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jareaulover · 1 year

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If I Can't Have You (Hotchreid Fanfic, Chapter 5. Final Chapter)

Summary: Spencer is taken, Aaron is hurt.

Warnings:

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Previous Chapter

It was 3:45 am when it happened. The worst thing that could’ve happened, at least to Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner. He was pacing back and forth, drinking cup after cup of black coffee. He sat down on the couch but then he heard a sound outside the door. He stood up to go look out the peephole, but suddenly the door was being pushed hard into his forehead. Aaron groaned and stumbled back, reaching for his weapon, but the man that entered the apartment swung a bat before Aaron could point it and Aaron fell to the ground, and everything went black.

The man made his way to the bedroom, where Spencer had woken up. When the man entered his room, he immediately recognized him as the professor from the class across from his own. Devin Harding. He knew that they had pulled a list of staff from the college, but they had been so focused on the age of the unsub fitting a student…

‘Age is the hardest part of the profile to predict’ he remembered Gideon telling him before. He cursed himself for not thinking of it.

“You are going to come quietly, or I’ll make sure the man in the other room gets his skull bashed in. I’ve already done quite a number on him.” Harding spoke angrily. Spencer thought about Aaron, he knew he shouldn’t listen to the unsub. But he also knew the profile, and he knew that if he could just indulge the man’s fantasy long enough for the team to find them then he would live.

“You have to let me see him, then I’ll go with you.” Spencer said. Devin narrowed his eyes,

“Fine, fine… But make it quick.” He growled, grabbing Spencer by the arm and zip tied his hands together. He pulled Spencer from the room. Spencer’s eyes filled with tears when he saw the man that he still loved so much lying on the floor, unconscious. He fell to his knees beside the agent, Devin glared at the two, “Lets go.” He said, grabbing Spencer’s arm. Spencer allowed himself to be pulled up, he hoped Harding wouldn’t notice that he wrote ‘age’ in Aaron’s blood right next to him on the floor. He also hoped that someone would know what he meant by that.

Then they were out the door. The two stepped over the officers, who had both been knocked unconscious. He couldn’t wrap his head around how this man overcame two officers and Aaron Hotchner. But he wasn’t given much time to think about it because he was soon being shoved into the back seat of a car.

♡♡♡

At 5:30 am, JJ was woken up by her phone ringing. She untangled herself from Emily’s arms and moved to grab her phone from the nightstand.

“This is Agent Jareau.” She mumbled tiredly into the phone.

“Agent Jareau, there’s been an accident.” The Captain said into the phone. This woke her up immediately

“What happened?” She asked, starting to shake Emily to wake her up,

“The officers and Agent Hotchner have been hurt and… Dr. Reid is gone.” The Captain said, “Can you get to Dr. Reid’s apartment right now.” JJ could hear her heart pounding in her ears.

“Yes, yes, we’ll be there in a few.” She said, hanging up the phone. She pulled some clothes on quickly and shook Emily again, “Em, Emily!” The older woman opened her eyes and looked at JJ, “Spence has been taken… Hotch is hurt.” Emily was up in seconds and getting dressed before following JJ down the hall of the hotel. The two women rushed down the hall, banging on the doors of the other agents to get them up. The team rushed to the SUV and headed to the crime scene.

♡♡♡

Spencer was… devastated. He couldn’t understand why his mentor would just up and leave like this. Of course, he knew the reasons. He read the letter. But it just didn’t make sense. He was the entire reason that Spencer had even joined the BAU in the first place. He felt… Well he wasn’t sure there was a name for the concoction of emotions that he currently felt. He stuffed the letter into his messenger bag.

When he got back into town, he honestly wasn’t sure where to go. He considered going back to his apartment, but he honestly wasn’t sure that he could handle being alone right now. He thought about going to JJ’s apartment, but he didn’t want to put this on her right now. His last resort was… Aaron. He bit his lip, getting on the bus that would take him closest to Aaron’s neighborhood. It had been a while since they’d… But Spencer didn’t want to be alone right now so he stepped off the bus and walked the rest of the way to the older man’s apartment.

Aaron was in his kitchen preparing himself dinner when he heard the doorbell ring. He set down the spoon and wiped some food off his hands before approaching the door. He looked out the peephole and was surprised to see Spencer standing there. They’d met at Spencer’s apartment every other time, Spencer had only been in his apartment once when the team had come over for dinner. He opened the door.

“Spencer?” He asked, the young man was fiddling with his hands more than usual. He looked so… distraught, “Did something happen?” Aaron asked. Spencer finally made eye contact with him.

“He… He left. Can you believe that? And… And he didn’t even say goodbye, he just wrote a letter! I-” Spencer bean rambling, but he was cut short by Aaron,

“Wait, who left? Spencer, why don’t you come in and we can discuss it.” Aaron said. Spencer nodded and let out a sigh before entering the apartment. Aaron led him to the kitchen so he could continue making dinner.

“Okay, so tell me now. What happened?” Aaron asked, now that he had Spencer calmed down and sitting.

“Gideon left and he;s not coming back.” Spencer said, barely above a whisper. He pulled out the letter and handed it to Aaron.

“Oh…”

♡♡♡

Spencer found himself, now, tied to a chair. Devin had left him alone in the basement of, what Spencer assumed was, his house. Spencer had considered yelling for help, but the man hadn’t blindfolded him during the drive so Spencer knew he was in the middle of, pretty much, nowhere. The ropes were digging into Spencer’s wrist, but he realized he wasn’t as scared as the last time he was kidnapped. Sure he was scared, but this man profiled much differently than Tobias Hankel. He continued to tell himself that if he just played into the fantasy then he would be okay. He just hoped the team would find him before he had to get too much into the fantasy.

Footsteps were heard descending the stairs and Spencer braced himself for whatever Devin had in store. He thought, again, about the profile. The man wasn’t a sadist, so he was sure that he wouldn’t be tortured. Really, the man was almost like a stalker that had gone too far. The men he killed were all surrogates for Spencer that just didn’t live up to the fantasy.

“Finally, I have you here Spencer. I designed the basement just for you.” He said, “I hope that you like it…” Devin seemed to have calmed down from how he was earlier, he seemed so angry at first but now it was clear he just wanted to impress Spencer. Spencer gave him his best smile.

“It's perfect, Devin.” Spencer said, looking around. The space wasn’t small, but it wasn’t huge either. There was a bed positioned in the center of one wall that looked to be ready for a couple of newlyweds on their honeymoon. Rose petals were scattered all over the bed and in a path leading up to the bed. There were candles on the bedside tables as well. There were also some bookshelves lining the wall on the other side of the room along with a comfy looking chair, “Maybe, um, maybe you could read to me, or I could read to you. What books do you have?” Spencer asked, trying to bond with the man.

“Oh I have all the classics, should we start with Of Mice and Men?” He asked. Spencer smiled,

“That sounds great.” He spoke softly. He thought back to the image of Aaron lying unconscious on his living room floor and he just hoped that someone had found him and gotten him help.

♡♡♡

There were police cars surrounding Spencer’s apartment complex when the team arrived. The team made their way inside and up to the apartment, where they were greeted by The Captain.

“So, they took Agent Hotchner and Officer Shay to the hospital. All of them had minimal injuries, so they should make a quick recovery. The other Officer, Officer Kris, wasn’t injured.” The Captain spoke.

“What happened here?” Rossi asked, looking around the apartment. It was clear that there had been a struggle. The furniture had been pushed around and things that had been on the coffee table and end tables were scattered around the floor.

“Kris says that he and Shay were standing guard when there was a scream from down the hall. It sounded like someone was being attacked, so Kris went to that apartment. It was a domestic violence situation and Kris apprehended the man, but as soon as he was gone someone knocked out Shay and entered the apartment. I guess he got the upperhand on Agent Hotchner as well because he was on the floor here,” The Captain motioned to an area marked with a small number.

“It looks like someone… Wrote something, here in blood.” Morgan said, taking a closer look at it, “It says ‘Age’.” he said.

“What could that mean?” The Captain asked,

“Well, its in Hotch’s blood… Maybe he wrote it…” JJ suggested.

“He was out cold, though.” The Captain pointed out, “Would the guy we’re looking for have done it?”

“Its not likely, it doesn’t make any sense if he did.” Tara said, “Maybe Spencer wrote it? I mean, if the unsub believes that he is in love with Spencer, then Spencer may have asked to see Hotch before they left.” THe others nodded,

“So why did Spencer choose to leave this massage?” The Captain asked,

“Maybe we have the age in our profile wrong. We said it was someone Spencer’s age, but what if they are older? Maybe one of the other professors?” Morgan said, “We were looking at older students, but I’m going to call Garcia and get a list of staff.” He said, walking away and pulling out his phone. The others were led by The Captain into Spencer’s bedroom.

♡♡♡

Spencer was a wreck, Aaron had read over the letter while Spencer fidgeted and squirmed in his seat, waiting for the older man to be done. He began repeating the words he’d read only hours before in his own head. When Aaron finished he sat the paper down.

“I’m sorry, Spencer… But he has a lot of good reasons to leave.” Aaron said, Spencer didn’t look at him, instead, he stared down at his hands. Aaron went to pull the pot of spaghetti sauce to the side, since it was done, he then added the sauce to the noodles he’d prepared and got two bowls out of the cabinet.

“Do… Am I ever going to see him again?” Spencer said, his voice was quiet. Aaron filled each bowl with the Spaghetti and then added some parmesan to each.

“I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if you visited him.” Aaron said. Spencer let out a sigh and put the letter back into his bag, “Here, Spencer. You need to eat.” Aaron said, setting the bowl in front of him. Spencer grabbed the fork and mixed it around a little before taking a bite.

“Aaron, this isn’t very good.” Spencer said, Aaron gave him a smile,

“I never said I was a good cook.” He replied. Spencer couldn’t help but smile, God his smile is so contagious was all he thought before he continued to eat the food that had been provided to him.

♡♡♡

As soon as he regained consciousness, Aaron shot up in the bed. His first thought was Spencer, I gotta find Spencer. He pulled the iv out of his arm and stood up, wobbly on his feet, and started looking for his clothes. A nurse ran in,

“Mr. Hotchner, you need to lay back down.” She said, He shook his head and immediately regretted it when he felt like he might fall over. THe nurse rushed to his side and tried to guide him back to bed.

“No, No! I need to find him- I- he-”

“Sh, you need to lay back down.” She spoke softly. Aaron reluctantly followed her movements. She got him back in the bed,

“We’re going to have to give you a new IV.” She said, exiting the room. As soon as she was out, JJ entered the room.

“Hotch-”

“JJ, you need to get me out of here- Spencer- he took him. I- How could I have let that happen?” He said, quickly,

“Hotch, you can’t blame yourself. You fought him hard, but you were also tired and-”

“What do we know?” Aaron interrupted her, not wanting to hear the pity in her voice any more.

“We have three suspects. Spencer wrote a message next to you about the age of the unsub, so we looked at the staff. We have 2 professors and a janitor that fit the profile.”

“Show me.” He said, “I saw him. I can identify him.” Aaron said, JJ nodded and pulled out her phone. She showed Aaron the three suspects, “Him, its him.” Aaron said, quickly pointing to one of the men.

“That’s Professor Devin Harding.” She said, “He’s 40 years old and he had just lost a fiance that looks a lot like Spencer before the killings started.” She explained, “There was a car accident and his fiance was in a coma for seven days before he died.” Aaron sighed,

“So how does Spencer fit in?” Aaron asked,

“Well, we believe that he saw Spencer and the resemblance and it triggered an obsession.” She bit her lip, “I’m gonna call the team and let them know.” JJ said. Aaron nodded and relaxed back into the hospital bed. The nurse came back in to give him the IV.

JJ dialed Rossi who was at the station with the rest of the team,

“He confirmed that it was Harding. We need to get an address from Penelope.” She said,

“She’s already sent it. I’m gonna send Morgan and Prentiss to check it out.” Rossi said, “Why don’t you stay there so you can update us on his condition.” Rossi suggested,

“Yeah, he’s alright. The doctor said he has a pretty bad concussion and they suggested he not fly for a week or two.”

“Okay, well let us know if anything changes.”

“Alright.” JJ hung up the phone and went back into Aaron’s hospital room. THe nurse had just finished and she gave JJ a smile,

“Please make sure he keeps it in this time.” She said, before exiting the room. JJ nodded and sat in a chair beside her boss’s bed.

“Are they going to his house?” Aaron asked. JJ nodded,

“Morgan and Prentiss are. We’re going to get him back, I promise.” She said, She thought about what Spencer had told her. She could tell that he still loved the older man and after taking another look at Aaron’s behavior, she figured he was in love as well, “Um… Spencer,” She bit her lip, debating whether or not to say this, “Spencer told me… About you guys…” She said, Aaron closed his eyes and pursed his lips, trying not to start crying.

“He did? What, um, what did he say?” Aaron said when he finally opened his eyes. JJ squeezed her hands together,

“I… I don’t want to betray his confidence, but… I think he loves you.” She said, Aaron’s face heated up and he couldn’t stop the tears this time, “And I think… I think you might love him…” Aaron reached up to wipe the tears as they fell,

“I… I do.” She sighed, finally admitting it, “I love him.” He said, choking back a sob.

“You need to tell him that… When we find him… He needs to know because he loves you too, Aaron.” She spoke in a soft, but firm voice. Aaron looked at her.

“Okay… I’ll tell him.” He said.

♡♡♡

Spencer was alone again, but at least now he was untied. He walked around the basement, studying everything. There wasn’t a way out, he’d already tried the door and the small basement windows. The windows were made out of plexiglass and Spencer wasn’t strong enough to even crack it. He sighed and looked over all of the books that were on the shelves. They were all books that he enjoyed, he pulled out an older looking book that didn’t have a name on the spine. On the front in faded, gold letters it said “DIARY”. He bit his lip, he wasn’t one to usually snoop, but he figured that he was being held captive, so he didn’t really care about his captor’s privacy.

He opened it to the first page and read,

I can’t believe that I’m writing a diary, but the grief counselor thought it would be best for me to keep my feelings written down. I still can’t believe that Danny died. He was so young and we were so close to getting married. I still don’t understand how writing about his death could possibly help me

Spencer flipped a couple of pages and then he saw his name. The date was not a familiar one to Spencer, but he knew that with stalkers even the smallest thing can be big to them, He read;

I met the most brilliant young professor today. He’s so handsome and he looks exactly like Danny. My classroom got moved to a different building and now it's across the hall from Doctor Spencer Reid. He has 3 PHDs and 3 BA’s. He’s so smart and I just know that someday I’ll have him.

Spencer shivered a bit, but he couldn’t stop reading. He flipped a few more pages until he saw the date of the first abduction. He glanced up the stairs before reading again,

Joshua Davids is his name. I met him in a bar and he came home with me. I thought maybe I could have him since he’s attractive enough. I know Dr. Reid used to be in the FBI and I just think that I need to do something to get his attention… This could be it. But… Maybe Joshua will work… Maybe I won’t need Dr. Reid.

Spencer bit his lip and continued reading through the entries. There were entries for all the victims and a lot of details about how they didn’t live up to the expectations that man had set for them. Spencer felt a little bit like he might throw up, but he hadn’t eaten for a while so he figured he probably’ wouldn’t throw up. He put the diary back on the shelf when he heard the door open. He grabbed a different book and pretended like he’d been reading it.

“Spencer~” The man sang out, “I brought your favorite, Thai!” He said. Spencer thought about all the times he’d had Thai food delivered to the college. It wasn’t his favorite, but he did eat it a lot. It made him feel sick to know this guy had been watching everything…

“Oh, that sounds great.” He forced himself to say with a smile. Devin smiled as well and sat at the table that was down there. He handed Spencer a box and began eating. Spencer stared at it, then at the plastic fork that was sitting next to it. He thought about plunging the fork into the man’s neck and he thought about grabbing the man’s keys and running away, but the fork was plastic and he was sure that if his plan didn’t work, then he may just end up dead. He reluctantly began eating the food.

♡♡♡

After eating in mostly silence, Spencer grabbed his bag and stood up,

“Okay… Well I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.” Spencer said, Aaron gave him a small smiled,

“You don’t want to stay?” He asked. For a moment, Spencer thought that his boss sounded almost hopeful. Spencer studies his face,

“Do- Do you want me to stay?” He asked, hoping that he didn’t sound too hopeful. Aaron stood up, standing right in front of Spencer. They were close enough that if Spencer just leaned forward he could kiss him… And he did. Aaron’s hands went to Spencer’s hips as they kissed, Spencer’s arms found their way around Aaron’s neck. Aaron pulled Spencer so that their bodies were flush and soon the kiss turned from slow and passionate to fast and needy. Aaron lifted Spencer so that he sat on the counter and Spencer pushed his bag off his shoulders and let it fall to the floor. Aaron’s hands wandered under Spencer’s shirt and up his torso.

“Aaron… Fu- I need you…” Spencer whimpered.

“Mm, I know, babe. Sh, I’ve got you.” Aaron’s voice was deep. He pulled Spencer's shirt off, followed by his own. Spencer shivered a bit, but he leaned his head against the top cabinets as Aaron’s lips began to mouth along his neck and collarbone. Spencer twisted his fingers into Aaron’s hair and moaned as the older man sucked a deep red mark on his neck.

Aaron stood back and stared at the man sitting on his counter. “Fuck,” He whispered under his breath. He pulled off the T-shirt that he had been wearing since he got home and then followed it with his running shorts. Spencer watched him from the counter, trying to push his own slacks off. Aaron helped him out of the pants.

“Fuck, let- lets go to my room.” Aaron said, easily lifting Spencer and carrying him to the aforementioned bedroom. He dropped Spencer on the soft sheets and Spencer felt himself relax into the scent of that was so Aaron. The older man was over him in seconds, kissing him again. Spencer wrapped his legs around Aaron’s hips, pulling them down into his own. Aaron groaned as his own hard cock made contact with Spencer’s.

“I need these underwear off.” Spencer whined, tugging at the waistband of Aaron’s boxers.

“Mm, be patient.” Aaron said with a fond smile, “Here let me-” Aaron started pulling off his boxers, “Okay, okay, now yours.” He said. Spencer looked up at Aaron.

“Fuck- Please just-” Aaron interupted him with another kiss. The two pushed their hips together again, grinding desperately against one another. Aaron reached over to the nightstand and pulled the lube from the drawer. He coated his fingers in the slick substance and pushed two fingers into Spencer’s desperate hole. Spencer gasped and arched off the bed. Aaron kissed around Spencer’s stomach as he scissored his fingers. Soon, he was able to get a third finger in and Spencer was letting out the prettiest moans.

“God, Spence, your- fuck.” He murmured, sucking another mark on Spencer’s hip bone. Spencer whimpered. When Aaron felt he was stretched enough, he rubbed the rest of the lube on his cock before pushing into Spencer slowly. Spencer whined and gripped Aaron’s shoulders. The older man began thrusting, slow at first. Spencer moaned softly, moving one of his hands down to stroke his own cock. Aaron’s eyes were closed and Spencer thought, for a moment, that Aaron looked beautiful.

“Ah~ Aaron- fuck!” Spencer moaned as the older man drilled into his prostate, “Fuckfuckfuck.” He felt his legs shaking and Aaron was thrusting hard and deeper and faster.

“God, Spence, you’re so fucking-” Aaron groaned when he felt Spencer’s nails scratch down his shoulders. Spencer moaned again,

“Aaron- Aaron please- I’m-”

“Mhm, me to, me to.” Aaron pushed Spencer’s hand away, beginning to stroke the younger man’s cock himself. Spencer threw his head back ,moaning as he came, coating his and Aaron’s stomachs. Aaron moaned when the doctor clenched around him and he painted his insides with his own cum.

“God- fuck-” Spencer panted, collapsing on the bed. Aaron grabbed a towel from the floor and cleaned both of them up before laying beside Spencer, who was already drifting off. Aaron smiled a bit, to himself. He planted a few kisses on Spencer’s shoulder. I love you, Spencer. He thought about saying, but he bit his lip, swallowing the words and laying next to him. He wrapped his arms around Spencer and fell asleep.

♡♡♡

“They searched Harding’s apartment and no one was there… He had… He had a closet full of pictures of Spence…” JJ informed Aaron. Aaron sighed,

“Have… Is there an address in the fiance’s name?” He asked, JJ nodded,

“He has a house out in the middle of nowhere, pretty much. They’re getting SWAT ready and they're on their way. Aaron nodded slowly.

“You should go, JJ. Spencer would want you there.” He said,

“No, no I’m staying with you, Hotch. I’ll be here when they bring him in.” JJ said. Hotch sighed and laid his head back, closing his eyes. JJ sat back in her chair. She hoped that they would find him soon.

♡♡♡

“Who… Who’s Danny?” Spencer asked, once they had finished eating, Devin was throwing away the trash and he froze.

“I- I don’t-”

“I found the Diary.” Spencer said, “You mentioned him in there.” Spencer looked at him. Devin turned around,

“You shouldn’t have read that, Spencer… He’s gone now, so it doesn’t matter.” Spencer bit his lip,

“You want us to be together, right? We can’t keep secrets from each other.” Devin’s brows furrowed.

“Who was that man with you tonight, huh? Were you banging him?” Spencer raised his eyebrows,

“He was an FBI agent, he… They were worried about you taking me so he was guarding me.” Devin glared at him,

“They aren’t going to find you… You’re mine now. Danny- he led me to you.” The man said,

“How did Danny lead you to me?” Spencer asked, Devin closed his eyes,

“You’re so much like him… I tried to find others since you were too close… I knew they would make a connection with you but the others were wrong. You’re the one I was supposed to find.” Spencer swallowed as the man got closer, he pulled Spencer up by his arm and pulled him towards the bed. Spencer bit his lip,

“No, NO!” He protested, trying to pull away from the man,

“You’re just delaying the inevitable, lets go.” He said, practically growling. Spencer felt tears form in his eyes but he shook his head,

“I can’t- I can’t do that… Not now… Not-”

“You can and you will.” He said, throwing Spencer to the bed. Spencer looked around, trying to find anything he could use to fight back. The man moved over him and Spencer began kicking and pushing, trying everything to get the man off of him. The man froze when he heard footsteps above them. He immediately put a hand over Spencer’s mouth and pulled a knife from his pocket. The door to the basement was kicked in and Multiple SWAT agents descended the steps, followed by Derek and Emily.

“Devin Harding, its the FBI. You need to drop the knife.” Morgan warned, his gun trained on the man holding his friend. Spencer’s tears had started falling and Emily looked at him,

“It's okay, Spencer, just tell him it’s alright.” She looked at Devin, “We want to let you be with him, he wants to be with you…” She started, “But you took him without telling anyone and we were worried, but if you drop the knife we can help you, you guys can be together.” She said calmly. Devin’s hands shook,

“No, no you’re going to take him away from me…” He said, tightening his grip on Spencer. Spencer shook his head, Emily’s face softened and she put her gun back in its holster,

“No, that’s not true. We just need to ask you both some questions to make sure everythings alright. Spencer will tell you.” She said, Spencer nodded and looked at Devin,

“Its- Its true, just drop the knife and they can let us be.” Spencer said. Devin finally dropped the knife and Emily moved to help Spencer up, Derek pulled Devin off the bed and shoved him into the wall, roughly. He cuffed the man’s hands and dragged him away. Spencer collapsed into Emily’s arms, sobbing. Emily hugged him close to her.

“Sh, sh, it’s gonna be okay.” She said. She took Spencer upstairs and got him into the ambulance. Spencer was wrapped in a blanket and the EMT began looking over him.

“You’ve got some cuts and bruises, but you’ll be alright. We're going to take you to the hospital for a closer inspection, though.” The EMT said. Spencer nodded and looked at Emily,

“Where’s Aaron? Is he okay?” He asked, Emily nodded,

“He is, he’s at the hospital. He’s got a concussion, but he’s alright.” She said, giving Spencer’s hand a squeeze,

“Can you ride with me?” She nodded and climbed in the ambulance with him.

♡♡♡

“They got him, they found Spence.” JJ said, after hanging up the phone. Aaron sat up,

“Are they bringing him here?” He asked, she nodded,

“He’ll be here in 45 minutes.” Aaron sighed in relief and laid back on the bed again.

“Is he okay?” JJ nodded,

“They’re going to have him stay a night for observation, to make sure he doesn’t go into shock or anything, but he’s alright.” She said, Aaron sighed.

“Good… I’m supposed to be released in the morning, correct?”

“Yep.” JJ smiled, “Are you still going to talk to him?” Aaron blushed a bit,

“I… I think so.” He said, “He’s just been through a lot though… I don’t want him to think I’m taking advantage.” Aaron bit his lip,

“He’s not going to think that, Hotch.” JJ said, Aaron didn’t look like he believed her, but he nodded anyway.

♡♡♡

Friday morning, Aaron and Spencer were both released from the hospital. Aaron sat on the bench outside of the hospital, waiting for Spencer to come out. When he saw the young man walk out, he stood and approached him.

“Spencer… I’m so sorry… I- I shouldn’t-” Aaron started, Spencer shook his head,

“No, stop I- I don’t want to think about… Any of that…” Spencer sighed, “Please…” Aaron nodded,

“Of course… Of course.” He said, “Is… Is JJ picking you up as well?” He asked. Spencer didn’t look at him,

“She is.” He said, Aaron bit his lip,

“I- Can you- Can you look at me?” Aaron said, Spencer finally looked at him,

“Aaron I-”

“I love you.” Aaron said, quickly. Spencer’s face was a mix of emotions, he looked shocked and happy and confused and…

“Aaron… You- I-”

“Its okay, if you don’t-” He was interrupted by Spencer pulling him into a kiss, saying everything that he needed to say inside the kiss.

The End :)

#criminal minds #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid #aaron hotchner #hotchreid #criminal minds fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction

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empty-pizza · 1 year

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thoughts on gideon the ninth chapter thirty-one

oh shit we're getting the harrow infodump

not sure why we're doing it in the pool but sure

salt water? uh ok i guess

so harrow figured out protesilaus (i am SO sick of remembering how to spell his name) was prolly dead from day one

someone else DID kill him, or at least as much as you can kill a thing like that, but she doesn't know who

man it does not feel like harrow is revealing she's the killer which is a real bad turn for my theory. oh well. unless she's lying, but her lying at a time like this would be a very bold and difficult thing for an author to pull off.

so harrow thought palamedes or dulcinea were the threats, and going to attack her. trying to save gideon. and thought gideon would trust dulcinea more. this is, admittedly, all making sense. my theory did attempt to explain why harrow would send gideon off with the teens, but this makes sense too.

"If my heart had a dick you would kick it" the quote of all time

lots of great nuances to this chapter, genuinely, like harrow acknowledging the possibility that gideon could have killed her, but my mind is still on the heart dick line

if it's not harrow, then at least harrow is struggling as much as i am to figure out the culprit (i am still coping and thinking it might be harrow though because i wanted to be right)

very thematically meaningful backstory to harrow, really puts the weight on her shoulders into context. and i think silas throwing out accusations at that was really just tossing around various suspicion of why he thinks harrow is evil, not building a specific case in any form.

and gideon? gideon was too fucking cracked to die, even as a baby. bad ass. lmfaooo even harrow's parents were scared of her. this is awesome. top 10 babies i've seen in fiction.

wait harrow fucking SUCCEEDED. she was a cracked enough necromancer to make it through the door and do whatever the fuck she had to do in there? and even her parents didn't get it, and killed themselves out of fear of consequence for the betrayal? shit man this is all coming together.

what clinches it for me that harrow can't be the culprit is that harrow values life. that is now essential to her character in a way i wasn't aware of before. she has to value life, because that backs up her self-loathing at the sacrifice of life that was necessary for her existence. therefore, she can't be the killer. shame. i had a lot of fun putting that theory together.

anyway, back to the infodump — oh shit it wasn't an infodump it was harrow at her absolute emotional lowest and gideon being there for her. wasn't ready for that.

so harrow still sees the locked tomb as something that needs to be protected. why? hmm.

ooh it's a girl in there. spicy. in a cold kind of way, given that she's apparently frozen. and harrow caught feelings. wild. and the exploding shuttle had a perfectly reasonable explanation.

the question (one of many) that remains is, who is the culprit, then? harrow couldn't figure it out. there are only so many possibilities. i don't know what else the clues would be. it's almost possible that this is an experimental story, like many of its inspirations, and goes for something surprising, but hopefully fitting, that subverts the expectation of a human culprit.

good chapter.

#pizza reads locked tomb #the locked tomb #tlt

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bookishjules · 5 months

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Here I am again ....the one with the Simon in the wild bestie

Hehe it's so sweet of you to invite me over for tea 😄

So yeah for the Morgenstern essay I still haven't typed it out ...but it's basically like Clary (protagonist) and Sebastian (antagonist) both were Morgensterns. It's a tainted name in the shadowhunters community right? So my point is something isn't always inherently bad ...it's the circumstances or the fate (or the plot 😗) which makes them bad. Now for Jonathan/ Sebastian bro had been going through torture for all his life as the demon blood burns shadowhunters. He was Raised to be a weapon unlike Jace who was atleast taught other stuff. Upbringing matters a lot in shaping those characters, shaping their powers. Like for comparison if you look at Jace when he was a Wayland...when he was a Morgenstern....when he is a herondale... there's a slight difference in the way he's written or the way he fights ... he's still the same Jace but there's this minute difference you'd notice. So basically the background you're Given also matters a lot ...which happened with Sebastian. If he was given a non-Valentine life/ background....if his blood wasn't infused...if he was brought up in a normal way he'd have definitely led a better life As a Morgenstern and wouldn't have been the one manipulated into being the villian .... maybe he'd have still turned out to be a antagonist who knows. But atleast throughout his life he'd have felt light the way he felt while dying. Maybe clary's fate would've changed if they grew up as siblings who knows. The Morgensterns we've seen till now are all fucked in the head fr. Like even Clary could've gotten her villian arc easily...the clave anyways did not trust her as she was a Morgenstern.

To sum it up ....I feel Morgensterns have a dominant dark side n would be the bad guy ...but you always get a choice to choose your path even if you're blinded by the fate

(I hope my word vomit made sense....I mean these were basically facts which already existed I just typed out my thought process)

Oh for the guy thing ... nothing romantic is going on in plain sight but there gave been moments... really sweet ones. Oh btw last week I sent him the thing I wrote which said 'i want to be written about ' .....as my bday gift guy wrote for me ..which made my day

Anyways I hope you're doing okayyy ヾ⁠(⁠･⁠ω⁠･⁠*⁠)⁠ﾉヾ⁠(⁠･⁠ω⁠･⁠*⁠)⁠ﾉ

The nature of last names in the shadowhunters world is such a compelling one, and you're right, it's absolutely something of a metaphor for choosing who you become, who you are. Even during ascension, there's a certain amount of this. You pick a name that you want to be like. You don't pick a name like Morgenstern.

Except... There's also an amount of reclamation when it comes to last names. Gabriel and Gideon worked hard to make the Lightwood name mean something good again after their father tainted it, and I think a large part of their ability to do that comes from Tatiana denouncing the Lightwood name at the same time.

A name doesn't dictate personality, of course, but it does have a certain sway in how you are treated by other shadowhunters, which of course, informs the way you act. It's a whole thing in developmental psychology; natural/genetic temperaments garner certain reactions, which then controls how a child is parented etc., which then has a hand in which other personality traits etc. come to the surface. I think this is very similar to how shadowhunters are raised according to their last name, and how, so often we see a change of name being an indicator of a change of self--because it can be difficult to change when you are still being perceived a certain way.

As for where this leaves us with the Morgensterns... Green-eyed Jonathan is often associated with the last name Fairchild, and I think the reason why is clear. There's an amount of hope there, for a person who never got to be a person--that he would turn out to be better than the man who raised him. And if he had been raised a Morgenstern, even without the demon blood, I do think it would have been more likely for him to become an antagonist, than if he had been raised a Fairchild, simply because one name has a much more negative connotation than the other--especially in the time that Jonathan was being raised. People would have treated him differently as a Morgenstern than they would a Fairchild.

If we're following the logic that somehow Valentine was not a presence in his childhood, this would all have to circle back to Jocelyn, and her decision whether to keep her husband's name or not. I do think there could be scenarios where she did, but I would be more inclined to believe that she would at the very least return to being Jocelyn Fairchild and raise her son with the same name. No, this wouldn't make him immune to the reactions of other shadowhunters, but I do think the choice to step away from the tainted name would be recognized and acknowledged in a positive way. We see a little bit of the opposite happen with Clary, iirc, when she takes up Heosphoros, but she was already at a point, then, when she was ready to treat Morgenstern in a similar way to how Gideon and Gabriel would have treated Lightwood after the events of TID.

It would be so interesting to see how such reclamation would have played out if Clary and Jonathan had been raised as siblings. Would Clary see the way her brother was treated for a name he didn't even use and get angry for him? Would Jonathan work hard to be a good example for his sister, a good steward of the family he was born into? Or would it be something of the opposite? Or would they ever even try to reclaim that name? No Valentine means no "Sebastian" means no continued conversation surrounding the name Morgenstern...

I guess what I'm saying is that maybe there is an inheritable darkness in the Morgensterns, but I think it's possible that the name does as much, if not more, than the genes themselves. Morgensterns have been the bad guys, so they will be painted as such, and future Morgensterns will then have an inclination to fill the shoes and be the bad guys.

Sorry for such a long response!! That essay of sorts really sent some gears spinning I guess lol thank you for sharing!!! (Also happy belated birthday!!!!!! <33)

#also that's such a sweet and thoughtful gift from the guy omg <33 #simon anon #asks #tsc

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boredfangirl16 · 2 years

Text

Forced Confessions

Sept 2 of Alastember: Hurt/Comfort

TW: forced coming out

“Why were you following Thomas Lightwood on the night of the murder?” Asks the Inquisitor.

Alastair is bending under the weight of the Mortal Sword. It’s painful to hold even if he is speaking the truth. Let alone when he tries to answer a question like the one just presented to him without saying anything about his feelings for the other man.

“I wanted to protect him,” Alastair says in the steadiest voice he can muster. His chin is tilted upwards and all signs of pain in his face disappear. “Is it not our job to protect fellow shadowhunters?”

The audience to this interrogation includes not only the inquisitor and the consul, but Will Herondale, Tessa Gray, Gideon Lightwood, Sophie Collins, and Eugenia Lightwood. Before the Mortal Sword arrived, Leviathan attacked. The battle had ended less than a mere hour ago, but the people are on edge, so the questioning started as soon as possible. Thankfully because of this, it is an impromptu questioning and doesn’t warrant all of the esteemed members of the Clave. Not that he cares about the majority of them, only one persistent red head. He doesn’t know what he would say under this influence with Charles before him.

“A noble reason,” the Consul nods. “But I must inquire how you knew of his secret patrols or why you thought this night in particular he would be in danger?”

“I was on a walk late one Thursday night and saw him out and about by himself. After a few weeks I noticed there was a pattern to the days he went out and followed him each opportunity I could,” Alastair says dragging out each of his words. He hates the way the sword makes him speak. ”I had no clue that this night in particular he would be in danger. I’ve been following him for weeks.”

Eyebrows raise, but no one comments on how strange of a confession that was. He doesn’t dare to look at Thomas.

“And you didn’t inform his family or friends of his whereabouts? Or the Clave of his reckless behavior? Why?” The Inquisitor questions with a harsh voice.

“I am not on particularly good terms with his friends nor his family,” Alastair pushes out. It was the closest to lying that the sword would allow him. “I did not want the Clave to punish him for actions with noble intent.”

“You are not on good terms with his friends or family, yet you followed him for weeks. What compelled you to do such a thing?” The Inquisitor asks. He can answer that vaguely. It was worded in such a way that he just may be able to avoid certain answers. “What is your relationship to Thomas Lightwood?” Bloody hell.

Alastair has only a moment to hold back his words and he takes that time to look at Thomas. His face has gone sheet white. He knows the implications of that last question as much as Alastair himself does. The only thing he can do is save Thomas from any incrimination. Alastair’s fate was sealed the moment the question was asked, but Thomas’s doesn’t have to be.

“I have romantic feelings for Thomas Lightwood,” he says as he closes his eyes. The sword keeps pulling at him and words just flow from his mouth. “Our relationship is complicated given—.”

“That is enough, Alastair Carstairs,” says the consul, interrupting whatever damning thing he was about to say about their relationship. He still doesn’t open his eyes. “This questioning has moved onto unrelated matters. Based on the answers to the questions we have presented, I can conclude that both Thomas Lightwood and Alastair Carstairs are innocent in the crime of the London serial killings.”

The sword is heavy, but no longer pulls at him. It is a small relief, but given his confession it does little to ease the queasiness in the pit of his stomach. He may not have wanted to be anyone’s secret, but this is not the way he wanted this to go about. His choice was ripped away from him by that damned sword and there was not a thing he could do to stop it.

Alastair finally opens his eyes to see he faces of the onlookers to this trial. The consul looks just slightly remorseful, as if she actually feels bad about the whole thing. The Herondales look mildly surprised, but there is glint to Will’s eyes that tells Alastair he isn’t all that shocked. Eugenia’s eyes dart between the boys as if she could determine what is between them by look alone. Thomas’s parents have wide eyes and open mouths. Yet it is the inquisitor that truly frightens Alastair. If he wasn’t in attendance today, there might’ve been a small chance that his secret would have never let the people in this room. The look on Bridgestock’s face tells him that won’t be true.

“Are we excused?” Alastair asks. The sword still sitting in his hands like a rock anchoring him to this room.

“Yes,” the consul says. “You are both excused.”

She walks over to take the sword from his hands and Alastair darts out of the room the minute it is gone.

Before he is out of earshot he does hear the inquisitor say, “We can’t just let him go. He admitted under the sword that is one of those vile bohemians—.”

Alastair runs out of the institute. He runs down the streets. He doesn’t even bother to rune himself, so that mundane don’t see him. All he can do is hold in the tears that threaten to come at any moment. All that he did and sacrificed his childhood for, has been ruined. The Carstairs name wasn’t defiled by Elias’s drinking problem, but by Alastair’s own preferences. This world is cruel and unfair in ways that Alastair has been dealing with since he was nine years old. Yet each time that it hurts him, he is surprised all the same.

He darts into the Carstairs home and locks the door behind him. There is no one here, but him. His mother and Risa are in the silent city, which is a small blessing. They won’t be pestering him about the day’s trial. Cordelia has a husband and will be doing well at their new home. There is no reason she should visit him here.

So, he lets down all his walls and sobs. He falls against the door like a small child, curling into himself. Tears run down his face as his breathe hiccups at the extent of his pain. There is no one here to judge him for doing such a thing. No one to tell him that it isn’t manly to cry or feel anything other than anger. He screams. Again and again and again.

He does one good thing, one selfless thing and this is what he gets in return. All he wanted to do was save Thomas from his own idiotic actions. He just didn’t want him to die. Now look at him. He’s about to be outcasted to the fringes of society, even more so than he already was. Not only is he a Persian man, but of course he also has to be gay. It wasn’t like he already had enough setting him apart from others.

Yet what really hurts is that he didn’t get a choice. It was taken from him in an instant. The news will spread like wildfire and the entire London Enclave will know of his feelings for Thomas. What hell will the Thieves release upon him at that news? It is all so frustrating. It is all so impossible. Is it so much to ask that if he was to ever tell others, he would have wished to do it on his own time? That he wanted to sit down with his maman and Risa, explaining his feelings for someone he is forbidden to love. None of that could ever come to fruition.

His breathe stills for a moment as an ‘unless’ starts to creep into his mind.

Alastair looks up from his spot on the floor and at the clock on the wall. It’s been a good few hours since he arrived. It may be late, but the silent brothers don’t have strict hours of business. News won’t travel down there as fast as it does here. There is still a chance he could get to his maman and tell her himself. It isn’t ideal, but it’s the closest he’ll get to having a choice in the matter.

He looks down at his torn clothes. That won’t do.

As quick as he can Alastair changes into new pants, a white button up, and a decent waistcoat. It’s nothing flashy, but he no longer looks as if he was just attacked by demons. He runs his hands through his hair in an attempt to get it to clam down just a little. It’s still strange seeing it black after he dyed it for the past or so. He still isn’t quite sure if he likes it better or not, but he knows he can’t run forever. He can’t run from the color of his skin, and he can’t run from his taste in men. Better to confront the problem than let it fester for any longer.

He dashed down the stairs and the opens up the door, only to be confronted by one tall, handsome man. The handsome man that got him into his predicament. Not that it’s his fault.

“Alastair,” Thomas says in surprise. “Are you okay?”

“What do you think?“ Alastair snaps. Thomas flinches and he regrets his words. “What happened isn’t your fault, but I think we should stay away from each other for the time being.”

“What? Why?”

Alastair tilts up his chin and rebuilds his walls as quick as they were torn down. His reputation may be shatters, but Thomas’s doesn’t have to be.

“It’ll only be a matter of time before word spreads of my affliction. If you stay close to me, you’ll be under as much suspicion as I am. I’m not going to let you throw away your life for someone as terrible as I am,” Alastair says. “It’s best I get on my way.”

“But—,” Thomas tries to say.

“No,” Alastair interrupts. “It isn’t possible, it won’t ever be.”

Thomas reaches for Alastair’s hands and holds them. “I am already under suspicion,” Thomas said rubbing circles with the pads of his fingers. Such a delicate touch for such a large man. “I do not care what they think. Dooset daaram, Alastair Esfandiyar Carstairs. I will not let you go.”

Alastair had no clue that Thomas spoke Persian, let alone that he knew how to say ‘I love you’ in the language. His system flooded with shock at the words. It had been many years since he had those words from anyone in Farsi.

“I didn’t know that you could speak Farsi,” Alastair points out stupidly.

“I can. I learned it with Lucie when she was doing it for Cordelia. I think I was secretly doing it for you the entire time without knowing it.” Thomas looks at him with love and warmth. “But I do and you don’t have to say it back. I just want you to know that I’m serious about this, about us.”

Alastair whispers, “There shouldn’t be an us.”

“But there is.”

Alastair meets Thomas’s eyes. “I need time to think, Thomas. I was just outed to the entire clave and I need time. I need to tell my maman and Risa before they hear it from anyone else.”

“Of course,” Thomas quickly. “I understand and I’m not trying to make you give me an answer now. I just don’t want you to push me away completely.”

Alastair knew that he should run away while he still can, before he’s completely fallen. It’s what would be best for Thomas. Alastair does not deserve love like his. Yet he cannot help but be intrigued by it. He’s pulled into his orbit against his will and kept there because there is nothing else. There is no one else that will love him like Thomas does. So he desperately grabs at frayed strings knowing he should let go. But he doesn’t.

He goes up onto his toes and pecks Thomas on the cheek. “We’ll discuss this later.”

“Actually?”

“I promise.”

With that Alastair lets go of Thomas’s hands and starts towards one of the entrances to the Silent City. It’s name is quite fitting. A pin being dropped could be heard from here. The Silent Brothers stand at attention with their eyes and mouths sewn shut. It seems like a fate worse than death.

He arrives at the room he was told that his maman resides. He pauses with his hand on the doorknob. Fear overtakes his senses.

“Mr. Carstairs,” says Risa from behind him. She’s holding a tray of food with a grin on her face. “It’s been quite an exciting day for you, hasn’t it?”

“What have you heard?” He asks cautiously.

“Only that we’ll have a new son-in-law soon enough,” Risa chuckles. “But don’t worry, Sona doesn’t know quite yet. I was able to keep the news from her ears.”

Alastair looks down. “Do you care?”

He feels a hand on his cheek, lifting his face up. “Alastair Carstairs I have known you since you were the size of a bean, there is nothing you can do to make me stop loving you. Now go tell your mother before she tries to escape again. She’s been quite antsy this time around.”

Alastair nods and opens the door. The room is almost completely bare with nothing but a cot, a bedside table, and chair. It’s rather dreary without any decorations or color. His mother lays in bed. Her eyes just barely cracked open. It’s evident she’s in pain, even if she is trying to hide it.

“Alastair?” She asks as she sits up against the bed frame. “Whatever are you doing here?”

He doesn’t know where to start. Should he just blurt the words out? Does he need to ease the news in? Will she be disappointed? What if it causes her more stress and hurts the baby? Alastair takes a deep breathe. She’ll hear either way, better it be from him. He can’t back out now.

“I was tried by the Mortal Sword today,” he says slowly. Sona raises an eyebrow. “It wasn’t about anything I’ve done.” He assure her. “I was confirming that Thomas Lightwood isn’t the murderer that’s been roaming the streets of London.”

He pauses. This is more difficult than he thought it would be.

“Alright,” his maman says. She looks more confused than anything. “Did something happen during this trial? You seem bothered.”

Alastair closes his eyes, just like he did when the Mortal Sword was in his hands. “They asked me why I followed him around on his lunatic solo patrols at night. I couldn’t lie, the truth was ripped from my mouth.” He takes one last deep breathe. “I have romantic feelings for him.”

There’s silence. It’s like a black hole he’s getting sucked up in.

“Open your eyes, joon,” his maman says. Reluctantly he does.

His mother’s hands grips his shoulders. Her eyes bore into his soul.

“I’ll be honest with you, I’m surprised and I’m not sure I completely understand,” she says. “But know this, you are my son. Nothing can ever change that. I know I haven’t always been the best mother, but I am so proud of you. And if this makes you happy, then who am I to object?”

Relief washes over Alastair. It’s like a pound of bricks has been lifted off his shoulders in an instant. His eyes well up with tears. Her acceptance is more than he could ever ask for. It’s more than he deserves, really.

“Thank you, maman,” he chokes out.

She smiles at him. “So you do not fancy women at all? Just men?” She asks hesitantly.

“Just men.”

His maman nods. He can almost see the gears in her head turning. “Is Thomas the first boy you’ve liked?”

“No,” Alastair reluctantly says. “I was seeing someone else a few months ago, but I broke it off with him. Thomas is a new development.”

“Who? Do I know him?”

“Charles Fairchild.”

Worry flashes across his mother’s face. “Isn’t he older than you? How long were you two… together?”

“We became friends when I was 14, but we didn’t begin a relationship until I was 16. I went to Paris for my travel year to be with him,” Alastairs says. “I thought it was love. I thought that what he could give me was what I deserved, that it was the best I could do. I was his dirty little secret until I couldn’t stand it another. He was so ashamed of who he was, he got engaged twice during the time we were together. I broke it off at Cordelia’s engagement party.”

His mother wraps her arms around him. “I’m so sorry, my son. You don’t deserve to be treated in such a way. You worth more than you will ever know. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

He leans into the embrace, burrowing his face into his mother’s shoulder. It feels nice to be held, to be taken care of. He would never admit it, but a few tears do escape his eyes. Then she lets go just enough, so that they can look at each other.

“Has Thomas been kind to you?”

“Much kinder than I deserve.”

“You deserve all the kindness in the world, joon. Never let anyone tell you otherwise. When do I get to meet him?”

“What?” Alastair asks shocked.

“Surely, you planned on introducing him to me. Just because this isn’t orthodox doesn’t mean your maman can’t judge the boy you bring home,” she says with a mischievous glint in her eye.

“We aren’t officially together,” Alastair explains. “I didn’t want him to get in any trouble because of me. The entire Clave knows about my preferences by now. He may insist that he’s already under suspect and that it’s too late to save his reputation, but I don’t want to be the one to ruin is life.”

“Does it wish to be with you, even knowing all of this?”

“Yes. He’s quite persistent actually.”

“Then what are doing here talking to me?” His mother exclaims. “Go to Thomas, you silly boy. If you love someone, do not let them go.”

Alastair’s heart is filled with warmth. His maman’s words soothe over the pain of the past day. Her acceptance and her love fills Alastair with hope that he hasn’t felt since he was a small boy.

As he pulls away she whispers, “I am very proud of the man you’ve become.”

Alastair can only nod or else he knows that he would start sobbing. He always thought his mother’s love might be conditional, but now he knows that a mother’s love knows no bounds. The good one’s won’t care about the gender their child fancies or the mistakes they have made in their past.

For love isn’t pain and sacrifice, like he was once led to believe. It isn’t always easy, but it’s the most rewarding thing this world can offer.

#alastair carstairs #thomas lightwood #sona carstairs #risa #thomas x alastair #thomastair #alastember #alastember 2022 #fanfiction #tlh #the last hours

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livia-dovehallow · 1 year

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Hello. I'm the anon that asked about Gabriel, Cecily, Gideon and Sophie for my fic. Thank you so much for answering, I haven't consider the things you mentioned and now I have a lot of ideas to write. I've never written anything so I'm just trying my best. I was wondering if you could also dive in about Henry, Charlotte and Jesse (not Jesse from chain of thorns that was ooc jesse), it would be very helpful.

I have this wild theory about Grace's origin and I'm excited to write it. Thank you.

hi again! i am so glad you found those helpful! i don't write Henry, Charlotte, or Jesse often but I think I definitely have a few pointers to keep in mind to keep them in character :D

Henry

Writing Henry is probably one of the more fun characters to write because he's so sweet and well-meaning. I find that writing him and Christopher are very similar in that way. Henry is so smart but it doesn't always translate well to others, which is why so many people think him to be strange and eccentric. It's just him being excited about his interests! However, he is still very caring and a gentle-giant really. We see an example of this in CP2 when he's standing with Cecily at Chiswick House and he's so awkward about it because he doesn't know how to comfort a fifteen-year-old girl (but Cecily says he was the first to convince her that Shadowhunters weren't all bad!). He loves Charlotte a great deal and will stop what he's doing if she needs his help. The key to writing Henry is to let yourself indulge in your own hyperfixations because that is very likely to be the way Henry feels about his contraptions.

*With Grace, I think he'd talk with her much like he talks with Christopher. Able to speak comfortably about science and all these terms no one else knows because she does know them. Similar to Cecily, I think Henry would be the first adult male to make Grace begin to feel comfortable about her uncles wanting to know her.

Charlotte

Charlotte is someone I would describe as having a quiet but commanding presence. She appears small and defenseless but she will stand up for what she believes in and stick her neck out for people who may have not always given her a reason to (Example A: Gabriel) because she genuinely believes (or wants to believe) that they are good, too. She can be easily frustrated but overall has a calm and welcoming demeanor. Charlotte also has a tendency to stress herself out, which is a reason why I think she and Henry balance each other well. The key with writing Charlotte is to hone in on her ability to lead even when she is unsure of herself because she wants the best for the people she is responsible for.

*With Grace, I think Charlotte would be very similar to Gideon. Practical but also warm and a friendly face to her within the Clave. She would advocate for Grace by emphasizing the things Tatiana put her through and made her do. She'd believe that Grace, if given the chance, would prove herself to be a good person (much like she gave a chance to Gabriel).

Jesse

Focusing strictly on the in-character versions of him from CHOG and CHOI, Jesse is observent and thoughtful. He notices a lot of small things that most people would miss. Perhaps this stems from a childhood of having to watch for signs that Tatiana was on another bender. He might also even be the slightest bit naiive, as he has never been socialized with anyone outside of his mother and Grace, and a single conversation with Gideon, until Lucie was proved to be able to see him, too. When writing Jesse, I would focus on the relationships he established with those who could see him. His concern about his mother's mental state; Grace's wellbeing; keeping Lucie out of trouble. For much of his life, Tatiana ingrained in him that he was the man of the house. That he would carry the Blackthorn name with pride. That had to make him a little anxious for at least a few years and perhaps made him feel protective of those he felt responsible for. We see some of this Grace's flashback of Jesse training her as best he could with the limited knowledge he had himself.

*With Grace, it's important to focus on not only how he views her (his little sister, naiive, unsure of the world) but how Grace views him, too (the only person she has ever truly loved, the only person she has ever felt cared for her in any way, looks up to). I'd suggest looking at other sibling relationships in TSC for some basic inspiration (namely Will/Cecily or Alec/Izzy, perhaps).

#maggie answers #kind anons #writing advice #henry branwell #charlotte fairchild #jesse blackthorn #grace blackthorn

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whump-town · 2 years

Text

Watching early seasons of Criminal Minds has made me put something together about "Profiler, Profiled". Hotch is irrationally angry when he finds Derek's record, expunged though it is, and it only escalated from there. Hotch has to repeat and summarize every conversation he was with Derek for the others, keep them in the loop of what he's figuring out. He's very vocal in this episode, far more than in any other, far more than normal. And yet he's silent when he meets Carl Buford, just stands there. He doesn't know who Carl Buford is.

Derek hasn't said a word, there's no reason for Hotch to have any sort of trepidations about this man. To the best of his knowledge, Carl Buford saved Derek.

But after that encounter Hotch changes. Through-out the entire episode he's been butting heads with Derek. Gideon even points out Hotch starts to talk like Derek is in some way more involved with the crime than previously thought. But Buford says that Derek is just someone who gets people wrapped up, he's very persuasive. He says Derek is a bad guy and it doesn't surprise him that even the BAU could be swept away in his charisma.

Gideon has just had his, "We all have secrets. Would you want us profiling you?" talk so secrets are on his mind.

The next time Hotch goes in, he's different. There is no confrontation, every fact that Hotch rattles off about Carl Buford he makes looking away from Derek. He's LOOKING AT THE GROUND, he's sad, he doesn't even want to say it as he asks, "why don't you visit the man who made your career possible?"

And then Hotch leaves the door open. He. Leaves. The. Door. Open. He lets Derek out of the holding cell.

Hotch knew damn well exactly who Carl Buford was the second he met him and I think he already was pretty sure when he saw Derek's expunged records.

Young kids acting out when they feel powerless and afraid. The same reasons little girls deface their dolls. The same way anyone who works with kids always hears over and over that the kids who push you the hardest are the ones who need your attention the most.

Easiest example, talking about the records: "Seven Seconds". Jeremy, the nephew, steals earrings for a girl he likes and when Hotch mentions it he makes it very clear he's turned over in his head exactly what he thinks is happening. There is no mention of Jeremy being sexually abused but he's acting out, he's still in that situation as the child neglected so his father can pay more attention to his cousin. Hotch says Jeremy has a record at the "ripe age of 13".

It's clear that in Hotch's mind young kids acting out like that almost always turns around and points to abuse (and to be fair, in the show, every time you see a teen being brought in with a record or who teachers say acts oddly they're being abused).

What I'm saying is that if the Criminal Minds writers had a single thought in their fucking heads Hotch and Morgan would have made fantastic story lines for one another in explaining the other's abuse. Parallels.

Why Hotch and Morgan argue like cats and dogs but also get along so well because they both have secrets that are far too similar in nature. They always look out for each other. They have more in common than either wants to admit.

Even why Hotch, of all fucking people, went with Morgan to see Buford (when Morgan would have found more comfort in nearly anyone else).

It would have been a killer plot line, given us so many details about both of them to have Hotch's abuse surface. To see Morgan's reaction the way we saw Hotch's. The team turning on Hotch out of fear but Morgan steady because he knows why Hotch did whatever misdeeds he did as a kid. Probably the same ones Morgan did.

I want to watch Morgan piece Hotch's abuse together

#i hate the writers #it could have been so much #criminal minds #aaron hotchner #derek morgan

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221bshrlocked · 3 years

Text

sweaty hands, reluctant hearts

Pairing: The Mandalorian (Din Djarin) x Fem!Reader

Words: 13685 (god this wasn’t supposed to be this long I’m actually sorry this time)

Warnings: Angst and Smut (my fav). Hurt/Jealous Mando -> Touch Starved/Rough Mando -> Fluffy Mando -> Shy Mando. Penetrative Sex. Oral Sex. There’s lot’s of sweat because exertion yall. Breeding Kink 😏. Slight Exhibitionism. Overstimulation and slight slight non-con because of oversensitivity. Umm, squirting 🙃. Dirty/Sweet talk. Spanking (ass and hoohaa).

Summary: He never thought the day would come when he’d hear you saying you wanted to leave him. Yes there was an understanding between the two of you that you were hired to help him care for the Child and to somehow keep the Razor Crest alive and working. And he knew it made sense for you to find work elsewhere now that the Razor Crest was destroyed and the Child was with his own kind. But he just assumed you weren’t going to leave considering it’s been a couple of months since he’d given the kid to the Jedi and you never brought it up. It hurt hearing you say those words, especially when he realized he wasn’t meant to hear them and that you were confiding in Cobb Vanth of all people. Turns out, all Mando needed was to see the Marshal eye-fucking you as you fixed the new ship and overshared your thoughts for him to snap and finally make a move. Hopefully he can change your mind...

A/N: Yall, this is post Season 2 so sadly Grogu is not here, hence the angst! Umm, this was a lot to handle because you know, that gif here. Enjoy ☺️

It’s been months since the events that transpired on the cruiser. Months since he’d given away a piece of himself to an unknown being. Months since he’d sat down and re-evaluated his life’s mission. He wasn’t sure why he’d chosen to return to Tatooine of all planets but he needed some time to think of his next steps. So much has changed over the course of the past year and it took the Mandalorian longer than usual to realize that he can’t use bounty hunting to fill the void in his heart.

One thing he did know for sure, however, was that he couldn’t have managed to survive the emotional and physical changes without your presence. Somehow, you’ve managed to make his life easier and by a whole lot. He has never felt this grateful for having a companion, maker, didn’t even think it possible to ever consider another as such. He’d spent years and years living by the Creed and never once doubting his way of living, but he found himself questioning everything about himself when you came in. It wasn’t that he was suddenly open to the idea of taking his helmet off or anything, it was more of a passing thought on what it would be like if he were to open up to you more, perhaps even share with you more than his name and an abridged version of how he became a Mandalorian.

He mulled over how he would approach the topic with you, finding himself growing more nervous when he considered how you’d react. You’ve never given him any inclination of ever thinking of him as more than your boss and he knew he needed to figure out a way to make this seem natural and not forced. Frankly, he found it interesting how you managed to read him better than anyone he’s ever met, and he wished he could ask you how you’d done so when he never took off his helmet.

Mando pushed the thought aside for now, cursing to himself as he dragged the giant piece of scrap you’d requested for him to pick up from Peli. He wanted to argue with you then, tell you that the only reason for coming to this awfully hot planet was to take some time off, if that was even possible, and avoid falling into the temptation of another mission. But he couldn’t find it in himself to say any of these things, mostly because you were the one that managed to procure the new ship for him and you were also the one that told him the two of you were in serious need of rest. He’d only realized the ship needed fixing when he landed and you told him you would get right on as soon as he picked up the necessary pieces from Peli. He felt a little out of the loop when he’d gone to her and found her giving him everything you’d requested for, and he knew you must have contacted her before you landed or else she wouldn’t have been this quick.

As he made his way through the quiet “streets” of Mos Pelgo, he thought back to what Peli said to him an hour ago. Had he not considered her as a friend, he would have responded rudely when she bugged him about you. As much as he wished to humor the idea that you looked at him as more than a colleague, partner, whatever it was the two of you were, he didn’t want to grow any more false hope, especially now that he’d already given up the one thing that managed to crawl into his heart.

Mando saw that you’d moved the ship behind the cantina and he chose to blame the heat for the way his skin crawled with goosebumps because no, he didn’t suddenly feel calm at the thought of you.

He shook his head from the intruding thought and was about to say something to you when he saw who was standing nearby. If there was ever a time where he didn’t wish to see Cobb Vanth, it was definitely now. The bounty hunter put down the scraps of metal before moving closer to where the two of you were standing. He was sheltered behind a shack of sorts and allowed his heart rate to return to normal before listening in on you.

“I don’t believe you sweetheart.” The Marshal threw back his drink and shook his head when you shrugged your shoulders at him and Mando felt his stomach twist at the endearment. Since when were the two of you on such a close basis?

“Believe whatever you want Marshal, I was only answering your question. Besides, it’s not like I’m actively looking right now.” Mando watched as you swiped the sweat rolling down your face with the back of your hand and swore when he felt the fabric of his pants grow tighter around his crotch. He felt dirty watching your every move, but he couldn’t take his eyes off of the way your muscles gleamed under the excruciating sun rays. He cursed the day you bought that garment and he recalled back to the first time he watched you work in it. Mando had almost tripped over the child that day because he never expected to see you walking around with the chest binding so visible to his eyes. It was worse when you reached up high for something because if his eyes lingered long enough, he could see your undergarment peeking from the low-hanging pants of the overalls.

The bounty hunter had to take a few deep breaths to move on from the inappropriate thoughts he was having and he narrowed his eyes at Cobb when he saw him walk closer to you.

“Are you ever going to tell him?” The Mandalorian watched as your expression shifted slowly to a more sombre look and he was familiar enough with you to know that you weren’t too happy with that question or the answer you were going to give Cobb.

“I- I don’t know. I wish I could tell him about how I fe- what I’m thinking about but I can’t...and I also can’t just say ‘Hey Mando, I had a blast taking care of the kid and getting hunted by the kriffing Empire. I fixed the ship for you so see you later.’ It’s not right and I didn’t realize it would be this difficult to come to terms with what I have to do. But I can’t keep doing this, it’s not fair.”

Whatever the Mandalorian thought you were going to say, that certainly didn’t make the top of the list. He almost fell back when he registered the meaning behind your words. You wanted to leave. You’ve been wanting to move on for a while and you weren’t sure how to tell him. You were confiding in Cobb Vanth of all people and relying on his opinion to decide what you were going to do. A thousand thoughts flew through his mind and he tried to see if he’d done anything wrong. Besides the whole thing with Gideon and Bo Katana, there wasn’t really anything he’d done that would inspire such a reaction from you. Not that those weren’t enough to change your mind about staying with him but it was all in the past now.

The sound of laughter broke Mando out of his haze and he turned towards you again, watching as you slithered down the ship, clenching his fists tightly when he saw Cobb grab your hips to help you down. He was torn between strutting towards the two of you and punching the daylights out of him and remaining where he was to listen in on your conversation. He had no right to do either, but he needed to know.

“I hate to ask you this question because it defeats the whole purpose of this entire chat but...have you thought of how he’d take it? Should you decide on-” You pointed to something on the floor and Cobb leaned down to grab it for you, handing it and gauging your reaction to his question as you continued to work.

“Why else do you think I’ve been putting this off? Of course I’ve thought of how he’d react. But I deserve more than...ugh, I don’t mind this, I swear I don’t, but I also can’t just sit back and pretend I don’t want more.” You motioned violently to the ship and to what you were doing as you spoke, shaking your head at the man smiling smugly in front of you before throwing out the tools and snatching his drink from him.

Mando couldn’t stand to be near you, not after what he’d heard and certainly not after taking in your body language and the way Cobb was practically undressing you without shame. He stepped back, leaving the scraps where they were and heading to the cantina to take his mind off of what he’d just witnessed. He walked in and paid no mind to the patrons scattered across the room, handing the man behind the counter more credits than he cared to count and asking him for his strongest stuff. He didn’t bother to address the judgmental stare he was receiving and took hold of the bottle before walking out again.

It was close to sunset and the Mandalorian walked until the edge of the town before deciding to continue until he reached a small hill filled with large boulders. Sliding down one of the rocks, he sighed deeply before taking off his helmet, the hissing sound instilling a sense of guilt deep in his chest. He was ashamed at feeling such an emotion towards what he based his entire life on. But he couldn’t take it anymore. His anger rose as he opened the large bottle in his hand, throwing it back until he felt the stinging drink burn his throat for a few seconds before aggressively setting it on the floor next to him.

Mando wasn’t able to put what he was feeling into a proper string of thoughts but he did know it was an odd mixture of hurt and anger with a tiny bit of sexual frustration. He couldn’t get the image of you sweaty and heaving as you worked on his ship out of his mind, shutting his eyes and throwing his head back to meditate back on the way your muscles clenched and pulled every time you molded two metal scraps together or how they positively shined when you carried things across the sand. He’d tried his hardest to set all of these feelings and rather inappropriate thoughts aside but he couldn’t any longer. Not when there was a chance of you leaving him, and perhaps to someone like the Marshal too.

Perhaps it was unwise to deny his heart’s desires for so long and Mando was sure that he’d met his breaking point because he couldn’t stop thinking about you. Normally, he was able to distract himself and force his mind to stray away from conjuring up the filthiest images of you wreathing and crying beneath him as he drove his cock into your heat. But he had no hold over his mind at this moment, not that he was to blame. He went from shutting his own self out to opening the floodgates, and there was no going back.

He sighed heavily when his thoughts shifted to what you said about him and he took a long sip from the bottle before turning his attention to the setting suns. He didn’t know what he could even say if you ever approached the topic with him. You’d been wanting to leave for a while now and somehow managed to hide it from him. All those nights spent running from Moff Gideon and other bounty hunters and you haven’t complained once, choosing to keep it to yourself. He wasn’t sure if he was hurt because you felt the need to hide something like this from him or because you were awfully understanding of how these complaints could distract him.

And then there was the whole thing with the ship. He had assumed that the two of you sort of shared it now but it seemed that you never saw it as belonging to you but only to him. And you went out of your way to fix it now when you didn’t have to. Mando didn’t notice his tears until he licked his drying lips and tasted the saltiness across his mouth. He wiped his cheeks and laughed at himself. When had he become like this? First it was the child and now you.

He wished he could take it all back, to have never met the kid or you. His life was simple and not complicated and now, now he was faced with the prospect of losing you as well. The bounty hunter dismissed the thought as quickly as it came because he knew deep down that it was better to have had the two of you in his life, even for a short while, than to have never known you. It wasn’t ideal but since when was his life ideal?

As the suns set beneath the sky, the Mandalorian looked down and saw that the bottle was still almost full. Not wanting to finish it now, because he might actually need it later when you decide to leave, Mando stood up and slowly made his way back into town. He needed to sleep, not to rest but to put a pause on his rather depressing thoughts if only for a little bit. When he saw the town come into view, he took a deep breath and put his helmet back on.

The town was quieter than usual and the Mandalorian found himself going straight to the ship instead of joining the others. He’d spent the past few days enjoying his nights in the corner of the busy cantina, watching as you won one Sabacc game after another without breaking a sweat while everyone groaned in annoyance at how well you were kicking their asses. But he couldn’t trust himself tonight, not around you and certainly not around the Marshal.

Trying not to bring too much attention to himself, Mando walked past the cantina towards the ship, already thinking of how relieved he’d be once he used the refresher. Going up the ramp, he was about to walk to the small, private room near the cockpit to grab a change of clothes when he heard a loud shriek that sounded a lot like his name coming from the opposite end of the ship. Mando quickly turned around and shut his eyes in exasperation when he saw you approaching him far angrier than he’d ever seen you. He set the bottle down and turned his attention towards you, raising an eyebrow to himself when he saw your chest heaving beneath the chest band. He averted his eyes quickly, refusing to think of you sweaty and breathless under other circumstances. Maker, he couldn’t go no like this.

“Where in the kriffing hell have you been? You were supposed to bring the parts from Peli hours ago and I have to find out from some kid that you just left them on the ground and walked away to- hell, I don’t even know what was more important for you than bringing me the scraps so I could fix the ship? Really, Mando, I understand that it’s been a little weird and difficult lately but I barely ask for anything and, ugh, maker.” You held back from voicing more of your thoughts, afraid that you’ve already gone far with asking him where he was. He didn’t really need to tell you what his business was but you’d assumed the two of you have come to an understanding regarding such matters, at the very least to ensure everyone’s safety.

Mando stood there in silence and took a deep breath before turning around and walking into his room, afraid he’d give himself away if he tried to respond to you.

You furrowed your eyebrows in frustration when he quietly walked away from you, anger rising in your chest as he came out and made his way past you to the refresher. Before you could think twice of what you were doing, you were sprinting past him and standing in front of the open door, pushing your fingers into his beskar-clad chest as you hissed at him.

“I’m not sure what happened or why you’re giving me the silent treatment right now but this is not how we deal with our problems okay.” Mando took a few steps back as you continued to shove your finger into him, trying his hardest to not grab your wrist and push you against the nearest wall. “We talk things out and we come up with a way to fix things and compromise if need be.” Mando’s back hit the wall, and he threw his head back to avoid your gaze, unable to hold back the chuckle that rose from beneath the helmet at your words.

How ironic.

“Did I say something funny?” You narrowed your eyes up at him and wished for once that he’d remove that god damn helmet so you could gauge his reaction.

“You mean we should talk things out like you and Cobb Vanth today? Or would it be different?” Mando’s chest tightened when he noticed the surprised expression on your face, knowing very well this was not what you expected to hear from him. He was a rational man, never once letting his mind give away to such simplistic thoughts but you’d struck a nerve and he could no longer hide his jealousy. Yes, it was jealousy. As much as he hated to admit it, that’s what he was feeling right now, what he’s been feeling all day long. It was childish and unlike him but it wasn’t going to do him any good if he continued to ignore it.

“I’m dying to know if that’s what you mean. You obviously don’t have an issue telling him about how difficult it’s been working with me and how you can’t keep doing this.” It was your turn to take a few steps back when you saw his shoulders push out and make him taller than he already was. He continued to walk towards you, throwing his clothes to the ground and almost apologizing when you tripped on your feet when he was only a foot away from you.

“How about this, let’s start with what you apparently wish you could tell me but can’t seem to find the right words to do so. What was it you said to him? You deserve more than taking care of a kid and constantly escaping the Empire and other bounty hunters? Or wait, how can I forget...it’s not fair dealing with this mess of a ship and you’re looking for somewhere else to go?” You swallowed the lump in your throat as the Mandalorian repeated back the words you voiced perhaps a little too loudly earlier today, already feeling your eyes fill with unshed tears at harsh his tone.

“I- I didn’t…you weren’t meant to-” You tripped over your words and almost flinched when he cut you off.

“What? I wasn’t supposed to hear you say any of those things? A little strange don’t you think, since you seemed to have a lot to say about me to the Marshal.” Mando should have stopped himself from saying the next few words but his heart was torn into a million pieces and it wasn’t fair for him either.

“Well guess what, sweetheart, the Razor Crest blew up. Moff Gideon is taken care of and the Empire isn’t after us anymore. Every bounty hunter knows better than to so much as look at me and...and the kid isn’t around anymore for you to take care of. He’s gone, I lost him. So if you were worried about hurting me, you’re a little too late for that.” The Mandalorian barely held himself back from pulling you into his arms when he saw tears rolling down your cheek, clenching his fists tightly when he noticed the way you hugged yourself and frowned at him.

“Din-” It broke him to hear you use his name, especially now of all times. He hasn’t heard you say it once in the past few months, even when the two of you were alone. It was the twisting of the knife, and he bit his tongue to distract himself from saying something he couldn’t possibly take back.

“Do what you want, I won’t stand in the way. Besides, I’m sure he’ll be more than happy to help you out with whatever it was you were telling him today. After all, you deserve more right? Deserve someone more than me...someone who’s willing to share a lot more than his name.” Not bothering to wait for a response, Mando stepped away and walked back to his room, not caring about the clothes on the ground or how hurt you must have been feeling from listening to him.

He softly shut the door behind him and moved to his bed, throwing himself on it and hanging his head low to catch his breath. This was not how he saw the night going, not remotely. He was hoping to ask you about this tomorrow in a less hostile manner and without making it seem like he was blaming you. But something about your words struck a nerve in him and he wasn’t able to hold back anymore, not when you were suggesting things you yourself weren’t willing to follow.

Din wasn’t sure how long he sat there in silence but the hissing sound of the door opening brought him back from his haze and he opened his eyes when he heard you walking towards him. You’d never once come into his room, not even when he occasionally gave you permission. You sniffed twice before approaching the bed and standing right in front of him and he was reminded of when the child would cry to try to catch his attention.

“Din, it was never my intention to hurt you. I was trying to do the opposite..thought I was doing the right thing by thinking about this before I could talk to you but I’m realizing now that I’ve hurt you.” Din noticed the way you were ringing your fingers nervously and held himself back from taking your hands into his to try and put you at ease.

“I- I only spoke with Cobb because he- because he noticed the way I was looking at you. He noticed how I can never seem to focus on anything or anyone else when you’re around. He- he could tell I was having a hard time coming to terms with how I feel about you...how I’ve felt about you for a while now.” Din’s heart skipped a beat at your confessions, unable to properly register what you were implying because he could never even humor the idea that you’d have feelings for him. He raised his head and finally looked at you, frowning when he saw how red your eyes were from crying.

“The last thing I want to do is to leave you, please believe me. But I wasn’t sure if you even wanted me around after...after everything with Moff Gideon and the Jedi. As far as I knew, you brought me on to take care of Grogu and fix the Razor Crest. We’ve barely spoken ever since the cruiser and I just thought that I was only around because you couldn’t find the time to tell me that you don’t need me anymore.” Hearing you say that you thought he didn’t need you caught Din off guard and he wasn’t able to hold back anymore, instantly taking hold of your hands and pulling you towards him until you were standing in between his legs. You swallowed the lump in your throat and maintained your gaze on his visor, hoping that he could see how truthful you were being with him and maybe respond, if only with just a simple word.

“When I said I deserved more, I was just- I swear I wasn’t talking about your Creed or wanting to see you. As much as I wish that was possible, I would never...could never ask you for something like that. I was only telling him that I might need some time away to maybe forget how...maker, to perhaps try and set aside my emotions because the last thing you need right now is for me to lay that on you. I don’t want you to think that you owe me anything because you don’t, gods you don’t owe anyone anything, not after what you’ve been through. But I could feel myself becoming more attached to you, especially after everything that happened on the cruiser. I want more with you but I don’t want to push you towards anything you’re not ready for.” Before you could wipe the tears away from your cheeks, Din was raising his glove-covered fingers and softly skimming them over your skin, and he hadn’t realized how harsh and loud his breathing was until he felt you rest your hand on his chest.

“There’s nothing between me and Cobb. And you should know by now that he’s...friendly, with everyone.” You smiled shyly at him before leaning into the hand resting on your cheek, nuzzling further into his palm when he swiped his thumb against your lower lip. There was so much Din wanted to say but he couldn’t find the right words that would convey what he was feeling. He was having a hard time wrapping his mind about your admission and the fact that you have been returning his affection for a while now.

Din didn’t realize how long he was quiet until you cleared your throat and let go of his hand, stepping away from him and looking around to see if you should just leave. Before you could head to the door, however, Din was standing up and moving towards you, his eyes searching your face for any signs of discomfort before he made his next move. Your chest was rising and falling a little quicker than he liked but he quickly realized it was probably because of how you were coming to terms with what you just said to him.

You watched as he took his gloves off and set them on the small table behind you, suppressing a gasp when you felt his warm, calloused hands wrap around yours before bringing them to his helmet. He could tell you were letting him control all of your movements and found it difficult to accept just how much you were willing to give to him.

“As much as I hate to admit it, I have been thinking about this for a while.” Din smiled when he saw your eyebrows furrow in question at his words. “Taking this off.” He saw the moment you understood what he was saying, not expecting you to pull your hands away from him and taking a few steps back until your back was against the wall.

“That’s...that’s not what I- Din, I wasn’t lying when I said it wouldn’t matter to me if-” He smiled at how defensive you suddenly were and stepped towards you once more, and you found it annoying that he barely kept a foot between you two, his natural scent hitting you like a blaster to the gut.

“I know.” Din cut you off before taking your hands into his once more, rubbing your knuckles to put you at ease as he continued. “I’ve had a lot of time to think about this and- it’s not that I’ll walk around without it now, far from it. It’ll only be when we’re alone, when no one is around.” He hoped you could read in between the lines because this would be the closest he’d come to admitting how important you were to him, for now at least.

“Besides, it’s nothing you haven’t seen before.”

That definitely snapped you out of your haze and you tilted your head to the side before asking home what he was referring to.

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about.” Din raised an eyebrow at your response. Have you already forgotten?

“On the cruiser, when I- before Grogu went with the Jedi.” His hands tightened around your fingers as he said the child’s name and you were momentarily distracted before realizing what he meant.

“Din I...I never saw you.”

For a split second, it felt like someone had taken Din and carbon froze him before throwing him on an ice planet.

“What?” He held his breath, unable to move a muscle until he made sure he heard you correctly.

“I never saw you. I turned around when you reached for your helmet. I didn’t...it was a moment with you and Grogu. It didn’t feel right to look at you.” You tried to maintain a semblance of control on your voice but it cracked a few times as you admitted to him. As much as you yearned to see him without the mask, you didn’t think it proper without his clear consent.

Din’s sudden intake of breath made you nervous and you hated how for a moment, you wished you didn’t tell him because there was now a high probability that he wouldn’t take the mask off.

“Cyar'ika, please.” you shivered at the low tone of his voice, finding it harder to focus on anything but the touch of his skin. Once again, Din slowly brought your hands to the sides of his visor, pushing the palm of your hands on the beskar and softly nodding at you. A sudden sense of relief washed over him when he saw the slight nod of your head.

Din found it endearing how your whole face scrunched up in focus as the two of you slowly pulled the helmet off of his head, the soft hissing sound as it unlocked making your hands dampen with sweat. As you raised the visor along with him, you couldn’t help but shut your eyes as soon as you saw the skin of his chin. Unbeknownst to you, Din was watching your every reaction and felt a little nudge in his chest when he saw how tightly shut your eyes were. When the beskar was off completely, Din took it from your hands and placed it next to him, swallowing the lump in his throat when he turned back and saw you were still refusing to look at him.

He reluctantly took your hands into his and placed them on his chest, hoping that you’d finally open your eyes without him begging you again.

“I’m sorry I- maker, this is..this is probably more intense for you than it is for me and I’m not making it any better with my nervousness and- okay. Okay.” You took a deep breath before allowing your eyes to flutter open, unable to exhale as soon as you laid your gaze on him. Din was probably unaware of how nervous he looked and it took you a few longer seconds to realize you needed to breathe again. You weren’t sure what you were expecting, the long nights where you imagined what he could look like fading into thin air because nothing, absolutely nothing, prepared you for what you were currency seeing.

His features were somehow soft but a little rugged, and you found yourself committing every inch of his skin to memory, filling your mind’s eye with every minute facial expression so you could dream of him when you fall asleep. It was oddly not surprising at all that he had a stubble, the scattered dark and slightly graying hairs across his jaw and above his lips making him seem older than he probably was. And you weren’t sure if he knew he was furrowing his eyebrows and then you realized he most likely didn’t because he was so used to wearing his helmet that he never had to learn how to control his facial expressions around anyone. And it was endearing how his nose flared as he continued to breathe heavily under your gaze, and if it weren’t for the fact that this was a serious moment, you would have leaned over and kissed the curved bridge of his nose and the scrunch of his eyebrows to put him at ease.

Din wasn’t sure what he thought your reaction would be and he felt his chest tighten with every long moment you spent without so much as a comment.

You were unaware of how long this dreadful moment must have been for the Mandalorian and you continued to study him in hopes of finding answers to questions you’ve wished you could ask him ever since he hired you. There were heavy bags under his eyes and you wished you were more persistent with him when it came to his resting schedule but he always seemed to wave you off whenever you told him he needed to sleep. Though you knew this stress had to do more with Grogu no longer being here and less with how often he slept. You had half expected to find his gaze harsh and far off but when you did finally meet his eyes, you found them filled with unshed tears and a multitude of emotions that you knew would go unexplained until he had the strength to voice them. They were a deep and beautiful shade of brown, ones you knew you’d never be able to turn away from now that you’ve had a proper look at him. And you couldn’t help but notice how their color reminded you of a Nightbloomer just after you picked it from its roots.

All of that, however, could not compare to when you finally let your eyes descend to his lips. They were a darker shade of pink, and you swore you saw them parting as soon as you looked at them. His lower lip was trembling and you wished more than anything to swipe your thumb against it if only to feel the soft skin melt at your touch. You wished that was as far as your mind had gone but the longer you looked at the curve of his mouth, the more you wished you could lean forward and mold your lips with his. It was even worse because you had a feeling that the stubble of his mustache would cause the softest of burns on your lips.

Din could no longer take the loud silence enveloping the room and he swallowed nervously when he saw how focused you seemed to be on his lips. He had some idea of what you were probably thinking because he was thinking the exact same thing but he wasn’t sure if he should be the one to make the first move. This reluctance evaporated when he noticed the way your eyes instantly moved to his neck as the cartilage moved and returned to rest when he gulped, and he realized that you may have been having slightly more inappropriate thoughts than he originally thought.

He was about to voice his worries when he saw your hands move from his beskar-clad chest to his face and he couldn’t stop himself from looking down apprehensively at the digits moving closer to his skin. You misunderstood his nervousness for uncomfort and immediately ceased all movements, returning your focus on his eyes to look for any inclination as to what he wanted.

“Can I- mhmm, may I touch you?” Your whispered question was too loud for the two of you and Din parted his lips to say something but noticed how dry his throat was and realized he couldn’t trust his own voice. Nodding slightly at your request, he waited with bated breath as your fingers rose to his face and found himself shaking with anticipation at the prospect of finally feeling your touch on the most intimate part of him.

When you were only a few inches away from him, Din felt his heart thumping wildly at his chest and he immediately shut his eyes when he felt the feather-light touch of your fingers on his cheeks. The harsh yet shaky intake of breath almost made you lose control and you had to remind yourself that, besides Grogu, you were the only one to ever touch him so intimately and so softly since he was a child. As much as you wished to wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer so you could lay as many kisses on his face as you could, you knew it would be too much for him and that he needed you to go slow with him. He was practically shattering under your attention and you hoped he would allow you to do this as many times as possible in the coming days.

Din couldn’t put a name to what he was experiencing at the moment but he knew he didn’t want you to stop touching him, ever again. He decided that he’d spend every moment with you alone without his helmet and with yours hands skimming some part of him. The longer you kept your palms on his cheeks, the calmer his heart beat and it wasn’t until a few moments later that he realized his eyes were shut. As they slowly fluttered open, he was met with the most beautiful sight in the world: your own deep irises staring at your own thumb as it softly passed over his quivering lips.

“You’re...beautiful.”

It was a simple truth and you wished there was a more sincere word you could use to describe what he was to you, what he meant to you but your mind was overflowing with images of waking up next to him every day and kissing his eyes and cheeks and nose and lips and anywhere else you could reach.

Din’s hold tightened around your waist and you watched as he leaned forward until there was barely an inch between the two of you.

“Mesh'la, I would really like to kiss you.” The request barely passed his lips yet you were already standing up on your tiptoes and pressing your lips to his, finding them as soft and gentle as you imagined them to be. Din was afraid his heart would give out any moment now because nothing could have prepared him for the taste of you, let alone the boldness with which you were claiming him. He sighed into you, unintentionally parting his lips and pushing you harder into the wall when he felt your tongue sneak into his mouth and explore him. Din wasn’t sure what he should be doing but then you were moving your hands to the nape of his neck and tangling your fingers into his hair and he all but lost it. As you gently tugged on his hair, Din found himself mirroring your actions and before he knew it, the kiss was no longer innocent and sweet but hungry and needy. You sucked on his tongue and tilted your head to the side, wanting to commit every small detail to memory so when you shut your eyes at night, you’d kiss him in your dreams.

Reluctantly, you pulled back for a second to allow the two of you to breathe but Din didn’t like that, chasing your mouth and molding his lips with yours once more to be certain that yes, this was happening, and that no, this was not a dream. You moaned into the kiss, finding his desperate need to claim your mouth again more of a turn on than you cared to admit. And then his hands were slipping inside your overalls and holding you against his chest, the warmth of him stretching down to where you wished you could feel him.

This sudden intrusive thought and the harsh grasp of your hips snapped you out of your haze and you realized you should be slowing things down for his sake. Against your will, you gently pushed his chest away and tried to think of anything but the way he was heaving above you from the intensity of the kiss. When you looked at him and saw panic and hesitation etched on his face, you returned your hands to his cheeks again and lowered his head until it was resting against your own.

“There’s nothing I want more than to feel every inch of your skin against mine right now...but- but I don’t want to push you to do something that- maker….that might be too much for you?” You pulled back and waited until he opened his eyes again before continuing. “I feel like you just made a dramatic decision by taking the helmet off in front of me and- and you’re probably feeling a multitude of emotions right now and I don’t want to make you think that I-”

Din didn’t like what you were saying, frowning down at you as he grabbed the back of your neck and violently pulled you towards him again. You were surprised by the sudden shift of his touch, fisting your hands in his cowl as he devoured your lips once more, not really giving you a chance to say anything else. Biting your lower lip, Din abruptly ended the kiss and pressed his lips across your skin, nipping and licking at your jaw as he pulled your hair down until he had access to your neck. You gasped his name and felt his stubble scratch deliciously at your shoulder. As you moaned against the wall, Din couldn’t back anymore and bit down hard on your shoulder, smiling when he heard your breath hitch at his rough ministrations.

“Din, oh gods, Din please.” You weren’t sure what you were asking of him exactly and you hoped he’d at the very least continue what he was doing.

“Cyar'ika, I want to have you. I’ve spent many nights dreaming of your lips, your touch, y-your skin against mine as I-” Din hesitated and it wasn’t until you felt his fingers slipping beneath the chest band that you finally registered his voice. Fuck, how had you not notice it a second ago? You thought the vocoder was what altered it, made it deeper perhaps. But no, it only made it sound more intimidating. You weren’t sure what made you clench your thighs together, the way he spoke to you of his desires, or how strained and gruff his voice was as he whispered his secrets to you. You gulped loudly and hesitantly met his eyes, finding the soft brown irises barely visible, his dilated pupils letting you know what he was thinking.

Licking your lips, you nodded at him and fell into a fit of giggles when he leaned down and picked you up as if you weighed nothing, quickly moving to his cot and laying you down on your back before moving away. You were about to ask him what he was doing when you saw his hands swiftly move through the beskar armor. For some reason, watching his hands expertly take off the cuirass and move to the beskar of his thighs made your heart skip a beat and you wouldn’t dare move a muscle, afraid to miss the show he was unintentionally putting on for you. So busy marveling at his deft fingers, you didn’t notice Din slowing his movements and looking at you, eyebrows raised in curiosity when he saw how hard you were breathing.

You broke out of your trance when you saw he stopped moving, embarrassment washing over you when you realized Din had caught you shamelessly staring at him as he came closer to revealing to you more of his skin. You’d expected him to move on, or at least pretend he hadn’t just caught you licking your lips while staring at his fingers but no, it seemed that Din was very much enjoying the effect he had on you because his smile grew when he saw your eyes look past him, pretending to focus on something else behind him and not his hands.

You never lost his attention though, and he maintained his eyes on you as he removed all of his armor and took his boots off. You tried to be a little more subtle but gave up when he leaned down over you and pushed you into his covers. You wanted to ask him why he was still dressed but bit back the inquiry, afraid he’d misunderstand and move away all together at your question. He captured your gaze and didn’t blink once as he slowly undid the buttons holding the overalls and you realized you would have preferred him to keep the helmet on because that meant you wouldn’t notice how passionate and direct his deep brown irises were. You’d expected him to be intense considering how touch-starved and lonely he was, but you never once thought he’d be this vigorous? Ardent? Maker, there wasn’t a single word that could describe the way he was looking at you right now.

Din kneeled at the foot of the bed, waiting until you finally noticed what he was doing and raising your hips before he pulled on the pants of the garment. He slipped your shoes off and finally removed the article of clothing that made his cheeks blush and pants tighten whenever you wore it. He would eventually tell you that this is how you came to him in his dreams almost every night, all spent and sweaty in that gods-forsaken fabric that gave him the perfect view of what you were wearing beneath.

His focus shifted from your face down your damp skin and he breathed in deeply at the sight of your undergarment. Din almost choked on his breath when your legs parted for a moment, giving him a glimpse of the growing wet patch at the center of the flimsy material.

The Mandalorian wanted nothing more than to worship your body, kiss every part of you and whisper his devotion against your skin as he pleasured you over and over again. He’d spent countless nights imagining what he’d do to you if you were ever naked and willing in his arms and he was damned if he didn’t make sure you were thoroughly spent once he was done with you. He wanted to hear his name fall from your lips and he wanted to swallow your sighs and your moans as he sank into you all night long. And by the gods, he wanted to mark your neck and your arms and your waist, and nothing made him harder than picturing you doing the same to him, biting and nipping at his skin so he could wake up in the morning and watch the evidence of your lo- your touch on him. It didn’t matter that no one else would see those bruises but him and you. He just wanted you, in any way possible, sinking beneath his skin.

And then he heard his voice calling for you over the comm link just outside the room and something snapped deep in his chest. He looked up from you to the open door of his room and listened to the Marshal’s words. Your eyes widened in shock when you saw several emotions pass through Din’s eyes, the most prominent of which was anger, maybe hurt. Of all the times Cobb would ask you to join him for drinks, this was most definitely the worst of them. It didn’t help either that he was laughing over some inappropriate joke one of his friends was saying about your sabacc skills. It wouldn’t be the first time this happened and it certainly wouldn’t be the last but then Din was clenching his jaw tightly before looking down at you and you knew he wasn’t too happy. In fact, you had a pretty good idea which emotion won out and you hated how much it affected you, how wet you became as thoughts of the Mandalorian claiming you as his flooded your mind.

Before you could try and reason with him, attempt to tell him that it was just a game and that the Marshal’s friends were probably just teasing him, Din was standing up and stripping of his long-sleeve shirt, revealing his perfectly chiseled, bronze skin that had your mouth watering within moments. You noticed the few dozen scars littering his beautiful torso and wished you could kiss each one of them, the old ones and the fairly new ones, until they didn’t sting with pain. But Din had different plans for you and he didn’t give you a chance to question him as he took hold of both of your wrists and slammed them above your head. His hold was painful and it should have scared you how quickly his mood changed but you said nothing, looking into his dilated pupils as his nose flared and he growled at you.

“Keep yours hands there,” Din warns you with a piercing look and you gulp loudly before nodding at him in understanding. He removes his hand and kneels on the bed, eyes narrowing at you before they sought after your most private areas. He wasn’t sure where to begin. He’d given this much thought but now that he was here, he realized it was a more difficult decision than he anticipated. He’d longed to wrap his lips around those hardened peaks always teasing him through the chest band, lick them until you cried for him, perhaps begged him to stop because you were sensitive. But then he continued down the lines of your navel and found your parted legs much more inviting.

Now that Din knew how you felt, there was no reason for him to feel jealous. But he couldn't stop himself, wanting to be certain that you knew as well as he who you belonged to. He hated himself for having such primitive thoughts about you. You were your own person that much was made clear early on. But he could hope at your words, couldn’t he? He could hope that you were now his, and that he was yours. Maker, he was always yours. He just couldn’t admit it to himself, his heart reluctant at opening up to another.

Din was lost in thought longer than you liked and you moved your feet towards him, nudging his thigh in hopes of reassuring him that you were right here, in his bed, beneath him and at his mercy. Din’s eyes focused on your again and he looked down at the soft gesture, hands instantly grabbing at your ankles. You jumped at the sudden movement, trying your hardest not to whine at the painful grasp because somewhere deep inside of you, you wanted nothing more than to be marked by him. By his teeth, lips, fingers, any part of him. You didn’t care where you’d bear his touch, you just wanted to see it, touch it in the privacy of the refresher when he wasn’t around.

Din saw the needy look you were throwing him and he knew that you were willing. Willing to go as far as he wanted, willing to completely submit your body and soul to him, willing to do whatever he wished of you.

Before your eyes could flutter closed, Din was pushing your legs wide open and falling in between them while maintaining his gaze on you. He almost smiled when your stomach shook at how feral he probably looked. Leaning forward, he closed his eyes as his mouth latched onto the wet patch forming on the soft fabric of your undergarment, moaning into your cunt as he savored the taste seeping through. You were surprised by the boldness of the action and wished for him to lick your skin instead. But there was something erotic about the desperation behind his actions, wanting to taste you so much that he didn’t care what he was licking.

The thought was gone as soon as it appeared because you felt two fingers stretch beneath the waistband right before he ripped it off of your body, shoving the torn fabric in his nose and taking a long whiff of it before humming in approval. Your eyes widened in surprise at the filthiness of his action, hands shaking above you when he threw your panties expertly into his helmet. The thought of knowing that your scent could potentially stick to the inside of his helmet as he walked around twisted your insides and you whined shamelessly at him, wishing he could just take what he wanted.

“Your sounds belong to me,” Din spoke with a commanding voice as he sank in between your thighs again, his tongue dragging across your folds so deliciously hard until he pulled away, leaving a trail of saliva behind. “Your arousal belongs to me,” his hands went to your thighs and he squeezed, knowing fully well there would be bruises dawning your beautiful, smooth body the following morning. Again, you fought to keep your eyes open, wanting to commit every second to memory but finding it difficult to focus on him and not the pleasure zapping down your back. “And I will be damned if this cunt,” Din let go of one of your thighs, pulling his tongue away from your core right before the palm of his hand landed a slap straight on your clit, “doesn’t belong to me either.” You cried out his name, legs shaking violently at the pain shooting through your clit. Din didn’t give you a moment to relax back down on the covers, spanking the outer folds of your pussy twice more consecutively before he replaced the harsh touch with his cooling tongue. Tears trailed down your cheeks as he fucked you with his tongue and lapped at you like you were the only source of water on this gods-forsaken planet. He rotated between soft, quick licks to long, harsh ones, occasionally sucking on your clit and grazing his teeth on the bundle of nerves until he was sure you were going crazy.

“D-Din oh maker, please. Stop I- slow down.” His touches were far from gentle and the pleasure blurred into pain as you tried to reach that delicious peak you’ve longed for ever since you harbored feelings for the man above you. But he was making it difficult, his needy and erratic movements making it near impossible for you to dive into the lake of pleasure. You should have known that the Mandalorian was as intense in bed as he was in every other aspect of his life. You shut your thighs around his head, wanting to push him away as his teeth continued to graze against your wet folds and nip at the pulsating nub.

“M-Mando...I can’t.” You couldn’t take it anymore, hands moving to his hair and fisting in the beautiful brown locks as you tried to push him away. As soon as Din felt the tight grasp on his hair, he snarled at you, pushing up on his knees and bending your body along with him until the only thing resting on the bed was your neck and your shoulders. You cried out for him, begging him to give you release but it only drove him mad with lust. His eyes locked on yours, daring you to look away from him as his fingers dug into your butt cheeks and pushed your cunt into his mouth.

Din pulled away for a split second, biting your inner thighs to grab your attention.

“You will take what I give you ner Cyar’ika.” You saw a hint of darkness in his soulful brown eyes, and shivered at the mere implications of what he had in mind for you. Din sucked and licked at your folds like a crazed man, feeling your legs shaking on his shoulders. He pulled away for a second, and you had no time to beg him to be gentle as he slapped your heated core three times again, hissing when you shut your eyes and bucked against him, your juices drenching his face and chest, leaking down your back as he smiled before taking your cunt into his mouth one last time to prolong your pleasure. You were too busy trying to remain sane to realize what had just happened and Din slowly lowered you back onto the wet covers before letting go of you. You were panting beneath him, stomach fluttering from the force of your release and chest heaving as you tried to fill your lungs with air.

When you opened your eyes and looked at Din, your eyes widened in horror when you saw his glistening skin, finally realizing what he'd just done to you. You flushed under the scrutiny of Din’s gaze, gasping as he wiped his mouth and jaw with the back of his hand as he looked down and chuckled at the wet spot beneath his knees. You quickly shut your legs and tried to crawl away from him but Din was faster, grabbing your ankle and pulling you back to him, the show of strength already making your cunt clench around nothing again.

“You do not run from me Ad’ika...nor hide from me ever again. I own your body, your skin, the cum still leaking out of this sweet cunt.” His words were filthy and you didn’t know how to react to this new possessiveness he was showing. He pushed open your thighs and fell in between him, bringing his chest flush against yours and kissing the breath out of you, not bothering to be gentle as his fingers twisted and pinched at your nipples. You clawed at his back, wanting more of him but not knowing if you would be able to take any more of what he was offering.

He pulled away suddenly, his jaw clenching tightly as he took one look at the hands wrapped around his back.

“Did I not tell you to not move your hands sweet girl?” He whispered against your lips, breathing in the air leaving your lungs as he pecked the corner of your mouth before flipping you over on your stomach.

“I- I’m sorry...it was just t-too much and-” You couldn’t finish the rest of the sentence, screaming against the covers as you felt Din’s palm land on your ass. You looked back and saw him eyeing your reddening skin, looking up at you and smiling as he treated the other side with the same kindness. Four more times his hands smacked your ass and you were ashamed at how aroused his violent actions made you. When he snuck his fingers in between your thighs and swiped haphazardly at your folds, you moaned and bit into your wrist.

“Filthy sweet girl,” Din whispered more to himself than you before he fisted his hand in your hair and pulled you flush to his chest, the slide of your dampened back against his sweaty chest bringing him more pleasure than he would have liked to admit because not a few hours ago, he was picturing your sweaty, glistening skin beneath him. And now that he had you here, he was going to make the best of it.

“Mando, oh Mando-” As much as he loved hearing you scream his nickname in the throws of passion, he wished more to hear his given name fall from your lips.

“My name...scream my name sweet girl. Let the stars know who pleasures you Cyare.” Din kissed your shoulder before biting into the sweaty flesh, the hand in your hair letting go right before wrapping softly around your throat and pressing you harder against him. Your hands twisted back to try and grab his hair but he immediately took your wrist and twisted it until it was behind you, between your back and his chest.

“Ahh Din…” You wanted to beg him to allow you to touch him, tell him that you were yearning to touch him as much as he was in need of touching you. But you had a feeling that this wasn’t true, and that this was his way of being certain that you weren’t going to leave him. That you were his.

If only he knew that you have already belonged to him. Long before tonight.

You felt each breath leave your lungs as Din tightened his grasp around your throat and you parted your lips to moan his name, only to feel his tongue shamelessly licking into your mouth. So distracted by the desperation in this kiss, you didn’t notice the fingers trailing down your chest and digging into your skin until the palm of his hand softly cupped one breast. Din teased you with feather light touches, flicking at one nipple before moving to the other and circling around it until it hardened. He continued to swallow your noises, sucking on your tongue to quiet you as he pinched your nipples. You twisted in his arms, wanting to reach for him again but knowing that he would probably pull your hand away.

When Din pulled away to allow you to breathe, you panted and finally opened your eyes, not daring to look away as he kept you motionless with his gaze. Din watched as you tried to form a coherent thought, waiting until you parted your lips to speak to him before reaching down and cupping your quivering cunt as he broke the silence.

“This belongs to me,” your breath hitched when Din pressed the palm of his hand against you, not quite applying pressure on your clit but just enough to hold your focus. “Only I get to touch you, kiss you, watch you as you come undone in my arms.” You nodded briefly at him, continuing to hold eye contact as he began to increase his actions. “No one else will ever have you Cyar'ika. No one but me.” He slipped two fingers past your wet folds and rubbed against your walls, humming in approval when he felt you flutter around him the harder he shoved his fingers inside you.

“I’m yours Din, y-yours. Whatever you want, oh gods please more...need more, Din you make me f-feel so good.” Din keened at your words, curling his hand until his palm was passing deliciously over your clit as his fingers picked up the pace.

“That’s right sweet girl, you’re mine. Mine to fuck, mine to take whenever I want...mine to-” Din hesitated for a second, unable to voice his heart to you even though you’ve bared your soul for him. “Pal'vut at kar'taylir darasuum...kriffing gods you’re wet, so wet for me. Come on, cum for me again ner Cyare. Show me how good I make you feel. Show me how needy this little cunt is, fuck- I...can’t want to have you wrapped around my cock little one. Can’t wait to sink in this pussy, my sweet tight cunt, mark you with my seed, over and over again...fuck a load in you all night long till you can’t feel anything but my cum dripping down your thighs. Shit, I need you to cum, now!” Your mind became foggy with pleasure, unable to focus on anything but the words whispered into your ears as his thick fingers fucked into you. You grabbed the wrist of the hand wrapped around your throat, digging your nails into his skin as you came around his fingers. You almost fell forwards but Din held you flush against him, continuing to drive his digits into you and rub at your clit with this thumb until you were sobbing in his arms.

“Beautiful,” Din kissed your shoulder as he slowly inched his hands away from you before laying you down slowly. His eyes took in the flushed, wet skin of your back, chuckling with pride when he saw your legs shaking as little sobs escaped your lips. Your breaths came in shallow and quick, and you tried to silence your whines by biting into your wrists but then you felt Din slide his hand back and forth on your back as he laid next to you and you shivered under his touch because from the way he was moving closer to you and touching you, there was no way he was done just yet.

“You’re all I think about, every waking moment. It’s difficult to focus on anything else when you’re always in my mind Cyar'ika. I- I burn for you, for your lips to caress mine every moment, your eyes to never leave mine as I brand you, your skin against my own as you mark me with your touch. I- maker, I cannot think of a life without you here, with me…” Din thought he would have to force himself to say such things but he found it remarkably easy now that he had you here, responding so openly and shamelessly to him.

“Din,” you turned your head and shifted towards him, kissing the hand resting between the two of you before leaning your forehead against his and shutting your eyes. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying right here, for as long as you’ll have me.” Din ceased all movement at your words and he looked away from where he was stroking your back, meeting your eyes and furrowing his eyebrows before you felt him grab your arm and pull you on top of him. You surprised gasp died in your throat when you felt Din wrap his arms around your back and bring you against him until you could feel his chest hairs tickling your nipples. You could feel his cock jutting against your core through his pants and as you rested your hands on his chest and looked to him, you saw the frown ease from his expression, replaced with something akin to reverence.

“I will have you until my dying breath Mesh’la. Let me show you how much I want you.” The force of his declaration hit you instantly and you pressed your lips against his just as you felt him rid himself of his pants. Din’s hands were roaming your back and you felt bolder with every caress, combing your fingers into his hair and pulling on it as he squeezed your ass and bucked into you. The growl emanating from his chest shot straight to your core and you raised yourself from him for a moment.

“Din, I want you. Crave to feel you inside me. Please, do it fast and don’t- don’t be gentle. Show me, show me how much you lo- want me.” Din’s heart skipped a beat at your words and he wasted no time, taking hold of his cock and teasing your clit with his leaking tip before slowly inching inside you. You shut your eyes and dug your nails into the back of his neck as he continued to sheath his dick deeper in your cunt. You could feel every ridge and pulsating vein dragging against your inner walls, finally allowing your lungs to breathe as you felt him nudge and twitch against that soft, spongy spot in your core.

Neither of you moved for a few moments, with Din trying to wrap his mind around finally becoming one with you and feeling you clench so sweetly around him. He was torn between fucking up into you without mercy and taking it nice and slow until he pushed you over the edge again. But then you were gyrating your hips and sighing his name on his cheek and he knew what he wanted.

Planting his feet on the damp covers, Din held you flush against him with one arm while resting his other hand on your thigh, nuzzling into the crook of your neck as he snapped his hips up before sinking into you again. You let out a surprised sob and rested your forehead against his shoulder, whispering more pleas against his skin and begging him to move.

The usually quiet man breathed the sweetest wishes in your ears, thrusting up into you with immense force that made you clench tighter around him. “Ni copad gar an te ca'nara Ad’ika, ni vercopa be gar anay ca. You have made a home for yourself inside my heart.” Din felt your shaky breath blow on his neck and it drove him mad with lust because he wanted to have you reacting to his touch so wantonly every minute of every day. His grip only tightened around you and he prayed you wouldn’t mind the bruises that would surely color your skin in the next few hours. He wasn’t planning on being gentle tonight, perhaps later, but not tonight, and he was going to ensure his touch would be visible for anyone that would speak with you tomorrow. Thoughts of the Marshal passed through his mind’s eye and he growled, pumping his cock into you harshly for some reassurance. You cried out his name over and over again, feeling your skin heat up at the declarations of love he was peppering on your skin because even though his words were gentle, his touches were far from it.

The squelching sounds of your cunt flooding Din’s thighs as he drove himself into you should have embarrassed you but you could tell he enjoyed knowing how wet you were for him from the way he continued to quicken the pace just to hear your juices flowing over him. His grip on you was becoming more painful the more you moved against each other but you couldn’t find it in yourself to let him know. He was letting go, showing you how much he wanted you, how hard he was for you, and you weren’t about to make him feel conscious over his affection.

“Maker...oh Din, Din I- you feel so good inside me. Filling me up like no one else. Could feel you so deep, gods, could feel you everywhere Din please- don’t stop. Don’t fucking stop, I need it. Need you, want you- want you to mark me, d-do whatever you want with me.” You had no hold over your own speech and weren’t sure if you were making any sense but Din moaned each time you praised him.

“Good girl, sweet girl...taking my cock so well, kriffing hell. Your- your pussy is squeezing the fuck out of me..could feel every tight inch of you stroking my cock Cyar’ika. Ah pfassk...you’re- you’re perfection.” Din moved the hand around your back up to your neck, pulling on your hair and pressing his lips with yours as his cock throbbed inside you. You whined as his tongue roughly swirled around your own, barely able to breathe as he continued to snap his hips against you and suddenly feeling a rush of relief as his navel rubbed at your clit until you came around him. Din broke the kiss, screaming expletives in his tongue as the force of your orgasm pushed his cock out of you. You shuddered as you gushed on his dick, wrapping your arms around his neck when he forced his cock into your tight cunt again.

You were so overcome with emotions, so lost in Din’s scent mixing with your own, and his touch leaving bruises on your skin, that you didn’t notice the faint sounds of footsteps coming up the ramp and halting in the middle of the ship right in front of the door. But Din noticed, managing to look up just in time to see Cobb standing in the middle of the ship and staring with wide eyes at the scene unfolding in front of him.

Something completely otherworldly took over the Mandalorian and he quickly sat up, expertly moving the two of you around until he was kneeling on the covers with you straddling his thighs. He smiled against your shoulder, allowing your hair to hide his face as he grabbed both of your hips and fucked up into you.

He could vaguely see the Marshal and was surprised that he hadn't dropped the bottle of drink in his hand just yet. You wailed into the night air, arms keeping you stead in Din’s arms as he forced you on his pulsating dick over and over again.

“Tell me...tell me Cyare, tell me how much you love it when I fuck you. How much you need my cock like the filthy little cockslut you are. Go on sweet girl, grind that little clit on me. Fucking tell me ner Ad’ika.” Din smacked your ass twice, chuckling when your moans grew more lewd with every touch he laid on you.

“I- I- ahhh love your cock...oh maker, no one fucks me like you. N-no one makes me c-cum like you. Fuck me harder D- ahhh,” Din bit down on your shoulder to prevent you from saying his name, looking through the mess of your hair and watching as his audience remained incapable of moving.

“I own this pretty little pussy. Pffassk- ride me harder Mesh’la. You’re such a good girl, could feel your cunt drenching my thighs, the smell of you is driving me mad. Fuck- keep that pretty mouth open to me when I’m fucking you, let me hear you scream for me.”

“Please- please...fuck me harder, ruin my pussy. Gods- I..I’m so close please. Tell me you own me, tell me I’m you’re sweet girl. Please- I want to be good for you, want you to cum inside me Din...cum inside me. I need it, need you to fuck me like you own me and mark me, make me yours Mando. Cum in me, please-”

“Ah fuck you’re my sweet little girl aren’t you? Wanting me to fuck a load in you, cum in you all night long and keep my seed in that tight cunt? That’s it sweetheart, I’m so fucking hard for you. Could feel you clenching around me...be a good girl and cum again ner kar'ta. Fuck, yes yes you feel so good wrapped around my cock Cyare you’re going to make me cum. Spill my seed in that tight, wet pussy, fill you up till you can taste it in your throat. Shit, and- and I’m going to keep fucking you sweet girl, till my cum is sliding down your thighs. My little fucktoy- come on, come on love, cum for me. Cum on me, drench me again. Mix your juices with me.” Din watched as Cobb finally had the mind to leave and he almost laughed at how the man almost tripped on his own foot as he sprinted out of the ship. He pushed you on your back and spread your thighs open, resting his weight on the arms around your head as he thrust in a few more times before he felt you clench around him. Leaning down, Din took a pert nipple in his mouth and sucked on it, growling into your skin as he came deep in your pussy, painting your walls with long strings of his seed until he couldn’t breathe. He’d never cum this hard before and was sure to tell you when you had the state of mind to pay him any semblance of attention.

Din continued to lazily push into you, your words from earlier replaying in his mind as he felt you quiver around his softening cock. You were still coming down from your high and twitched occasionally when you felt him throb inside you. There was a pleasant kind of warmth washing over you and you sighed happily when you realized he was still bucking against you to push his cum in your belly.

“D-din...you’re filling me up so good. Feel so full ah- gah.” He laughed when your body shook, wrapping his arms around you and flipping you around until you were laying on his chest. You kissed his jaw and his neck, moaning in unison when you felt his dick rub against that sweet spot inside you.

“That’s because I’ve never cum this hard sweet girl. You’ve milked me dry Cyare. Could feel you sucking my seed out of me.” He was amazed at your obvious embarrassment, wanting to tease you about it but choosing to wait for later instead.

Din rubbed at your back, kissing your forehead as he whispered sweet things in your ears and smiling when you nipped at his neck some more.

“Promise me you’ll never leave.” Din’s quiet voice broke the silence and you pushed up to look into his eyes as you responded. “I’m not going anywhere, even if you tell me to go. I’ll stay here, always. I promise.” You kissed him gently and felt his pulse beneath your fingers calm at your words.

Not much time has passed before Din had you on your knees in front of him, fucking your mouth and shoving you down on his cock until you gagged and his seed slipped from the corner of your mouth, mixing with your spit as it fell down your breasts. You lost count of how many times he brought you pleasure, and you made a mental note to ask him how he managed to fuck you all night long. You weren’t sure it was possible for a man to cum this many times over the course of one night but you had a feeling Din was not like anyone else. A man who has been touch starved for almost three decades must have had a lot of pent-up aggression that he needed to release. And you would gladly help him in any shape or form through that.

And when he wasn’t pumping your cunt full of his cum, he was nuzzling into your neck and laying kisses across your arms, making sure he caressed every inch of your skin. You shouldn’t have been surprised that Din loved to snuggle with you but you did find it hilarious that such a big and scary Mandalorian whimpered when you licked down his neck as you nestled into his arms. You wouldn’t tell him just yet but besides his rough grasps and his filthy words, you loved to taste the saltiness of his skin and from the looks of it, the feelings were mutual because at some point in the night, he’d told you of all the times he had to lock himself up in the refresher and try his hardest to not think of your sweaty limbs entangling with his own as he kissed you.

By the time the two of you made it outside the following day, the twin suns had already been in the middle of the sky, scorching rays of heat on everyone across Mos Pelgo. You tried your hardest not to walk too funny, mostly because it made Din apologize every now and then, but it was difficult when you could still feel traces of his touch on you. You told him you needed him to stop making it obvious but realized he was apologizing out of regret not out of humor. It took you all of the afternoon to convince him that you were feeling more than okay and that you’d asked him for this. And when he didn’t seem to stop, you teased him and told him that you knew he secretly loved watching you wobble from side to side.

This all, however, peaked when you walked into the cantina and tried to play Sabbac with Cobb Vanth and the others. You could tell that the Marshal was avoiding all conversation with you, going out of his way to pretend you weren’t even sitting on the table, let alone the room. You hoped that Mando hadn’t spoken with him or anything and decided to call it quits earlier in the night. When you did make it back to the ship and saw Din cleaning his weapons, you made sure the ship was secure before moving to sit on the bed across from him.

“Did you talk to Cobb today?” You gauged his reaction, already sensing that something was wrong when you saw him nervously clench his jaw before rubbing furiously at the beskar weapon.

“No, why do you ask?” Din wished he hadn’t already taken off his helmet because as soon as he responded, you knew he wasn’t telling you the whole truth.

“Din?”

He looked up at you and cleared his throat before speaking.

“He- he saw us...last night. I- I must have forgotten to raise the ramp and-” Din took a deep breath when you shot up from the cot and began to pace back and forth.

“HE WHAT?”

“We were...I couldn’t- there wasn’t a chance I could…you felt too good around me Ad’ika I- I couldn’t stop. Not when you were clenching around me so tightly. Now when you were finally in my arms. I-” He stood up and walked towards you, taking your hands into his and kissing both of your wrists. You flushed at his words and looked up at him, only to find him blushing under your gaze.

“You did it on purpose didn't you? You wanted him to see...to watch as you- as we...as I said-” Din didn’t let you finish the sentence, leaning down and molding his lips with yours as he walked you back to his bed. He pushed you down on the covers still holding your scents, his hold hardening the more you moaned against him. Before he could strip you of your clothes, you pushed him off and stuck out your finger in warning.

“Oh no you don’t. Go raise the ramp.”

“You’re giving me orders now Mesh’la?” Din raised an eyebrow at you as he got off of you and walked around the bed, halting at the doorstep to look back at you.

“Never…”

Translations:

Ad'ika - Little one

Mesh'la - Beautiful

Cyar'ika - Darling/Sweetheart

Cyare - Beloved

Ner - my/mine

Pal'vut at kar'taylir darasuum - mine to love

Ni copad gar an te ca'nara - I want you all the time.

Ni vercopa be gar anay ca - I dream of you every night.

Ner kar'ta - my heart

#The Mandalorian fanfiction #The Mandalorian x Reader #The Mandalorian smut #mando x reader #Mando smut #Mando fanfiction #Din Djarin x Reader #Din Djarin smut #Din Djarin fanfiction #The Mandalorian #Din Djarin #Pedro Pascal #star wars #star wars fanfiction #baby yoda #grogu

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vidavalor · 2 years

Text

Sam wasn't just trying to find Bucky. Sam was thinking he was going to have to kill Bucky. Instead, he found the love of his life.

SamBucky ramblings regarding Sam's history with loss and how it informed his decision to help Steve find Bucky and his relationship with Bucky after he did find him...

I know we don't know a lot about Gideon (Sam & Sarah's elder brother) in MCU canon yet but his absence makes me think that nothing great happened there and I feel like some of that was in Sam's decision to help Steve find Bucky. I think Sam knew what it was like to lose your big brother and feel like you couldn't help him and the thought of Steve having to go through that alone wasn't something Sam wanted to see happen.

I am convinced that Sam looked at the situation and understandably thought that maybe Bucky might be too far gone (as he'd only really just met The Winter Soldier in Action!Mode at that point and had nearly been killed by him more than once in the process so, you know, reasonable assumption? lol) and tried to prepare Steve for that possibility but Sam 100% had decided that he was going to be the one to do it if it came to that. He was going to kill The Winter Soldier to spare his new friend Steve from the pain of that.

It didn't matter that even though Sam is an amazing fighter who is more than capable that he was going up against a literal super soldier who, in all likelihood, might be able to kill Sam before Sam could kill him. That didn't matter. Sam would die trying because he knew the pain of not being able to reach the brother who you grew up with and who had had your back but then had gotten lost in a way you couldn't reach. Sam's decision to help Steve navigate this and to caution him that Bucky might be the kind of guy you stop, instead of save, was less about Bucky himself even and more about trying to make Steve consider that this wasn't going to have a happy ending because Sam knew from experience how sharp that grief was, especially out of nowhere, so he was trying to prepare Steve for it as much as was possible, just in case.

Sam is the guy who spares those he loves the pain. I could see him going to ID his brother's body before his father so his father wouldn't have to see that. He also was probably pretty young-- maybe high school-- when it all happened. He dealt with the arrangements. He kept everyone together and going forward and maybe that's why he had to leave after-- it all ended up too much and he took off for the Air Force to put a little distance between himself and all the grief he was experiencing. (Not just the brother but multiple family members by that point.) He was willing to do the same for Steve, to give him that support and then some, if it came to that.

So imagine his relief when, not long later, the man he finds is not so much The Winter Soldier but *Bucky Barnes*... a man Sam finds he understands maybe a little too well. A man pretty broken, yeah, but with a ton of fight still left in him and a heart still beating in his chest. Just by never having given up, Bucky saved Sam from the pain of more death and loss and considering that Sam's history was awash in those things, Sam found himself kind of instantly endeared to this cranky, zombie, Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy who upended his life, even if Sam was loathe to admit it at first.

On the surface, it would seem that Sam's attraction to a super-soldier is the sense of indestructibility. By the time Sam met Bucky, he had lost his parents, his brother, his aunt/surrogate mom and his closest friend, who might have been something more, along with likely other fellow soldiers in war. He is a man who has been through hell and while he's brave as hell and keeps his heart open towards helping others, he also carries with him an expectation of future loss. One glance at his relationship with Bucky would make people think it's about the fact that Bucky is extremely difficult to kill-- that even his injuries, for the most part, heal rapidly. That he's strong and fast and dangerous and the least likely person that Sam has ever met to suddenly up and die on him. All of that doesn't hurt but I don't think that's really it.

It's not The Winter Soldier abilities that make Sam feel safe and protected with Bucky. It's not The Winter Soldier's kind of fight that Sam fell for-- it's Bucky. It's the man who went through seventy years of torture and still hasn't given up. It's the guy who can barely sleep through the night sometimes but always had fruit from the marketplace and a place for Sam to rest his head when Sam would show up exhausted in Bucharest. It's the guy who had his brain scrambled but still wakes up every day and tries the best he can and is there, ready with a snarky aside. He doesn't always get it right but he's trying. Sam is in awe of that. Sam knows what it's like to suffer, in different ways. He knows what pain is. He knows what it's like to look around one day and realize there is hardly anyone left and feel out of your depth. He knows how hard it is to try to keep the demons at bay. He's grateful everyday that Bucky is a fighter and keeps fighting, no matter what, and that's the strength he sees in him, not just the physical side of it. Yeah, he trusts that Bucky can watch his back in a fight and survive almost anything thrown at them but he loves him because he was a POW for decades and what was under The Winter Soldier didn't lie a man who was too far gone but one full of fight, determined to live a life robbed from him rather than give in to the pain he felt.

Sam didn't just save Bucky when he found him in the aftermath of The Winter Soldier-- Bucky saved Sam. He surprised him and his determined attitude gave Sam a sense of stability and safety that he hadn't felt with someone in a long time and maybe never really had in a partner at all. Sam doesn't just pine after Bucky because Sam's seen too much loss and Bucky could probably survive being blown up. He pines after Bucky because Bucky would survive being blown up and then quip a dry "ow" and spend the next week snarking at Sam from a hospital bed... and sure, Bucky has nightmares and anxiety and PTSD-- don't most people, really?-- but Sam is smart enough and experienced enough to know that those things do not mean a person isn't strong as hell. And Bucky is strong as hell. They were and are the person one another needed and needs.

#sambucky #sam wilson #bucky barnes #captain america #the falcon #the winter soldier #tfatws #caatws #steve rogers #winterfalcon

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mandoalorian · 3 years

Text

Borrowed Time [Din Djarin x F!Reader]

ੈ♡˳‧₊*: • Chapter 7: The Wedding ✩࿐ ˚.✧

Summary: You are the princess of Mandalore, held hostage on your own planet by Moff Gideon and his army of Imperial troopers. Left with no choice, you send out a distress signal; a plea for protection— and who comes? None other than Din Djarin, a foundling of The Death Watch. He, by creed, is your sworn enemy. And where you have asked for his protection, he has been told by his mentor that he must marry you and gain the ability to restore Mandalore to its former glory.

Word Count: 2000>

Warnings: arranged marriage mention, angst angst angst + feelings! SO MUCH HAPPENS IN THIS CHAPTER.. IT’S A RIDE AND A HALF SO FASTEN YOUR SEATBELTS.

AN: Please reblog to spread this around! It’s not showing up in tags! :( i think i’m still semi-shadow banned:(

Series Masterlist

This was not how you imagined your wedding day.

Eloping wasn’t necessarily a big deal for Mandalorian’s, however, it was a big deal for Mandalorian royalty. Typically, the ruler would announce a colourful festival filled with vibrance and happiness to celebrate the occasion, and the entire planet would be in joy. There would be no conflict; just smiles and laughter and love. But ever since the Imperials took over, you honestly didn’t think you’d ever see the day of a marriage. You remembered when you were a little girl, dreaming of the dresses you’d wear on your special day. You weren’t very particular about Mandalorian gowns, although your mother, the Duchess, donned some beautiful ones. You preferred the seamstry of Nabooian dresses, even consulting with one particular handmaiden of an old queen who would send you materials to create your own garments with.

Part of you wished it had been different, but you understood that this marriage wasn’t going to be like any other. It was a marriage to protect you, to keep you safe. Marriage was typically a celebration of love, two people committing to one another for life. And Din didn’t love you, did he?

You contemplated it for a few moments but shrugged it off. Sure, he’d shown you a strange level of kindness and protection over the past few days, and he acted like he’d known you forever, but no, of course he didn’t love you. He was simply just doing his duty as a Mandalorian to protect the Mandalo’r. Only, you weren’t exactly the Mandalo’r. He still didn’t know the truth about you. You were marrying this man, and honestly? Your life as he knew it was a lie.

But Maker, you were so afraid. If he learned who you really were, he’d never protect you. He’d have no reason to. And you had to put yourself first. You had to escape Moff Gideon’s pursuit and restore Mandalore to its former glory. You couldn’t afford distraction. And Din… was probably more of a distraction than you’d care to admit.

You combed your fingers through your hair, attempting to make yourself look somewhat presentable for the ceremony. Taking a few sourberries, you squished them between your fingers and applied the pink paste it had created to your lips, adding a little colour to your face. You weren’t as glammed up as you’d like to be, but it was certainly better than you could’ve expected, given your lack of resources.

To your surprise, Grogu came waddling in, holding a bunch of pink Sachi blossom flowers. He presented them to you with the most adorable smile on his face, his small teeth poking out from the corners of his lips. Babbling away, he crawled into your lap and nuzzled his green face into your tunic.

“Din… got me these?” You asked in disbelief, unable to even imagine the Mandalorian going out of his way to pick them for you. Grogu explained that they were wildflowers which grew around Nevarro, and Din chose these ones because, well, they were pink. Your favourite colour.

He was so thoughtful.

Grogu explained to you that Din and the Armorer were ready and waiting for you by the altar, in the depths of the covert. This was it. You were about to swear your life away to this man.

Din was nervous too. He rocked backwards and forwards on his heels, the knot in his throat tightening considerably as he waited for you. The Armorer, as his mentor, did her very best to comfort him and assure him he was doing the right thing. Marrying the Mandalo’r would come with so much duty, and Din just didn’t believe he was good enough for you.

He reminded himself to push his feelings to one side. You were marrying him for your own safety. Not because you loved him. When Din heard your footsteps enter the room, his heart began to slam against his chest. He turned to face you, and was completely blown away. Suddenly, he was looking at you in a completely different light. You looked like a real-life angel. He didn’t know what it was… perhaps the way the amber candlelight basked you in the most perfect glow, your blush lips, or the way you held the flowers he’d picked especially for you, tight against your chest. Part of him thought that maybe you wouldn’t show. You were a runaway princess, afterall.

Grogu led the way as you slowly walked down the short aisle, trying your hardest to relish the moment. You offered Din a small smile of reassurance by the time you reached the altar, so he knew that you were still okay with this.

The ceremony began with the Armorer bestowing a beaded necklace, decorated with Din’s clan emblem; the Mudhorn, in sparkling silver beskar. She placed it around your neck, and explained the meaning of the Mudhorn signet. She then turned to Din, and told him that his clan of two was now officially, by Creed, a clan of three.

As the ceremony progressed, you couldn’t help but wonder how something so wrong felt so right. You imagined your body to be rife with nerves. After all, you were marrying into your rival clan to a man who you’d only known for mere days. But you weren’t afraid and for the first time in a long time, you didn’t want to run. You were happy, here with him. You were happy to be uniting with a man like Din.

“Have you prepared vows?” The Armorer asked, taking a step backwards and ushering for you and Din to break your distance with one another. Din slid his mustard coloured gloves from his hand and stuffed them into his utility belt. You thought, for a split second, that you saw his hands shaking, but nevertheless, he held them out for you to hold. And so you did. They were warm and calloused, the pads of his thick fingers slightly rough.

Your own fingers interlocked with his and just for once, you wished that you could see him-- see the face under that damned helmet off his.

“No,” Din said, not tearing his gaze from you. “We were going to do the traditional Mando’a vows.”

“Very well,” The Armorer replied. “Whenever you wish.”

Din swallowed thickly and squeezed your hand again.

“Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde.” (“We are one when together, we are one when parted, we will share all, we will raise warriors.”)

Raise warriors. You looked down at Grogu who’s dark eyes were wide with curiosity as he witnessed the ceremony. After you repeated the vows, you and Din exchanged beskar rings.

“I’m glad I met you, Din.” you told the Mandalorian quietly.

Din’s heart blossomed in his chest at your revelation. You hadn’t even realised that you’d been holding it in for so long. So long that ‘like’ was beginning to feel like an understatement.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” The Armorer declared. “I shall leave you both in peace for the night.”

She bowed down to both you and Din before whisking Grogu away and leaving the room.

“So… I’m a prince now?” Din asked cautiously.

Your lips curled into a smile that he’d grown to adore so much. “Yeah, something like that.” you laughed. If he remained married to you after you reclaimed the Mandalorian throne, you’d be queen and well, he’d be king. Your smile quickly fell from your lips when you realised how foolish it was for you to think he’d remain married to you even after this was all over.

“I can’t believe we’re married,” you revealed quietly, your voice shaky. Din muttered something that sounded like agreement but what he said wasn’t exactly clear. You turned away from him, feeling shame well in your stomach. “But, it’s for the best, right? And I mean, we can always separate once this is all over.”

You felt Din place his hand on your shoulder and squeeze it gently. His touch was like magic. Sure, you felt safe when he was near… but when he touched you? That was like a whole new unfamiliar sensation. You turned around to face him, and he brought both of his hands up to his beskar helmet.

He was going to take it off.

He was going to reveal himself to you.

Although you didn’t necessarily agree with the ways of the Watch, you knew that unmasking himself would be a huge deal for Din. It was only in marriage, could a Mandalorian reveal themselves to another living person. And even though your marriage to Din was extremely unconventional, he still felt the need to take off his helmet. You didn’t understand why he was voluntarily going to take off his helmet, because he certainly didn’t have too. You didn’t understand why he trusted you so much when, of course, you’d been lying to him.

The shame you were feeling flooded your entire body and became over-bearing. You didn’t think you could take it anymore… living like this with your husband and pretending to be someone you weren’t.

“No!” You blurted out, moving your hands to his helmet and stopping him from taking it off. Din stiffened up when you raised your voice in that panic tone. You noticed his change in demeanor and took a deep breath, making a conscious effort to calm down so you wouldn’t worry him. “No… I can’t let you do that.” you said.

Din was puzzled as he tried to search for answers in the expression on your face… but you weren’t exactly easy to read.

“You-- you don’t want to see my face?”

Was he hurt? Offended? You shook your head quickly, your eyes going wide. “No, I mean yes-- I mean… I want to see your face. I’ve thought about it a lot. Believe me.”

“You’ve thought about seeing my face a lot?” Din quizzed curiously, a teasing lilt to his voice as he tilted his head.

You scrunched up your nose and began to nervously pick at your fingernails. “Yeah, uhm-- I just… I know how important the sanctity of an unmasking is to your culture. It’s a trust exercise, is it not? To do with your loved one?”

“To do with your partner,” Din corrected. “And we, by Mandalorian Code, are now partners. A Clan of Three.”

Kriff, he was right. He was always right.

Your stomach was twisted in knots, realising that this man married you to protect you. He trusted you enough to show you his face. The same face he’d kept hidden from the rest of the world for the past thirty or so years.

He was wrong to trust you. You couldn’t let him do this, no matter how much you wanted to.

“Din,” you looked away from him, trying to avoid choking up. “I haven’t… I haven’t been completely honest with you.”

Din stood and stared at you in complete silence before proceeding. “What are you talking about?”

Why was this so hard? You wanted to scream, or curse out loud. It shouldn’t have been this hard. It’s not like you loved him. Right?

“I’m not who I say I am.” you explained, your voice shaky.

You wished now more than ever you could see his face under that damn helmet, and get some kind of judgement of how he looked. You could feel your lips trembling as tears pricked the corners of your eyes. Maker, you felt sick to your core.

“I don’t understand…” Din said wearily, his voice completely modulated and monotone.

You had to do it. Just come clean.

You had to tell him the truth.

He deserved the truth.

“Din,” you sighed, exasperated and looking at him completely helplessly. “I’m not the Mandalo’r.”

_________________________________________

Borrowed Time taglist in the replies!

Permanent taglist: @paintballkid711 @supernaturalgirl @phoenixhalliwell @xoxo-callie @stardust-galaxies @wickedfrsgrl @goth-topic @nerdypinupcrystal @kiwi-the-first @pedroepascal l @castiel-barnes @honeymandos @rocketqueen @girl-obsessed-with-things @elena-myth @moth-guillotine @pedro-pascal-love @hayley-the-comet @pinkninja200 @maxiarapamaya @autumnleaves1991-blog @artsymaddie @harrys-stan @kennedywxlsh @cripplingmoon @cheekygeek05 @mrschiltoncat @rye-flower @theamuz @persie33 @sleepylunarwolf @martellthemandalor @pedro-pastel @steeevienicks @rrtxcmt @saphic-susperia @beskarprincessjenny @readsalot73 @softmedics @jade10077 @dodgerandevans @planetariumx @pascals-cat @ajeff855 @spideysimpossiblegirl @smoldjarin

#din djarin #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #borrowed time

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sawtual · 2 years

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Watched Saw 1-3 & thought of smth.. I genuinely believe that Amanda was better of dying in her trap. I don't think that she ever deserved to be there but what John did to her was far worse a fate than death. I genuinely believe that Amanda thinks this too and it's one of the reasons why she rigged her traps in 3 to always kill. I think she believes she shouldve died and that surviving from a saw trap doesn't fix you and is just worse than dying. Maybe thats like what the lore is am I'm just realizing that now but eh.. Just some food for thought ig

HSJDJFNG ok most times when ppl say my fave character should die i would disagree but no like youre right unfortunately. if the only 2 options were for amanda to be groomed by john or die, i think at least towards the end of saw 3 even amanda wishes she had just died back then...

i do think one thing thats very interesting is amandas extreme will to survive yk? she did what barely anyone could; i havent looked at the exact numbers but very few people actually do survive jigsaws games. the fact shes always been so desperate to cling to life is definitely something i think john admired + something he wanted to use for his advantage. also like... thinking about this, her will to live, it makes you think abt her decision to shoot lynn at the end of saw 3. i can think abt it from a few angles but my main ones are "she did believe john + knew they would all die, but couldnt bring herself to risk john knowing what happened. she was acting on a suicidal urge and had essentially given up" vs "she didnt believe john, and the reason she shoots lynn is because shes too terrified of john learning the truth. she'd rather betray him again than possibly face the full wrath of john". honestly i pingpong between these, going back n forth. it really is something im curious about and think about a lot! i do genuinely think she was terrified of john though, and believed if he found out amanda was complicit in gideons death, whatever he did to her would be so much worse than dying.

(side note , im PRETTY sure john knew of amandas involvement in gideons death? at first when i wrote this i was 100 percent sure and now i actually talked myself out of it a bit x_x i was thinking she was picked to play because john knew of her involvement but actually.. i feel like john would have mentioned it in the tape? but idk.. and maybe the trap ripping her mouth open could have had something to do with like.. irony about her asking her ex bf to get the drugs? IDK. these are thoughts fresh off the dome)

ALSO WHAT YOU SAY ABT HER RIGGING..!! is one of my top theories!! i genuinely do think she believed she had been reborn at first, and feverishly devoted herself to john, but i think it only became clearer and clearer to her how fucked up and unfair jigsaws games are. she clearly believed adams involvement was unfair, she was ridden with guilt over it and i think killing him to save him was a main catalyst in her losing herself + her will to live. then you have the gas house, she saw nothing but violence and suffering in there and clearly got a first person POV that no one was getting better, people were only suffering or hurting others. like she saw how close xavier got to winning!? if daniel hadnt killed him he might have actually won! at least in her eyes he didnt grow from this. he was cruel and violent and chose to hurt others when it was never needed. man didnt even do his own trap. 😭 + eric matthews whole shit?? he didnt change. or grow. he was violent and cruel as well. and of course her own personal hatred + fear messed with her in regards to him, hes the reason shes even here yk..?? as fair as amanda knows, jigsaw ONLY targetted her because she was am addict. and she can solely blame eric matthews for that happening. the was she collapses in pain after the fight. i just think amanda was really letting it sink in, just how badly her life was turning out 😓

but yeah basically i think her making her traps unwinnable because she didnt believe anyone actually changes from them (+knowing it can make you worse) is a super compelling theory and i honestly agree. i could honestly see it as an act of mercy on her part. ntm all her traps (iirc) killed their victims instantly, whereas john would leave people to just die of thirst in dark rooms 😐. honestly all amandas traps were pretty kind in that regard 😭

.....also also i DO think amamda had the potential to be rehabilitated even during saw 3 when she was at her most detatched and unhealthy, i know she could have been saved if there was any effort put into it on someones part, but i seriously do not believe that the police department + courts would show her any mercy for being a jigsaw accomplice. like. at all @_@. and i think serving more jail time instead of getting actual mental health aid, would only serve to make her that much more hateful and withdrawn and violent :( its extremely sad imo. amandas story is so compelling to me because at pretty much every turn, if she had just been shown more kindness, is someone had just stepped in sooner, maybe things wouldnt have ended up the way they did :( but no one really cared about her, save for the small kindness that adam showed her in the hallway.. and that was too late 😥

#*wakes up* *recieves saw ask* *goes fucking insane*#text heavy #anon #saw #amanda young #AUAUAUGH AMANDA MOMENTS SHE MAKES ME CRAZED. INSANE EVEN #also in regards to u wondering if what u said is canon lore: saw canon lore is so wishy washy + we never get anything super concrete -#in regards to amandas motives? like theres the implication hoffman had a lot more to do with her 'rigging' in the later movies #even to the point of him possibly framing her abt it 😐 (we see him tinkering with the angel trap)#ntm we dont know if amanda truly believes what shes saying in the 'fix me motherfucker' scene #or if shes just lashing out in fear and anger.#i think it's both honestly.. i think shes had strong doubts abt jigsaws whole belief #plus her crying out that shes just a pawn #i think she said that because shes scared its true #she maybe even partially believes it.. but mainly think she was voicing her own fears in hopes that they could be disproven #LIKE CLEARLY SHE WAS BEING MANIPULATED AND GROOMED... but i think she was desperately clinging onto the hope that john would -#accept her and love her despite anything she had done #and when i say love i mean paternally @_@. i think she saw a violent man and went 'yay new dad' ! and got so fucking traumatized #asks #LONG POST #im sorry i havent thought much abt saw the past week and this bursted the freaking dam

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spencers-renaissance · 3 years

Text

I found my way home

Summary: After Spencer tells Hotch about his recent autism diagnosis, he expects that to be the end of it. Somehow, though, it keeps coming up, and Hotch keeps proving himself to be the best father figure he could have asked for.

Tags: autistic spencer, protective hotch, hurt/comfort, fluff, paternal hotch, team as family

TW: mentions of ableism, one small instance of ableism & homophobia

Pairing: Gen

Word Count: 4.1k

Masterlist // Read on AO3

This was borne from my conversations with @criminalmindsvibez about the lack of autistic spencer fics and her amazing headcanons. While I'm not autistic, Emily is, and helped me to portray Spencer's autism as accurately as possible. That said, please feel free to correct me on anything I got wrong :)

Spencer had made an effort to get into work even earlier than usual today. He’d ridden the metro through the city, dipping his hand into his messenger bag every few minutes to compulsively check that the slim letter he’d received in the post the other day is still in the front pocket where he’d safely placed it that morning. He brushes his fingers over the paper once more as he enters the near-empty bullpen, the letter cool from the winter air.

It’s still so surreal to him that this is where he works. After years of dreaming of working for the FBI he’s finally here, and even though it’s been his place of work for almost two months now, he’s still not used to it. The warm offices are a nice reprieve from the wintry December wind, and he can feel himself relaxing as he heads to his desk. Leaving his coat and messenger bag on his chair, he pulls the letter out of the front pocket and runs his index finger along the edge. He finds himself biting his bottom lip as he tries to work up the courage to go and see Hotch.

Sucking in a deep breath, he marches determinedly up to Hotch’s office, entering as soon as his knocks are answered.

“Reid,” Hotch says pleasantly as he takes a seat opposite his desk, realising belatedly that he probably should have waited until he was invited. “You’re in early. What can I do for you?”

Nervously, Spencer hands him the letter he’d couriered across the city so carefully. He’d taken care to open it neatly with his letter opener but the return address on the back has been stamped at a crooked angle, and it bothers him every time he notices it. He can’t stop looking at it now as he taps his fingers anxiously against his leg in the pattern of the Fibonacci sequence, a safe and familiar reassurance played out by his nervous fingers. He watches apprehensively as Hotch pulls the letter out of the envelope, unfolding it and skimming his eyes down the page, taking in the news Spencer’s been so anxious to share with him.

Diagnosis: Asperger’s Syndrome

God, it had been a long process. He’d had to seek out a doctor in DC who diagnosed adults, paid for all the consultations and diagnostics himself — his insurance certainly wouldn’t cover it, not that he’d feel comfortable using his cushy FBI insurance for something so personal anyway — and the whole process had taken far longer than he’d expected. Finally, though, the envelope had arrived in the mail, and he officially had a diagnosis.

Of course, he’d had his suspicions for years, especially after one of his professors during his second PhD had casually asked whether he’d ever been tested, planting a seed in his brain that led to many late nights in the library, reading all the literature available to him. It’s why he’d found it strange that it had felt so validating to finally receive that letter in the post. But it had.

The label made sense, and now that he had a diagnosis from a medical professional he felt comfortable to share it with others; he’d been far too paranoid about being questioned, not being believed or lectured about the evils of self-diagnosis no matter how he was confident in himself. He didn’t tend to be an insecure or self-conscious person, but after years of bullying and trauma surrounding what he now knew for sure to be his autistic traits, he couldn’t help but feel almost protective of his affirming label.

Now though, it’s an irrefutable statement. Dr Spencer Reid has autism, and the first person he wants to tell is Hotch.

“I had no idea you were getting tested, Reid,” Hotch says, a hint of surprise bleeding into his voice. “Is there any specific reason you wanted to share this with me?”

“Well… I felt like someone on the team should know,” Spencer starts carefully, afraid to give too much of himself away, “and I thought that someone in a leadership position was the best option. Gideon has never been very… supportive of my autistic traits or behaviour, so I thought that you— that you would be the best option.” He feels awkward, fidgeting in his chair as he watches Hotch’s serious face and kind eyes absorb the information.

“That trust in me means a lot, Reid,” he says, a rare smile making its way onto his face. In that moment, Spencer knows he made the right decision. “How can I make things easier for you? Is there anything you need me to be doing differently?”

“Uh—” He hadn’t really been anticipating that question and it catches him off guard: he’d predicted a quick nod of acknowledgement, a request to photocopy the letter so it can be put on file followed by a swift dismissal, but the letter is now sitting on his side of the desk: clearly, Hotch intends on keeping this between them. This is far from what he expected.

“Why don’t you start by telling me about autism and how it might affect your work?” Hotch corrects himself, recognising quickly Spencer’s need for specifics. “I’ll admit I don’t know much beyond some probably rather unhelpful stereotypes.”

Spencer nods. He can answer that question. “As everyone knows I often go off on tangents,” he begins, “and that’s because my special interests — or hyperfixations — often coincide with our work, so I know a lot about the topics we’re investigating. If I do that, just redirect me to the case and I’ll be fine. It’s also really hard for me to have to present myself in a certain way all the time. Vocal stims and gestures are the most satisfying to me but I often have to mask them, which I’ve never been very good at anyway, and it’s fairly exhausting. That’s why I often excuse myself; I go to the bathroom or a secluded hallway and stim on my own. My doctor also told me I tend to overcompensate in social situations and over-perform emotion. Those are the basics, I guess, but it’s a very complex disorder and since it makes up me as a human being, I can’t exactly explain all of it in one conversation.”

“No, that’s fine, Reid, you’ve given me a good picture of what to expect, thank you.” Hotch smiles at him, fondness in the crinkles around his eyes and the softness invading his usually stern expression. “First of all, you never have to feel like you need to excuse yourself to stim. Do you think it would be helpful if we told the rest of the team so they know what to expect? I’m assuming vocal stims are saying certain words or making sounds…?”

Spencer nods.

“Okay, so if you needed to do that we could just continue the conversation while you get it out of your system. Gestures certainly wouldn’t be a problem. How do you feel about that?”

He hadn’t really considered telling the rest of the team but it seemed sort of intimidating, like he’d be opening a vulnerable side of himself to people he didn’t even know that well. On the other hand, they’d all been so understanding of his quirks and odd behaviour so far without even knowing the reason behind it. He’d never once been made to feel the way he used to at school, forced to either pretend to be someone else completely or be isolated and ostracised.

He settles for, “I’ll think about it.”

“That’s fine. There’s no pressure,” Hotch assures him. “I’m very happy you told me, Reid. I hope you know you can come and talk to me about anything, whether it’s about this or something completely different.”

Spencer leaves his office with the letter back in his hands, no notes or copies having been made, feeling almost elated. Never in a million years would he have expected that to go so well.

⭐️

He doesn’t really expect it to come up again. He’d told Hotch so that he could understand him a bit better, and also because Hotch had quickly assumed a protective, almost paternal role in his life and he wanted to share the piece of news with him whether he was leading his department or not. That was supposed to be it, though, he didn't think anything would materially change, especially since he decided not to tell the team about the diagnosis just yet.

But almost immediately after he’d told Hotch his diagnosis, his rambles began to be gently redirected back to the case, sometimes without him even noticing. He wasn’t rudely cut off by anyone anymore, Hotch always steering him back on course before anyone else can jump in and hurt Spencer’s feelings. It’s so… kind that it almost feels foreign, and he finds himself gravitating towards the older man more and more, sitting next to him on every jet journey and staying glued to his side during cases.

His newfound protectiveness over Spencer is only demonstrated more clearly a few months after their conversation in Hotch’s office when they’re on their way to New Mexico for a case. The second he spots that the murder victims had all been found with different Fitzgerald quotes scrawled on sheets of paper found in their own personal notebooks, ripped out and left for investigating officers to find, he launches into an info-dump to rival info-dumps.

He can’t help that literature is a special interest of his, made all the more intense by the fond childhood memories of reading to his mother in her bed. Fitzgerald had been her favourite author of the Modern Era, and he’d spent hours analysing significant passages in his novels as a child, so he starts explaining the literary merit of each of the quotes left at the crime scenes.

Apparently, he doesn’t hear the first two times Hotch tries to direct him back on topic, but he hears it when Gideon shouts, “Spencer! Long and unnecessary tangents are not conducive to actually solving these cases. Get back on topic. Now.” He’s loud enough to briefly knock him back several decades to memories of his father screaming at his mother’s schizophrenic babbling, when she’d become convinced that the villains of her favourite novels were trying to break into the house.

Spencer stops mid-sentence and stares at Gideon, who is staring right back. Everyone’s watching the two awkwardly, but the short moment of silence is quickly broken by Hotch. “There is absolutely no need to be that rude, Jason,” he says disapprovingly, while he lays a hand on Spencer’s arm in a light, absent-minded sort of touch. “Reid may have been off-topic but he deserves respect just like everyone else on this team. Nobody needs to be shouted at like that.” He directs his attention back to Spencer. “Why don’t you tell us how those Fitzgerald quotes could help us solve the case, Reid?”

He gives him an encouraging look, and when he looks around the jet, everyone else is, too. Carefully, he starts speaking again, a little afraid of being cut off again, but after a few sentences of relevant explanation he regains his momentum. It’s more than a little vindicating when it’s his ‘unnecessary tangent’ that ends up being the key to cracking the case.

⭐️

Soon after Hotch’s split from Haley, he approaches Spencer one evening when they’re the only two left at the office with a dinner invitation. Within the hour, they walk into a nice, low-key Italian place in the city and take a seat in the far corner of the restaurant.

“Is everything okay?” Spencer asks a little uncertainly, confused as to why his boss is suddenly taking him for dinner.

“I had this idea almost as soon as you told me about your autism,” Hotch explains, knowing by now that preambles and niceties only frustrate Spencer instead of setting him at ease. “I wanted to take you out for dinner every week to try and give you a space to ramble about all your special interests and not feel like you have to mask around everyone. But when I was with Haley, all my personal time was obviously spent with her and Jack. Now, I have the time to dedicate to you and all the incredible knowledge you’re hoarding in that brain of yours.”

“Really?” Spencer asks excitedly. The idea of uninhibited space to talk about the recent knowledge he’s acquired and not have to feel insecure or worry about performing social skills he doesn’t see the point of is everything he’s ever wished for, and something so wonderful being provided by Hotch only makes it better.

“Really.”

Spencer wastes no time. He dives right in. “I was just watching a documentary the other day about volcanoes and their ability to trigger lightning storms with their voltage,” he begins. “Basically, magma rises toward the volcano’s surface, its water rapidly turns to vapor, which shatters the molten rock into tiny particles and creates charged particles. When the ash plume erupts into the atmosphere, the densely packed particles collide, driven by momentum. Friction then affects their electrons, becoming electrically charged. Positively and negatively charged electrons separate in the ash plume which creates a charge imbalance that builds an electric charge strong enough to trigger a lightning storm.”

“That’s incredible.”

“I know,” Spencer says excitedly. “If the ash plume rises high enough in the atmosphere ice forms, and when ice, hail, and supercooled liquid droplets collide, the rates of lightning explode, it’s crazy.”

They’re briefly interrupted by a waitress taking their orders, but as soon as she leaves, Hotch gets him to jump back in. “What about that lecture you attended last week… the literature of 18th Century England or something?”

“19th Century English Lit, yeah!” He’s so eager to finally share this with somebody who will genuinely listen to him, and he can’t help it when his arms start to flap excitedly. Remembering where he is, he doesn’t try to mask it, pin his arms to his sides and simply deal with and suppress the innate urge to stim, he lets his body do what it wants to. Instead of eliciting a strange, sideways look, Hotch just smiles fondly.

“The lecturer had this fascinating theory on Dickens. I’ve always seen him as a pretty straight forward author of picaresque fiction, obviously combined with facets of melodrama. And it’s common knowledge that he was inspired by the novel of sensibility, of course. But I’d never thought about the stylistic and lexical choices in his works beyond standard analysis, and this lecturer went on a deep dive into his use of collocation and it opened my eyes…”

He spends the whole evening stimming to his heart’s content while detailing every current interest of his to Hotch, who simply listened intently while eating his meal slowly, dragging out the meal for as long as Spencer needed. “Let me give you a lift home,” Hotch insists after footing the bill, leading him out into the warm evening air.

“Oh, I don’t mind taking the metro,” he replies truthfully.

“I know. But it would make me feel better to drop you home safely. It’s late and seeing you into your apartment building would give me peace of mind.”

“Sure,” Spencer agrees happily, he’s still buzzing from such a nice evening and the least he can do for Hotch is let him rest easy tonight, so he climbs into the passenger side of his car. A few minutes into the car ride home, he realises he should probably actually verbalise just how much he enjoyed dinner. “Thank you, Hotch. I don’t think anybody’s ever done something so nice for me before.”

“Don’t mention it, Spencer,” Hotch replies, smiling even though he doesn’t take his eyes off the road. Spencer very much likes it when Hotch uses his first name, and he’d been doing it all evening. He doesn’t really understand why it feels so nice, just that it makes him feel… special, maybe.

“Don’t mention it, Spencer,” he repeats, before freezing as he realises what he’s said. He’s got so used to not masking all evening, he’s not in the right rhythm and mindset to suppress the urge to repeat Hotch’s words. He’s been so nice the whole evening, the last thing Spencer wants is for Hotch to think he’s mocking him.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Hotch reassures him, tapping his arm lightly as he smiles encouragingly.

“Don’t mention it, Spencer,” he says again, repeating it a few times in relief before the itch is satisfied. He really does have the best boss/friend in the whole world. There’s no doubt about that.

⭐️

Rossi’s initial reaction to Spencer had admittedly been a bit rocky, and having Hotch undeniably on his side was the only thing that made those first few months bearable. He never let them go off on their own; never put Spencer in a position where he’d have to be alone with him. Gradually, though, Rossi adjusted to his quirks and he became almost as protective of Spencer as Hotch.

That doesn’t bode well for the local sheriff when they’re on a case in North Carolina. He’s been prickly since they arrived, being as stubborn and uncooperative as possible, slowing down their progress on actually solving the case, and Spencer’s noticed him being a little extra rude to him in particular. It doesn’t massively bother him — it’s not exactly like someone’s aversion to him is a novel concept — but he can feel some sort of tension coming from the others. It happens a lot more now that they know about his autism and are more aware of themselves and others.

He tries to ignore it the best he can; he puts his head down and focuses on the geographical profile, going wherever he’s sent. Besides, the sooner they solve this case the sooner they can get out of North Carolina and back to DC. On their third day on the case, he’s working quietly in their designated corner of the police department alongside Hotch and Rossi while the others are out investigating in various different places. It’s a nice environment, and even though both men are his superiors, he feels more relaxed in their company than in anybody else’s.

It’s a relatively pleasant morning — considering the whole trying to catch a brutal serial killer thing — until they need to ask the sheriff a question. He saunters over, a tense and angry expression on his face, and Spencer can’t help but feel a little off, the confusing tension in the air that Spencer can’t quite identify making him anxious in his inability to properly decipher it. “Gentlemen,” he says, already frustrated. Spencer suspects it’s a pride thing; not many police departments like being shown up enough to have the FBI called in.

Eager to know the answer to their question, Spencer’s the one to jump in and ask. “Sheriff, we were just wondering whether the town gets much traffic from the local university or—”

He’s cut off by the sneering, towering man. “I’m not taking any questions from your kind,” he says aggressively.

“I’m sorry?” Spencer squeaks as Rossi and Hotch both prepare to say something in response.

The sheriff cuts them off before they can get their likely diplomatic and calming words out. “Homo retards aren’t welcome around here.”

“Hey!” Rossi shouts as he leaps out of the chair, grabbing him by the collar as he’s helped by the element of surprise. “You don’t fucking talk to Spencer like that, you hear me? Weak, cowardly men like you—”

“Dave,” Hotch says placatingly, putting a hand on his shoulder and diffusing the situation. “Listen, Sheriff, we are only here to help you. But if you can’t respect my agents then we’re going to have a problem. Either you’re civil to Dr Reid, or I’m reporting you to the NC Sheriff’s Association. You hear me?”

The sheriff’s pride is clearly wounded, but he at least nods before giving them all a scornful look and walking away.

“We didn’t even get to ask the question,” Spencer says anxiously, suddenly feeling out of his depth, like he can’t quite get enough air.

“Dave, try and get an answer,” Hotch directs, taking charge of the situation. “Spencer, come with me.” He takes him into a secluded hallway for a little privacy, sitting him down on the cool linoleum before sinking down next to him. “You’re okay.”

“You’re okay, you’re okay,” Spencer whispers over and over to himself as he rocks backwards and forwards, trying desperately to self-soothe.

“Do you want me to touch you?” Hotch asks. He’s been in enough of these situations with Spencer to know he’s usually in two very different headspaces: he either longingly craves the grounding touch of a hug or a hand on his back, or he needs complete space. He’s also learned that asking outright is the only way to get an direct answer.

“Yes,” Spencer replies, before repeating it over and over again as he’s wrapped up in Hotch’s arms, head pressed against his chest, his hand pressing gently against the back of Spencer’s head. He starts to calm down as he manages to breathe to the heat of Hotch’s calm, steady heartbeat, the comforting touch of someone he trusts with his life also helping to bring him back down to earth. A good ten minutes after the altercation with the sheriff, he’s feeling much better and brings his head out of it’s safe cocoon between Hotch’s chest and hand.

“Come on,” Hotch says kindly. “Let’s get back to the case, yeah? You can just sit and work quietly until you’re ready to hold a proper conversation again. How does that sound?”

Spencer nods tiredly, knowing that work will perk him back up again, and being surrounded by his team will make him feel safe, asshole sheriff or not.

⭐️

Over the years Hotch helps him through any hurdles that come his way, learning the exact nuances of Spencer’s characteristics and requirements, making sure to accommodate him in every way possible.

He brings an extra, super-soft sweater in his go-bag in case Spencer ever forgets his and needs something gentle on his skin but tight enough to make him feel secure. He buys him stimming toys, dropping them on Spencer’s desk before he even arrives at work and lets him use his office whenever the lights and noise of the bullpen get too much, drawing the blinds and giving him the space he needs. Rossi doesn’t even question it anymore when Hotch shows up with a stack of paperwork and moves into his office for the morning.

It wasn’t until Hotch made a concerted effort to make his life easier that Spencer realised how hard it had been fighting through life on his own. So when he realises Hotch’s birthday is coming up, he decides he wants to show his gratitude. It’s never been easy for him to express emotions, especially since he’s never really found it rude when people don’t thank him, but he knows that for most neurotypical people, appreciation is important.

So he talks it over with Derek and on Hotch’s birthday, he comes into work to see Spencer waiting in his office with balloons, a cake, a card, and a present. He’d spent hours trying to find the right words to explain how he feels, to find the right words to show Hotch just how much everything he’s done for him means, but eventually he’d settled on something simple:

Caroline B Cooney wrote: “I found my family. I found the right thing to do. I found my way home.”

I found all of these things when I joined the BAU, but more specifically when I walked into your office, hands shaking, clasping a letter I’d been waiting for all my life. Thank you.

Hotch reads it with tears in his eyes before taking in the cake, a classic birthday cake Spencer had bought at the store, the words “Happy Birthday Dad” written in blue icing. He didn’t really understand why the cake had stood out to him, or why he associated the word ‘dad’ with someone who wasn’t related to him at all, but he’d trusted his gut and with Derek’s cheerleading, he’d bought it.

“Oh, Spencer,” Hotch says tearfully. “Can I hug you?”

Feeling only mildly uncomfortable at the visible display of emotion Spencer doesn’t know what to do with, he nods and steps into Hotch’s comforting embrace. “This means the world to me,” Hotch murmurs quietly as he stands, hugging Spencer for as long as the younger man can stand it.

Spencer’s still not completely sure why he’s managed to make him so emotional, but at least he can trust that it’s a good thing, that Hotch is happy and pleased and reassured. And if he can make him feel even a smidgen as happy as Hotch has made Spencer over the years, well. He’ll consider his long and boring trip into the city to buy the cake, present and card worth it.

Quick Note: Spencer is diagnosed with Asperger’s because that part of the fic is set in 2005. These days he would be diagnosed with Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD)

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @strippersenseii

#criminal minds #criminal minds writing #criminal minds fic #spencer reid #aaron hotchner #hotch & spencer #spencer #hotch #my writing #autistic spencer reid #autistic spencer #dad hotch

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