiences with Valentine's Day. Eddie makes him change his mind.

Steve had always hated Valentine's Day. Ever since he was a little kid. Because his early- only- experiences with it was an attempt to buy another's love. His father would always go overboard, showering his mother with attention and love and expensive gifts. Buying her love and loyalty for another year before going back to his mistresses by the end of the week. So by the time he was old enough to understand Valentine's Day, he already had a strong distaste for it.

Once he was old enough to start 'dating' it all fell on him. From when he was twelve, if he was even vaguely involved with a girl he was expected to get her a card and flowers or chocolates. Even when there was nothing more between them than holding hands at lunch and maybe a kiss on the cheek. He'd be lucky to get a scribbled note in return.

Once he was in high school and actually interested in dating and girls, Valentine's Day started to feel very transactional. He would put in cards and flowers and dates with expensive gifts, and he would get affection and maybe sex in return. But he knew deep down if he didn't go all out with it, they wouldn't be interested. Most of the girls around him wanted an experience they could brag about, not anything with commitment.

With Nancy it felt different. He knew she wouldn't want anything too big and out there. So he had a card and a single rose for her at school, with a candle lit dinner that he'd made that evening, with a full bunch of roses. A sweet date without any expectations for the evening. She'd got him a card and some chocolates in return. The date seemed to go well, but as the evening went on, Nancy started to pull away, the grief of losing Barb eating at her from the inside, making her feel guilty for doing something that Barb would never get to do. So the evening ended early with him comforting her and then dropping her home early. He knew it wasn't her fault, that she was suffering and struggling with her trauma, and he didn't blame her for the evening not going the way he'd planned it. But, when he got home to see the half eaten dinner that he'd worked so hard on, he couldn't help feeling that there was something inherently bad about Valentine's Day. It felt like it was almost cursed for him.

The years after Nancy didn't get any better. He tried to stay away from the spending a lot of money style of Valentine's plans, and focused more on the romantic, meaningful style dates. But once his dates realized he wasn't going to be showering them with expensive gifts, they lost interest. Often making excuses to leave before the date had run it's natural course. It made him want to just give up on Valentine's Day.

But then Eddie happened. Neither of them mentioned any plans for Valentine's Day. Steve was thinking of treating it just like any other day. Get up, go to work, come home, eat dinner together, have sex, then fall asleep. And to start with, Eddie seemed to have the same idea. The day started normal, a lazy morning make out session before they both had to hurry to be ready to leave on time for work.

When Steve got home, the table was scattered with folded paper stars. He didn't know what to make of it. He was so caught up in it, he didn't notice Eddie coming up behind him until his eyes were covered.

"You weren't supposed to be home just yet. No peeking." Eddie said, steering Steve into the bedroom and pushing him down onto the bed. "Now stay here until I call you."

Steve didn't get a chance to reply before Eddie had left the room again.

He wasn't alone for long before Eddie came back to him. "It's ready now."

Steve followed Eddie back to the kitchen. Plates already on the table with what looked like take out from their favorite restaurant. The room lit only by the star shaped lights that had been hung all over the kitchen.

"Ed's, I-" Steve didn't know what to say. He just wasn't used to a partner making an effort for Valentine's Day.

"Happy Valentine's Day, baby. I wanted us to eat under the stars, but it's too cold to eat outside, so this is the next best thing." "I. I love it." Steve choked out, unsure what else to say.

"And each one of these stars," Eddie picked one of the paper stars up, holding it between his thumb and finger, "is to remind you how much I love you. I know you don't have great experiences with Valentine's Day. But every time you feel like you deserved the way all those girls treated you. Open one of the stars. Each one has a message inside, reminding you that you are so loved."

Steve couldn't help the tears that were welling up. "I love you."

the paper stars are these origami wishing stars:

[suzyandthefox]

An Accident

Inspired by this prompt! Thanks @opikarts

Even though the pred in question isn't a scientist and is just a tired college student

A sequel (or prequel?) to the last fic, But also works as a standalone

Accidental g/t soft safe vore, male pred and Non-binary prey

Warnings: 1 f bomb and very mild mentions of drugs.

Taglist: @pineappleparfaitie

"Say,Ryan, you never told me how did you find out that you can, Y'know, control your stomach?”

Oliver, still shrunken, asked his best friend.

The latter sighed heavily, and looked away for a moment.

“It wasn't fun at all,I can tell you that,” He adjusted himself to sit more comfortably on his bed, as he looked to his shrunken buddy, who was sitting on the counter beside him.

He remembered the events of yesterday,and how it was a hard experience that required a lot of courage from both Oliver and himself.

“It wasn't as easy as it was with you, either.”

“Wait… you did that before?” The idea of Ryan being someone who is used to swallowing living beings creeped out Oliver.

“Yes… and no.” Ryan seemed to be disturbed by just remembering how it happened. “Wait, how did you think I found out?”

“I don't know, but it definitely wasn't that,” Oliver shrugged. 

“Can you at least me tell what happened? Now I really want to know!” Oliver's curiosity was piqued, despite the logical part of him finding it gross and awful.

Ryan gave up and just shook his head.

“Very well,”

==========

It was a while ago, when Ryan was studying for one of his finals.

That particular night, he had a final that he was worried about. It was a subject that even a nerd like himself found complicated, and now that he recalls these events, he can't even seem to remember what it was exactly.

He had pulled an all-nighter that night, studying all the way to past midnight. 

His back hurt like hell, so he got up and stretched, his tired eyes fighting sleep. 

A large cup of Ice coffee would be great, he thought.

He walked to the kitchen, realising that he still didn't do the dishes and that they were there since dinner. “I will do these in the morning,” he told himself.

At that moment he was content with washing a single cup, and wandered around the kitchen to get the few ingredients he needed for the caffeine boost.

He must have taken way too long,or was way too deep in his thoughts to notice the change, because when he mixed the ingredients together,he didn't realise that there was an ingredient that was already there.

An ingredient that wasn't supposed to be there at all.

Ryan poured the coffee,the milk, the sugar,and the ice, and gave the mixture a good swirl with the only clean spoon in his apartment.

He downed the entire drink in one go, and that resulted in him choking on something.

In a stressful, painful moment, he felt a weight in his throat, something big and distinct, and he could swear to god that at the moment, it felt alive.

Lodged right above his esophagus, it took him a good few seconds of coughing and swallowing, before he was able to gulp down whatever interrupted his airway.

It felt very cold, so he hoped that it was just an ice cube. At worst cases, it might be a bug, he got chills in his spine just by thinking about that possibility.

He ran his hand through his black hair and sighed, realising that there's the taste of something that wasn't coffee on his mouth… Fabric?

He shook his head, the experience made him awake, that's for sure.

But as he sat down to study, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was very wrong.

It reminded him of when he felt that someone was in danger, or it was as if he had committed a mistake

In both cases, he was still uneasy and unsure of what to do.

So he closed that textbook, and tried focusing his senses on where he felt that uneasiness.

As he expected, it came from his stomach, of course that iced coffee had something off about it. He put a hand on his stomach as it ached, it was churning and moving, making him feel sick. 

It felt as if there's a warm weight inside him, a weight that shouldn't be there at all.

That's where it hit him…

It had a pulse, it was a living being.

Ryan desperately denied the situation, but his enhanced senses only proved the opposite. He pressed two fingers on where the being should be, and tried to trace its form. 

The thought of it being a bug or a mouse made him want to vomit, but the info he is receiving from his system implied something far worse.

That being wasn't squirming and flailing, but it was very much alive and awake.

His fear came true when he realized, as he pressed where the uninvited guest should be, that it was humanoid shaped.

And it was trembling, the poor thing was scared to death.

He thought the worst case was swallowing some sort of vermin but no, it was a sapient being, Borrowers were very much humans, in both how they looked and how they acted.

So for him to send one of them through this? When he is supposed to be a hero that saved people? Guilt clawed at him, ripping him to shreds.

He found himself rubbing his stomach, especially where the poor thing was, his heart heavy with fear for his innocent prisoner and heavy with guilt that ate at him.

He, of course, should've just tried to cough them up, but he felt a desperate need to comfort the poor little one, he wanted to hug them, it did not help at all that he was able to hear their faint, soft sobs as his senses were entirely focused on them.

If he could just… Keep them safe, and tell them they were alright, and put them somewhere comfortable.

As if his system reacted to his thoughts, he found himself thinking of the idea of controlling his digestive system, experimenting with something he wasn't sure about.

Perhaps it was his anxiety that made him think like that, instead of outright letting the borrower out, or perhaps he found it as an opportunity to test out something new.

So he attempted control over his digestive system, perhaps he could, somehow, stop the acids? At the very least, it would make letting them out a bit easier for both him and them.

“Eek!” The tiniest squeak was emitted from the poor borrower as the environment around them changed, and Ryan broke into millions of pieces at that sound.

He prayed that his stomach didn't hurt them that much, that by some sheer miracle, they were only minorly injured.

 Realistically, the process of digestion takes a few hours when it comes to meat, so he hoped that by this logic, his prisoner wouldn't be harmed that much.

He shook his head as he contemplated what to do, he could tell there was a change, an uncomfortable one for him, sure,but a change nonetheless.

But if he wanted to be fully sure, he had to ask the borrower.

The idea was stupid, it's not like the borrower would talk to him after what happened.

The boy put his face in his hands, he wanted to scream from his depths, this was all too much for him to handle.

At the very least, he had to get someone to think with him.

Emilia would know, she is used to him getting in weird situations like this, and despite looking like she doesn't care about anything, she always gave him solid advice.

He brought out his phone and immediately texted her, to his surprise, she responded.

“Sup” Her text appears on the glowing screen of his phone.

“Need ur opinion” He typed back, and proceeded to type a wall of text about the situation that just happened.

“NGL, thats pretty fucked.” The skull emoji she punctuated her messages with didn't help at all.

“What should i do??!!”

“Talk to them or something, dunno, but if u decided to keep them there, which is a rlly weird choice BTW, then dont just leave them alone, at least make it look like u care bro”

She was right, he decided to keep them, then he should talk to them.

He rubbed his stomach again, and decided to take Emilia’s advice.

“Hey,” He gently spoke, making sure to lower his voice as if he was afraid his voice was going to be too loud for them

He felt a shift inside him, the little one was surprised to hear him talk, he thought.

“Yes you, little buddy,” He spoke ever so gently, as if talking to a kitten. “Are you alright? Physically at least?” 

He bit his lip, he thought that the question was bold, especially when he was the one who put them through all of this.

“... Kind of,” Ryan's body tensed,he didn't actually think that they would respond, their voice was, understandably, muffled by his flesh and quiet from their fear.

If he didn't have enhanced hearing he probably wouldn't have heard them at all.

“A bit shaken… but not dead, why are you asking?” The borrower asked, their voice echoing slightly in the flesh chamber that was Ryan's stomach, it was shaking, 

And Ryan found himself pressing a hand to his stomach, as if wanting to hold them, to cradle them.

“I'm very very sorry, I didn't see you, I should have been more careful and_”

“It wasn't your fault.” They interrupted him. “It was mine,I should have been more careful, going around in a human’s house, because of accidents like… this one.”

“Look, normally I shouldn't be trusting humans, especially one that, well, basically ate me…” Ryan was surprised at their shift and how talkative they've become, but maybe it meant that they trusted him.

“But, you did something here, I don't know what it is exactly, or if humans are supposed to do that, but it saved my life, I…I can tell you are a nice human.”

The borrower yawned softly, and Ryan gently patted his stomach, feeling how tired they were.

“Would you like me to let you out now?” He already knew their answer,but he wanted their permission in order to not throw them off guard.

“Actually… the thing you did with your stomach, the one that… doesn't make it deadly, how long does it last?” Well, that's not what he was expecting.

“Maybe a whole day or something, before it starts negatively impacting me…” Ryan wasn't going to go into detail about his powers to a borrower of all things. “Why are you asking again?”

“Look, I know it sounds weird and inconvenient but_” He hoped it's not what he was thinking about.

“If it's safe for me,can I spend the night here? It's soft and nice, if a bit slimy…” It was, Indeed, what he was thinking of.

He texted Emilia again, and to not make the borrower feel forgotten,he traced circles around his stomach with his other hand.

“Give me a moment.” He told them as he wrote his request to Emilia.

“M! i talked to them and now they want to spend the night in my stomach!”

“Pookie,if i didn't know how much of a goody two shoes u r, i would’ve said ur high as a fuckin kite.”

“Eh, let em sleep, they prolly had a real long night.”

Ryan closed the phone and threw it next to him, his attention shifted to his… He didn't know what to call them at this point, Guest? Tenant? Cargo?

“You can go ahead and rest…” He found himself speaking tenderly, as if the idea of them trusting him enough to rest was appealing to him.

“Thank you… sir.” The tired borrower yawned again and stretched, and Ryan felt their limbs brushing at the folds of his stomach.

“Sure…uhh… you're welcome.” He awkwardly replied as he gave his stomach a pat.

That night, Ryan wasn't able to get even a wink of sleep, and he wasn't able to move out of his bed either.

He feared that any wrong movement might wake up the sleeping little buddy inside his guts, or worse, squish them.

That, and his stomach was protesting with all it's might for not being able to digest it's resident, constantly gurgling and moving around them, but not enough as to wake them up.

So he spent the whole night staring at his phone, watching random videos of cats and doom scrolling.

He coughed up the borrower in the morning. It was a weird process for him, but he was glad that they were unharmed overall.

And they were grateful for him offering them protection for one whole night, even if it came at the cost of him failing his final.

At least, after that, Ryan had little good things happen in his life, he never lost a pair of socks,or a pen, or even a paperclip.

His phone was always charged, and generally, it seemed that the little one was trying to pay back for that one night of safety they had inside his belly, where no being could ever reach them.

He still hasn't seen them since he let them out, but he can respect and understand that.

==========

“You haven't seen them yet?”

“Yeah, but I understand the secretive nature of a borrower, besides, I wouldn't blame them if they are still scared of me after what happened. Maybe they asked to stay only because they were absolutely desperate, delirious even.”

“I see… But I can't believe you told Emilia before you told me!”

“She… gives good advice, and she is pretty reasonable.” Ryan blushes.

“She is a junkie, and a school dropout, if her advice was that good, she should've gone by it.” Oliver grumbled, even if Emilia was his friend as well, he still couldn't deny that aspect of it.

Oliver was then taken back by Ryan putting his thumb and index underneath his armpits, as if he was going to pinch his torso.

“Careful,tiny, you're still bite sized…” Ryan warned gently, his expression was still as calm and sweet as always.

There were a few things Oliver feared more than a threat from Ryan, no matter if they were jokes or real.

Oliver wasn't sure anymore if his stay with Ryan was as safe as he imagined, but it will be okay, Ryan was his best friend after all.

He wouldn't hurt his best friend, right?

Right?

[aamy2100982]

VENOM WAR #5 Just some of my thoughts, big Spoiler Alert for those who haven't read it yet

I actually read it yesterday the 27th, but decided to post today because I needed to think a bit. Not my favorite Venom comic by far.

☆ So finally we have desidated piss-colored Venom, wohooo *low tone

I still think the design is mediocre. But at least I have a better answer as to why it's yellow. Also, I'm glad the first host to try it was Dylan. I was afraid they introduced the new host too quickly, because I've already felt like these last few comics are jumping from point to point like a machine gun.

☆ This whole panel is so sad

Dylan not wanting to hurt his father and Symby not wanting to hurt their lover.

It hurts my heart Symby admitting that they loves Eddie in all his forms even in Meridius one.

Even worse Meridius mocking xd

☆

Just say you hate yourself, dude. it's easier

☆ Can my man take a break? For ONCE?

He got shot, his son stab him, and now he stab himself. Who's left to stab Eddie? Flash? Sleeper? Toxin? Holy crap...

Not even Maridius saved! Anyway he's dead now, I was expecting something more dramatic, but whatever, man, okay I guess.

At least the panel looks cool. Dylan always taking his enemies by surprise, never turn your back on him.

☆ And Lee is there

I have to look up again what his deal was in all this, because I don't remember if he's alive or dead.

Now that the symbiotes are dying is he going to die too? Or is he finally going to do something interesting after all this time?

I've always felt that they wasted Lee's potential and could do something interesting with him. So I hope he doesn't just die... again...

☆ At least Flash is okay now. At this point I'm wondering if Anti Venom has a conscience or is just a permanent part of Flash. Also technically part of Eddie... gay.

I hate how cute Sleeper looks, it's not like you just witnessed the death of two gods, nah. Now you can go back to loaf like a lazy cat.

I find Toxin's face funny :|

☆ Goodbye old Dylan :(

you did well, i'm going to miss you

I don't think many people really liked him that much, and he was actually a bit of a confusing character at times, but I loved his design.

A little in disbelief that this is the end for him. I'd like to assume there's a little more.

☆ But good things don't last. I guess the symbiote is toxic for Dylan now? Is the symbiote toxic to all the other symbiotes now? If anything, the symbiote thinks it's going to die now and that's why it decided to leave?

I'm just going to put the biggest and louder

SIGH

I can... I knew they weren't going to stay together because Symby is getting a new host now, but damn. Does anyone else feel like the unions feel anti-climactic in this comic? I guess they were just in a bit of a rush to wrap things up.

Which is... understandable. They've been doing this crap for like 3 years now, it was time to let it die. But it makes me so sad that Dylan is alone again

The only good thing I can take away from it is that at least the comics are more self-aware that Symby is Dylan's father.

Which means Dylan is going to try to commit patricide again.

Understandable. My poor baby is 14 years old and has no one to turn to.

His brother I guess (Sleeper), I don't know if Flash could take him under his care, anyway Dylan is almost as stubborn as his father to simply get a tutor and go back to his normal life. Probably and technically, we know that now he is going to dedicate himself to hunting the All New Venom

☆ The fact that the symbiote is now toxic to other symbiotes is just an excuse for it to not rejoin Dylan? Because that sounds like bullshit.

And yes, I GET THE POINT. If Dylan joins the symbiote it creates this apocalyptic future that Old!Dylan is trying to prevent... I know, but it still seems unfair to me.

☆ Funny how all this was happening next to a church. Let's not lose good customs

I wasn't understanding what Carnage meant by "Partner".

I think is referring to Meridius or Cletus. So now they're both single, lonely, and hurt.

(My bad! He doesn't say partner, he says parent! Silly me, sorry xd)

Does this mean Eddie thinks the symbiote is dead?

Nice Father-Son reunion, I'm honestly excited to see what nonsense they're going to do!!

[kairiscorner]

hi there!! :)) I saw that ur requests were open again and I wanted to ask if you could do a hc or short fic(?) for like a Hobie x Spiderperson! reader where they've got this vibe that they're dating???

Like whenever anyone asks about it they have no clue and reject the idea since Hobie doesn't believe in labels and the reader doesn't want to be tied down. But! they both get suuuper jealous whenever either of them gets too close/flirts with other people and drags them away or smth huehruehdids

Maybe they confess??? What if one time the jealousy gets too much or one of them got really hurt and the other realizes that they might never be able to tell the other their feelings? Maybe a big kiss at the end bc of the exploding feelings? That's all, thank you and have a great day!!! :DD

HI ANONNNN <33 omg i love so much WHAT i hope i do this justice <:))

(reblogs are greatly appreciated, it helps get my content out there! if you guys like what you see, please reblog it too <:D)

"so... are you two a, y'know, a thing?"

questions like these never fail to keep you quick on your toes, especially since nothing could be farther from the truth. you and hobie were just good friends, really good friends. just a couple of buds that always had each other's back when battles go awry, or when the other gets in trouble for a few stunts here and there. you two were just... very close, is what you would call it, neither of you really used labels to express what you two were to each other.

hobie hated labels anyway to begin with, never believed in them and certainly doesn't want to use them to describe his relationship with you. he never felt the need to, all he was certain of was that if you were there for him, he'd obviously be there for you–even if you never asked for him to be, it was always a given.

you yourself were a free-spirited type of person, you refused to be weighed down by commitment when you already had yourself to worry about. and besides... you didn't feel anything for hobie, did you? nah, you didn't, you just thought that he was really, really cool. and awesome. and inspiring. and rebellious for the right reasons. and so... just, just a lot of amazing things.

you two wanted to make it clear: there was nothing going on between you two. and even though you convinced some of the folks at the spider society, a lot of others were still highly skeptical of you two, not that you guys cared, you two knew each other well. or so you both thought.

though hobie was always your first pick for a partner on a mission, you were being paired up with a lot of different spider people recently. and though it was no problem for hobie, you worried about leaving him alone. "hey, now, don't get all sentimental on me. i never believed in consistency, anyway. you're amazing, of course everyone wants you on their team. i'll catch you on the flipside," he'd tell you something along those lines and just... be gone for the rest of the day.

you tried not to worry so much, but guilt ate away at you sometimes and distracted you. but soon, this routine became more and more commonplace for you two, to the point that it distracted you seldom times when you heard that hobie was okay, he wasn't avoiding you, he was just... off somewhere else, and that much was enough to put you at ease.

you hung around the new people you met more and more often, even when hobie was around. you never meant to replace him, you could never do that; you just had your own life, and hobie... hobie knew. he understood that not every day can be for you two to share together, but honestly, he wished he didn't have to share your attention with these other guys, despite how well they mean, he wanted just you and him together for one more day; one more day, just like how it all was before this new change in routine.

little did hobie know that wish would come true sooner than he thought; for as you two were sent on a mission together, with just you two together, hobie had to admit how much he missed you--how much he wanted for things to be the way they once were. "i know i said i never believed in consistency, labels, and... i don't. but when it comes to you, i just have these thoughts, these thoughts of seeing you smile because of me, feeling your hand in mine after a long fight, getting together to make mischief and getting each other out of it--i really missed that... i missed you."

and you thought you were crazy for hearing that right then and there, because you yourself felt that exact same way. "i... i really missed you, too, hobie." you'd admit, and that was all the admission hobie needed to hear. "if you'll let me, may i... show you just how much i've missed you?" he ask as he brings his hand to your cheek and gazes into your eyes as you become more and more embarrassed about your feelings for him, but so was he when he realized you were, and are, all he ever loved.

you agreed, and in the blink of an eye, his lips were on yours. you felt his piercings, they were cold amidst both of your lips touching each other, but you two fit so well together; you two were each other's missing link, the only one who can right each other's wrongs and make them feel much more... alive.

though you two still refused to give other people any labels when asked about you two--because how was it their business, right?--you two knew just the other meant to you: it was ride or die with you, and only you; nobody else could replace or be the other, you're all he'll ever want, and he's all you could ever hope to love.

a/n: I HOPE THIS WAS GOOD AAAAAAAA, I REALLY LOVED WRITING THIS THOUGH <333

tags !! @thecoolerdor @miguelswifey04 @binibinileonara @ii01vq @k4tsu3 @luvstarrstruck @maxoloqy @fictarian @pixqlsin

[quezzzs]

"Now that the raid had been a success, you are all free to go back and get to going home for the night."

Captain Fowler announced that to everyone that was present to be at their latest big drug raid as the criminals were being put away into the vans.

This meant another awkward drive between Gavin and Nines.

Each person returned back into their vehicles and so did the android and human partners. Gavin went into his driver's seat and Nines sat next to him on the passenger side, neither of them speaking a word.

It had been a good 3 days since the 'incident' and the tension was so thick between them, squeezing the inside of their chests and begging for either one to say something.

As Gavin began to drive the car onto the road again, he felt like sitting in the silence was gonna drive him crazy so he pressed on the radio button to fill in the quietness of the car.

Music is a good distraction after all.

'It's such a shitty thing he did, the way he said goodbye. You can take it out on me if you'd like.'

Wait...

'Fuck away the pain, erase him from your brain. Fake it like you love me, c'mon baby touch me-'

Nope. Next song.

'She said she's cool with it, she's down with it. There's nothing wrong with it. Don't want it any other way. It's just your typical, hardcore, casual sex-'

Next.

'Give me a command, and I'll do what you ask 'cause my favorite music's your "Uh~ uh~" '

God dammit, what else is there?

'Baby, you're a star. Fuck me all night-'

For the love of God.

'It's just a one night stand-'

ARE YOU KIDDING ME???

"Detective, I suggest you turn off the radio before you break it."

Gavin didn't realize how much he kept on switching radio stations until Nines pointed it out. Now his finger hurts from pressing too much.

Music was a horrible distraction.

He listened to the suggestion and just shut it off completely. Now it was awkward again. Sometimes, Gavin wished he could drive off a cliff and die in a Hollywood explosion and James Bond getting vengeance.

Meanwhile, Nines determined that he should be the one to say it.

"Detective Reed... we need to talk."

Hearing that phrase grew a pit inside of Gavin's stomach but he might as well go with the confrontation. "About?"

Silence once more. In reality, Nines wasn't ready to talk either but things definitely had to be cleared up. He folded his hands together in his lap, fingers twitching from the rising anxiety but he pushed it aside.

"I consent to having sex with you."

Never in his life has Gavin ever swerved to the sidelines and slammed his foot on the brake pedal. It was so abrupt that the car behind him honked and yelled out of their window, but he was too busy with the current conversation.

Nines had clutched onto the grab handle and his seatbelt tightly, LED turning into a bright red. "Detective-" He panted out before he was cut off.

"You fucking what?" The look of bewilderment was plastered on the shorter man's face.

Maybe Nines was a little too forward.

When the car was parked to the side, Nines cleared his throat and reiterated himself. "I am verbally expressing to giving my consent in having sexual intercourse with you."

"I heard that, prick, but what the actual fuck?"

"I am saying this because I am unsure if you would like to continue this non committed agreement and if you do, we need to set boundaries."

So much of this was going at rapid fire that it was too much for Gavin's brain to hold onto.

"Hold on a god damn second, Nines. I get that you're taking in the lead about whatever the hell we did but you should've picked a better moment than saying that while I'm driving in a busy ass lane!"

"I apologize but time has already went by and we cannot ignore the situation at hand."

Gavin propped his elbow on his elbow rest, placing his chin on top of his palm as he stared the other way. This annoyed Nines.

"I am only saying that if you want to take out your pent up dissatisfaction on me, I would be fine with that choice. Mind you, I am the one that agreed to your offer in the first place."

Okay, so the bot wasn't oblivious at all.

Gavin rubbed his face and took in a deep breath before making eye contact with his work partner. "I can always just man up and move on."

"If that's the case then you haven't been 'manning up' lately like you should." The human couldn't tell if he should punch Nines or laugh right now

But Nines showed no humor, only a staid face and pitch.

...

"Can we talk about it at my place?"

...

"That sounds Ideal."

══════════════════

Gavin closes his room door as Nines stood in front of Gavin's bed, analyzing the messy room for a moment until the man started to speak.

"So, you wanted boundaries?"

Nines spun around to face him, maintaining eye contact with those tired, eye-bagged eyes. "Indeed. Would you want to go first or should I?"

Gavin shrugs his shoulders then gave a response. "After we get done, you leave as soon as possible. I don't want that shit where you stay around just because. We do it, you go, end of session."

The android's LED went yellow to process the first rule of this agreement and nodded his head. "Very well, anything else?"

"Nope. You?"

Within a second of internal searching, Nines has gathered enough information to create his set of rules.

"No romantic interactions of any kind and no cheesy humor involved. I prefer to keep it serious since it's only pleasure, not entertainment."

"Leftover thoughts?"

"None that is important to this ordeal."

Gavin observed Nines face for any lies but he couldn't find present signs. He stared down at the wooden floor before back to the cool, grey eyes. The droid only gave back the same energy.

"Second thoughts, detective?"

A glare was given to Nines before he was pushed down onto the bed and felt the sudden looseness of his black pants. He gasped in surprised but a small, pleased sound escaped him when he felt his pants get tugged down.

"I hope your mouth isn't the only good thing about you."

"You- oh~"

Prev - Next

Songs used for radio scene:

Fuck Away the Pain

Casual Sex

MAMMAMIA

P*RNSTAR

One Night Stand

[imaginechb]

Don't Drink the Kool-Aid

Synopsis: You are considering joining the Hunters of Artemis, but Jason can't let you do that without at least telling you how he feels.

Warnings: use of the words "pretty" and "beautiful", and the plot is kinda female implicating, but I made it as gn as possible for all of you lovely Jason simps. Enjoy!

Tags: @writerofthewinds

Jason's hands trembled as he held the pamphlet. He knew he shouldn't have looked, it was invasive, and he already got what he came to get, but this made him glad he peeked. Or not. He couldn't decide.

You had asked him to grab your notebook from your backpack, you had plans for the upcoming quest in there and needed to show him. Jason, of course, agreed. It was a simple favor, but he felt honored that you asked him, of all people, to go through your things. You trusted him.

But what he found inside your backpack made his stomach do a somersault, and then a cartwheel on top of that. It was a piece of paper covered in words, words that made him want to scream and cry and throw up, all at the same time.

You were thinking about joining the Hunters of Artemis.

Under normal circumstances, he would be happy for you, and support you with whatever decision you made for your future. Hades, he'd even hype you up.

But this was a commitment, a commitment to leave camp and normal demigod life behind. A commitment to an immortal life, and most of all, a commitment to never love again. Problem was, Jason liked you. Like, really liked you.

Was it selfish? Absolutely. But Jason didn't care, he wanted you around. He wanted to take you on a date and maybe have the chance to have a real relationship with you. He didn't want to see you run off into the woods, living an immortal life while he got old and died.

The whole walk back to Bunker Nine he debated if he should bring it up or not. If he did, you might be upset with him for looking through your things, but you also might reciprocate his feelings. If he didn't bring it up, you might join the Hunters and he would never get the chance to be with you.

He decided he had to bring it up.

When Jason got back to Bunker Nine, Leo was gone, and you were left standing over his work bench, staring at plans for the Argo II. He handed you the notebook, and you immediately knew something was bothering him.

"Jason, are you okay?"

He meant to be more smooth with how he brought it up, but between your sweet voice asking if he was alright, and the concerned look you were giving him, it all just kind of fell out of him.

"Are you going to join the Hunters of Artemis?"

You blinked at him a couple of times before realization set in. "Oh, you found the brochure, right?"

Jason couldn't read your mood. You didn't seem angry, but you weren't enthusiastic either. He did the safe thing and nodded silently.

You sighed. "Yeah, I was thinking about it. I'm still not sure on my decision. Lady Artemis asked me herself last summer after the war, and I told her I would think about it, but it's a big decision. Lots of benefits... but it's also a lot to give up."

Jason was silent for a moment before he spoke again. "Please don't join."

You looked at him, a bit shocked. "I'm sorry?"

He took a deep breath. "I know it's selfish, and I really shouldn't be influencing your decision, but I can't help it. I really like you, Y/n. If you don't like me back, that's okay. If you've already made up your mind, that's okay. I just couldn't let you join the Hunters without at least telling you how I feel."

You were stunned. Wide eyes, mouth agape, stunned. You looked him in the eyes for a second, then your gaze dropped to the floor. "Jason, I... this is a lot to take in. I haven't made my decision, and I'm not rejecting you, it's just... I need time. It's a lot."

You backed toward the door of Bunker Nine, notebook in hand.

Jason looked at you, his heart somewhere between fluttering and breaking. It wasn't a 'get lost!', but it also wasn't a 'yes, I want you too!'.

"Okay," he said. "That's fine, take your time, I'm not... I'm not going anywhere." He chuckled, a heartbroken mockery of a laugh, and scratched the back of his neck.

You left, and Jason let out a breath he didn't know he was holding in. What just happened?

Meanwhile, your mind was racing. He liked you. He liked you. After pining after the seemingly clueless Jason, you finally decide to move on and leave the idea of him behind, only for him to come out of nowhere and have feelings for you? Did he expect to drop this bombshell on you and you'd just... drop the idea of joining altogether? Who was he to ask you not to do this?

You didn't know where you were going, you just knew you needed to get away and think.

~

The canoe lake at camp was beautiful, especially when it was empty. The greenish color of the sea combined with the sun glimmering off the surface, the deep green trees dusting the edges of the shore. Sometimes you could see the naiads waving up at you from the depths.

It was your favorite place at Camp Half-Blood.

You were there about ten minutes before a naiad named Cordelia swam up to the surface. She poked her head out of the water and grinned at you. "Whatcha thinkin' about, Y/n?"

"I'm, uh... I'm having guy troubles..." you admitted, somewhat sheepishly.

Cordelia lit up. "Oooh! Can I help?"

Cordelia was one of your closest friends at camp. You would come to the lake and talk to her or swim together, and she would offer you advice when you needed it. She was always so carefree, and you envied that about her.

You explained the situation to her, and how it made you feel, and she listened intently before humming.

"Sounds to me like this guy really likes you. I mean, you wouldn't ask someone you don't seriously care about to give up immortality for you, right?"

You hadn't thought of it like that. "Well, no... but what gives him the right?"

"Dunno," she said. "I think he just doesn't want to lose his opportunity. Oh, to have a hero falling at my feet like that..." Cordelia swooned.

You sat in silence for a moment, thinking about what she said.

"So, is he cute?"

"Cordie!" You blushed and found a sudden interest in your feet. "Yeah, he is."

"Then what's stopping you? If things go south, you can always join the Hunters later! If I were you, I'd see where it goes with this Jason guy."

"You're right, Cordie," you sighed. "As always. Thank you."

She beamed at you, and you took your leave.

Heading back to your cabin, you were somehow thinking harder after your conversation with Cordelia the naiad. You knew she was probably right, but that didn't mean you were completely ready for what it meant.

It was still a lot, and you needed time.

~

Three days. That's how long it had been, and Jason was losing his mind.

Sure, he told you to take your time, but it was killing him inside. He knew it was a big decision. Live an immortal life as a Hunter, running through the woods and killing monsters with your eternal family, or stay here at camp and go out with the former-amnesiac son of Jupiter until he has to leave on a potentially deadly quest, and go back to his own camp.

Honestly, he knew what he would choose, and it was breaking his own heart.

By the end of day three, he was ready to accept that you didn't like him back, and you were just too nice to shut him down immediately. That's when you sat by him at the campfire, and asked him if you could talk afterwards.

He may have said yes a little too quickly to be casual.

After the campfire, the two of you walked to the beach side by side. You didn't have long before the harpies would be out, but you had long enough.

You stopped before you reached the water, turning to face each other in the sand. Even though you had that serious look in your eyes, and Jason had the feeling that you were about to break his heart, he couldn't help but notice how pretty you looked. Your hair tousled gently by the breeze, your camp necklace resting gently against your collarbone, gods, you were beautiful.

He shook himself out of it before you could get uncomfortable with his staring.

"So..." Jason started awkwardly. "About eternal life and—"

"I like you too, Jason," you interrupted him. "I'm not going to join the Hunters."

It was Jason's turn to be stunned, staring at you incredulously while the waves crashed to your left. "You're... not?"

"No, I'm not. I just needed time to process things. It was a lot, you know? Suddenly finding out that someone you've liked for a long time has feelings for you, but ultimately having to decide if you're going to accept that and be with him, or move on and join a group of immortal monster hunters? It's a lot."

Jason chuckled and took a step towards you. You reached for his hand, holding it in your own.

"But I think... deep down, I always knew I would pick you."

He couldn't believe his luck. You picked him. Over immortality, you picked him. And he'd be damned if he wasted this chance.

Between Piper, who he had supposedly been dating and who he should love, and Reyna, who he had real history with and who loved him, he was being torn in two directions, neither of which he was sure he actually wanted.

To him, you were clarity. You were the one he wanted. You were the one he thought about constantly, the one who made his heart beat faster, and you wanted him, too.

"So... does this mean I can ask you out?" he asked shyly.

You smiled at him. "I would love that."