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proxima-writes · 11 months

Text

title: hokaanir riduurok

pairing: din djarin x non-mandalorian female reader

rating: explicit (18+ minors DNI)

word count: 6278

summary:

hokaanir riduurok - the mandalorian joining ceremony during which one warrior submits themselves to their intended, allowing their flesh to be carved with a symbol of their unity.

or: you marry a mandalorian and their weddings are a little different than you’re used to

author’s note: a gift for @dindjarinslegs , who’s beautiful brain sparked this whole work. the term of endearment “pirun’ner” comes from this list by user @starrypawz . if you enjoy this work, please consider leaving a comment or reblogging!

content warnings/additional tags: explicit sexual material (18+ minors do not interact), no use of y/n, very plot heavy porn, writer considers ‘din’ to be the mandalorian’s first name, exploration of Mandalorian customs and lore, use of Mando’a, ceremonial scarification, mentions of blood and wounds, use of weapons, use of aphrodisiacs, wedding ceremony, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v, creampie, mild/moderate breeding kink, cum play, multiple orgasms, vaginal fingering, biting/marking, thigh riding, dirty talk, praise, pet names, reader i have taken liberties. let me know if there are any missing!

You’re washing a dish when you hear the metallic clang of heavy beskar approaching. You turn, ready to greet the Mandalorian, only to find Din holding a blade out to you across both palms, helmet tilted down and feet planted wide. You glance at Grogu, who offers only a slow blink of his large dark eyes and a twitch of his ears in answer.

“Uh…Din? What…what are you doing?” You ask. He lifts his helmet, dark visor obscuring your view of his face but not the white hot feel of his gaze across your skin.

“In Mandalorian culture it is tradition to present our intended riduur a blade with which to complete the hokaanir riduurok,” his modulated voice explains.

“Right, right. Of course,” you mumble. You dry your hands on the apron around your waist. “What uh…what’s that, exactly?”

“The Mandalorian joining ceremony.”

You blink. “Joining ceremony? You mean like…marriage?”

“To Mandalorians it is more than marriage but…yes.”

“Din Djarin, is this a proposal?” You ask. You can’t stop the broad smile spreading across your face as you approach him.

“Yes, cyar'ika,” he murmurs, armor heavy arms wrapping around your waist when you’re within arms reach. “Is this an acceptance?”

He tilts his head, pressing the cold beskar to your forehead. A keldabe kiss, he’d told you once.

“Of course.”

________

Din calls the Armorer following his proposal. She, along with Bo-Katan, have chosen to remain on Mandalore with a number of Mandalorians who wish to rebuild the planet to its former glory after the fight against Moff Gideon.

“She has accepted the blade,” Din tells the Armorer’s hologram.

“It has been a long time since the Tribe has seen a proper Mandalorian wedding,” the Armorer says. “Even longer since the sands of Mandalore have borne witness.” She pauses, helmet tilting to the side. “Did you tell her the significance of the blade?”

“I told her it was for the joining ceremony,” Din replies. He should have known the Armorer would see right through him.

“Yes, but did you tell her its purpose? How she is meant to carve her possession into your flesh to be kept with you for the rest of your days?”

“I may have neglected to provide that much detail.”

The Armorer sighs. “I would suggest you bring your aruetii to Mandalore ahead of your joining ceremony. We will have much to discuss.”

“We will endeavor to arrive within the next lunar cycle,” Din concedes.

“This is the Way,” the Armorer intones.

“This is the Way.”

________

“I can't believe I’m visiting Mandalore,” you say excitedly. “I’ve never even been off Nevarro.”

Din is strapping you into the co-pilot seat of the freighter ship he’s borrowed from Karga’s fleet. While he’s content to fly and sleep in his Starfighter, he said he wants you to be more comfortable during your first trip off-world.

“Stop moving, pirun’ner,” he says, fitting the straps across your chest. You wiggle again, just to be stubborn, and he huffs a laugh, tapping his helmet to the crown of your head.

“You know, you’ve never told me what that means,” you say as he takes a seat in the captain’s chair. You watch as he confidently moves through the pre-flight motions, flicking switches and pressing buttons, inputting coordinates and checking gauges.

“The literal translation from Mando’a is ‘my water’,” he says. “Water begets life. Without water, there is no living.”

“Din…,” you murmur, words getting caught in your throat. “Makes me feel bad for the nickname I give you in my head.”

He turns his head, somehow managing to look affronted despite you not being able to see his face. “And what nickname is that?”

“Tin man,” you joke.

“But…this is beskar,” he says, clearly not understanding your joke and you can’t help but laugh.

The nickname comes from the early days of your relationship with the Mandalorian.

As Nevarro’s resident baker, you’re familiar with the locals and even more familiar with the gossip around newcomers. The town buzzed with excitement when one of the Mandalorians that defended the trading town had returned and settled on the outskirts with his son.

The first time you saw him was when his son made a cookie float off your display and into his little green hand. The Mandalorian had shown up while you were bent to the little creature’s level, asking where his parents were.

“Grogu,” his modulated voice chastised. “We talked about this.”

He was clad head to toe in the beskar armor you’re now intimately familiar with, but you didn’t know that at the time, so you called him ‘tin man’ in your mind. You didn’t learn his name until around the third time he’d visited your bakery.

The ship jerks harshly in take-off, breaking you from your trip down memory lane. Your fingers curl nervously against the armrests of your seat.

“Does that usually happen?” You ask.

Din must sense the anxiety coming off of you in waves. He reaches a gloved hand over and rests it over yours. “You are safe with me, cyar'ika. I would never let any harm come to you.”

You smile at him, the tension easing from your shoulders. You turn your hand palm upwards to fold your fingers between his.

“I know.”

________

Later, in the pitch black crew cabin, you’re curled against Din’s body on the scratchy cot as the ship’s autopilot continues your voyage, reveling in the feel of him against you without all the beskar and weapons. He feels human like this, soft, yet somehow still your solid pillar of strength in a galaxy not built for gentle things.

“Tell me about Mandalore,” you murmur.

“It’s not the same as it once was,” he replies, his unmodulated voice deep like the vastness of space beyond the ship. “It’s harsher now. War ravaged. For a long time we were told it was not even fit for life.”

“Were you raised there?”

“No. I was born on Aq Vetina. There was…a raid. My parents were killed. Battle droids. I was raised as a foundling on Concordia, Mandalore’s moon.”

“I’m so sorry, Din,” you whisper. You trace your hand up his chest and neck until you can cup his stubbled cheek in your palm.

“I didn’t set foot on Mandalore until recently. I had…removed my helmet, in the presence of others, which goes against the very tenets of The Creed.” He takes a deep breath. “I was an apostate. Dar’manda.”

“Seems kind of harsh.”

He chuckles. “You and Bo-Katan will get along well.”

“You still wear the armor,” you point out. “If you’re not a Mandalorian, is that allowed?”

“By bathing in the Living Waters in the Mines of Mandalore, someone who is dar’manda can seek redemption. It was a long shot. The Mines were thought to be destroyed.”

“But they weren’t?”

“No. The planet is more hospitable than we were led to believe, even in its ravaged state. It’s why Bo-Katan is able to rebuild, to reunite what once was broken.”

“So, you were able to bathe in the Mines then?”

“Yes. I have redeemed myself in the eyes of the Creed.”

Your mind conjures an image of your Mandalorian, tall and broad though his face is nothing more than a blur, stripped of his armor as he wades into a pool of water. You rub your thighs together, hoping the friction eases the ache forming between your legs.

“What are you thinking about, pirun’ner?” Din asks. His voice has gone lower, darker, and his hand presses you closer to his body. You realize you’ve been caught.

“You,” you reply honestly. He shifts, running his hand down your waist and over the curve of your ass, not stopping until his hand grips behind your knee and drags your top leg across his hips. Your hips shift against his leg.

You’ve not seen your Mandalorian’s face or body before, but you know the feel of it intimately. The hard planes of muscle in his arms and chest, the softness of his tummy and the thickness of his thighs. The stretch of him inside you, the bite of his teeth and strokes of his tongue under the cover of darkness.

“Is my riduur feeling needy?” His hand urges your movements, your hips now rocking steadily against his thigh. Your moan is breathy and desperate in the small, dark space.

“Not your riduur yet,” you gasp. Din’s warm hand grips your chin, tilting your face upwards. You feel his nose trace along your cheek as his mouth seeks out yours in the dark. His lips are warm as they move against yours in a slow, burning rhythm that matches the slide of your pussy over his thigh.

“The next time you cum, after tonight, you will be,” he groans. Your hips stutter, your release hitting you like a burst of light, sparkling at the corners of your vision. He kisses you deeply. “Sleep now, ner’karta.”

Your heavy eyelids obey his command.

________

Two figures stand at the mouth of a cave as Din lands the Alanar N3 Light Freighter on the surface of Mandalore, a woman with bright red hair and blue armor and a helmeted figure with copper armor and a gold helmet with spikes.

“Welcome,” the redhead says as the two of you approach. “It’s been a long time, Din Djarin. Hopefully you will not need rescuing while you’re here this time.”

“Bo-Katan. Or is it Mand’alor Kryze, now?” Din replies. She smirks.

“Alor Kryze will suffice,” she corrects. Din bows his head in respect before introducing you by name to Bo-Katan and the other Mandalorian, who identifies herself as the Armorer you’ve heard Din speak about at length.

“We have much to show you and discuss,” the Armorer says. She regards you. “Follow me.”

You glance at Din, eyes wide. He gives you a nod, squeezing your hand. Taking a deep breath, you follow the Armorer’s retreating figure as she enters the cave. You meet her at the edge of a cliff that overlooks what appears to be a bustling city.

“Wow,” you mumble.

“It has taken much effort to restore the Mine City to functionality. But it is prospering.”

“How do you get down there?” You ask.

The Armorer chuckles. “We fly. Come closer. We will go together.”

“Oh, uh. Okay.” You step closer and she wraps an arm around your waist, the jetpack on her back igniting as she takes a step over the cliff. You scream, clinging to her shoulders and squeezing your eyes shut.

Your feet hit the ground and you slowly open your eyes. At this level, other Mandalorians bustle about, some with helmets and others without. There are even children running through the streets.

The Armorer releases you once your footing is solid. “Come, we will visit the Living Waters.”

You trail after her again, head swiveling as you take in the city. Some of the Mandalorians look at you curiously as you pass, and you wonder what they must think. From what Din has told you, his Tribe is very secretive. Do they worry you’re a threat? The thought almost makes you laugh.

She leads you deep into the Mine City, down from the street level until you’re standing at the bank of what appears to be a lake, stone steps descending into the dark depths.

“These are the Living Waters of Mandalore,” the Armorer says. “In the days before the Great Purge, the Living Waters saw many ceremonies. Initiations to the Creed, joinings, the adoption of foundlings, the merging of houses. It is the lair of a Mythosaur, a great beast tamed by Mandalore the Great, the first ruler of Mandalore.”

“There’s something down there?” You ask. She tilts her head.

“Allegedly. Mythosaurs have not been seen in many moons,” she replies. “Your joining ceremony will take place on these steps. Has Din spoken to you further about what that will entail?” You shake your head. The Armorer continues.

“It begins with a proposal. A Mandalorian warrior chooses a riduur to whom they will submit themselves, body and soul, for as long as they continue to live. The warrior presents their intended with a blade with which they will perform the hokaanir riduurok.”

“The ceremony consists of three parts,” she continues. “The dinui, or gift, where both parties have selected a weapon to give to their warrior.”

You blink. “He’s going to give me a weapon?”

“Yes. It will be forged specifically for you,” she confirms. “And you will select one for him as well.”

“The second part of the ceremony is the riduurok, or the vows. You will drink spiced wine from the same chalice before reciting the traditional Mandalorian vows.”

This, at least, sounds familiar to you. Vows were common in the few wedding ceremonies you’d seen on Nevarro.

“Finally, the hokaanir. You will take your blade and cut your unifying symbol into his flesh, just above his heart. Then, the covert will host a celebration in your honor.”

“I’m sorry, I have to do what?”

The Armorer tilts her head. “We are a warrior people. Our loyalty is demonstrated with honor and blood,” she offers in explanation. When she’s met with silence, she continues. “I am happy to help you choose a weapon and unity symbol for your ceremony.”

“Thank you, Armorer,” you reply honestly. “For sharing everything with me.”

“This is the Way,” she says, bowing her head. “Do you have any questions?”

Only about a thousand, you think. But there’s one you’ve been wondering about since landing on the planet and being introduced to Bo-Katan, a Mandalorian who showed her face.

“I hope this isn’t insensitive but…you and Din always wear your helmets, right? But Bo-Katan and some of the other Mandalorians…they don’t. Why is that?” You ask carefully.

“The Tribe follows the Creed as described by the Way of the Mandalore. There are other interpretations of the Creed that do not consider the removal of one’s helmet grounds for exile,” she replies. “We are learning to live in harmony.”

“With your Creed…will I ever be able to see Din’s face?”

“As his riduur, he may choose to show his face to you and your future warriors.”

You blink. “Future warriors?”

“Your children. Foundlings or by birth.”

You hadn’t considered children before. Of course, you adore Grogu, Din’s adopted son, but growing your family? Now that the idea is planted, you can’t shake the roots loose.

“Shall we discuss weapons, then?” The Armorer asks, breaking through your racing thoughts.

“Let’s do it.”

________

“You really didn’t tell her anything about the ceremony?” Bo-Katan asks as she walks with Din through the restored Mine City. Din is in awe of the progress that’s been made since the last time he was here. There are a surprising number of Mandalorians now residing in the city, Alor Kryze’s unification efforts clearly working in her favor.

“I haven’t even witnessed one myself,” he says. “In the covert, they only recited the vows. There was no ceremony involved.”

“It’s certainly an experience. And for an aruetii, it may be challenging. We are born and raised as warriors. Blood is nothing to us.” She pauses. “Speaking of raising warriors, where is your son? I miss the little womp rat.”

“He and Karga will join us for the celebration.”

“Din Djarin,” the Armorer calls. He turns just as you collide against him, your arms around his waist. He tips his helmet to your head.

“Pirun’ner,” he says, holding you to his chest. The reunion is short lived.

“We must discuss your joining ceremony,” Armorer says. “Join me at the Great Forge.”

________

The heat from the fire that burns within the Great Forge is stifling and oppressive. Sweat beads on Din’s temple within moments of stepping foot into the cavernous space.

“Your aruetii was rather surprised by our customs,” the Armorer says. Din can feel the judgment in her gaze, even through the helmet. “But receptive. She will do well.”

Din nods. “Thank you for taking the time to explain it to her.”

“She has chosen a weapon and a unity symbol. Have you given thought to her weapon?” The Armorer asks.

“A vambrace,” Din says easily. “A defense weapon. With shields and a comms unit. Nothing she could accidentally hurt herself with.”

“A fitting choice. It is settled. Your ceremony will commence in two days, upon the completion of your weapons. This is the Way,” she says.

“This is the Way.”

________

Bo-Katan helps you dress for the ceremony in a dress made of material so soft and light, you worry it will disappear into thin air. It reminds you of some of the gowns you’ve seen in holovids from Coruscant, white fabric draped over your shoulders, plunging in a deep V down your chest and falling to the ground, secured at the waist with a broad belt of beskar and crystal. When you ask her about it, she looks away.

“It belonged to the last true leader of Mandalore,” she says, not inviting any further questions you may have. “Women would normally wear ceremonial armor as well, but since you are not a Mandalorian, exceptions can be made,” she says.

“Have you seen many weddings, Bo-Katan?” You ask. Din was right when he said you would get along well with the new leader of Mandalore. You’ve been enjoying getting to know her over your last two days on the planet.

“I helped prepare for a few, before the Purge,” she replies. She adjusts the strap of your gown on your shoulder. “But the ceremonies are private. A leader in the community helps to guide the couple through the stages before taking their leave once the hokaanir has been performed.”

“Oh, why’s that?”

Bo-Katan smirks. “The ceremonial wine will have certain…effects on you that you will not want someone to bear witness to.”

“Maker!” You hiss. Your eyes go wide as she laughs. “Are you joking?”

“Guess you’ll have to find out.” She guides you out of the room and down into the city, where the Mandalorians are prepping for the celebration that takes place after the ceremony. There are flags raised with a familiar Mudhorn skull and others with what Bo-Katan explained was the skull of a Mythosaur, the symbol of the Mandalorians.

Helmeted Mandalorians tip their heads as you pass, while those not wearing helmets hold their fist across their chest. You feel nervous but excited and your heart races with each step closer to the Living Waters.

Bo-Katan leads you down into the depths, the sound of a crackling fire growing louder as you descend. As your eyes adjust to the dim glow of the firelight, you notice two figures standing at the top of the stairs to the Living Waters.

They turn as you approach. Your steps falter as you take in your Mandalorian’s attire.

Rather than the silver beskar and flight suit you’re used to seeing him in, Din now wears a pair of black linen pants belted with beskar tassets that hang to his knees. A black cape hangs down his back to the floor, held in place by impressive spiked pauldrons, a heavy chain sitting at the base of his throat. He still wears his familiar silver helmet.

As he turns to face you fully, your mouth goes dry. He’s shirtless beneath the cape and pauldrons, the tan skin of his chest and abdomen on full display. The firelight illuminates the muscles you’ve traced with your fingers and mouth but never with your eyes.

Perhaps most surprising, however, are the black tattoos that adorn his chest, swirling lines that stretch from his collarbone and down his pectorals until coming to a point right above his belly button. Shiny scar tissue catches the light - a large one on his hip that looks like a blaster shot, thin lines that bisect his tattoos and deeper gashes near his ribs. Your fingers ache to trace them as you commit them to memory.

Bo-Katan gives you a little nudge, urging you forward until you’ve joined Din and the Armorer at the stone steps. She takes her leave with a nod of her head and the Armorer regards you both.

“Shall we begin?” Her modulated voice asks.

“Yes,” Din’s modulated voice replies. His bare hand reaches for yours, fingers wrapping around your palm and easing the wild beat of your heart.

“We will begin with the dinui. You have each chosen a gift that befits your riduur.” She turns, hefting a large ax-like weapon from the low wall behind her. “Din Djarin, your riduur has chosen the munit'kad halberd, the Mandalorian vibro-ax. A weapon worthy of the head of Clan Mudhorn."

Din takes the ax, testing the weight of it in his hands. A twist of his hands activates the sonic blade, the beskar glowing blue. He swings the ax in a wide arc, slicing it through a nearby stone that crumbles to pieces.

Another twist of his palms and the blade goes still. He hands the ax back to the Armorer, who places it back on the wall before picking up a smaller item.

She holds the item to you as she says your name. “Your riduur has chosen a vambrace, fitted with a communications unit and defensive shield projectors.”

The Armorer gestures for your arm, securing the beskar vambrace to your forearm. It looks similar to the ones Din wears, reaching nearly to your elbow. There’s a screen that lights up when you tap it. You press at it again and a circular shield projection emits from the device, startling you and making you laugh.

The Armorer taps at the screen, making the shields disappear. She unclasps the vambrace from your arm, setting it beside the ax. “Din Djarin, do you accept this gift that your riduur has selected?”

“I do,” Din responds.

The Armorer says your name again, dragging your attention from Din. “Do you accept this gift that your riduur has selected?”

“I do,” you repeat.

The Armorer turns and picks up a chalice. “You will now consume the tal’galar, a symbol of the Mandalorian lives lost before your union.” She passes the chalice to Din, turning her head to allow him the privacy to lift the bottom of his helmet. You follow suit, training your eyes to the floor.

He passes the chalice to you. You glance briefly at the dark liquid before bringing it to your lips and taking a sip. It’s warm, thicker than you expected, but sweet. As you swallow, that warmth intensifies and it feels like it’s already suffusing through your veins, making you feel tingly.

The Armorer takes the chalice from your hands, setting it aside. She picks up the blade that started this whole series of events, the one Din presented you with in your kitchen what feels like ages ago, and your hands start to feel sweaty. You swallow nervously, heart beating wildly in your chest.

“You will now recite the vows,” she tells you. “You will repeat after me.” Din reaches for your hand and the feel of his skin against yours is electrifying, lighting up every nerve ending. “Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde.”

Din repeats the words in Mando’a, the deep timbre of his voice like silk. You want nothing more than for him to pull you closer, to whisper those words in your ear. This is your husband - this fierce warrior, this gentle man, this loving father. A wave of emotion clogs your throat, making it hard to swallow as you watch him.

“We are one together, we are one when parted, we share all, we will raise warriors,” the Armorer repeats in Basic. You echo the words back, eyes glued to Din’s helmet. His fingers tighten briefly around yours as you finish the vow.

“Din Djarin of Clan Mudhorn, do you so submit yourself to your intended, until your final battle has been fought?” The Armorer asks.

Din drops heavily to his knees, chest heaving with breath. “I do.”

She turns to you, holding the blade across both palms. You take the weapon in hand and face Din. You feel hot all over, like anything you touch may catch fire in your wake.

“Your riduur has chosen to symbolize your unity with pirun,” the Armorer says. “You may begin the hokaanir.”

________

Every moment in Din Djarin’s life has led to this - kneeling at your feet and staring up into your beautiful face as you ready yourself to unite your souls. A fire burns in his veins and his body aches with the need to touch you, his cock straining in his pants.

The tip of your blade drags across the skin of his chest and his breath catches at the prick of pain. He can feel his skin splitting in its wake, the sharp sting and burn of a new wound quickly morphing into an ecstasy that has him gasping.

The blade lifts from his skin and you begin the second line of the symbol. His hands curl into fists against his thighs, body fighting against the urge to wrap you in his arms and claim.

Din can feel the blood sliding down his chest, little rivulets trailing from the most significant scar he’ll ever receive. When his eyes find yours from behind his visor and he sees his own bottomless lust reflected back at him, his restraint frays further.

You start the third and final line of the symbol, an inverted triangle that represents pirun, water. His water, his life, his everything. He can’t help the moan that breaks free, echoing in the cavern.

He reaches for you, gripping your hips as his head bows forward and he gets his first glimpse of his hokaanir, the cuts you’ve made over his heart with so much focus and care, stark red against the tan of his skin and bisecting his mandokar markings. His heart swells with pride at carrying a piece of you with him forever.

Din distantly registers the blade leaving his skin and the echo of retreating footsteps but all he can focus on is getting his hands on you, rucking up the gauzy fabric of your gown until his fingers are tracing the soft skin of your thighs. You drop to your knees, your own trembling hands sliding up his arms.

“Take it off,” Din commands. “My helmet, take it off, cyare.”

“Are you sure?” You ask, even as your hands grip the heavy beskar.

“I’ve never been more certain.”

________

You slowly lift Din’s helmet, revealing a strong, stubbled jaw, plush lips, a prominent nose, soft brown eyes and curly dark hair. You set his helmet to the side without daring to take your eyes off of him, the sound of beskar hitting stone echoing through the cavern. You bring your trembling hands to his jaw, smoothing your thumbs across the high point of his cheekbones.

“Din,” you whisper. His hands wrap around your wrists, steady where yours are not. “Maker, you’re so beautiful.”

He smiles and it feels like a blaster shot to the heart to finally see it, the way his eyes crinkle at the corners and his mouth tilts up a little higher on the right. He wraps a hand around the back of your neck, pulling you forward for a sweet kiss, his lips moving gently with yours.

It doesn’t stay gentle for long.

Din’s lips turn insistent, hungry, bruising in their quest to conquer yours. His teeth nip at your lower lip, making you gasp and he uses it to his advantage, his tongue tangling with yours and exploring to its content.

His hands explore your body, tugging roughly at the straps of your gown until your breasts are exposed to the cold air of the cavern. His lips leave yours, kissing down your jaw and neck, sucking bruises into your sensitive skin.

Your own hands explore his chest, fingers ghosting over the fresh wound of his hokaanir and coming away sticky with blood. He moans against your skin each time your fingers catch on the angry red lines.

“You feel that, cyare?” Din asks. He takes your hand, holding your palm to the mark. “A heart that beats blood only for you?”

He doesn’t wait for a reply before he’s moving, his body urging you down onto your back, eager hands rucking up the skirt of your gown up to your waist. He presses your thighs apart, settling on his belly between your legs, his thumbs parting the lips of your pussy for his appreciative gaze.

“I’ll never have you in the dark again,” he says, brown eyes meeting yours. “Not when I know what it’s like to see you in the light.”

With his gaze still holding yours, he licks a broad stripe through your folds. His eyes flutter shut as he groans, savoring the taste of you on his tongue. When they open again, there’s a hard gleam to them that wasn’t there before, a mischievous glint that has your breath catching at the intensity.

“Remember what I told you, cyare? On the ship?” He asks. His thumb circles your clit, broad swipes over the sensitive nub that have you crying out, the sound echoing around you. “That the next time you came would be as my riduur?”

Din slips two fingers into your soaked entrance, curling them against your front wall as he sets a pace that has your hips chasing after his hand with every withdrawal. Every movement of his fingers inside of you feels hotter, stronger than it ever has before. Maybe it’s the wine or maybe it’s just Din, unmasked and all yours, but you’re already so close to coming from just his fingers and his words and the look in his eyes.

“Want you to cum on my fingers first, want to see it,” he says, and that’s all it takes to have you clenching tightly, tiny supernovas behind your eyelids as you come undone. “That’s it, ner’karta.”

He doesn’t remove his fingers, instead dipping his head and licking at your sensitive clit and making you cry out, already oversensitive.

“Din, Din, Din,” you pant, fingers digging into his curly hair and pulling tightly. He groans against your cunt, working his hand faster as his lips and tongue drive you to a second orgasm before the first has even subsided.

He growls when you nearly knee him in the head with your thrashing, removing his fingers and shoving his arms beneath your thighs, rising to his knees and bringing your body with him. Your upper back rests on the ground as your hips are suspended in his hold, your pussy completely at his mercy as he devours you.

Din’s fingers dig into your ass, grip as strong as the beskar armor he wears as he holds you steady, his tongue working you into a frenzy. The dull spikes on his pauldrons press into your thighs, the discomfort a direct counterpoint to the pleasure he’s lavishing you with.

He sucks on your clit, rolling it between his lips as he hums, the last tether of your control snapping as you fight against his hold, your second orgasm washes over you like warm starlight in your veins.

Din eases you through it, pulling away only when you start to whine. He presses kisses to your thighs and bites at the sensitive skin, sucking marks into your flesh to match the possession you’ve carved into his.

He finally lowers you to the ground, setting you gently to the cold stone. His eyes are hungry as he stands, removing the beskar tassets and tossing them aside before shoving the black linen pants down his legs. He unclips the cape from his neck, laying it on the ground.

He reaches a hand out to you, pulling you to stand when your palm fits against his. His hands cup your face, kissing you fiercely, the fire igniting in your core despite how boneless you feel from the two orgasms he’s drawn out of you.

“Ner’riduur,” Din murmurs against your lips. His hands unlatch the belt at your waist and he sets it aside with more care than he’d given to his own ceremonial items. He slides the fabric off your body until it pools at your feet. “Lie down for me.”

You do as asked, settling on the black cloak. He drops to one knee, then the other, crawling over your body, looking every inch the fierce warrior that he is, black tattoos and scars shifting over well-earned muscle. His cock presses to your hip and he groans, shifting until his length glides between your dripping folds.

“Ni kar'taylir darasuum,” Din says. He takes himself in hand, pressing the thick head of his cock to your entrance. “I love you, pirun’ner.”

“I love you, Din Djarin,” you reply as he presses inside of you, the steady stretch of him making you gasp. You glance at his hokaanir, the skin splitting as he thrusts into your body. Fresh beads of blood form along the lines, dripping from his chest to yours.

Din grunts, hips slamming against yours. You moan and reach up to wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer and seeking his lips with your own. It’s more of a messy press of your mouths than a kiss, the sharing heated breath as his body works against yours.

He dips his head to your neck, sucking more bruises to your skin as he murmurs dirty praise in Mando’a and Basic.

“So fucking warm and wet.”

“Made just for me, weren’t you, ner’karta?”

“Jate riduur’ika.”

You push him up, shoving frantically at his shoulders until you’re able to reverse your positions, him lying beneath you as straddle his waist, his cock never leaving you. He presses so deep inside of you like this it makes you shiver.

“Want you to fill me up, Din,” you say, hands pressed to his chest to give you leverage as you move your hips over his cock. His eyes flutter shut as he moans, the sound making your head feel fuzzy. His hands grip your hips, tight and possessive as his fingers press bruises to your skin. “Please, please, please.”

Din plants his feet against the ground, meeting each movement of your hips with a powerful thrust that makes you see stars. Your muscles tighten once more as you pulse around him with another wave of release that you can feel soaking his hips.

You collapse forward against his chest, his arms wrapping around your waist as he pounds into you from below, chasing the release he so deserves. You press little kisses to the skin you can reach as he uses your body to take his pleasure.

With a final harsh thrust he holds your hips tightly to his, his cock pulsing deliciously inside of you as he groans your name in prayer and ecstasy. He works his hips in tiny movements as he empties inside of you.

Din’s movements eventually slow to a stop, both of you panting as you try to catch your breath. You lift up, looking down into his face and smoothing the sweat damp hair from his forehead as he looks up at you with an expression so full of love you want to weep with the force of it.

“Pirun’ner,” he whispers, cupping your cheek. “You‘ve given me the greatest happiness.”

You press a soft kiss to his lips, your smile hard to fight as you do. You hold each other for a long moment as your adrenaline and euphoria settle and Din slips from your body. He gently eases you to the side, urging you to lie on your back.

He stands, grabbing something from the low wall, dipping it in the water and coming back to kneel between your spread legs. His eyes are dark as he looks at your swollen pussy, glistening with your combined release.

Din swipes two fingers through the mess, pressing them slowly inside of you and making you whine. When he appears satisfied, he wipes a wet cloth through your folds, cleaning you up.

He smoothes the cloth through the dried blood on your chest as well, gently wiping it away. When he’s done, he presses a trail of kisses from your belly to your throat before meeting your lips, slow and languid.

“As much as I’d like to keep you beneath me, we have a celebration to attend,” he says. “Let’s get you dressed.”

He helps you into the dress and belt and you help him fasten the cape back around his shoulders when he’s dressed himself in the pants and tassets. Your hands smooth other the black tattoos on his skin.

“You’ll have to tell me about these one day,” you say.

He pulls you close. “Mhi me'dinui an. We share all. I will be glad to teach you more of our customs.”

You grin at him. “We have many days ahead of us, Din Djarin.”

“I like the sound of that, pirun’ner.”

________

When you arrive at the celebration, a loud cheer moves through the crowd, the sound roaring in your ears as you hold tight to Din’s hand.

High Magistrate Karga approaches the two of you, a wiggly Grogu leaping from his hold and running towards Din, who scoops him up from the ground, holding him in his arms. A little green hand reaches for you, wrapping around the finger you offer him.

Bo-Katan and the Armorer stand nearby, watching the new clan of three.

“A successful joining,” the Armorer says.

“Mandalore is healing,” Bo-Katan replies. “This is the Way.”

“This is the Way.”

Want more Din Djarin? Check out my masterlist

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin x female reader #din djarin smut #the mandalorian fanfic #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian smut #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfiction #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x female reader #mandalorian smut #mandalorian x you #no use of y/n

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boldlyvoid · 4 months

Text

Come Together

18+ Aaron Hotchner x Fem Reader

Summary: Ever since the academy, Aaron and Y/N have been at each other's throats for a spot on the BAU. He got it, She didn't. Now they have to plan the Bureau's Holiday party together without killing each other.

Warnings: angst, fighting, mutual pining, enemies to lovers, Aaron had a crush on her while married. why he and haley broke up, miscarriage mentions, divorced Aaron, flirting, teasing, kissing, fingering, hate sex, p in v smut, rough sex, no condoms used

Word Count: 4.8k

Penelope is usually the one to plan holiday parties… but after last year's spiked punch— that ruined a lot of upper agents' sobriety, which wasn’t her fault at all, the director delegated to having two random people plan it together. He pulled names from a hat that just happened to be Aaron Hotchner and Y/N Y/L/N.

She was happy to do it, and he was fine with doing it… they just weren’t happy about doing it together. The two agents couldn’t stand each other and it goes all the way back to being in the same year at the academy.

They were tied for the top of the class, duking it out to be the chosen one for Agent Rossi’s new right-hand man. And of course, it went to a man. It didn’t matter to them that she was fantastic at what she did, or that her final score was 0.2% higher than his. He was a man so he got it.

She got a job in CARD which, she liked, it was still an opportunity to solve cases and bring kids home to their parents… she just had to work with the BAU more than she liked and take orders from them. And then Rossi left, Gideon stepped down and Aaron Hotchner was the fucking Head of the BAU.

She was taking orders from him. Him and his goon squad of pretty people he picked over her.

She would’ve pushed everything aside and dealt with him, she would’ve mended things if he accepted her into the team. But he never did. After 5 applications and being looked over for everything while he hired younger and younger, she finally gave up and started to hate his guts even more.

Now she’s in the elevator, pushing the button for floor 6 and shaking the thoughts of strangling him out of her head so she can deal with him for half an hour. He’s always so busy that she’s been waiting all week just to talk about this stupid fucking party, and the only time he has is at 8:30 pm on a Friday when she should be at home.

She walks right into the bullpen, up the stairs and knocks on his door. “come in?” He calls.

“Hey,” she says with a deep sigh. “Can we talk about the party?”

“Mhm,” he nods, waving her in. “Come sit, I already have some ideas.”

“Okay…” she sits down in front of him, ignoring all his plaques and accolades and staring down at her clipboard. “I called around and there are 3 places available that are big enough to hold us, on the 3rd Saturday of the month.”

“Awesome, I already called a friend of mine with a Christmas tree farm and acquired 3 trees— Douglas furs, all pretty and big, we’ll just need a ceiling over 12 feet to house them,” he explains.

“And who’s going to decorate them?” She asks.

He shrugs, “We’ve got a big budget, we can hire someone to do it.”

“Who did Penelope use?”

“Herself,” he smiles that devilishly condescending smile. “I’m sure if we ask she’d want to help out again. She loves Christmas.”

“Did you ever figure out who spiked the punch last year?” She asks, genuinely feeling sorry for Penelope.

Penny was the only one on the team that she actually liked.

He nods, “Dax Cooper up in counter-terrorism.”

“Yeah, he’s an asshole.”

“Worse than me?” He teases. “Seriously, when are you going to stop being mad at me?”

“When you admit you hate me!” She fights back. “I did nothing to you. You’re the one who conspired with Dave and got hired here and then you purposely lost all my applications and never let me know why you wouldn’t even interview me.”

“I didn’t lose them, I put them to the side,” he shrugs. “You weren’t ready to be on our team.”

“But the walking calculator and teen Mrs. USA are?” She laughs.

“Reid and JJ are wonderful assets,” he snaps, jaw tight and eyes full of fury. “This is why I don’t want you. You wouldn’t be a team player. Not until you get rid of the attitude and accept that this job is about more than numbers. Yes, they’re young, yes you beat me by a fraction of a percent, but that doesn’t mean you have what it takes to do what we do.”

“I look at cases full of missing, dead and raped kids all day, how is that any different?” She honestly can’t believe it.

“Because you look at a screen all day with facts and witness statements and I go out into the field and I talk to parents and I deal with the cops and I don’t start fights over petty bullshit,” he reminds her. “I have never called you names or signalled you out. All you do, every time we're on a scene together, is whisper and gossip and try to undermine me. You need to grow up.”

She just shakes her head, holding in a comment that could hurt him because… and she hates to say it, but he’s right. “Whatever. Should I call one of these places and book it tomorrow or what?”

“Do whatever you want, just give me the address so I can have the trees and decorations sent over,” he honestly doesn’t care. “I trust your judgement on a caterer, I’ll pick a band… what else would we need?”

“Invitations, which I can handle,” she assures as she stands up to walk to his door. “I’ll cc you on everything and include the director for oversight. I’ll call you if I have questions.”

“Y/N,” he calls out to her before she leaves. “I’m going to be looking for a new agent in a few months…”

“And?”

“If we can work this out by then… maybe things will be different when you apply this time?” He suggests, giving her innocent eyes and genuinely meaning it.

“Okay.”

—

“Did you see her last night?” Dave asks, walking right into Aaron's office with two coffees right at 8am.

He nods, “I did… you don’t have any connections to a band I can book for Christmas, do you?”

“The Jazz club might be able to lend us some members,” he suggests. “I’ll make a call… but I take it things went well?”

“As well as they could go, she’s still so mad at me for getting this position over her,” he shakes his head. “I don’t know how to make her realize she just wasn’t ready. Our working together would’ve been awful. It would’ve—

“Ruined your marriage that just ended?” Dave teases. “I know you liked her, I saw the way you two looked at each other and I saw the teasing and the way you talked about her. She was more than a friend to you… I couldn’t have her on the team like that. I couldn’t see you go through what I did with Caroline.”

“I hate thinking about how different things could’ve been if she was on the team though,” he shakes his head and stares off out the window. “We almost broke up back then, you know? We almost never had Jack…”

“You know it’s perfectly normal for marriages not to work out, it doesn’t mean you loved her any less, it just wasn’t meant to be forever,” Dave reminds him. “You’re still friends, there’s no ill will. You never cheated, she didn’t either. You just grew apart. It happens.”

“But now I’m single and I can pursue Y/N… but she hates me,” he sighs. “I don’t think she’ll ever stop hating me.”

“Nasty hate sex is fun,” Dave teases, making them both laugh. “I’m serious… you wouldn’t believe the women I’ve—

“I know, actually,” Aaron shakes his head. “Strauss can’t look at you the same anymore.”

“Hey… that wasn’t hate, it was just indifference,” he teases.

“Whatever,” Aaron can’t help but smirk. “Can you work on the band for me?”

“I will, I’ll get them to throw in some love songs too,” Dave teases on his way out.

This was going to be interesting.

—

Two weeks of planning and emails blow by in the blink of an eye.

He gets ready for the party early, having to be there to check things over and meet the band and shake hands with the higher-ups as they arrive. He has a nice suit on, a red tie for Christmas and dark green socks that no one will ever notice. But he wants to look nice.

For her.

He walks up to her where she’s hiding in the corner. Adorning the most stunning golden dress and holding her clipboard, making sure everything gets delivered and set up in time for the start time at 7. They still have 4 hours till then, but she’s an overachiever. And a worrier. She needed this to be perfect.

She looked perfect. Like the 2000 Holiday Barbie brought to life. He’s absolutely astounded by her beauty he just stares for a moment before he says anything.

“You know, you look very pretty today,” he compliments but she doesn’t take it that way.

She looks at him like he just insulted her mother. “What?”

“That dress, it looks nice on you,” he looks her up and down. Smiling like he has some tricks up his sleeve. “What? Can’t I think you look nice? Haven’t we spent enough time talking this last month to let me compliment you?”

“Don’t you have a wife?” She asks, disgusted he’d hit on her. “And a kid?”

“We got divorced back in April,” he shrugs. “And you say you want to be a profiler, yet you haven’t looked at my hands in months?”

She looks now, noticing that he doesn’t have a ring and the tan line that should be there is long gone, which means he’s telling the truth. “Oh… sorry.”

“It’s better this way,” he nods, giving her a sweet smile. “Is everything going to plan?”

She nods too, “Yeah. Just waiting on your band… please tell me they’re good?”

He laughs, “They’re great. Dave’s got this Jazz bar he basically owns with how much money he’s spent there so they owe him one… You’ll like them.”

“Jazz, at Christmas?” She can’t believe it. “Hotch—

“Aaron,” he corrects her. “Please, for the love of god, call me Aaron again.”

“Why?” She laughs, “We’re not close.”

“Oh, come on,” he teases. “You can’t tell me that before everything went down, we didn’t have something going on? We were friendly, I almost thought you had a crush on me?”

She looks at him with a brow raised, “You thought I had a crush on you?”

He nods, “And then you found out I was married.”

“So you’re saying if you weren’t married we could’ve hooked up at the academy?” She asks. “Sounds like you liked me too, regardless of the wife.”

“No—

“Be honest,” she begs, stepping into his space even more. “If things were different- if you didn’t have a wife and we fucked back then, would you have screwed me over for the job?”

“I didn’t screw you over, I simply already knew Dave,” he finally admits after 10 long years. “I knew he was about to leave, he knew Gideon didn’t want to be in charge. He wanted someone to run the whole unit who wouldn’t choke— not saying you’d choke, he just knew I was already hard on the inside, I wasn’t going to lose my mind with all the shit we see.”

“You could’ve put in a good word for me, Aaron, I would’ve been fine working under you. I would’ve loved even just an office job in the BAU, I want to work with more than just missing kids,” she begs. “I’ve done it for 10 years, now. You know that makes me strong. You have a kid of your own, you know it’s not easy to think about them missing, let alone deal with it.”

“I know… and I was serious, I have a new position opening up and I want to give this another try,” he admits. “I want you on the team.”

She shakes her head, “how can I be on the team when this—” she points between them. “This, whatever this is, is going on?”

“The sexual tension?” He teases and she swats his arm. “We’ll be fine.”

She shakes her head. “Just, give me some time to think about it?”

“I can do that…”

—

She watches him from afar most of the night. Talking only when they needed to, like in front of the director or on stage while introducing the band and thanking everyone for being there… she was having a very hard time being in the same room as him with all she knew now.

She was still mad at him.

Mad because she’s wasted so much of her life hating him when they could’ve been happy together… but at the same time she was sad for his ex-wife. She wondered how long the marriage was loveless. Did she know? Did she suspect? Who broke it off? Does he see his son? She knew he was a good man back then but, what kind of good man has a crush on someone else while married? Would he just do that to her if they got together?

She had so many questions in her mind and they wouldn’t shut up.

He approaches her again while she’s deep in thought, staring at the floor while she sips on a drink she doesn’t even like.

“Having fun?” He asks.

She shakes her head, “No.” she puts her drink down on the table just behind her and turns back to him as he begins to speak.

“Something not going according to pl—

“Why the fuck did you have to tell me you like me?” She snaps. “I was so okay with hating you for the rest of my life because I couldn’t be on the team I always wanted to join and then you tell me you like me? That if you didn’t have a wife you’d want to be with me back then?”

He steps more into her space so they can keep their voices down and between each other, “because you deserve to know.”

“No, I don’t think so,” she fights back. “You were never worried about me being too immature for the team, you were scared you’d end up cheating on your wife with me. I didn’t even know you had a wife until I developed feelings for you. You never wore your ring to class, we spent every day sitting together in class or at the library and you came back to my dorm a few times… you pursued me as much as I was pursuing you and then you made it my fault.”

“I know, and I’m sorry,” he bows his head, ashamed. “My wife and I weren’t in a good place, we were talking about getting separated… then she got pregnant.”

“I thought Jack was only—

“We lost a couple babies before him,” he admits. “I didn’t want to be like my dad. I didn’t want to knock her up and leave her so I stayed. I stayed but I wasn’t a good dad anyway. I was always at work, I missed important things with my son and she was the one to end it because she deserved someone who wanted to be home with her and my son deserved to grow up knowing his dad wasn’t always going to be there but loves him enough to be as present as possible when he is home. I couldn’t be that when I was with his mom. we’re so much better apart, I love having weekends alone with my son and doing things we like and not worrying about fighting with his mother in front of him. And she’s happier now with her new boyfriend and Jack's happy with the prospect of a stepdad who can step up in all the areas I lack.”

“That’s a really mature thing to do for him,” she manages to give him a small, press-lipped smile. “Still doesn’t make me feel better about what you did to me.”

“I’ve wanted to tell you the truth and that I’m sorry for so long, but when we’re together it’s always a fight. I can never get an honest minute with you, you always just come in guns blazing and my instinct is to tease you back,” he admits. “I am sorry. I wish things were different. I would like to start over if you’d allow me to.”

“I don’t want a job on your team,” she says, stepping in even closer. Close enough to kiss him. “I can’t work with you like this.”

“Why?” He smirks.

“Because Strauss hates you enough as is without you fucking your subordinate,” she whispers. “I’m not throwing myself under the bus… just to be under you.”

He lunges for a kiss, pressing his lips against hers as he cups her face. She backs up slightly in surprise, bumping into the table behind herself. Aaron’s instincts are sharp, he reaches behind her and steadies it so the drink doesn’t crash against the floor and draw more attention to them. She knows the few people in this corner are already looking at them, but she doesn’t care.

This is a kiss she’s waited a decade for.

Her hands go inside his suit jacket, she reaches around to grasp his back and pulls him flush against herself. They break the kiss just to breathe, going in for another and another until their tongues meet and they’re the odd couple making out in the corner of the party.

His hand slips from her cheek to her jaw, along the side of her neck and then she pulls away, “not here,” she reminds him they’re in public and he can’t touch her anywhere he wants to.

“Sorry,” he apologizes. “How long do we have to stay here?”

“I have to stay for shutdown tonight,” she sighs. “But…. Come with me.”

She pats his side and moves past him, leading him out of the little corner they’re in and towards the main room. He follows her up a staircase, past people they both know and respect and they catch a few eyes but, she puts on a fake pissed-off look and they think she’s leading him somewhere to yell at him… cause that’s what they do.

“Hey man, where are you going?” Derek asks as they pass him and Penelope sharing a plate of hors d’oeuvres.

He’s quick on his feet, “One of the vendors fucked up, we have to chat with their boss and discuss how they can make it up to us.”

“Oh, damn, well… have fun,” he teases. Letting them go on down the small corridor towards some offices.

She leads him to the only open office she has access to, flicks on the light, lets him in and locks the door behind them. He’s quick to crowd her space, press her up against the door and grip her chin to tilt her attention up toward his eyes once more. She’s back inside his suit jacket, he’s so toasty-warm in there she can only imagine what it’ll be like to be naked with him.

“What were you saying about fucking up and making up for it?” She teases him.

He smirks, “I will… but first we need to find a way to release all that pent-up frustration we have against each other.”

She tries her best not to laugh, just shaking her head with a smile as she lets out a little huff, “Ah yes, fuck me like you hate me so we can restart fresh.”

He cups her face with both hands, eyes darkening with lust, “you’ve been such a brat for so long.”

“And I’m sure you know the cure for that?” She teases, pulling him in closer. One of her legs slips out of the slit of her dress and she brings it up to wrap around his hip, he’s quick to drop one of the hands from her cheek to grip her thigh.

“I do,” he whispers, his voice so deep it makes her stomach drop with anticipation.

He kisses her abruptly, she grips his back pulling him as if they could possibly get any closer but they can’t. Not yet. He grinds against her as their tongues meet again, his hand on her leg goes a little higher until he’s gripping her ass. The hand on her cheek starts to slip again, caressing her chest, she lightly moans into his mouth at the feeling. He’s everywhere, boxing her in against the door, but she wants more. She wants him buried deep inside of her, pounding her against the table over there, letting her know just how much he’s wanted her this whole time.

He kisses the side of her mouth, her jaw and down her neck, letting her catch her breath just to knock it all out of her again when he starts to lightly suck on her skin. “Aaron, don’t you fucking dare,” she scolds him.

“I won’t,” he speaks against her, just lightly nipping and sucking at her skin on his way down to her cleavage.

She pulls her hands out from inside his jacket to roam his shoulders until one hand ends up at the nape of his neck to play with his hair. Her head is tossed back against the door, and he kisses every inch of available skin on her chest.

He reaches down and gets both of his hands under her ass, making her jump up so he can carry her. Still kissing her neck, he moves them over to the table and sets her down. She’s just the tiniest bit taller now, he kisses her cheek again, looking her in the eye once more as he spreads her legs and runs his fingers along her thighs, realizing now she has nylons on. His hands go further, towards her aching cunt, he grips her thighs while both thumbs play with the seam of her nylons.

“I’m gonna rip these,” he announces, finding the weakest part of the seam and tearing it open enough to fit his cock through, without completely ruining them. He moves her thong to the side and drags his index finger over her clit. “You’re fucking soaked…”

She tosses her head back, both hands gripping the table like her ice depends on it when two of his fingers plunge into her. “Oh, fuck,” she moans a little too loud.

Attaching his lips to her neck again, he sucks on her pulse point while fucking her on his fingers. It’s hard and quick, covering the palm of his hand with her slick as his thumb rubs her clit. She’s always known his hands would be good for this, if nothing else.

“Please, Aaron? Oh my god,” She starts to beg.

“Words, princess,” he teases against her neck, teeth grazing her skin, his breath hot, it sends a shiver down her spine.

“Wanna cum,” she whispers, breathy and so close. “On your cock.”

“Okay,” he pulls out, bringing his hand to his mouth and licking his palm up to his fingers. He sucks them into his mouth with a groan. His cock twitches between them, jumping with excitement.

She whines again while he undoes the zipper and tugs his cock out, “please?”

“Hold on,” he spreads the excess wetness over his cock, stroking himself twice while biting his tongue. It clearly felt so fucking good but she knew her tight cunt was going to be better.

He slips in slowly and her grip changes, letting go of the counter, she wraps her legs around him and grips his back with her fingernails dug into the skin. “Better?” He whispers into her ear.

She whimpers when he doesn’t move, feeling so full, “fuck me, please? Fuck me the way I deserve.”

He hums, kissing her cheek before looking into her eyes, all watery and blown out, her mascara started to run a bit. He tilts his head to the side, “how hard?”

“Hard,” she looks him dead in the face.

He slips out, pulls her off the table and turns her around so her chest is against the cold hardwood table-top and flips her dress skirt up and out of the way. He rips her nylons even more, all the way up the back so her ass is exposed. He takes her ass cheeks in his hands and spreads her apart, amazed at how her pussy clenched in anticipation.

“Please,” she whined, almost stomping her feet with desperation.

He slams into her without warning, making her gasp loud enough to be heard by anyone wandering the hallway outside.

He pulls out a bit and slams back into her again and again and again until the noises she’s making are complete nonsense. She whines and moans and leans against the table for dear life while pushing back against him. He slaps her ass a few times, making the sound reverberate around the room like an echo.

He needs more friction, so his thrusts get less powerful and more rhythmic, he uses her like a toy bouncing her on his cock like a rag doll. She felt like her main purpose in life was to be fucked by him like this, it felt so good, it felt incredibly right, and she loved every fucking second of it. All those years of fighting paid the fuck off.

He slams into her cervix over and over, the head of his cock kissing the puckered spot inside again and again. Her hungry cunt sucks him in so deep, never wanting him to leave, and he can tell she’s close just from the way she clamps around him like a vice. He reached around to her stomach and drags his hand down her mound to rub her clit with his middle finger. The rhythm barely matches, but she loves the way it feels. It’s unpredictable, it’s all under his control, she just sits there and takes it like the good girl he’s raised her to be.

“Cum on the cock you hate so much,” he insists, “I wanna feel it. I want you to cover my cock in your cum before I fill you up to the fucking brim.”

Too fucked out to really respond she reaches one hand behind her back so he’ll hold it. He intertwines their fingers and leans forward to kiss her shoulder as his hips snap against hers with force. She starts to shake, her legs barely able to keep her up as her orgasm hits her and rattles through her body. He feels the spasm from the inside, her cunt flutters as she releases all the built-up tension in her body She’s so fucking tight he’s barely able to register his own orgasm approaching when he topples over her on the table.

He fucks into her as deep as he can go and then stills. She can feel rope after rope of his cum pump into her, they can hear the dribbles on the floor between them as it overflows and drips out of her, along with her own.

He kisses her back, breathing hard against her. She’s just trapped there under him, legs quaking in her heels, “holy fuck?”

“Sorry,” he pulls back and out of her, “shit… we didn’t think this through.”

She sighs, holding her dress up so she doesn’t make a mess. “Are there any tissues in here?”

He looks around, “Yeah… but it’s just that brown paper towel roll like we have at work.”

“It’ll do,” she shrugs. Watching him walk over to the dispenser near the sink in the corner of the room, he takes a bit out and cleans himself up quickly, putting himself back in his boxers before her gets some more.

He leans her forward again, kneeling behind her, he cleans her up to the best of his ability and then he repositions her thong. He even wipes up the floor before tossing the paper out. “I can’t believe there was so much…”

She laughs, dropping her dress back down and fluffing it so it looks normal again. “10 years worth of—

“Okay,” he shakes his head with a smirk, stepping back into her space, he wraps her up and kisses her forehead, “you did so good.”

“Thank you,” she smiles sweetly, she feels so different. There’s so much affection in her chest as she looks up at him once more. “I’m glad we got that out of the way.”

“I’ll stay with you here while they’re cleaning up,” he assures. “And maybe later I can show you how sorry I am for keeping secrets all these years?”

“I’d really like that… but I’m still not working for you,” she teases.

“I guess I’ll just have to take on more CARD cases so you’re forced to see me,” he teases right back, smiling at her.

This is going to be fun.

General Taglist

@ncsls0515 @stevesmunsons @reidsbookclub @sweetyyhippyy @manuosorioh @mrs-dr-reid @k-k0129 @squishyturtle @katsukis1wife @buckleyhans @mrs-ssa-hotch @ssavanessa22

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch x you #hotch smut #hotch x reader #criminal minds smut #criminal minds imagine

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lockedtombbrainworms · 6 months

Text

OK so I'm not the first person to say this, but there is some pretty nasty racism involved in the way this fandom talks about Gideon the First, and if even I can fucking see it, as a white person who's on this site relatively intermittently, it's pretty intense.

Like, I know he repeatedly tries to murder Harrow, but like, this is the Everyone Is A Fucked Up Person book series. People are very happy to go "oh, I know Ianthe did war crimes, that's why I love her" (and believe me I'm 100% down with that), but you don't then get to turn round and point at one of the relatively few characters actually described as dark-skinned in the text and say "ew, nasty stinky bastard man, he sucks!" and make meta posts ascribing all sorts of malice to him as a character just because he occasionally ran a spear through Harrowhark Nonagesimus.

Look at the guy. He salutes Harrow with a cigarette after she tries to kill him (yes that's him, nobody notices his eyes changing like they would if it was Pyrrha), he got kissed by Commander Wake at some point and apparently just fucking leaned into the fact that the enemy commander was trying to tongue him. He argues with John about what he's been told to do with Harrow and then John tells Harrow that it's all happening because G1deon has promised something to someone, somewhere and even John can't talk him around. He sits at the table with the other lyctors and when John, Mercy and Augustine start unspooling their repression all over each other over fuck knows how many bottles of wine, he shares a look of something close to solidarity with Harrow before justifiably getting upset and leaving after Augustine brings up Pyrrha. The fandom should be all over him.

And yeah, he's a mess. But that's what the lyctors are. He's a ten-thousand-year-old necrosaint who's spent most of that time either alone or with other ten-thousand-year-old necrosaints. He's gonna have a slightly skewed view of death. He's probably seen other lyctors gore each other to fuck all the time. You can't straightforwardly apply our morality to his actions any more than you can to any of the other lyctors, that's kinda the whole point of them as characters. So why have I seen several posts about how him sticking a spear in Harrow from behind is some sort of metaphor for sexual assault when there is a canonical example of fucky consent stuff in the form of Dios Apate Major to discuss if you really want to bring up that sort of stuff in your analysis?

For fuck's sake he's not even the first person in HtN to stab Harrow (that's Ianthe, in the oath scene), or to try and kill her (that's... whoever it is on the Erebos, which is definitely not ol' G1d). I appreciate this is The Big Book Of Freaky Lesbians and that a lot of the fandom isn't especially interested in the dudes, but give the man a break - I don't see people acting this way about Augustine or Magnus or Naberius.

Rant over. Knock this shit off.

#tlt meta #the locked tomb #not posting in the tlt discourse tag even though I know there probably is one because that tag is gonna be full of all manner of horrors

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youbutstupid · 13 days

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Let’s talk about why Maeve Donovan was so important to Spencer Reid

Maeve’s storyline created a lot of controversy within the fandom and still does; rightfully so. Her storyline was not explored too much before she was stripped away from us so it is understandable that fans would question what kind of connection she was meant to have to us and Reid

The reason why Maeve’s death was so heartbreaking is because she was Reid’s one chance to escape and have something normal in his life. We’ve already established that any chance he has had of a normal life was stripped away from him as a child and Gideon bringing him into the team only furthered that

Reid never had a chance to have normal relationships with people outside of his work, and even those relationships were strained purely because of the age difference and the fact that no one can really understand his mind. Maeve was different, by the time we see her we know that they had been talking for about a year and she was his one normal relationship. The one person that his job and his intelligence couldn’t harm. She didn’t tell him to be quiet when he spoke and she was one of the only people to view his intelligence as a part of his worth, not his entire worth

Reid had someone, he had someone who could understand him, someone who wasn’t afraid of his mind, someone who wasn’t tainted by his job, someone who actually loved him for him and valued him for his personality as opposed to just his brains and his looks. She was the first person to view him as someone amazing and her genuinely viewed her in the same way

And then it happens; he should have known he would never get a normal life. His one chance at something normal is turned into yet another crime scene, the same crime scenes he has been forced to look at since he was just 21 years old

Maeve could have been his way out of the BAU, but with her gone he was left with just the relationships he formed with his colleagues and he couldn’t leave because they were all he had. Once again he was trapped to his work and his intelligence being his entire existence. When he imagines her he isn’t just imagining their relationship but the life they could have had

#criminal minds #spencer reid #maeve donovan #mgg #matthew gray gubler

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the-guilty-writer · 1 year

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The Big Game and Revelations

Agent Rossi-Reid

Anthology Masterlist

David Rossi x daughter!reader, Spencer Reid x reader, Criminal minds x BAU!reader

Summary: A fun night out with the team turns into a case, which turns into a disaster, which turns into Rossi-Reid’s own personal Hell.

A/N: Ah, yes… this one should be interesting and after the Super Bowl I couldn’t pass up the opportunity. I did try to get this out on the night of the Super Bowl but I fell asleep trying to finish it. I think it was worth the extra week it took to write it though.

CW: Rewrite of S2E14 and E15 so it’s heavy, very minor suicidal idealation.

---

You were actually excited about the Super Bowl this year for one reason and one reason only…

The Chicago Bears were playing.

And you had a bet with Derek Morgan. The two of you had pooled a week's worth of paperwork each… and the loser had to do all of it.

Of course Derek had his love for Chicago and team spirit on his side.

But you had Peyton Manning.

And Spencer Reid.

Before placing the bet, you had pulled up all the statistics and you and your husband spent your day off deciding mathematically, who would be the most likely to win Super Bowl XLI. Ultimately, the formula that Spencer had come up with predicted the Colts would come out on top. The next day you didn't hesitate to challenge Morgan, and with his competitive spirit and hometown honor on the line, he couldn't resist the bet.

A hopeful blow to Morgan's ego wasn't the only reason you had wagered with him, though. With a whole week of paperwork off your plate, you'd be able to take the Friday after Valentine's day off so you and Spencer could take a mini vacation.

Spencer knew this was the plan the moment you'd given him the stack of papers filled with player stats. He was looking forward to it too.

The entire team, with the exception of Gideon, was at a local bar. You and Spencer were sitting at a table with a few people you'd met, Spencer impressing them with his extensive knowledge of Star Trek. Morgan was on the dance floor, Penelope was shamelessly watching him, JJ was kicking ass at darts. You saw Prentiss bringing drinks toward a table, noticing that Hotch had even brought Haley for the occasion. Quietly, you excused yourself to go say hi to them.

Besides, it was good for Spencer to be left without you sometimes. The last few cases you’d spent more time with other members of the team. Part of that had to do with the nature of the cases, but part of it also had to do with the fact that Gideon had asked you to watch over Emily. You weren’t sure if it was as Agent Gideon who trusted your evaluation of another agent's abilities, or Uncle Jason who knew that you really needed more friends; but it meant that you’d worked with her on a few consults and even been paired together on a case.

The shift in dynamics had forced a shift in Spencer. You could see that slowly, but surely, the confidence in him at work was growing, and you loved to see it. It was in the little ways he would tease Morgan back now, or that he didn’t hesitate to bother Prentiss while she was in the middle of paperwork. Even though the ordeal with Nathan Harris had been tragic, watching Spencer take a role of someone older and wiser, yet still compassionate and still himself, showed you how much he had grown since you’d first met him.

“How are they treating you at the BAU, Emily?” You heard Haley say as you approached them.

“She means, am I being nice to you?” Hotch said.

“Actually, everyone has been incredibly nice.” Emily smiled.

“I think it’d be nice if the boss covered all our drinks tonight,” you said as you walked up beside Emily.

Haley laughed and Hotch cracked a smile. “For everyone but you, (Y/N),” he said.

You faked offense, bringing a hand to your chest before turning to the Hotchner. You knew she always got a kick out of your theatrics. “Haley, do you see how he treats me?”

Haley laughed again. “You be nice to her,” she scolded Hotch playfully. He pouted and she laughed again. “I swear you two bicker like siblings.”

Hotch was about to say something when Garcia interrupted. “Look at him move.” The 'him' in question was Morgan, and the move in question was… questionable. He hadn’t even noticed the Bears had lost. “He’s like a cat.”

“More like a dog!” You and Emily said at the same time. Both of you grinned. Gideon had truly created a monster by making the two of you work together.

“He did not ask them to dance. They asked him,” Garcia defended.

“Okay,” Emily said. “Okay, he’s a cat.”

“An alley cat,” Haley commented. You nodded in agreement.

“Come on, Haley, let’s go show them how it’s done,” Hotch said as he grabbed her hand.

“I’m game if you are!” Haley looked at you as Hotch led her away. You faked a retch, making her giggle.

“That’s so sweet!” Emily sighed a bit.

“It gets a little gross after twelve years,” you told her. “Especially when I had to listen to him pin nonstop for the first two years they dated… "Oh I never thought she’d love me, why do I have to go on a case for twenty four hours away from my love, oh why, why, why’…” You tried your best to mock young Hotch in love.

“So you and Reid won’t be gross in another eight years?” Emily asked.

You watched Hotch spin Haley around on the dancefloor, both of them simply enjoying the presence of one another. The way they moved with one another had nothing to do with acts of lust (unlike Morgan who was… being Morgan), and everything to do with knowing a person inside and out. Hotch leaned in to whisper something to Haley and she threw her head back with laughter. Her laugh made him smile.

In all the years you had known Aaron Hotchner, no one could make him smile like Haley Brooks did.

“Maybe a little,” you said, just low enough that no one could hear you over the music.

“Hey,” JJ said as she approached from behind. You could already tell by the tone in her voice what was coming next.

“We have a case, don’t we?” you said.

JJ sighed. “Yes. We do.”

---

The case was odd, to say the least. With so much evidence, the team should have been able to put a profile together easily, but things just weren’t adding up. The religious obsession combined with the technology, the dominant and submissive team dynamics that weren’t constant, the obvious organization with, what seemed to you to be, a disorganized system.

You were out in the field with Morgan when you got the text that there was another crime scene. Morgan was on the phone with Garcia. “Yeah, baby girl. Tell him we’re on our way.” He whipped the car around.

When you arrived on the scene, you got straight to work, but just like before, nothing seemed to make sense. The religious ramblings were beginning to irritate you. You understood them enough, but you didn’t have extensive knowledge on different analysis on the passages over the centuries or know the actual wording in Latin like Spencer did. But Spencer wasn’t anywhere to be found.

“Hotch,” you called to him. “Where’s Spence?”

“I sent him and JJ to go interview someone who might know something,” Hotch told you. The vagueness of it all told you that it was probably nothing- that it was a stretch.

But hours later, the distress on Hotch’s face and the strain to keep his voice steady made it obvious to you that it wasn’t a stretch. “Hankle?”

“Hotch, what is it?” Morgan’s voice was filled with concern as well.

But when Hotch answered, he wasn’t looking at Morgan, he wasn’t looking at Gideon or Emily; he was looking at you. “JJ and Reid went to interview him. He’s the unsub.”

---

The drive to the unsub’s house was a chaotic collage of names and tactical plans, of kevlar and lights and sirens. But you hardly remembered any of it. Your mind was on Spencer.

There was always a chance that he and JJ were fine; that they realized he was the unsub and parked out of cell service, waiting for the rest of you to arrive. But there was also a chance that they weren’t fine.

When you arrived on scene, your brain kicked into a different gear- it wasn’t wife gear, but it also wasn’t Agent Rossi gear. It was a strange inbetween that you had never felt before- a collected calm caused by panic. You went with Morgan and Prentiss to the barn, only to find yourself on the wrong side of JJ’s sidearm.

“JJ,” Morgan called. “It’s Morgan, Rossi, and Prentiss. Don’t shoot.” JJ lowered her gun and Morgan did the same, approaching her. “It’s okay. Are you hurt?”

You approached JJ alongside your other two team members. Your mind was cloudy and clear at the same time, your body shaky but still. In JJ’s frazzled state she continued to talk, ignoring Morgan’s question- the one you wanted to know the answer to- where was your husband?

When Prentiss got her to slow down, telling you that they had split up and Reid took the back, you didn’t hesitate to follow Morgan out into the cornfield. There were obvious signs that someone had been dragged and then the trail stopped. You could see it in your head like a nightmare- Spencer being drug through the vegetation and thrown into the back of a vehicle.

Somehow you ended up in the house with the rest of the team, hearing, but not truly listening to what they were saying. You stood at the window, the flashing blue and red lights highlighting the streaks in the grass. The whole world was slow and blurry, but not from tears; it was from shock. You recalled the first time you ever got shot- it wasn’t bad, but the sudden impact of the bullet and the instantaneous pain that followed made it feel as though your brain had disconnected from your body. But that sensation had ended in a few minutes… this one felt never ending. That was, until, Gideon asked the question.

“Where’s Reid?”

“Gone,” you answered before Morgan could.

Your head came back to you, the shakiness of your hands stopping, something building inside you like a dormant volcano- destined to explode, but no one would see the signs until it was too late. You looked at the team. They were lined up in a semicircle, each of them looking at you with a different adverse emotion- Morgan, resentment; Prentiss, pity; Hotch, anxiety; Gideon, disbelief; and JJ; guilt.

“Spencer’s gone.”

---

You didn’t sleep that night, but Morgan was adamant that you take breaks, drink water, and provided you with many gentle squeezes on the shoulder when he walked by. Prentiss sat down with you and together, the two of you began unpacking the journals before going through them. She was less about sympathetic looks and more about action. It was a good combination for you at the moment.

The rest of the team on the other hand was… Well, JJ avoided you at all costs. Gideon didn’t actively avoid you, but he couldn’t seem to look at you and when you spoke he always left the room. Hotch up and left- driving all the way back to DC to get Garcia and then all the way back. He could have had any other agent do it, but he did it himself. You weren’t sure if it was because he didn’t trust anyone at the moment, or if it was because he needed to run.

When Gideon got the call that Hotch and Garcia were on their way, all of you gathered in the room downstairs, surrounded by boxes and journals and things that would hopefully lead you to finding Doctor Reid. That’s how you had to think of him right now; not as Spencer, your husband, of Agent Reid, your colleague, but of Doctor Reid- just some smart guy with three PhDs. You knew that it was distancing yourself from the situation, but you couldn’t help it. If that’s what you had to do, you would do it.

“Welcome to our nightmare,” JJ said as Garica walked through the door.

It might just be a nightmare to you, but it’s worse than Hell for me. You swallowed your anger and told the voice at the back of your head to shut up. You had a job to do. She shouldn’t have let them split up.

Morgan and Garcia got started in the room full of computers, JJ went to take a break, and Gideon and Emily went to do some more searching upstairs. You sat down at the table and went through more of the journals. The entries weren’t long, but there were a lot of them.

Spencer would get through these in less than an hour.

“(Y/N),” the voice was strong, but more gentle than you were used to. “You should take a break.”

“I don’t need a break, Hotch,” you told him, looking up to meet his unblinking eyes for just a second.

He didn’t argue. He knew better. “I’ll be back to check in later.”

You went back to the journals.

---

Night had fallen and it felt like you were no closer to finding Doctor Reid than you had been when the sun rose. Most of the journals were religious ramblings, and Garcia was working as hard as she could on the computer system, but it still wasn’t matching up. The profile was still a mess. The whole thing was a mess.

“Rossi,” Morgan said. You didn’t respond. He plucked the journal out of your hand.

“Morgan-”

“I’m going to check the perimeter.”

“Okay?”

“Come with me,” he said.

You hesitated. “Okay, lead the way.”

You followed Morgan out of the house and into the night. He walked ahead of you, flashlight in hand. You had to admit that the fresh air was relieving, helping clear any residual fog from your brain. You scanned the sides of the house, the broken boards that needed to be repaired, the roof that needed new shingles, and the gutter full of leaves. Your eyes trailed downward, landing on something strange, something new…

“Morgan!” You called. You jogged over to the cellar doors, drawing your sidearm on the way.

Morgan ran up next to you. “Hey guys, I think we’ve got something!”

Hotch and Prentiss were quick to join you. No words needed to be spoken- Hotch would go in first, then Morgan, and you and Prentiss would stand guard outside. The two men entered the cellar, glocks drawn. You listened carefully, but you couldn’t quite make out all their words.

When Hotch and Morgan came out of the cellar, both of them looked disturbed.

“Anything?” Emily asked.

“We found Hankle’s father,” Hotch said. “He’s dead.”

---

It felt like time was moving at the speed of light and standing still all at the same time. You continued to be able to catch small bits of information- JJ and Prentiss were going to look into Hankle’s Narcotics Anonymous meetings, Hankle’s father had been dead for six months, Garcia was making progress on the computer system- making the day fly by and slow down all at the same time. Around noon, your brain failed you and you fell asleep at the table for just a few hours. By the time you’d woken up, the rest of the team had figured out that Hankle was living as three different people and he had a serious drug problem.

You sat in the room full of screens with Garcia, feeling absolutely like the most useless agent in the world. Of course all the progress had been made while you were asleep. You were hardly paying attention to what Morgan and Garcia were talking about when you heard Penlope’s signature “Oh my god,” and looked over to the screens.

For the past twenty four hours all you’d wanted was to see Spencer- but not like this. Never like this.

You gathered around the computers with the rest of the team, trying to keep your face as still as possible. You wanted so badly to be able to focus on what was going on- analyze the situation, the words, the background, in an effort to find out where Spencer was, but your mind couldn’t work. Not while watching this.

Then the feed cut- all the screens going blank- and any hope of finding evidence to rescue your husband was gone. You heard Morgan punch the door as he stormed out of the room. The sound brought you back to reality, and you followed him out of the room.

“Morgan,” you called to him, but he kept walking, all the way out onto the front porch and into the front yard. “Morgan!”

You and Morgan were both known to have hot heads when things got personal and rageful, but your emotions came out in loud and painful words; Morgan’s came out in kicking down doors and breaking down walls. You just stood and watched as he took a piece of wood that was laying in the yard and smashed it down on the ground, causing it to splinter into pieces. His back heaved with heavy breathing, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d be scared of him. But you did know better.

“Derek,” it was more gentle this time, and the other agent turned around to look at you. The fury and frustration now replaced with an expression of agony.

He walked up to you quietly, shaking his head just a bit. “How are you doing this, Rossi?”

You closed your eyes tight, and tears pricked at the corners. The pure pain in Morgan’s voice finally causing all the pent up emotion inside to come out. “I’m not,” you admitted.

Spencer had been in plenty of dangerous situations before- stuck in an ER with a known killer, on a train with a psychotic man with a gun, in a mansion with a bomb- but this was the first time he was somewhere completely alone. You trusted that Hotch and Elle and Morgan would help protect him.

But no one could protect him now.

Every feeling you had shoved inside came out at once, and you collapsed in a fit of sobs. Morgan caught you before you could hit the ground, pulling you so tight to his chest you almost couldn’t breath. You cried so hard it hurt- it hurt your head and your eyes and your chest and your heart. Morgan was whispering something to you, but you couldn’t hear him over the explosion of emotion you were experiencing.

When the dam gates closed and the tears stopped flowing, you gently pushed Morgan away and wiped your eyes. “I need to help get him home.”

“Then let’s bring him home.”

---

It felt strange that the team was inhabiting the house of a killer- eating at his table, using his bathrooms, sleeping on his couch- but sometimes to get in the mind of an unsub, you had to do strange things. One of those strange things was using his appliances, including his coffee maker. The entire team was running off caffeine, and you were no exception. Just as you turned the corner towards the kitchen, you heard voices, and paused.

“It’s funny,” JJ said. You didn’t think anything about this was funny. “I keep thinking, the one thing we need to crack this case is uh… well, Reid.”

You wanted to scream.

“Yeah,” Morgan responded quietly.

“You think Reid and I should have stayed together at the barn, don’t you?”

Everything in you wanted to walk into the room and confront JJ… tell her upfront that they should have stayed together and it was her fault that Spencer was missing. But you couldn’t move.

“JJ, go get some rest.” You could hear Morgan’s exhaustion… but you could also hear his anger.

“I can tell that’s what you’re thinking so-”

“I just wanna get Reid home safe.”

“But if I had his back like I was supposed to, he’d be here now.” The defense in JJ’s voice made your blood boil.

“JJ, what do you want from me?”

“I just… I want someone to tell me the truth!”

“The truth is one of you is here and one of you isn’t,” Morgan said, frustration coming through. “You gotta figure the rest out for yourself.” He walked toward where you were standing, just out of sight. When he saw you, he didn’t say anything. He just looked at you with sympathy before walking away.

You walked into the kitchen, avoiding looking at JJ as you made your way to the coffee pot. It was empty. You stared at the pot as it brewed, then poured it into your empty mug, not bothering to wait until it was cool before taking a sip. Maybe if you burned your tongue you could keep yourself from saying rageful words. You went to leave the kitchen when-

“(Y/N)?” JJ said.

You shut your eyes tight for a moment and turned, looking at the blonde, but not saying anything.

“What?” You shook your head slightly, keeping your face as straight as possible.

“I-” JJ swallowed. “I’m sorry.”

You looked down and took a deep breath. “Don’t apologize to me.” You looked JJ dead in the eye, holding yourself in as much control as possible. “Apologize to Spencer.”

Without another word, you turned and left; not feeling any better, but not feeling any worse.

---

You continued working with Prentiss. Hotch and Gideon were working together- an oddity. But so was a member of the team getting kidnapped. There was a sudden sound of shock coming from the room filled with computers. You and Prentiss both shot up from your seats and quickly filed into the room where the rest of the team was staring at the screens.

Spencer’s chair had fallen over, and he laid on the floor, unmoving. You’d seen enough people who were sleeping, dead, or dying to know the difference, even on a screen. And Spencer was dead.

You’d had this nightmare before, and in every single one you instantly crumbled to the ground in a fit of sobs, fighting whoever tried to touch you or calm you down. In your nightmares, the grief was so overwhelming it robbed your body of air until your head was so light that you couldn’t think- as if your body’s survival response to such overwhelming sadness was to make it so you couldn’t think long enough to be sad at all.

But now that it was real, all you could do was stand there- eyes glued to the screen, mouth slightly agape, blood draining from your face. The feeling was impossibly numb. Your mind not processing anything, refusing to believe what you were seeing. There was no survival response to overwhelming sadness; because all the will you had to survive was gone.

You remembered a quote from Dante’s Inferno- the one book Spencer had ever made you read to him since the original was in Italian- “L’inferno e freddo”: Hell is cold.

And you were frozen.

“Guys.” You heard the voice, but your brain was still in a state of limbo. Only the sudden appearance of a man on the screen, giving Spencer CPR, was enough to snap your body from the frost.

And then Spencer was alive.

Your vision blurred as your eyes watered, relief filling your body. But it was only temporary. The next thing you knew, Hankle was speaking.

“Choose one to die.”

“What?” You weren’t sure if Spencer was still in shock from dying and coming back to life, or if he was truly asking.

“Your team members,” Hankle said. “Choose one to die.”

“Kill me,” the words came out of Spencer's mouth like a plea.

Spencer, no. Your chest tightened, your breathing taught. Just say a name, Spencer. Please don’t give yourself up to him.

“You said you weren’t one of them.”

“I lied,” Spencer said. It didn’t matter thought- the math worked somehow.

“The team has seven members. Tell me who dies.”

Just say a name, Spencer… any name.

“No.”

Hankle pulled Reid’s revolver from his pocket, pointing it straight at your husband’s forehead. “Choose, and prove you’ll do God’s will.”

“No.” Hankle pulled the trigger. The chamber was empty. A tear streamed down your cheek.

“Choose.”

“I won’t do it,” Spencer’s voice was barely audible over the video feed.

Another trigger pull, another empty chamber.

“Life is a choice.”

“No.”

Choose to live, Spence.

Trigger. Empty chamber.

“Choose.”

“I…” This time Spencer was slower to answer. He was going to choose. He had to choose. If he didn’t, he was dead. “I choose Aaron Hotchner.”

The entire room seemed to become still with shock for a moment, before everyone turned to look at Hotch- you included. The expression on his face wasn’t hurt, or at least you didn’t think so. Hotch had been so avoidant of you the past 48 hours that you weren’t sure that you could read him in this situation. He continued to watch the screen, but you continued to look at his expression.

“He's a classic narcissist,” Reid explained Hotch’s sin. “He thinks he's better than everyone else on the team.”

The wheels turned in your head, and as Hotch furrowed his brow, you could see that the wheels were turning in his head as well. He left the room quickly, and you followed after him. Hotch grabbed the Bible sitting on the table, flipping through it rapidly. You didn’t ask why.

The rest of the team filtered into the room and Hotch looked up. “I’m not a narcissist,” he said. It wasn’t defensive. You’d seen Hotch defensive before, and it was nothing like this.

“Come on,” Gideon started. “Look, you can't think anything from that. He’s not in his right mind-”

“No, stop, stop,” Hotch cut Gideon off and looked around at the rest of the team. “All right, everybody right now- what's my worst quality?”

Silence.

None of you wanted to answer that question.

“Okay, I’ll start,” Hotch said. “I have no sense of humor.”

“You’re a bully,” JJ said quietly.

“I’m a bully,” Hotch agreed.

“You can be a drill sergeant sometimes,” Morgan said, avoiding eye contact.

“Right.”

“You don't trust women as much as men,” Prentiss said boldly. You wondered how long she’d been wanting to say that.

Then Hotch turned to you, meeting your gaze for the first time since Spencer had gone missing.

“You avoid difficult emotions,” you told him. “Instead of confronting them.”

“Okay, good.” Hotch kept his eyes on you for a moment before turning back to everyone else. “I’m all these things, but none of you said that I ever put myself above the team, because I don't, ever.” That was true. It always had been. “Reid and I argued about the definition of classic narcissism, and he knew that I would remember that, and he also quoted genesis, chapter 23, verse 4. Read it.”

JJ read the verse outloud. There was more discussion about narrowing down where Spencer might be. You hung onto every word, but you had just called Hotch out on something that you were doing yourself. You’d been burying yourself in work to avoid dealing with the terror and the pain that stirred inside you.

So instead of fighting to let you be in your normal point position when the team raided the cabin, you stayed at the back with JJ. Instead of avoiding her, you worked next to her in silence; both of you sharing a silent and desperate hope that Spencer was okay- that he was alive. When the team spread out, you stuck close to Prentiss, knowing you would need the support if something went awry and not being ashamed that, at the moment, you didn’t trust yourself to stay as steady as you needed to be.

And when Hotch helped Spencer to his feet, you let the tears stream down your cheeks. Holstering your gun, you let yourself go entirely- the relief crashing through your body. You breathed heavily, the cold air causing condensation to form. Morgan put a hand on your arm to keep you upright, and you let him.

You allowed the thoughts that had flooded your mind for the past two days to rise to the surface; that Morgan was probably the only other person in the world who shared what you were feeling right now- disappointment in Hotch for letting Reid and JJ go off in the middle of nowhere on their own, resentment about Gideon nearly getting Spencer killed, and rage at JJ because this never would have happened if one of you were with him instead.

“(Y/N),” Spencer’s voice as he said your name was barely a whisper, but to hear it in person made it real- it made everything real.

You pulled him into a hug, tears free flowing down your face. Spencer wrapped his arms around you tight, pulling you in so your bodies were as close as they could possibly be while standing upright. He buried his head in your shoulder. You leaned your face against the side of his head, pressing your cheek against his curls.

He let go of you slowly, as if you were the one thing keeping him tied to earth, your eyes locking only for a moment before Gideon walked over. You let Spencer lean on you, keeping his hurt foot off the ground.

“Let’s get you out of here,” Gideon said. “Come on.” Gideon went to support Spencer on the other side, helping him forward just a few steps before-

“Please.” Spencer looked at Gideon, but not at you. “Can I have a second alone?”

You looked at Spencer, but he didn’t look back at you, so instead you looked at your mentor. He gave Spencer a sympathetic look before locking eyes with you for just a second and walking away.

You let go of Spencer gently, your hands brushing before your bodies lost contact. He turned away without looking at you and began to limp towards Hankle’s body. You turned as well, looking over your shoulder as you walked. Prentiss was the one to help you this time- resting a gentle hand on your back to ground you.

You let her lead you back toward the SUVs, but you didn’t quite know where you were going; your mind was still full of Spencer. Then again, your mind was almost always full of Spencer- but not in this way. Never in this way.

“He’s going to be okay,” Emily said gently.

You let out a heavy breath. The clearing where the vehicles were parked was lit up by flashing colored lights. An ambulance had arrived, as had a coroner’s van. Officers were talking quietly, Hotch was pacing as he talked on the phone, JJ sat in the open trunk of an SUV staring out into the distance.

It was all over, but somehow you felt like things had only just began.

“How do you know?” you asked her, breathing out as you did. It sounded helpless, but that was how you felt.

Emily put a hand on your shoulder, looking into your eyes. “Because,” she said- her voice was gentle, but her words were confident. “He has you.”

---

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calisources · 4 months

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THE CW'S REIGN SEASON FOUR QUOTES. all these sentences were taken from season four of the historical fictional show, reign. change pronouns, locations and names as you see fit.

I'm not looking for a man to love, I'm looking for a weapon to use against her and her throne.

Men forget that women have ears.

My child will be heir to her throne, to both nations.

Mary, this is a course you cannot step back from. And if you take it, I fear I'm looking at a dead woman.

We all die, Gideon. The question is what we stood for while we lived.

Are you saying that we should marry?

Although I am curious. Have you already named our children? Or did you leave at least that part for me?

Where Knox has sown hatred, we will scatter seeds of hope.

Earn my respect then, as I earn the respect of my men. In combat!

Duels only lead to dead men, not respect.

Oh really, Lord Darnley? I was unaware that your crushing defeat was an act of charity.

Now, you take your assassin and you get out of our country. Or we will drive you out.

I want you to tell me why you keep pushing me away. I'm going to be your husband!

I had a husband! And I loved him and he was murdered in cold blood before my eyes.

As King and Queen, our lives will always be in peril.

We're going to be in danger no matter whether we're together or not. Because of who we are, Mary. Because of our blood.

You will be my husband in name only. And we will never be happy. And I will never forgive you.

It is my duty, my God-given birthright and my crown. And I will defend it from anyone who attempts to take it.

I had hoped that our marriage would be a partnership in every way.

I will be a true King. And we will finally be equals.

We are married because I couldn't take England without you. What makes you think that you can take England without me?

He will hang. And I will enjoy watching him die.

Men will never willingly bow to the weaker sex.

And they will suffer greatly for it.

The Prince of Spain came to France whole, and left with an enormous piece of wood sticking out of his skull.

A daughter joining her mother for an evening stroll is hardly a crime.

Why, Claude, how nice of you to take time away from your grief to criticize me.

You'll take what under advisement? What, you're just going to mouth kingly words?!

The only monster in this castle is gossip. And we must not feed it, or it will bring us to our knees.

I should have your entire family burned at the stake.

You think that political manipulation and poisoning are my only skill?

When one Valois is weakened, the entire line is threatened.

Tell your son to come to court. Or I will have him dragged here. On his knees.

I will not be remembered as the queen that drew first blood.

She wasn't your friend, Elizabeth, she was your prisoner. What a grotesque curse of royalty that you cannot even tell the difference.

A royal marriage gives one political clout.

Mary, revenge is not meant to ease pain. It is meant to balance the scales.

I've missed you. Perhaps that's reason enough for you to stop being an ass and stay for the party.

What? I-I can't. You and I are married. Until death do us part.

I lost both the man I love and the man I could have loved.

My family has royal blood in our veins.

Trust is given, but loyalty is earned. And you, my queen, have not earned mine.

He does have his father's history to overcome. You knew that when you chose him.

I am married to the most powerful man in the world, and I will not be threatened by my damaged brother who is unfit to rule.

I suppose there's nothing to be done... Except stay for the King's wedding.

Because being married to a woman who is in love with another isn't exactly the ideal union I dreamed of either.

#roleplay memes #sentence meme #( cali meme. )#rp memes #rp prompt #rp musings #roleplay prompt

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moonlightspencie · 1 year

Text

never thought i’d meet you here

Part 3 of ‘the sweetest con’

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem!Reader

Word Count: 1.2k

A/N: flashback chapter!!

<- PART TWO

Thinking back, I should have known she would be nothing but trouble for me. Her first day was enough to prove she would bring something very unique to the table. I certainly didn’t expect it to fully captivate me.

I heard a knock at the door, looking up to see a new face.

“Agent Hotchner?”

Her voice was quiet, but without the presence of nerves I’d usually hear in a stranger. Especially somebody who knew they were coming into the unit against my better wishes.

“Yes,” I stood, “You’re Agent Y/N, I presume?”

She smiled, walking further into the room and reaching out a hand.

“I am. It’s good to finally meet you,” she said, shaking my hand. “I know you’re probably a bit on edge considering I’m coming in without your say-so. I will say, however, that regardless of what Strauss says, if you feel that I’m not right for the team then I will gracefully bow out. She can’t really tell you no if I make the decision, right?”

She laughed, though I couldn’t quite tell if she was really joking or trying to catch me in some type of trap.

“I’m sorry?”

She finally dropped the hand that I didn’t realize was still holding onto her.

“I’ve known Strauss for a while, she’s kind of been a mentor of sorts. But that also means I know she’s always up your ass and that she’s kind of throwing me at you right now. I want you to know that you can still have the final say about me being here.”

“I appreciate that.”

She smiled again. “Great. So, have you had the chance to look over my file? Otherwise, I can give you the rundown.”

“I have looked it over, yes,” I said, a little rattled by just how forward she was. I moved to sit behind my desk, inviting her to sit down as well. “I’m impressed, I won’t lie. You’ve accomplished quite a lot for someone who joined the bureau two years ago.”

“Erin may be a hard-ass but she’s told me what I need to do to be a good agent, and frankly, it’s worked,” she said, then sighed softly. “I also grew up in a family that valued hard work. I try to operate on the mindset that I can learn to accomplish anything if I put in the work.”

“I’m glad to hear it. The BAU operates a little differently than most of the units here.”

“I’m aware. Trust me, I’ve done my homework on what this unit works to accomplish, and how it gets done. Even when it goes outside of the lines of what the higher-ups want,” she said, a small smile betraying her.

I found myself smiling back. “I’m sure you’ve gotten an earful about me.”

“Not enough to make me dislike you. If anything, hearing that you’re able to piss her off that often only makes me like you more.”

I let out a chuckle, appreciating the honesty, though still not used to it spilling out so easily from somebody I don’t know.

“Well, if you’re ready, I’d like to introduce you to the team,” I said, standing.

What I didn’t say was that I knew they’d love her. I couldn’t have been more right. She settled into the flow of the team as easily as if she’d been there the whole time. It probably helped that she was coming in around the same time as Elle, so they could support one another as new agents. She made fast friends with Reid, helping him to feel seen as a young agent. Obviously Morgan was fast to flirt, but even Gideon took her in quickly.

The thing that shocked me about her presence on the team is that of all the people she could focus on being friends with, she set her sights on me.

“Hotch,” she called out from the elevator, stopping me from opening the doors do the bullpen. “News on baby Hotchner?”

I laughed. Since he was born, she asked for daily updates as if much would change from day to day.

“Same as yesterday. Crying, sleeping, pooping, and eating.”

“Don’t forget the smiling. I’ve seen that kid a few times now, and he’s always smiling,” she noted.

“See? You don’t even have to ask, you already know,” I said, opening the door for her.

She walked ahead. “What if something changes? Then I’ll be behind the times”

“Right,” I nodded. “Haley says thank you for the new blanket, by the way.”

“Of course. The second I found out she was pregnant I started on the knitting. Every baby I know gets a little handmade present.”

“It’s still very kind,” I affirmed, then turned towards my office. “I’ll see you later.”

“Bye,” she waved, immediately running over to talk to the group that sat around Reid’s desk.

It was well over a year later when I realized I might have a problem on my hands. Between her knowing me well enough to spot when I was down, and the fact that I didn’t want to talk about it outright, her usual kindness was laid on thick. It wouldn’t usually phase me for her to bring me a coffee or give me a hug.

For some reason, though, on one cold day the coffee she brought tasted extra sweet and the hug she gave me was warmer than ever.

My heart started beating harder.

I panicked, quickly putting distance between us when she let go. Physically, I stood back behind my desk. Mentally, I tried to ignore it all the best I could for months.

Then, in the middle of a suspension and a possible job transfer, Haley got a call. I’d already been suspicious that something was happening behind my back. It certainly didn’t help when I answered the phone, and the caller hung up only for a call to immediately go to her personal cell. It didn’t take much to figure out what was happening from that point on. I pushed it off for the time being, booking it to Milwaukee with Prentiss in tow.

“What are you doing here?” Y/N asked me immediately, concern on her face. “Not that I’m not happy to see you, but—“

“It’s a long story.”

“Last I heard, Haley wanted you to transfer.”

“She does.”

“Then, again, what are you doing here?”

I sighed. “I can’t leave this team.”

“We’re talking about this later, you know?”

I smirked. “I know.”

She grilled me for everything when we finally talked that night, but ultimately supported my decision. It felt like a weight off my shoulders to have someone affirm my choice, even if she thought it was kind of stupid on the marriage front.

Now that I see it for what it is, that might have been the moment I realized I couldn’t run from what I felt for her. I knew I had to get over it, but denial was doing nothing. She’d somehow worked her way into being an essential part of my life. Worse, she started making a home in my heart that I really should have torn down as soon as possible.

NEXT PART ->

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x female reader #aaron hotchner series #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner angst #aaron hotchner x you #cowboy like me #the sweetest con #songfic

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jack-o-cel · 2 years

Text

So yesterday morning I was feeling gender dysphoria, cause of transphobic family member. So to cheer myself up i wrote this. I hope it also helps anyone else feeling dysphoria rn

Gentle note, that this is very self indulgent, and it reflects mostly what I'd look for in comfort

Characters included: Morgott, Mohg, Varré, Rennala, Rykard and Tanith, Blaidd, Marika, Radagon, and Godwyn and Fortissax.

I'll do a second part to include Maliketh, Radahn, Kalé, Ordovis, Godfrey, Gideon, Godrick, and maybe my OC Ravis.

Someone intentionally deadnames, and misgenders you infront of your Elden Ring lover(s)

Morgott

Morgott has pretty thick skin. He's used to insults, and sneers thrown his way. He can take a lot of disrespect unfazed. And with you to reassure, and praise him? Nothing really gets to him anymore.

The moment someone has the audacity to disrespect you however? Especially if they target your gender dysphoria purposefully.

It would take a divine act of the greater will to stop him from putting the offender in their place, or you holding him back, should you wish to avoid violence.

Morgott is not one to throw around his power, and title as Lord of Lyndell so casually. But for you he'll take advantage of it's privilege to make sure the offender pays for their insult.

Expect extra attention for as long as your dysphoria eats at you.

Morgott will be with you constantly, well more than usual. Mother hen mode has activated.

He'll offer as much of gender affirming praises that you need.

He'll take you into his arms and trail kisses along the parts of yourself you may feel uncomfortable with.

Morgott would wrap you so gently around his tail, and bring you flush against his chest as he whispers everything he loves about you in your ear.

"Allow none to tell thee who thou art. And should they yet persist, I will be by thy side, always, to ward those vermin away."

Mohg

The person that disrespected you has now permanently volunteered for, the very available position, of bloodflame incantation test dummy. The new recruits will be very pleased :)

Mohg will show the offender no mercy, and will let you choose whether they die quickly, or slowly.

If Varré is part of the relationship, he will carry out the deed. Should you prefer the offender to die quickly, Varré will "accidentally" make them suffer.

Mohg would be quick to wash your dysphoria away.

He'll bring you close, using his wings to shield you from everything else. He'll trace his claws gently across your cheeks before cupping your face in his hands. He brings his face close to yours, your breaths mixing, and traces his tongue over your lips and across your face then finally to your ear. Where he'll whisper to you gender affirming praises, among other praises ;)

Anytime he mentions a body part of yours he likes, he'll give it a gentle caress before giving it a teasing squeeze.

"My dearest consort. Should any dare slander thy name, allow them no mercy."

Varré

The offender will know immediately they fucked up. Whether you notice Varré's menacing aura behind you, depends on how murderous he's feeling that day.

You know for a fact that the offender wont live to see tomorrow.

Varré will take his sweet time showing the offender the error of their ways. Should you be feeling especially dysphoric, however, he'll deal with the offender quickly.

Regardless of how fast they're dealt with, you won't see it. Varré prefers to make sure you see only the best sides of him, even if you already know what he's capable of.

When you do see him again, he'll be nice, and clean. Ready to take you in his arms.

He'll whisper praises to you as he pets you gently with one hand, and holds one of your hands with his other.

He'll have also brought you a bouquet of roses. Some of which he'll remove the thorns from so he can adorn you, without pricking you.

"My sweet little Lambkin. You are a radiant rose, and should any wish to pluck you, show them your thorns."

Rennala

Rennala cant imagine why anyone would disrespect you in such a way. You, her dearly beloved, who she holds so close to her heart, deserves not a second of this insult.

She's the most civil than anyone else on this list, but by no means does that imply that the offender will not know the full might of the Carian Queen, and the majesty she conjureth.

Once the offender is put in their place, whether that be 6 feet under, or much deeper to be worked to the bone in the mines, is up to you.

Rennala will hold you to her, resting your head comfortably on her chest. She'll sing to you until you're fast asleep.

She'll set all her work aside for the rest of the day, so she may spend time with you. Rennala wants to make sure that the offenders words are out of your mind, for they hold no merit.

"Rest my dearest. Tomorrow thou shall awake stronger than before. For it is another day the land bows to the majesty of thy soul."

Rykard, and Tanith

They're already plotting the offenders demise. There is no escape from their fury.

Rykard is quick to distract you while Tanith is busy attending to some... urgent business :)

Pre-devour Rykard will pull you to his chest, and plant kisses on your face, his beard tickling you. He'll make sure you know how much he loves you. Whether it be from praises, or his wandering hands, and lips.

Post-devour Rykard will have you safely snuggled on his body like a heated nest.

Although he is insecure about his voice, he knows you would never mean any harm or disrespect against him, so he'll do impressions for you to make you laugh. Eventually you'll forget about the offender.

Once Tanith returns, you'll notice her loyal Crucible Knight is suspiciously absent. You'll quickly forget your observation as Tanith joins you by your side.

Her arms slips around your waist, and her mask is set aside. She'll place a gentle kiss on your cheek, and then another on your lips.

The three of you will engage in whatever conversation catches your fancy. The rest of the day is spent in eachothers company.

"A true family stands by thy side, and supports thee through thick and thin."

"Should you find that to not be the case, then do not hesitate to leave, and find your true family. Family is not given, it is earned."

Blaidd

Blaidd is quick to correct the offender, thinking they were unaware of your real name, and gender.

Once he catches on that it's intentional, Blaidd's demeanor quickly changes. He serves them a chilling threat. His size, and fangs are suddenly more noticeable to the offender.

This alone would cause most to scurry with their tails between their legs, but should the offender foolishly stand their ground, they'll meet the unfortunate end of Blaidd's sword.

After the offender is dealt with, Blaidd will tell you to pay no heed to their words.

He'll take your hand in his large ones, and you'll both continue with your journey together.

You'll notice Blaidd saying your name more, and taking more opportunities to use your pronouns, should you use any.

If you're still feeling dysphoria, he'll settle down to rest with you. Discarding most of his armor so he can pull you to his fluffy chest, knowing full well how you adore being surrounded by his soft warmth.

He'll also opt to play games with you. Such as hide and seek, fetch /hj, sparring, or any other games or activities you have in mind.

Many may find it childish, but Blaidd doesn't care. If it makes you happy why force yourself to give it up just because you're an adult?

Besides there are plenty of adult activities he'd be more than willing to participate in ;)

"Don't let anyone tell you what you can and can't be, my love. Who are they to decide that? I like to picture it this way. If it sounds like something Seluvis would say, then I know it's full of shite."

Marika

It doesn't matter who the offender is, they just made the biggest mistake of their life, and most likely the last.

Marika is always so patient, and sweet with you, that it's really easy to forget how cruel, and cold she can be.

The offender will be executed for sure. Whether it's a public, or private execution will depend on you. Marika values, and respects your input, and since this concerns you, she wants to include you in that decision.

If you have the negotiating skills of a god, and are able to convince Marika not to have the offender killed, she'll demand that they receive a fitting punishment.

She'll have you decide on the punishment, but if you decide to let her choose, know that whatever she picks is final, and will be much worse than whatever you could imagine.

She expresses a lot of her love language in acts of service, so she feels that punishing the offender, is an ample display of her affection for you.

However, if you express otherwise, or the offenders words still ail you? Expect high praise, gifts, affection, and whatever you desire. She'll spoil you more than she usually does.

"Never lower thyself to the level of those who spit at your feet. Thou will only break thy back."

Radagon

Radagon is genuinely very shocked that someone that stupid even exists. First of all, to even have the audacity to disrespect you period. Second of all, to do so with him present? He severely doubts the offender has a will to live.

Just like Marika, it's so easy to forget what Radagon is capable of. He's so loving, patient, and approachable with you, that when he does a 180, it always takes you by surprise.

Unlike Marika, he will consult you on the offenders fate from the get go. However, whatever you choose know that he will not let the Offender slide too easily, no matter how merciful you may choose to be.

Whatever the offenders fate, he'll make sure that you don't take the offenders disrespect to heart.

Radagon would do absolutely anything to reassure you, and get your mind off it.

He doesn't usually spoil you as rotten as Marika would, but makes exceptions when you're feeling especially down, or dysphoric.

He will be at your beck and call. Whatever you ask for, he'll personally do. Whether it be to get you something, a massage, praises, or affection. He'll do it with purpose, and passion.

He'll also take you on walks through nature, as he believes it can be soothing to the soul. If you wish to eat, he'll somehow already have a picnic spot ready for you.

Radagon is a devoted lover.

"Turn thy head away, and look at me. Without thee, the sun will never shine the same, and the very winds will change it's course. Thou art a force of nature, and the world would be emptier without thee."

Godwyn, and Fortissax

(Some inspiration from @/prismatic-starstuff thoughts on Godwyn's temper. You are gods send, and i really appreciate you! Check out their blog, it's hella awesome!)

Some, especially foolish, people may mistake Godwyn as a pushover. He's kind, gentle, and patient with all he meets. That kindness should not be mistaken as weakness, as anyone who's seen, the very rare instances of Godwyn's anger.

The quote from the wiseman's fear, about the anger of a gentle man, fits Godwyn well.

Whoever disrespected you in front of not only Godwyn, but also Fortissax, has a bigger death wish than any of the other offenders on this list.

Who looks at the lover of not just a demigod, but also a notorious dragon, and goes "Yeah, Im gonna shit on that person in particular"???

The offender is either dead on the spot, or later to spare you the scene. (The former is more likely)

Fortissax genuinely doesn't understand those that don't know to mind their own business, especially on matters that dont concern them.

It also doesn't understand the discourse on gender identity either. If someone states how they identify, how difficult is it to respect that? It can think of an endless amount of things more difficult. Like trying to avoid it's sisters wrath when it knows it's done fucked up, like that one time. Fortissax shudders at the memory.

It'll tell you not to pay anything to the offenders words. Their words have no worth, and shouldn't plague you.

If Fortissax does notice it still bothers you, It'll offer to nap with you. Sleep usually helps it when something is on it's mind, so it'll take you in it's large clawed hand, and hold you gently to its chest, or neck. Or just this once, should you insist, it'll allow you to lay on it's warm snout.

Don't tell a soul, especially Lansseax, she'll never let it hear the end of it.

Godwyn will set aside a few days to spend quality time with you, and Fortissax.

He'll also offer to write you poetry should the offenders words still bother you.

He will write an entire book of poetry on how wonderful you are if he has to. He wants you to see yourself the way he does.

He'll hold you close as you both cuddle against Fortissax, the dragon already having it's arm trapping you both to it's chest.

Godwyn will kiss every inch of you, gender affirming praises whispered in-between. His hands wandering wherever his lips are not. He'll worship you.

Once he's satisfied, and you're feeling better, he'll take a nap with his lovers.

"What wisdom wouldst a blinking idiot with their head in the ground offer thee? Scowl upon them, and move on. Waste not a moment more."

"Thy radiance outshines the very sun, and eases mine eyes so that I may look upon thee. The moon wanes in thy presence, it's magnificence second only to thee. I may be known as golden, but without thee I am as dull as copper, for thou art my glimmer."

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soul-dwelling · 5 months

Text

Let’s talk about the new Scott Pilgrim anime as related to Soul Eater.

Three disclaimers.

First, spoiler warning. (No, seriously--spoiler warning.)

Second, I don’t have a Netflix account, I refuse to get one, so I haven’t watched the Scott Pilgrim anime, my remarks are secondhand, that does taint my remarks, but screw it, there is enough out there discussed about the series that I have read, there are enough reviews and summaries I have read, and there are enough clips excerpted online from the Pilgrim anime that I can talk about it with enough authority to not make too big a fool of myself.

And third, this is rambling, and like I said, it is more about how this relates to Soul Eater--especially those of you out there clamoring for an anime reboot more faithful to the source material, and as relates to how we fan creators try to fix problems in source material or depend on certain Tumblr-specific tropes.

(And to repeat myself: spoiler warning, especially if you haven’t watched the first episode of the Scott Pilgrim anime and if you haven’t had some engagement or familiarity with any version of the story--comic, film, game, etc.)

The first episode of Scott Pilgrim Takes Off kills off Scott Pilgrim. That’s the point of the title: he takes off.

When the anime was first announced, I was not excited. Learning this first-episode twist, I’m still not excited.

A core value I hold to for adaptations is that they should improve upon what was already there, and that they should not be a one-to-one correspondence. And boy, am I regretting my core value right now. Based on the entirety of Takes Off, it feels like it should satisfy both criteria: it addresses problems with the original story, and it is definitely not a one-to-one correspondence with its source material. And yet, given how far it diverges, this is more akin to a new story with most of the same cast of characters. This isn't an adaptation of the comics, or even many parts of the comic. This is an alternate-universe story with the same cast of characters, not an adaptation.

(And I'll skip over any rant about how tiresome multiverse and time travel stories have become, because, yep, that's here too.)

I should like this. I should be happy we got a new Ramona story that centers her as the main character--and yet, it is a murder mystery plot about Scott, so it still feels like her story just has to be centered around Scott. And as I said, I haven’t watched this series, so maybe the following is paid off better than I expect, but had she known Scott that long to make this deep interest of hers to determine who killed Scott worth it? Based on how the timeline goes in the comics and the film, I don’t get a sense that she knew enough about Scott, or knew him that long, for her to feel this motivation to investigate. Granted, the Seven Exes’ involvement may have been enough to compel her search.

And then there is the reaction online. There is no one reaction, but, God, reading “Gideon is now a malewife” and “Ramona is girlbossfailure” is tiresome. This is what I meant above in the disclaimers about tropes and Tumblr language.

And that leads to Soul Eater.

I have had the fortune to get to participate in fan works that have taken the Soul Eater story in varied directions. And at least one of them was on the premise of, what would this story be if Maka didn’t survive it? I enjoy that project--but I am still kicking and screaming all the way after killing off Maka. I will admit, even as I have committed to that plot detail and have not resurrected Maka, I still have lists of ideas for that story how to bring her back. And even as I have my frustrations with that storytelling choice (especially given the importance Maka has a girl protagonist--at a time when there were fewer, and even now when there are many more), I get how that choice re-orients the story and how we look at the supporting cast, and I have committed to this decision, and it is too late after where the characters have gone to bring her back without making it work (and it can work--I’m just not sure I know how to do it). I get how killing off Scott also helps Scott Pilgrim Takes Off. But I also get how his absence still makes the story all about him, defeating the purpose in some ways. (And, spoiler, turns out Scott isn’t dead, so the story is more cowardly than I was in helping to kill off Maka.)

But let me wrap this up with the major point as related to Soul Eater: the monkey’s paw problem. I have used that cliche repeatedly when referring to the fans who want Soul Eater to get the Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood treatment. Well, people wanted a Scott Pilgrim story more similar to the story beats of the original comic--and now this anime refuses that.

This is kind of the point I make when warning people who want a more “faithful” Soul Eater--that was my fear after the Madness of Boobs, that is my fear after the Fire Force twist, and that is my fear now, that you’ll get Soul Eater, only worse. I’m not saying it’ll be a complete re-write like Takes Off is. But I also fear, given how no one has done editorial mandates on Ohkubo to stop the kind of crap that led to a toxic reliance on bad fanservice (including fanservice centered around underage characters) that any anime re-make will reward his worst behaviors. “Sure, Ohkubo, the ending to the Soul Eater manga led you to Fire Force, which led to the Tamaki crap, which led to an anime adaptation--you’re on a roll, do whatever you want with an anime reboot!” At this rate, I can’t imagine a new Soul Eater anime would cut back on the worst parts of Ohkubo; rather, I think it would permit him to push the envelope further.

Obviously Scott Pilgrim Takes Off not being a more faithful adaptation of the original comics does not in turn lead to Soul Eater somehow going even more off-course from the manga than the 2008 anime did. But at the same time, for those of you demanding a new Soul Eater anime: people were demanding a Scott Pilgrim anime for a long time, and thanks to O'Malley and Wright's own adaptation guidelines, they made sure to not give you something faithful, so be careful what you wish for.

Oh, and before I end this, one more thing: Scott Pilgrim Takes Off is a take-that at 2000s anime like Soul Eater.

Think about it: an anime that refused to stick to the story from the comic and instead went in its own direction--that is Soul Eater as well as Fullmetal Alchemist.

Plus, I have read that this approach is akin to the Rebuild for Evangelion and Utena.

And, in my opinion, from what I have seen of the English dub, this feels like it was a stylistic choice to make the dub “bad” like how 2000s anime dubbing was “bad”...

...which pisses me off as a “take that.” "2000s anime dubbing was bad!" Oh piss off. 2000s anime dubbing was what it was; 2020s anime dubbing has its own flaws, too.

Directing the actors to act like this in Takes Off doesn’t come across as a hilarious meta gag, it comes across as a choice put upon a director and actors that hampers the product. And having the dub script stick so close to the sub script leads to lip flap problems--again, as if the anime was trying to be bad on purpose. But this causes elements to overlap and get muddled: when what seems to be bad “on purpose,” and what seems to be bad because it is bad (because, surprise, casting mainly non-voice actors for voice acting can sometimes lead to bad performances) mesh together, and you can’t figure out anymore what was “bad on purpose” and what was just actually bad, that is muddying your point and a disservice to the director and actors.

#spoiler #spoilers #long post

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kay-elle-cee · 10 months

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@jilymicrofics July Prompt 6: Sharp || 510 Words || NSFW MICROFIC MASTERLIST

Lily straddles him, face blotchy from tears and a letter forgotten, fallen from his fingers on the bedroom floor. Gideon, Fabian, Dianne, David. Four more of their friends dead.

It should feel wrong, touching each other like this in the aftermath of such news, but they’ve become so accustomed to death that reminding themselves that they’re alive is somehow the most comforting thing they can do in these moments. They mourn and they rejoice, in their own twisted way.

They can’t go to the funerals. They can’t visit families for condolences. They can’t even grieve with their friends, stuck as they are in Godric’s Hollow, their child sleeping easily in the next room with no knowledge of war or prejudice or prophecies to keep him up at night.

They have each other. So they cry, and the pain builds and builds until it becomes too much and they know—they’ve learned—of the one thing that can alleviate it, if even fleetingly.

So Lily grinds into him slowly, hands cradling his face as mouths part and ragged breaths mingle and pain is shared along with the joy of being here, together and alive.

James’ fingers dig into her hips as a groan pulls forth from the feeling of her rocking against him. His mouth travels lower, across her jawline, sucking and nipping its way down her throat as once-rigid fingers lightly roll down the waistband of her knickers under her dress. She captures his lips and shifts to assist him, quickly doing away with the joggers he’d taken to wearing around the house this winter.

Once they move back together, James’ hand trails along her naked hip, fingers anxious to bring a cry of joy to replace those of sorrow. Gentle to start, his strokes pick up speed and elicit a gasp as Lily’s nails dig into his shoulders, teeth dragging along his bottom lip in a way that sends a jolt through his body.

He raises his hips ever so slightly, teasing himself with the warmth of her, and another, deeper, groan rips through him as Lily lowers herself onto him. Desperately, she swallows his groan and answers with a small cry that ekes out as his breath mingles with hers—a cry for fallen friends, a cry for the pain of a wound that doesn’t seem to heal, a cry for the mercy of a man who could take the pain away.

Lips become languid as James and Lily rock against one another, breathy moans and sharp gasps the only sounds breaking through the thick silence.

At one point they tumble fully into the bed, deep red hair splayed out, glasses fogging as the tempo quickens and hurried gasps replace moans and tears of ecstasy replace tears of grief if just for a moment.

And moments later, when they’re spent and chests are heaving and the guilt creeps in—just what kind of people are they to do that at a time like this?—they hold each other close and breathe, because they can. Because above all else in this moment, they’re alive.

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#jily #jilymicrofics #angst #smut #kelsey writes #james potter #lily evans #jple #in laughter in strife

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eirian-houpe · 4 months

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If You Will Be My Queen

Fandom: Once Upon a Time (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold Characters: Belle, Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Mad Hatter | Jefferson, Grace | Paige (Once Upon a Time) Additional Tags: Holiday Fic Exchange, Rumbelle Secret Santa (Once Upon a Time), Solstice, Winter, Storybrooke, The Enchanted Forest, The Dark Castle (Once Upon a Time) Summary:

Belle decides that it is past time that Rumplestiltskin should decorate for Midwinter, and celebrate the seasons, now that they have Gideon to share it with, but an important item from the past is missing, and Belle will not rest until it is found. Not that it is truly missing. Rumplestiltskin knows where it is, but has locked it away, beyond all retrieval. Or has he…?

A Winter RSS gift for @chippedcupwrites - thank you for the prompts. It was fun to write this, even if some parts of it did take me by surprise :) (i.e. the characters took charge of the story. Of course that /never/ happens, right?).

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If You Will Be My Queen

The unmistakable sounds of a robbery in progress stopped Gold in his tracks, his hand frozen, outstretched, half way toward the door of the pawn shop with the key extended from his fingers.

The sign on the shop door read closed, and while he was by now quite used to the residents of Storybrooke completely ignoring the missive, this blatant disregard for his authority over his own property riled his temper beyond boiling. But for having promised Belle he would limit the use of his magic, he would have stopped the intruder’s heart from a distance without a second thought, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t hurt them by physical means.

Enhanced, he thought to himself as a swirl of dark purple smoke surrounded him, and transported him the few inches to the other side of the door, by a small touch of magic.

Without a sound, he reached out with his right hand toward the umbrella stand that was the resting place of his cane. He no longer needed it, of course, and hadn’t for many years, but he kept it there, right by the door, as a kind of memento to a time long passed, when he was a man that made too many wrong choices.

He wasn’t that man any more.

As stealthily as he could, not wanting to alert the intruder of his presence, and in the back of his mind knowing that he should call Sheriff Swan, or her deputy - though he still couldn’t bring himself to think of the man that way - he crossed the shop floor toward the back room, still separated after all the years with the curtain that was hanging in the doorway. He wondered idly if that would ever change.

With one hand he reached out to finger the edge of the fabric, hefting the cane with the other, ready to strike out; to defend his property. His things. And then, he struck.

Springing forward like a deranged Jack-in-the-Box he crossed the threshold into the back room, where boxes were strewn hither and yon, and a small figure crouched over one of them, he raised the cane higher, ready to bring it down, halted only in the last breath by a shrill, alarmed cry.

“Rumple!”

“Belle,” he breathed and all but dropped the cane to the floor. “What the hell are you doing?”

The question came out as a breathless rush, an entire, horrible scenario flashing before his eyes.

“What am I doing,” she retorted, standing up and turning to face him, pointing at the grounded cane. “What are you? You could have caved my head in with that thing. What’s going on?”

“Where’s Gideon?” he asked at the same time.

“Oh no,” her voice barely withheld a bitter laugh, “You don’t sidestep the question like that. What were you thinking, Rumple?”

“What was I supposed to think? You said you were going to be home. With Gideon,” he added the last two words as a sentence all of their own. “I thought someone had broken in and was burglarizing me–”

“I was.” Belle interrupted, and Rumple blinked. If he wasn’t so shaken he might have made a joke about Belle burglarizing the shop, and possibly defused the storm he could feel brewing. As it was, he didn’t say anything, just waited. She obviously had more to say. “Then I thought about decorating for winter and–”

“No,” he said flatly, but Belle shook her head.

“So I went up in the loft to see if I could find the decorations, and–”

“No,” he said again, even more adamantly, feeling his already bubbling temper threatening to spill over again.

“--when I couldn’t find them, I figured they were probably here so–”

“Belle,” he snapped her name, “we are not decorating for winter.”

She blinked at him, her expression half way between shock and outrage, and that was fair he supposed. He hadn’t spoken to her like that since… well he couldn’t remember the last time. Maybe not since the dark castle. At least she wasn’t talking about winter decorations any more.

His stomach roiled when he thought about it; the cold, the abandonment, the hurt… the loss. Winter was nothing to be celebrated.

“Rumplestitskin,” she said softly, but when he looked at her he could see she had a fire in her eyes of the kind that he couldn’t often extinguish, even when, like now, he wanted to the most. “We are decorating for winter,” he opened his mouth to protest again, but closed it as if he were some kind of Dionaea Muscipula as she continued, “and we are inviting our friends to our home to help us celebrate.”

He spluttered, fuming and helpless with it. How dare she presume - because he knew she would have presumed to invite said friends already - to force the Midwinter Solstice upon him! In the face of his speechlessness, Belle smoothed down her skirt, cocked an eyebrow and completely unapologetically, demanded, “Now, you are going to help me unpack these boxes and find the winter decorations, or the chances are I’m going to end up inadvertently damaging your things, or touching something I’m not supposed to.”

“Like winter decorations,” he muttered, not truly intending for her to hear him, but of course she did.

“Rumple!” she warned, pointing an unyielding finger like some kind of magic wand at the stack of boxes that were piled like the Leaning Tower of Pisa.

“Fine,” he protested, though it was far from it. “Have it your way. But we are not–”

“Rumple,” she growled softly, and took his hand to pull him closer to the offending shadows that threatened to pull him back into the past, and she took down a box to place it on the workbench, and deftly pulled it open to reveal the maelstrom of memories within.

“What on Earth is all this?” Belle asked, flummoxed as the Dark One placed the last of the boxes squarely into her unsuspecting arms.

“Trinkets,” he giggled impishly. “Baubles, sparklies… evergreens.” Her frown deepened, as he added, “and bedding… for the upstairs bedrooms.”

“Guests?” she blinked at him. “We’re expecting guests?”

“Of course we’re expecting guests,” he scoffed, and as if it explained everything, added, “It’s Midwinter. Keep up!”

“Mid–” she broke off as soon as she had started, because no sooner had he confirmed that guests were coming, than he turned and began to stride toward the exit of the great hall. She trotted after him, trying to obey his instruction to keep up, at least until she had her answers. “But Rumplestiltskin, you’ve never–”

He turned on her, and wagged a finger, almost playfully side to side in admonition. “Never, dearie, is a very long time. Far longer than you have in any case.” Then, sing song he continued, “I on the other hand–”

“Who?” she asked, her curiosity too extensive to contain.

“--don’t interrupt,” Rumplestiltskin answered, “Now where was I? Ah yes… I on the other hand–”

“Who are we expecting?” she interrupted again.

“How rude,” he sulked, and then conceded. “A friend.”

“A friend?” she repeated in a slightly questioning tone, managing to contain the rest of what she had been thinking. Did the Dark One truly have any real friends?”

“That’s what I said,” he answered irritably. “Do you have a problem with your HEARING?”

He leaned closer to almost shout the question into her ear, and she flinched, jumping almost several feet backwards, before, as he turned to continue his striding, this time toward the castle doors, she began to hurry to catch up to him.

“Rumplestiltskin,” she called after him. “Where are you going?”

As she reached his side, and struggled to match him stride for stride she caught him muttering to himself, and certainly not the answer to her question - simply a bunch of numbers - measurements she realized as she listened more closely, and allowed herself to be lulled by them until the incongruency slapped her squarely in the face as she heard the list of tasks that were now falling from his lips.

“Sweep the floors, lay the fires, as well as the one in the great hall, make the beds, draw the water, and of course prepare the food and beverages–”

“Where are you going?” she asked again, and once again he stopped in his tracks.

“To see a man about a tree,” he answered, then demanded, “Why are you still here?”

“You’re going to ask a man to fell you a tree for Midwinter?” she asked, incredulity in her voice. “Why don’t you just…” she imitated his usual flourish, and then snapped her fingers at the end.

Rumplestiltskin made a face as shocked as when her father had called him a beast all those many months - over a year at least - before.

“My dear Belle,” he began as the expression faded. “There are some taboos that even the Dark One himself will not break, and using magic to acquire a Winter Tree is one of them. Why the price! The price alone…” he broke off muttering to himself for a moment before he blinked at her as if noticing her for the first time. “Are you still here?”

“Well, you didn’t tell me who is coming; how many or… anything. I don’t have nearly enough ingredients to make Holiday dishes for anyone let alone–”

“You’ll find everything you need in the kitchen, dearie.” he answered, slipping into a thick brogue. “And be sure to include plenty of sweeties.”

“Sweeties,” she mouthed, asking herself - not for the first time since this whole exchange had started - whether Rumplestiltskin had finally lost his senses.

“And tea… and spiced wine… hot apple cider…” he began ticking off items on his fingers, “and roasted turkey… a juicy ham…”

“And a partridge in a pear tree,” she cut in.

Rumplestiltskin frowned.

“Well,” he considered, “I think we can do without the pears, but a partridge, if you’ve a mind, of course.”

Belle shook her head, and asked with heavy irony, “Anything else?”

“I don’t think so,” he answered in all seriousness, “Though when I get back with the tree, I’ll be needing you to help with the trimming of it, of course. Must always be balance in the trimming of the Yuletide Boughs, and you and I’ll be spinning silver for some time, I feel.”

He stopped then, and frowned, “Still here? Run along now, dearie. Work to do…”

She was about to open her mouth to answer him, when the world around her dissolved into purple smoke.

“Belle, you’ve enough baubles, and ribbons, and Yule candles to decorate the entire house three times over. Enough,” Rumple said softly as Belle tore through yet another box that had been tucked away, forgotten in the back corner of the back corner of the back room.

“No,” she growled. “It has to be here somewhere, and I intend to find it.”

“It isn’t here,” he implored with his tone for her to stop looking, but she read him an entirely different way; the right way of course, as well he might have known.

She rounded on him angrily, “What did you do with it?”

“Belle, I–”

“No, Rumple,” she held up her hands, “Tell me. Where is it?”

There was silence between them then. A silence so thick with unresolved tension that it was almost choking him to imagine it. Thicker even than the time in the Underworld when he’d had to tell her she was pregnant with his child; their son Gideon, now returned to them of course, but…

“Belle…” he faltered again.

“Tell me!” she demanded, her face shifting between the ugliness of anger and despair, back and forth with each breath.

“There are… some things…” he began haltingly, “some things so dangerous, so painful, and so powerful that even I dare not include in the Dark Curse; to bring them here to Storybrooke,” he reached for her hands to draw them away from the box he knew contained nothing but irrelevant minutiae. Relics of the lives of people long gone.

“So… where is it?”

“The Vault,” he said softly, “Back at the Dark Castle.”

“Still in the Enchanted Forest?” she said, and her face creased with disbelief and deeper despair. “You mean we can’t–”

“I… I didn’t say that, Belle,” he promised softly, “It’s just…” He sighed, and closed his eyes, unable to look at the hurt, and the tears gathering in hers. “I didn’t mean to keep it from you. Keep anything from you come to that Belle, but… when I thought–” His voice cracked.

“Rumple, I’m here.” He felt her take his hands; felt how solid they were, how warm against the sudden chill, as if the approaching midwinter night had sapped him of his vitality. She grounded him. She gave him light and life.

“If I could,�� he whispered, leaning his forehead to hers, “If I even thought I could, I would try to reach across realms and bring it to you, but… I don’t think I can. The hold it has over me is just too strong.”

“You can,” she told him. “I know you can.”

He shook his head, still against hers, until she pulled back and pinned him with the wild, deep, ocean blue of her gaze that bared his soul.

“It doesn’t matter how far away it is; how deeply buried, nor how tightly warded it is,” she told him. “We made it together, and I won’t let you keep it from us now. Not like this. Not out of fear.”

“Are you out of your mind?”

Belle stood with her hands on her hips staring - no glaring - at Rumplestiltskin after the most preposterous suggestion had left his lips, a basket of golden garland that he had spun and woven into the most beautiful of Winter decor for the Dark Castle’s Midwinter Tree stood like a chasm between them.

“Quite possibly,” he answered, an impish grin on his face that faded to a half teasing sneer. “But I’m also right. You can do it. You and only you.”

“But…” she half turned, pointing behind her toward the door, as though to some imaginary person. “Rumplestiltskin, no…” she turned again, to face him. “I’ve heard the tales, everyone has. How using magic will darken a person’s soul and…”

She trailed off as he made a soft tutting sound while at the same time shaking his head and appearing to examine his clawed fingers.

“You wouldn’t want to disappoint a little girl now,” he looked up, an almost innocent pout on his face, “would you?”

“No!” she said flatly. “I won’t let you manipulate me like that.” But in truth his words had touched her heart. As much to remind herself as Rumplestiltskin she said, “No. Dark. Magic.”

“Assume… assume… assume,” he sang softly.

“What are you talking about?” she snapped.

“It’s just a garland,” he answered. “It’s not as if I’m asking you to murder all the puppies and kittens in the enchanted forest.”

“Dark magic–”

“Not the same.” he tipped his head from side to side as he spoke his words in the same sing-song tone. “Quite different… alternative… not dark magic.”

“Rumplestiltskin–”

“Light magic.” He said the words slowly, as though they were somehow foreign on his tongue, but Belle couldn’t have been happier to hear them.

“Light magic?” she repeated, just to be sure she had heard him correctly.

“Yes, yes,” he brushed the words off this time as though they were a dusting of snow on his shoulders. “That’s what I said. Back to hard of hearing are we?”

“Don’t you see, Rumple,” she didn’t think what she was saying and shortened the words, blushing when he turned a scowl her way. Still she pressed on. “This is it.”

“It?” his frown deepened into confusion. “It what?”

“This proves it,” she hardly heard his question. “That you’re the one that will use…”

“...use the powers of the Dark One for good,” he chanted at the same time as she. “That old chestnut. No.” He moved toward her then, to stand almost toe to toe. “You, dearie. You must be the one to wield the Solstice magic. You and no other… and poof the golden garland shall be silver.”

She jumped as he emphasized the sound, then turned and frowned at him as he began to move behind her, catching her to stillness as she asked, “What…?” and licked her lips as he moved closer still behind her, “What must I do?”

“Little,” he purred, moving with her toward the pile of gold, “Pick it up,” She reached down to take one end of the golden garland into her palms. It was cold, and she shivered; again she shivered as Rumplestiltskin moved closer. The front of him pressed against her back, hot… muscled… solid.

“Hold it,” he murmured against the side of her face, “caress it… run it through your fingers…”

She felt herself grow warmer and warmer still with every word and every breath that ghosted against her cheek. She closed her eyes, and leaned against him. She felt his arms surround her, his fingers at her wrists, his talons scratching gently at her skin as he guided her to slowly feed the cold, golden garland through her hands. His words never stopped, but she lost awareness of them; knew only the strength and the heat of him… and the rhythmic motion of the braid that played through her hands.

A flash brighter than the brightest star shone through even her closed eyes. She opened them and watched in a strange, detached fascination as the gold became silver in her hands, flowing like a molten river of moonlight from one hand to the other, to spill over into the basket on the ground at her feet.

The light faded. The moment was gone, and Belle laughed.

“Hmmm,” Rumplestiltskin purred against her cheek, teasing. “Seems like my little cherub is happy about something.”

“Oh, Rumple,” she giggled, turning about in his arms and laying the flat of her palms against his chest. “How did I do that?”

“Magic, dearie,” he answered gravely, “A magic all of your own, but then… I told you, there had to be balance on the Winter Tree.”

He snapped his fingers then, and the silver garland found a life of its own, whirling around to fly from where they stood and nestle itself around the tree, a perfect compliment to the gold already twinkling among the evergreen, and not a moment too soon.

A polite cough sounded from the doorway to the great hall, and both turned, Rumplestiltskin starting almost guiltily away from her, leaving her feeling strangely abandoned… bereft, but there wasn’t a moment to wallow in the feeling, and her joy soon returned to see Rumplestiltskin’s portal jumping friend - and yes, she realized in that moment, he was Rumple’s friend - standing in the doorway, hat in one hand, and the pale hand of his sweet young daughter held in the other.

“May we…?” Jefferson asked politely, though he raised an eyebrow at Belle, deepening her blush.

“Of course, m’boy,” Rumplestiltskin answered, already part way across the great hall toward the pair. “Come in and warm yourself by the fire. You must be perished.” Then half turning as he swooped and caught the wide eyed Grace up in his arms, he suggested, “How about some hot apple cider, Belle, to chase away the chill before dinner.”

Laughter drew Belle back to the main room of the house, and to the merriment well underway. Snow and David, Emma and Killian, Ruby, Archie, Granny, Leroy and the boys, everyone had accepted the invitation, and showed up with sweet dishes, and savory treats, as well as copious quantities of wine, mead, fine whiskey and rum, all to celebrate the day of the year when at last the light overcame the dark.

It seemed fitting, in the aftermath of everything that had happened in Storybrooke, and that they could come together at Rumple’s house - no… at the home she shared with Rumple and their son - made her feel accepted at last, and she hoped Rumple would feel the same.

“There you are,” even as she thought of him, as though she had conjured him from the air itself, Gold cozied up behind her, surrounding her in a warm embrace, “I was about to send the sheriff out to look for you.”

Belle looked over in the direction of Rumple’s nod to watch as Emma stumbled mid step, safely caught by Killian, who made some kind of ribald joke about how she couldn’t hold her liquor.

Belle chuckled. “I’m not sure she’s fit for duty right now.”

“As it should be,” Rumple answered, snuggling her closer. “Where’d you go?”

“To check on Gideon.” She leaned against him, nuzzling softly at his chin, and her eyes drifted to the tree that stood in pride of place in the corner of the room. It was magnificent, though as she looked on it, it still drew a pang of disappointment deep into Belle’s heart to see only red ribbon, white lights and golden garland adorning the tree.

She couldn’t fault Rumple for trying, but as hard as he had tried, the vault refused to release the silver twin to his magical summons.

As if he knew what she was thinking, Rumple tightened his arms around her and said softly, “Belle, I’m sorry I couldn’t…”

He trailed off and she followed the direction of his gaze. Across the room, Jefferson, resplendent in his finest, foppish attire, handed a small pouch to Grace, and gave her a gentle push their way, offering a wry salute, and a genuine smile of delight as he caught them looking his way.

“Papa said I should bring this to you, and tell you Winter Blessings, Uncle Rumple, and Miss Belle.”

“Why, thank you, Grace,” Rumple answered, and glanced back across to where Jefferson had been moments ago. When she, too, looked, the man was nowhere to be seen, and Grace, too, seemed to have vanished.

“I wonder what…?” Belle said, and took the pouch from Rumple’s fingers, beginning to work at the knot. She couldn’t help but laugh when she opened it, and took out what was inside.

“Mistletoe,” she said, and playfully turned in Rumple’s arms to hold it over the top of both of them.

“Mistletoe.” Rumple chuckled then. “Trust Jefferson. Remember that time when–”

Belle waggled the sprig once more over the top of his head. “Mister Gold, the tradition is that one should kiss beneath the mistletoe, not reminisce.”

“Kissing and much more, if you go back far enough,” he teased. “Thinking of a sibling for Gideon already?”

“Shut up and kiss me,” she answered, blushing fiercely.

“Gladly, Missus Gold,” he said.

His lips met hers, softly and full of all the love they ever had held for one another, gathered into a single moment. She felt the pulse of magic as soon as it began. Not just True Love, but a love that also held the blessing of the season. Solstice blessings - the turning of the wheel of the year in all present.

In an instant, gone was the somber suit that Rumple wore, to be replaced by a magnificent outfit of deep green and gold, and on his head a crown of oak leaves, adorned with silver, snow-tipped acorns, and as she caught sight of herself in the window, mirrored by the dark night outside, Belle saw that her dress was now a beautiful robe in silvery blue, with silver and white edging.

“Rumple,” she gasped softly, and stepped back to take in the full sight of him. “How did you do that?”

“Not me, my love,” he murmured, flicking his eyes up to the mistletoe still held in her hand. “But I seem to remember that once I told you one must always have balance at the turning of the seasons.”

“Well, you truly look like The Winter King,” she told him softly, frowning as he shook his head, and with a snap of his fingers, offered to her a delicate filigree crown with shining diamonds, and icy white moonstones woven within.

“Only if you will be my queen,” he said.

“I will,” she breathed, and lowered her head to receive the crown from him.

Joyous applause sounded from around them, as their guests each raised a glass to toast the longest night, and the returning of the light, and all were suddenly bathed in the brightness of an echoing flash, and then by waves of gold and silver, as the firelight reflected off the gold and magical silver garland entwined, and adorning the Sacred Winter Tree.

#RSS #Rumbelle secret santa 2023 #holiday fic #winter #solstice #storybrooke #the enchanted forest #the dark castle

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