#but the stakes doubled somehow

[sonorousangels]

i think they deserve the world🌼

[reidmarieprentiss]

Not Her

Summary: Reader can't figure out why Spencer doesn't like her, Spencer doesn't know how to tell her it's not her fault.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x BAU fem!reader

Category: fluff, angst

Warnings/Includes: camping, being stuck, wilderness, swimming in underwear, teasing, talks of bullying, insecurities, mild aggression from a male (not spencer), small injury

Word count: 16.6k

a/n: i want to go camping with spencer sooo bad he would be so nerdy and useful

main masterlist

From the moment you joined the BAU, it was obvious that you were entering a tightly knit group. The closeness between the team members was clear, and while you didn’t expect to be everyone’s best friend right off the bat, you were determined to fit in. You took time to get to know everyone, learning their quirks, their likes, and dislikes, hoping to carve out your place within the team.

With Derek, you found an easy-going rapport. His playful nature and quick wit made it easy to banter back and forth. JJ was kind and welcoming, often making a point to include you in conversations or to check in on how you were adjusting. Penelope was a whirlwind of energy, and it wasn’t long before you found yourself swept up in her vibrant world of tech and color. Rossi felt like a wise uncle who loved everyone on the team as his own. Alex was someone who acted as an older sister to you and whom you looked up to very much, and Hotch, though stern, had a way of making you feel like you were a valuable part of the team.

But Spencer Reid… he was different.

From the start, there was a disconnect. It wasn’t as if he was openly hostile or dismissive—he was far too professional for that. But there was something in the way he avoided your gaze during meetings, or how he seemed to drift to the opposite side of the room whenever you entered. You had caught him, more than once, excusing himself from a conversation as you approached, as if the mere prospect of talking to you was something he couldn’t bear.

At first, you tried to brush it off, convincing yourself that he was just shy or perhaps overwhelmed by the demands of the job. After all, you knew that Spencer wasn’t the most socially adept person in the world. But as time went on, the distance between you and him became more apparent, and it started to gnaw at you.

You didn’t need everyone to like you. You had learned long ago that such a goal was impossible, especially in a high-stakes environment like the BAU. But the way Spencer acted around you—like he could barely stand to be in the same room—was something you couldn’t ignore. You were both professionals, and you could work together when necessary, but it was clear that there was a barrier between you, one that wasn’t present with the rest of the team.

You found yourself replaying your interactions with him over and over in your mind, trying to pinpoint where things had gone wrong. Was it something you had said? Something you had done? Had you offended him without realizing it? Every smile you offered that went unreturned, every attempt at conversation that fizzled out into uncomfortable silence, only deepened the mystery.

—

The whole team could see the ridge between you and Spencer, but no one was any more privy to its cause than you were. Naturally, they had asked, each of them trying to get to the bottom of the tension, but Spencer always brushed it off, insisting he had nothing against you. And technically, he wasn’t lying—it wasn’t you he had a problem with.

The team had noticed the rift between you and Spencer early on. It was impossible to ignore, especially in a group as close-knit as the BAU. And so, they took it upon themselves to try and bridge the gap, often resorting to what they jokingly referred to as “parent trapping” the two of you.

Whenever the team needed to double up on rooms during cases, you and Spencer were always the ones paired together. If there were assignments to be handled in pairs, it was somehow always the two of you that got teamed up. On the jet or at the round table, there would only be one spot left for each of you, forcing you to sit side by side. And then there were the bar nights—group outings where, mysteriously, everyone else would bail out at the last minute, leaving just you and Spencer nursing your drinks awkwardly.

But despite their best efforts, nothing seemed to work. Spencer wasn’t warming up to you, no matter how many times you ended up in forced proximity. The wall between you remained as solid as ever, and eventually, you stopped trying to break through it. You resigned yourself to the fact that whatever issue he had with you, it wasn’t something you could change. 

However, Rossi—always the wise, seasoned veteran—was not ready to give up just yet. He had one last trick up his sleeve, one final attempt to get you and Spencer to break through the barrier between you. 

A team bonding camping excursion.

It was the perfect setup. Out in the wilderness, away from the usual comforts and distractions of your everyday lives, you would all be forced to rely on each other. And maybe, just maybe, the isolation would do what all the previous attempts had failed to achieve. 

But here’s the final kicker—when the day of the camping trip arrived, everyone else conveniently piled into cars together, leaving you and Spencer to drive alone in your car. You noticed the sly looks exchanged between your teammates as they handed out the keys, but before you could protest, Spencer was already sliding into the passenger seat of your vehicle.

Just as you were about to follow the convoy of cars out of the parking lot, Rossi strolled over to your window, an easygoing smile on his face. He handed you a printed sheet of directions, different from the ones the others had received. 

"Just in case you get separated," he said with a wink, his tone far too innocent. 

You couldn't shake the feeling that Rossi had planned this down to the last detail. Of course, you and Spencer wouldn’t just be separated from the group—you’d be on an entirely different route, one that would give you no choice but to spend even more time together, alone and without the safety net of your other teammates.

As you pulled out of the lot, Spencer sat quietly beside you, his eyes trained on the passing scenery. The silence in the car was heavy, almost suffocating, but there was nothing you could do now. You were in this together, whether either of you liked it or not. 

And as the miles stretched out ahead of you, you couldn’t help but wonder what Rossi had in mind, and if this final trick up his sleeve would finally be the one to force Spencer to open up—or if it would just deepen the divide between you.

—

The campsite was a solid three hours away, and while the drive was scenic enough, it didn't change the fact that you had a small bladder and a penchant for drinking a lot of water and coffee. It was inevitable that you'd need to make a pit stop before reaching your destination. 

As you glanced at the time on the dashboard and then at the half-empty travel mug in the cupholder, you sighed internally. You’d need to pull over soon. The thought of having to break the silence yet again didn’t exactly thrill you, but the discomfort was starting to outweigh your hesitation.

“Reid,” you said, breaking the quiet that had settled over the car. “I’m going to stop and use the restroom. Want me to grab you anything?”

Spencer, who had been quietly absorbed in the book he was reading, glanced up briefly, his expression neutral. “No, thank you,” he replied politely before returning his attention to the pages in front of him.

You nodded, even though he wasn’t looking at you, and pulled off at the next rest stop. As you parked and unbuckled your seatbelt, you tried not to dwell on the strained exchange. It wasn’t much different from the countless other interactions you’d had with Spencer—brief, polite, and devoid of any real connection. 

—

You’d been driving for what felt like ages, the occasional road sign the only indication that you were getting closer to your destination. You were determined to reach the campsite without any further detours, but the unfamiliar roads and winding paths made it easy to second-guess yourself.

“Reid,” you said, breaking the silence again that had settled back over the car like a heavy blanket. “I think we’re getting close. Can you give me directions, please?”

Spencer looked up from his book, blinking a few times as he refocused on the world outside. “Yeah,” he replied simply, his voice still carrying that same detached tone.

He reached for the directions Rossi had given you earlier, unfolding the paper and scanning the instructions. His finger traced the lines of text as he read through the details, his brow furrowing slightly as he calculated the next turn.

“Take the next left,” he instructed, his eyes flicking up to the road ahead. “And then, after about two miles, there should be a right turn onto a dirt road. That should lead us directly to the campsite.”

“Got it,” you said, following his directions carefully, hoping that this final stretch would be as straightforward as he made it sound.

As you turned onto the narrow, winding road Spencer had pointed out, the trees began to close in around you, their dense foliage casting dappled shadows on the path. The silence returned, punctuated only by the occasional rustle of leaves or the distant call of a bird. You glanced over at Spencer, who was once again absorbed in his book, his focus seemingly unshakeable.

You couldn’t help but wonder what was going through his mind. Did he realize how obvious the team’s attempts at pushing you two together were? Or was he simply indifferent to it all, content to keep you at arm’s length? 

—

“Okay…” you mumbled under your breath as you pulled into what looked like a campsite. The trees parted just enough to reveal a small clearing, but the emptiness of it made you hesitate. The gravel crunched under the tires as you rolled to a stop, and you squinted through the windshield, scanning the area. “This should be the place… Do you see anyone else?”

Spencer lifted his gaze from his book, his eyes narrowing as he looked around the deserted clearing. “Uh, no. No, I do not.”

A sinking feeling settled in your stomach. You leaned forward, double-checking the area, but it was clear—you and Spencer were the only ones there. “Did I take a wrong turn?”

“Not according to the directions,” Spencer replied, his voice calm but not particularly reassuring.

You let out a slow breath, trying to push down the rising anxiety. “Maybe we beat them here?”

“That’s unlikely,” Spencer said, his tone matter-of-fact. “Due to the number of times you pulled over for the restroom.”

You couldn’t help the slight flush that crept up your neck at his blunt observation. “Right,” you said, your voice tight as you tried to figure out what to do next. “So… what do we do now? Should we wait for them to show up?”

Spencer hesitated, his eyes flicking back to the directions. “It’s possible they took a different route. But considering how empty this place is, I’d say we’re either very early, or we’re not at the right site.”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair, feeling the weight of the situation settling on your shoulders. “Great. Just great. I’ll give Rossi a call,” you muttered, more to yourself than to Spencer, as you reached for your phone. The screen lit up, but when you glanced at the signal bar, your stomach dropped—no signal. “Uh, do you happen to have a signal on your cellphone?”

Spencer pulled his phone from his pocket and checked, his brow furrowing as he studied the screen. After a moment, he sighed, the sound tinged with resignation. “Nope.”

“Fantastic,” you said, the sarcasm barely masking your frustration. “Should we wait for a bit and see if anyone else shows up?”

Spencer considered the suggestion, his gaze drifting back to the empty clearing. “That seems like the best choice right now,” he agreed, his voice steady but lacking any real optimism.

With nothing else to do, you both settled into the uncomfortable silence, the quiet only broken by the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind. The minutes stretched on, each one feeling longer than the last as you both kept your eyes on the road, hoping to see the rest of the team’s cars pull in. But the road remained empty, and the only company you had was the uneasy tension that had settled between you.

If this was Rossi’s idea of getting you and Spencer to bond, it was off to a rocky start.

—

The campsite in front of you looked serene and peaceful, bathed in the soft light filtering through the towering trees. The fire pit in the center was surrounded by a few scattered logs, perfect for sitting around and enjoying the warmth of a campfire. Despite its picturesque setting, the site was eerily empty, with no sign of the team anywhere.

Eventually, you heard the sound of Spencer unbuckling his seatbelt and getting out of the car. The soft click of the door opening made you glance over. “What are you doing?” you asked, a hint of curiosity in your voice.

“Getting out,” Spencer replied simply as he stepped onto the gravel. “I want to stretch my legs.”

You nodded, realizing that was a good idea. “Yeah, good idea,” you agreed, your tone a bit lighter now. The tension of being cooped up in the car with nothing but silence between you two was beginning to wear on you. 

You both got out of the car, the fresh air a welcome change after the long drive. As you stood there, taking in the surroundings, you couldn’t help but feel a bit more relaxed. The forest around you was alive with the sounds of nature—the rustling of leaves, the distant chirping of birds, and the faint crackle of the fire pit from when it was last used.

Spencer moved toward the center of the campsite, his hands tucked into his pockets as he looked around. “It’s a nice spot,” he commented, his voice carrying a hint of appreciation.

You walked a little closer to him, scanning the area for any signs of the team. “Yeah,” you agreed, though the emptiness still gnawed at you. “But it’s weird that no one else is here yet.”

Spencer nodded, his brow furrowing slightly. “Maybe they’re just running late. Or they took a different route like I said before.”

You glanced back at the car, then around the site again. It was hard to shake the feeling that something was off, but there wasn’t much you could do about it now. “Well, at least it’s peaceful,” you said, trying to focus on the positive.

Spencer gave a small nod, seemingly content to stand there in the stillness of the forest. Despite the lingering uncertainty, there was something calming about the solitude, and for a moment, the silence between you felt less strained and more comfortable.

—

As the sun dipped lower behind the trees, casting long shadows across the campsite, you felt a growing sense of unease. The emptiness of the site was now coupled with the approaching darkness, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right. You finally voiced your concern, unable to keep it to yourself any longer. “Spencer, they’re obviously not coming. Should we drive around? Look for a fire? Or just head home?”

Spencer, who had been pacing slightly near the car, stopped and looked at you, his expression conflicted. “I don’t—I don’t know what we should do,” he admitted, his voice wavering slightly, a rare display of uncertainty from him.

You bit your lip, weighing the options. None of them seemed particularly appealing, especially as the light continued to fade. “Okay… do you just want to set up here for the night and figure it out in the morning?”

“Umm… yeah,” he agreed after a moment, though his tone was far from confident. “Do you mind if I sleep in the car?”

That caught you off guard. “Sure…” you replied slowly, trying to mask your surprise. Spencer had always been an enigma, but this felt particularly strange. It wasn’t like him to be so unsettled.

Alas, you pushed the oddness aside and decided to focus on the practical. You set about pitching your tent, the familiar motions calming your nerves slightly. Once it was up, you ducked inside to change into your pajamas, eager to get a fire going and start making some food. The pangs of hunger were beginning to make themselves known, and you knew you needed to eat something soon.

When you emerged from the tent, you glanced over at Spencer, who was standing by the car, arms crossed, looking even more out of place than usual. “Spencer, you can use my tent to change if you want,” you offered, trying to bridge the gap between you.

“No thank you, I’m fine,” he replied quickly, almost too quickly. His refusal struck you as odd, adding to the growing list of things that didn’t seem right about this situation.

“Would you mind getting the cooler from the boot then?” you asked, hoping to keep things moving forward, even if everything else felt off.

Spencer nodded and moved to the back of the car, retrieving the cooler with a quiet efficiency. But as you started preparing the food, you couldn’t help but notice how closely he was watching you. His gaze was intense, almost as if he was studying you—or perhaps watching out for something.

It was unsettling, to say the least. You tried to brush it off, focusing on the task at hand, but it was difficult to ignore the prickling sensation of being observed so intently. “Everything okay?” you asked casually as you stirred the food, hoping to ease some of the tension.

Spencer blinked, seeming to snap out of whatever thoughts had been occupying his mind. “Yeah,” he said, though his tone wasn’t entirely convincing. 

You paused for a moment, considering his words. While it wasn’t unusual for Spencer to be cautious, the way he was acting now felt different—like he was on edge, anticipating something. “Let’s eat and get some rest. We’ll figure everything out in the morning.”

He nodded, but the unease didn’t leave his eyes. As you finished cooking and began to serve up the food, you couldn’t help but wonder what had Spencer so spooked—and whether you should be more concerned than you already were.

—

That night, Spencer stuck to his word and slept in the car with the doors locked. You couldn’t help but feel a little puzzled by his behavior—he seemed so on edge, far more than you’d ever seen him, and it left you wondering why he had agreed to come camping in the first place. The idea of him spending the night in a locked car instead of enjoying the fresh air and the open sky was odd, to say the least. 

But despite the lingering unease, you slept surprisingly well. Camping had always been something you loved—the scent of the pine trees, the sounds of the forest, the cool breeze that swept through the tent—all of it made you feel at peace. The night was quiet, save for the occasional rustling of leaves and the distant hoot of an owl, and you drifted off easily, wrapped in your sleeping bag.

When you woke the next morning, the sun was already casting a warm glow over the campsite. You stretched, feeling refreshed, and emerged from your tent to find Spencer already awake. He was crouched by a small fire, a pot of instant coffee brewing over the flames. The sight of him tending to the fire, his movements precise and deliberate, was a little surprising. It was clear that he hadn’t slept much—if at all.

“Good morning,” you mumbled, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you walked over to him.

“Morning,” Spencer replied, his voice calm but still carrying that edge of tension.

You sat down on one of the logs near the fire, enjoying the warmth it provided as you shook off the last remnants of sleep. “How’d you sleep?” you asked, trying to gauge his mood.

“Fine,” he answered shortly, though you weren’t convinced. “You?”

“Really good,” you said with a small smile. “I love the fresh air. There’s just something about being out here that makes everything feel better.”

Spencer nodded, his gaze fixed on the pot of coffee as he stirred it. “Yeah, fresh air is good,” he said absently, though his tone lacked the enthusiasm you had.

You watched him for a moment, noting the dark circles under his eyes and the way he seemed to be holding himself together with sheer willpower. Something was definitely off, but you weren’t sure how to address it without making him uncomfortable. “Spencer,” you began cautiously, “is everything okay? You seem… different.”

He paused, the spoon in his hand stilling as he considered your question. After a long moment, he sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly. “I just… I don’t like the idea of being out here without the rest of the team. It doesn’t feel right.”

His admission caught you off guard. You knew Spencer was meticulous, always needing to have control over the details, but you hadn’t realized just how much this situation was affecting him. “I get that,” you said softly, trying to offer some reassurance. “But we’re safe here, and we’ll figure things out. Maybe we’ll hear from them once we’re back in range.”

Spencer gave a small nod, though he didn’t look entirely convinced. “Yeah, maybe,” he murmured, more to himself than to you.

You decided to let the conversation drop, not wanting to push him further. Instead, you focused on the comforting smell of coffee and the crackling of the fire. The warmth of the morning sun filtered through the trees, casting a golden light over the campsite. For a moment, you allowed yourself to relax, taking in the peaceful surroundings.

But as you glanced around the site, something caught your eye—a piece of paper tacked to a tree, fluttering slightly in the breeze. “Hey, did you see that?” you asked, pointing towards it.

Before Spencer could answer, you were already on your feet, walking towards the tree. The paper was pinned to the bark with a small tack, and as you pulled it down, you quickly scanned the handwritten note. Your eyes widened as you read the familiar handwriting, the message becoming clear.

Hey guys!

I know you’ll be mad about this, but please see it from our point of view. We sent you two to a separate site, please talk through your issues, we are a team and we need to be able to trust each other. Obviously, we can’t force you to stay, but if you do come home early, you will each have to take two paid days off. No work. 

Please, work it out.

You stared at the note in disbelief for a moment, the words sinking in. This whole thing—Rossi’s directions, the empty campsite, the strange sense of being set up—it had all been orchestrated by the team. They had sent you and Spencer to a completely different site, forcing you into isolation together with the clear intention that you’d hash out whatever had been causing the rift between you.

You turned back to Spencer, holding the note up so he could see it. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” you muttered, frustration and disbelief coloring your voice.

Spencer stood up and walked over, taking the paper from your hand. His eyes quickly scanned the note, and you could see the tension in his shoulders as he realized what had happened. “They… they set us up,” he said quietly, his voice laced with irritation and something else—maybe betrayal.

“Yeah, looks like it,” you replied, crossing your arms as you processed the situation. “They’re basically holding us hostage until we ‘work it out.’”

Spencer shook his head, clearly struggling with the realization. “They can’t just force us to talk. We’re not children.”

“Apparently, they think we need to be treated like we are,” you replied, the frustration in your voice mirroring his. 

He remained silent, his eyes still fixed on the note as if it might offer some sort of solution. The fire crackled behind you, the only sound breaking the heavy tension that had settled between the two of you. The note in his hand felt like a ticking time bomb, and you both knew there was no avoiding the conversation any longer.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. This wasn’t how you had envisioned things going, but there was no turning back now. “Spencer… should we just talk about it?” you asked, your voice softer, almost pleading.

“About what?” he replied, still not meeting your eyes, his tone flat and defensive.

“Come on… please,” you urged, trying to keep your frustration at bay. You needed to get to the bottom of this, once and for all. “Did I do something to you?”

“No,” he answered quickly, his voice sharp with finality.

“But you don’t like me,” you pressed, feeling the frustration bubbling up. It wasn’t just his short answers that were getting to you; it was the wall he was so clearly putting up, the refusal to even entertain the possibility of a conversation. You were tired of dancing around the issue, of feeling like you were constantly walking on eggshells around him.

“It’s not—” Spencer started, but then he cut himself off, clenching his jaw. His eyes finally met yours, and for a moment, you saw something flash in them—something like pain, or maybe guilt. But just as quickly, he looked away, shaking his head. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

The firmness in his voice left little room for argument, but you weren’t ready to give up. Not after everything. “Spencer, please,” you said, trying to reach him on a level beyond the walls he’d built around himself. “I’m not trying to push you, but this… whatever this is between us… it’s affecting the team. It’s affecting us. We can’t just keep pretending it doesn’t exist.”

Spencer’s shoulders tensed, and you could see the internal struggle he was facing, the way his mind was working through a hundred different thoughts at once. He seemed to be weighing his options, considering whether or not to open up. But in the end, all he did was shake his head again, his expression closing off. “I can’t,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry, but I just… I can’t.”

You felt a pang of disappointment, not just for yourself, but for him too. Whatever was going on inside his head, it was clearly something he wasn’t ready—or willing—to share. And that left you at an impasse, standing on opposite sides of a divide neither of you knew how to cross.

“Okay, well,” you said, your voice tinged with frustration as you turned away from him, “I’m just going to go for a walk then.”

Spencer’s head snapped up, his eyes widening slightly in alarm. “No, Y/N, that could be dangerous,” he said, his tone more urgent than you expected. There was a genuine concern in his voice, a sharp contrast to the distance he’d been maintaining.

“I don’t care,” you replied, your words coming out sharper than you intended. You needed to clear your head, to get some space, even if it meant wandering off into the woods. The tension between you and Spencer had reached a breaking point, and staying here, in this stifling atmosphere, felt unbearable.

You turned and started walking away, not really caring which direction you were heading. The forest loomed around you, the trees casting long shadows in the morning light, but you welcomed the solitude. You needed time to think, to process everything that had just happened.

Behind you, you heard Spencer call your name again, but you didn’t stop. The sound of his voice faded as you walked deeper into the trees, the cool air brushing against your skin as you moved further away from the campsite. You didn’t know where you were going or how far you would walk, but right now, that didn’t matter. All you wanted was some distance—from the campsite, from Spencer, from the emotions that had been building up inside you.

You heard the leaves crunch beneath your boots as you continued walking, the forest growing quieter with each step. The anger and frustration that had driven you out here began to ebb, replaced by a heavy feeling of sadness. You didn’t know why Spencer was so intent on keeping you at arm’s length, but whatever it was, it hurt. It hurt more than you wanted to admit.

But for now, you pushed those thoughts aside, focusing on the rhythm of your footsteps and the cool, fresh air filling your lungs. The walk might not solve anything, but it was a start. At least out here, you could breathe.

—

When you finally returned to the campsite, the tension in your chest had eased, though the lingering frustration and sadness hadn’t entirely left. As you approached, you noticed Spencer sitting by the fire, a new book in his hands. His fingers flicked through the pages at lightning speed, a blur of motion as he absorbed the text with the kind of intensity that only Spencer Reid could muster.

He didn’t look up right away, but you noticed his ears perk up at the sound of your footsteps crunching over the forest floor. It was a subtle movement, but it was clear he was aware of your presence, even if he wasn’t immediately acknowledging it. 

You stood there for a moment, watching him as he continued to read, his focus unwavering despite your return. The sight of him, so deeply engrossed in his book, made you wonder if he’d spent the entire time trying to escape into its pages, to block out the unresolved tension between you both. 

“Okay, Spencer,” you began, your voice steady as you walked closer to where he sat. “Here it is. I’ll drive us back tonight. I’ll tell Hotch that I made us leave and I’ll take the two days of paid leave. It’s fine. You don’t have to talk to me, and I’ll take the blame.”

Spencer finally looked up from his book, his eyes widening slightly as he processed your words. There was surprise and confusion in his expression, as if he couldn’t quite believe what you were saying. For a moment, he just stared at you, the book forgotten in his hands.

“You… you’d do that?” he asked, his voice soft, almost uncertain. He had expected you to be angry, maybe even confrontational after the way things had gone earlier, but instead, here you were, offering to take the blame, to make it easier for him.

It was clear that Spencer couldn’t believe how nice you were being, especially after everything. He had spent so long keeping you at a distance, fearing that you might turn out to be like your sister, but your words and actions were proving just how wrong he might have been.

“Yeah,” you said with a small shrug, trying to downplay the gesture even though it meant a lot to you. “I mean, we’re obviously not getting anywhere with this. If leaving early is what’s best, then that’s what we’ll do. And I don’t mind taking the hit for it. I’m not going to force you to talk if you don’t want to.”

Spencer swallowed, still struggling to find the right words. He wasn’t used to this kind of kindness, especially not from someone he had kept at arm’s length for so long. It was disarming, to say the least.

“I… I don’t know what to say,” he finally admitted, his voice tinged with genuine surprise. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I know I don’t have to,” you replied, meeting his gaze with a soft, understanding smile. “But I’m offering to because I know this whole situation isn’t easy for either of us. I don’t want you to feel pressured or uncomfortable.”

For a long moment, Spencer just looked at you, trying to reconcile the person standing in front of him with the fears and assumptions he had held onto for so long. 

“Thank you,” he finally said, his voice sincere. “I… I really appreciate it. But maybe… maybe we don’t have to leave just yet. We could just… see how things go.”

You nodded, sensing the tentative olive branch he was offering. “Okay,” you said gently, feeling a flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, this could be the start of something better between the two of you.

Spencer nodded, a small, almost hesitant smile forming on his lips. It was a start—a small one, but a start nonetheless.

“Could I maybe ask you a question?” you ventured, your voice tentative, hoping to bridge the gap between you both just a little more.

“Sure,” Spencer said, closing his book slightly but still keeping his thumb between the pages, as if not entirely ready to let go of his comfort zone.

“Did I… do something?” you asked, the question hanging in the air between you. You had to know, even if it was uncomfortable.

Spencer’s eyes softened as he shook his head. “No,” he replied, his tone gentle, yet firm. “You didn’t do anything.”

There was a brief pause, the silence between you more comfortable now than it had been earlier. You gave a small nod, accepting his answer even if it didn’t give you all the clarity you had hoped for. “Okay, I’ll leave you with your book,” you said, starting to step back, figuring he might want some space.

But to your surprise, Spencer didn’t pick up where he left off in his book. Instead, he looked up at you, his expression more open than it had been since you’d met. “You don’t have to… we can talk a bit,” he offered, and though his voice was cautious, there was a genuine willingness in it.

You smiled slightly, appreciating the gesture. “Alright,” you agreed, trying to think of something simple to start with. “Um, where did you grow up?”

“Las Vegas,” Spencer answered, the familiar name rolling off his tongue with a mix of nostalgia and a hint of something else—perhaps a memory he wasn’t sure he wanted to share yet.

“Seriously?” you asked, your eyes widening with surprise.

“Yeah… is that weird?” Spencer replied, his expression uncertain, as if he was bracing for your reaction.

“No, no, that’s where I grew up too,” you said, shaking your head in disbelief. The coincidence was almost too much to wrap your head around.

“Oh…” Spencer’s voice trailed off, and you could see the wheels turning in his mind. He seemed hesitant, like there was something more he wasn’t saying.

You narrowed your eyes playfully, sensing there was more to the story. “Okay, you know something. Did you see my file or something?”

Spencer hesitated, his eyes darting away for a moment before he answered. “Or something…”

You let out an exaggerated sigh, half-joking, but still curious. “Oh, come on, Spencer. What’s up? What school did you go to?”

“Las Vegas High,” he admitted, finally meeting your gaze again.

Your eyes lit up with recognition. “Me too! Wait… but you’re only two years younger than me. Would I have known you?”

Spencer’s expression shifted slightly, and you could see a mix of emotions flicker across his face—hesitation, discomfort, maybe even a touch of embarrassment. “No… uh, I was a freshman at 8 years old.”

“Woah! That’s insane!” you exclaimed, genuinely amazed. “That must have been so difficult for you.”

“It was,” Spencer admitted quietly, his voice carrying the weight of old memories.

You felt a pang of empathy for him, imagining how tough it must have been to navigate high school as a child. The challenges he faced were beyond anything you could have imagined at that age. “I’m sorry, Spencer. I wish we had been in school at the same time, we could have been friends,” you said, offering him a warm smile.

Spencer’s discomfort was palpable, and you could sense it immediately, like a shift in the air between you. He shifted in his seat, his gaze dropping back to the ground as if he was retreating into himself again. “What did we bring for dinner tonight?” he asked, his voice a little too casual, as if trying to steer the conversation away from where it had been heading.

The sudden change in topic stung, a pang of rejection hitting you square in the chest. You had thought, just for a moment, that you were making progress, that maybe you were getting through to him. But you knew Spencer well enough by now to realize that he wasn’t ready to go there, not yet. And pushing him wouldn’t help.

So, for his sake, you forced yourself to move on. “Uh, hotdogs, I think,” you said, trying to match his casual tone, even though the disappointment lingered in the back of your mind.

You busied yourself with preparing the food, focusing on the simple task of gathering the ingredients and setting them up by the fire. The familiar motions helped ground you, giving you something to concentrate on besides the unease that had crept back into your interactions.

Spencer remained quiet, watching you out of the corner of his eye as you worked. There was a tension in his posture, a subtle but unmistakable sign that he was still grappling with whatever had made him uncomfortable in the first place. 

“Hotdogs it is, then,” you said, forcing a small smile as you handed him a stick to skewer the hotdogs. You hoped that by focusing on something as simple as cooking dinner, you could ease some of the tension between you, even if the conversation from earlier still hung heavy in the air.

Spencer took the stick from you, his fingers brushing yours for the briefest of moments. “Thanks,” he said quietly, his eyes meeting yours for just a second before he looked away again. 

As the two of you cooked over the fire, the crackling flames and the scent of roasting hotdogs filled the air, creating a more comfortable silence. It wasn’t perfect, but it was a start, and for now, that was enough.

—

The conversation over dinner had been light and mostly focused on work—discussing cases, swapping stories about the more mundane aspects of life at the BAU. It was easy, familiar territory, a safe haven for both of you to retreat to after the earlier tension. But as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the campsite, a quiet settled between you.

After finishing your meal, you excused yourself to change into your pajamas, the cool night air making you eager to get comfortable. When you returned to the fire, Spencer was still sitting by the flames, the orange light flickering over his face as he stared into the fire, lost in thought.

You approached him, sitting back down across from him. The night was still, the only sounds the crackling of the fire and the distant rustle of leaves. For a moment, you hesitated, not wanting to break the fragile peace, but curiosity got the better of you.

“Hey, Reid,” you called softly, trying to ease into the question that had been on your mind since the night before.

“Mhm,” he hummed in response, not looking up from the fire but clearly acknowledging you.

You bit your lip, then decided to just go for it. “Why did you sleep in the car?”

The question hung in the air between you, and you saw Spencer’s entire body stiffen. He froze, his eyes widening slightly, the tension in his shoulders returning in an instant. You could tell he didn’t want to answer, and for a second, you regretted asking. But you had to know.

“Just safer, I guess,” he finally mumbled, his voice tight and unconvincing. His eyes remained fixed on the fire, avoiding your gaze entirely.

You could sense there was more to it, something he wasn’t telling you, but you decided not to push. Spencer was clearly uncomfortable, and whatever the real reason was, he wasn’t ready to share it. So you nodded, accepting his explanation even if it didn’t feel entirely truthful.

“Okay,” you said softly, letting the matter drop. You didn’t want to make him feel any more uneasy than he already did.

—

Halfway through the night, you jolted awake, your heart pounding in your chest. There was an eerie, unsettling sound coming from outside your tent—a low, persistent noise that sent chills down your spine. You tried to ignore it, to convince yourself it was just the wind or some animal moving through the underbrush, but no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t calm down. The noise wasn’t stopping, and the longer it went on, the more your imagination ran wild.

Unable to shake the growing fear, you carefully and quietly unzipped your sleeping bag and slipped out of the tent. The cold night air hit you immediately, but the fear kept you moving. You crept toward the car, every step making the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. When you reached the car, you knocked lightly on the window, hoping not to startle Spencer too much.

“Spencer!” you whisper-yelled, trying to keep your voice low but urgent. You could see him stir where he had flattened the back seats into a makeshift bed, his body shifting as he came to.

“Reid!” you whispered again, a little more urgently this time.

His eyes fluttered open, and he looked at you with wide, confused eyes. He sat up quickly, clearly surprised to see you standing there in the middle of the night. He leaned forward and unlocked the door, cracking it open just enough to speak to you. “What??” he asked, his voice still heavy with sleep and a touch of irritation.

“Can I come in, please?” you asked, your voice trembling slightly with fear.

Spencer blinked, clearly not expecting that. “No??” he replied, still half-asleep and unsure of what you were asking.

“Spencer, there’s a really scary noise out here,” you pleaded, your fear becoming more evident as you looked at him with wide, desperate eyes. “Please, please let me in.”

Spencer hesitated, his mind racing. He was still wary, worried that this might be some sort of prank or something worse. But as he looked at you, really looked at you, he saw the genuine fear in your expression. You weren’t trying to mess with him—you were genuinely scared. He’d never seen you like this before.

“Okay, fine,” he finally relented, scooting over to make room for you in the cramped space.

You didn’t waste any time, quickly crawling into the car and pulling the door closed behind you. As soon as you were inside, Spencer locked the doors again, the click of the locks echoing in the silence.

The two of you sat there for a moment, the car suddenly feeling much smaller with both of you inside. The strange noise outside continued, but now that you were with Spencer, the fear didn’t seem as overwhelming. You still couldn’t pinpoint what the noise was, but you felt safer with him there, even if he was still a bit unsure about the whole situation.

Spencer looked at you, his expression softening slightly. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice quieter now, the irritation gone.

You nodded, still trying to calm your racing heart. “Yeah… I just couldn’t stay in the tent with that noise. It was freaking me out.”

He nodded in understanding, though his eyes flicked toward the windows, clearly trying to listen for the noise himself. “It’s probably just an animal,” he said, trying to reassure both you and himself.

“Maybe,” you whispered, though you weren’t entirely convinced. But for now, you were just grateful to be out of the tent and with someone who made you feel a little less alone.

—

Eventually, despite the lingering fear and the cramped quarters, exhaustion took over, and you both drifted off to sleep in the back of the car. The strange noise outside had faded into the background, and the warmth of the enclosed space made it easier to relax. 

Sometime in the middle of the night, however, Spencer stirred from his sleep, his body shifting slightly as he became aware of something unexpected. Blinking his eyes open, he realized with a start that your limbs were wrapped around him, your body pressed close as you clung to him in your sleep. Your arm was draped over his chest, your leg tangled with his, and your head was nestled against his shoulder. It was as if you had sought out the warmth and security he provided, even unconsciously.

Spencer froze, his mind racing as he tried to process the situation. He wasn’t used to this—intimacy, even in such an innocent form, was foreign territory for him. His heart started to race, not out of fear but out of sheer confusion. What was he supposed to do? Should he wake you? Should he try to untangle himself without disturbing you? 

But as he lay there, feeling the rise and fall of your breathing against him, he couldn’t bring himself to move. There was something oddly comforting about the way you had sought him out, something that made him feel… needed. It was a feeling he wasn’t accustomed to, and it left him at a loss for what to do next.

He glanced down at you, seeing the peaceful expression on your face as you slept. The fear and tension from earlier had melted away, replaced by a calmness that was almost contagious. Spencer’s mind continued to whirl, but he didn’t want to disturb you—not when you seemed so at ease.

So, he stayed still, letting you cling to him, trying to reconcile the strange mix of emotions coursing through him. The awkwardness was still there, but it was tempered by a quiet realization that maybe, just maybe, things between you two were starting to change. And for the first time in a long while, that didn’t seem so terrifying after all.

—

When the morning sun filtered through the trees, casting warm golden rays across the campsite, Spencer was already outside, crouched by the fire as he prepared coffee. The familiar scent of brewing coffee wafted through the air, mingling with the fresh scent of the forest, creating a peaceful start to the day. You emerged from the car, feeling a little stiff from the cramped sleep, but more than that, you were feeling a twinge of embarrassment.

You approached Spencer, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, and hesitated for a moment before speaking. “Hey… thanks again for letting me bunk with you,” you said, your voice laced with genuine gratitude.

“No problem,” Spencer replied, his tone flat, distant, as he focused on the coffee. He didn’t look up, his gaze firmly fixed on the task at hand.

The coldness in his voice felt like a sharp contrast to the fleeting moment of connection you thought you’d shared the night before. You sighed, the disappointment settling heavily in your chest. Somehow, it seemed like you’d messed up again, and you couldn’t help but feel the sting of rejection all over again.

“Did that… make you uncomfortable? I’m sorry,” you ventured, hoping to clear the air, even if it meant confronting whatever it was that had made him withdraw.

“It’s fine,” Spencer replied, his voice clipped, as if he was trying to end the conversation before it could really start. He still didn’t meet your eyes, his attention entirely on the coffee pot.

You watched him for a moment, feeling the familiar ache of misunderstanding between you two. It was clear that whatever had happened during the night had unsettled him, but he wasn’t willing to talk about it. The walls were back up, and despite your best efforts, you couldn’t seem to break through.

But instead of pressing further, you decided to let it go, at least for now. Pushing Spencer never worked, and you knew that trying to force a conversation would only make things worse. So you offered him a small, resigned smile, even if he wasn’t looking to see it.

“Okay,” you said softly, accepting his response even though it left you feeling hollow.

You sat down by the fire, quietly waiting for the coffee to finish brewing. The silence between you felt heavy, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that you had taken a step backward after all the progress you thought you’d made. 

“Um, we can head out whenever you’re ready. We only had to stay until today,” you mumbled, your voice subdued as you stood up and started to take down your tent. You avoided looking directly at Spencer, the awkwardness of the morning still hanging in the air.

“Oh, okay,” Spencer replied, his tone neutral, though you could sense a hint of hesitation in his response.

As you began to disassemble the tent, Spencer watched you for a moment, the silence between you lingering. Despite everything, he found himself reluctant to leave. The tension and awkwardness aside, there had been moments—small, fleeting moments—where he had actually enjoyed your company. The quiet of the campsite, the simplicity of the night, even the unexpected comfort he’d found in your presence last night… it was all something he hadn’t anticipated.

He felt a strange pull, a desire to stay just a little longer, even if he couldn’t quite articulate why. But he was Spencer Reid, and expressing those kinds of feelings wasn’t something that came easily to him. Instead, he stood there, conflicted, as he watched you go about packing up.

“Actually… we don’t have to rush,” Spencer finally said, his voice softer now. “If you want, we could stay for a little while longer. There’s no hurry.”

You paused in your task, surprised by his words. You turned to look at him, searching his face for any sign of what had changed his mind. “Are you sure?” you asked cautiously, not wanting to impose if he really wanted to leave.

Spencer nodded, his expression more open than it had been all morning. “Yeah, I’m sure. It’s… nice out here. Peaceful.”

A small smile tugged at your lips, and for the first time that morning, you felt a bit of the tension ease. Maybe you hadn’t messed up as badly as you thought. “Okay,” you agreed, setting the tent pole back down. “We can stay a little longer.”

Spencer gave a small, almost imperceptible smile in return, and as the two of you stood there in the morning light, it felt like there was a chance to start over—to take the time neither of you had been willing to take before. 

—

After a simple breakfast, you looked over at Spencer, feeling a bit more at ease with the morning stretching out before you. “When I went for a walk, I saw a body of water,” you suggested, trying to keep the conversation light and inviting. “Do you want to go check it out?”

Spencer looked up from his coffee, a little surprised by the suggestion. “Oh, sure,” he agreed, his tone more relaxed than it had been earlier.

The two of you set off through the trees, following the path you had taken before. It didn’t take long to find the body of water again, the sunlight reflecting off its surface in shimmering patterns. The sight was even more beautiful now, with the morning light casting a gentle glow over the water.

“It’s gorgeous,” Spencer said softly, his voice filled with genuine appreciation as he took in the scene.

“Yeah,” you agreed, your eyes sweeping over the peaceful setting. The water was so clear, so inviting, that you couldn’t resist the urge to get in. “I’m going to get in,” you announced, already starting to kick off your shoes.

“What?” Spencer’s voice cracked, his surprise evident as he watched you strip down to your undergarments without hesitation. His cheeks flushed a light shade of pink as you waded into the cold, refreshing water, a small shiver running through you as the temperature hit your skin.

The water was invigorating, waking you up in a way that the morning coffee never could. You splashed around a bit, reveling in the feeling of the water against your skin. Turning back to Spencer, who was still standing at the edge, looking unsure of what to do, you grinned. “Do you know how to swim, genius?”

“Yes,” he replied, blushing even deeper as he averted his eyes slightly, clearly trying to maintain some semblance of decorum despite the situation.

“Do you want to join me?” you asked, your voice light and teasing as you floated on your back, letting the water carry you.

Spencer hesitated, clearly torn between his natural inclination to stay dry and the surprising appeal of joining you in the water. After a moment, he looked back at you, the uncertainty in his eyes slowly giving way to something else—curiosity, maybe even a touch of daring.

“Alright,” he finally said, as if making a decision that surprised even himself. With a deep breath, he began to unbutton his shirt, methodically removing his clothes until he was down to a tshirt and briefs. His movements were careful, deliberate, as if he was still a bit unsure about this whole idea.

When he finally stepped into the water, a shiver ran through him as the cold enveloped his body. “It’s… colder than I expected,” he admitted, his voice a bit higher-pitched than usual.

You couldn’t help but laugh at his reaction, watching as he waded in deeper, adjusting to the temperature. “You’ll get used to it,” you assured him, still floating easily on the surface.

Spencer nodded, his movements tentative at first, but as he swam out to where you were, he began to relax. There was a certain lightness to the moment, a freedom that neither of you had felt in a long time. The water, the sun, the simple act of swimming—it was a welcome escape from the tension that had defined your interactions until now.

The two of you spent what felt like hours playing and splashing in the water, the cool waves washing away the tension that had been hanging between you. It was a rare, carefree moment where you both felt free and childlike, laughing without a care in the world. There were no pressures, no responsibilities—just the simple joy of being in the moment.

But as the sun climbed higher in the sky, signaling that it was time to come out, you noticed a shift in Spencer. He seemed hesitant, his earlier playfulness replaced with a familiar tension. He lingered in the water, avoiding your gaze, and you could sense his discomfort.

“Um, Y/N… can you turn around when I get out?” Spencer asked, his voice quiet, almost nervous.

“Huh? Oh, yeah, of course,” you replied, caught a little off guard by his request but willing to do whatever made him comfortable.

“And, um… maybe walk a bit away?” he added, his tone even more tentative.

“Uh huh, sure. Whatever you want,” you said gently, giving him a reassuring smile before turning away and moving up the bank. You grabbed your clothes and began walking a bit further from the water, giving him the privacy he clearly needed.

Spencer waited until you were a safe distance away and preoccupied with getting dressed before he quickly and quietly scrambled out of the water, pulling on his clothes as fast as he could. The vulnerability of being in nothing but water-tight briefs had brought back all his fears, the insecurities that had haunted him for years.

As you both started the walk back to the campsite, you couldn’t help but address the tension that still lingered. “Did you think I would make fun of you?” you asked, your voice soft, but tinged with concern.

Spencer shook his head slightly, though he didn’t look at you. “Oh, no, I don’t know,” he mumbled, clearly uncomfortable.

Your heart ached at his response. “I wouldn’t, for the record,” you said earnestly, hoping to reassure him.

There was a brief silence, heavy with unspoken emotions, before you felt compelled to share something of your own. “I grew up with a really mean sister,” you began, your voice carrying the weight of old wounds. “She would make fun of everyone for anything and everything, including me. It was a torturous way to grow up. I would never want to make anyone feel the way that she made me feel.”

Spencer suddenly stopped walking, his entire body tensing as if he’d hit an invisible wall. You turned to him, alarmed by the sudden change.

“Spencer? Are you okay?” you asked, worry lacing your voice.

He took a deep breath, his voice strained as he spoke. “It’s not you, it’s never been you,” he said, his words confusing you even more. “It was your sister.”

“What?” you whispered, the revelation hitting you like a cold gust of wind.

“Your sister was in my grade in high school,” Spencer explained, his voice trembling with the emotions he’d kept buried for so long.

“Oh…” was all you could manage, the pieces slowly clicking into place.

“She wasn’t nice,” Spencer continued, his voice thick with the memories. His eyes welled up with tears, and he blinked rapidly, trying to hold them back. “She bullied me pretty relentlessly. Tied me up naked to a flagpole and took pictures.”

“Spencer… oh my God,” you breathed, horror and guilt crashing over you. You thought your heart had broken earlier, but now it felt shattered, the pieces scattered by the weight of his confession. “I don’t even know what to say. I am so, so sorry. No one ever deserves that. I can’t believe you went through that.”

Spencer nodded, the tears finally spilling over as he stood there, vulnerable in a way you had never seen before. The pain he had carried for so long, the fear that had driven a wedge between you, was now out in the open. 

“Can I—can I hug you?” you offered, your voice gentle, filled with the empathy and care that had been building in your heart since Spencer’s revelation.

Spencer hesitated for only a moment before nodding, allowing you to pull him into an embrace. You wrapped your arms around him, holding him close, feeling the tension in his body gradually melt away as he leaned into the comfort you were offering.

“You don’t have to say anything,” you murmured softly against his shoulder. “I’m going to assume that you were afraid of me being like my sister, and that’s why you didn’t talk to me.”

Spencer nodded again, his silent confirmation making your heart ache even more for him. You could only imagine the fear and pain he must have felt, avoiding you because of a past that had nothing to do with who you truly were.

“I just want you to know, Spencer,” you continued, your voice steady but filled with emotion, “I would never do anything to hurt you in any way. I am nothing like her. I’ve spent my whole life trying to be the opposite of her. My family disowned her a long time ago.”

Spencer pulled back slightly then, just enough to look at you, his eyes still wet with tears. There was a vulnerability in his gaze that you hadn’t seen before, a deep, raw emotion that spoke volumes. “I believe you,” he whispered, his voice breaking but filled with sincerity.

Your own eyes stung with unshed tears, the weight of his belief in you meaning more than you could express. “I’m so sorry to have made you feel uncomfortable this whole time,” you said, your voice thick with regret. “I completely understand why you didn’t want to get too close to me.”

Spencer shook his head slightly, about to apologize, but you stopped him before he could. “No, never apologize for protecting yourself,” you insisted, your tone firm but kind. “We’ve solved it now, and that’s what matters. I hope we can be friends?”

There was a moment of silence as Spencer processed your words, and then, slowly, a small but genuine smile formed on his lips. “Of course,” he said softly, his voice filled with a warmth that hadn’t been there before.

You smiled back, feeling a sense of relief and hope wash over you. The wall between you and Spencer had finally come down, and in its place was the beginning of a real connection—one built on understanding, empathy, and the promise of a friendship that could grow from here.

“Thank you,” Spencer added quietly, his voice full of gratitude. And for the first time, you both felt like you were truly starting fresh, free from the shadows of the past.

—

You and Spencer made it back to Quantico with a sense of quiet relief, knowing that the rift between you had finally been addressed. When you reported back to the team, you both kept the details vague, simply letting them know that you had worked things out. Spencer was immensely grateful for your discretion, and you could see it in the small, appreciative smiles he sent your way. During the ride back, the two of you had chatted the entire time, the conversation flowing easily as if the weight of the past had finally been lifted.

The next day at work, you felt a new sense of ease around Spencer. The tension was gone, replaced by the beginnings of what felt like a genuine friendship. As you approached his desk, you felt a little flutter of nerves, but it was a good kind—like you were about to take a step forward into something new.

“Hey, Spencer…” you called softly as you reached his desk.

He looked up from his work, a smile spreading across his face when he saw you. “Hey, Y/N,” he greeted warmly.

“Would you maybe want to come over this weekend? We could watch a movie or something?” you asked, hoping to continue building on the connection you’d started.

“Sure,” he grinned, clearly pleased by the invitation. “That sounds great.”

You returned his smile, feeling a little spark of excitement as you walked away. It felt good to know that things between you and Spencer were on a new path, one that was built on mutual understanding and trust.

Unbeknownst to you, Derek Morgan had been casually eavesdropping from a distance. As soon as you were out of earshot, he sneaked up on Spencer, a mischievous grin on his face. “You got yourself a date, Reid?” Derek teased, leaning on the desk with a playful glint in his eye.

Spencer’s eyes widened, and he shook his head quickly, his cheeks flushing slightly. “What? No, we’re just hanging out,” he insisted, his voice flustered but firm.

“Mhm,” Derek hummed, not buying it for a second, his teasing grin only widening. “Sure, man, just hanging out.”

Spencer shot him a look, trying to maintain his composure, but the slight smile tugging at the corner of his lips gave him away. Despite Derek’s teasing, there was a sense of warmth and excitement bubbling up inside Spencer—because for the first time, “just hanging out” with someone felt like it could lead to something more, even if he wasn’t quite ready to admit it yet.

Derek chuckled and gave Spencer a friendly pat on the shoulder before walking away, leaving Spencer to ponder the possibilities that lay ahead, a small smile still lingering on his face.

—

Friday evening arrived faster than you and Spencer had expected. Both of you were feeling excitement and nervousness, eager for the evening ahead but also unsure of how it would unfold. You had spent the day tidying up and preparing your living room, making sure everything was just right for your night of movie watching and hanging out. You wanted Spencer to feel comfortable, and you hoped the cozy atmosphere you’d created would help set the tone for a relaxing evening.

When Spencer arrived at your place, he was immediately taken aback by the scene before him. Your living room was bathed in the soft glow of string lights, their warm hue giving the room a welcoming, almost magical quality. The sunset outside the window painted the sky in shades of pink and orange, adding to the serene ambiance. The couch was piled with soft blankets, and a few pillows were scattered around, inviting him to sit and get comfortable. On the coffee table, you had set out some snacks, drinks, and everything you might need for a night of watching movies.

As he stepped inside, Spencer couldn’t help but smile, feeling a wave of relief wash over him. He had been half-expecting some sort of trick or prank, but instead, you had gone out of your way to make the evening as enjoyable as possible. It was clear that you genuinely wanted to spend time with him, and the effort you’d put into setting everything up didn’t go unnoticed.

“Wow,” Spencer said softly, his eyes taking in the cozy, well-thought-out setup. “This looks amazing.”

You smiled, pleased that he seemed to like it. “Thanks, I wanted to make sure we could just relax and have a good time,” you replied, motioning for him to come in and make himself comfortable. “No tricks, I promise.”

Spencer chuckled, the tension he’d been feeling all day melting away as he settled onto the couch. “I believe you,” he said, feeling more at ease than he had expected. 

As you both sat down, the air was filled with a comfortable anticipation, the kind that comes with knowing you’re about to spend time with someone you genuinely enjoy being around. It was the start of what promised to be a wonderful evening, free from the worries of the past and full of the potential for a growing friendship.

After the first movie ended, the credits rolling across the screen, you and Spencer found yourselves lingering on the couch, the atmosphere between you light and airy, buoyed by the humor of the comedy you’d just watched. The laughter had done its job, breaking down any lingering tension, and now conversation flowed easily between you.

“So, what did you think of the movie?” you asked, turning to Spencer with a smile. You’d both been chuckling throughout, but you were curious to hear his thoughts now that it was over.

“It was great,” Spencer replied, a genuine grin on his face. “I don’t usually watch a lot of comedies, but that one was really funny. The timing, the dialogue… it was all really well done.” He seemed more relaxed than you’d ever seen him, his guard down as he leaned back into the couch.

“Yeah, it’s one of my favorites,” you said, pleased that he had enjoyed it. “Sometimes you just need something light to unwind, you know?”

Spencer nodded in agreement. “Definitely. It’s nice to just… laugh, without thinking too much.” He hesitated for a moment before adding, “I guess I don’t do that enough.”

You smiled softly at his admission, feeling a warmth in your chest at the idea that tonight was giving him something he didn’t often allow himself. “Well, I’m glad you’re here. We can do this more often if you want. Just hang out and relax.”

Spencer glanced over at you, his eyes softening. “I’d like that,” he said sincerely. “It’s nice to have someone to do this with.”

There was a comfortable silence between you for a moment, the kind that felt natural and unforced. You reached for the remote, ready to start another movie, but found yourself pausing, wanting to keep the conversation going a little longer.

“So, what’s one movie you think I should watch?” you asked, curious to hear his recommendation. “Something you really love.”

Spencer’s eyes lit up with excitement, the prospect of sharing one of his favorite films with you clearly appealing to him. “Oh, there are so many,” he said, his enthusiasm contagious. “But if I had to pick one… Have you ever seen *The Great Dictator* by Charlie Chaplin?”

You shook your head, intrigued by his choice. “No, I haven’t. Is it good?”

“It’s incredible,” Spencer said, his voice full of admiration. “It’s one of Chaplin’s best works—a satire that’s both funny and deeply poignant. It’s also one of the first films where he speaks, and the final speech… it’s just powerful.”

“Wow, sounds like a must-watch,” you said, genuinely interested. “We should definitely put that on our list for next time.”

“Absolutely,” Spencer agreed, smiling. “I think you’d really appreciate it.”

As the night wound down, the conversation between you and Spencer became more intimate, the two of you curled up on the couch, facing each other. The atmosphere was warm and comfortable, the barriers that had once stood between you now gone. The flickering glow of the TV cast soft shadows around the room, but your focus was entirely on each other, the outside world forgotten for the moment.

“So, Reid… are you seeing anyone?” you asked, your tone light but curious.

Spencer chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Hah, no, I’m not,” he replied, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Are you?”

“I was,” you admitted, feeling a small flush rise to your cheeks. “But they were kind of flaky, not ready to commit.”

“That makes sense,” Spencer said, nodding thoughtfully. “Do you date a lot?”

You blushed a little deeper, suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious. “Not a lot,” you confessed. “I prefer to wait for a genuine connection.”

“Me too,” Spencer agreed, his voice soft, as if he were relieved to find that you shared the same sentiment.

“Have you dated recently?” you asked, your curiosity piqued. Spencer had always seemed so private, and you couldn’t help but wonder if there was someone special in his life.

“Not really,” he said, a small, almost sad smile crossing his face. “I… am kind of wary of dating.”

“Can I ask why? You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to,” you said gently, not wanting to push him but also wanting to understand more about him.

Spencer hesitated for a moment, clearly weighing whether or not to share. “Um… well, in school, girls would ask me on dates, and when I showed up, they’d make fun of me and take pictures,” he finally admitted, his voice quiet, the pain from those memories still lingering.

“Like my sister?” you asked softly, already suspecting the answer.

“Yeah,” he confirmed, his eyes flickering with the old hurt. “That’s how she… yeah.”

“Oh, Spencer…” you breathed, your heart breaking for him all over again. You reached out instinctively, wanting to offer comfort, but you held back, respecting his space.

“Let’s not talk about it,” he said, his voice firmer this time, as if he needed to move past the subject for his own peace of mind.

“Of course,” you agreed immediately, not wanting to cause him any more pain.

There was a brief silence, one that felt heavy with unspoken words, but before you could change the topic, Spencer spoke again, his voice softer, almost hesitant. “You’re prettier than her, you know.”

“What’s that?” you asked, not sure you had heard him correctly.

“Your sister,” Spencer clarified, his eyes meeting yours with a sincerity that made your heart skip a beat. “You’re prettier. And nicer, but that’s a given.”

You felt your cheeks flush deeply, not just from his words, but from the way he said them—with such earnestness, as if he’d been holding onto that thought for a while. The compliment caught you off guard, and you weren’t quite sure how to respond.

“Thank you,” you finally managed, your voice soft, touched by his words more than you could express. “That really means a lot. She… did not think so.”

Spencer’s expression softened even further, a mix of empathy and determination in his eyes. “I hope you know that you are,” he said, his voice gentle yet firm, as if he needed you to believe it as much as he did.

“Thank you, Spencer,” you replied, a warm smile spreading across your face. “You’re really pretty too.”

Spencer blinked in surprise, his cheeks tinging pink at the unexpected compliment. “Really?” he asked, his voice laced with disbelief and curiosity.

“Mhm,” you nodded, your smile widening. “I’ve always thought so.”

The sincerity in your voice seemed to catch Spencer off guard, and for a moment, he didn’t know how to respond. It wasn’t often that he received compliments like this—especially not from someone he was beginning to care about as much as he cared about you. He felt a warmth spread through him, a sense of validation that he hadn’t realized he needed.

“Thank you,” he finally said, his voice almost a whisper, but the smile that touched his lips was genuine and full of a newfound confidence. There was something deeply reassuring about your words, something that made him feel seen in a way he hadn’t felt before.

As the evening continued, the bond between you only deepened, both of you more relaxed and open with each other than you had been before. The compliments exchanged were just the beginning—a sign that what was growing between you was more than just a simple friendship. It was a connection built on mutual respect, admiration, and a shared understanding of each other’s pasts and insecurities.

—

“How was your date, pretty boy?” Derek teased, his voice carrying across the bullpen as he leaned against Spencer's desk with a wide grin.

“It wasn’t a date,” Spencer mumbled, his eyes firmly fixed on the stack of papers in front of him. He could feel the heat rising to his cheeks, and he desperately wished Derek would drop the subject.

“Reid had a date?” Rossi’s voice chimed in as he walked by, a look of amused surprise on his face.

“Yep! Friday night,” Derek laughed, clearly enjoying Spencer’s discomfort.

“Would you guys keep it down? I did not have a date,” Spencer hissed, his voice low and urgent as he glanced nervously toward the entrance. The last thing he wanted was for you to walk in and overhear them. The thought of you getting the wrong idea—or worse, feeling awkward about the night—made his stomach twist.

“Aw, come on, Reid,” Derek continued, not ready to let it go just yet. “You’re telling me you spent a whole evening at Y/N’s place, all cozy on the couch, and that wasn’t a date?”

Spencer sighed, his frustration mounting as he tried to formulate a response that would shut down the teasing. “We were just hanging out,” he insisted, though he couldn’t deny the warmth that crept into his voice at the memory of the evening. “We’re friends. That’s all.”

Derek exchanged a knowing look with Rossi, both of them clearly unconvinced but willing to let it slide—for now, at least. “Alright, alright,” Derek said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “If you say so, pretty boy.”

Rossi chuckled, giving Spencer a reassuring pat on the back. “Whatever it was, it’s good to see you two getting along,” he said, his tone more serious now.

Spencer nodded, grateful for the subtle shift in the conversation. “Thanks, Rossi,” he replied quietly, hoping the conversation was finally over.

Just as the tension began to ease, you walked through the door, a bright smile on your face as you entered the bullpen. Spencer’s heart skipped a beat, and he quickly looked down at his work, praying that the others wouldn’t say anything more.

“Morning, everyone,” you greeted cheerfully, oblivious to the earlier exchange.

“Morning, Y/N,” Derek and Rossi replied in unison, their voices notably more innocent than they had been moments before.

Spencer dared a quick glance up at you, relieved to see that you hadn’t picked up on the previous teasing. “Morning,” he mumbled, trying to focus on the files in front of him.

You gave him a warm smile, your eyes meeting his for a brief moment, and he felt a sense of relief wash over him. Whatever Derek and Rossi thought, you knew the truth—and that was all that mattered.

—

“Hey, Y/N,” Alex greeted you with a warm smile as she approached your desk.

“Hey, Alex,” you replied, returning the smile. “How was your weekend?”

“It was relaxing, thanks for asking,” Alex said, her tone light and casual. “How about you? What’s up?”

Before you could answer, Alex’s eyes sparkled with a bit of mischief as she continued, “I heard you had a date this weekend.”

You blinked in surprise, momentarily thrown off by the comment. “Uh, nope. Just hung out with Reid and went to the farmers market,” you clarified, wondering where she had gotten the idea that it was anything more.

Alex raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the teasing. “It wasn’t a date with Reid?”

“No? Did he say it was?” you asked, genuinely curious now. Had Spencer mentioned something to someone that made them think it was a date?

Realizing she might have stirred something up unintentionally, Alex quickly backtracked. “I think I might have misspoke, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause any confusion,” she said with an apologetic smile. “I’ll see you later, honey.”

“Bye, Alex,” you replied, still a bit puzzled by the exchange. As she walked away, you couldn’t help but replay the conversation in your head, wondering how such a simple evening of hanging out with Spencer had turned into a rumor about a date.

Shaking your head, you decided not to dwell on it too much. You knew the truth of the situation, and that was enough. Still, the idea of others seeing you and Spencer as something more than friends lingered in your mind, leaving you with curiosity and uncertainty as you returned to your work.

—

“Reid! You had a date with Y/N and didn’t think to tell me?? I thought we were close!” Penelope’s voice whined from across the breakroom, her tone a mix of hurt and playful exaggeration.

Spencer nearly choked on his coffee, his eyes widening in surprise as he turned to face her. “I did not have a date with Y/N!” he insisted, exasperation clear in his voice. “Did Derek tell you that? I swear, the gossip in this office travels at the speed of light.”

Penelope shook her head, her brightly colored glasses slipping slightly down her nose. “Oh, no, I heard it from JJ.”

“JJ?” Spencer repeated, even more bewildered. “I never told JJ anything about a date because there wasn’t a date!”

Penelope tilted her head, a curious look on her face. “Maybe Y/N did…”

Spencer sighed deeply, rubbing the back of his neck as he processed the situation. “No, Y/N wouldn’t have said it was a date because it wasn’t,” he reiterated, feeling like the whole thing was spiraling out of control.

Penelope’s expression softened as she realized how flustered Spencer was. “Okay, okay, calm down, boy genius,” she said gently, placing a reassuring hand on his arm. “It’s just a bit of harmless teasing. But, honestly, with how everyone’s talking, it does kind of sound like a date, you know?”

Spencer groaned inwardly, knowing that trying to convince everyone otherwise was starting to feel like a losing battle. “It was just a casual hangout,” he emphasized, though even he could hear how unconvincing it sounded at this point.

Penelope studied him for a moment, her gaze more thoughtful now. “Okay, I believe you,” she finally said with a small smile. “But just so you know, if it ever turns into more than just a hangout… you can always come to me for advice.”

Spencer’s cheeks flushed slightly, and he offered her a shy smile in return. “Thanks, Penelope. I’ll keep that in mind.”

With that, Penelope gave him a quick hug before heading out of the breakroom, leaving Spencer standing there, still a little dazed by how quickly the rumor mill had turned a simple evening into a full-blown office saga. But as he finished his coffee, he couldn’t help but wonder—if so many people were seeing it as more than just a hangout, was there something there he hadn’t fully acknowledged yet?

—

You were focused on making copies in the copier room when you heard the door creak open behind you. Turning around, you were pleasantly surprised to see Spencer standing there. 

“Hey,” you greeted him with a warm smile, happy to see him.

“Hi…” he replied, but his tone was hesitant, his usual shyness creeping back in.

Your smile faltered slightly. “Oh no, I thought we were past the cold shoulder,” you teased lightly, hoping to ease whatever tension he might be feeling.

Spencer’s expression softened, and he quickly shook his head. “Sorry, we are,” he assured you, a hint of a smile forming on his lips.

Before you could say anything else, the door swung open again, and JJ walked in, a playful grin on her face. “Hey, love birds,” she teased, clearly unaware of the moment she was interrupting.

Startled, you jumped, your hand slipping and slamming down on the copier lid. “Ow!” you yelped, pain shooting through your fingers as you quickly pulled your hand back.

JJ’s face immediately filled with concern as she rushed over. “Oh shoot, Y/N, I didn’t mean to scare you!” she exclaimed, her voice filled with guilt.

Spencer was at your side in an instant, his worry evident in his eyes. “Y/N! Are you okay?” he asked, his voice laced with concern as he reached for your injured hand.

You winced, flexing your fingers slightly to test them. “No, I crushed my hand really hard,” you admitted, the throbbing pain making it difficult to think about anything else.

“Let’s go get you some ice,” Spencer said quickly, his hand gently guiding you toward the door.

JJ nodded, clearly feeling bad about what had happened. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I didn’t mean to startle you,” she said, her voice filled with sincerity as she followed you both out of the room.

“It’s okay,” you reassured her, though the pain in your hand made it hard to keep the smile on your face. “It was just an accident.”

Spencer didn’t waste any time as he led you down the hall, his worry for you clear in his every movement. Once you reached the breakroom, he quickly grabbed a small bag of ice from the freezer, wrapping it in a towel before gently pressing it against your injured hand.

“Here,” he said softly, his voice full of concern as he held the ice in place. “This should help.”

You nodded gratefully, touched by how attentive he was being. “Thanks, Spencer,” you murmured, the pain starting to dull under the cool pressure of the ice.

In that moment, as Spencer held the ice gently against your hand, you looked up at him and couldn’t help but smile. The concern in his eyes, the tenderness in his touch—it was all so sweet, so genuine. For a second, it felt like the rest of the world had faded away, leaving just the two of you in your little bubble of shared warmth. Anyone looking at you both in that moment would have seen it—the soft, unspoken affection that had been quietly growing between you.

Just then, the door to the breakroom swung open, and Aaron Hotchner walked in, his gaze immediately landing on the two of you. He stopped short, raising an eyebrow as he took in the scene. “Whoa, am I interrupting something?” he asked, a hint of teasing in his usually serious tone.

You and Spencer both snapped out of your little world, glancing at each other with wide eyes before quickly looking away, your faces flushing with embarrassment.

“No, uh, Y/N just hurt her hand,” Spencer stammered, his voice a little higher than usual as he struggled to explain. “I was just helping her with some ice.”

Aaron’s lips quirked into a small smile, clearly not entirely convinced by the rushed explanation. “I see,” he said, his tone even but with that subtle hint of amusement. “Well, it’s good to see you’re taking care of each other.”

You nodded, still blushing, but managed to muster a smile. “Thanks, Hotch. It’s nothing serious, just a little bump.”

“Glad to hear it,” Aaron replied, giving you both a knowing look before heading to the coffee machine. He didn’t say anything more, but the slight smirk on his face as he poured his coffee said plenty.

As he left the room, the silence between you and Spencer felt charged, the air thick with the unspoken feelings that neither of you were quite ready to fully acknowledge. But despite the awkwardness, there was also a warmth—an understanding that something was shifting between you, something neither of you could deny.

Finally, Spencer broke the silence, his voice softer now, almost hesitant. “You should keep the ice on for a while,” he said, still holding the towel-wrapped bag against your hand.

“Yeah,” you agreed, your voice just as quiet, but your heart was still racing from the earlier moment. “Thanks, Spencer. I really appreciate it.”

He nodded, his eyes meeting yours for just a second before flicking away again. “Anytime,” he murmured, and despite the awkwardness, there was a small, genuine smile on his lips that made your heart flutter just a little more.

—

By the end of the week, the teasing from the team had mostly died down. The playful comments and knowing looks had given way to the usual routines of work, and everyone seemed to move on from the idea that you and Spencer were more than just friends. But despite the outward calm, Spencer couldn’t shake the thoughts that lingered in his mind.

All week, he found himself replaying the moments you had shared—the movie night, the quiet conversations, the way you had looked at him when he held the ice against your hand. It wasn’t just the teasing that had gotten under his skin; it was the way it made him question things he hadn’t fully considered before.

Spencer wasn’t someone who easily delved into matters of the heart. His mind was so often occupied with facts, statistics, and the complexities of human behavior that his own emotions sometimes felt like an unsolvable puzzle. But now, those emotions were harder to ignore. He kept thinking about the way your smile made his heart beat a little faster, or how he found comfort in your presence in a way that was different from anyone else.

He was still trying to wrap his head around what it all meant. Was it just friendship, or was there something more? And if there was more, what did that mean for both of you? Spencer wasn’t sure he had the answers, but he knew he couldn’t just brush it off as easily as he once might have.

As the week came to a close, he found himself wanting to talk to you more, to spend time with you, to explore whatever this was between you both. The thought of asking you out—actually asking you out—crossed his mind more than once, but every time he considered it, a wave of nerves would hit him, and he’d retreat back into his thoughts.

By Friday afternoon, he was still thinking about it as he sat at his desk, his work in front of him but his mind far from focused on the task at hand. The uncertainty gnawed at him, but there was also a flicker of excitement there, a small hope that maybe, just maybe, this could turn into something real.

—

As the workday came to an end, people began to gather around the elevators, eager to start their weekends. Spencer had been keeping an eye out for you, hoping to catch you before you left. He wanted to ask if you’d like to hang out again this weekend, the thought of spending more time with you making him feel both nervous and excited.

But just as he was about to approach you, another agent, Brant Ledgers, beat him to it. Spencer slowed his pace, watching the exchange from a distance, his heart sinking as Brant tried to turn on the charm.

“Hey, Agent,” Brant said, his voice smooth, leaning in a little too close for comfort.

“Um, hello,” you replied, taken aback by his sudden approach.

“You look beautiful today, and I couldn’t help but notice you smell divine. Did you intentionally pick my favorite scent?” Brant continued, his tone dripping with arrogance.

“What?” you asked, clearly uncomfortable with the way he was speaking to you.

Before the situation could escalate, the elevator arrived, and Spencer, feeling a pang of anxiety at the possibility of hearing you agree to another man’s advances, quickly stepped inside, not wanting to witness it.

But just as the doors were closing, he overheard Brant’s next move. “What do you say, baby? You and me, this weekend?” Brant asked, his tone filled with unwelcome confidence.

“Oh, um, no thank you. I appreciate the offer,” you replied, trying to be polite despite your discomfort.

“Why not?” Brant pressed, his voice taking on a sharper edge.

“I don’t have to give you a reason,” you said firmly, attempting to walk away.

But as you turned to leave, Brant grabbed your arm, stopping you in your tracks. “Uh, yeah, you do,” he said, his grip tight and his tone menacing.

Just then, Derek Morgan, who had been nearby, stepped out of the bullpen and saw what was happening. “Whoa, what’s going on?” Derek’s voice boomed, his protective instincts kicking in immediately.

“We’re having a conversation, butt out,” Brant snapped, clearly irritated by Derek’s interference.

“Y/N, you good?” Derek asked, ignoring Brant entirely as he focused on you.

You shook your head, the fear and discomfort evident in your eyes.

“Let her go, Ledgers,” Derek commanded, his voice low and dangerous.

Brant hesitated for a moment, clearly not wanting to back down, but the look in Derek’s eyes told him this wasn’t a fight he was going to win. With a huff, Brant released your arm, glaring at Derek as he stepped back.

“You’re making a big mistake,” Brant muttered under his breath as he turned and walked away, but Derek paid him no mind.

As soon as Brant was gone, Derek turned to you, concern etched on his face. “You okay?” he asked gently.

You nodded, though your hand instinctively rubbed the spot on your arm where Brant had grabbed you. “Yeah, I’m okay. Thanks, Derek.”

“Anytime,” Derek said, his tone softening as he placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “You need anything, you let me know, alright?”

“Will do,” you replied, giving him a grateful smile.

Derek walked with you toward the elevator, determined to make sure you got to your car safely. The incident with Ledgers had shaken you more than you wanted to admit, but having Derek by your side brought a sense of security.

When you reached the garage, you spotted Spencer standing near Derek’s car, clearly waiting for his ride home. His eyes lit up with concern the moment he saw you, and as Derek explained the situation, his expression shifted from concern to anger.

“Hey, Reid, I’m going to walk Y/N to her car, then I’ll be back, okay?” Derek said, his tone firm as he made sure Spencer understood the seriousness of the situation.

“Oh, sure, what’s going on?” Spencer asked, his brows furrowed in confusion.

“Ledgers tried to grab at her. I want to make sure she gets out of here safe and sound,” Derek explained, his voice laced with protective determination.

“What?” Spencer’s voice boomed, the anger evident as he looked around, clearly ready to confront Ledgers himself. “Where is he?”

You quickly placed a hand on Spencer’s arm, trying to calm him down. “It’s okay, Spencer. Derek stepped in before he got too far.”

Spencer’s gaze softened as he looked at you, the concern in his eyes clear. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice gentler now, but still full of worry.

“Yeah,” you nodded, offering him a reassuring smile. “I’m okay.”

Spencer hesitated for a moment, his eyes searching yours as if trying to determine if you were really alright. “Do you want me to come over tonight? Keep you company?” he offered, his voice sincere and filled with a desire to help.

Your heart warmed at his offer, and you nodded, grateful for his support. “Thank you, Spencer, that sounds really nice. Do you just want to ride with me?” you asked, knowing it would be easier for both of you to go together.

“Yeah, I do,” Spencer replied without hesitation, clearly wanting to be there for you in any way he could.

Derek, who had been watching the exchange with a knowing smirk, couldn’t resist a little teasing. “Have fun on your second date, lovebirds,” he quipped, the smirk growing wider as he saw the blush rise on both your cheeks.

Spencer gave Derek a half-hearted glare, but the warmth in his eyes betrayed his true feelings. “It’s not a date,” he mumbled, though there was a hint of a smile on his lips.

Derek just chuckled, patting Spencer on the back. “Whatever you say, pretty boy. Just take care of her.”

With that, Spencer stayed close by your side, the silent protector you hadn’t known you needed until now. As you both got into your car, the earlier tension faded away, replaced by the comforting knowledge that, no matter what, you had each other’s backs.

—

As you and Spencer sat across from each other at your dining table, enjoying the simple comfort of dinner together, Spencer’s thoughts kept circling back to what had happened earlier. The guilt gnawed at him, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that he should have done something—anything—to protect you from Ledgers. He had been so close, yet he had let the situation unfold without intervening.

Finally, he couldn’t keep it in any longer. Setting his fork down, he looked at you with a seriousness that made you pause. “Y/N, I’m so sorry I wasn’t there to help,” he said, his voice laced with regret.

You looked up from your plate, surprised by the sudden apology. “What? Oh, Spencer, it’s not your fault. You couldn’t have known.”

He shook his head, clearly not satisfied with that answer. “I should have waited for you,” he insisted, his guilt deepening. The thought of you being in a situation like that without him there to support you weighed heavily on his mind.

“You’re not required to wait for me,” you replied softly, trying to ease his worries. “It’s okay, really.”

Spencer hesitated, his eyes dropping to his plate as he wrestled with what he wanted to say next. He knew he had to be honest, even if it made him vulnerable. Taking a deep breath, he decided to take the plunge. “No, I know. I just…” He paused, gathering his courage before continuing. “I heard him asking you out, and I guess I didn’t want to stick around to hear you say yes.”

Your breath caught slightly at his admission, the pieces falling into place. It wasn’t just guilt driving Spencer’s apology—it was something deeper, something more personal. You could see the uncertainty in his eyes, the way he was trying to gauge your reaction.

“Spencer,” you began gently, reaching across the table to take his hand, “I would never have said yes to him. I’m not interested in Brant, and I’m certainly not interested in anyone who would treat me like that.”

He looked up at you then, the worry in his eyes softening as your words sank in. “I know, I just… I didn’t want to hear it, you know?” he admitted, his voice quiet but honest.

You squeezed his hand, offering him a reassuring smile. “I understand,” you said softly. “But I want you to know that you don’t have to worry about that. I can take care of myself.”

Spencer felt a pang of frustration as he realized his initial explanation hadn’t fully conveyed what he meant. He took a deep breath, deciding it was time to be as clear as possible, even if it made him nervous. “I know that, Y/N,” he began, his voice steady but filled with a new kind of vulnerability. “You’re more than capable of handling yourself—that’s not what I meant.”

“Oh?” you replied, your curiosity piqued. “What did you mean?”

Spencer hesitated for a brief moment, but then the words came out in a rush, fueled by the need to be honest with you. “I don’t want you to go out with someone else.”

You blinked, the weight of his words sinking in. “Someone else?”

“I want you to go out with me,” Spencer said, the vulnerability in his eyes now unmistakable. He had put everything out on the table, his feelings laid bare for you to see.

The realization hit you, and you felt your heart skip a beat. “Oh,” you managed, your voice soft as you absorbed what he was saying.

There was a moment of silence, and you could see the anxiety flickering in Spencer’s eyes as he waited for your response. His whole posture was tense, as if he was bracing himself for whatever came next.

“Do you… want that too?” Spencer asked, his voice quieter now, but filled with hope.

You bit your lip, feeling a smile spread across your face as your heart swelled with warmth. “I do,” you replied, the sincerity in your voice clear. The smile on your face widened as you saw the relief and joy that washed over Spencer’s features.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the atmosphere between you thick with unspoken feelings and the excitement of what was to come. Then, Spencer’s lips curled into a shy, genuine smile that mirrored your own.

“So, when should we have our third date?” Spencer asked, a playful grin tugging at his lips.

You laughed, delighted by this lighter, more confident side of him. “Hmm. Tomorrow?” you suggested, your heart fluttering at the thought of spending more time with him.

“Sounds perfect,” Spencer agreed, his smile widening.

“Spencer?” you asked softly, your tone turning more serious as you looked into his eyes.

“Yeah?” he responded, his voice gentle but filled with anticipation.

“Can I kiss you before our third date?” you asked, your heart pounding as the words left your lips.

Spencer’s smile turned even softer, his eyes lighting up with warmth and affection. “I’d be offended if you didn’t,” he replied, his voice a tender mix of humor and sincerity.

With that, you leaned in, closing the small distance between you. Spencer met you halfway, his eyes fluttering shut as your lips touched in a soft, sweet kiss. It was gentle at first, both of you savoring the moment, the culmination of everything that had been building between you.

When you finally pulled back, your faces still close, you both wore matching smiles, the connection between you now unmistakable and full of promise.

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

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[genderqueerpositivity]

I absolutely cannot wait for this election cycle to be over because genuinely what the fuck. I keep drawing parallels to the 2016 election because there are just so many similarities, but what I haven't said much about yet are the ways in which things are worse.

Having the majority of people I know or randomly encounter be Trump supporting Republicans is absolutely wild now, because sometimes they will just drop the most unhinged comments you could possibly imagine into casual conversation as if they're simply commenting that the grass is green or the weather is nice today, and every time it gives me this bizarre sensation like I am somehow the one living in a different plane of reality.

The Democrats are intentionally bringing undocumented people into the country and giving them drivers licenses so they can vote in the upcoming November election, and unless Donald Trump wins and is allowed to carry out his mass deportation plan the United States will never again have a Republican Christian president.

Joe Biden has been using the US military to release chemicals into the atmosphere for the past four years which have the ability to affect the weather in order to trick the American public into believing that climate change is real.

The attack on Donald Trump at his rally was rally a plot enacted by The Deep State, a secret group of powerful liberals who are running the country behind the scenes, and they don't want Trump to win in November because he is too powerful for them to control.

Joe Biden was replaced by a secret identical body double when he allegedly had Covid several weeks ago, and the double is the one who really dropped out of the election, gives all of his speeches, and does all of his interviews now for him.

Those are just the ones I heard last week.

And the reactions I get when contradicting these wild takes range from rage to mocking to a bizarre persecution complex. In 2016 and even in 2020 I was able to have a lot of productive conversations with many people who disagreed with me greatly on major issues, and that is largely not happening this time. If I dare to disagree, they turn to anger, attack me personally, or cry immediately that I'm denying their right to free speech. When bringing up my actual lived experiences with certain issues, I've been dismissed immediately as emotional and brainwashed. There is no room for discourse or discussion anymore, it has broken down.

I know that we've been going out of our way to call them weird, but we're not really talking about fringe weirdo conspiracy theorists anymore, we're talking about your neighbors and my coworkers and your aunt and the guy behind me in line at Aldi. These people are everywhere, they're 100% serious about believing in this shit, and they're voting Republican in November come hell or high water, truth be goddamed.

You know, the lives of millions and millions of women, LGBTQ+ people, undocumented people, and other marginalized peoples are at stake in this election but it feels increasingly like reality is at stake too.

"Alternative facts" sounded outrageous seven years ago...now they've made it a way of life. Unless we can correct course, and rapidly, it isn't going to get better.

[kiwriteswords]

hi! i love your hotch x shy!reader fics! and i was wondering if you could make an angsty fic about the reader n hotch like shy! reader made a mistake during a case and hotch is very protective over her? (like they get into an argument) and please a happy ending! thank you!

Hi!! Thank you!!! Thanks so much for requesting a short drabble! I hope this was what you were looking for!

Drabble Prompts | Other Writing | Ao3

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Shy!Fem!Reader!

Word Count: 800

Rating: Everyone

TW: Canon-typical themes

The Weight of Mistakes

The air in the conference room felt stifling as the BAU team gathered around the table. They were mid-case, and things were tense, to say the least. The unsub was proving difficult to track, and time was slipping away. You had made a critical mistake — one that had cost the team precious hours. It had been a small oversight, but in a case like this, small mistakes were magnified tenfold.

You kept your eyes on the file in front of you, heart pounding, barely able to focus as Hotch gave his final instructions before sending the team out again. Your nerves were frayed, and you could feel the weight of his disappointment looming over you. Hotch was protective, fiercely so, but he was also firm when it came to the job.

As the meeting ended, you hurried out, hoping to avoid any confrontation. But you barely made it to the hallway before you heard his voice.

"Y/N, my office. Now."

You swallowed hard, nodding and following him. The walk to his office felt like an eternity, your stomach churning with anxiety. Once inside, Hotch closed the door softly, which somehow made it worse.

He stood by his desk, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. "What happened today?"

Your voice was small, barely a whisper. "I—I didn't double-check the data, and I misread the location."

"That mistake nearly cost us a witness," Hotch said, his voice tight. "You know how important it is to be thorough."

The weight of his words felt like a punch to the gut. You nodded, tears threatening to well up in your eyes. You hated how small and insignificant you felt in moments like this. "I'm sorry," you murmured, barely able to meet his gaze. "I—I didn't mean to—"

"Y/N," Hotch interrupted, his tone softer now, but still firm. "You can't be this careless. Not in the field, not when lives are at stake."

You flinched, his words cutting deeper than you’d expected. You knew he was right, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. Your insecurities swelled, and before you could stop yourself, the words tumbled out.

"I’m sorry I’m not like the rest of you," you said, voice trembling. "I’m not as confident, or experienced, or… or perfect."

Hotch’s eyes softened, and he took a step toward you, his voice low. "Nobody's asking you to be perfect."

"But I keep messing up," you said, finally meeting his gaze. "And you... you’re always watching me, waiting for me to fail, and I hate it."

His brows furrowed, and for a moment, there was only silence between you. Then, unexpectedly, he stepped closer, closing the distance. "I’m not waiting for you to fail. I’m watching because I care. Because I know how much you push yourself."

You blinked, confused. "What do you mean?"

Hotch sighed, running a hand through his hair. "You’re harder on yourself than anyone else could ever be. And I see that. But today… today scared me. You could have been hurt."

It clicked then. The protectiveness in his tone, the frustration, the way he hovered when you were in the field — it wasn’t about your abilities. It was about him caring. A lot.

Your breath hitched. "I—I just don’t want to disappoint you."

Hotch's expression softened even more as he reached out, gently cupping your chin, lifting your gaze to his. "Y/N, you don’t disappoint me. Not ever. But you have to trust yourself. You’re part of this team for a reason."

You felt the tears welling up again, but this time, they weren’t from shame or guilt. They were from relief, from the overwhelming sense that maybe, just maybe, you weren’t as inadequate as you thought.

Hotch’s thumb brushed your cheek, his touch surprisingly tender. "You made a mistake. We all do. But it’s how you move forward that matters."

You nodded, the tension slowly unraveling from your chest. "I’ll do better," you whispered.

"I know you will," he said, his voice low, almost soothing. Then, after a beat, he added, "But I’m still going to watch over you. I can’t help it."

A small smile tugged at your lips, and for the first time that day, you felt lighter. "I think I can live with that."

Hotch’s lips quirked up in a rare smile of his own, and before you knew it, he pulled you into a hug. It was brief but comforting, grounding you in a way you hadn’t expected.

As you pulled away, he looked down at you, his expression soft but serious. "Just… don’t ever think you have to be perfect. You’re enough, Y/N. Always have been."

Your heart swelled at his words, and for the first time in a long while, you believed them. With Hotch at your side, you knew you’d be okay — mistakes and all.

Tag List: @zaddyhotch @estragos

[relaxxattack]

can you rant abt hiveswap and how it changes the per-established alternian lore and not in a good way. i hold no stake in this topic but i love to hear about worldbuilding differences and people complaining

oh my god i would loveeee too. well first of all the obvious stuff with how they seem to think the beta trolls were the stereotypes for their caste (NOT TRUE... very very untrue but ESPECIALLY untrue with like. jadebloods goldbloods and purplebloods who seem to get this the worst somehow)

i hateeee how they made jades preppy THATS KANAYAS THING.. AND SHES EXPLICITLY *WEIRD* FOR THAT. they literally mention it like over 20 times how kanaya is sooooo weird for liking fashion and dressing well and then. oh no i guess every jade does that actually whoops sorry! ToT and god do i even need to go into the terrible prevalence of the idea that "jadebloods are typically/instinctively nurturing" when that is textually not the case?

goldbloods all having double horns is not that big of a deal tbh but its really funny to me that they made that assumption when sollux is like. actively called a mutant for most of the comic. "oh yeah hes mutated and weird and fucked up and some of his body parts are doubled (cue dick jokes here)". like that was a thing for sollux but they just decided to say "well actually. thats just how all goldbloods are"

most purplebloods having a "clowny aesthetic" is fine with me honestly since theres an actual Profession of being a subjuggalator and presumably lots of purples are going to be wanting to go into that? but alllll of them being full on juggalo cultists goes directly against canon. its like. the difference between american lawmaking and christianity. yes the separation of church and state is like nonexistent here. but just because american lawmaking is an enterprise controlled by christianity doesnt mean that All Politicians/Cops are automatically christian. and definitely not the same kind of christian?? there are probably agnostic clowns, or clowns who are only into cultism for the aesthetic. even reformist vs. orthodox clowns. they may all be upholding the same systemic white christian status quo, but they doesn't mean they all fit into that niche themselves. if that makes sense?

and of course i've already made a whole post about how i hate the idea that olivebloods are all feral little rogues, since that makes very little sense in canon.

i would really love to do that full stream of the hiveswap and friendsim games just. going through all of their alternian stuff and explaining my thoughts on it and how it relates to canon... i could go on and on about this stuff for ages and get into way more than just caste stereotypes. i think i would need to reread all of homestuck first to make sure i wasnt just pulling shit out of my ass and was truly studied up though, lmao

[lunarw0rks]

Hi! I was wondering if you’d be open to writing a Ghost x Reader fic where the reader is relatively new to the 141. The team has seen her work but still doesn’t trust her fully. Ghost and her seem to have a magnetic pull to one another with both trying to avoid their attraction. One day while sparring the reader ends up straddling him with a training knife pressed to his throat. Both stare at one another, realizing. (NSFW or SFW whichever!) Feel free to change whatever or not write it if it’s not your vibe!

A/N: Ghost has a knife kink, confirmed ;) Not explicitly NSFW, but it's hinted. Part two w smut??

Summary: During a sparring session with Ghost, you end up on top of him, and he struggles to hide his amusement.

Warning(s): knives, canon-typical violence, suggestive content, sexual tension | Word Count: 1k

꒦꒷ MAIN MASTERLIST ꒷꒦ GHOST MASTERLIST ⋆ ⚘ 🕊 ˚✧ ₊˚ʚ PART TWO | ao3 ver. // have a request?

Sparring

From the minute you set foot on the base, you felt like you didn’t belong there. Based on your records, training, and skills? You were a perfect fit. Personally? Not so much.

Of course, some welcomed you, putting on their fake smiles and at least attempting to include you in things.

Captain Price, who was under obligation to be civil because he was your boss. Gaz, who was closer in age, usually followed behind the Captain’s decisions. The Scot or “Soap”, as they called him? Indifferent to you. His usual humorous demeanor would diminish the second you entered a space.

Then, there was Ghost, who perhaps had the most intimidation about him. Though he didn’t trust you, or anyone either, his distaste wasn’t as potent as the other soldiers. Sure, he could be harsh and cold when he wanted to be, but that was the way he approached conflicts.

You learned to expect it, to work around it. You didn’t have a choice. Go AWOL over some social rejection? Not in the cards for you.

—

You’re set to deploy with them, take down some figure named “Hassan”, or so the folder you read stated. To prepare, you need to get yourself physically prepared. These new operations were no joke, undoubtedly worse than months of boot camp.

You’re panting, and feel like your legs are going to crumble from their overuse. He won’t let up on you, not that quickly.

“Are you even trying, Sergeant?” Ghost heckles you, dripping in self-confidence, as he dodges your slices with ease. He always seems double the speed you are, even before you were winded and dissatisfied with your performance.

You grit your teeth in response, remaining determined that you’ll get one good jab at him. In your wild imagination, the foam knife you’re holding would somehow turn real when it slices him — cut the arrogance right out of him.

Realistically, however? Not a chance, unless you can find a way to slow him down.

“You’d be dead ten times, ‘you keep stabbing like that.” He puts his defensive arms down, allowing you to rest for a few seconds.

Or so you thought.

Suddenly, he grappled you to the foam mat beneath you, knocking the small amount of air you had left straight out. You struggled against his pin, but he was much too strong.

He squints down at you, as he maintains his solid grip. “You only have about ten seconds to win a knife fight, before you’re dead, or pinned just like this, with nowhere to go.” He motions to the predicament you’re in currently.

Your thighs were pinned against the floor with his knee, and wrists contained on each side of your head. You’re tempted to give him his victory, so he’ll leave it at your metaphorical death.

“Maybe what you need,” his eyes drill into you, as he begins his theory, “is a raise of the stakes.” He reaches into his holster and pulls out his very real knife. He holds it up, examining the way it glimmers against the fluorescents.

If he was anyone else, you probably would’ve tapped out or insisted on using the fake one. But based on the way he was caging you, he wasn’t asking. It was an order.

As if to prove the danger, he holds the blade to your cheek—not letting it cut you, but applying just enough pressure for you to understand the lesson of it.

Never let the enemy pin you, chances are you’re dead in seconds. He’d lectured you with that statement before when you sparred with him.

With his right arm occupied, there was a rapidly closing window for you to find a way out of this. You swung your arm, smacking the blade out of his fist.

You ended up straddling him and clambered for the knife. If this were his full potential, he would’ve already retrieved his knife and cut your throat. But he was allowing you to overtake him this time as if he was amused by it.

You pressed the blade to his throat, which was protected by the fabric of his balaclava. Thighs to thighs, stomach to stomach. His stare didn’t change once, remaining stoic even when held at knifepoint, with his own weapon nonetheless.

“That’ll suffice.” His voice weathered a bit, like it was hard for him to choke out something professional, given the fact that you could feel every bit of him at the moment.

You couldn’t lie, the position was questionable. But you’d proved your point.

Even though he knew there were dozens of countermoves he could use, and basically decimate you in the process, he doesn’t. He’d never admit how much he liked being under you, letting you threaten him with his own Army knife.

You felt a heat rise to your cheeks as you loosened up a bit, flipping the knife around so you could pass it back to him, handle first.

No matter how hard he tried to hide it, you had noticed the way his eyes softened when you flipped the power. 

Though your maneuvers needed work, he hadn’t expected the sudden burst of aggression—something you definitely needed when in the thick of battle. At least that’s what he’d tell himself to rationalize the feelings he was experiencing.

He returns his knife to the holster but doesn’t shove you off him like he thought he would. He instead places his hands on each hip, moving you to the side like your weight was nothing.

He moves to kneel beside you, meeting your eye level again. “Tomorrow, after hours. We’ll work at that aggression, yeah?”

You could hear the smirk on his face as he spoke, returning to his feet. He’s now standing above you briefly, looking down at you.

He straightens his balaclava, admiring the powerful stance he had over you as you knelt below him.

“Don’t be late.” He spits it out, then leaves the training room without another word. He smirks to himself as he strolls down the halls, thinking about the picture of you on your knees for the rest of his night.

Inside his head, he knew another sparring session was guaranteed to end up with you on top of him again. He was looking forward to it, no doubt.

[wrinkly-fucking-qtip]

Mickey vs I Love You

Against popular opinion, I do believe Mickey's "I love you" in 5x06 was the first time he ever said it. Let me explain.

His type of hesitancy with the phrase is not that of fear out of someone listening. No. It seems to me, he noticed Svetlana was in his shared space after he says "I love you" and does a double take when finishing the voice note with "call me back." While I do like to think that he could've said his first "I love you" somewhere within the aftermath of 4x11 and early s5, the only reason I don't think that is because it feels too easy... I think Mickey was too in his head in the aftermath, thinking of how fucked this all turned out. The baptism, the coming out, the brawl, them returning home to wash themselves clean, the sex (implied because they wake up naked together the morning after) it's too much...

Such an admission would be lethal for his brain chemistry at the moment. "I love you" is the peak of vulnerability, where he already is painfully aware of everything he has endured, on top of being completely aware of his feelings to the point of unease, like clothes sticking to your skin. Suddenly you know the shirt there, even though it always has been, just subtly.

I believe that during these times, Ian was probably "comfortable" with saying it. Sparingly. Again, it's too much, it's all too real, and even though Mickey literally sacrificed his life that night, a huge call to action due to the ultimatum, he let fear be his enabler. For saying "I love you," though... it's too close. He can do everything else, a man of action as he always is, and saying things like "what you and I have makes me free" which, you could argue is MORE of a big deal, Mickey chooses very specific words, and they all mean too much coming from someone like him with such awful background, and that's where his comfort lies. Letting Ian know about his feelings through actions, not the words. And knowing how much Ian loves to use them, words, he knows the weight behind them. It's still too much and he feels it.

Not long after, Ian's depressive episode is in full effect. How could he ever find the chance to say those words? Ian is practically paralyzed, and the events from the night before are still fresh, and now he has to process this entirely new thing? Too much yet again. I said earlier how Ian would say "I love you," but very sparingly. I like to think the first time he said this to him, maybe early s4-s5 transition, once the depressive episode cessed, Mickey had the same silent reaction Lip did when Mandy said it to him, but for entirely different reasons. It's like his entire world became this miniscule thing within the pools of his heart, and Ian could read his expression instantly. It wasn't a silence of rejection, he was almost in awe.

And some sick part of me wants to think if he gets scared because he knows there's been strange behavior on Ian's end, that of course, he doesn't understand to its capacity, and maybe Ian says this as a result of that, or if he does know Ian wholeheartedly means it, he loves this boy, as much as Mickey loves him, but still unable to vocalize it. Would he be able to discern between the two?

"You don't have to say it back" spoken in a whisper. Mickey still lost in Ian's eyes. They probably hold each other. Ian acknowledged this dazed boy before him. He knew what the words meant. Jumping back to the "you love me, and you're gay," he was done imposing his feelings onto Mickey, done projecting (not forever, but for a while). Mickey can do this on his own terms, when he feels he can, when he deems it ok to feel it all at once, recognize that everything is, in fact, all too real. And the moment came, although bittersweet.

Cause Ian wasn't there face to face to hear it, he left, and he was manic, the possibility of loosing him due to some negligence suddenly being too real. Familiar even. Things that became too much all of a sudden. So why now? Because the stakes are somehow higher this time. The fear of the unknown is higher. Mickey is dealing with a version of Ian he can barely recognize. When in 4x11, he already knew what he could lose, and his odds against Terry, he already knew what he was going to deal with, as much fear that overcame him, he knew. This? This he does not know.

And I'm thinking about the fact that so much has happened now, this slow, gradual observation of Ian losing himself, Mickey might think that it's now or never. Maybe an "I love you" is enough to snap Ian out of it? Saying it because he has no clue of Ian's whereabouts, and with extreme thinking, that he probably may not see him again for some time, the same way 3x12 happened. And it's like the words come out like a punch to the gut even though his brain doesn't know those words came out. Just look at his face. That's a legitimate face of hesitancy of admission. (courtesy of ajcrowleys)

Everything became too real again, and this one big word couldn't be held back any longer. He hears himself say it, finally admitting what he knew was true all along, just like a shirt. But who knows if Ian heard the voice mail. I think yes, at some point... maybe... but it breaks my heart.

I'd definitely would like to know other opinions, I have so much to say about Mickey's "I love you's."

[hectorthedoggo]

@kani-miso i'll edit this later but here's some food for you. (live reactions encouraged)

When the warden awoke, a feeling of mental emptiness and a physical warmth next to them assaulted them. Huh…

They looked over, and there was another them, face at rest. They had matching eyebags and gauze wrapped around their wounds.

They curiously reached out, and they were real.

The warden sat up, and moved closer to the entity. They pat the head of the being with their bandaged hand, to which stirred them. Wow, their hair is so soft… 

Hang on, we have to work. Can’t be doing stuff like this. They gave their counterpart one last pat, and got out of bed.

They brushed out their hair in the bathroom, despite there being no more mirror left. We can’t let another incident occur.

The warden stepped out of the bathroom, and was met with a surprised other them. They let out a little yelp, and started to shake. “Who the hell are you?”

The warden stepped towards them. “The warden of Milgram, you?”

The warden was surprisingly nonchalant about this development. It was like they knew there was some other them, a gut feeling.

This part of them looked ready to bolt. What are they gonna do, embarrass us? No way I’m going to let that happen.

The warden stepped in front of the door, so they couldn’t run away.

Aforementioned person did not appreciate this turn of events, and tried to push past their superior counterpart. That only caused them to be pushed back by their warden protection.

Are they a prisoner? But, why are they wearing my face?

“Again, who are you?”

The person wearing their face stared back at them. “Es. Anyways, can you please let me leave?”

The warden shook their head. “No. Due to the fact that the protection works on us when you attack, the system of Milgram has deemed you a prisoner. We have to figure out what to do with you.”

Es looked genuinely scared by this possibility. “Wait, wait. Does that mean I’m a murderer?”

Then, something happened to them.

Their breathing started to fasten, as their eyes darkened. “Wait, no, shut up, I didn’t, I, don’t, get-”

The warden somehow knew exactly what was happening. They roughly tugged Es off the ground, putting most of their strength into their arms..

The warden wasn’t very strong, but they managed to drag their slightly unresponsive self onto their lap, going onto the bed for structural supponr, with some help on Es’ part.

They were muttering incoherently, and the warden simply stayed silent, stroking their hair until they sputtered out.

While this is a waste of time, I bet Es could help me with work. Double the productivity, but…

“I- please,” they started to sob, “Just leave me alone… I don’t want to be the warden, I never asked for this…”

The warden peered down at their fragile form. Why wouldn’t they want to be the warden?

This distress was caused by resistence, so why do they resist?

The warden grabbed their injured hand, and their sobs started to fizzle out. They held the hand back, weakly.

Oh, is there a correlation between the hand and the voices stopping?

Dang, if we hold their hand like that, we can’t do work well. That throws a stake in our plans.

They sat up. “I’m sorry about that. I don’t understand why they keep doing that.”

“It’s stupid, I know, but if you embraced being warden, it wouldn’t happen.”

Es shook their head. “Milgram is flawed. I don’t want to dedicate my will to making people suffer.”

“It doesn’t matter, Es, they’re all murderers.”

“Shidou has saved our life, do you think he deserves to suffer?” 

“He’s just doing it out of some sort of twisted obligation. I’m sure that if it got bad, Milgram would take care of us.” Shidou doesn’t matter. We don’t care about him. We don’t care about him, it would simply impede our decision-making.

“But why hasn’t it helped before?” They’re just repeating what he said. It doesn’t mean anything.

“I’m sure Milgram has its plans for us.”

The warden decided this conversation would be over, and tugged them off of the bed. “Let’s go eat. I’m sure you’ll be more reasonable after that.”

Es didn’t have a choice in the matter, and they had to keep their hold on the hand, lest they lose themself to the voices.

They’re basically a prisoner, just living in my quarters. 

I’m being merciful, by not locking them in the 11th cell. They’ll help me with work, so I’ll keep them around.

Es followed along compliantly, but they looked around, like an exit would pop up and they could escape.

The warden tightened their hold on the bandaged hand.

The two entered the cafeteria, disturbing a forlorn Mu picking at her food alone. “Warden, is that- ah! Why the hell are there two of you?”

Es opened their mouth to answer, but the warden beat them to it. “I don’t believe that’s any of your buisness, prisoner.”

They stared her down, an intimidation tactic they were coming to learn the effectiveness of.

She shrunk to the chair, and Es stepped forward. “Stop that, you’re scaring her.”

“That’s the point. We have to assert dominance, as warden.”

“Do you enjoy hurting people?”

“She’s a murderer. Ask her that question. Also, don’t forget that you might also be a murderer. Do murderers really deserve rights?”

Es gave them a deadpan stare. “We’re the same person. If I’m a murderer, than so are you.”

The warden let go of their hand. “Say that again.”

Mu was confused by this development, but stayed silent in fear that the warden would give her the good old staredown.

They started to look around, and shiver. The voices have started again, haven’t they. That’ll teach them.

The warden shook their head, gently taking their hand again, guiding them away from this bad influence. “C’mon Es, we shouldn’t be associating with this person.”

Mu was having a crisis of some sort.

Two meals lay on the counter, cooked by Jackalope. Wow, he actually bothered this time! Hang on, no, we should be more grateful.

Right, Jackalope is an associate of Milgram, so we can’t be disloyal.

They picked out some rabbit hair they saw in the food.

The warden easily grabbed their food with their bandaged hand, but Es fumbled with their non-dominant hand, eventually getting it.

They guided Es over to the table farthest from Mu, and sat them down. We can’t have them going too close to her. It might make them start to want to leave, a useless wish.

They stared down at their food, but didn’t have the ability to eat it due to their dominant hand being held.

Es tried to tug it away from their steel grip, and once the warden registered their intention, they let go.

They both ate, a silence as dead as roadkill; the warden kept peering over at their counterpart.

Es’ face stayed blank. It was a weak repression, though. It looked as if anything would break them.

Once they both had finished eating, the warden grabbed their hand again.

There was no resistance, but there was also no reciprocation. Their hand was limp; all of the fight was gone.

The warden informed them, “Alright, we have to work now. Would you be fine with that?” It’s not as if they have any other choice.

They shrugged, allowing themself to be led back to the room. I’m glad they’ve come to their senses.

They got to the room, and the warden brought out their work papers, assisted clumsily by Es, happily humming. I’m glad I’ll have someone to help me with work. The hand thing is a little burdensome.

Well, I don’t think the voices bother them while working, unless they get distracted. 

They let go of Es’ hand, and they seemed fine, just a little suprised. “C’mon, so, you can do this, and I’ll do that work. If you’re just as productive as we are, we can finish this in 5 hours, and then…”

We usually finish work in 10 hours, on a good day, but then what should we do? This is strange. I don’t like having free time.

Well, maybe they’ll constitute for a good distraction. Also, we may have to eat in around 5 hours, so there’s that. Also, we have to get our check-up.

Es stared at the work given to them, then sighed drearily. Our work is a blessing, they need to stop being dramatic.

They eventually grabbed a clipboard, and got to work. Well, at least they’re doing it.

Their face scrunched up in focus, they soon lost their troubles. Alright, good. Maybe this will at least slightly convince them why being a warden had benefits.

The warden grabbed their clipboard, good thing Milgram has more, and sat shoulder-to-shoulder to them.

It felt nice, having another breathing person next to them; another pen scribbling on paper. It was good ambience.

After about 2 hours, Es set the paperwork they had down. They had completed a lot, nice.

The warden looked up from their work. “What are you doing?”

“I’m tired.”

“Hah, well, what would make you stop being tired?” I forgot that they would have human needs like that.

“A break, maybe some water. I think we need to stay hydrated.” Es was still unaffected with the voices, still in a daze from doing work.

The warden had long been desensitized to that. But, it might improve productivity, so that would be nice. “Alright, let’s go.”

Es smiled ever so faintly. “Didn’t think you’d agree to this.”

“Why not?”

They gave the warden a raised eyebrow, but it was sarcastic, like they were attempting humor. Why are they looking at me like that?

A dry chuckle escaped Es’ mouth. “Of course you would.”

“Okay, but we shouldn’t interact with the prisoners.”

“What about Shidou? Shouldn’t we get our medical treatment?” They’re right, I guess.

“Just him. Pretend the other prisoners don’t exist. Attention just encourages them.”

“Okay, I-” They were cut off, and started to lose the little light that was back in their eyes. Ugh, those voices are so troublesome.

The warden came up and clutched Es’ hand, saving them from the incessant voices. That isn’t fair though, they did work, and therefore should be forgiven by the Milgram system…

Whatever, I should keep my faith.

This time, they followed along with a little more life in their eyes, unlike earlier.

“Alright, should we go to Shidou’s first, or-”

“Shidou.”

Why are they so insistent on that? I might have to- 

Their hand slightly ached. “Fine.”

Es smiled, brighter than the warden had ever seen. What does that man have that I don’t? C’mon, they can’t feel happy like that because of a prisoner.

“Calm down.” Es wiped the smile off of their face.

“Alright.” They imitated -- whether it was in jest or not, the warden didn’t know -- their pose, putting their shoulders up. 

However, it was slightly restricted by something.

The warden peered under their cape, and there were restraints around their shoulders. Wait, so they really are a prisoner.

Hmm… Should we keep them? They really help with work, and they’re technically ‘me’.

I guess… Yeah, we’ll keep them. Plus, maybe this is a mistake by Milgram’s system, as much as I hate to admit it. After the John incident, maybe unclassified people in the prison become prisoners.

Yeah.

The pair navigated to Shidou’s cell, and the warden knocked with their uninjured hand. “Shidou? We’re here to get our checkup.”

They heard a rustling noise come from inside, and Shidou opened the door with a tired smile. “Alright! You-”

He trailed off when he saw the other them. “Uh, what?”

Shidou looked lost. The warden tried to clarify, tone attempting leaving no room for argument. “You need to give double treatment, now.”

That didn’t clear anything up for the poor man, but he let them in, pinching himself. 

“Uhm… Es on the left, um, sit over here.”

He indicated the warden, and they scowled. “I’m not Es. They’re Es.”

They pointed at Es, and they sat on the bed.

This confused Shidou even further, but he started to slowly clean out Es’ wound. “What should I call you, then?”

“I am the warden.”

“A name?”

“No.”

Shidou pondered for a second. “I’m not calling you the warden, you’re so much more than that. So, what should I call you?”

“The warden. I’m not anything more than that.”

He stared at them for a second. “Alright… I don’t know. Anyways, Es, what have you been doing with this hand? It’s a little irritated. Are those nail marks?”

The warden looked away. “Yeah, but-”

“Don’t do that to Es. It’s not nice.”

“What am I, 12? I don’t have to listen to you.”

Es gave them a glare. They had gotten a lot more brave with Shidou around. That’s annoying.

Shidou finished the bandaging for their counterpart, and motioned for the warden to come over.

They did so, and he did their bandages.

-

The rest of the day was relatively monotone, doing work and getting the occasional meal. Eventually, the two finished their work, after about 7 boring hours.

Es silently yawned, eyes slowly closing. The warden peered over at them. So, what should we do in our free time?

I think that… Es in trial 1 liked to read law books? I don’t like this free time, so, I guess we can…

The warden got up, and then, Es’ breathing quickened and their gaze grew far away. Right, I can’t leave them for long.

It’s kind of nice, like taking care of a needy houseplant.

They came back over, lightly grabbing their hand as an attempt to take the pain away, but that didn’t stop the tears, and the words.

Stopping the voices didn’t stop the impact of them, after all. They softly sobbed, “Oh, oh no, I, I’m a horrible person. No, we’re horrible people, warden, we killed Mahiru, it’s all our fault, even I’m a murderer, and I know why, I-”

The warden didn’t appreciate their inclusion in this, but stayed patient. “No, we didn’t kill Mahiru, it was Milgram, and I’m sure that they were doing it for a just reason. The greater good.”

They’re just being irrational.

Es flinched, and yelled at them, still emotionally charged. “How could you say that! Mahiru died, and it was because of our verdict! And yet, you still follow Milgram’s orders; none of this would have happened if it weren’t for this… stupid prison.”

The warden slowly and gently carded through their soft hair, deciding to not listen to their valid points. “It doesn’t matter. None of it does. I mean, we were just doing our job. It’s not our fault.”

“But- but… they said-” They broke into sobs again.

“Shh… we’re alright, we’re alright.” The warden shushed them. It was an imitation of Kotoko’s method, but it worked earlier.

“No! No, we’re not- I can’t be-”

“We can all be warden. It is what we exist for, is it not?”

They tensed up even further, which had the opposite effect that the warden intended. 

But then, they relaxed, which was more worrying. “Why can’t I just stop existing, then?” Their voice was eerily calm.

They grabbed a chunk of Es’ hair, and they let out a little yelp. “You’re not disappearing. We won’t let you.”

They did not relent. Why aren’t they going back on it? C’mon, you don’t want to die.

The warden tried to reassure themself in some way, “Es, you can’t exactly live without me, can’t you? You can’t stray too far from us, and we will ensure your safety, whether you like it or not.”

Es stayed silent, but the message was clear. I guess this just comes with the less work. I have to keep them alive.

They released their hair, going back to playing with it gently. Right, we’ll keep them safe. As long as they are in my field of visions.

“Shh… you’re not going to die.” The words were more for the speaker. Es stared up at the person, and again, did not answer.

It doesn’t matter. We’re keeping them here.

They stayed down, knowing that leaving was futile.

The warden hummed a prisoner’s song, then noticed they had started to fall asleep. “Hey, would you want to go to bed?”

Es nodded.

They walked to the bed together, and Es crawled into the bed, breathing soon evening out. The warden didn’t understand how they were tired, it was pretty early, but also lay next to them.

The warden clung to them from the back, attempting to envelope them in warmth.

However, there was little warmth to be had.

They won’t die. They won’t die.

It’ll all be alright, as long as we don’t let go.

a/n: they’re a little toxic. But. cute!! Enyu’s gonna have to get one of those child leashes to make sure es doesn't go lol

[catboymoments]

love love love the hpurg injury idea! does the loss of humanity only happen after suffering repeated injuries or would generally engaging in certain behaviors also cause something similar? (like hoarding excessive amounts of weath or smth)

sorry if this is hard to read i'm a bit overtired lol

Tbh it depends on how low your humanity was when you got there, but for the average sinner the more your body is broken apart the more your mind/sanity breaks too, because it’s like. Who are you anymore? You’re stuck here forever. Why try to be normal or be fine or keep some sense of self. You’re never dying, you’re just suffering forever as some facsimile of who you used to be.

I wanna emphasize that hell is a shit place to be. Like I feel like in the vivzie writing hell is just a fun little place with funny violence and sex and demons and you can live your life in silly demon world and splurge! Also you can easily be killed and it’ll never be elaborated on what happens to sinners that die in hell all the time for funny violence? So why are angels a big threat? Why should their presence be any different in terms of stakes!

In my revision- if you’re killed by angelic steel, your soul is destroyed. Gone. Poof. No hope of change or coming back or your existence being tangible somehow. You’re not reincarnated and you cease to be. So while yes this is scary for a lot of sinners- some view it as justice, deserved or even being put out of their misery. It’s a double edged sword!

[sizzleissues]

Look, do I think the writer’s should have sacrificed Adrien’s character arc in order to do the Bug Noir fusion? No of course not. There were probably better ways to do that. Or better ways to execute it. For example, not make him so gosh darn pivotal to the emotional centre of the conflict.

They tried, i think, to pull it off. That’s probably why we got so many ‘Identity reveal = Hawkmoth confrontation = Adrien loses control’, maybe even why he’s a senti in the first place. Adrien’s lack of self control makes it so he can’t battle Hawkmoth without meeting some particular circumstance. He;

A. Somehow not figure out Hawkmoth’s identity until after his defeat

B. Gabriel can’t learn his identity at any point

C. Can’t be made aware of anything anyway until after its all over and even then - might never actually be told anything

Not good odds.

It’s so obvious that they wanted their cake and to eat it too. They wanted to make Adrien interesting and important but only as it reflected on Marinette. If it were a different show, for a different age, made it would get to be a blatant satire of how female character’s are often ‘fridged’ but gender swapped. Adrien has the sad story, has all the emotional weight to motivate Marinette to over come her anxiety and kick the bad guy in the face. Because she can’t have the true baggage.

Like what if Hawkmoth were Marinette’s dad. What if she had Adrien’s story. She remained the protagonist, Adrien had his own simpler bullying storyline going on. Bullied to passiveness as a civilian so as Chat Noir he’s bombastic. Marinette got to still be badass and cool and girlboss like they want. She overcomes not only her abuse but also the villain in that finale. She combines the miraculous, double beats her dad, her enemy and gets the boy.

If you want to tell the girl power story, give the power to the girl. Because when Adrien has his story, you want him to defeat Hawkmoth. You want him to triumph over Gabriel. It’s the Marinette show but they made Adrien have the emotional stake in the finale.

I love these character’s so I wanted to see it. BUT I can see so clearly what they wanted. It probably wasn’t as simple as seeing Bug noir but without the full emotional stake, that’s what it seems like.

I still think that Adrien will have a role in the next season in dismantle Gabriel’s image. I hope he gets to do that in whatever cute outfit the team wants him to wear.

I have more thoughts but I’ll leave it at that (and I liked the finale as a independent thing where I watch my favourite person (Marinette) be badass and just forget about Adrien being boxed and then remembered and didn’t like it so much)

[romancingromanoff]

Second Death

Andromache the Scythian x f!reader

I decided to create a series for Andromache (my beloved). Here’s part 1, part 2, and part 3

Summary: Your first mission does not go according to plan

TW: Violence, major character death, somewhat descriptive gore, getting shot in the face, head explosions (kinda), ANGST

Words: around 3,000

A/N: Aside from being very difficult for me to write, this is probably the darkest I've ever gotten in terms of physical violence. So, uh, Happy Halloween I guess?

The plan was based off Buenos Aires 1822 (not 1922 as you had incorrectly assumed at first) which was a reference you obviously didn’t understand but was being explained to you in the most hectic way possible.

“Wait, so Nicky was decapitated-”

“Half decapitated. I didn’t actually die!”

“But you were quite light-headed for the rest of the day, my dear.” Joe feigned concern, brushing the back of his hand across his partner’s forehead and smiling like a fool.

Your leader was having none of it.

“Can we be serious please?” Immediately, the entire group’s focus shifted back to the Scythian. She certainly wasn’t going to admit it but she was apprehensive with this being your first mission. For months, you’d been doing nothing but training and begging her to let you in on the action until she was finally forced to give in. The instinct to keep you safe gnawed at Andy while it became increasingly difficult to ignore how your desire to prove your worth would only continue to grow. She recognized the same frustrations in a much younger version of herself and remembered how reckless it drove her to be.

“I’d rather we didn’t repeat that portion this time, agreed?”

You all nodded.

They laid out all the details about the traffickers and the group of people you were meant to rescue. It was an estimated 25-40 women and older girls being smuggled through for undoubtedly unpleasant purposes Andy didn’t get too detailed with. She, Joe, and Nico planned to storm the ship when it completely docked and most of the crew was on land retrieving supplies and weapons. That would leave only a few guards standing between them and the captives, who were most likely being held somewhere below deck. Once they find them, you and Booker would bring in the truck to help get everyone out. It sounded simple enough, but the fact that it was meant to go off without a hitch somehow doubled the amount of pressure you were applying to yourself. They had all done this at least once before, so if things went south then it was all because of you.

A few hours passed and you sat next to Booker in the passenger seat of the truck parked a couple of meters away from the ship and near a loading dock. With the engine off it was starting to get increasingly cold, but you didn’t even mind the chill at that point. You needed to be as alert as possible for what was to come.

Booker clearly sensed your apprehension. “It’s okay to be nervous, we’re not going to let anything bad happen to you.” He kept his voice low and his eyes glued on the dock entrance while you tried to do the same. 

Your mind was wrapped up in much bigger concerns. “I’m not worried about that. What if something goes wrong because of me? If I get hurt then so be it, I just don’t want to endanger anyone else when their lives and freedom are at stake.”

“You’ll be fine. Trust your training and lean on your team if you need help. That’s what we’re here for.” He offered you an encouraging smile that you attempted to return the best you could, yet you also wished he wouldn’t look at you with so much sympathy all of the time. As much as you appreciated everything they had done for you, you longed to show the others that you were capable of carrying your own weight and didn’t need someone to hold your hand constantly.

The two of you settled into a silence that was occasionally filled with a comment or two about nothing in particular. It didn’t do much to settle your nerves. You watched as dozens of muscular men left in packs, each one armed with at least a pistol that Booker taught you how to spot. He translated some of the French he could hear them speaking, which was mostly crude, misogynistic banter that made your jaw clench up.

“Good to know that men are pigs in basically all cultures,” you murmured mostly to yourself and tried to get your jaw to relax. Surprisingly, it earned you a gratifying laugh from the Frenchman and you were relieved when he didn’t take your comment too personally. 

“For the most part, I don’t disagree.”

“How will Andy and the others know when all of them have left?” You changed the subject upon the realization that the rest of the guard was hidden somewhere no one would see them, not even you. It was still difficult to imagine they had a better scouting position than the near-direct view you did.

“Don’t worry, they’ll know,” Booker assured you in a slightly amused tone. Some secrets were still too complicated for you to know about yet, you supposed.

Almost a half hour later, three heads eventually peered up through the shadows and Andy, Joe, and Nico lifted themselves up onto the ship. Perfectly lit by hues of the full moon, they danced towards their destination, the sheer coordination and skill reminding you of just how experienced they were. With Andy leading the pack, they silently began making their way up the vessel as a single unit. No words or other body gestures needed to be shared when they occupied the same hive mind. The group only came to a stop when they reached a door and huddled around it, trying to listen for anyone that might be on the other side. When you assumed everything was clear, Andy swiftly kicked it open and entered with her gun aimed and ready. 

Not even a minute after all three filed in, the sound of a gunshot suddenly shook you. You immediately turned to Booker, whose face gave away the slightest look of concern at the noise. This must not have happened in Buenos Aires. No more gunshots followed, thank goodness, but there were sounds of a struggle going on below deck which had the two of you on high alert. You prayed that nobody else close by could hear the commotion.

Things began to steer away from the original plan when Joe emerged from below far before he should have, struggling to keep another figure under control as he held their arms in a twisted position behind their back while continuing to firmly push them forward. Even in the dark, you could just make out how young the kid appeared to be. He couldn’t have been older than 16 and you assumed his reason for being on the ship was because he had an older relative in the crew. You relaxed when you realized that meant how unlikely it was that he’d be trained in how to fight. Joe would definitely keep from harming him unless he absolutely had to. Stupidly, you also forgot about how reckless young boys can be.

Everything fell apart in a mere matter of seconds. As he appeared to calm down, Joe eased up on the grip he held the boy with and he it didn’t seem like he would move at first. But in an instant, the scraggly kid darted from his grasp and sprinted around a corner and out of your line of sight to the completely opposite side of the ship. Booker reached for the door handle as a precaution while the rest of his body remained seated. A bead of sweat rolled down your neck despite the chill in the air and the gradual understanding that Book might be preparing to leave you on your own stilled your body completely. All of the careful planning you had fought to carefully commit to memory melted into mush.

Your thoughts were interrupted by a high-pitched whistle that rang through the air and your eyes quickly followed a bright red light travel up into the sky before it burst into a large display of lights and smoke. Time seemed to slow down and your heart sped up. Of course, if there wasn’t going to be another pistol going off, it had to be a goddamn flare gun. Yelling, alarmed Frenchmen could then be heard scrambling towards the dock and Booker cursed under his breath.

“Stay here, I’ll go help the others!” Booker leaped out of the vehicle, throwing the keys which hit your petrified figure. Part of you wanted to speak up and stop him but you could only squeak out an indecipherable sound of concern seconds after he was gone. Looking back at the ship, you caught sight of Nico peeking his head out from the door they entered through. He exited with a determined look on his face and was followed by a line of women. You itched at your sweating palms when twenty women or so had piled out and there was still no sign of Andy. 

The men hurrying in from the opposite direction quickly diverted your attention. Squinting your eyes, you were able to spot a figure in the distance headed straight towards your vehicle. You nearly panicked but caught yourself, uncertain if you were dealing with the traffickers or possibly random dock workers that had been alarmed by the flare and merely wanted to check out the situation. Either way, you decided it was still too risky to start up the engine just yet. At least, you told yourself the others probably wouldn’t want you to give away your position.

That’s when you noticed a faint movement in your side mirror. A tuft of matted blonde curls belonging to a distressed woman’s face peeked over the top of one of the crates not to far behind you. She must’ve spotted something concerning, because her eyes went wider than a trapped mouse’s and she disappeared back down, ultimately causing the crates to shake. You ground your back teeth together and prayed it was only you who had seen her. But then right on cue, the blinding glow of a flashlight landed directly over the area where the woman was hiding. The man you had spotted only moments before, his flashlight lit up a devious grin on his face that urged you to hold in your breath. He even sounded like the devil when he spoke. It didn’t take a high level French skills to tell that he began goading the poor woman like it was some sadistic game to him. 

He approached the crates ever so slowly, savoring the anticipation which laid before whatever unspeakable plans he had for his victim. It then occurred to you that she was most likely paralyzed with the same fear that had struck you.

And yet, she was the one currently being hunted while you were poised to sit and watch it unfold. You, protected by both your position and inexplicable gift of immortality. None of it seemed remotely fair and your body began to stir at the simple thought.

“Under no circumstances should you be engaging in combat,” Andy had firmly laid down the law several times leading up to this day. You’d never wanted to disobey anything she said so passionately before and here it felt like you scarcely had no other option but to go against something she forbade. 

The adrenaline rushing through your veins threw your body into action before you could debate any further. Barely aware of the forces taking hold of you, you tumbled out of the door and landed directly behind the attacker who continued to stalk forward towards the woman’s hiding place. He slowly began to raise his gun, something with barrels much longer than your forearms, and it was like you didn’t have the time to properly assess whatever danger lie at the other end. You just didn’t want it pointing at her.

Without a hint of hesitation, you drove foot into the back of the man’s left knee and he immediately crumbled down to about a third of his height. You were ready for him with your knife once his face spun around and an overpowering sense of rage guided your arm to make a clean cut from just below his right eyebrow, across the bridge of his nose, and finally through the center of his left eye. 

Something solid and heavy smacked the front of your head and you could hear the woman behind you scream in horror before everything went black.

Horrific violence was nothing if not a sheer constant to Andy. She had both experienced and caused enough to fill the oceans with blood, yet nothing made her seethe with rage more than watching yours spill from your head like a geyser. A thousand lifetimes stained with death could not have prepared her for the sight of your limp body hitting the ground, to which there was no question as to whether or not you were dead. Even if you had been wearing some type of protective head gear, a shotgun firing within five inches of your face would have been fatal. 

She was usually a pro at keeping her emotions under control until the mission was completed and never steered away from the plan without first calculating the absolute best course of action. The other teammates she had and the terrified group of women she was meant to protect called upon her to uphold her position as the leader, a task she had shouldered over a million times before despite whatever her personal feelings demanded. Absolutely none of that mattered now. Getting to you, killing that bastard, and wrapping you up in your arms became the only course of action she was capable of taking. 

Her first priority was taking out the son of a bitch that dared to touch you before anyone else got hurt. She handed off the little girl she had been carrying to Nico before barreling over a crate and launching herself over the side of the ship, rolling smoothly to break her fall when she hit the the dock. 

Despite how fast she ran, she seemed to move at a cursedly slow pace. She was still too quick for the man, his blood leaking from the fresh gash you had tore across his face, to notice her. He didn’t even get a chance to run before the warrior drove her labrys straight into the already-open wound. Andy could only revel in the brief taste of satisfaction for a moment before her emotions began swarming once again, the anger she had held for that man was now aimed solely at herself.

“Booker, get her into the back!” She barked at the Frenchman to take care of the hostage still hiding while rushing over to where your body collapsed. Up close, the sight was even more gruesome as blood, flesh, and bone were splattered all across what used to be your face. It would have been generous to call what was left of everything above your neck a simple stump. She knew she needed to get you out of there fast but hated to leave behind any parts of your head that might have been salvageable. Even saving something like an ear or significant chunk of your skull could aid in speeding up the healing process. She knew it would be excruciatingly painful for you to grow back yourself. 

She desperately grabbed at fistful of what she hoped was your brain before scooping you up in her arms. It was the fact that you were so much lighter than usual which made her wince, though she couldn’t help but be somewhat relieved when it meant it allowed her to run faster on her feet. Cautious yet quick, Andy made a beeline for the passenger’s seat of the truck and cradled your body in her arms while you continued to bleed out. It wasn’t a sight she wanted any of the hostages to witness and it’s not like she was letting go of you anytime soon anyway. 

“Drive!” One word was all she needed to command whomever was at the steering wheel to get out of there as fast as possible. It didn’t even occur to her to look up and check to see who she was sitting next to, as she immediately began trying to pick up any movement in your chest or a sign of a pulse in your wrist, anything that indicated the resurrection process was in motion.

“Please, please, come back to me,” she pleaded as your warm blood began to pool across her lap.

“Give her a second.” She realized it was Booker currently driving. “It’s only her second time and will probably take longer than expected.”

The women they had freed were now crammed together once again, only this time being in the back of a dark loading truck as it sped through the dead of night was probably far more merciful than them being forced to witness the transformation you were currently undergoing. Andy, however, couldn’t tear a single string of her attention away from you throughout the entire process. 

Each noise you made followed by the eventual cries of her name from your lips, once your mouth and airways had completely reformed, tore at Andromache deeper and deeper, in ways that no physical pain she had ever endured could compare. She bit down on her tongue till it was bloody as you repetitively squeezed her hand throughout the entire process. The same ones you often used to delicately recreate precious moments on paper broke more than a few of her bones. But Andy barely noticed and didn’t have the capacity to care. All she was focused on was you.

For the first time in centuries, the Scythian invoked the words of an ancient prayer and resurrected a long dead language as she tried to soothe your pain. She stopped believing in a higher power a long time ago but couldn’t shake the truth that repeating those words made her feel anchored to something even larger than her life or her immortality. There wasn’t anything she wouldn’t try if it might possibly bring you a sense of comfort, which she actually prayed may happen. 

[okkos-ferrum]

Unorganized helluva boss apology tour rant cuz I think I'm going crazy

Disclaimer, cuz I know helluva fans can get defensive: A lot of this is probably my subjective opinion. I'll state my tldr as my actual objective piece of criticism, but otherwise my gripes throughout this could be based on my tastes and expectations. I genuinely don't want to take away anyone's enjoyment of this show nor hate on anyone involved, so if u just want to enjoy helluva, totally skip this :]

I think I'll actually have to give my hot take here and criticize this episode, because everyone has given way too much praise for an episode I think - in the long run - hurts the show

Im not gonna even bother organizing my thoughts I'm just gonna rant, but to start, i think the decision to start the ep right after full moon chronologically wasn't the best move. The full moon episode cliffhanger was an impactful scene and a dramatic way to start the rift between stolas and blitzo. It's where the dam of two-ish seasons finally breaks, where to me, stolas and blitzo have already said everything needed to be said, at least at the emotional maturity they currently are at. Any changes in said conversation about their relationship would require growth from both separately in order to foster a healthy discussion.

So to undercut that tension by IMMIEDTLY having blitzo somehow wiggle his way back into stolas's private property to have both double down on their stance diminishes the weight new moon's finale had. The conversation, while it does add further clarity, feels repetitive and emotionally taxing to watch, because the show has literally zero scenes of either of them reflecting on the previous night. So it's just them starting up the same fight with the same talking points we already know.

Yeah, maybe it is in character for blitzo to demand a conversation after new moon, but it shouldn't have been the path the show took. It should've allowed the story to stew in the feelings brought out in new moon, both in a narrative and meta sense by taking a break from stolatiz.

Cuz honestly I'm a bit drained of it atm. The show sells itself on the premise of blitzo being a "boss" (a hell of a bos-) and him working with imp. But all of s2 has had this obsession with stolatiz ever since the popularity of ozzie's (for good reason that episode was amazing and one of my personal favs still).

Just abt half the eps in s2 carry an emotional weight around the stolitz relationship. (where s1 has stolitz is make out sessions and the occasional threat to their life, s2 takes it up to actual life or death situations and full backstories) . This increased tension and focus draws away from the intial episodic format to become a more serialized (and imo) melodrama abt the status of the stolitz relationship. Rather than concern itself over any of the imp characters and their emotions, helluva has made all of its emotional beats and stakes throughtout the whole season relate to stoltiz in some way (or it's parallel with fizz and Ozzie in ep 7).

To return back to the ep, I also take issue with its writing of verosika. I will admit that this could be subjective, as my partner, who loves verosika and was worried abt her writing going into the ep, enjoyed how the ep integrated her. But idk, I think it is so lame that an ep like full moon, which is marketed to be abt stolitz, is fine wasting its time writing the cherubs for 90% of the episode, while can't bother making verosika a larger character in her own ep.

Like she's a SINGER, but no she's back up for STOLAS'S SONG this ep. And it's not stolas's hasn't had the chance to sing love ballads before, he's got plenty. But no, the host of the party can't even be a duet to stolas, she's gotta be back up. Like it couldve been a way stronger connection between these two if they sang a duet, rather than the show AGAIN prioritizing verbalizing stolas's emotions again.

We get a full flashback to blitzo's relationship with both fizz and stolas, but nothing on his other significant relationship??? Just a line or two of how it went down and that's it??

Side tangent: It gets on my nerves how so many people are realizing now that verosika is not a bad person. Like it's clear from even in her intro ep in s1 ep 3 she's angry rightfully for how blitzo screwed her over. But now that she actually is being nice and forgiving to stolas and blitzo respectively, now she has earned the fandom's respect??? Like the amt of comments of "Oh wow, verosika isn't a villain, she's an anatognist" drives me insane

Like to me, this ep should've stepped away from stolas directly, and focus on blitzo and verosika. Have blitzo go back to ignoring his feelings by jumping back head first into business, now with the asmodeous crystal. Then bump into verosika somehow. However it may happen, verosika and blitzo, either angrily or calmly, reflect on their own past relationship at the end, which might have blitzo making a realization of how he is repeating his past mistakes. Use the episodic format to slowly allow blitzo to mature so the next time he meets stolas, he won't just double down like he did in the beginning of the ep.

I think, personally, the decision to have verosika host the anti blitzo party diminishes her as a character. It chooses to again define her by how blitzo hurt her, rather than touching on the other underdeveloped parts of her character. She has shown to be very petty yes, but to go through all this effort seems too much, since she is a pop star and should have better things to do.

Maybe explore how she, a succubus, who is meant to have primarily sexual relationships, goes abt on her day to day as a celebrity who went to rehab. Or her relationship with maybe knowing barbie. Or the other ways to explore the set ups for her in ep 3. But no, she plays second fiddle to her second focus ep for the stoltiz drama. But yeah sure, let's have full moon be abt the cherubs.

On a final and likely my most pettiest point, this ep made me cringe a lot. I'm sorry, this is very subjective of me, but I need to say it. So much of this ep felt like fanfic. Always hammering in how "he's a prince and you're an imp" kind of deal. Stolas getting overly drunk after taking a swig of one drink to have blitzo handle him being drunk. The million puppy dog eyes by blitzo, like it felt too pitying. The rushed pacing felt like a result of this indulgent kind of writing, where it priotizes creating the cute shipping scenes before thinking about the actual plot and its effect later on. Again, just my taste tho

Alright I think I ranted enough but ...

Tl;dr: Apology tour messes up the pacing and focus of the show by continously centering itself around the stolitz drama rather than allowing time to reflect by themselves

[mcmactictac]

alrighty full series finished bullet point thoughts. Spoilers ahead for the empty grave. Duh

-slowburn of the century. Somehow him giving her the necklace that’s symbolic of his fathers undying devotion for his mother is more peak romance than the two of them actually kissing.

-Kipps isn’t dead! I jumped to conclusions too quickly! Thank you reassuring people in my asks!

-ALSO is Holly queer!! Im just saying the hints are there with her female “roommate” and Lockwood not being her type and all that? Im a lesbian Holly truther

-George and Flo also really grew on me like yes so true

-the narrative progression of the series is great the way that every book builds on itself in pieces? Like it feels like a series that you know the author knew what the plan was when they started it and I appreciate that.

-LOVED the double emphasis of this title with Marissa’s grave being empty (of her bones at least) and Lockwoods waiting grave at his family plot. Terrific way of doing it

-The skull grew on me so much dude I’m glad it got let out and has the freedom to do whatever it wants now. Loving those implications

-great way to wrap up a series? Felt very real. The problem is not magically fixed, but there’s hope as they move forward to something better. Like it’s not a nice neat little bow that ties everything perfectly together but it gives you enough information to be satisfied with the outcome

-so endearing. They’re all so endearing. I said it once and I’ll say it again the found family vibes are truly impeccable.

-also Lucy literally swinging on a trapeze across the entire theatre to save Lockwood

-on top of that the parallels between Lucy and Lockwood and their recklessness and suicidal tendencies. Like Lucy going to face Marissa alone is such a thing she would be mad at Lockwood for doing

-I liked that stakes and a sense of danger were easily created without having to kill off any of the main characters. Like I’m glad they all get to be alive and happy

-very good series, terrific writing, funny, and yet so real.

Ok that’s my main summary of thoughts I’m sure that I’ll have more later <3

[theleft0ver]

Hello lovely people, I’ve been working on a little cleagan project for a while and I wanted to share the first chapter, hope y’all enjoy!!! ^•^

It’s also on ao3:

•Longing for my sweetheart•

John was dying, he was shot and now he’s dying on his horse who’s independently prowls up a path on a mountain he’s not familiar with. He’s slumped over his mare’s neck mumbling to himself in and out of consciousness.

You see it was supposed to be an easy job, get the information from his trusty inside man (Rosie) at the stagecoach station, stake out the carriage with the rich folks in it, ambush the carriage take everything they got and ride into the sunset, see easy!

Maybe that’s why everything went haywire. He’d done this so many times without complications that he threw every caution in the wind. But sooner than later he realized his mistake in a form of a personal guard at the driver’s box.

He stopped the carriage without a hiccup that’s the easiest part anyways. He pulled his bandanna up his nose and his hat real low. He rode out from the trees to the dirt road, pistol in his right, double barrel shotgun in the left hand firing them once-twice raising hell.

Oh the screams, the frightened shrieks were music to his ears. They meant the passengers will give anything for their lives.

But his happiness was short lived as a bullet pierced through the air and flew past his ear. The armed guard started to fire at him like hell, earning the money the rich bastards were paying him and after today John was sure he got a fat bonus too!

He quickly got off his horse and dodged behind a boulder frowning in surprise, listening where the guard might be and the gunslinging began.

****

The driver was dead, John shot him dead in the left eye. He tried to intervene but he was just in the way and got in the field of bullets. John killed too many people to count. That’s just the way he lives. He never claimed to be a good man alright? But that doesn’t mean he enjoys killing, there was a time when he did, a long-long time ago. He left those days in the back of his mind, now he only kills when he has to, but most of his robberies claim lives, someone always ends up dead.

He’s an outlaw goddamnit, that’s what he’s good at. What he likes and what he has to do to survive are two different things.

He doesn’t have too much time to dwell on moral issues though he’s still being shot at. John thought, finally his luck is turning and he’ll win this duel as well when he started to hear shouting and hoof beating the ground in the distance.

Lawman.

Even in a location so remote someone somehow alerted the sheriff. John only had a moment to process the news before bullets started to fly around him. The situation is dire he knows that, he whistles for his horse who comes crashing out of the woods and he makes a break for it.

He’s running like the wind when he feels it. Cold metal piercing his skin needling a way through muscles and tendons in his right shoulder. The second one comes from ahead hitting him on the left side of his abdomen, but it doesn’t feel like it went all the way through, although it’s not like John can feel much with the adrenaline running through his veins.

He can’t spare too much attention to his wounds as he still has to get away if he wants to stay alive. He runs to his horse grabs the horn of his saddle, hoist himself up with the stirrup and gallops away as fast and as far as he can.

He’d never been shot, John was always clever with his moves, always had Fortuna on his side. It’s not like how he imagined, it’s not immediate red-hot pain flaming his body ablaze flooding into his mind making room saying ‘I’m here and you’ll be suffering’. It’s creeping up on him, slowly making his way into his consciousness like sand in an hourglass.

For a good ten minutes as he tries to lose the lawman glued to his heels he can only feel a dull ache. Another ten minutes pass on and he successfully shakes off the blood thirsty man and slows his horse down to a trot. And as his heartbeat stabilizes the pain starts to increase, so much so that he had to halt his horse to catch his breath.

He took a moment to get himself under wraps and inspected the wounds.

His shoulder was relatively in a good shape as much as a gunshot wound can be. But his abdomen was another tale. He unbuttoned his vest then lifted his shirt and ripped his long-johns apart, he gagged at the sight.

Already bruised in angry shades of purple and blue, blood flowing everywhere from such a tiny hole. John tried to apply pressure on it but the pain was too great, he got lightheaded and threw up that small amount of food he had in his stomach. He had to get help fast or he’s a goner.

He tried to remember if there was a town nearby but the blood loss was making him dazed and confused. Soon after that he passed out and woke up in the woods on his horse’s back then passed out again.

And that’s how he ended up in the middle of the mountain he was not familiar with in and out of consciousness.

****

John was slowly coming to himself as he feels his horse piking up speed. He tilts his head up to see a little homestead built with logs nested between tall trees and evergreens, a sight he would sure marvel if he were in a better shape. John tries to stay awake until his horse makes the distance to the porch of the home but his brain is too foggy.

He hears a gasp coming from afar and legs hitting the ground in a rapid pattern. John wants to sit up to see who his savior might be but he’s too weak and slips off his saddle onto the ground. He gets startled awake again by someone dropping to their knees next to him and brushing the hair out of his face. Cold fingers turn his head toward the sun and he opens his eyes.

The person in front of John is a woman, a woman whose face is so blurry. Blurry because John can’t keep his eyes open. But as he forces himself to focus he becomes aware that the person is in fact not a woman but a young man with such soft edges and features that he has to be unreal.

John is so delirious from the blood loss that he thinks he’s seeing one of God’s angels. Although he doesn’t understand why would he go to heaven after all the things he has done. He wants to, no scratch that ,he needs to touch this angel of death with the soft looking golden hair and smooth sun tanned skin. He knows if he could just only caress the pad of his finger down this angel’s face he could take away all of his sins and he can die in peace.

He reaches out to hold his personal angel’s cheek, but before he can touch him everything goes back to black.

[blueflipflops]

More snippets from my previous posts about introducing Feanorions to Scrabble...

Part 1, Part 2,

Next (part4)

Adzjrsfjxvmxgj

@youareunbearable

Babe, please. Dont hide these in the tags. Your brain is huge. This just changed my entire world view. We should kiss on the mouth.

Already did monopoly but I'll add it so that other people can see it too. Although I added more to this one.

@backgroundelf @arinele @weezlbot

Feanorions and Monopoly would be even MORE chaotic. No matter how they start the game, it would always end up with them taking it too seriously. They would somehow make it into a high stakes strategy game only not so slightly veering into warcraft. It'd be Silmarillion 2.0. No one really dies but theres always someone who gets close to being stabbed and someone flips the table at least twice a game.

Moryo is being a very stingy banker. He wanted to play too but was too preoccupied on the money distribution being Right that just took over the job. But when he does join in the game, everyone suddenly wants to team up against the guy on principle. Moryo double checks every piece of money everyone has. He somehow knows how much is left in your bank and can and will find a way to bankrupt you for the pettiest things. In fact, he enjoys driving people to backrupcy. Especially Curufin. And Maglor.

While he's playing, Maedhros vollunteers to be the banker and suddenly commiting tax frauds are 10x more harder and easier at the same time. It makes Moryo wanna rip his hair off.(His own or Meadhros. He's not that picky)

It is surprisingly, Maedhros who commits tax frauds when playing but they cant even call him out on it because he is somehow able to keep argueing his way out of the accusation and it blindsides them when he pulls out an Actual Literal Quenyan Property Law out of his ass and says that they cannot properly arrest him nor seize his properties without a warrant and evidence. He claimed the Ambarussa as his "vassals" (there are no such things as vassals in monopoly, Nelyo—) and therefore he has negotiated, with all the gravitas and political expertise he has learned from several years of leading armies and being an actual Lord of Himring, 25% of their own profits to be promised to him. ("This is basically daylight robbery, brother! From our own flesh and blood!—")

Maglor is somehow getting good investments at the first half before Curufin and Celegorm worked together to bankrupt him in one fell swoop. He is shouting crying throwing up but he cant do anything about it but become indebted to the two.

There was a near mutiny when Feanor and Nerdanel teamed up.

Before they knew it they're in a three way war with each other.

No one has more stronger opinions on property law than Feanorions.

[slamminslamminmcgill]

Perrito Chapter 2: Protection - Lalo Salamanca/FTM Reader (NSFW!)

prequel to the events of chapter 1. you and lalo meet in the prison showers and strike a deal. rather than face the mercy of the other inmates, you agree to surrender yourself completely to him. tags/warnings: public humiliation/degradation, homophobic/transphobic slurs, shower sex, public sex, voyeurism, exhibitionism, pet play, rimming, oral sex, face-slapping, face-spitting, squirting, spanking, hair-pulling, implied/referenced rape (nothing actually happens), BDSM, possessive behavior anatomical terms: cunt/pussy/hole/g-spot, (t-)dick words: 6,693 ao3 link author's notes: i am so unfathomably normal about lalo salamanca /lie como siempre no soy un hablante nativo pero estoy aprendiendo. entonces por favor corríjame si se encuentra algo de errores :3

Whoever said space was the final frontier must have never had to shower in prison.

As if being locked up with hundreds of dangerous, violent men nearly double your size wasn’t bad enough, you were now expected to get naked in front of witnesses. Your size, age, body type, and criminal charges were already working against you. They painted a picture of a weak young man, a little boy, really, who’s no stranger to whoring himself out. Your fellow inmates seemed to heckle you wherever you went, eager to stake their claim in you. It hadn’t even been a day, and yet you were already one of the hottest commodities in here. That alone was scary, but coupled with the fact that you were trans, it was downright horrifying. You thought you’d be lucky to last 4 seconds naked in the shower before someone grabbed you. If people knew you had a pussy, everyone around you would be clamoring to tear it up.

You’d almost resigned yourself to it. It was going to happen. You were going to walk into the shower dirty, and somehow leave even dirtier, if you left at all, that is. You figured if you wanted a slim chance of maintaining your dignity, you should go when the least amount of people were there. Hopefully, less people in the room meant less eyes on you. 

Carrying a plastic bag filled with prison-issue shower necessities, you managed to sneak away from the cafeteria at lunch time and head for the showers. Before you went inside, you decided to peek in and check for other inmates. You couldn’t see anyone, but you heard one lone shower running. That’s it. No voices, no footsteps, nothing but that one lone stream. You sighed, partly in relief, partly in disappointment. One other person was probably the most privacy you were going to get. You prayed that they wouldn’t pay attention to you. You took a deep breath, scrounged up all the strength and confidence you could find, and barged in. 

Men’s bathroom etiquette was something you’d picked up after transition. Obviously, you had no experience with prison bathrooms, but you assumed the code of conduct was the same. Look down at the floor or straight ahead. Do not speak. Do not make eye contact. Do your business quickly and then leave. Lingering for longer than necessary would signal that you were open for business, which you most certainly were not. You stood up straight with your brow furrowed, probably looking more like a disgruntled bunny rabbit than a prisoner not to be fucked with, and speedwalked to an available shower. There were partitions dividing them, but no door or curtain for privacy. Honestly, that was still better than you were expecting; you only had one vulnerable side instead of three. You picked a stall and tossed your bag in without carefully checking your surroundings, which ended up being the wrong move. 

A voice that was entirely too close to you called out, “Well, hey there, little guy! What’s your name?”

You nearly jumped out of your skin. You’d been hoping to get through your shower in relative solitude, but you didn’t even have to strip to be harassed by someone. Still, it was the first time anyone here spoke to you like a person rather than a set of at least two holes on legs. You cautiously turned over your shoulder to catch a glimpse of your neighbor. 

He didn’t look like whatever menacing figure you had in mind. He was bigger and buffer than you, sure, but he seemed like a nice guy. Well, nice by prison standards. Actually, he was kinda hot, and he had a friendly smile on his face as he washed his salt-and-pepper hair. “Yeah, you, kid! What’s your name?”

You told him that and not much else.

He kept talking to fill in the silence. “Hm. Cute! It suits you. My name is Eduardo. Eduardo Salamanca, but you can call me Lalo. How’d a pretty little thing like you end up in here? What’d you do?”

Oh boy, here we go. You thought. You’d heard not to lie about your charges; it made you seem untrustworthy. Though with your circumstances, it might have just been easier to tape a giant “FUCK ME” sign to your back. Nevertheless, you confessed. “Drug possession and… prostitution.” You mumbled the last word, hoping he’d mishear it for ‘arson’ or something less conspicuous.

But he didn’t. “Really? Wow…” You could tell he was eyefucking you a little bit, but thankfully you still had your clothes on. Almost everything was left to his imagination. “Jeez, you poor kid. I bet you were busy on the streets. Well, at least you can get a little break from that. How long you in for?”

“6 months.” You answered. Of course, that was the best case scenario. If you left any earlier, it would probably be in a body bag.

Apparently, Lalo could read your mind. “6 months? Gonna be honest here. A little guy like you would be lucky to last 6 weeks.”

You don’t know the half of it, buddy, your inner monologue replied. What you said to him was something different, though. “Yeah, uh… I kinda got that vibe already. Honestly, you’re the first person to like… actually talk to me. I’ve been getting catcalled everywhere I go.” Catcalled being the nice way to put it. Threatened was probably more accurate.

Lalo sighed. “Yeah, unfortunately that’s par for the course for small guys here. Unless they get protection.”

“Protection?” You asked, probably already knowing the answer. “What do you mean?”

“Hm… Let me think of a nice way to say this…” Lalo pondered, and came up with, “I guess I don’t have to tell you that guys like you get passed around, right?”

“No, you do not.” You replied with a sarcastic smile. Laughing about your misfortune made it feel like it was survivable. If you didn’t take it seriously and decided to ‘yes and’ your inevitable trauma, you could move past it. The show must go on, even if the show is an improv night in Hell. 

Lalo snickered. “Right, yeah. So, it’s not exactly protection, more like a protector. Basically, you get someone to claim you as theirs. That way, you’re private property instead of public property. You get me?”

That was about what you expected. “Ah, yeah. That makes sense.” It wasn’t an ideal situation by any means, but better one than everyone. “How, uh… How would I go about finding someone for that?” 

“Well, for starters, you should get in the shower. No one’s gonna want you if you’re stinky.” Lalo pointed to your shower faucet, and tilted his head back to rinse the shampoo out of his hair.

You glanced up at the shower head. The way it hung from the ceiling so ominously, waiting to be the executor of your fate, it might as well have been a noose. Was this what it was like to die? Taking your last bow in front of the audience as you kicked over the chair? “Right…” You cleared your throat and turned fully around, making sure your back was to Lalo. Maybe if you kept your back to him, he wouldn’t notice. Hell, maybe he wasn’t even looking. Just don’t turn around. Don’t face forward. You took a deep breath and pulled your orange shirt off over your head, though you couldn’t figure out where to put it.

Evidently, Lalo saw your confusion. “You can put your clothes in your bag. Tie it up, though, otherwise they’ll get wet.”

Your heart sank. He was watching you. Intently. You dared not turn around to verify. “Thanks…” You mumbled as you stuffed your shirt in the bag. Figuring it wasn’t going to get any easier the longer you waited, you pulled your pants and underwear down and put them away as well. Naked but for the prophylactic flip-flops required in any public shower, you grabbed the bar of soap and bottle of shampoo from the bag, tied it up, and dropped it on the floor, all without turning around. 

Okay. You can do this. The hard part’s over. Just don’t turn around. Don’t face forward. Don’t turn around. Don’t face forward, you thought. It turned out that wasn’t the hard part, though, because whoever designed the shower controls must have been a goddamn NASA engineer. You couldn’t figure it out for the life of you.

Again, Lalo saw you struggling. “Yeah, it’s pretty tricky to get the hang of. Want some help?”

“N-No, thanks. I think I got it...” You lied. But how hard could it be? Just turn this dial here, right? No, wait. Maybe it’s this one? There we go! You were christened in your success with a stream of cold water.

Freezing cold water.

You cringed the second it hit your skin. “Shit!” You shouted and instinctively backed against the corner, narrowly escaping Snow Miser’s rain of terror. Shivering and dripping wet, you tried to reach for the controls, only to realize how badly you just fucked up.

You had turned around.

And you were facing forward.

Not only that, but you were facing Lalo.

And Lalo was looking exactly where you hoped he wouldn’t be. 

His mouth agape, he squinted to get a better look at your peculiar body. “No mames… (No fucking way…)” He muttered. 

You didn’t know what that meant, but it didn’t sound good. You quickly turned back around, pressing your face into the corner. It was pointless. He already saw everything, but maybe you just did that to hide the tears that were sure to come. You wrapped your arms over your chest and hugged yourself for the tiniest bit of comfort and warmth. Your voice cracked as you said to him, “Please… Please don’t…”, not entirely sure what you were asking him not to do.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, little man. I’m not gonna hurt you.” Lalo assured you, cooing to you like you were a cat stuck in a tree. You half-expected him to start going pspspspsps to get you out of the corner. The distinctive sound of flip-flops on wet tile told you that he was walking over to you. You were left petrified and shivering as the cold water dripped down your exposed body. Eventually, the flip-flops stopped flopping. You heard a splash of water, the metal squeaking of the shower controls, and another splash. “Ah, mucho mejor… (Ah, much better…)” Lalo patted you on the shoulder, sharing some of his body heat to melt your cold demeanor. “See? I warmed it up for you, mijo. Now, can you turn around for me?”

You shimmied your stiff body around to face Lalo, who wasted no time eyeing you up and down. You could actually see his eyes flicker back and forth between your face, chest, and crotch in a perfect rhythm. One two three, four five six. Face chest crotch, crotch chest face.

“Wow…” Lalo sighed and rested both his hands on your shoulders as he continued to scan your body. He was trying to photograph every curve, every inch of you, as if he was afraid he’d never see you again.  “You… My god, you’re gorgeous… You probably made bank on the streets, huh? Body like that, I’d sell it too. Maybe even buy myself a nice place in Cancún with all the money I get for it.” 

You snorted with laughter. His sickly-sweet talk had you forgetting all about the sheer terror you were feeling just moments ago. He was an expert at talking you down, and you tried to find the best words to give him in return. “I… I wish man! You make it sound nice!”

“Well, a pretty boy like you deserves nice things. You deserve to be treated nice.” Lalo chuckled as he dragged his hands down, across the scars on your chest and over the curves of your hips. He bit his lip and looked back up at your face, “If you were mine? Psh, I’d treat you so nice. I’d give you everything you’ve ever wanted, querido, I promise. Would you like that?”

Hell, you’d like anything if it came out of that voice, a rich baritone with a sultry accent, warming you up like a crackling fireplace on a winter’s night. “Y-Yeah…” you hummed, hoping that your legs wouldn’t liquify in front of him. “So, uh… when you say, like… being yours, uh… does that mean you’ll-?”

Lalo answered your question before you finished asking it, “I’ll protect you, sweetheart. You won’t have to worry about anyone else.” He pulled you in for a hug and under the shower stream, which was now as warm and comforting as he was. He smooched your forehead before patting your shoulders and locking eyes with you. “So? You in?”

You were in. In over your head, but in nonetheless. “Yeah… Yeah, I’m in.”

“Good! I’m glad to have you.” Lalo kissed your forehead again. “But, I don’t just protect anyone, y’know. You gotta earn your keep, understand? You gotta prove to me that you’re worth protecting.”

At this point, you were used to bartering with your body. You’d spent plenty an evening face down, ass up, in some cheap motel room, scrolling through Twitter and fake moaning while you waited for whichever loser was behind you to cum inside the condom he’d bitched about wearing. But this, but Lalo, Lalo was more than just a client. He felt like much more. 

And when you looked down, you noticed that he was packing much more than your usual clientele. 

Like he had done to you, your gaze flickered back and forth from his crotch to his face. One, two, one, two. Face, cock, face, cooock. You couldn’t help yourself. Even at half-mast, you could tell he was big. Thick, uncut, trimmed hair, fat juicy balls, and fresh from the shower. It was gorgeous, and you had quite the portfolio for comparison. You’d said the same lies to every client that whipped it out: “Oh, wooow, it’s so biiiiig. I don’t know if I can take it all.” Lies, acting, stage presence, whatever you want to call it, but with Lalo, it was the truth. You unconsciously licked your lips.

Lalo was amused, but growing impatient. “You gonna do something or just stare at it all day?”

You snapped out of your cock-blinded haze and scoffed. “In a second, man! I’m just…” You dropped to your knees, gliding your hands down his back until they rested on his ass. “Just admiring what I have to work with.” You closed your eyes and maneuvered your mouth onto his beautiful cock, slurping and sucking to get it fully erect, which you did in record time.  

Lalo exhaled and ran his fingers through your wet hair, scratching your scalp as you worked. “Oh, there we go. That’s a good boy… You got good technique, huh? Get a lot of practice?”

“Mhm…” You answered with a mouthful of dick, lips buzzing around his head. For some reason, the way he said good boy went straight to your head (and your junk). You weren’t sure why, but you felt an overwhelming, soul-crushing desire to please him. Protecting yourself was definitely part of it, but self-preservation alone wouldn’t have you so enthusiastic. You’d give him whatever he wanted, anything he could ever ask for, just to hear him praise you again. You relaxed your throat as best you could, and pushed his butt towards you to get his cock all the way down. 

“Ooh, you naughty little thing, you like that?” Lalo growled, tightening his grip on your hair and jerking his hips into your face. “You like getting your throat fucked?” 

He kept you down for longer than you would have done yourself. Your throat convulsed and you spat up, coating him in drool. He yanked you off and let you gasp for air. You took a couple quick breaths, not wanting to be away from that cock for too long, and latched your spit-covered lips onto his balls. You licked, slurped, sucked, and slobbered on them while you stroked his shaft. 

Lalo threw his head back and moaned. “Oh, fuck, yeah, that’s it. Just like that. Good boy.”

There it was again, your call to action, your sleeper agent trigger phrase. You ripped your lips off his balls and took him back into your mouth, jacking him off with your throat. You got him all the way in again, your nose nuzzling into his pubic hair while your tongue lapped at his balls. You struggled to breathe through your nose, but you didn’t care. Cock was more important than oxygen. 

Lalo laughed over your choking, not maliciously, but in pure glee at the sight before him. “Oh my god, look at you! You’re adorable!” He pulled you off before you could asphyxiate yourself, and crouched down to cup your face in his hands. He kissed your forehead and ruffled your hair, shaking some water out of it. “Heh, I’m real lucky, aren’t I? I got the best little cocksucker in this damn place, all to myself. Such a good boy.”

There it was again. He had to know what he was doing. Like Pavlov and his dog, he was conditioning you, training you to be his dog, and it was working. You were on your knees, panting with your tongue hanging out, covered in drool, being rewarded with headpats and kisses from your master. You were so happy, so proud to be doing a good job. You let your eyes close and your head lull, giggling and basking in his affection. 

Lalo took note of the effect he had on you. “You really like it when I call you that, yeah? And when I pet you? Dios mío, you're like a little puppy. So cute, so happy, so obedient… I bet if I told you to bark, you’d actually do it, wouldn’t you?”

You froze, taking a moment to assess your situation and how far you’d sunk. You weren’t actually considering this, were you? Then again, Lalo was the only one standing between you and every other violent criminal in here. His wish would have to be your command. But then again, would that be so bad? You liked what he had for you so far. “Do… Do you want me to?”

Lalo blinked a few times, like he wasn’t expecting you to be up for it. “Y’know what?” He stood up and stretched his arms over his head, letting the water cascade down his body and sighing as he let his tension go. “Yeah, I do. I do want you to bark for me.” He grabbed your hair and tilted your head back so you could look him in the eye. “Go on. Bark for me, boy.”

Before you bit the bullet, you thanked your lucky stars that no one else had walked into the showers to hear you debase yourself like this. “Woof! Woof!”

Lalo cackled, letting go of your hair to steady himself on the wall as he doubled over from laughter. When he was able to breathe, he answered you mockingly, clearly enjoying the role he’d put you in. “Woof, woof!” He took a moment to collect himself and wipe some tears from his eyes before he spoke to you again. “Oh, you’re precious, you know that?” His fingers raked through your hair, smoothing it out under the shower stream and scratching behind your ears as he purred to you in his native tongue. “Oh, mi chico bueno… Tan lindo… Tan lindo y solo mío… (Oh, my good boy… So cute… So cute and all mine…)” 

You weren’t listening intently, instead mainly just enjoying how sexy his voice sounded in Spanish. Though when you did hear English again, it was a question that, along with another sharp pull on your hair, shocked you out of your stupor. 

“Hey, you ever eat ass before?”

You stared up at him and shook your head. No client had ever asked, thank god, and none of your previous partners had either. You’d been on the receiving end a few times, and you’d liked it well enough. The thought of being the giver had never crossed your mind, until now. 

“Well, you’re about to. Don’t worry, it’s fun! Shower’s the best place to try it. You’ll like it, I’m sure.” He held onto your hair like a briefcase and spun his body around, letting go of you when his voluptuous ass was in your face. “Whenever you’re ready, mijo.”

You brought your hands up to his big butt and gave it a squeeze, like you were pinching it to see if it was real. Having confirmed its existence in this physical realm, you spread his cheeks apart with your thumbs. You took a deep breath to settle your nerves, and then dove in. You lapped at his hole, slicking it up with a little bit of spit. Not nearly enough, though, so you pulled back and spat directly on it for good measure. That allowed you to slide your tongue right in. 

“Ooh, yeah, that’s it…” Lalo groaned, “Knew you’d be good at this. You’re a natural!” He reached behind you to push your face in deeper. 

You got the hint and started to tonguefuck his asshole, thrusting in and out as deep as you could go. Surprisingly, you found yourself really enjoying it. Your shameless moans reverberated between his cheeks and vibrated his sensitive rim. You braced your hands on his hips and flicked your tongue up and down, side to side, in and out, anywhere you could get it. Lalo was right, you were a natural. 

But he still felt like you needed some assistance. Lalo grabbed one of your wrists and brought your hand up front, your fingertips blindly grazing his length. “Hey. Stroke my dick while you do that. C’mon.” He demanded, and you obliged, pumping his cock as you dug your tongue deep into his ass. You knew you had it right when he said, “Oh, there you go! Can’t forget that, right?”

You definitely could not. You were drunk off his cock and addicted to his ass. Everything about him was intoxicating. You stuck your tongue out and swiped it down over his rim and to his balls, sucking on one, then the other. When you got your fill of that, you spat on his hole again and went back to tonguefucking him. 

You must have been doing a good job, because Lalo couldn’t keep his mouth shut. “Ay, te chico sucio, lámelo. Lame me pinche culo, puto. Usa ese pinche boca sucia. ¿Te gusta, verdad? ¿Te gusta lamiendo mi ano? Claro que te gusta, maricón. (Ay, you dirty boy, lick it. Lick my fucking ass, whore. Use that dirty fucking mouth. You like that, right? You like licking my asshole? Of course you like it, faggot.)” He hissed in pleasure and kept talking, “Carajo, te sientes tan bueno. (Fuck, you feel so good.)”  

You couldn’t tell exactly what he was saying, but he said it with a lot of conviction and passion. Your tongue must have grazed his prostate, because when it did, he cried out salaciously and leaked precum all over your fingers. “¡Ay, Dios mío! (Ah, oh my God!)” 

You were ready to hit that spot over and over, but Lalo was quicker than you were, and pulled your face out by your hair. “Alright! That’s enough of that!” He laughed as he turned to you and petted your hair again. “A few seconds longer and I would’ve been done for! Told you you’d be good at it! Good boy! Such a good boy!”

You whined like the pathetic little dog you were, and took his praise to heart. “Thank you, Lalo…”

“You’re welcome, sweetheart. Now, come here.” He crouched down to pick you up off the floor and stand you upright. Once he had you on your own two feet, he backed you up against the wall. Lalo’s lips interlocked with yours faster than you could process it. His hand moved with the same urgency, rushing to slip between your legs. Predictably, your dick was rock hard and your cunt was soaking wet. Lalo chuckled as he rocked his fingers against you. “Awww, look who’s excited! You want me that bad?”

You started to grind your hips into his hand while he sucked and bit your neck. “Yeah… Yeah, fuck… Y-Yeah…”

Lalo ripped his lips off you with enough intensity that was sure to bruise. “Tell me what you want.”

Because it could never be that easy, right? You’d always have to put yourself down before getting what you want. Though this time, you were feeling playful. You stuttered out a snarky response. “Isn’t- ah… Isn’t it kinda obvious?”

Lalo seemed to like your snark, supplementing it with some of his own. “Oh, it’s very obvious.” He grabbed you by your hips and lifted you off the floor, lining your hole up with his cock. You squirmed, trying to fineagle it in yourself, but he kept you still. “But I want to hear you say it first. Tell me, what do you want me to do with you?”

You didn’t miss a beat. “F-Fuck me… Fuck me right now, please… Please…”

Rather than quench your thirst, Lalo fanned the flames. “Right now? You want it right here? Anyone could walk in and see us, y’know.”

That was true, though his tone implied that it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. Quite honestly, he made it sound kind of alluring. You pushed it out of your mind, consenting to anything that’d get his cock inside you faster. 

You shook your head. “That’s… gah, that’s fine, I don’t care… I don’t care, please, just… Just fuck me, already…”

Lalo laughed, “Alright, alright, I will! So needy!” and brushed some wet hair out of your face. “Such a needy little puppy...”

Before you could even think of reacting, he slammed your hips down and filled you to the brim. The stretch was intense, enough for you to let out an involuntary cry of, “Oh, fuck!”

…

Having realized how great the acoustics were in the prison showers, you slapped your hand over your mouth and shut your eyes, not wanting to test your vocal performance capabilities any longer. 

Lalo took your wrists one at a time and put your hands on his shoulders, “No, no. Look at me. Don’t be shy…” He took hold of your hips again and squeezed hard enough for you to pop your eyelids open. After making sure you two were eye to eye, he thrust himself up into you. You moaned reflexively, like he’d just hit the squeaker on a chew toy. A dog’s chew toy. “Let them hear you, doggy.”

That was easy enough, because Lalo had you practically howling as he fucked you up against the shower wall. Within a matter of seconds, other prisoners came in to investigate, and you had amassed an audience.

“Yooo, check out what Salamanca’s got.”

“Holy shit!”

You yelped and snapped your neck to the side, where you saw two of your fellow inmates, two burly dudes fully clothed in prison orange, ogling your naked body. You repeatedly tapped Lalo’s chest to get him to stop. 

But he didn’t. He couldn’t give less of a fuck that they were there, let alone that they were talking about you. They were beneath him. Literally. Little did you know, you’d gotten lucky. The one guy you stumbled upon in the shower, the sweet, sexy, salt-and-pepper Lalo Salamanca, who had promised to keep you safe, just so happened to be top dog among everyone locked up in MDC Albuquerque. Hell, even the guards kissed his ass everywhere he went, though with not as much tongue as you did. He barked an order at you, like you were but one of the many people who did what he said. “Don’t look at them, look at me.”

You pouted and whined as Lalo fucked you into submission, rolling your head back to face him at his command. Still, even though you were a whiny, weak, submissive, slutty little bitch, you had the nerve to question him. “Nghhhh, but they’re staring at me…”

“So?” Lalo’s tone let you know how stupid that was, “I’m not gonna stop,” but he was quick to sweet talk you into it. That sneaky, sexy, Salamanca. “Everyone’s gotta find out you’re owned, somehow. Might as well have a little fun with it, yeah? And besides,” He gave you an especially hard thrust. “I think you like getting watched.”

You did. You really, truly did. As more and more prisoners packed into the tight corridor of the shower, you heard more and more voices join the ensemble. At one point, Lalo had pulled you in for a kiss, and when it was over, you were stuck staring at the spectators. You weren’t sure exactly how many of your peers were out there, definitely more than you could count on your hands, but they were all talking about you. 

“Look at that!”

“Who’s this little faggot?”

“Dunno. Never seen him before.”

“I hear he’s a whore. Just arrived today. Got half a year for prostitution.”

“No way! You think Salamanca was the one pimping him out?”

“Probably was. He’s lettin’ the kid have it.”

“You like what they’re saying about you? That you’re my whore? Heh. You wish you were good enough to be my whore. You’re barely good enough to be my dog. You wanna show them how much of a dog you really are?”. Lalo slapped you across the face like the bitch you were. “Bark for them, doggy. C’mon. Be a good boy and let everyone hear you bark.”

You had no thought in your head, no possible reason to do otherwise, because you couldn’t reason. Animals aren’t capable of reason. As the two of you fucked like rabbits, you clung to him like a koala, and barked like a dog. “R-Ruff, ruff! Ruff!”

The concert hall of the showers echoed with a standing ovation. The onlookers hurled cheers at Lalo, and cheers, leers, and jeers at you. 

“Hahaha! He’s fuckin’ pathetic!”

“Oh my god, he actually did it!”

“Dude, he has to. Salamanca tells you to bark, you fuckin’ bark. I don’t wanna be the guy to tell him no.”

“Yeahhh, get it!”

“¡Tómalo, puto! (Take it, bitch!)”

“Bark some more for us, doggy!”

“He’s a dog, alright. He’s a bitch in heat.”

“Yeah, yeah, YEAH! Take it! You take it, bitch! That’s how we fucking DO! You tell my cousin ‘thank you’, BITCH!”

“¿Qué? ¿Tuco?” Now Lalo was the one checking out the crowd. You guessed from context clues that ‘Tuco’ was his cousin that just told you to say thank you, and Lalo must have been looking for him. He scanned the mosh pit of inmates watching the show, and upon realizing that it’d take too long to find ‘Tuco’ in the sea of semi-clothed, muscular men, gave up. “Ah, no importa. (Ah, doesn’t matter.)” He shrugged and turned his attention back to you. “He’s right, though.” He slapped your other cheek, grabbed you by the jaw, and spat in your face. “Say thank you.”

On top of the other animals he’d reduced you to, you could now add parrot to the list. “Ah, thank you! Thank you, La-lo! Fuck! Thank you!”

“Aw, you’re welcome, nene.” Lalo said as he brushed his spit off your face, the evidence of your degradation disappearing down the drain. He planted a tender kiss on your O-shaped lips. “Now, I want you to stroke your dick for me. You’re gonna make yourself cum in front of all these nice men, and you’re gonna keep telling me thank you like the good boy you are. Can you do that for me, puppy?”

Of course you could. You brought one of your hands off his shoulders and pinched your t-dick. You frantically jerked it, not even caring about anyone seeing your body anymore. Thankfully, they all saw you from the side. No one had caught on yet. Over your desperate cries of “Thank you! Thank you, Lalo! Thank you!” you could just barely hear the encouragement and epithets from the audience.

“Yeah, cum for us, queer!”

“We wanna see you cum!”

“Heh. Little faggot’s dick is so tiny, his whole hand covers it.”

“Look at his face. He’s even panting like a dog. I give him 30 seconds, tops.”

30 seconds was, of course, a gross overestimation. It was probably closer to 3 before you cried out “Tha-ank! You! La-lo! F-Fuck! Fuck!!!” and came, spurts of fluid gushing out with his every thrust. Everyone had screamed for you when your orgasm started, but by the time it faded away, they’d been reduced to quiet, confused murmuring. They were perplexed by the excess liquid now dripping onto the floor underneath you. You couldn’t hear a single word clearly. Your heart stopped. The shadow of dread loomed over your head once more. 

But where you saw danger, Lalo saw opportunity. Keeping you impaled on his cock, he kissed and caressed your cheek, speaking with his gentle, generous tone. “Shh, it’s okay. Look at me.” Calloused fingertips poked your jaw in his direction. When you saw his face, he gave you a great big smile, and kissed your nose. “I’m gonna show them, okay?”

Again, his ability to talk you down was uncanny. Or, maybe you were just a dumb, silly little puppy that’d go along with whatever its master said. You giggled, still riding the high from your orgasm, and nodded. 

Lalo kissed your neck, whispered to you, “Good boy. You feel so good,” and set you down on the floor. He clapped his hands on your shoulders, and engaged the crowd. “You guys wanna see the best thing about him?” 

And before a single cheer, clap, or whistle could be sounded, Lalo spun you around, and bared your front to the audience. 

If you thought the prisoners had gone crazy before, they would’ve needed lobotomies after seeing you in full. The collective screeching in the room sounded unhuman. Some couldn’t believe their very eyes, and were left questioning reality. 

“Oh my god!”

“Ayo, what the FUCK?!”

“No shot, dude! There’s no way!”

“That’s not real! You’re fucking with me! That can’t be real!”

“Lucky bastard!”

“Is that a pussy?! Fuuuck, it’s been so long…”

Some knew that what they were seeing was real, but struggled to make sense of it. 

“Wait, wait, wait, so then did he just fucking squirt?!”

“Is that a chick? How she get in the men’s block?”

“That don’t look like a chick, though, man. How’d this dude get a pussy?”

“Shi-i-it, can I get one too?”

“Yeah. I’ll carve you one.”

“I think he’s a tranny, right? Or is that just when chicks have dicks? Didn’t know they could go the other way.”

“Is that why he just got here today? Salamanca wanted some pussy, so he just had one of his whores get caught and sent to him?”

“Wouldn’t surprise me. He could do it.”

“Yeah, he’s a gorgeous little puppy, isn’t he?” Lalo laughed and shook you gently, as if to emphasize your already eye-catching presence. He snaked one of his hands down to your crotch and spread your pussy lips open, showing off your cute little dick and your drenched hole. You squealed with embarrassment and closed your eyes, not wanting to see the hundreds of prisoners salivating over you. “Think he tastes as good as he looks?” 

Wait, what?

Whatever he just said, it drove the peanut gallery wild. Your ears started to ring from all the shouting.

“Well, let’s find out!” Lalo took his hand off your front and slapped you on the behind. “Put your hands on the wall and bend over.”

“Ah! Okay! Ok-kay…” You shuffled back over to the side, faced the wall, and braced yourself with palms splayed on wet tile. Then, you bent over, sticking your ass out with your legs far apart. “Like… Like this?”

“Perfect!” Lalo spanked you again. “Stay just like that.” He groped your ass and knelt down behind you. Having been in his position not too long ago, you could guess what was coming, though you still groaned when he dragged his tongue up your slit. 

“Ohhh, f-fuck, thank you, Lalooo~…”

Lalo said “you’re welcome” by slurping up as much of your essence as he could. He swallowed a mouthful and then winked at the crowd. “Tastes pretty damn good.” He pursed his lips around your dick and sucked, making your knees buckle and your hands slide down the wall.

A few seconds of that had you begging for mercy. You knew if he kept it up, you’d inevitably collapse onto the grimy shower floor. “F-Fuck! Fuck, Lalo! Lalo! Oh, god, I can’t take it! P-Please!"

Lalo popped your dick out of his mouth, and spat your words back at you. “You can’t take it?” He got up off his knees and forced two of his fingers into your sopping wet hole. Then, he rammed them into your g-spot over and over, as fast as he possibly could. When you started wailing, he grabbed a fistful of your hair and yanked your head back so he could growl in your ear. “Well, you’re gonna take it. You’re gonna take what I fucking give you, whore. You’re my bitch. And I get to do whatever I want with you. Do you understand that?”

“Y-Yes! Yes, yes, ah, fuck, yes! Yes, Lalo!”

“Say thank you.”

“Nghhh, thank you, Lalooo…”

“Aww, good boy! You’re such a good boy! Who’s my stupid little slut? You are! Yes you are! You’re my stupid little slut! And you’re not gonna cum until I say you can, right?”

You balled your hands into fists and dug them into the wall, sobbing from the intense pressure building inside you. You knew you were going to break, but you agreed to his terms nonetheless. “Mhm! Ah! Uh huh! I… w-won’t… c-cum… I wo-oh fu-u-uck, I can’t! H-Hold it! Please!”

Lalo sighed, and decided to take the slightest bit of pity on you. “Oh, alright. But you gotta bark first. C’mon, doggy. Bark if you wanna cum.”

You took no time to process the depravity of his request. You just followed the command instinctively, like the well-trained puppy you were. “R-Ruff! Ruff, ruff! Woof! Woof!”

Lalo chuckled, satisfied with what he’d made of you. “Good boy. Now, you can cum.”

And with his permission, you squirted all over his fingers as he jackhammered them into you. Your throat was sore from moaning so much, and you imagined the audience must have felt the same from cheering. It was understandable, though; it’d probably been years since any of them had seen a pussy in person, let alone one that belonged to a cute boy and could gush like a firehose. 

Lalo slid his fingers out of your hole, sucked them clean, and quickly replaced them with his cock. You let out a garbled moan as he bottomed out again, yet he spoke to the inmates with perfect poise and posture.

“So!” He pulled you up by your hair and turned your face to the masses. “This kid here? ¿Este chico? He’s mine, got that? Mío. You fuck with him, you fuck with me, and you fuck with my entire family. Si se chingue con él, se chingue conmigo, y se chingue con todo el cartel. ¿Comprende?”

Astonishingly, hundreds of prisoners from all walks of life, all types of crimes, many of which were truly horrendous and unspeakable, answered to Lalo Salamanca. Thanks to him, you had gone from one of the most vulnerable people here, to one of the safest. You were untouchable.  His peers in name alone, his subjects in practice, all chanted in unison. “Yes, sir!” 

“Good! Now, all of you get out of here so I can finish up with him.”