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ssa-dado · 1 month ago

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19 - Push & Pull

Aaron Hotchner x bau!fem!reader Genre: slow burn, whump, fluff Summary: Everything that happens in 3x2 - the good, the bad, the ugly, what you see and especially what you don't see. Warnings: themes of suicide, non-consensual sexual encounters, infidelity, alcohol, physical violence that feels like the filthiest smut, CM case details, P***r gets mentioned Word Count: 21k - you can start feisting now Dado's Corner: Despite the fact that a good third of this chapter was fever-fueled - yes, I'm still a helpless victorian child rotting in bed - this has to be my favorite in the series. The complexity, the blend of themes, the highs and lows… It was an emotional rollercoaster to write. Please tell me I didn't waste your time and show me some love because I'm never writing such a long chapter like this ever again. Honestly, it was challenging on every level, but I could say, I'm satisfied about how it turned out.

masterlist

Gideon, your mentor, was unraveling.

His office had turned into a reflection of his mind: cluttered, chaotic, littered with unfinished reports, half-eaten meals, and newspapers strewn like remnants of thoughts he couldn’t quite piece together. The deep shadows beneath his eyes grew darker with each sunrise, his sharp instincts dulled by an overwhelming sense of doubt that he wore like a second skin.

It was Reid, in his quiet, persistent way, who seemed to keep Gideon tethered to the here and now. Every night, after the bullpen had emptied and the hum of activity quieted, Reid would slip into Gideon’s office with his well-worn chessboard.

No words were needed between them - Reid would simply set up the pieces, and they’d play, the clink of pawns and knights the only sound breaking the stillness.

Sometimes, Reid would ramble on about obscure facts, statistics, or philosophical musings - trying, in his own way, to coax Gideon out of the fog.

And sometimes, it even worked.

Gideon would nod, listening, though his eyes were always distant, like his mind was trapped in some other place, some other time.

You noticed it all.

You saw the way Gideon was slipping further into himself, withdrawing into a shell built from old scars and fresh wounds, and despite your own burdens - the ceaseless grind of paperwork, the weight of decision-making - you couldn’t help but stay.

Late into the night, you’d linger in his office, your own files spread out on the corner of his desk as they played chess in the background.

It wasn’t planned.

No one spoke of it.

But the three of you were drawn together by the silence, by the shared weariness that seemed to fill the room. There was a strange, unspoken bond forged in those long hours, a quiet understanding that didn’t need words.

One particularly late night, you noticed Gideon had barely touched his dinner.

A dry sandwich sat untouched on his desk, the wrapper barely peeled back. His gaze was fixed on the chessboard, but you could tell he wasn’t really seeing it.

Across from him, Reid spoke softly but quickly, his usual stream of physics trivia flowing in a rapid, soothing rhythm. As much as you wanted to follow along, the complexity of it eluded you, your focus drifting instead to Gideon.

He wasn’t listening to Reid either.

Not really.

His gaze flickered toward the younger profiler as if searching for something in him - a reflection, a glimpse of the man he used to be. It was as if Gideon believed that, if he looked long enough, he might find in Reid the younger version of himself - the idealist who still found meaning in the smallest details, who once believed in the unshakable rightness of the work.

That’s when you decided it was time to lighten the mood, if only a little.

Without a word, you began rummaging through your bag, searching for the small box you always carried for nights like these.

It wasn’t much, but it was something.

Finally, your fingers closed around it - a box of espresso-filled chocolate truffles.

You pulled it out and placed it on the table between them, the soft rustle of the box breaking the silence. Both Gideon and Reid looked up from the chessboard, their attention caught by the unexpected offering.

“Thought we could use a pick-me-up,” you said, giving them a small smile. "Chocolate, sugar, caffeine, all the essentials.”

Reid’s eyes lit up immediately, his love for sweets rivaling his encyclopedic knowledge. Without hesitation, he reached for one, already unwrapping it before you even finished speaking.

“Just be careful,” you cautioned, watching him with amusement. “Make sure to eat it all in one bite, the center is-”

Too late.

Reid bit into the truffle with enthusiasm, only for a stream of espresso to spill out, running down his chin and splattering onto his shirt. His eyes went wide with surprise, his fingers frozen mid-bite as the liquid dripped onto him.

You stifled a laugh, raising an eyebrow as you glanced over at Gideon, who had paused, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “-liquid,” you finished, a little too late, but the playful tone wasn’t lost on either of them.

Reid blinked down at the mess, flustered. “I… should’ve listened,” he muttered, grabbing a napkin as you chuckled softly.

For the first time in days, Gideon let out a genuine laugh—the sound warm and rich, cutting through the tension that had gripped the office for weeks.

It was contagious, and soon you found yourself laughing too, shaking your head at Reid, who was frantically dabbing at his shirt with a napkin. “Well,” you teased, trying to suppress your grin, “at least now you get a second truffle, Reid.”

Reid shot you an exasperated look but reached for another anyway, this time more cautiously. He ate it in one swift motion, nodding with appreciation at the taste.

As the laughter faded, Gideon leaned back in his chair, still smiling softly. “I have to say, it’s nice being included in you and Hotch’s little long-lived tradition,” he remarked, his tone light but carrying an edge of nostalgia.

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “It’s not a tradition, Gideon. Just an act of kindness.”

His smile grew, though weariness hung at the edges. “Sure, but you and Hotch have always had your... gestures. I’ve seen it over the years.”

Feigning offense, you shot him a playful glare. “Are you accusing me of being too nice?”

Gideon chuckled, shaking his head. “Not at all. But there’s always been something different between you two. Even in the quiet moments, you’ve had each other’s backs in ways that most people couldn’t even see. It’s unusual, how quickly he let his guard down with you.”

You deflected with a smirk. “Well, I was the only one slipping him chocolate across the desk. If you or Rossi had tried, maybe you’d have broken through that wall too.”

He didn’t laugh this time, his voice lowering slightly. “It’s not just about the chocolate...”

You knew exactly what Gideon meant, the weight of his words hanging in the air between you, but thankfully, before you could respond, Reid - oblivious to the underlying tension - cut through the moment. “Gideon, your move,” he said, eyes still fixed on the chessboard.

And just like that, you saw it - the way Gideon’s focus shifted, retreating inward.

His face darkened, leaving behind a man questioning everything: the cases, his instincts, his very place in the team.

Your heart clenched.

This was the man who had taught you to trust your gut, to peel back the layers of darkness in others to find the truth, that had brought you right where you belonged. He’d been your mentor, the one who shaped you into the profiler you had become. And now, watching him crumble, piece by piece, felt like losing something vital, a part of yourself that had always drawn strength from him.

And so, you stayed.

You overstayed your office hours, finishing your paperwork in Gideon’s office instead of Hotch’s. It wasn’t a solution, but it was something.

And Reid, with his boundless loyalty stayed too, playing chess with Gideon night after night, keeping him tethered to the world for just a little longer.

But as the days passed, you saw it, every time you caught him staring off into the distance, you knew he was drifting further into the abyss.

In those two weeks, you did everything you could to hold him together.

You brought more truffles, more late-night conversations, more quiet companionship. But you knew, no matter how much you tried to anchor him, he was already gone - retreating into the darkness of his own making.

But you stayed anyway, because that’s what you and Hotch had always done for each other. And even though Hotch wasn’t there, you carried on the tradition.

Because that’s what partners do.

---

As the weight of the last night as Unit Chief night pressed on, your phone buzzed in your pocket.

You already knew who it was before you glanced at the screen.

Peter.

You sighed softly, your thumb lingering over the screen for a moment.

“I’ll be back in a second,” you said, quietly excusing yourself as you stood from Gideon’s desk. Reid and Gideon were still staring intently at the chessboard, though Reid’s eyes flickered up to meet yours when you moved toward the door.

He gave you a questioning glance, and without saying a word, you lifted the chain around your neck, revealing the engagement ring you always kept there. You gave it a playful swing, making a mock-embarrassed face, knowing full well they understood why Peter was calling so late.

“Trouble at home?” Gideon teased, his voice soft but filled with implication. He knew the tension between you and Peter had been simmering lately.

You forced a smile. "Just the usual check-in,” you said, stepping out into the hall, feeling the weight of their eyes on your back.

As soon as you closed the door behind you, you answered the call. "Pete, I know what you're going to say," you began, leaning against the wall, trying to keep your tone measured, but your exhaustion was seeping through.

"And you know why I’m calling," Peter’s voice was tense, irritated. "You’ve been in the office for days now. When are you coming home?”

"I’m still here because of Gideon,” you said, your voice dropping as you glanced back toward the door. “I’ve told you this before. He's not... he's not doing well, Peter. He needs someone keeping an eye on him."

There was a pause on the other end of the line. "He’s a grown man, Y/N. Gideon’s been through a lot, but you can’t babysit him. He’s a legend in the field, you really think-"

"I’m not babysitting him," you interrupted, your voice sharper than you intended. "I’m making sure he doesn’t fall apart. You don’t know what he’s been like these past few weeks. He’s barely eating, barely sleeping. You worked with him too, you should understand how serious this is."

Peter sighed, the sound heavy and tired. "You know I worked with Gideon for years, but you’re acting like it’s your job to save him. What about us? What about our life?"

You pressed your lips together, feeling the familiar sting of guilt rise sharply in your chest. "Pete, I’ve seen this before. I know the signs." The words were quiet but filled with a heaviness that made your throat tighten. "When someone stops caring, stops trying... and then, if they suddenly seem calm, peaceful even, it’s because they’ve already made their choice."

There was a heavy silence on the other end, the kind that seemed to stretch into forever, the kind that made you wish he would say anything - anything but what you knew was coming. Peter’s voice cut through the quiet, blunt, almost cold. "Y/N, you can’t save everyone – especially when they’re not asking for your help in the first place."

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, cold and final, the truth of them sharp but unwelcome. Your breath caught in your chest, and for a moment, even the bullpen across from you seemed too small. How could he say that? Didn’t he understand?

"I can’t just let it happen, Peter," you whispered, your voice breaking, the pain barely held back. "I won’t."

His frustration seeped through the line, thick and undeniable. "You always do this, Y/N. You get too involved. If you couldn’t control it in your own home, then what makes you think you can with Gideon? You can’t keep carrying this guilt with you everywhere you go."

His words were biting, an ultimatum thinly veiled as concern. "You need to come home. It’s past midnight, Y/N. This isn’t even your responsibility anymore. Hotch is back as Unit Chief, so stop clinging to this. You’re supposed to be going back to the Academy, back to teaching. You need to remember where you belong, because this - " he paused, letting the weight of the moment hang between you, "this needs to end. Everything’s supposed to go back to normal."

"Back to normal?" you echoed, the bitterness of the words catching in your throat.

As if the past few weeks could be erased.

As if Gideon spiraling wasn’t your concern anymore.

As if you hadn’t been holding everything together, here and at home.

But most of all, as if the cracks in your own life could just be mended overnight.

You sighed, exhaustion settling deep into your bones, making your shoulders sag. "Alright, Pete. Just... give me some time. Let me say goodbye, and I’ll come home. I promise."

There was a brief pause on the other end, a moment where you almost expected him to soften, to understand. But when Peter spoke again, his voice was colder, sharper. "Fine. But don’t take too long. And remember, I love you, okay? I’m doing this for you. You should be grateful I put up with this, most men wouldn’t."

The words stung, but you were too tired to react, too worn down to really let them sink in. "I am… sorry... I love you, too."

"Good," he replied, and there was an edge of something dark there, something you couldn’t quite touch in the moment. "And when you come home, don’t say you’re tired. You’ll find a better way to apologize, won’t you?"

Before you could respond, the line went dead, leaving you standing in the dim light of Gideon’s office. The ache of everything unsaid, everything unresolved, tightened in your chest, but you pushed it down. You had to. There was no space for that kind of pain right now.

With a deep breath, you steadied yourself and walked back toward Gideon’s office. When you pushed the door open, you found them right where you’d left them, both hunched over the chessboard, though they looked up almost in unison when you stepped in. There was an unspoken awareness in the room, like they could sense the shift in your mood before you’d even said a word.

Reid offered a small, tentative smile before glancing back at the chessboard, his brow furrowing as though trying to solve a puzzle. Gideon, on the other hand, didn’t speak right away. His fingers were idly tapping the edge of the board. It wasn’t until you approached the desk that he finally broke the silence.

“Everything sorted?” he asked, his voice soft, though he didn’t look up, as if giving you space to decide how much you wanted to share.

“More or less,” you replied, trying to keep your tone light. You lingered near the desk for a moment before continuing, your voice a little quieter now. “Just... wanted to say goodbye before I head out.”

That made him pause.

Gideon’s head lifted, his sharp, discerning eyes narrowing as he locked onto yours. It was as if he could see right through you, past the walls you were so desperately trying to keep up. His gaze softened, but it was Reid’s reaction that caught you off guard, that really hit you.

Reid’s eyes widened in genuine surprise, as though the reality of your departure had only just dawned on him. “You’re... leaving?” His voice was soft, almost childlike in its sadness, like he couldn’t quite believe it, but it was the rawness in his tone that caught you off guard.

You weren’t sure what hurt more: the way his question lingered in the air, fragile and aching, or the fact that you hadn’t truly accepted it yourself until that very moment.

You nodded, forcing a light smile despite the tightness in your chest. “Yeah, but don’t worry. Hotch will be here in seconds. Knowing him, he’s probably already waiting for me in the elevator, like we’re two Swiss guards changing shifts.” You tried to make it sound casual, but even the humor felt bittersweet. “You won’t be alone here for long.”

Gideon’s chuckle lingered in the air. “Oh, don’t I know it. You two,” he began, his tone tinged with something deeper now, “like some inevitable force of nature. You’re out here burning the midnight oil, and Hotch... he’s already pulling the sun back up. It’s funny, really. Like the two of you are stuck in some cosmic dance. Push, pull. Night and day.”

You couldn’t help but smile, though his words stirred something heavier inside you. “Hey,” you teased lightly, trying to brush off the weight of it, “we balanced each other out.”

“Balanced? You two were an overworking disaster,” Gideon said with a smirk, leaning back in his chair, his tone light but his eyes reflective. “The only relief was seeing you separately this time around.”

He paused, his expression softening, becoming more contemplative. “It reminds me of something from one of Heraclitus’ fragments: ‘The way up and the way down are one and the same.’ That’s what you and Hotch are, not just balance, but two sides of the same journey. You push him deep into the night, and he pulls you back into the day. It’s not just about working together - it’s about how you exist together. Two halves of one whole.”

He glanced at you with a knowing smile. “That kind of partnership... it’s rare. Don’t ever take it for granted.”

And then his mind drifted to more than ten years prior, back when he stood before his class on that first day, the low hum of shuffling papers and whispers settling into silence as he prepared to speak suddenly all came back to him – now.

In his first class there was a routine he had mastered - a careful choreography of words and images designed to unsettle the students, make them question the very foundations of their understanding. These future profilers, most of them ex-cops, were here to learn to see beyond the obvious.

And what better way to start than with a puzzle they wouldn’t expect?

He clicked the projector, and Heraclitus appeared on the screen - his shadowed face staring out from antiquity. The image was his favorite weapon, a portrait of philosophy’s "dark" and "obscure" mind, someone no one in this room was likely to recognize.

It was an intimidation tactic, plain and simple.

The baffled faces around the room were predictable, a symphony of confusion and unease. Gideon could feel the atmosphere shift as students glanced nervously at one another, trying to decipher what that unknown face had to do with the world of behavioral analysis.

But then, in the front row, there was something Gideon hadn’t expected.

A single discordant note in his well-rehearsed composition: a smile.

It came from you.

Gideon’s focus narrowed, his routine thrown ever so slightly off course.

Who was this young student, barely old enough to be in the Academy, wearing an expression of recognition?

Not confusion, not fear, but understanding.

It was unsettling, rare - intriguing. He couldn’t help himself. His curiosity got the better of him, and he went off script.

“What’s so funny about that picture?” Gideon asked, his voice sharper than intended, but charged with genuine interest.

All eyes turned to you, the youngest in the room. For a moment, the room held its breath, waiting for the usual nervous fumbling.

But you didn’t falter.

Instead, you met Gideon’s gaze, confident and steady.

“That’s Heraclitus,” you said, your voice clear, unmistakably sure of itself.

The simple statement landed like a lightning strike in the room. Gideon raised an eyebrow, impressed but still testing. “And what exactly do you find so amusing about Heraclitus?”

Leaning forward slightly, your excitement bubbled beneath your measured tone. “Heraclitus, the ‘Obscure,’ the philosopher of contradictions and paradox. No one expects philosophy in a behavioral analysis class, but he fits perfectly”

Gideon’s lips twitched in the faintest hint of a smile, though he masked it quickly. "Go on," he said, his tone a challenge.

You straightened in your seat, your eyes meeting his."Heraclitus also talked about the unity of opposites, how things that seem in conflict are actually interdependent. ‘The way up and the way down are one and the same,’ he said. It’s like the way we study both victims and unsubs in this field. They seem like opposites, but understanding one helps us understand the other. Just as pain and joy, light and dark, can’t exist without each other, neither can the criminal and the victim in our analysis. They’re part of the same story, the same journey."

Gideon felt a rare flicker of pride - not for himself, but for the potential sitting in front of him. You weren’t just reciting textbook philosophy; you were applying it, weaving it into the very fabric of the discipline you were there to learn.

And you weren’t done yet. Of course, you couldn’t resist - you had to link it to one of your all-time favorite philosophers. You leaned forward, a glint of excitement in your eyes.

"Even Hegel was profoundly influenced by Heraclitus. He said that there wasn’t a single proposition of Heraclitus that he hadn’t adopted in his own logic. Heraclitus' idea of 'becoming,' the flux between being and non-being, deeply influenced Hegel’s dialectic. It’s similar to what we see in criminal behavior - the constant push and pull between identity, choices, and circumstances. It’s never just one thing, it’s always in motion, always evolving."

That was the first time Gideon’s never-failing intimidation tactic had faltered, the only other time it would happen again would be years later, with Spencer Reid.

Heraclitus had marked your first interaction, a bridge between minds.

And now, as he watched you walk toward the elevator for what would unknowingly be your final moment together, Gideon couldn’t help but reflect on the strange symmetry of it all.

Heraclitus - the philosopher of change, of things never staying the same - had also marked your last exchange.

It felt fitting, like the end of a cycle, the completion of a journey.

In that instant, as you turned your back, unaware of the farewell lingering in the air, Gideon felt something unexpected - peace.

A peace that had eluded him for so long, now settled quietly in his chest.

He had done it.

He had left something behind, something more enduring than cases closed or criminals caught.

You.

Spencer.

His legacy.

Not just students, not just colleagues, but two minds shaped by the very philosophy that had shaped him: always seeking, always questioning, always flowing with the deeper currents of human behavior.

Suddenly he was no longer burdened by the weight of leaving. He could let go now, because he would never be truly gone – because his presence, his wisdom, lived on in both of you.

In your intellect, your understanding, in the way you would carry on the work with your own brilliance and compassion. You were the continuation of the journey, just as Heraclitus had once said: the way up and the way down are one and the same.

He had done his part.

Peaceful.

Grateful.

And finally free.

Today was the day.

The day Aaron had both longed for and dreaded in equal measure.

Every action since the moment he opened his eyes had been deliberate, as if each small motion was preparing him for the weight of the hours ahead. His body was already drained, conserving what little energy remained for the mental battle he knew was coming. It was like walking in slow motion, bracing himself for the inevitable.

Haley moved quietly around the table, as if she could feel the tension radiating from him without a word spoken. She handed him a fresh cup of coffee on the table, its dark aroma rising between them like a silent acknowledgement of what loomed.

Aaron ephemerally glanced up, offering her a smile - small, tired, and fleeting, the kind of smile that never quite reached his eyes. She didn’t need to ask; she already knew. The weight of the day sat between them, unspoken.

“Thanks, honey,” he murmured, his voice low and strained.

“Yep,” Haley replied simply, though her eyes lingered on him longer than usual, filled with quiet concern. She stepped behind him, resting her hands on his shoulders, applying a gentle pressure. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Aaron nodded, though it felt more like a reflex than an honest answer. His shoulders stiffened under her touch, his mind far away. He wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince her or himself. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Across the table, Jack was giggling as he tried to scoop cereal into his mouth, his little hands fumbling with the spoon. Kuna, the pine marten plushie, sat propped beside him as if it, too, was waiting for breakfast. Jack giggled again, offering the toy a bite of cereal as Aaron watched, feeling a pang of guilt mixed with love.

“You’re doing the right thing,” Haley said softly from behind him, her voice steady but with an undercurrent of certainty, as if she could sense the turmoil inside him.

Aaron nodded again, staring down into his coffee, his fingers tracing the edge of the cup. “I know,” he replied, though the words tasted hollow. He knew it, but he didn’t feel it. The decision he was about to make—requesting a transfer to Strauss—gnawed at him. He could hear her words ringing in his mind: “If it were solely up to me, you would never get these credentials back.”

It wasn’t just about work, though.

It was about purpose.

These last two weeks had been torture, not because he didn’t love spending time with his family, but because the stillness, the helplessness of suspension, had chipped away at him. Aaron was never the type to sit still.

His entire life had been built around momentum, around action.

These past weeks, he had felt himself slowly unraveling, checking in with you more often than necessary - not to oversee your work as interim Unit Chief, but because he missed it.

He missed the pulse of the job, the sense of purpose that came with it. He loved his family more than anything, but he couldn’t deny the restlessness eating away at him.

"Getting suspended was a blessing in disguise," Haley continued, her hands now gently massaging his tense shoulders. "We deserve a normal life."

Aaron took a slow breath, the words sinking in. He loved Haley, loved Jack, loved the idea of a normal life for them all. But was he even capable of that? Was "normal" ever really going to fit him? He felt the weight of her words more than ever, yet they didn’t soothe him like they should have.

"I love you," Aaron said quietly, turning his head slightly to meet Haley’s eyes, his tone filled with sincerity but also the unspoken conflict that still lingered beneath.

“I love you, too,” she replied, her hands slipping from his shoulders as she gave him a tender smile, though there was something unspoken between them as well. The past two weeks had been hard on both of them, in different ways.

Jack, unaware of the tension, looked up at his dad with a beaming smile. "Sok, Kuna!" he chirped, holding up his sippy cup toward the plushie, as though offering it juice.

Aaron blinked, caught off guard, before letting out a surprised laugh. He couldn’t believe it. His two-year-old son had just said a sentence - albeit a grammatically incorrect one - in Croatian. Aaron laughed, shaking his head in disbelief.

Aaron’s grin widened, the tension in his chest easing for just a moment. Of course, Jack would learn that word. You’d been playfully insisting on reading The Adventures of the Pine Marten in its original Croatian to Jack ever since you’d gifted him the book, mostly to humble him as usual.

At first, it had been a challenge, but after a few butchered attempts, Aaron had managed to learn a couple of basic words. “Sok,” which meant juice, and "Kuna," the name of the pine marten character, were the ones that stuck.

Aaron leaned forward, grinning at his son. “Kuna wants some juice too, huh, buddy?”

Jack, as if determined to correct his father, beamed and repeated, “Sok.”

Aaron couldn’t help but laugh again, shaking his head in disbelief. It was one of the few moments lately that lifted the dark cloud hovering over him. "Sok," he repeated with a grin. "Of course, Jack. Juice."

Haley, who had been watching the exchange with an amused but slightly exasperated expression, raised an eyebrow. “Did you tell her that Jack learned to say 'Kuna' before 'Dad'?”

Aaron groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “Oh no, she can never know that. You think she’d ever let me live it down? I’d hear about it for the rest of my life.”

Haley smirked, shaking her head, though there was a subtle edge to her amusement. “Only your son could pick up two words in Croatian by the age of two. Seriously, do you even know how many words a two-year-old should know?”

Aaron didn’t hesitate, slipping into profiler mode as easily as breathing. "Between 100 and 500 words. So the fact that Jack knows even 0.5% of that in Croatian is... pretty impressive," he said, pride swelling in his chest.

Haley rolled her eyes, though her smile lingered. "Out of all the words, it’s 'Kuna' and 'sok.' You’re really proud of that, huh?"

Her words had a playful tone, but Aaron couldn’t help but notice the underlying frustration. It wasn’t the first time Haley had made comments like that. “That’s my fault, the only words I can actually pronounce are 'Kuna' and 'sok.'”

Haley let out a short laugh, but it had a bitter edge. “Out of all the bedtime stories you could read, you’re reading that Croatian book. Sometimes I wonder... I swear, Jack reminds me so much of you and her. If this keeps up, he’ll be in university by fifteen.”

Aaron laughed, though he could sense the underlying tension. "Hey, those words - 's,' 'k,' and 'n' - they’re great for his pronunciation. He’s got a head start." He ruffled Jack’s hair, feeling a surge of fatherly pride.

Haley gave him a look, half-joking but with an edge. "Are you going to be mad if Jack grows up to be a linguist instead of a lawyer like you?"

Aaron hesitated, his gaze drifting to Jack, who was happily babbling to his stuffed marten, Kuna. The thought tugged at his heart, and his mind inevitably wandered to you, at the profound impact you'd had on him, his life, and, in subtle ways, on his family.

You’d only met Jack twice, but your influence was undeniable.

It was woven into bedtime stories, casual conversations, even the way Jack’s eyes would light up at words in other languages.

Aaron spoke about you way too often, sharing stories of your time together, your intense passion for languages and philosophy - all those hours you spent digging deep into human nature and meaning.

He’d done it even when Jack was too young to understand, planting seeds that somehow, in his son’s little world, had started to bloom. He liked to imagine that some of your passion had seeped into Jack - through stories, through osmosis, through that connection he always felt when talking about you.

“I wouldn’t mind if Jack grew up to be a linguist like her,” Aaron said softly, a warm smile pulling at the corners of his mouth as he imagined Jack inheriting that same thirst for knowledge, that wide-eyed wonder at the world.

But then, a nagging thought tugged at him - Jack’s repeating words like “Kuna” and “sok” was innocent, even charming.

It was just a toddler picking up on the rhythm of language, right?!

But what if one day Jack started rattling off philosophical musings - your philosophical musings?

Aaron wasn’t sure he could handle that.

The thought of raising a mini-version of you was both amusing and daunting.

He adored you, truly, but he also knew how relentless you could be when it came to deep conversations. Would Jack grow up with that same fierce, intellectual curiosity? Aaron wasn’t surely ready for that, especially not from a toddler.

He chuckled softly, shaking his head, trying to imagine the future. “You know what I’d really be worried about?” he asked, his grin returning despite the weight still lingering in his chest. “If he starts talking about philosophy like her.” He smirked, a playful glint in his eyes as he glanced at Haley, trying to lighten the moment. "Can you imagine? My worst nightmare would be hearing my son say the name Plato."

Haley raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching into a knowing smile. "Oh, please. You love it when she starts talking about philosophy. Don’t act like you wouldn’t secretly be proud."

Aaron’s smile softened at that, his heart swelling with the truth of her words.

Of course, he would be proud.

Just like he was proud of everything Jack did - whether he followed in his footsteps or carved his own path.

But imagining his little boy spouting off Plato or Hegel at the dinner table, at two years old? That was another story.

Before Aaron could respond, Jack, as if sensing his father’s thoughts, piped up from his high chair with a grin. “Plat!”

Aaron’s eyes widened in shock, his heart skipping a beat.

There was no way.

Jack couldn’t possibly be saying Plato, could he?

"Kuna wants some more cereal on his plate?" Aaron asked quickly, trying to redirect the conversation, his voice a little too cheerful as he pointed to the bowl in front of Jack. "This is called a bowl, not a plate, buddy."

But Jack giggled, delighted by the attention, and in that mischievous, toddler way of his, he declared loudly once again, “Plat!”

Aaron glanced at Haley, who was now biting her lip to keep from laughing, and he realized he wasn’t out of the woods yet. His son’s innocent mimicry was hitting far too close to home. But as if to make matters worse, Jack giggled again, this time saying something that sent another shockwave through Aaron's system.

“Heg!”

Aaron froze, staring at Jack with wide eyes.

There was no way his son was about to say Hegel.

He couldn’t possibly.

Not Hegel.

Not the philosopher you mentioned the most.

Frantically, Aaron scrambled to recover. "Eggs, buddy? You want eggs?" he asked, laughing nervously, already planning his escape route for when Jack inevitably started quoting full passages from the works of ancient philosophers. He could feel his heart racing at the thought.

Jack, still giggling, waved his hands as he played with Kuna, blissfully unaware of the existential crisis he was causing his father. Meanwhile, Aaron glanced at Haley, who shook her head, clearly amused by the whole situation.

"You know," she teased, a glint of mischief in her eyes, "if he keeps this up, he’ll be rattling off entire philosophical arguments before he’s five."

Jack’s giggles filled the room, and Aaron let out a shaky laugh, grateful that his son wasn’t quoting philosophers just yet.

But deep down, he knew it was only a matter of time.

The day Jack said "Socrates," Aaron would have to get creative - maybe "sausages" could be his go-to deflection.

---

There was only one person yet to be informed about his transfer request from the BAU.

He couldn’t avoid this conversation any longer.

Even though he knew you were probably heading out to teach your first class of the day at the Academy - something you'd been looking forward to for weeks - he had to do it now.

‘She deserves to know’, Aaron thought, as his thumb hovered over the call button. He took a deep breath and pressed it, listening as the line rang.

"Unit Chief?" your voice answered, light and full of warmth. The sound of your happiness struck him, and he could hear the bustle of students in the background.

You sounded truly happy, like a weight had been lifted from your shoulders. Aaron couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt. You’d taken on so much in his absence, and despite your talent for compartmentalizing the stresses of work and life, he knew it hadn’t been easy for you.

He admired how you could move through the chaos and still find joy, something that felt foreign to him these past few weeks.

"How does it feel being back?" you asked brightly, already celebrating his return as if you were right there in the bullpen with him.

Aaron swallowed hard.

He couldn’t pretend everything was normal.

"I requested a transfer," he said, his voice flat. The words spilled out faster than he’d intended, but he couldn’t hold them in any longer. They were burning a hole in his chest.

The line went silent. One of the few times Aaron ever remembered it feeling uncomfortable between you two.

"Where did she tell you to go?" you asked, your voice quiet but laced with a sharp understanding. You didn’t ask ‘where did you choose?’ or ‘where are you headed?’

You already knew this wasn’t truly his choice, it would never be.

"White-collar crime," Aaron answered, his voice dripping with bitterness despite his best efforts to keep it neutral.

You scoffed, disbelief dripping from your voice. "Seriously, Aaron? Did you put down 'coin collector' in your ‘fun facts about me’ section, and Strauss decided that made you the perfect fraud detective? What was her logic? ‘Oh, he can spot a rare penny, let’s put him on white-collar crime!’" You let out a sharp, sarcastic laugh. "Honestly, your talent - the Aaron Hotchner, wasting away in the land of paperwork and forgeries. Your skills are being thrown in the trash. Why would she do that?"

"She said it’s because I was a prosecutor," Aaron explained, though he didn’t even believe it himself. The words felt hollow as they left his mouth.

"Then she must really hate you," you said, your tone shifting, half-joking but carrying the weight of truth underneath. You always teased him about his past as a prosecutor, poking fun at him for being a 'suit' - but today, there was no laughter nor banter, just an undercurrent of anger.

There was another beat of silence, the weight of the conversation sinking in. Aaron could almost hear the wheels turning in your mind as you processed what he had told you.

"Peter works in white-collar crime too," you said softly, trying to find common ground, trying to make it make sense. "He was a profiler, just like me. Just like you."

Aaron could hear the strain in your voice.

You were trying to offer some kind of comfort, but he could feel the tension, the unspoken weight of something much deeper between your words. Before he could respond, you continued, and this time your voice carried that unmistakable philosophical edge that always made him stop and listen, no matter the situation.

"But you’re different, Aaron," you began, your voice softening as it delved into deeper waters, the kind you knew Aaron always paid attention to. "What sets you apart isn’t just your skill - it’s your empathy. That’s what makes you irreplaceable. White-collar crime... it’s sterile. To them, criminals are just reduced to numbers, a name on a file, detached from any sense of their human nature. They’re stripped of complexity, of identity. But you..."

You paused, feeling the weight of what you were about to say, "You see criminals for what they truly are: people. Broken, flawed, yes. But human."

Aaron’s grip tightened slightly on the phone, but he remained silent, waiting, knowing you were just getting started.

And he was right.

Talkative, as usual.

"It’s easy to see the humanity in victims," you continued, your voice laced with both tenderness and conviction, "because we’re conditioned to feel for them, to mourn them. But you… you do the impossible. You see the humanity in the people who commit the crimes, the ones we’re taught to loathe, to cast aside. You see the hurt, the trauma, the reasons behind their actions. You see them as more than the sum of their worst mistakes. That, Aaron, is rare. That’s what makes you exceptional."

You paused again, the emotion thick in your throat as you tried to find the right words, knowing you had to make him understand. "We were taught to break people down into patterns, behaviors, motivations. But you don’t just analyze - you connect. You see through the layers of darkness and you recognize that beneath the surface, there’s still something worth understanding. You bring out the human element in a job that demands detachment."

Aaron’s throat tightened. How did you always manage to articulate things in a way that made the abstract suddenly feel so tangible? You were right - he knew it - but hearing it from you made the reality of his decision even heavier.

"You can’t reduce people to their actions," you continued, "not the way they do in white-collar crime. Not the way Strauss wants you to. You see beyond that. You’ve always seen beyond that. And that’s why this transfer isn’t just a waste of your talents - it’s a loss for everyone who relies on you to see them, really see them, when no one else can."

Aaron let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, the weight of everything - the decision, the transfer, the exhaustion - pressing down on him.

"And the hardest part?" you added, your voice quieter now, almost a whisper. "The hardest part isn’t just leaving the BAU. It’s knowing that you’ll be asked to abandon the very thing that makes you who you are. That’s what white-collar crime will do to you - it’ll strip away your empathy, piece by piece, until all that’s left is someone you don’t recognize."

You were right, as alwa – most of the times.

But that wasn’t why he requested the transfer.

"Does Peter come home at a normal time?" Aaron asked abruptly, knowing you would catch the subtext.

There was a brief pause, a hesitation that he immediately picked up on. You paused for a fraction longer than usual, and that was all Aaron needed to understand that something wasn’t right. "Yes," you said, your voice quieter, more resigned. "He’s home most of the time, if that was your worry. He’s home even more than I am, actually."

Aaron could hear the bitterness beneath your words. "Does that make you happy?" he asked gently

There was another silence, longer this time. Aaron’s stomach tightened. He could feel it, something was wrong. But what?

The truth was, Aaron had no idea what had happened between you and Peter last night. And when you came home? It had turned ugly.

You could still feel his hands on your body rough, demanding. His words about how you owed him an apology, about how you were supposed to show him you were sorry. You’d been exhausted, drained from everything with Gideon, not after the emotional toll of the past few weeks.

But Peter hadn’t cared.

He hadn’t listened.

He’d just acted.

Aaron’s voice on the phone brought you back to the present, but you were struggling to keep your composure. He was asking questions, trying to understand, but how could you tell him what had happened? How could you explain that everything in your life was falling apart?

"Does that make you happy?" Aaron asked again, his voice gentle but pressing.

You hesitated again, knowing that Aaron could read the smallest of pauses.

But how could you answer?

How could you tell him that everything was wrong, that nothing made you happy anymore?

---

He had barely begun to sort through his books and personal items when Garcia had come in, a mixture of sadness and hope in her eyes.

"Is it appropriate to ask whether I could talk you out of it?" she had asked , almost pleading, yet her tone tinged with the sort of desperate optimism that only her could muster.

Hotch couldn’t look at her.

"Heard you got a bigger office," he said, forcing a half-smile as he stacked the tomes on top of each other.

She played along smiling though her attempt at lightness fell flat. "A swanky new map and everything."

Hotch had paused mid-pack, his gaze drifting toward the stack of files on his desk. He saw her hesitate, holding a file in her hands as if she wasn’t sure whether to give it to him.

"It’s the Milwaukee file. JJ wanted me to give it to you."

His heart clenched. The familiar burn of curiosity flared up inside him. "I’m not working it."

Garcia’s face was tight, holding back something she didn’t want to say. "I’m just following orders." She pressed the folder into his hand, her voice quiet. "They found a new body this morning. The others are headed straight to the scene."

That was hours ago, and yet it felt like only moments had passed.

Now, sitting alone in his car, Aaron stared at the case file in the passenger seat. He knew he should leave it behind, let it go. It was the right thing to do - for Haley, for Jack, for the fragile promise of a normal life he’d been trying so hard to grasp.

But the push of the manila folder was almost unbearable, like a gravitational pull that he couldn’t ignore. It called to him, with a magnetism that felt almost sinful, the kind that wormed its way into his thoughts until it was all he could see.

He knew it wasn’t just curiosity - it was the desperate need to still feel like he was part of the team, like he hadn’t been stripped of his identity, relegated to a role he wasn’t ready to embrace. The file promised him a lifeline to who he used to be, to the life he was being forced to leave behind. He craved the rush, the sense of purpose that only the job could bring.

‘I’ll just put it away in my office’ he tried to reassure himself, even as his fingers twitched toward the folder. But the moment he stepped through the front door, the stillness of the house hit him like a wave, pressing down on him.

His home office, once a safe haven where he could lose himself in the work, felt cold and unfamiliar now - tainted by the distance growing between him and Haley.

He couldn’t go there. She’d notice. She’d feel the shift.

So he waited.

His body was coiled, tense, like a spring, listening for the sounds of Haley moving upstairs with Jack. He held his breath to her soft footsteps, waiting for the gentle click of the nursery door. And when it finally came, he slipped onto the living room couch, the file in his hands, feeling the now-familiar forbidden thrill quicken his pulse.

It was a silent kind of betrayal, opening the file right in their living room, yet the push was too strong, the pull too insistent to take any longer. His hands seemed to move of their own volition, sliding open the manila folder so that the scent of fresh ink and paper filled his senses, hitting him like a drug he'd been too long without.

The rush was immediate -a heady cocktail of thrill and terror - and his sight blurred for a moment as he scanned the introductory paragraphs. The words for one fleeting instant began to shimmy before him, fuzzy, out of focus.

So unlike him.

Always present.

Always focused.

But now?

Everything else paled into insignificance in that single fragment of time: the burden of his transfer, the oppressive silence of the house, the chasm widening between him and Haley. In that swift heartbeat, he was just Aaron Hotchner, or better - Hotch - holding a case file in his hands.

It was a fraction of a second he would wish he could reclaim, the sweet ignorance of what was to come, the last breath of ordinary before everything would begin to break apart.

A fraction of a second, that’s all he had.

And then came the clarity.

Dark blue ink.

Gel pen.

0.7mm tip.

It was immediate.

It hadn’t been JJ who asked Garcia to hand him the file,

It had been you.

The blue ink screamed against the page, a jarring contrast to the black-and-white case details.

The familiar shade of deep blue you always used, the pen that seemed to bear the weight of every observation you made, every thought you trusted him to read.

Your handwriting - one constant in his life - appeared now like an intrusion.

You had pulled him back in, a lifeline disguised as an anchor, tethering him to a life he was already struggling to leave so much.

He knew why you’d done it, felt your intentions through the words you’d scrawled on the side of the pages: a subtle reminder of who he was, a steadying hand.

But it stung, a betrayal dressed as support, calling back his instincts, awakening the part of him that craved the hunt. He resented it, hated how you knew what he needed even when he was trying to silence it.

He didn’t want to be pulled back in.

Not by you.

Because he could always manage to silence his own voice, but yours? Yours never.

He couldn’t stand the way your presence in his mind made him doubt, the way it nudged the conscience he was desperately trying to bury.

But in the silence, he had buried something else - he hadn’t heard the faint sounds of Haley’s footsteps, hadn’t sensed her presence beside him until she was already there.

“Is Jack still napping?” The words slipped out instinctively, a reflex to buy a moment - not to divert her from the case file laying on the coffee table she’d surely already noticed, but to protect the one thing he could still preserve.

He could keep Jack from witnessing what was about to unravel.

Haley’s gaze was steely, scrutinizing him with an intensity that seemed to cut through every layer of defense he had.

"I thought this was over," Haley said, stretching her palms as if grounding herself, her voice tight and hard.

"It is," he said firmly, choosing his words in consideration, measuring each with the deliberation of a man who stood too close to a precipice. “I’m just curious.”

Haley let out a sharp breath, her mouth twisting into a bitter smile that didn’t reach her eyes, a shadow of the warmth he used to see there. They stood locked in a silent standoff, a lifetime of shared memories flickering between them like ghosts. He could feel the argument waiting to break free, simmering in the quiet between them, unspoken words just waiting to pierce the space they once shared.

And then the phone rang.

A shrill, jarring sound slicing through the tension like a blade. It was the household line, buzzing on the table before him. Aaron reached for it, desperate for even a momentary escape from the heaviness that weighed on his chest, but it was a fleeting, fragile illusion of comfort.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Haley’s hand reaching towards the photographs on the table, swiftly flipping them facedown as though the sight of them was something she couldn’t bear.

In that brief, almost tender moment of closeness, he felt nothing but the icy distance between them, a void that had grown too wide to bridge.

“Hello” The word hung in the air, heavy and uncertain. Silence answered him back, a silence that stretched far beyond the line. He tried again, "Hello?" he repeated, the word hanging in the air like a plea, but the line remained dead.

Before he could turn back to Haley, before he could face the storm gathering in her eyes, the phone rang again.

Only this time, it wasn’t the house phone.

The sound echoed from across the room - from her purse, sitting neatly on the side table by the door, ringing insistently, demanding attention.

Her personal phone.

The sound echoed from the side table by the entrance, and both of them turned, their movements perfectly synchronized in that single instant - the first time they had moved together, effortlessly in tune, amidst the discord of their unraveling world. A bitter note of perfect harmony, a heartbeat of shared motion, in a symphony that had become painfully out of key.

And with it came the undeniable truth, creeping in like a cold shadow, that the life they had built was no longer whole.

Clarity.

A chill ran through him, Haley’s gaze flicked from the purse back to him, her face clouding, a flicker of panic in her eyes before something else - a defiance, a kind of worn resignation - surfaced. She looked like the criminals he’d seen in interrogation rooms just before they confessed, her body a canvas of the truth she hadn’t yet spoken aloud.

His heart was shouting at him, urging him to stop analyzing her with his profiler’s eyes, the ones that stripped away any illusions. If only he could switch off that part of himself, maybe he could still live in blissful ignorance, cling to the delusion that his worst fear wasn’t unraveling right before him.

But that was the curse of his job - it defined him, for better or worse.

He was trained to see the truth, to read between the lines, and now there was no unseeing it, even though it felt as if she were the one sleeping with a gun underneath their bed.

The pieces continued to assemble themselves in his mind unbidden, swift and unforgiving, and he saw everything.

He remembered his father.

The infidelities everyone had known about.

The shame he had carried in silence, back when Haley was the only one who’d comforted him, promising he’d never be like his father, that they would build something unbreakable, something lasting. She had seen him through those years of shame and anger, through the wounds his father had left behind.

And yet, here she was.

She had hurt him in the very way that had once broken him.

"What did the Section Chief say?" She asked, her voice tense, her hands moving to her hips - a stance he recognized all too well. It was her defense mechanism, a way to regain control of the conversation, to shift the power back to her.

But the phone was still ringing, hanging in the air like an accusation she refused to acknowledge. He fixed her with a hardened gaze, silently willing her to explain. Instead, she ignored it, raising an eyebrow in a silent demand for him to answer her question.

Only when the phone finally stopped ringing did the silence grow heavier between them.

“She suggested I transfer to a white-collar crime task force,” Aaron said, his voice barely holding together, each word heavy with the weight of what was slipping away. He turned his gaze away from her, looking anywhere but at the face he had once known so well. The pain in his chest throbbed, a wound that felt like it would never heal.

And he moved there it was again, that echo - blue.

Blue, scattered all over the margins of the case files.

He could almost hear your voice in the back of his mind, unbidden, stirring memories he had tried so hard to bury.

“It’s a beautiful metaphor, Aristophanes tells us that when two halves find each other, there is a recognition, a knowing. It’s not just attraction or desire - it’s a profound sense of homecoming, of finally feeling whole.”

He remembered that day, the pride he felt when you stood up at his wedding, your words carrying a weight that felt like destiny. How he had looked at Haley then, feeling so sure, so hopeful that he had found his missing half, the person who made him whole.

“Aaron and Haley, you are each other’s missing halves. You are each other’s home. And today, you stand before us, not as two separate people, but as a whole, as something that the world tried to keep apart but couldn’t. You’ve found your way back to each other, just like you were always meant to.”

Your words were a promise, one he had clung to during every argument, every moment of doubt. He had kept the pages of your speech hidden in his desk drawer, reading them whenever he needed reassurance that they were meant to be, that they could weather any storm.

But now, that certainty felt like a lie, a broken promise that tasted bitter and hollow.

"Would you have to travel?" Haley asked, and there was no curiosity in her voice, no real concern - just a rote question.

“No,” he replied. “I’d have a nine-to-five life.”

But it didn’t matter.

None of it did.

The foundation they had built together was already crumbling.

She nodded, the motion mechanical. "Then it’s a no-brainer," she said, but there was no relief in her voice.

No joy.

Just finality.

An ultimatum.

Then she walked away, her bag clutched tightly in her hand, leaving him frozen in place, staring into the emptiness she left behind. The silence swallowed him whole, and all he could hear were the echoes of his own thoughts, the relentless surge of guilt washing over him like a tidal wave - his oldest, most familiar companion. It weighed heavy on his chest, pushing him down until he felt hollow and exposed.

There was only one thing he knew he couldn’t fail at—the one thing that never failed him.

His job.

With a steadying breath, he picked up the phone - the same one that had rung into nothingness only minutes ago - and dialed.

"Hey," Morgan's voice came through the line.

Hotch immediately replied “How’s it going?”

---

Hotch dressed himself with deliberation, his mind continuously repeating a mantra he clung to - the team needs me - as he methodically went through his motions with the practiced efficiency that was his trademark. He tied the knot on his tie carefully, almost ritualistically, and took the gun from the safety box on the nightstand with silent certitude. His mind was already in Milwaukee, with the team, miles away from where he stood.

Haley burst in as if she were a sudden gust of wind that broke his focus. "What the hell are you doing?" Haley's voice was sharp, almost desperate, echoing with anger and fear.

"Keep your voice down," he calmly but firmly returned, his eyes never meeting hers while continuing to fold the clothes from the dresser. He couldn’t afford to lose his composure now.

"Gideon didn’t show in Milwaukee, and the team needs me," he said, his voice calm but unyielding. He didn’t lift his gaze from his task, already knowing Haley could sense it - the unwavering resolve, the wall she couldn’t break through.

There was no point in arguing, he had already chosen, and nothing she said would change the path he was on.

“I don’t believe this.” Haley shook her head, disbelief etched in every line of her face.

He didn’t stop, didn’t even look at her.

“Don’t worry,” he said, his tone overly steady, betraying how much he was trying to control the situation. “It won’t affect my transfer if I’m working on an existing case.”

His hands moved mechanically, pulling clothes from the dresser and laying them on the bed, his attention focused on his preparations. The meticulous packing felt like his only control in a situation spiraling away from him.

“You’re not working on this case,” Haley demanded, her words clipped, biting. She was trying to reach him, trying to make him see what he was sacrificing, but he remained unmoved.

“I can’t just switch off my loyalty, Haley.” The words came out like an admission, his gaze finally meeting hers.

Loyalty.

What a word, what an irony.

“They suspended you for two weeks,” she said, her voice rising with urgency. She was trying to make him see what he was throwing away. “Who are you being loyal to?”

“The team needs me,” His voice was firmer now, more resolute.

He could have said more, could have pointed out her own failings with the concept of loyalty, but he didn’t.

There wasn’t time, and in his heart, the job came first.

Always had.

He could never be satisfied.

“Aaron, you’re allowed to be satisfied. You’re allowed to find happiness outside of work. It doesn’t make you any less dedicated. You’re not the man you were back then. You’re better.” Your voice slipped into his mind as he stared blankly into the distance. Just allowing your words to surface was already a victor, —he could never shut you out completely.

But looking back, he realized—no, he was even worse.

“I wish it were that simple. I want to believe you, but I keep feeling like… I’m never satisfied. No matter how much I achieve, no matter how far I go, it never feels like enough.” He admitted, not even aware the confession had escaped his lips..

“Aaron, happiness isn’t a destination,” you had said, your response almost immediate. “It’s not something you can chase down like a criminal or lock away like a case file. It’s messy and imperfect, and sometimes, it’s just allowing yourself to be enough. It’s letting go of the ‘what ifs’ and the regrets. You have a chance to rebuild something with Haley, to find that piece of your life you thought you’d lost. Why not take it?”

I love you – here’s why.

He wished he’d had the courage to say what he felt back then. Maybe he wouldn’t be in this mess if he had.

Instead, all he had left was the silent regret - I loved you, and that was his burden to bear.

Back to this hollow routine, back to a crumbling marriage that left him feeling more empty than fulfilled. If it had been you, he thought, you would have understood without him having to explain. You would have stayed by his side just as he would have stayed by yours, without the pain, without the pretense.

Too late.

“No, they need Gideon,” Haley shot back, the desperation in her voice barely masked. He could hear her fear, her anger, the worry she tried to hide beneath her frustration.

Hotch moved to the bathroom, collecting his essentials, his voice echoing off the tile. “Do you know what this guy’s doing to women in Milwaukee?” His voice was tight, his words clipped - almost a challenge.

He was asking because he knew she wouldn’t want to hear it. Because the truth was ugly, and he couldn’t turn away from it.

"I don’t want to know," she said, her voice breaking with emotion, but he continued, unable to stop himself.

“He’s using his son to lure them, he’s holding them, and then he’s cutting their hearts out.” His tone was clinical, detached - a profiler’s voice.

The urgency, the danger, had overtaken everything else.

The case was all that mattered now.

“Aaron, stop!” she shouted, and he froze, finally turning to face her. The look in her eyes - pain, anger, desperation - was like a slap to the face.

“Don’t make me the monster here,” she pleaded, her voice softening, the anger draining from her as she looked at him with something close to resignation. “I feel sick about these women, but when this case is over, there will be another one. And another one and another one. It is never going to stop.”

He held her gaze, feeling the weight of her words settle like lead in his stomach. “This is who I am,” he said simply, and the raw truth in those words cut through the tension like a knife.

“No,” she said, her voice barely a whisper, sadness and frustration mingling together. “This is what you do.”

He swallowed, his throat tight, and tried to explain himself. “I’m trying to do the right thing, here and there,” he began, but his voice cracked, the weight of his choices pressing down on him. “And I would really appreciate a little support.”

Haley’s laugh was short, bitter, a scoff that cut deep. “That’s right, ‘cause you always need to be the hero,” she said, her voice laced with resentment.

“Don’t give me that,” he snapped, his own anger flaring, but she didn’t back down.

“No, obviously, a happy life isn’t enough for you,” she said, her words like ice, hitting him with the weight of a truth he didn’t want to face. He looked at her, his eyes burning with unshed tears, knowing he couldn’t argue, knowing she was right in ways he couldn’t admit.

“But you deserve it, Aaron. You deserve to find the kind of happiness that doesn’t come with strings attached, that doesn’t make you feel like you’re constantly running.”

His gaze fell to where your hands touched, his thumb brushing yours. I love you. That’s the only thought his mind managed to form. But he couldn’t say it.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. “You’ve always been the one keeping me steady, reminding me why I do this. You make it bearable.”

“I’ll always be here,” you said, your voice trembling. “No matter what. Even when it’s hard, even when you feel like you don’t deserve it. I’ll be here.”

I love you.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his voice breaking slightly. “For everything.”

I love you.

He zipped up his go-bag, the sound unbearably loud in the tense silence that had fallen between them. Haley’s eyes were glassy, the fight leaving her as he turned to go. “Aaron, I need you here,” she said, her voice cracking, a final plea.

He stopped, his back to her, the words hanging heavy in the air. “And I will be here, as soon as this case is over,” he said, his tone detached, determined, before walking out the door, not daring to look back.

As he descended the stairs, her voice rang out behind him, cutting through the silence like a knife. “Yeah, well make sure you give your son a kiss before you leave.”

Jack. His whole world.

Then the memory played in his mind like a haunting melody - Jack’s small face lighting up the moment he first began stringing words together.

Each syllable a small miracle, a bridge to understanding, but the very first combination of words he’d uttered had been “Dad. Work.”

But now he brushed it off.

He didn’t stop, didn’t look back.

He couldn’t.

Not now.

Because the job was all he had left.

Dad. Work.

---

“I told you, I hate politics,” Emily said, her voice steady but resigned as she stood in the kitchen, the weight of her decision heavy in the air.

“Come to Milwaukee,” Hotch pressed, his voice firm, not backing down. He saw it - the hesitation in her eyes, the uncertainty.

It was enough to make him push a little harder. “I’ll make you a deal,” he said, his tone softening. “If your ready bag isn’t here, packed, I won’t bother you anymore. But if it is, I want you on that plane with me. One more case.”

Emily sighed, the conflict clear on her face. “I already turned in my badge and my gun,” she said, the words feeling empty, as if she didn’t fully believe them herself.

“That’s just hardware,” Hotch countered gently, his eyes not leaving hers, sensing the crack in her resolve.

“Give me five minutes,” Emily said, her voice resigned, the decision made.

He won. He was good at his job.

“Good,” he replied giving a slight nod. “I’ll be waiting for you in the car” His voice was steady, calm, as he turned and left the room, leaving her alone with the weight of the choice she had just made.

The ride to the hangar was excruciating, the car barely moving in the gridlock of DC traffic. Hotch’s gaze was fixed ahead, focused on the road, but as they neared a familiar intersection, his eyes darted - just for a second – on something standing on the right of the road, toward your apartment building.

It was a reflex, a momentary flicker of concern, as if he needed to reassure himself that everything was in its place.

But he wasn’t the only one watching.

Emily caught the movement, her profiler’s instincts picking up on the subtle shift. She turned her head, recognizing the building immediately.

“Y/N’s one of the best profilers we’ve had,” Emily said, breaking the heavy silence. “In just two weeks, she surpassed everyone’s expectations. She belongs in the BAU” Her voice was steady, confident.

“I know,” Hotch replied, his voice flat. It was all he could say because he did agree. He knew you belonged with them. With him.

“Then why aren’t we going to get her?” Emily pressed, her brow furrowing.

“I’m not Unit Chief,” he said, the tightness in his voice betraying his struggle. “I can’t authorize her return.”

Emily shot him a skeptical look. “Oh, come on. I resigned, you requested a transfer, and yet here we are, headed to Milwaukee together.” She let the words hang in the air, then added, “What’s the real reason, Hotch?”

He gripped the steering wheel tighter, staring straight ahead. “That is the real reason, Prentiss,” he said, but his voice lacked conviction, and they both knew it. They barely moved in the traffic, only inching forward, and they were trapped together in this car, with nowhere to hide.

“Have you even asked her?” Emily’s tone was sharper now, unwilling to let him off the hook so easily.

“She can’t,” he said, his words clipped, almost desperate.

“She wants to,” Emily said firmly, her gaze unwavering. “Look, she’s living a life that’s not really hers, and we both know why. She wants to be back with the team, Hotch - our life, not some half-life she’s pretending to be okay with.”

His grip loosened on the wheel, but his face remained his usual stoic mask. “I know,” he said quietly, his eyes flicking to the rearview mirror, trying to focus on anything but the truth Emily was forcing him to face.

Emily softened, just a bit. “Hotch, I don’t like you for a lot of reasons,” she said with a small smile, “but if there’s one thing I respect about you, it’s that you don’t quit. You’d do anything for the team, even if it costs you everything. You’ve never given up before - don’t start now.”

He hesitated, his jaw tightening. “The Section Chief won’t like this,” he said, but even as he spoke, his hand was already turning the wheel to the right, aiming the car toward your apartment. “How did you know I was looking at her building?” he asked, a trace of amusement flickering across his features.

Emily’s smirk widened. “Oh, she didn’t tell you?” she said with a light laugh. “Last Friday, we finished early and Y/N invited me, JJ, and Penelope out for drinks at that bar near her place. I don’t remember much about the apartment building because, well... let’s just say the drinks were strong. But I remember the bar, and it’s just down the street. We all crashed at her place.”

Hotch raised an eyebrow. “And you made it to work the next morning?”

Emily chuckled. “Nope. She gave us the weekend off. I told you, she’s fantastic. Hell, she even mentioned how she’d love to try out that new theory they’re testing in Europe, the four-day workweek. Called them ‘exemplars of virtue.’ I don’t think I’ve ever loved philosophy more,” she said with a grin. “And just so you know, she was always the first one in and the last one to leave. She’s more obsessed with this job than you are.”

A rare, quiet chuckle escaped Hotch’s lips. “Sounds exactly like her,” he said softly, a warmth in his voice that hadn’t been there all drive.

Since he rang your doorbell, Aaron hadn't heard anything but the rhythmic click of heels that was getting closer and closer with every step down the hall, the pulsation of his heart immediately tuning to it and making anticipation grow till everything stopped. He held his breath as you opened the door, cautiously, slowly, revealing the face he’d been waiting to see.

He had first glimpsed your smile - slightly surprised, yet lit from inside by something deeper, a feeling of pride hiding beneath a few loose strands of hair framing your face, the only testament to your long day. Then you moved more fully into the light, no longer half-hidden behind the door, he immediately recognized your own version of uniform – a total black three-piece suit.

The close-fitting vest, the shirt buttoned right up to your neck, but with the cuffs folded up to the elbows that showed those light smudges of blue marker on your forearm - a subtle hint of your time spent writing on the board.

It was a small yet telling difference from the past two weeks, a sign of this old rhythm you'd settled back into. The jacket, hanging neatly on the entryway hook, added to the scene, highlighting that you’d just come home from a lecture. You were still in your heels, you hadn’t even had the chance to slip them off yet.

For a moment, you both stood there, frozen in a strange yet familiar silence. The way you looked at him - unafraid, warmly, and with a hint of pride - made him feel seen in a way he hadn’t been in weeks.

Accepted for who he was – and what he did.

“Hotch” you finally said, and he almost flinched, caught off-guard by the weight of that name. You hadn’t called him that in years. Between you, it was always something different, something uniquely crafted only for the two of you, of your partnership that felt as if it had been woven by fate.

It had always been ‘Partner’, your go-to,

‘Lawyer’ when you wanted to tease him on something, it probably was his personal favorite,

‘C3-PO’ that one primordial on-hit-wonder, thankfully only used once after your first case,

‘Unit Chief’ came later, after his promotion a title he saw you’d always used with pride,

‘Aaron’ only in those rare moments when it was just you two, away from the intensity of the Bureau.

One of the few people who was allowed to call him by his name, Aaron. Always Aaron.

Yet today, you chose “Hotch,” and it didn’t feel like distancing - calling him by the name anyone else on the job could use. Instead, it was a recognition. It was a nod to who he could finally be again - the strong, steadfast, but also overworked Unit Chief.

With a straight face, you extended your hand in a playful, formal greeting, as if you were strangers meeting for the first time. It was a parody of the professionalism that defined your roles, a subtle reminder of the colder side of your work. But you two always had a knack for weaving warmth into even the smallest gestures - like this one - turning formality into an unexpected moment of connection, catching him off guard.

He sighed, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he took your hand, meeting your playful formality with his usual steady, intense gaze. The moment his fingers wrapped around yours, a subtle shift passed between you, sending a shiver down his spine.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice quieter than he intended, his hand lingering in the handshake. There was so much he wanted to tell you - how grateful he was for passing the file to Garcia, for understanding without him having to ask. Yet somehow, the words caught in his throat, and he found himself simply holding on, hoping you could sense everything he couldn’t quite say.

“Of course,” you replied softly, your eyes never leaving his, your smile radiating reassurance as you released his hand, stepping aside to let him in.

Walking down the hallway together, he was struck by a wave of nostalgia, seeing you both in your familiar work attire. So much felt the same, yet somehow everything was different. If he squinted, it was almost like those countless evenings at the BAU, the tailored suits and easy professionalism bringing back memories.

As you walked ahead, he noticed the subtle change in how your suit now hugged your form a bit closer, accentuating your figure. It was as though you'd embraced a different rhythm - lecturing definitely didn't require for you to have a full range of motion chasing unsubs through the mud had.

“I didn’t come just to thank you,” Hotch began, his voice firm, but there was a vulnerability in his gaze as he searched yours for any hint of a response. “I know you’re not satisfied with only two weeks at the BAU.”

You looked back at him, and though you didn’t say a word, something in your expression softened, your eyes reflecting that familiar, unspoken understanding. He could see the weight you carried, and there was no denying that you wanted to be part of the team again. He continued, his tone more intimate now, almost pleading.

“The team needs you, Y/N. And I need my partner back. We had a deal.”

"Promise me that you’ll only leave me if you get tired of me. Otherwise, I’ll always fight to have you back - and you have to let me. Deal?"

Your lips curved into a faint smile as a soft sigh escaped between them. "You and your deals," you whispered, your words laced with a hint of desperation.

He held your gaze, a glimmer of hope surfacing. “I can read you as well as you read me. You pulled me back into the BAU, let me do the same for you. I wouldn’t push you if I didn’t know you wanted it too.”

For a moment, your gaze dropped, a flicker of longing overshadowed by resignation. “There’s nothing I want more than to come back,” you admitted softly, a hint of pain in your voice. “But Peter… he won’t be happy about it.”

Hotch’s jaw tightened, and he nodded, already bracing himself. “Let me handle Peter,” he said, voice low and unyielding. “Just let me try.”

But then, before either of you could say another word, Peter entered, his presence breaking the moment like a shattering glass. “Aaron, everything alright? Why are you here?”

Aaron glanced at you with the corner of his eyes, waiting for even a slight nod, some permission to move forward.

No response.

Unusual.

Instead, your gaze was fixed on a blank spot on the wall since Peter had entered, a detail that unsettled him. He noticed the slight tension in your shoulders, the guarded distance in your posture. A realization dawned on him, a sinking feeling deep in his chest. You were avoiding making eye contact with Peter.

Preoccupying.

Only then you turned to look at him, as if sensing his analyzing eyes on you. As you made eye contact, he saw your expression shift subtly, eyebrows lifting just a fraction. Hotch’s trained eyes caught every detail, the slight tremor in your gaze, the way you held yourself like you were guarding something fragile.

Shame – he read.

He looked at you, his stomach twisting. His profiler instincts connected this moment to the hesitation in your voice during that phone call—the pauses you hadn’t been able to hide. He had sensed something wrong then, but now it seemed painfully clear.

Yet he needed to be sure.

It couldn’t have happened, not to you.

With a slight tilt of his head, he asked you silently, ‘What happened?’

He watched as you exhaled softly, the faintest shudder in your breath. Your eyes glistened, fogging over with unshed tears. You hadn’t once looked in Peter’s direction. That small, vulnerable expression shattered something in him.

Avoidance.

Fear.

That was all he needed to know.

A fierce, uncontrollable rage surged through Hotch, flooding him with a fury he rarely allowed himself to feel. His fists clenched, nails pressing into his palms as every fiber of his being strained against the violent urge to rip Peter from the doorway, to make him feel the weight of every unspoken bruise, every flicker of fear he’d seen reflected in your eyes.

But he forced himself to stay rooted. He had to be steady, composed - for you. This wasn’t just about vengeance, it was about being the pillar you needed, holding back the storm that threatened to consume him.

"Y/N is needed for a case in Milwaukee,” Hotch said, his voice low and unyielding, a hard edge replacing any trace of the diplomacy he had planned. His gaze stayed locked on Peter, cold and unwavering, the words landing like an order, not a request.

Peter’s face tightened, but he didn’t back down. “She can’t go,” he replied sharply. “The contract was clear - just two weeks at the BAU. Those two weeks are up, Aaron.”

Hotch's jaw clenched as he turned to you, his eyes scanning for some sign of how Peter's response had impacted you. Your silent, pleading expression said it all: the unspoken hurt, the vulnerability glimmering in your eyes, became a catalyst to rush a wave of protectiveness through him and once again make the promise to be your shield when his anger boiled over.

Peter couldn’t see it - refused to see it - but Hotch did.

And as he held back the fury simmering beneath his composure, one thought pulsed through his mind: ‘Peter should be grateful for every breath I’m letting him take right now’.

Hotch didn’t flinch, his voice turning colder, each word cutting and precise. “This is pre-existing case. Any agreement with Strauss doesn’t apply here - I’m simply requesting her consultation. That’s her choice, not yours.” There was no warmth in his tone, Peter wasn’t owed that. Hotch leveled him with that piercing, unyielding gaze - one that could cut straight through, leaving a person regretting they even graced this Earth.

Peter turned to you, desperation flashing in his eyes. “Did you ask him to come here?” Hotch noticed something unsettling in Peter’s gaze, a hardness he hadn’t seen in over a decade of knowing him. There was a volatile edge, almost aggressive.

“I thought I made myself clear last night,” Peter continued, his voice taut with anger. “If you go back to the BAU, we can’t build a life together. You don’t have to drag Aaron in here to defend your selfish choices, making me look like the bad guy.”

Before you could respond, Hotch cut in, his voice ice-cold and unyielding. “Peter, if you were as perceptive as you claim, you wouldn’t need to ask her something that obvious. I came here on my own. She had no part in this.” He paused, his eyes never wavering from Peter’s. “Shut up and let her decide for herself.”

Peter’s face twisted with disbelief, and he snapped, “Really, Aaron?”

Hotch’s hand clenched involuntarily, his patience on edge. But as you noticed and found the strength to intervene, your tone steady yet pleading. “Pete, it’s just one case - I’m asking for that much. It won’t impact our life as much as you think.”

“Won’t impact us?” Peter’s voice rose, his frustration spilling over. “What will happen when this case over? When come home too exhausted to even look at me? Too tired to even take off your jacket? How can we build a life when you’re always drained?”

You exhaled deeply, shaking your head, “We’ll figure it out. I’m sure we will.” You turned toward the corridor that led to your bedroom, determination etched on your face. “I’ll be back in five minutes,” you declared, glancing pointedly at both Hotch and Peter. “And if I see either of you with even a scratch on your face, I swear I’ll beat you both senseless.”

Peter opened his mouth to protest, but you cut him off, raising a finger for emphasis, looking at him with a disappointed piercing look on your face. “We are beings graced with reason so let’s engage our intellect instead of our fists. As Aristotle said, ‘Man is by nature a political animal’, which means we should sort out our conflicts through dialogue, not by throwing punches. I would hate to resort to that, so do me a favor and keep it civil, okay?”

Hotch nodded, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips, he definitely didn’t expect a scolding from you in your teacher voice. “Understood.”

“Good,” you replied, disappearing down the hallway.

Afraid that Hotch and Peter would end up in the ER, you packed your go-bag in a frenzy, barely taking the time to change from your suit you wore for your lesson into a looser – too many buttons and too little time. You only swiftly traded your heels for your usual leather loafers, and with no time to style your hair properly, you simply tied the front pieces back to keep them out of your face.

As you returned to the living room, you found Hotch and Peter standing on opposite sides of the room, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. You approached Peter first to say goodbye, reassuring him once again. You wore your engagement ring prominently, hoping to remind him of the bond you still shared. But he remained silent, avoiding eye contact as you two exited the apartment.

As soon as the door closed behind you, a long sigh escaped your lips, and you looked up at Hotch. “Thanks for having my back,” you confessed, your voice dropping to a soft whisper as you waited for the elevator.

Hotch glanced at you, his expression serious, a flicker of concern passing through his eyes. “Always. Do you want to talk about it?”

You offered a faint smile, appreciating his offer, but shook your head. “Not right now. We have a case to solve.”

His tone remained serious, and you could feel the weight of his words. “Just let me know when you’re ready. I’ll be here. Just don’t use the case a shield to avoid what you went through.”

“I won’t,” you promised as the elevator arrived with a soft ding. As the doors slid open, you both stepped inside, and the momentary quiet enveloped you, a mix of anticipation and unspoken emotions swirling around. Hotch pressed the button for the ground floor, the hum of the machinery filling the silence.

“I need to ask you a favor,” Hotch said, breaking the quiet, his voice laced with a gravity that made you turn, eyes widening in surprise. He hesitated for a brief second, like he was choosing his words carefully, a weight settling between you. “Morgan told me Gideon didn’t show up in Milwaukee, and he’s not answering his phone. Reid... he’s struggling, not handling it well. I’m concerned for him.”

He exhaled, softening slightly. “I know this affects you too, but you’ve always being able to keep focus, to compartmentalize, no matter what’s happening.”

Hotch paused, his eyes brightening up. “Three days into your assignment as Unit Chief, Reid started a philosophy bachelor,” he revealed, the faintest smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. You raised your eyebrows, caught off guard.

Reid hadn’t told you.

“I honestly thought it’d take him at least a week to get actually hooked by your metaphysics,” Hotch chuckled, the sound warm but tinged with bittersweetness.

“He looks up to you, Y/N,” Hotch continued, his voice quiet but certain. “He needs someone he trusts, someone who can get through to him.” His gaze met yours, sincere, and you could see the depth of his worry, for Reid, for the team, for everything this absence had disrupted. “I know I’m asking a lot, especially now… but he’ll listen to you. You’re the one who can really help him through this.”

You held his gaze, feeling the responsibility settle over you. “It’s not too much to ask, Aaron. I know how much it can help to have someone there when it feels like everything is falling apart,” you said, a small, appreciative smile edging onto your face.

He furrowed his brows, keeping a straight face as he pretended to be surprised. “Was that a compliment?”

“To you? Not even close,” you replied, rolling your eyes. Then your tone shifted to serious. “But you need to promise me something in return.”

“Anything,” he replied immediately, and then regretted it as you extended your hand, palm up.

Of course.

He sighed, handing you the car keys, his fingers lingering for a second as if hesitant, you grinned, a spark of excitement in your expression. “Bet we’ll get to the hangar in half the time now?”

He crossed his arms, a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. “When I said you were a ‘good driver’ nine years ago, I didn’t mean ‘racecar-level.’”

“Please, I’m practically an F1 prodigy,” you shot back, pocketing the keys. “I promise to obey the law. Mostly.”

“They’re called guidelines,” you teased, striding confidently toward the car. “Besides, I remember a certain Unit Chief who used to be my copilot during most of those drives. Didn’t hear any complaints then.”

“Oh, I had complaints,” he replied, trying to maintain his seriousness. “Just don’t take any unnecessary risks,” he warned, though his voice was laced with humor. “I can’t afford to lose my partner on the road, too.”

“Relax, Hotch. I promise I’ll drive like my mom is in the passenger seat,” you replied, smirking as you walked to the car.

“Good,” he replied with a smirk, “because I’m not sitting there - Prentiss is.”

As you slid into the driver’s seat, you greeted Emily with a grin while Hotch climbed into the back, securing himself with an almost exaggerated seriousness.

“How come you’re not driving, Hotch?” Prentiss asked, raising an eyebrow as you revved the engine, giving it an amused look.

“Just keeping the pressure off me,” Hotch replied dryly, crossing his arms. “But I fully expect to hear all the wild driving stories, Teach.”

You glanced back, grinning, eyes on the road. “Actually, you feature in most of mine… Should I start with the one on August 23, 1999, or save the best for last?”

“The best?” He raised an eyebrow, leaning in.

“You know, the one that was… memorable in all the wrong ways.” You shot him a knowing smile.

Emily’s interest piqued, and she leaned forward, looking between the two of you. “Okay, I need to know. What happened on August 23, 1999?”

Hotch’s voice was almost comically serious. “Confidential”, he deadpanned.

---

“Look who’s here,” Reid said gleefully, his eyes lighting up as you, Hotch, and Emily stepped into the Milwaukee police station.

Emily settled into the chair next to Reid, flashing him a grin. “Hey, where do we start?” she asked, already scanning the room for files.

You approached, settling in beside JJ and Morgan, giving a small nod as Reid handed you the case file. “Thank you, Doctor,” you said with a smile.

Hotch entered last, carrying the weight of the room’s attention. He placed his bag on the floor and shook Morgan's hand, who seemed to look visibly surprised yet grateful and relieved to see him.

Then he positioned himself between Morgan and you, standing still on his right, and after a beat, immediately swapped places with you, that subtle instinct kicking in - a sense that something just wasn’t quite right until you stood on his left.

It was a nearly imperceptible movement, yet one that anchored you both. That formation had become natural, a silent tradition. Your right side close to his left - a setup that always allowed each of you to feel covered and focused, knowing where the other would be.

A comfort in the subtle code you shared, where neither words nor looks were needed to communicate an understanding that ran deep. Once positioned, you felt that inner switch flip, both of you immediately present, ready for whatever the case had in store.

Emily, glancing over at JJ, grinned. “How fast can you get us up to speed?”

JJ smirked, holding up a file. “How fast can you sit down?”

As Strauss settled into her seat, the tension still thick in the air, you shared a wordless exchange with Hotch. His eyes, steady and unwavering, held a trace of amusement behind his seriousness, as if to say, “Here we go.”

Your raised eyebrow and slight smirk replied, “Always making friends, aren’t you?”

He tilted his head a fraction, a subtle, almost invisible shrug. “Comes with the job.”

Your expression softened, silently saying, “You think she’ll hold her tongue until later?”

He replied with the smallest hint of a smirk, “If we’re lucky.”

You resisted a chuckle, responding with a quick, subtle nod, “Guess we’ll find out.”

Hotch tilted his head slightly, as if to say, “Maybe you could scare her off with some Aristotle”

You slightly raised your eyebrow, “No need to ask me twice, Lawyer”

---

Hotch reached out instinctively as Strauss tripped on the ramp, steadying her with a gentle but firm grip while she clutched the iron fence to regain balance. “Are you all right? You okay?” he asked, his tone professional but soft.

Strauss’s face twisted in horror, eyes filling with tears as she looked at the body. “I-I stepped on her hair,” she stammered, visibly shaken.

Hotch’s voice remained steady, a blend of professionalism and quiet empathy. “If you need a second, take a second.” He watched as Strauss covered her mouth, attempting to pull herself together.

He continued gently, “This is what it is. Just don't let the public see you break down.” After a beat, he helped her turn back up the ramp.

When his eyes met yours, you gave him a small nod, silently volunteering to handle Strauss ‘I got her, you go ahead with the team’. He acknowledged it with a brief, grateful glance before moving on.

You led Strauss a few feet away from the body, keeping your voice low to ensure no one from the press overheard. “Alright,” you said gently, “we’re going to stand here and pretend we’re discussing the case. Take as much time as you need. Just breathe.”

As she composed herself, you continued smoothly, “The unsub changed the dumping site. He usually used the Third Ward, but it seems the only pattern is choosing areas without much public traffic. See? Look around - do you see any residential buildings nearby?

“No,” she replied. You continued using this technique, asking questions to help her focus and steady herself, calming her down bit by bit.

“Good. Now, one more thing,” you said with a warm, gentle smile. “This might seem unrelated, but you do have children, right?”

“Yes,” she answered, looking slightly puzzled but following along, starting to piece things together.

“Exactly. Say you’re at the supermarket, buying your kids a packet of chips. When you’re putting items in your shopping bag, you likely place the chips on top, right? They’re fragile - otherwise, you’ll end up with just crumbs. But if you’re in your head or in a rush, you probably don’t store them with the same care as usual.” She nodded, still piecing it together but following along.

You continued, "Apply this logic to the crime scene here. The unsub chose a low-traffic area with no prying eyes, yet he left the body right at the start of the ramp. He could have moved it a few more feet towards the wall, and you wouldn’t have stepped on her hair. But he didn’t. So, what does this tell us?"

“He was rushed,” she replied firmly.

“That’s a good observation,” you reassured her with your teacher voice, adding, “Or it could also mean he’s escalating, becoming less meticulous. Which is even more dangerous.” You nodded, acknowledging her insight.

“Go brief the team, Agent Y/L/N,” she instructed, a hint of gratitude in her eyes, you took at as a win.

“Yes, ma’am,” you replied, nodding before turning back to the team. As you walked over, you noticed Morgan, JJ, and Prentiss approaching a man who was rushing closer, his face etched with desperation.

He stumbled toward the police barricade, calling out her name, “Claire!” His voice cracked, filled with a futile hope that maybe, somehow, the officers were wrong - that it wasn’t her lying there, cold and with her heart brutally carved out.

“Claire!” he screamed, the sound shattering the quiet like a final, haunting echo. No matter how well you compartmentalized, this part - the raw ache of those left behind - always managed to somehow creep under your skin, always reminding you of the relentless grief and helplessness in the aftermath of violence. But that was a good thing. It comes with being human.

As you got closer towards the body you overheard Hotch say, “Morgan says you're worried about Gideon,” his gaze shifting briefly to you as you walked over, stopping just inches away.

You leaned over beside Reid, bracing your hands on your knees. Sitting at his eye level would have definitely been more ideal, but given your limited range of motion, this position would have to do.

You could feel Hotch's questioning gaze on you, clearly unaccustomed to seeing you in such an unusual stance - almost like a quarterback before kickoff, it felt so… out of character? Probably that’s what he thought, as he looked at you as if to ask ‘Quarterback?’

You arched a brow back. ‘Either this or a body in my living room.’

His eyes momentarily drifted to the necklace hanging from your shirt before he shot you a deadpan look that implied, ‘Not mine.’ Then he immediately shifted his gaze back to Reid.

Reid glanced up at Hotch, his face clouded with worry. “I keep calling him, but he doesn’t call back,” he admitted, his voice strained with concern.

Hotch’s gaze softened as he thought of Gideon’s familiar retreat. “He’s probably at his cabin,” he said gently, his eyes distant. “It’s where he goes when he needs to… get away.” He paused, then added with a preoccupied look, “Reid, I need your head in this.”

Reid’s lips pressed into a thin line, nodding. “I know.” Hotch gave him one last steadying look before heading toward the car.

“I need you to put your heart into this too,” you said, catching Reid’s gaze as you both walked toward the SUV. “The way Gideon would.”

Reid’s voice dropped, his tone laced with sadness. “That’s… not easy.”

"I never said it would be. Why hand you basic multiplication when I know you can tackle differential equations?" you replied with a sly smile. “But if you bring even a part of Gideon’s approach to this case, show up with the same heart, then in a way - he’s here with us,” you continued “By focusing on what’s present, the essence of what Gideon represents lives through you. Husserl’s phenomenology.”

“Edmund Husserl, the mathematician?” Reid asked, a spark of interest lighting up his eyes.

“Philosopher first, mathematician second,” you jokingly corrected him with a soft smile. “I totally recommend diving into his work. You’d find his ideas on consciousness and experience fascinating…and useful.” You paused, the corners of your mouth lifting. “By the way, since we’re on the topic of philosophy - a little bird told me you’ve started to study for your philosophy degree recently”

He tilted his head, brow raised. “A bird?” he asked, clearly confused.

“Judging by his appearance, I'd say it was a great horned owl - a 6’2” stressed, overworked, and somewhat emotionless owl in a suit,” you teased, a grin spreading across your face as Reid’s eyes widened slightly, recognizing the nod to Hotch.

“I was waiting for the right moment to tell you about it, Teach. I’m sorry,” Reid admitted, his gaze downcast.

You shook your head, a soft smile creeping onto your lips. “I’m not mad, I could never be. But I’ll take it personally if you don’t choose me as your thesis supervisor. And if you graduate with anything less than honors, well… that would just be unacceptable.” A playful glint sparkled in your eyes. “After all, if you choose me, you’re guaranteed honors.”

Reid raised an eyebrow, skeptical. “I thought only co-supervisors could be from outside the university.”

You leaned in, lowering your voice conspiratorially. “I have a friend who used to be a prosecutor who’s exceptionally skilled at bending the law, so you might want to start considering your options.” You grinned, the reference to Hotch hanging in the air like an inside joke. Reid chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief.

The two of you were standing on either side of the SUV; you by the driver’s door and Reid by the passenger side.

With a swift flick, you tossed the car keys over the top of the car. Reid managed to catch them mid-air, almost fumbling. “You drive,” you said firmly, a knowing smirk tugging at your lips.

The gesture wasn’t just about who got the wheel, it was a subtle way to keep Reid grounded, away from his spiraling thoughts. As he took the keys, his expression softened, and he seemed to relax just a bit.

For the few minutes it would take to drive from the crime scene to the station, his focus would be on the road rather than his thoughts. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to buy him some peace, if only for a short while.

---

“David Smith, the name of the child,” you said firmly into the phone as you hurried out of the school, adrenaline pumping through your veins, you’ve already taken out the car keys of the SUV. Reid and JJ followed closely behind, their expressions matching your urgency. “He left school early with the nurse on duty. They’re headed back to his house. She might be the next target. I sent you the address the school provided.”

“Alright, see you at his house,” Hotch instructed, his tone steady and authoritative. “Slow down a few houses before the unsub’s. I’m seeing it’s a low-density residential area, you could be noticed.”

“Copy that, we’ll wait for you there,” you replied, glancing back at Reid and JJ, who were already strategizing their approach as you made your way to the car.

Every second counted.

---

“How's she doing?” Strauss asked, her eyes on Prentiss, who was being tended to by the paramedic, her face bruised but calm.

"She’ll be okay," Hotch replied, his tone steady, though his jaw clenched slightly.

Strauss continued, “You know, I can’t officially approve of how this all went down.” Her words held a warning, her gaze fixed on him.

“The arrest was clean. Breaking up this team would be a mistake.” His voice was controlled, but a flicker of frustration lingered beneath. Bureau politics, always standing between him and the work that mattered most.

Strauss’s expression shifted. “None of you will ever move up the chain of command, you know that.”

Hotch didn’t hesitate.

“Why would I ever want to leave the BAU?” He turned away, needing to separate from her cold rationalizations.

But her words echoed, a slow, unwelcome realization: this life, the BAU, his team - it was slipping from his grip.

At home, he’d face Haley, their marriage hanging by a thread he couldn’t pull taut. He’d have to muster the words, once again, to explain why he needed this, why the BAU was the only stability he had left. He wasn’t just fighting to keep the job, he was fighting to keep himself together.

The job would always be his calling, but a gnawing ache tightened in his chest as he watched his team—specifically you, sharing a laugh with Prentiss. Emily was teasing you about the FBI bulletproof vest you were wearing over your outfit.

“Teach, let me say it: with that vest, you kind of look like a pimp,” Emily grinned, the paramedic finishing up her forehead treatment.

“A pimp?!” you exclaimed, shaking your head in disbelief. “You’re saying this only because you’re dying to try it!” You began to unbutton your vest before even finishing your sentence, playfully handing it over to Emily.

You turned your back as she slid it on, raising her eyebrows and asking for your opinion. “Now you look like a magician at a child’s birthday party” you quipped keeping a straight face, and laughter erupted between you two. Hotch nearly chuckled himself, grateful to see you fitting in so seamlessly.

Working with you again after all these years, witnessing your deepening bond with each team member, was a reminder of what he had missed in his life. The connections, the laughter, always having each other’s back - it all felt like coming home.

What had once felt like a distant vision, a hope he could barely allow himself, was now real: you, him, and the team, together. Hotch couldn’t help but let that settle in, a weight of happiness and something like relief.

He couldn’t imagine giving this up not after the seven years it took to get you back to him. Even if he couldn’t sit across from you at your old desks, at least you could always stand by his side.

On his left.

And him on your right.

“I’m seeing you tomorrow, right?” you asked, catching him off guard with your nearness. He hadn’t realized you’d moved closer, the warmth of your presence both grounding and distracting.

He hesitated. “I don’t know yet.”

You gave him a familiar, disappointed look. “You haven’t called Haley yet, have you?”

Hotch’s expression shifted to something darker, more serious. “I’d rather have this conversation face-to-face.” Then, after a beat, he asked, “Has Peter answered?”

Your half-smile was wry, maybe a little weary. “Which one of my 23 calls?” You always softened things with humor, but he could hear the edge in your voice.

“Any,” he said, irritation simmering as he thought of Peter’s silence.

Your ironic grin said it all. “None.” Hotch scoffed, shaking his head, and you gently deflected. “A part of me kept thinking coming back wouldn’t be the same as it was, that working with you would turn into working for you. That’s scary.” You met his gaze, sincerity shining through. “But actually watching you step into your role, I’ve never seen you more like yourself than I did today.”

He sighed, your words striking a deeper chord. “I really needed to hear that, thank you.” he replied quietly, his voice thick with gratitude. “And… you know, for me, you’ll always be my partner. I hope you still think of me as yours.”

You met his gaze, steady and warm. “I do,” you answered softly, a reassurance in your eyes. “But I still expect all my partner privileges, though.”

A grin played on his face. “Your transfer will be the first paper I file.”

“Caught you!” You raised an eyebrow, catching him in his words. “Filing implies you’re still part of the team, which means you’re morally obliged to show up tomorrow, Unit Chief.”

Hotch’s smirk widened, a glint of amusement in his eyes. “Morally binding? That’s circumstantial at best,” he replied. “You’ll need a statute or at least a binding contract if you’re going to get me to commit. Moral obligations don’t hold up in court.”

You laughed, but he could feel the seriousness in your tone “Call your wife, Lawyer.”

And that’s when he convinced himself.

He was determined to fight for this life, for you and this team - even if it meant returning home to another confrontation. But fighting alone wasn’t possible, it takes two to spark a conflict, and one person couldn’t sustain it.

You can’t fight if you’re the only one left standing in your own home.

It takes two people to start a conflict. One wasn’t enough.

“Haley?” The word felt like a scream in the stillness of his house, yet it came out as a whisper, more an expression to himself than a call for her. The only answer was an echo, his question bouncing back at him.

He had always argued against responding to a question with another question. But there it was - the truth, indifferent to his profiler rules, obeying only its own logic.

In that moment, everything went blank, his mind shut down. For several moments, he struggled to formulate something – anything - but nothing came to him. Then, only one thought broke through the fog, taking center stage in his mind, grounding him.

‘German philosopher, Hegel once said:

every idea – thesis,

inevitably faces opposition - antithesis,

leading to a resolution – synthesis.’

-Hegel for Dummies.

He ascended the stairs, each step echoing the weight of his thoughts.

Thesis: his resolve, the first step upward, filled with hope this was just happening in his head.

Antithesis: the second step, shadowed by doubt and the painful memory of the love he had just lost.

Synthesis: the third step, an ephemeral blending of grief and determination, a bittersweet acknowledgment of what was and what could never be again.

And then again-

‘German philosopher, Hegel once said:

The synthesis then becomes the new thesis,

sparking further conflicts and resolutions in a continuous cycle of development.

Hegel believed that conflict is essential for progress.‘

-Hegel for Dummies.

Another step-

Thesis: “This is who I am”, “No, this is what you do.”

Antithesis: “I’ve never seen you more like yourself than I did today”

Synthesis: …

But what happens when he is left alone, unable to reach synthesis?

‘German philosopher, Hegel once said:

When there is no synthesis, conflict can lead to chaos.

Without a resolution, opposing ideas may continue to clash

without progress,

resulting in frustration,

confusion,

or a breakdown of understanding.’

-Hegel for Dummies.

He should have called Haley at least once.

Maybe then he wouldn’t be standing here, paralyzed in the doorway of the empty bedroom, a haunting silence enveloping him like a shroud. The air was thick with the remnants of a life that felt painfully out of reach.

She had left, taking Jack with her, and with them went the laughter that once filled these walls.

Thesis: He was a terrible father and husband, forever tethered to his job, sacrificing family for duty. He deserved every consequence of his choices - Jack’s first combination of words echoing “Dad—work,” a reminder of his absence, Haley’s betrayal, and the stark realization that his family had slipped through his fingers like sand.

Antithesis: Yet, his work was the only thing that made him feel whole, a place where he could be competent, useful, the only identity he knew how to embrace. It was where he found purpose, and, for a fleeting moment, a sense of self-worth.

Synthesis: Three buzzes from his phone that pulled him back to reality, and he immediately glanced at the screen, his heart racing.

Philosopher:

I noticed Emily was feeling down, so I convinced her to join me at the bar.

I told her that the big scar on her head would make for a great conversation starter. (I was totally right)

Penelope, Derek, Jennifer, and EVEN Spencer - our kind-hearted colleagues - suggested that Emily and I, the re-integrating members, should fund all the drinks in the spirit of “teamwork”.

Please come rescue our wallets, we’re at the bar between 12th Street and K NW. I owe you a pint, maybe even two.

No pressure, though - stay with Haley and Jack if you need to. The situation hasn’t escalated... yet.

He didn’t have to think it twice, you were all he had left.

---

Aaron arrived at the bar not long after your message, quietly slipping into the group, trying to shake off the hollow feeling that had been creeping over him.

His eyes found you almost immediately, as if magnetically pulled to you, laughing with Emily and the team. But just as he began making his way over, he noticed the entire white-collar unit entering, with Peter at the front.

If he thought he’d hit rock bottom before, he realized now that apparently, there was even a basement below even that. What a perfect timing for a little reunion wasn’t it?

Peter, already a few drinks in, caught sight of you and wasted no time making his way over, his expression tainted with something meaner than usual. “Look who’s here,” he sneered, his voice carrying a sarcastic bite. “The BAU swoops in, disrupts lives, and sweeps my fiancée back into its arms. All so you can play hero.”

The laughter and conversation at the table went quiet as the team noticed the shift in tone. You froze, unsure of what to say, giving him a wary look. “Pete, this isn’t the time or place,” you replied, keeping your voice calm and somewhat quiet, despite the tension building around you.

“Oh, right.” Peter rolled his eyes, a bitter laugh escaping him. “Gotta keep the BAU's image all pristine.”

Peter leaned in closer, his words loud enough for everyone to hear, his gaze lingering on the team around you. “Funny, though, you have all this dedication for them, but no time for… bedtime. You still want this ‘us’ you’re promising me, or was that just a story?”

Oh, he really wanted to punch Peter in the face.

Although Aaron’s face remained impassive, his eyes sharp, his tone calm but lethal. “You know,” he began, stepping closer, “I’ve looked the other way when you’ve crossed lines before. But if you disrespect her like that again, I’ll have no problem spending a night in jail.”

Peter laughed bitterly, turning to him with a mocking smirk. “What, she needs you to fight her battles now? Hate to break it to you, but I’m the one she said yes to, Hotchner. Maybe it’s time you got over it.”

Everything stopped.

The tension inside him turned hot, searing through his last shred of patience.

Aaron didn’t even hear the sounds around him as he moved. His fist shot forward, a flash of rage, finding Peter's face with a controlled, devastating force.

The satisfying crunch of bone and flesh beneath his knuckles felt like long-awaited justice, a release.

Blood trickled warmly between his fingers, and the bar sank into a stunned silence, every gaze fixed on the unfolding scene. Peter staggered back, eyes wide as he clutched his nose, the steady stream of crimson painting a harsh line down his hand.

Derek and Emily jumped to their feet, rushing to Aaron's side, each grabbing one of his arms, pulling him back before the situation could escalate further. “Hotch, that’s enough!” Derek hissed, his grip firm

Aaron shot Peter a glare that could freeze fire. “If you ever speak about her that way again,” he said, his tone barely a whisper but chilling, “I won’t stop at a bloody nose.”

Peter wiped his face with a hand, a cruel smile forming through the pain. “Tough words from someone who can’t even keep his own family together,” he retorted, his words biting, dripping with contempt.

He was dead.

Not today.

He stiffened, a flicker of pain flashing across his face before he shut it down, his expression hardening.

The insult struck a nerve, and he clenched his fists, resisting the urge to strike again.

Spencer, watching the exchange unfold, shuddered slightly, recognizing the dangerous glint in Aaron’s eyes. Even Morgan’s hand, steady on Aaron’s shoulder, seemed to tighten as he held him back.

He felt your hand gently rest on his arm, a warmth spreading through him that caught him off guard. The touch sent a subtle shiver down his spine, a soft but undeniable reminder of your presence, grounding him.

“Peter, that’s enough,” you said sharply, your voice steady despite the emotions roiling within you. “Get away. You’re acting like a child.”

Peter laughed bitterly, his eyes flashing with anger as he backed up, but the look on his face made it clear he wasn’t quite done. “Fine,” he said, wiping his bloody nose.

“I’m done here. Have fun with your so-called family, see you at home, if you still want to.” he sneered, casting one last look around the table before staggering back to his white-collar buddies.

You turned your focus back to him, your hand still resting on his arm. “Are you okay?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded, exhaling deeply. “I’m fine,” he replied, though his voice held a hint of weariness. “I’m sorry - I shouldn’t have let it get to that point.”

You squeezed Aaron’s arm gently, giving him a reassuring smile. “You didn’t have to do that, you know. But… thank you.”

Aaron met your gaze, his expression serious. “I’d do it again if I had to,” he looked at you, catching the unease that lingered in your eyes as Peter momentarily turned away. “Come on,” he whispered, leaning in close enough that only you could hear. “Let’s get you out of here.”

You didn’t argue, simply gave a nod.

Outside, the crisp night air hit you, grounding you just slightly, though your mind still buzzed with everything that had happened, Aaron kept a steadying hand on your shoulder, guiding you to his car.

Once seated, he let out a sigh, his gaze trained on you. “I don’t want you going back to him tonight,” he said softly, his words holding a quiet urgency. “If he’s already drunk and angry…” He left the sentence hanging, the implication heavy in the silence.

You looked away, taking a deep breath. “Aaron, I can’t just-”

“I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you because I didn’t insist,” he interrupted, his tone low, leaving no room for you to argue. “You don’t have to stay for good. Just let me take you back to your place so you can gather some things. Stay with me tonight. Just… please.”

His gaze held yours, an earnest plea in his eyes that made it impossible to refuse.

You gave a small nod, and Aaron’s shoulders visibly relaxed, some of the tension slipping away. The drive back to your apartment was quiet, the kind of silence that held too much weight to break. When you returned to collect your things, you admitted to yourself that Peter’s absence was a relief.

---

As Aaron pulled up to his place, he walked you in, stopping to gesture toward the guest room. “You can take this room for as long as you need,” he said, offering you a comforting smile.

Yet there was something flickering in his expression - an uncertainty, a regret he couldn’t quite mask. You sensed it before he said a word.

“Aaron… is Haley alright with this?” you asked softly, instinctively careful. There was something wrong.

He exhaled, his gaze drifting on a blank space on the wall. “She’s… not here. Hasn’t been, actually.”

That couldn’t be true.

He looked at you, the confession raw and vulnerable, his eyes wet. “She took Jack. When I got back after Milwaukee, the house was… empty.”

Your hand flew to your mouth, unable to keep the gasp from escaping. “Oh, Aaron” you whispered. That’s all you managed to say. No words of wisdom, no philosophical theories, nothing.

It felt like the whole world crashed right upon you.

Why?

Martyrdom only held meaning if death served something greater. That purpose had once been enough to bear it.

Now, stripped of that cause, the reality was laid bare: nothing remained but death itself - cold, hollow, and devoid of purpose.

The emptiness sank in, exposing the unrelenting finality that was no longer a noble sacrifice but a bleak, pointless end.

“It’s my fault. I failed them�� just like I’ve failed you.” As he said it, you felt the prickling of tears, unbidden and impossible to hold back.

No sobs, no breaking down, just a quiet release of all the pain you’d kept carefully tucked away.

He reached for you instinctively, his hand brushing your arm with a tenderness that broke the silence. “I never wanted this for you. For us. I’m sorry.”

You tried to smile, but it trembled at the edges. “All I ever wanted was to see you happy, Aaron,” you replied, voice thick with emotion. “I thought… I thought you’d finally found it.”

He sighed, the confession heavy in his voice as he looked down, feeling the regret twist deeper within him. “Sometimes, I wonder if I’ll ever be good enough to deserve that kind of happiness you talked about.” The words hung in the air, unguarded. Echoing in the empty walls of his house.

He led you to the couch, poured two glasses, and offered you one. The silence felt almost sacred, each of you sorting through fragments of your own heartbreak, yet finding a strange comfort in the other’s presence.

After a long pause, Aaron cleared his throat. “Here’s the deal,” he began softly, his eyes meeting yours with a rare openness. “I’ll give you all the time you need. No pressure. If you want to talk about anything, all you have to do is ask. Otherwise, we’ll pretend none of this ever happened… until you’re ready to figure it out.”

His words struck you deeply, and your voice came out more vulnerable than you intended. “What if… what if it’s too complicated?” you whispered, gripping your glass as if it could ground you.

“Then we’ll untangle it together,” he replied, his tone steady. “For now, stay here with me. We’ll both take the time we need to figure this out.” He hesitated, then added softly, “You don’t have to face him. And I’ll figure out… my own things with Haley.”

You nodded, your heart aching with a mixture of relief and sadness. “Thank you, Aaron. I… I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He looked at you with such warmth that for a moment, the weight on your chest felt lighter. “You’ll never have to find out - partners privileges” he replied simply.

You nodded, letting a deep, unspoken understanding settle between you. Slowly, you leaned into him, your head finding a place on his shoulder, and he responded instinctively, slipping his arm around you in a way that was both familiar and unexpectedly tender.

The weight of his arm was warm and steady, grounding you in a closeness that felt just on the edge of something you’d both carefully avoided acknowledging.

A gentle silence wrapped around you, though it was charged with the kind of tension that comes from being close to a line neither of you dared cross.

The simplicity of it, just leaning into him, felt almost too good, as if it could shatter with the wrong word or movement.

The moment felt fragile.

Precious.

“I wish it didn’t have to be like this,” you murmured, barely louder than a breath, afraid that if you spoke any louder, the delicate tension might break.

He sighed softly, and you felt his cheek rest against the top of your head, the warmth of his breath brushing your hair. “I know,” he replied, voice low and heavy, almost like a vow he couldn’t put into clearer words. “But whatever happens,” he added after a pause, “I’m not going anywhere.”

He shifted, pressing a soft, gentle kiss to the top of your head. You let out a chuckle slightly shaking your head, feeling a wave of warmth settle over you, shoulders relaxing further against him.

He pulled back, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Too much?” he asked, his tone teasing.

You grinned, glancing up at him. “Not unless you’re hiding a bottle of tequila around here.”

He chuckled, his arm steady around you. “Tequila’s been blacklisted since ’99,” he replied with a laugh.

“Good,” you whispered, and a soft laugh escaped. The air felt lighter, like a shared secret wrapped in laughter. You leaned back against his shoulder, feeling the steady rhythm of his breathing align with yours, each second deepening that shared comfort.

He sighed, settling in, voice warm with humor. “Banning tequila was one of the best choices I’ve ever made.”

You arched an eyebrow, pretending to consider his words. “Best choice? So, this ranks above the law degree? The Bureau? Working with me?”

“Easily,” he deadpanned, a hint of his own teasing smile. “Even ranks above knocking on your door to ask you to quit teaching.” He paused, his hand resting easily on your shoulder. “And just so you know, your official transfer paperwork to the BAU is sitting on my desk. Unsigned, waiting for your signature, to make it official.”

“Oh, is that so?” you teased, shifting slightly to look at him. “I’d say this transfer back to the BAU is already morally binding,” you said with a grin, “especially since, technically, I’m living here.”

He raised his eyebrows, clearly intrigued. “Is that right? And exactly why does that make it morally binding?”

You tilted your head, enjoying the game. “Because, by the rules of ‘teamwork,’ I’d feel too guilty taking up space in your guest room without helping out on cases. Besides, someone has to balance out your caffeine intake and remind you to avoid questionable interrogation tactics.”

He chuckled, tightening his arm around you just a little. “Ah, moral obligation then. And here I thought you might just be getting comfortable with the arrangement.”

You smirked, leaning your head back on his shoulder, feeling the steady rhythm of his breathing sync with yours, that rare, unspoken understanding in the air. “It’s your word against mine, Lawyer.”

---

Phi's Corner: Thank you @c-losur3 for the lovely bit that inspired the bar scene, hoping it turned out to be just about right.

taglist: @beata1108 ; @cuddleprofiler ; @c-losur3 ; @fangirlunknown ; @justyourusualash ; @kyrathekiller ; @lostinwonderland314 ; @mxblobby ; @prettybaby-reid ; @reidfile ; @royalestrellas ; @ssa-callahan ; @theseerbetweenus ; @todorokishoe24

#aaron hotchner #hotch #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotch x reader #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds #symposiumff

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fidelishaereticus · 2 years ago

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so, old news obvious news blah blah, but i keep seeing people not getting this about my girl gideon nav so have to say: i think at first blush, people get the impression that Harrow’s got all the convolutions and layers and hidden vulnerability whereas gideon wears her heart on her sleeve and is just brazenly herself (a loveable rowdy himbo) & that’s the contrast. and yes, that’s there, but that’s not all. that dynamic itself is a part of their mutual (codependent) front, and like everything else in this book, it gets peeled back.

i think the real contrast is that they’ve both got masks, and those masks are complimentary. they’re both kids who never got a childhood. they grew up tortured in the same place from very different angles with no one but each other to butt heads against. they both had to play-act grown up versions of themselves with few models for what a well-adjusted adult even looked like. so it’s cartoonish. gideon is the plucky hero of her own adventure story that will totally have a happy ending some day, far far away from her nemesis whom she’s totally not in love with. harrow meanwhile (to grossly oversimplify) has to imagine herself as someone cruel and cold enough to cope with being alive at the price of 200 other people. these two things fit very well together. gideon can play the hero to harrow’s villain, and harrow can enact cruelty toward gideon to make herself feel strong and mean (and generally just to vent anguish). the way they hate one another is a kind of mutual protection - it re-enforces the self-image that each of them needs to get through the day. but that’s the coping mechanism. harrow the ruthless bones overlord. gideon the hapless swords idiot, who thinks of nothing but tiddies & sweet sweet vengence (harrow’s corpse in various states of disgrace ) all day. and behind that they’re both tearing apart at the seems beneath caricatures of themselves that are deeply unsustainable and neither of them feels safe letting on the extent to which that’s the case. their hearts are a goddamned mess. neither of them is wearing that shit on their sleeve. so yeah, there’s a lot more to gideon than being a swords himbo but that’s not the wild thing. the wild thing is she’s so convincing that she somehow manages to sell people on her no braincells act while being the pov character of entire first novel.

#[whispers] she doesn't want you to know she has enough braincells to feel trauma]#gideon nav #gideon the ninth #tlt #the locked tomb #come on guys #the himbo act is from the heart and that's why it's so convincing #but she's got a lot of other things going on and the scary thing is #she's capable of burrying them much deeper than harrow has ever managed to bury anything #if she ever decided to go Full Awful it would be truly terrifying & i think we're supposed to Feel That #[spreads hands at both gid's parents]#she's very like both of them and that should be an uncomfortable thought

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classypauli · 9 months ago

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She’s the Man

Pairing: Jenna Ortega x fem Reader A/N: I appreciate each one of you, thank you so much for support <3!! Warning: mentions of harassment, anxiety, SA, alcohol, spelling errors, grammar mistakes Word count: 3.7k

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Chapter 3

The dorm room was silent. No was was speaking. They were just sitting on the small couch, being in each embrace. Letting themselves know that they were there for each other. Especially for her. Jenna was sitting in the middle of the couch, knees pressed into her chest, arms around her legs. Staring into nothing. Gideon was beside her waiting for her to speak. Both Emma and Gideon knew that in times like this, they needed to be silent and let Jenna talk. She hardly talked about something she struggles with so they wanted to hear everything that comes out of her mouth.

„I like him.“ Jenna said looking into the space in front of her. Gideon sighed and pushed herself closer to her roommate, pulling her into her arms.

„I know... I can see the way you are around him.“

Jenna put her lips into a thin line and looked at her friend, tears in her eyes. „I don´t know what to do.“ Her soft voice was barely heard in the room. Emma was sitting in front of her on the ground, staring up at her friend.

„Maybe you should tell him the truth.“

Jenna couldn´t believe what situation she was in right now. She wasn´t the type of person who easily like like someone. She wasn´t paying special attention to people who only looked good. She hardly had any crushes, even when she was younger.

But you... you were so good, mature, respectful, amazing listener, always making Jenna special when she was with you, giving her your full attention, and caring about what she had to say. Saying your true opinions, always motivating her with your gentle words. And on top of that, there was your look. Jenna doesn´t care about someone´s appearance, never, but you even looked amazing. She almost couldn´t believe that someone like you exist.

So when she started noticing her liking towards you, she was sure that this would be serious. That this wouldn´t just be some silly crush.

Gideon nods gently. „Yes, that would be for best.“

„And he will understand, I mean, I don´t know him personally but I can feel that he will be okay with it.“ Even her friends could feel something different in you. There was something about you that was strange, but not bad strange. Just something they haven´t seen in their lives yet.

„B-But how can I do that when he recently tried to hook me up with his roommate?“ she turned her head to them, eyes almost desperate. She didn´t even want to say his name out loud, that´s how much aversion she had against him.

„You mean the one who keeps harassing you for almost two years? Of course, I can already see the scenario.“ Gideon continued, trying to give some courage to Jenna „He wanted to be closer to you so he asked Charlie for help cause he saw that you two get along.“ Emma noded at her words, also agreeing with her.

Yeah, even to Jenna, this sounded pretty accurate, you barely turned someone down. You were too sweet for that. Still, this doesn´t have to be true.

But for now, she is going to act like it is.

„So what should I do?“ she now looked at Emma. Her friend only smiled with a confident smile. She and Gideon shared eye contact and looked back at their desperate friend.

„We´ll tell you, what you are going to do.“

„This is so good!“ Georgie cried as he held chicken wing in the air. His mouth and fingers were dirty from BBQ sauce. Some of it was even on the collar of a his uniform but he didn´t mind, all he cared about was that he could eat.

Y/N looked up from her meal, cracking a small smile. It was cute how he could enjoy so much such a simple thing. He was pure and so obvious.

Mason aggressively nodded his head at him, eyes wide. At least he could eat properly and wasn´t as dirty as Georgie in front of him. „You are right! It´s been a long time since they had something so good in here!“ he yelled with his mouth full of food.

They were having lunch right now. Finally, because if the classes were any longer, Y/N didn´t know if she would survive. The whole day she was with her friends, they were whining about how much they are hungry. Y/N was a patient person, but this... this was another level.

A couple of workers and students were glaring their way, at their loud behavior. Y/N and Hunter shot them back apologizing smiles.

„Can´t you two just enjoy it a little louder? Everybody is looking at us!“ Hunter hissed at them. Mason and Georgie looked around and then started eating again, clearly nonchalant.

Y/N looked around one more time and was met with doe brown-eyes looking at her. Jenna was staring at her with a small smile decorating her face. The taller girl looked at her and gave a small smile back with her hand waving at her.

Mason looked at her, then the way she was facing and his friend again, smiling softly in a teasing way before continuing his eating.

Jenna was sitting with a couple of her friends, a finished meal in front of her. She was probably waiting for them to finish. Breaking eye contact and pulling out her phone. Suddenly Y/N´s phone made a sound signalizing new message.

Jenna xx: Hey, are you free today?

Y/N looked up from her phone again at the other girl. She was waiting for her answer with hopeful eyes, biting her lower lip.

You: Hi, yeah, something in mind?

Jenna xx: Been thinking about another movie, free dorm tn, you down? ;)

Y/N smiled softly at her phone, agreeing with the plans. She was excited. She and Jenna haven´t talked much since the party but there wasn´t any bad blood between them. They just didn´t have much time.

After the classes, Y/N felt exhausted. Today was too long for her and she just wanted to lay down and relax, but she wasn´t tired enough to cancel her plans with Jenna.

When she got into the dorm room Percy was there, he was sitting behind his desk doing some schoolwork. Both of them haven´t talked yet about what happened. The morning after the party, Percy couldn´t remember much, only a couple of things. But he definitely felt the energy you gave him. He didn´t know what happened but he was also a little scared to ask. He isn´t used to you acting like this.

Y/N also didn´t know what to do with this situation, either acting like nothing happened or confronting him about it. She surely didn´t want to act like nothing happened, she thought it would be unfair to Jenna. People should talk about things like this, even if “nothing happened“.

But still thinking about what would happen if she didn´t get there. That night she came with Mason and some other boys, she saw Gideon and went to say hi, the girl told her that her roommate was there and that she had just gone to get a drink in the kitchen. So Y/N went after her.

But the scene she found her in... She was angry at Percy, but she felt even more disappointed. It wouldn´t even cross her mind that he could behave like this. It was disgusting. Acting like someone on top. He took advantage of time when nobody was there and she couldn´t say no to him. Y/N felt sick to her stomach.

„Hi.“ He looked up from his work „Going somewhere?“ he asked her as she was packing some things in her bag.

„Yeah.“

There goes the short answer again. He feels like it’s the only thing he gets from his roommate these days.

„Cool.“ He wanted to ask with who but that´s not his business.

Jenna was running around her dorm, making sure everything was ready. Blankets, pillows, snacks, movie, hoping she didn´t forget something. The room was dark with only the light of the turn-on TV and candles by the windows. She wanted to make it cozy as much as possible.

„Just a second!“ Jenna yelled at the door. She heard the knock, signaling that you were already there, right on time. She ran to look at herself one last time in the mirror, fixing her bangs and one last check at the room.

She opened the door and was greeted by your cute face. You were standing there wearing grey baggy sweatpants with a matching hoodie and bag around one of your shoulders looking cuddly as ever. You made a thin line with your lips still looking at her.

„Hi.“ You said shortly, waiting for her to let you in. She opened the door wider for you to come and greeted you with her hug. There was your scent again. It was so addicting.

Soon you started watching the movie she picked. It was Friday the 13th and you both enjoyed it. You saw that already but it was classic, so you didn´t mind watching it again. The scenes are good, it is a solid film. During the movie, Jenna was thinking about what Emma and Gideon said and about their plan.

Yeah, that plan already started and you don´t even know it.

After that, you were chatting. Y/N wanted to ask about Percy and what was going on between them, but she didn´t want to remind Jenna of that uncomfortable night. On the other hand, the girl felt like she should talk about it, she knew that Jenna didn´t like a feeling of vulnerability, but there was nothing wrong with it. At the end of the day, there are still people who are by her side ready to help her and listen to her. People like Y/N.

„I wanted to ask you...“ she looked into her eyes with a little seriousness, the shorter girl turned to her waiting for her question „Are you okay?“

And the girl didn´t even have to be specific about what was she talking about, Jenna knew.

„Yeah, I think I´m.“ she pulled out a small smile with her soft eyes. She was okay when she was with you, she felt safe. Every time she felt nervous walking around him or thinking about what happened, her mind went to you and how you acted. How you stood in front of her ready to defend her from anything bad. And then she feels safe.

She feels safe when you stand by her side, she feels safe when she is walking beside you, she feels safe when you hug her.

Doesn´t matter what you two are doing, when she is with you, she feels protected.

„It started almost two years ago... I saw him a couple of times before but we didn´t share many classes or never really spoke to one another.“ She was now looking into her lap, playing with her fingers. It was her habit when she was nervous or was thinking about her words and what she wanted to say.

„I knew he was into me, he used to stare at me sometimes whole class. It started to be a bit strange, but I let it be. Was trying to ignore it.“ Y/N was still looking at the girl beside her, giving her full attention.

„I got a couple of times drawings of my face... at first I found them at the spot where I used to sit during our together classes, then found some in my locker or mailbox at my home where I was during holidays. That was the weirdest. Like how did he find where I live?“ she sarcastically laughed, leaning her head on her hand, which was now on her knee.

„I didn´t want to make something big out of it, so I let it be. When I came to school again, he kept going, sometimes even following me into the dorms. I told Gideon and Emma about it and from then, they tried to be with me when they could.“

Y/N couldn´t imagine the stress this girl must have felt. It was absurd. And disrespectful. She slowly grabbed the other girl's small hand, shooting her comforting smile.

„One night, there was a party... there were almost all the students from the school. I was in a room full of people, slowly drinking from my cup... I wasn´t drunk just a bit tipsy.“ The shorter girl now held Y/N´s hand in both hands. „he saw me came to me and started to touch me... he tried to pull me up with him into the room upstairs but I wasn’t letting him... he didn´t like that of course and pushed me against the wall still with his hands on my body.“

Jenna had now tears in her eyes but didn´t let them fall. She breathed heavily still looking at their hands. „Can you believe that even the room full of people didn´t manage to stop him?“ she sniffed softly „Then he got pulled by someone, he smashed him into the face and threw him out of the house... it was your friend actually, the football player.“

Mason. He never disappoints.

You were now sitting there, feeling disgusted. You felt horrible that you even tried to help him with her. You have so much rage inside but right now Jenna was your priority. You pulled the girl into your arms, holding her. You were in awe that she´s been holding that inside of her for so long. She was so brave.

Both of you were sitting there, holding each other, her almost on top of you with her face in the crook of your neck. When she calmed down she pushed her face out and looked at her. Your faces were now close.

Y/N kept looking at Jenna´s face, her cute bangs, doe eyes, and small nose on which were her cute freckles. They looked like constellations and the taller girl knew that she would never be bored of them. On top of that her full lips.

Jenna saw Y/N looking at her lips, which made her smile. The tension grew and she was now waiting for her move. The brown-eyed girl looked at your lips and saw you smiling.

„What are you smiling about?“ Jenna asked still in your embrace.

„You smiled first! You gave it to me.“ Y/N said and now she grew nervous. Jenna´s hands were around her neck and the girl´s chest felt full, feeling like there was no air for her. Y/N liked this, feeling Jenna in her arms, close to her, smelling her perfume.

„Sorry, I need to use a bathroom.“ And just like that you gently pushed Jenna away from you standing up and making your way to the toilet room.

Jenna was sitting there with wide eyes, shocked. She was almost sure you were going to kiss her. But you stood up and went to the bathroom. Were you nervous or just didn´t feel the same way she does? She wanted to know the answer to these questions but only you could answer them.

You were hard to read. Maybe that was what caught her attention the most. She didn´t know what to expect from you. Like now. The girls told her that you liked her back because of the way you was acting around her and that you were probably just nervous, that´s why you didn´t make a move yet.

They were in some way right, you were nervous. You liked her, you know that, but it felt unfair to Jenna. She knows you, but she doesn’ t know you. She doesn’t know you as Y/N. As your trueself. And that´s why instead of kissing her you rushed away.

Y/N washed her face with water. She looked at herself in a mirror and saw her blushing face. Oh God, this was embarrassing. She felt hot and her heart was beating fast. She picked herself up and made her way to the room again. Jenna was now sitting cross-legged, controller in her hands looking for some new movie to watch. Y/N undressed her hoodie and threw herself onto the couch beside the other girl.

„So what are we watching next?“

Jenna woke up the next day on her couch, her eyes still closed as she was thinking about yesterday. She opened her eyes. Sun was shining through the windows of the room, birds could be heard even though the windows were closed. She looked up and found Gideon standing above her smirking, she motioned “I´m leaving“ with her mouth and then she put her fingers on her lips and did a zip-up motion silently walking away, still with her little smirk.

Jenna could hear soft breathing behind her, then she realized that you were spooning her. She gently turned around wanting to see your face. You looked so relaxed, with your arms around her waist. She was wearing your hoodie from yesterday. Last night you fell asleep first, looked exhausted from the day. After turning the TV off she picked up your hoodie and put it on herself, slowly laying down beside you, as close as she could.

When you woke up Jenna was in the bathroom. You slowly sat up and rubbed your eyes. You slept well actually, even if it was on the couch.

With that you stood up and started cleaning the room, making it look a little presentable. Not long after Jenna walked up to you, greeting you with a hug and questioning how was your sleep. You noticed she was wearing your hoodie and it looked so cute on her. She was so small, it was almost reaching her knees and the sleeves were too big for her, but she looked happy. Soon you left her dorm, leaving Jenna behind with your hoodie still on her.

„We could plan something.“

Mason says as they were running around the field. They are having practice. The coach was talking something about getting easely tired, so he made them run circles around the field. Y/N wasn´t really a fan of training like this, but she understands and respects his point.

„What do you mean?“ she asked him.

They were now around the 13th round, or at least she thinks, she didn´t want to count it. They were almost breathless, their legs felt like they were on fire, and it slowly became hard to move and control them. Her throat was burning and her lungs had each inhale smaller capacity.

It would be okay if the coach let them just run, but he was whistling at them to change their tempo, sprint or slow down. All you could hear were breathless players running around the field. Mason wanted to continue with the conversation but he was almost out of breath.

Another whistle was heard but this time coach was yelling at them to stop. With that Y/N fell on her knees, forehead pressed into the ground, breathing heavily trying to catch her breath. Mason was beside her on his back, arms and legs apart looking like a starfish. Everyone was on the ground, trying to survive after this challenge.

„I think I´m going to throw up.“ Mason´s voice was heard from beside her, now holding his stomach, whinning.

Y/N stood up, hands on her knees, slowly straithing up. She looked at Mason and slowly pulled him up.

„Come on, it will be only worse this way.“

They were slowly walking back to the coach. The girl looked at the tribune and saw Jenna. She was sitting there and she was enjoying the suffering your coach pulled you through. She had palms under her chin and when she saw you she waved. You waved back smiling.

„It´s cute how your girlfriend comes here every practice.“ Mason said looking at his friend´s reaction.

Y/N pushed her eyebrows together. „Jenna is not my girlfriend.“

„But you want to, so what´s stopping you? She clearly likes you too.“

You just shrugged your shoulders and looked at the ground, hands on your hips. Mason was still studying you, something was bothering you, that’s for sure, but he didn´t know what. He is guessing that maybe you are shy and don´t know how to start, so now he has a mission to get you and Jenna a date.

The thing he didn´t know is that your current situation would be this complicated.

„So as I was saying, how about we would make a night out, we would call Hunter and Georgie and you could call Jenna and she could call her friends. It would be fun.“

Y/N was thinking about it, it wasn´t the worst idea. They could hang out all together and that way they could get closer and know each other better.

„Yeah, that sounds good.“ She last time looked at Jenna before continuing with their practice.

Gideon couldn´t believe it. She was shocked at what Jenna told them about yesterday. She thought something happened between you two because of the way you were sleeping together. It was so cute, she had never seen Jenna in this situation, it was new to her and she was enjoying every bit of it.

But then she told her that you were face to face, looking at one another and you left her there to go to a bathroom. She almost collapsed.

„What?!“ Gideon stood up from her spot looking at her roommate with a shocked and unbelievable face. She can´t process that their perfect plan didn´t work out. Emma´s jaw was hanging, also didn´t expect this.

„Maybe he is gay.“ Jenna grabbed the pillow and threw it at Gideon. The plan was to make sweet and romantic vibe, where you would watch movie and then you would talk about your feelings and finally kiss. Simple and easy. And that happened but you still manage to slip out. Little snake.

You both were acting like kids with your first crush. Running around not making any move, she just wanted to pull her hair out of her head. You both are so frustrating.

At this point she doesn´t care. If you aren´t taking this into your hands, she´s going to take it into hers.

Because if this goes at this speed any longer, she will grow grey hair.

next chapter

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reidsbookclub · 9 months ago

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Yours Truly Spencer Reid x fem! reader WC: 2555 fluff pure fluff tw: mentions of Gideon's death

AN: ending is a bit rushed but when I copy & pasted here I accidentally deleted it and couldn’t recall everything I wrote 😩

It’s been three months living with the knowledge that Gideon is no longer there. His conversation with Rossi was haunting him in the middle of the night. “I know I’m not being very rational,” he had told Rossi, “but I think about him all the time. And I knew he was always out there, now it just feels empty.” Rossi’s words still echoed in his mind. “Maybe you’ll find something else to fill the empty space.” He couldn’t even begin to imagine finding anything that would fill the void of now knowing that his mentor would no longer be just a call away. He needed to find a way to feel close to him, so he put pen to paper and did what he knew best: he started writing Gideon letters with the intent of them being addressed to fire. He put pen to paper and tried to connect it to the cloudy thoughts of his brain. After a couple of hours he fell asleep with the warmth of the fireplace enclosing him in a hug.

Not even in his wildest dreams did he ever thing that letter would get read and replied to.

It had been three months since her godfather Jason had passed away, three months of losing the only father figure she had had. If she didn’t know any better she could’ve sworn that he was still around, his presence felt throughout the small cabin she was inherited. Stephen, Jason’s son, had delivered a letter stating such. The simple letter in the testament read, “Y/N, just know that a very good friend of mine holds a key to this cabin, he might drop by if he feels the need to feel close to me, or just an escape from the darkness of this world. Be kind to him, Dr. Reid needs some warmth, kindness and love in his life.”

Days later she found a piece of paper on the floor of the cabin. She really needed to seal the mail slot on the door and install a mailbox. But she couldn’t help but let out a gasp on who sent it, the Dr. Reid in her godfather's letter.

Dear Gideon, It’s been three months since you’ve passed and I can’t help but ask why I never reached out to you when you left the BAU.

Oh. So he’s a coworker. She wondered if he helped found the BAU alongside Rossi and her godfather, suddenly wondering if Dr. Reid had many stories about her godfather’s younger days. Silencing her thoughts, she continued reading.

You know how I’m a specialist at overthinking everything and I just can’t help but wonder if I still have a place in the BAU now that you’ve gone.

Who is this Dr. Reid?

Gideon I’m becoming a mastermind at vanishing into the deep thoughts of my brain in the middle of the night. Midnights have now become my afternoons. I miss the talks we used to have. If I’m being honest I’m finding it so hard to find my place with the team now that I can’t just hide in your office. Can you believe Morgan invited me out to the club? Me.

Club? Was Dr. Reid not an old guy like her godfather or was Morgan just being nice and inviting a mentor out to drinks? Curiosity getting the best of her, she continued reading the letter, hoping to get more answers on who Dr. Reid really is.

You always used to say my first degree was running away into the deep thoughts of my mind but I think I have added a fourth Ph.D to my resume and that’s being my own worst enemy.

Multiple Phds? She couldn’t even finish school. Who was this guy?

You know how hard it is to admit it to myself but I miss you Gideon. Sometimes I still talk to you when I feel like screaming at the sky, angry that you left me with nothing but a letter, just like everyone else that had ever left me did, but I can't be angry at you. -SSA Agent Reid…. Yes I know, Gideon. I need to make people respect me. So I guess I’m signing off as, SSA Doctor Spencer Reid.

He wouldn’t need to make people respect him if he wasn’t young? Would he? Not being able to get her mind off the mysterious Dr. Reid, she decided to write him a letter.

Coming back from a demanding case always felt like a relief and the worst thing in the world at the same time. Relief for finally being home and the worst thing because once you’re home, warm in bed, your mind starts reliving every little thing you could’ve done differently. This night would be different. Spencer was greeted at the door by his Russian Blue cat named Atticus and a tea-stained letter on his mailbox.

Dr. Spencer Reid, I must admit that receiving a letter addressed to my godfather was surprising, I fully apologize for opening and reading your letter, I assumed you meant for no one to read it. Have you ever been to my godfather Jason’s cabin? If you have, then you must know that there is a small town that is 15 miles away. I went there earlier today and down the block from the main road there is a small antique shop. I stopped and entered, always curious about the stories that old items have, who owned them? Were they special to them or just small trinkets, why did the owner sell them? All these questions. No answers. Anyways, there was a box filled with old drawings and photographs. 25 cents each and I couldn't help but buy some because they all reminded me of you. You must think I'm insane for saying that something reminded me of you when we have never met, so please don’t profile that too much, anyways, these photographs had me imagining things. It's crazy. Heck, I don’t even know anything about you. Yes, I could look it up but where's the fun in that? Is it crazy that I can’t help myself and imagine who you are? That I cannot help but think of all of these little scenarios making a film about your life. I’ve been rambling too much about nonsense so take care Dr. Reid. - Hope you stay safe Y/N

Reid read and re-read the surprise letter. Atticus on his lap sleeping. Goddaughter, why couldn't he recall Gideon ever mentioning a goddaughter. Who was she? Based on the letter she rambled…a lot and got excited about the most random things. Reid let out a soft giggle startling Atticus. “I think…I think I want to write another letter, Atticus. She seems fun to talk to, don't you think?”

Silence. That is all she heard for three long weeks cursing herself for responding to his letter the way that she did. He must’ve thought she was nothing but a foolish petulant child with her dreaming and fantasizing about different worlds and what ifs. Just as she was wondering if she should write another letter apologizing she heard the unmistakable sound of papers being thrown into the mail slot. “Thank you!” she shouted through the door to the mailman. One coffee-stained envelope standing out over the spam ads she got.

Dear Y/N, I must admit writing a letter to you seems a bit strange so please bear with me if I seem awkward, I promise I am working on it. Shit I spilled some coffee on the paper, hopefully its not that noticeable. Who am I kidding of course it will be noticeable. Well I am hoping you like coffee smells. Ms. Y/N I hope that the letter I sent you did not cause you any more grief, and please feel free to…how did you put it? “ramble much about nonsense” to me at any time. I thought it was cute. Well now I am thankful you cannot see the blush I have because Derek is sure making fun of me at the moment. I’m sorry that it seems like forever since you last replied to me but the case we had was taking a toll on me and I couldn’t seem to taint your sunshineness with the darkness of the case. I just wanted to let you know that the way you make time disappear everytime i re-read your letter brings me calmness, and brings me hope that maybe someday we could become friends. Please always continue telling me about the little what if scenarios that help you make my life seem more interesting than it is. I find it adorably cute that you do these things. Now I can’t help but wonder if you will think I am just a boring old man that sits in the corner of a dark room– I promise I am not. Anyways, a little about myself I have a cat named Atticus, I enjoy stimulating my brain by learning new things which is how I got three Phds. You can always find me with coffee and a good book and—fucking hell I sound boring as fuck and you give off the impression of being this magnetic carefree beautiful person. Great, now I am overthinking everything I have said so far – everyone knows that afterall i am a specialist at doing so. Thats all for now Sincerely, Spencer Reid.

She couldn’t help but giggle. All throughout the letter Spencer sounded just like the type of person that she would love to get to know further. Someone that in another life would be considered a tortured poet, living amongst the rest of them in the peacefulness of the lakes, someone that would be rubbing elbows with Wordsworth and Austen. As she re-read the letter she was trying to ignore the blush that spread across her cheeks at Spencer using the word cute in reference to her. One thing was certain that she would be holding on to her pen-pal because for some reason he made her feel a way no other person was able to do.

It had been two months since the initial letter that started this newfound friendship Spencer found himself in. The only thing that has kept him going were the weekly letters that Y/N has been sending him. They’re weekly letters always bringing a smile to his face and giving him the necessary “push” in between cases. This new letter brought an even bigger smile to his face and the sudden urge to finally drive up to that cabin and meet the person that has been holding his mind captive all day.

Dear Spencer, How is Atticus doing? I know you were planning on adopting a kitten to keep Atticus company while you are away. May I suggest a cute little white cat? Or a ginger cat? Maybe one named Arlo or Agatha or something old literature sounding. How have you been? Are the headaches gone? Today I went down to the small village that is close by and there is this new coffee place and I couldn’t help but think about how much you would like it. Would you be interested in ever meeting me there? Keeping this one short and sweet because i did kinda sorta just ask you out and anxiety is at an all time high - Y/N

There was one thing that Spencer learned that night and that was that for the first time in years he allowed himself to hope that maybe just maybe the person he was falling for was falling right alongside him.

Girls night. Oh how she missed her friends ever since moving into the cabin. It had taken a lot of convincing but she had finally managed to get her friends up for the weekend. In the middle of drinks she started gushing about Spencer and their friendship. She was telling her friends about the cute pen-pal she had and how she had taken the leap to ask him out. “Ha. What a loser do you really think that and FBI agent will take the time to come and meet someone as boring as you?” Her so-called best friend Lindsey had said, her words ringing in her ear drink after drink. How could she be so foolish thinking that a guy as smart as Spencer would ever confess his love to her. It had been a cold reminder that she was not the exception, that after years of this happening she had not learned her lesson that fairy tale endings did not happen to girls like her. So, for the first time in the two months they had been communicating instead of answering his letter she burned it, eventually leaving him at the coffee house waiting, glued to his chair instead of meeting her for the first time. The following week the first of many daily letters arrived in which he kept asking her why.

Dear Y/N, Did I do something wrong? Did you move on? Help me because in my mind I'm still at that coffee shop collecting dust wondering where you are, wondering why you didn’t show up. If you ever think you may have got it wrong and want to meet, I will be at that coffee shop every Friday at 7 waiting for my sunshine to show up. Yours truly, Spencer

Three weeks. It had been three long weeks since he had heard from her, so he decided to take the initiative and for the first time since Gideon’s death he used the key he had left him. The drive to the cabin was filled with anxious thoughts. Would she be happy to see him? Did she meet someone while they were writing letters?

Walking into the cabin he could smell something baking and the unmistaken sound of laughter coming from the small kitchen, making his way around the cabin he caught a glimpse of her dancing around the kitchen, “wow you are even more beautiful than I ever thought.” he said catching her off guard. “Who the fuck are you and how did you get in here?” she yelled “Oh–i–right yeah i – Spen–Rei–Doctor” he let out a puff of air, “Hi, I’m Spencer Reid. Gideon actually gave me a key to this place.” he smiled softly as crimson crept across her face. “Oh, hi wh–a–what are you doing here?” “I was worried about you” he mumbled

“Oh” In any other situation awkward silence would have followed but not between them, instead fits of laughter happened. “I’m sorry I blew you off Spencer” taking a deep breath she continued, “its just… a friend reminded me that girls like me don’t get the cute guys” Taking a step close to her spencer began rubbing circles in her wrist with his thumb “Y/N whoever said that is not a friend. I fell for the personality that shined through the letters we exchanged, I couldn’t care less about what you looked like you were already perfect in my mind and now that I am seeing you I can confirm that you are the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met” They spend that whole weekend together, the days consisting of baking, stargazing and teaching Y/N how to play chess and nights filled with cuddles, kissing and watching movies together.

Read my master list here Join my taglist here Constructive criticism always welcomed on my ask box!

#spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds fanfic #doctor spencer reid #criminal minds fandom

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boopsiesdaisies · 1 month ago

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Check (Spencer Reid x Reader)

Literally my first fanfic since middle school, sorry y'all. I got that Spencer Reid brainrot. ALSO how does this work on Tumblr??? I legit haven't done this since you could fancast on Wattpad.

Spencer Reid x Reader | 1,470 words | Fluff | GN!Reader

Literally you two on the jet playing chess, set in season one/early season two.

“Do not even think about it!” You yelled, “I’m going to win if this is the last thing I do!”

Reid struggled to stifle his crooked smirk. He knew you were just going to get more upset if you saw him smiling. “I was just going to say you’re in check.”

“I’m going to put you in check in a second, Reid.” The chessboard was beginning to mock you. It must have been rigged. There must have been magnets underneath the board changing everything making this impossible to win. Plus Morgan’s soft snorts whenever you yelled at Reid reminded you that the rest of the team was watching you get your ass handed to you.

“Actually you have less than a three percent chance of doing that,” Reid explained. “And if anything about the last six games have been telling then it’s probably lower than that.”

“I swear to God, Reid,” you exclaimed. “I’ll show you what check looks like.”

You weren’t even sure how you got here. Gideon had cornered you after the case saying “he needed to rest on the jet” and that “you should get Reid to teach you how to play chess” something something “it’ll make you a better profiler” something something else. You were bad for not always listening to Gideon’s Dad-isms, but you couldn’t always help it. You wanted to rest! The week in New Mexico had been exhausting. You wanted nothing more than to close your eyes on the jet with your headphones blasting whatever awful audiobook you started before the case that you didn’t really care about and sleep. Sleep like no one could wake you up for another thousand years. Plus, you were pretty sure it was more of the case of Gideon was worried about Reid and less of you needing to be a better profiler. Sure, you weren’t the top of your class but you were far from a fledgling who needed chess to make you better at your job.

Despite that, there you sat. Six lost games of chess later, and only an hour and a half into the four and half hour flight. Maybe it was pathetic to try to fight at this point. The cheat sheet Reid had written up for you felt useless. The pieces all blurred together and what even was the difference between a rook and a bishop?

“Are you going to make a move?” Reid asked.

“Yes! I’m just thinking,” you shifted the way you were sitting, slightly bumping the table, getting a terribly brilliant idea. The pieces had just jumped slightly as you hit the table by accident. You just had to sell it.

“Do you feel that Reid?” You asked, the fake worry dripping like honey from your voice.

“Feel what?” He snapped his head back and forth between you and the side of the jet.

“Oh no! Turbulence!” You shifted your legs again, crossing them differently; in the process you kicked the table from underneath as hard as you could. The chess pieces dramatically went flying much further and harder than you expected. Rooks and pawns scattered across the table and the floor in front of both you and Reid.

“What? There’s no turbulence, you can’t just scatter the pieces because you were losing!” Reid yelled trying to grab pieces and place them back in their positions. “Plus, I have an eidetic memory, I know where the pieces were!”

The rest of the team was laughing; pulled away from their activities to watch the commotion. You groaned and leaned under the table to grab the pieces.

“If you don’t want to play, you don’t have to,” Reid’s face hadn’t fallen, but from the tone of voice part of you felt it was laced with something. It felt reminiscent of disappointment, but like he was trying to mask it.

You sensed it before you processed it and began to speak on pure instinct. “Sorry, Reid, why don’t we reset?”

Part of you wanted to get to know the brainiac doctor better and this was the opportunity to do so, but it would mean admitting you were bad at something. Somehow you were the most competitive person on the team, and Gideon must have known that. You were always getting your nose into arguments trying to win sheerly for the fact of wanting to win, less about caring about a topic. Some people saw that as a flaw, but you always saw it as the trait that got you here. You lived your life out of spite, and competitiveness was the unfortunate consequence of that. By the time you had grabbed the single pawn off the floor, Reid had leaned under the table searching for it too.

“I got it,” you sigh and go to stand up. In the moment of fate, your confidence was struck down even lower to the lowest of clichés. In a flash of an instance, as the two of you attempted to right yourselves and unfold from underneath the table, you hit heads. It was just like those cheesy rom coms that Garcia forced you to watch on your girls’ nights that you pretended to hate.

“Oh shit, sorry Reid–”

“No, I’m sorry– I–I’m–Um–Sorry, I–” Reid stuttered, and you realized just how precarious your position was, nose to nose under the table where no one could see you.

It was the first time you were that close to Reid, the infamous germaphobe who refused handshakes from everyone always seemed to keep his distance from you. You finally got a good look at him. Glasses that framed his face, his soft doe-like brown eyes, and brown hair that curled just so gently under his ears. The heat began to rise to your face, and Reid’s face had the same reaction. The red blush spread from the apples of his cheeks to his ears and down his neck. You cursed the universe that he was exactly your type: gangly limbs, genius-intellect, perfect eyes and all.

Reid practically jumped trying to get out from under the table, hitting his head as he went and sat back at the seat. You steadied yourself with a deep breath and climbed out from under the table. When you resurfaced, you avoided Reid’s gaze, and Morgan’s eyes were the first that you met. As began to realize your mistake, he began to purse his lips and rub his hands up his arms as if he was poorly making out with his imaginary woman.

“Morgan, if that's how you kiss a woman, I feel sorry for Garcia,” you laced your words with as much venom as you could muster.

You turned back to Reid who was carefully lifting and replacing the chess pieces on the squares.

“Did you know that chess was actually called chaturanga when it was first played in India in the 8th century CE? Plus it was actually played on an eight by eight grid and it wasn’t until it began to spread to Europe in the 10th century CE that it began to shift to the chess we’re playing. Even then it would take over a thousand years before either of us would know how to play,” Reid was coping as best as he could, even though you were afraid you broke him. He was relying on his intellect to avoid the topic at hand.

Why was he even so embarrassed? Why were you? It wasn’t like you thought he was attractive. Sure, he was your type! But that didn’t mean anything. You could think a man was hot without wanting to date him. And sure, he was perfect for you, and maybe you were even more competitive than usual because you wanted to impress him but that would be ridiculous.

Oh…

You were down bad.

“I didn’t know that, although I’m sure you can play chess, I think I’m just moving pieces around,” you shamefully admitted.

“You’ll get it, don’t worry, once you know how the piece moves it will get easier,” Reid’s reassurance immediately struck your heart. Damnit.

“Why don’t you just explain it all to me again?” You asked. “Like treat me like I’m a kid, maybe I’ll get it better then.”

“Okay, so there are 32 pieces on a chessboard, and you control 16 of them. There are six types of pieces…”

“You knew what you were doing,” Hotch leaned over to Gideon watching the two members of the team playing chess; staying as carefully out of earshot as he could. Reid carefully re-explaining the pieces, pointing to each one.

“Of course I did,” Gideon said. “If the two of them pined after each other in silence for two more minutes I thought I was going to lose it. Now they have four hours to spend with each other because neither of them will give up.”

#spencer reid #criminal minds #dr spencer reid #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #derek morgan #aaron hotchner #jason gideon #penelope garcia #fanfic #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid x reader #reader insert #chess #fluff #i dont know #how do tags even work

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gideonisms · 3 months ago

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griddlehark gynecologist exam

HELPP . I know who this is. I blame this one on you!!

Gideon tenses. Thighs spread out, pussy exposed to the world. She’d forgone the stupid robe. Who needs a flimsy little dress? Gideon Nav is a tough butch, not ashamed of anything her cunt has to offer. Why should she be? She’s handsome, she’s hot, she’s delicious—multiple beautiful women online have told her so.

Normally, this is the type of situation she’d thrive in. Except—

“Now this may be a bit cold,” the woman in front of her says. Again, this is normally the type of situation Gideon would live for. A hot goth girl all dressed up in scrubs, inspecting Gideon within an inch of her life? Sign Gideon up!

It’s just, as the woman’s deep dark eyes alight on Gideon’s pussy, she pulls out the speculum.

“You mentioned you’ve had sex within the past year,” Dr. Nonagesimus says briskly. “So I’m using the larger one. Is that all right?”

Gideon manages a grunt that sort of sounds like “Yes.” Truth be told, she’s finding the doctor’s lack of bedside manners vaguely…arousing? Gideon shudders. Oh no.

As Dr. Nonagesimus inserts the tip of the speculum slowly into Gideon’s cunt, Gideon realizes she’s in trouble. Sure, she was lying about the sex. Look, it’s been a long year. But tell that to her cunt—she’s practically dripping onto the table. Dr. Nonagesimus slides the speculum in with a serene immovable confidence that would normally have Gideon on her knees.

Her cunt clenches. Dr. Nonagesimus makes a humming sound, neither surprised nor horrified. Just vaguely disapproving.

“Well, everything looks normal so far.”

“Normal?” Gideon says, quickly losing her grip on reality as Dr. Nonagesimus slides one careful finger in to part Gideon even wider. Her touch is clinical, but the sudden warmth of her fingers even through the gloves, the extra fullness—Gideon whines.

Time seems to stop. For a moment, no one says anything. Dr. Nonagesimus continues to inspect her pussy. Then her eyes flicker up to Gideon’s, and she raises one perfect eyebrow. She slides another finger in.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” Gideon pants, as she clenches again and almost comes right then and there.

Dr. Nonagesimus leans closer to get a better look. “Nothing to be sorry for,” she says. “You’re doing so well—Gideon, is it?”

Gideon nods, focusing all her attention on the clock in the corner of the room, which informs her it has been less than five minutes since this exam started. She’s never felt so debased in her life, and the woman in front of her hasn’t even done anything.

Dr. Nonagesimus breathes out. Gideon can feel it on her cunt. She begs the gods for mercy—and for once, they hear her request.

The fingers in her cunt slide out along with the speculum, leaving her horribly empty.

“Congratulations, Gideon,” Dr. Nonagesimus says. “You don’t have cervical cancer.”

With that, she abruptly turns around and takes off her gloves. She washes her hands, then starts entering information into a computer.

Gideon lies there, speechless.

“You have my card,” Dr. Nonagesimus continues. “Call me if you need any…additional help.”

“Call you?” Gideon asks. She’s not sure she heard right.

Dr. Nonagesimus looks her directly in the eyes. One corner of her black-painted mouth twitches. “Yes. If you have any concerns.”

Oh, Gideon is concerned, all right.

(and so am I! she didn’t even make you pee in a cup, Gideon!!)

#replies #posting this to the sound of my neighbors rattling the bed in a frankly perplexing pattern upstairs #should i even tag this one?#my fic #tlt writing prompt night #if i had to see this (while i was writing it) so do you

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lulublack90 · 8 months ago

Text

Prompt 18 - Sock

@jegulus-microfic April 18, Word count 971

Previous part First part

“Well, darling, he sounds lovely.” Effie beamed at her son as they tucked into their meal. Monty had his mouth full. So he nodded in agreement.

“You’ll have to see if he wants to join us for dinner before we leave. Invite his brother as well. We don’t want to leave him out.” Monty told James between mouthfuls. James couldn’t keep the happy grin off his face.

“Okay, I’ll invite them.” He said as he stabbed a roast potato and popped it into his mouth.

They sat quietly as they finished off their meals. Effie ordered coffee for everyone, and they chatted about their day.

“Mum, Dad. Would it be alright if I went back up to see Regulus for a bit before bed?” James asked, hoping his parents wouldn’t be annoyed with him for not spending enough time with them.

“James, dear. You’re a grown man. You don’t need to ask us permission. If you want to go see him, go.” Effie chuckled and leaned over to muss up his hair. He felt himself reddening.

“I know that, Mum. I just wanted to check.”

“I’m sure your mother and I can entertain ourselves.” Monty winked at him.

“Eww, gross, Dad.” James pulled a face, jumped up from his chair, and kissed his parents on their cheeks before darting out of the restaurant and heading towards the lifts.

The lift doors pinged open, and James was shocked by what he saw.

Sirius was sitting on a man, pinning his arms behind his back. The man screamed bloody murder at Sirius as he tried to buck him off.

“Ah, James, just the person I wanted to see. Could you help me with this sack of rubbish, please? He’s outstayed his welcome.” Sirius said nonchalantly as if what he was doing was perfectly normal.

“Er, yeah, sure. Who is he?” James asked, still trying to get his head around the situation.

“This delightful cockroach is Bartemius Crouch Junior. Reggie’s ex.” Sirius clarified. James’s eyes widened as everything clicked together.

James helped haul Barty to his feet and dragged him to the front desk. He watched as Sirius put on an extremely dazzling smile and charmed the front desk clerk. “This man got into mine and my brother’s room just now. We didn’t invite him.” The clerk gasped in horror and picked up her phone.

“I am incredibly sorry, Mr Black. Please accept my apologies on behalf of the hotel.” She paused to speak into the phone. “Yes, security to the front desk, please.” She turned her attention back to Sirius and James. “I will personally ensure this man never sets foot in our hotel again. Can I send a gift basket to your room as an apology?”

“I’ve never said no to a gift basket,” Sirius leaned his elbow on the desk and rested his head in his hand, still grinning at the blushing clerk.

Two identical burly red-haired men appeared out of a side door.

“Ah, Fabian, Gideon. Please would you escort this young man off the premises and spread it around that he is banned and not to let him in.

“Our pleasure, Molly.” One of the twins affirmed and grabbed James by the arm. “Come on, sunshine, time to go.”

“Gid, Gid! Not that one, that one!” She pointed at Barty.

“Oops, sorry,” Gideon immediately let go of James’s arm and took ahold of Barty. He and his brother disappeared out of the lobby.

“You coming up?” Sirius asked James, completely unaffected by everything that had just happened.

“Yeah, sure.” James nodded. He waved goodbye to Molly and followed Sirius back to the lifts.

When they got back to their room, Sirius clapped his hands together.

“Well, that’s that taken care of. He won’t be back.” He proclaimed. James noticed Dr Lupin sitting beside Regulus with a glass of whisky in his hand but thought nothing of it. It had been a weird day.

“Sirius, come look at this on Reg’s phone,” Remus said, making room for Sirius to sit down.

“That dirty, rotten little,” Sirius glared at the device. He took a few screenshots and started tapping the screen.

“What is it?” James asked Regulus. Regulus jumped. He hadn’t realised James had come in with Sirius.

“Erm, Barty was tracking my phone. That’s how he knew where we were.” Regulus explained, coming over to where James stood.

“Shit,” James exclaimed and wrapped Regulus protectively into his arms. “I’m glad you’re safe.”

“Thanks,” Regulus replied, his voice a bit thick. “James? Why are you only wearing one sock?” James pulled away from Regulus and looked down at his feet, confused. He’d slipped his shoes off when he walked through the door and had one bare foot.

“I swear I put both on.” He checked his shoes, but there was no sock.

“Check under the other sock,” Sirius called from the sofa, where he was still going through Regulus’s phone. He now had Remus’s arm around his shoulders. James blinked, bent down and pulled his sock away from his leg. Underneath it was another sock.

“Oh my god!” He shook his head, pulled the extra sock off his foot and put it on the correct one. “How did you know it was there?” He asked Sirius.

“Been there, done that,” Sirius snorted. “Nearly finished with your phone, Reggie. Then you two can go canoodle to your heart’s content.”

“Sirius, why?!” Regulus groaned at his brother’s words.

“What? I like this one. He’s 100% better than the last one. There, I’m done. I’ve gone through everything I can think of, and he shouldn’t be able to get in again. You might want to change your password, though, just in case.” Sirius tossed the phone at Regulus. Regulus caught it and pulled James into his bedroom to the sounds of his brother’s guffaws.

Next part

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kiss-me-muchoo · 2 years ago

Text

𝐀 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬’𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐞 || 𝐃𝐢𝐧 𝐃𝐣𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲_ 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐃𝐢𝐧 𝐃𝐣𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐆𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐮𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐌𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐆𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐨𝐧'𝐬 𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐌𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐞, 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭. 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐌𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐭, 𝐃𝐢𝐧 𝐃𝐣𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐩𝐭𝐬 𝐆𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐝.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬_ 𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟, 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧 𝐝𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝. NO PROOFREAD

𝐀/𝐍_ 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐨 𝐞𝐱𝐜𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝟑 𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐖𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐬𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬. 𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐲 𝐮𝐩𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐃𝐢𝐧.

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐝.

✰ 𝙄𝙉𝘿𝙀𝙓 (𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩 𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚)

♪ ♫ 𝙋𝙀𝘿𝙍𝙊 𝙋𝙇𝘼𝙔𝙇𝙄𝙎𝙏 (𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙨𝙩 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙮𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩)

————————————————————————————

Dirt everywhere; you hate it. Rolling your eyes, you stand up and start cleaning your clothes. There’s a tiny burn on your forearm caused by the Marksman-H.

“That was very good. But you got distracted at the end….” Luke explains. You nod, giving him a little smile.

“Did I make it?” Leia appears panting and gasping through the humid jungle. You giggle after seeing her so disheveled.

“Leia, the Marksman-H returned half an hour ago” You couldn’t help but laugh.

Your padawan mate completely got lost in the jungle.

“Oh, stars,” she surrenders, sitting to drink water.

“You’re not done, y/n. Turn on your lightsaber.” tired, you stand up to get in position. The green laser appeared with the characteristic sound, and the flying ball started to shoot you.

After months of training, you finally could use your own lightsaber and control part of the force.

“You can focus on the control of the lightsaber, but if you focus on the force, the win will be greater,” Luke softly added as you managed to dodge the sharp shooting of the Marksman.

The force, the force, the force. You close your eyes, and pushing one hand toward the ball, you feel it crush.

“Good job, you opted to use the force instead of physical skills to complete your task. That’s why you have a green lightsaber, y/n. However, I can feel disturbed,” the young man announced. Making you and Leia exchange confused looks. Luke sighs, pushing away the crashed Marksman.

“I can’t tell if it’s a premonition or not. But it was evident that you’ll end up in danger….” Not again. The war finished a year ago. You were just eighteen.

“Don’t be afraid. As long as the force is with you, everything will be okay” You nod. “Perhaps this is a bad omen, but we don’t know when it will happen. Until then, we’ll keep your training.”

“Luke…” you call him, and he returns. “If I ever end up being in danger, I cause it. Hide my memories.” he looks hesitant but nods.

Because he knows it’s the best.

___

Panic. It’s all Din Djarin is feeling.

“I’ll take care of Moff Gideon. But I need to find Princess y/n” Bo-Katan agrees and lets Din know the next movement.

“R-5. Before you give me the location of the command center, I need to go to the laboratory. " The droid makes some sounds, and finally, Din can hear an answer.

“Let’s go, Grogu. We need to save your mother,” the baby squeals inside the droid, totally mastering it, answering Din with a robotic yes.

Through the alleys and corridors of the base, Din wonders how you had the force if you never showed any sign of it.

Perhaps you lied to protect yourself, although that would hurt him because he thought you trusted him.

Then you yelled and cried about the fight, telling him everything he wanted, but not in that way.

About your feelings for him, he wanted the same.

With more reason, he had to save you from making things right.

Grogu coos at Din, and when he turns, he sighs with relief to see doors that protect the laboratory.

Only two soldiers get in the way, but Din quickly gets rid of them in minutes.

The room is white, full of chemicals, annoying sounds, and surgical tools. The thought of surgery makes a shiver run down Din’s spine.

“Keep your eyes open, Grogu. The princess must be here,” the green baby nods, moving around the room until he spots a crystal door. Grogu can see you in the middle, unconscious in a bed.

“What?” Din asks with his gun in hand until he sees Grogu pointing, and the Mandalorian can finally see you.

He jogs to the door and noticing is coded. With a single shot to the pad next to it, it’s open.

When he is next to you, he notices there’s no fresh blood. Your face looks clean, and your hair is wet. A white blanket covers you from shoulders to toes, and the image is dreadful to Din, almost like he was seeing your corpse.

“She’s alive…” he announced to Grogu, but mostly, it was to soothe himself.

Once he’s getting you out of the silver bed, he stops, realizing you're only in underwear.

“Dank farrik…” he cursed, placing you above the fabric that covered you.

And as Din hurried to find some clothes, Grogu walked cautiously towards you.

His little hand lifts to your unconscious body. He closes his eyes and concentrates on contacting you through the force.

Please, wake up. It’s gonna hurt a little.

Din turns worried once he hears you complain of pain. He looks as you suddenly wake up and sit to hold your temple, showing that your head is hurting a lot.

“Grogu! you’re hurting her!” Din says after seeing the little child using his abilities on you. Still, Din is unaware of what Grogu is actually doing. “Kid, stop”

You feel someone’s hands on your shoulders and cheek, but you can’t see or hear anything.

Until you hear your own voice saying something. Just like it happened when Grogu communicated with you a day ago.

Please, wake up. It’s gonna hurt a little.

It’s Grogu. He’s talking to you.

Flashes assault you from the time when you joined the rebellion.

Training in Dagobah, the Skywalker twins. Han Solo’s ship, the kind of Wookiee. Your X-Wing, the green saber.

You open your eyes and let out a long pant, feeling like drowning.

“…y/n!” You hear Din calling you. And finally, you can see your little family looking worried at you.

Before you can say anything to Din, you smile brightly at Grogu.

“Grogu, you brought back my memories, baby. Thank you…” He lets out the cutest coo.

“Memories?” Din asks. But you ignore his questions for a few seconds. Because you hug him tightly, brushing away all your anger toward him and Lady Kryze. He holds you tightly, and you feel the pressure of his helmet on top of your head.

“I’m sorry, Din,” you admit.

“We’ll talk about it later. You just need to know that I love you too, so much, cyar’ika” You nod, enjoying the hug as you hold Grogu’s little hand. “But what memories, y/n?”

“Luke Skywalker was my master. The man who trained Grogu… I was a Jedi, Din” It felt like the force was trapped somewhere inside you, and now that Grogu had set it free, you could feel it everywhere.

“That’s why Gideon trapped you, right? But Skywalker blocked the memories to keep you safe,” he whispered.

“No, I did it. I removed my own memories,” you say. “But our little one here, he helped me”

Both of you turn to look at Grogu, who looks happy or proud of being able to help you.

“We need to take him down. This war is not gonna be over if he’s not gone” Din has a lot of questions to you, a lot of things to say and confess, but not yet. You nod, and soon you realize you’re in underwear. “My clothes…”

“There’s something here…” the Mandalorian points at the tiny closet in a corner. He takes some clothes out along with a metal box. It’s some black attire, which wasn’t yours, but it looked clean like they left it for you. The box had your holster and boots, at least.

You quietly get dressed as Din guards the door, and Grogu helps him to look.

“We’ll go to the command center. Gideon must be there.” You nod at the man as the three of you walk on the bright hallways. “The fleet was able to escape. I don’t know what’s their next move.”

Before you make another turn, Din stops you.

“Listen, this is dangerous. If anything, you stay behind me. I’m not letting them retake you,” he means it. While you had cared for each other over time, Din wouldn’t let you or Grogu alone for a second.

“I know…” you nod. He leans, and in a second, he’s giving you a keldabe kiss. You are surprised, but you don’t say anything.

“You know what this means?” He was nervous. One side of him hoped you didn't know the meaning behind his action.

“I do. I liked it….” He loves your smile. Even in a dangerous and unsafe moment, he knows your smile is the brightest thing in the imperial base.

—

You looked disgusted at the clones of Gideon. You were always afraid of the experiments of the Empire. So when they targeted you as a bounty, rumors appeared. That you would be used to replicate DNA.

Now looking at the bunch of clones is… disturbing.

“We need to get out, now,” you state seconds before Grogu jumps back, scared. As some alarms sound, Din is able to get you out in time.

But soon, you finally encounter the real enemy.

Moff Gideon explains how angry he is that his clones are gone now. You feel it, your lightsaber. The man has it.

“Now, your princess is our last hope….” you won't be part of his experiments. “Her only purpose was to follow you and babysit your kid. Here, she has a task to do.”

“I will never be part of the Empire. And I am more than you’ll ever be,” you yell, coming out of the hallway to face him.

“Wait, princess!” Din calls you, but you’re pissed.

“Avoid the fight, princess y/n. Your days of being a Jedi are gone,” he mocks proudly.

“I don’t think so…” you whisper, raising your hand. Your lightsaber emerges from Gideon’s cape, landing on your hand.

You step into the position, and the imposing sound of your weapon captures the attention. The green laser illuminates your face and a significant part of the room.

“Maybe not,” your enemy says, irritated, only to take his imitation of a double lightsaber and throw himself at you to fight.

Din is worried, but at the same time, he’s proud and shocked. He never imagined that he would see you as one of those he once called wizards.

You throw the man back, punch, and beat him. Barely cause him some burns with your lightsaber, but you know you’re weakening him.

Then, your Mandalorian lover joins the fight. It’s obvious how skilled and meticulous he is. And you love that many tricks you know have been taught by him.

“Din!” You yell when Gideon shoots him in the back. And then, praetorian guards appear.

You push a guard away, but it’s not enough when one of them pushes you so far, landing beside Grogu. You cry when you see the guards torturing Din. Even Grogu lets out his anger. So he starts pressing the no button. You stand up quickly, ready to receive their attacks. You don’t care as long as you can protect Din and Grogu.

Din yells as he watches the guards going after you and Grogu. He knew you would protect the baby but feared it could cost your life.

His anger and pain grew as he watched the giant doors closing, and the last thing he saw was a guard disarm you.

—

You knew you weren’t dying when you got cornered by the praetorian guards. Even when you got rid of some of them, the room was too small, and Grogu couldn’t fight them really well. Grogu looked worried at you, but miraculously, Din appeared and killed the last guards.

Then, you knew Moff Gideon would lose. As the base collapsed and fire surrounded you, Din, Grogu, and Bo-Katan, you swiped your lightsaber through Gideon’s leg. He pushed you away in hurt. Bo-Katan edged him to the cliff, and using the force, you made him fall into the fire. The red-haired and Din look at each other, exchanging silent looks.

Din covered you with his arms to avoid the fire hurting you, but as you looked at tiny Grogu pushing the waves of fire away, you helped him create a bigger shield.

You offered a gentle smile to him, letting him know it was okay.

It was over, and Mandalore was free.

—

You look as the Mandalorians gather together to watch the enormous forge get lit by the Armorer. You find it so beautiful, and although you are still resentful of all of them for how they treated you, there is no hate in your heart. They cheer as kid Ragnar is swearing the creed.

“Where is princess y/n of Naboo?” The Armorer asks suddenly, and everyone turns their helmets to look at you. “Come…”

Awkwardly, you walk towards her, and she greets you with silence.

“For centuries, Mandalorians have unwelcomed any outsider of our culture. We have been resentful for the outcomes of The Great Purge. But Princess y/n has demonstrated to have the heart of a Mandalorian. We must thank her because she’s the one who ended Moff Gideon.” You are in shock. The Mandalorians cheer and show their respect to you. “Hand your lightsaber…”

Confused, you take it from your holster. She gently grabs the weapon and turns to the forge. The sound of the metals colliding, it hypnotized you.

Seconds later, she hands the saber to you. A mythosaur of beskar is placed near the handler of the saber.

“A mythosaur to show our respect and eternal gratitude.” You smile kidly at her. “Thank you” She only nods. “This is the way.”

“This is the way,” you reply and turn to the people, turning on the lightsaber and pointing it to the air as a way of acceptance.

“For Mandalore, long live princess y/n of Naboo,” Axe yells, and everyone copies him, cheering.

When Din and Grogu enter, you smile widely at them.

They stand beside you, and anyone can’t deny that you fit with Din Djarin and Grogu.

But you open your eyes widely when Din asks the Armorer to make Grogu say the Mandalorian creed.

“Din…” you call him, but he just offers you a characteristic tilt.

You like how the Armorer tells Din that Grogu is too young to speak and swear the creed. Like she was suggesting, Din did something about it.

“If his parents gave permission, Couldn’t he then become a Mandalorian apprentice?” The Armorer nods but explains that Grogu’s parents are not in the picture, and whether his parents are alive is unclear.

“Then I will adopt him as my own '' you wanted to cry out of happiness when Din said that.

“And I would like to marry, princess y/n…” some Mandalorians gasp in surprise. And you can’t help but hold your chest, like preventing your heart from popping out. You look at the Mandalorian like he was a ghost.

“If you agree, of course,” Din adds, slightly leaning to directly speak to you.

“I-yes. I’ll marry you, Din” The argument from before did not matter anymore. You knew he loved you. The force confirmed it to you. He was the one who saved you from the Empire, the man who took care of you. Who welcomed you when he didn't have to. Din Djarin was your soulmate.

“To get married, you need to recite the words in Mando’a,” the Armorer says, so Din turns to you. He gently takes your hands in his gloved ones.

“Follow my words, cyar’ika,” you nod nervously.

"Mhi solus tome.

Mhi solus dar'tome.

Mhi me'dinui an.

Mhi ba'uri verde.

Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum.”

(We are one when together.

We are one when parted.

We share all.

We will raise warriors.

I love you.)

“Let it be written in Song, that Din Djarin is accepting this foundling as his son. And taking this woman as his wife. The first foreign princess to take a Mandalorian in a riduurok (marriage)” That’s it, you are married. You have an adopted son, Din Djarin is your husband, and Grogu is your son.

Naboo has an eligible princess to run for queen.

The Mandalorians keep celebrating, and everything feels like a party, but you only have eyes for Din.

“So… What do you want to do now?” The way he asks is so cute. You giggle, looking at Grogu cooing.

“I won't keep my husband from going on adventures. Nor my baby….” you state petting one of Grogu’s ears. “But for now, let’s go and find a home.”

“We can do that…” he agrees.

—-

Din watches curiously at you and Grogu.

The market in Nevarro is crowded after Din presents the new IG robot as the marshal. Everyone stops to greet you and congratulate you.

Because everyone knows that a woman wearing turquoise flowers in her hair and a veil is from Naboo and is newlywed.

Just as you accepted to get married in the Mandalorian way, Din wanted you to experience Naboo's traditional way of marriage.

The kids want to talk to you and Grogu, and Din can’t help but think that in a possible future, you will raise warriors.

Although it was going to be a change, because the feelings had been there since both of you met, until now, intimacy would come. He realized you married him without knowing how he looked under the armor.

He smiles, ready to start this new chapter with you and Grogu.

“Hey…” he calls, getting beside you. You turn happily to see him, so you hand him Grogu. “I didn’t know people knew about the traditions of Naboo.”

“Naboo is known for their beauty….” you blush once you understand what he means.

“I’ll never get used to your romantic way of being” He tilts his helmet, and you can feel his arrogance. “I think you’ll do.”

“I have to show you some things” You arch your brow, curious. “Well, one is for you and Grogu and the other two are just for you”

You nod, walking wherever he’s taking you and your kid.

—

Din makes you close your eyes the whole flight in the N1. You felt Grogu brushing your face the entire ride.

“So stubborn, cyar’ika. Here…” He helps you hop out of the ship.

“Not yet?” You ask impatiently.

“Yeah, now…” you open your eyes only to find a remote, beautiful hut.

“This is our home….” Din explains to you and Grogu.

“It’s perfect…” he smiles after seeing you whispering it. So he wraps your shoulder, reassuring you.

“Let’s go inside….” The three of you walk inside the house. It’s simple, yet, so warm and perfect.

“Look, Grogu. Your new room,” you tell him after watching the little room with a tiny bed and a closet included. The baby coos and asks to be put in the ground, so Din does it.

“We’ll need more rooms in the future,” you say, and Din blushes so hard that he thanks you for not looking at him. But he agrees.

“Grogu… Why don’t you go outside to play? I have to talk with your mother” Your heart melted when Din addressed you as Grogu’s mother.

The baby coos in agreement and starts waddling toward the exit.

You smile at the little green guy leaving.

“You know I never wanted to hurt you by helping Bo-Katan….” Slowly, you nod. “I’ve loved you since Xi’an hurt you, and I had to see you suffering. I knew I would never let that happen again.”

“Why did you never say anything?” Din sighed.

“Because you are a princess, I knew I had to take you back to Naboo. But then, Gideon attacked us here, I thought I was dying, and you said you wouldn’t leave me” He was standing on the door frame, and you couldn’t help but think how hot he looked.

“I started to think about asking you to marry when Grogu was taken away, and I left you some weeks on Naboo” You missed him so much those weeks, and you feared he wouldn’t come back to you. But then he came back in a new ship with Grogu, and you were relieved. Saying that he took longer because he went to help Boba Fett and Fennec Shand.

“I love you. And I’ll respect, admire, and always praise you as my wife, princess y/n” You smile fondly. “And I know you’ll do the same with me.”

“You’re my other half, Din Djarin. My strong Mandalorian….” He gives you a keldabe kiss, and you accept it, feeling his cold helmet on your forehead.

He returns to grab a piece of cloth, and you look confused.

“Mandalorians don’t have wedding ceremonies, or gowns, or rings. But I wanted to give you this….” He unfolds the cloth, and you see a little silver tiara. It was a single strip with tiny welded details that added a discreet touch.

“It’s made of beskar. The imperials took yours, so I wanted you to have one made from my people.” tears prick at the corner of your eyes. “Do you like it?”

“I love it, Din, thank you, thank you,” you say, and when you throw yourself to kiss him on the lips, you remember he had a helmet.

And he noticed it.

“Sorry…” you say.

“I think it’s time to start leaving this a little aside,” you gasp. “It’s okay. We’re married, Cyar’ika.”

You wait nervously. Until his hands reach the helmet's edges, he slowly lifts it.

You are crying when you finally see him.

Brown hair in slight curls. Some gray hairs on his mustache and beard. Gorgeous eyes, a sophisticated nose, and the most beautiful smile. The most beautiful human.

“Oh Din, you’re beautiful. I love you” nothing Can stop you from kissing your husband now. You smash your lips with him and tangle your fingers through his soft hair.

He’s blessed by the sight of you without his helmet, he can see your hair is slightly darker than he thought. Your eyes are brighter, the color on your cheeks is delightful, and your lips, he was wonderstruck by you.

“Maker, you’re perfect,” he says back. He kisses you back, and it’s more passionate. Like payback for all the time you desired each other.

After that, he retakes the tiara and slowly places it in your head. You feel his breath, and you swear he can hear the beats of your heart.

Both of you study each other's eyes. The tension is inevitable, more when he’s not wearing the leather gloves. Your skin is on fire, and he can’t wait to take his armor off.

“Tonight, I will mark you mine” You blush, but you can’t deny the pool of heat forming on your lower half. “You’ll be mine, princess.”

“I am already yours, Din. I’ve always been yours, and you have always been mine” He smiles, and you love the sight.

“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum” he says. And you peck his lips again.

“Let’s go with our baby,” he nods, and both of you walk with your hands tangled.

Because he’s never letting you go.

Grogu is seated, lifting frogs. You giggle, rolling your eyes, so you do him a favor by raising all the frogs in the little pond. He coos loudly, excited, and turns to give you a bright smile. He also looks surprised to see his father without the helmet.

“You have a lot of things to share with me…” he says. You smirk.

“I’ll do it. And I’ll show you many things” He likes the playful way you speak.

“Easy, princess…” you laugh. He kisses your forehead and invites you to sit on the porch of your new house.

“I love you,” you say once again. “Me too, Cyar’ika.”

You take a long breath, finally in peace, taking a rest with your family.

_________________________________

Part 3 on Naboo or what?

Taglist: @frogjumps-world @meowl0ve @flowersgirl02 @chunkcook @miss-goldenweek @secretdazeobservation @foxxymunson @borhapparker @vlysseve @prettysbliss @littleshadow17 @lady-loki-barnes-djarin

#din djarin x reader #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal #din djarin

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shamelesstrekkie13 · 7 months ago

Text

Jason Gideon x Reader (fight + smut)

Warnings: smut, +18, a bit of cursing

Summary: Basically Jason says something hurtful to the Reader, and has to beg for her forgiveness.

It’s not my best work but it won’t get any better, so here it is. Constructive criticism always welcome!

The gif isn’t mine!

His head was pounding. The last case had certainly been rough. Child cases were always rough. And so he was in his office, thinking about said case, going over it, again and again. Sure, it had been a happy ending, but a lot of mistakes were made.

Half an hour later, his head felt like it was about to explode. The door to his office opened, and an agent came in. He didn’t even bother looking up before asking a “What?!” quite rudely.

“Love, are you okay? I know child cases are rough, but you look like you need a pick me up.”

Only when he heard her voice did he look up. She was looking stunningly gorgeous, as always. He looked at her for half a second before saying,

“I’m fine, you can go home.”

She very clearly frowned at that. It didn’t make much sense, because he had never treated her that way, nor did he ever tell her to go home without him. He had always been so sweet and touchy with her. To the point that some might call him ‘clingy’, even though she would never. It was their way of loving each other. Their love language was and still is physical touch. She loved him for that.

So she came closer to him, and touched his arm affectionately.

“Are you sure? I can stay if you’d like.” She smiled, with a smile that could light up the whole town. But he didn’t see it, because he wasn’t looking at her.

He pulled away, and for the first time in all the years they had known each other he snapped at her.

“Will you just go home? I need to be alone, and you’re not helping.” She was surprised, to say the least. A little bit offended too, though she couldn’t hold it over his head. Everyone needed some alone time every now and then. That didn’t make the whole situation any less weird.

He usually loved her touch, and now he looked disgusted by it. The way he had pulled away from her, as if her touch was capable of killing him, made no sense to her.

“What’s going on with you? You’re never like this!”

Normally she wouldn’t have gone against his wishes, because as a reasonable and logical person, she could see that needing time alone was a perfectly normal thing. But it was his reaction at her that made her stay. She didn’t want to leave the conversation like that, because then, when she got home, she would definitely overthink this whole thing.

He stood up and hit the table hard, so fast that if she had blinked she would’ve missed it.

“I told you that I need to be alone! God, why are you so fucking clingy?”

And just like that, she felt a thousand new holes in her heart appear. Sure, she had been told before that she was a little too touchy, but he was the only person that loved her being touchy. He was the only one that reciprocated her touch equally. Without him, what did she have in this world?

She took a step back, in shock.

Realising what he had said, he tried to get to her. But she kept her distance.

“Wow. I expected that from a lot of people, but not from you. Never from you.”

He tried to get to her again when he saw her deep, beautiful, full of life eyes filled with tears. He never had wanted to hurt her. She was his everything. He was nothing without her.

And now, his companion, his best friend, his partner, the love of his life was looking at him like he had shattered her heart. And he had.

He stayed still, not wanting her to walk further away.

“I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you.” He tried to get her to see how much he meant those words. But she didn’t care.

“Yes, you did. Otherwise you wouldn’t have said that to begin with.” Her voice clearly trembled as she turned around and went for the door.

He got to her first, and grabbed her wrist.

“I promise you I didn’t mean it. Please.” She didn’t know what he was begging for. She just knew that she had to get out of there.

And in her heartbroken state, she couldn’t see how terrified he was of her going away.

“Please, let me go.” She said. He couldn’t. Even if he could, he wouldn’t. He kept his grip on her firm, and when he spoke his voice was trembling.

“I can’t. You’re my everything. I won’t make it out here without you.”

She shook her head. In her mind, if that were true, then he would’ve never put them both in this position to begin with. She also didn’t catch the phrasing when he said he ‘won’t’ make it out. He meant that he had no intention whatsoever of making it out without her. He wouldn’t even try.

He took her face in his hands and kissed her, trying to make her remember. Remember how much they loved each other, and how much they needed each other. At least he did. He wiped her tears with his thumb, hating himself for being the cause of her distress and making her think that he didn’t love every single piece of her.

She tried to free herself, before the kiss changed her mind, but his grip was ironclad on her. When he saw that his words didn’t have any effect on her, he fell on his knees. At this point he was desperate. He could feel her slipping away through his fingers, and he was desperate to stop her from leaving.

“Jason. Let me go. I need to be alone.” She was being a little bit petty, because she didn’t say that because she truly needed to be alone, she said it because he had used that excuse on her, right before this mess.

It had the desired effect. He froze, and he saw no choice but to let her go. He wouldn’t force her to be close to him if she didn’t want to.

And so he let her go. In two big strides she was already gone. And he felt more alone than he had ever felt in his whole life.

He knew that he was alone from now on. She finally saw who he was, how old he was, and the fact that as gorgeous, as funny, as smart as she was, she could have whoever she wanted. And he knew that she realised that she didn’t have to settle with him. He knew that it was true, she deserved someone her age, someone just as attractive, just as funny as her. And he knew that wasn’t him.

He wiped the tears that he didn’t know he had streaming down his cheeks. He got up and left the office. He knew that she had all the right in the world to be alone, so he reserved a room at the closest hotel to the Bureau's offices.

He didn’t know that, even as disappointed as she was, being a hopeless romantic, she wanted him to come after her, to throw pebbles at her window screaming “I’m in love with you”. She wanted him at the other side of her door, pledging his undying love for her.

Three full days had gone by without the couple contacting each other. Neither of them slept either nights. He was going crazy. Only now did he realise how truly touch starved he was, and how much he missed her.

After the initial wave of raging emotions had passed, she could think clearly again. She thought about calling him, about trying to work things out. After all, anyone could have a bad day, and she hadn’t exactly listened to him when he had asked her to leave him alone for a while.

The problem is that she felt personally attacked when he had called her ‘clingy’. She was told before that she was too clingy, and that caused her to retreat into herself. She became distant and pushed everyone away for fear of being ‘too much’. It had been a problem since her early teenage years. She didn’t know if it was the bad mood talking or if that was actually what he felt, what he had been feeling for all the time they were together.

After a while she came to the conclusion that that wasn’t possible. She remembered things that she couldn’t remember when she was in front of him. He had initiated touch with her several times. Anytime she touched him he always leaned against her. He loved hugging her, he loved kissing her. He treated her like a queen, and she definitely treated him like a king. It was the treatment he deserved. When they had sex, it was the most magical thing ever, and she knew for a fact that it was the same for him. He had never made any excuses to avoid touching her or to avoid her touch.

That was when the guilt began to appear. She had been most certainly harsh with him. She didn’t take his need for some time alone seriously, and that led to him snapping at her. Which was wrong, but she understood. Mistakes happen. It wasn’t worth throwing away their once in a lifetime relationship. She thought of calling him, but then told herself that something like this should be told in person.

The next morning, when she arrived at the office, he was already there, on his desk. She could see him through the blinds. He looked stunning, but he also looked tired. Very tired.

He had been trying to work for the past two hours, without any success. He couldn’t stop thinking about her, her smile, her sarcastic remarks, her beauty.

Suddenly, the door opened, and she appeared. For a heartbeat he thought that he might’ve been hallucinating. But she was truly there.

He didn’t dare to speak. If they had been married, he was certain she would have been serving the divorce papers by now.

“I think we need to talk,” she said. “Is this a good moment?”

He definitely took notice of the fact that she never had asked that question before. Because he had made it very clear that ‘always’ was the answer for her. And he hated himself for making her think that she had to ask that question.

“Always. It’s always a good moment for you.” He didn’t dare to move, just in case he frightened her, so she was the one that came closer, and sat down on one of the chairs in front of his desk.

“I’m aware that I should’ve respected your desire to be alone, but that doesn’t excuse what you said,” she said. She waited for his reaction, because after that fight she wasn’t sure how he would react.

“You’re right. Even if I wanted to be alone, I never should’ve treated you that way. You deserve better,” he paused, and then realised that most men said that as a way of breaking up, so he continued, “I’m not saying this to break up. I know you deserve better, but I’m too selfish to let you go.” He was surprised to see her smile at that.

“I don’t think this fight is worth throwing our relationship away. I understand that people make mistakes. And I do believe in second chances.” He closed his eyes, while relief overwhelmed him. “I don’t do third chances, though. I admit I’m at fault too, but if you ever use my insecurities against me again I will kick you out of my life.”

He stood up. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“I didn’t use your insecurities against you.” She frowned, but before she could say anything, he continued talking. “I said something terrible, but I didn’t say it with your insecurities in mind. I’m not trying to excuse myself, I hate myself for hurting the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I just wanted you to know, I would never do that.”

She understood what he meant. He lashed out at her, but he didn’t call her ‘clingy’ with her insecurity in mind. That made things only a little less worse. And his grovelling was making her feel a little bit better.

She stood up too, walked around the desk until she was right in front of him.

“Again, I know this was partly my fault. But if you ever say anything like that again… I don’t think I’ll be able to continue the relationship.” She wanted to make him understand that while she did admit that she shouldn’t have pressured him, which is what caused him to snap. But he shouldn’t have said the things he said. Ever. And that meant that this was his last chance.

“I thought you wouldn’t want to continue the relationship now, given what that insult means to you…” She was close enough to him that he could kiss her and hug her, but he didn’t know how she would take that. “I’m really glad that you’re able to forgive me, though.”

She was really close to him. And he wanted to kiss her, more than anything he had ever wanted. She was smiling at him, and he thought to himself that he couldn’t wait any longer, and if she had forgiven him then she would probably let him kiss her.

So he did. He leaned towards her and their lips met. It was a sweet, slow kiss. Until she decided she wanted more. She deepened the kiss and suddenly they were straight up making out. Their tongues met, and he relished on her flavour. He couldn’t resist and pushed her gently towards his desk, and laid her down. Kissing her stomach, he unbuttoned her pants and took them off. The door wasn’t even locked, but neither of them wanted to lock it. It made everything more exciting.

He kissed her thighs, licked and even bit them, while she whimpered at his touch, which made him smile. He took his time before kissing her labia, and then sucked it. She started to moan loudly, and so he whispered against her vagina, saying “be quiet, we can’t let everyone know what we’re doing in here.” His whisper turned her even more on than she already was. She felt his breath on her vagina, and she was hot everywhere. She needed his touch everywhere.

By the time he was penetrating her, she was a complete mess. A gorgeous mess in his eyes, but still a mess. The mess that he wanted. And he would never let her go.

She felt just as good as their first time together. People say that after the honeymoon phase of the relationship is over, then everything changes, including sex. That had never happened to them. And he loved that. He loved that she screamed his name just as loud as she did their first time. He loved that he still got red scratches on his back due to her passion.

The moment he penetrated her, her hands went straight to his back, to get ahold of him, while at the same time scratching him. Her nails trailed from up to down his back, with a lot of strength, leaving marks behind.

The way he was filling her up meant that she would orgasm very soon. Especially because he knew what he was doing. He was kissing her neck, sucking and licking, while one of his hands was gripping her thigh with an iron grip, and his other hand was on her clit, which he found effortlessly. Massaging her, his calloused hands on her clit were driving her insane.

In those 20 minutes she came several times, and she came hard. It was mind blowing, like it always was with him.

#jason gideon #ssa jason gideon #criminal minds #jason gideon x reader #grovelling #smut #x reader

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xixovart · 3 months ago

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argo2nauts music headcannons because this is too much

the misinformation some of you guys have spread regarding their music taste is insane/hj

(p.s: this is my take on this, if you disagree it’s alright!! it’s just fun and games :D)

(ps2: if any artist/band i mention is problematic please lmk!!)

percy - perseus jackson is a pretty intimidating skater kid with a resting bitch face who is covered head to toe in scars and has his ears pierced. where did the ‘high school musical/disney sitcom’ percy allegations come from. he likes led zeppelin (he canonically has a t shirt in toa if i can remember!!), childish gambino, d4vd, late night drive home, deftones, arctic monkeys, and chase atlantic.

fav song -

annabeth: this is a bit harder.. i think her music taste is either extremely varied or only listens to one album on repeat until her ears bleed. for my sanity i’m going with the former. i think she’d cry over boygenius and mitski (for obvious reasons) and i think she’d like sombr and famous 70/80s guys like queen, david bowie, ac/dc, the smiths ofc. and such. also mac demarco and phoebe bridgers!!!!”!?

fav song -

grover underwood - ADRIANNE LENKER!!!!!: THERE IS NOT A DOUBT IN MY MIND ABOUT IT. all of her songs suit him in one way or another. he needs to be seen more i love him to death. underrated man fr. also late night drive home, beach house, dream ivory, the smiths, queen, cas, WAVE TO EARTH!!!!!

fav song -

i know what youre thinking. “mali, will you ever shut up about this song?” answer is no. i will not.

piper mclean - CHAPPELL ROAN CHAPPELL ROAN IS HERRSSSS??? CASUAL? GOOD LUCK BABE???? HERS!!!! honorable mention: girl in red because don’t forget your roots. also madds buckley MAYBE? idk. also probably cas 🤷‍♀️

fav song -

nico - oh my beloved. he’d definitely listen to italian music when he misses bianca/maria but idk any italian artists so… for now we’re going with english music. and also very specific turkish song: m. by anil emre daldal because will. i’m thinking mitski, roar, mac demarco, OBVIOUSLY SUFJAN STEVENS??? cults, alex g, grimes, also very specifically: cupid by jack stauber? MAYBE conan gray… idk. and also definitely nirvana and guns n roses

fav song -

i heard this song while thinking of him and my heart SHATTERED guys do not make the same mistake i did.

hazel - i?? don’t know? really uhh… probably gracie abrams or adrianne lenker? phoebe bridgers, beach house?? soft rythm/music, deep/depressing lyrics. maybe tnbh but DEFINITELY current joys and adrianne lenker

(yes i made these first songs a rainbow on purpose (not rlly..) shut up i thought it’d be funny)

also this is her favorite song because it reminds her of nico and maybe marie, specifically the first lines!! (marceline [nico], is it just you and me in the wreckage of the world?)

frank zhang - MAC DEMARCO!! BEACH HOUSE!! TV GIRL!! CONAN GRAY!! MONTAN FISH!! GANG OF YOUTHS!! also his grandmother liked to listen to songs in mandarin and he likes remembering her so he constantly listens to 茉莉花 (Mòlìhuā) and uhh if you have any other old mandarin songs lmk :D!! and honorable mention: it almost worked by tv girl

fav song -

because it was his mother’s favorite song

jason grace - this is difficult.. like very. i don’t think he’d listen to music very much and it’s getting hard to not keep repeating artists. rmcm maybe? laufey, probably.. he listens to pretty much everything his friends to. he’s very flexible when it comes to music :)

fav song -

will solace - controversial maybe but i don’t think he’d like taylor swift very much.. no problem with her but i’d just like to see more variety in will’s music taste hcs. i think he’d love mac demarco (he’s been mentioned lke 8 times by now but he really is will’s favorite artist), tv girl, beach weather, the smiths, chappell roan, current joys, vacations, lemon demon, sufjan stevens, boygenius. conan gray, specifically summer child because it was written for him (i would know conan told me), and obviously the entirety of the mamma mia soundtrack. because it’s will.

fav song -

from the same album as nico because symbolism and that entire song is for them and tyem only (and also achicleos)

leo valdez - MY BELOVED!! very specifically the spanish part in stress relief (si puedes venir conmigo, amor, yo te enseño todo lo que hay. pq me tratas asi?? como no soy nadie ITS VALGRACE GUYS!!) uhh also chappell roan.. and your best american girl by mitski. and the smiths and queen and pavement. and lemon demon, the strokes, the cure.. maybe nirvana? and the front bottoms

fav song -

ok thats it im lagging so hard bye

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jessicas-pi · 1 year ago

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So the Ahsoka show (and a dream I had last night) gave me an idea. Imagine: AU where in Chapter 11 of The Mandalorian, Bo-Katan tells Din to go to Ahsoka... but also says that if Ahsoka won't help, then he should try finding her apprentice, Sabine Wren, on Lothal.

So after Ahsoka refuses to train Grogu, Din goes to Lothal before he tries Tython, which is therefore where everything with the Darktroopers goes down, which means that (a) Sabine is able to give Hera a heads up that the Empire is Doing Something, and (b) Sabine ends up inadvertently roped into the events of the rest of Mando S2. The Grogu rescue mission sort of helps her feel better---at least to feel like she's doing something. Din, meanwhile, sees someone just like him, who needs to keep busy to keep her mind off her trauma, so he decides to call her up for a little "help" whenever he feasibly can claim he needs it, or for some Jedi Training™ with Grogu (who didn't go with Luke, due to no trip to Tython and no seeing stone), or whatever excuse he can make up, which ends with Sabine getting pulled into BoBF and Mando S3, too.

Highlights include:

Din & Sabine: *win the fight with Moff Gideon together* Sabine: *takes the Darksaber from him, just to disarm him* Sabine: WAIT ACTUALLY NOPE NEVER MIND *throws the Darksaber as far as she can & refuses to pick it up again*

Sabine: You want ME to teach your kid? Din: Yes. Sabine: You do realize that I can't use the Force? Din: Yes. Sabine: And that my master stopped training me because I wasn't good enough? Din: Yes. Sabine: And that I have absolutely nothing to teach him? Din: Yes. Sabine: ...nothing I say is going to deter you, is it? Din: No.

Sabine: I just... feel... lost. Boba: Well, you could always work for me on Tatooine. Fennec: Have you ever considered an assassin business partnership? Bo-Katan: It's gonna take me a loooooooong time for me to get over you winning the Darksaber again, but you are my best friend's daughter, so if you choose to, you may come with me. Greef Karga: The Nevarro school could use an art teacher, you know. The Armorer: You are always welcome to take the Creed and join our covert. Din: How do you feel about being adopted? [later] Ahsoka, to Hera: Should we be concerned about the number of questionable figures trying to take in Sabine? Hera, having Maul flashbacks: Trust me. It could be a lot worse.

Sabine: You need to go to the Living Waters? Yeah I know where that is, I can take you. Din: That's a relief. Otherwise I was going to go ask Bo-Katan about them. Sabine: Oh? Let's ask her anyway. I'm totally down to bother Bo-Katan. Any time, any day. Kalevala HERE WE COME-

Din: While I appreciate your modifications to IG-12, Sabine, I'm not so sure about the words you've added. Grogu, delightedly smacking his new button: KRIFF. KRIFF. KRIFF. KRIFF. KRIFF.

Din: You had me at 'battle droids.' Sabine, giggling: yOu HaD mE aT 'BaTtLe DrOiDs'

Sabine, watching Din make his 'your song is not yet written' speech: This is sooo much better than the holodramas. Axe Wolves, side-eyeing her: You don't get out much, do you? Sabine: Nope. Want some popcorn?

.....ANYWAY, my point is, Sabine gets dragged into All The Mandoverse Shenanigans. Which is pretty funny on its own, right? But it gets better.

Because it just so happens that Din is on Lothal with Grogu when Ahsoka shows up with the map. and he kinda just....gets pulled along for the ride. So then HE'S in the AHSOKA show, mostly just trying to make sure Sabine doesn't do anything crazy, following her when she does it anyway, and being confused about Everything. Which lends itself to additional hilarity--

Din: Nightsisters? I heard they were witches. Ahsoka: They are. Din, internally: Oh my manda, I finally KNEW something!

Din: The evil Jedi are chasing us! Sabine: They're not Jedi! Din: They're not? But they have laser swords like you! Ahsoka: There's still a difference! Din: What difference? Ahsoka: Jedi use the Light side! These are Dark side users! Din: There are different sides of your sorcery??

[Sabine and Ezra reunite] Din: I'm so glad you finally found your husband, Sabine. Sabine: Ezra: Din: The crabs: *start gossiping* Sabine: He's... he's not my... husband... Din, confused: But you've clearly been living the Mandalorian marriage vows? One when together, one when apart, sharing all... Sabine: Yeah, no, that's- that's just coincidence. Din: Hold on. You live in his house, and you keep all his things, and you refuse to leave Lothal for more than a week or two at a time because it makes you miss him too much- Sabine: *makes stop talking gesture* Din: -and you gaze lovingly at the enormous mural you've painted of him, and you left everything behind the second you knew you had a chance to save him, and as far as I can tell, you've been utterly devoted to him since the moment he disappeared ten years ago- Sabine: *stop talking gestures intensify* Ezra: Wait, Sabine, is this true? Din: -and you're telling me you two aren't married? Sabine:

#jessica's random thoughts #twice the mandos twice the chaos #sabezra #dinbo #anyway yeah that's My Nonsense For The Day

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ssa-dado · 2 months ago

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2 - Early Birds

Aaron Hotchner x bau!reader

Genre: fluff, angst if you squint

Summary: Two weeks in, the excitement of your first case had faded, and you found yourself handling simpler cases while learning from senior team members. You aimed to prove yourself, arriving early each day, only to find Hotch always there before you. This sparked a playful rivalry and connection between you two. Hotch recognized your determination to earn your place, and your insights on a cold case led to a field mission together. Through this growing mutual respect, your dynamic evolved into a partnership with unspoken mentorship.

Warnings: Usual CM case stuff described in detail, Hotch being a jokester, Rossi being iconic as always, no Gideon though.

Word Count: 4.4k words

Dado's Corner: Trying my best not to write reader looking at "Hotch's muscles reaping through his tight shirt", and limit the emotional description that both of them feel because stupid me wanted to write a slow burn. They are so cute though, c'mon. Also I wanted to point out that both of them basically know nothing about each other outside of work (their family, their past, if they're dating someone...👀). And yes, that is very deliberate, hihi.

part one ; part three

Two weeks had passed, and the initial rush of excitement that had accompanied your first case with the team was starting to settle. You weren’t paired up with Hotch, Rossi, or Gideon for any of your most recent cases anymore - not that you expected to be.

The more straightforward cases were often left to the younger or less experienced agents, which included you, as frustrating as it sometimes felt. Still, you were learning, absorbing everything you could from your new other colleagues, even though part of you itched to be working on the more complex cases that the senior team members handled, mostly because they were the ones who were allowed to travel all across the country.

You wandered how they expected you to go back to work after the big rush you felt after that first case, although it was probably intentional – an unspoken invite - if you continued to keep up with your works, maybe you would be allowed to join the big boys club again. The placement of your desk, didn’t help you at all to keep those thoughts out of your head, as it was situated right in front of Hotch’s, and constantly gave you an unobstructed view of his work.

It was yet another reminder of what you 'could have been doing' disguised as a neatly arranged workspace with case files that seemed far more complicated and intriguing than the ones you were currently dealing with. Every now and then, you’d catch a glimpse of him leaning over one of his meticulous reports or reviewing photos, his focus so intense it was hard not to feel a twinge of jealousy.

But you immediately learnt Hotch was nothing if not organized, and despite your best efforts to sneak a peek at the cases he was working on, he always kept his desk so perfectly neat that you could never quite make out any of the details… which only made you even more curious.

So you started coming to the office earlier each day, driven by a fierce determination to prove yourself and earn a spot on the senior team. You knew your skills were valuable, but without more field experience, you needed to find other ways to stand out. Arriving early became your way of showing commitment, a quiet but persistent demonstration that you were ready whenever the team needed you.

However, your plans to impress were unknowingly thwarted by one person: Hotch himself.

No matter how early you arrived, he was always there before you, settled at his desk with a steaming cup of the bitter government-office coffee in hand, already absorbed in his work.

His calm presence, bathed in the soft glow of the early morning light, became a familiar sight. It almost felt like he was deliberately keeping the upper hand, showing you that no matter how early you came in, he would always beat you to it. This routine repeated so frequently that it turned into a sort of unspoken ritual: arriving to find Hotch already deep in thought, sharing those first moments of the day completely in silence. Sometimes, you'd exchange a nod, and if you were feeling particularly bold, a brief smile of acknowledgment to him. Those quiet mornings became the closest thing you would ever have to connecting with someone from the senior team.

One particular morning, you arrived earlier than ever, determined that this would finally be the day you beat Hotch to the office. You slipped into your chair, a triumphant smile spreading across your face at the sight of his empty desk. For once, you were ready to enjoy the small victory of being there first. But before you could even settle into your morning routine, Hotch strolled in with an infuriatingly composed air, as if this were all part of some game only he knew the rules to.

"Early again, I see," Hotch said, setting his bag down with a casualness that suggested he wasn’t bothered in the slightest by your efforts.

You smirked, trying to hide the disappointment of losing yet again, and fired back, "What can I say? I like to get a head start on the day."

Hotch gave a small nod as he took his seat, already opening a case file. "I noticed," he replied in his dry, signature tone. "Maybe next time you’ll actually beat me to the office."

Your eyes widened slightly; it was embarrassing how easily he had read your unspoken intentions, as if your competitive spirit was as obvious as the morning sunlight streaming through the windows. Still, you couldn’t let him have the last word. Leaning back in your chair, you matched his teasing tone. "Is that a challenge?"

Hotch didn’t look up from his file, but you caught the subtle twitch at the corner of his mouth, as though he was fighting back a smile. "If it were a challenge, you'd know it."

The next day, determined to prove a point, you arrived even earlier, practically at the crack of dawn. You felt a surge of pride when you saw Hotch’s empty desk. You sat down, arranging your papers with a satisfied grin when you heard the door creak open. Hotch strolled in, holding his coffee and glancing at you with a raised eyebrow.

"Did you sleep here?" Hotch asked, his voice edged with amusement as he took in your determined expression.

"Thought I’d enjoy the office without the competition," you quipped, not missing a beat. "But I guess I was wrong."

Hotch set his coffee down, glancing at his watch pointedly. "Maybe try five minutes earlier tomorrow."

You laughed softly, shaking your head. If it weren’t for the pile of files on top of your desk you would probably search down the office looking for the secret bunker he had to use to hide in. "Maybe I will."

As the days passed, this playful rivalry grew, turning your early arrivals into a daily test of wills. You found yourself not just trying to beat Hotch to the office but eagerly anticipating your quiet battle of wits, moments where the two of you just coexisted in a space of mutual respect and silent competition. You found yourself noticing the little things, like the way he meticulously organized his desk, his unspoken but obvious disdain for the office coffee, and the way his focus never wavered, even when he knew you were watching. And though Hotch rarely let anything slip, you could tell he was enjoying it too.

One morning, you brought in coffee from a nearby café, one of the good ones, and set it on your desk with a pointed look at Hotch’s usual cup of the bitter office brew.

"Upgrading already?" Hotch asked, eyeing the cup with faint interest.

"Figured if I’m going to keep coming in early, I might as well treat myself," you said, lifting the cup slightly in a mock toast.

Hotch nodded thoughtfully. "Smart. Too bad I didn’t think of it first."

You raised an eyebrow, your tone playful. "I’ll grab you one next time. Wouldn’t want you to lose your edge."

Hotch smirked, his expression a rare mix of humor and challenge. "I’ll hold you to that."

Rossi, who often strolled in a bit later with his own cup of coffee, couldn’t help but notice the budding rivalry. One morning, as you and Hotch exchanged your usual nods, Rossi ambled by with a bemused smile tugging at his lips.

"I’ve gotta say," Rossi began, glancing between you and Hotch, "this little routine of yours is the most entertaining part of my mornings. Hotch, are you ever going to let her win?"

Hotch glanced up, his face the picture of neutrality, but his eyes held a glimmer of amusement. "I’m just here to work, Dave," he replied smoothly, as if your ongoing game wasn’t the highlight of his mornings too.

"Sure you are," Rossi said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. He turned to you with a knowing wink. "Keep at it, Y/N. Sooner or later, you might get him to crack."

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the grin that tugged at your lips. "I’m working on it."

Rossi leaned closer to you with a knowing grin. “I’ve seen people try to get through to him for years. Don’t lose hope. You might be the one to break the streak.”

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," you said with a chuckle, but his words resonated more than you let on.

The rivalry wasn’t just about who got to the office first anymore; it was about pushing each other in subtle ways. Hotch would occasionally leave a file slightly more open than usual, tempting you to sneak a glance. Sometimes, you’d leave your notes on display, knowing he’d catch something you were working on. These little tests became part of your dynamic, an unspoken way of challenging each other to be sharper, to think more critically.

One morning, you arrived to find a sticky note on your desk, written in Hotch’s neat handwriting: “Nice try. Better luck tomorrow.”

You laughed, shaking your head and scribbling a quick reply, sticking it to his coffee mug: “Don’t get too comfortable.”

As the day progressed, you found yourself lost in your work, occasionally sneaking glances at Hotch as he meticulously reviewed a series of photographs from his latest case. It was during one of these moments, late in the morning when the bullpen was nearly empty, as most of the other agents had just left for their lunch break, that you caught sight of a specific photograph that Hotch had been studying. It was upside down from your perspective, but something about the positioning of the victim caught your eye. You glanced at Hotch, who was fully absorbed in his work, before you shifted your gaze back to the image.

You couldn’t help yourself. "Hotch?" you called out tentatively, trying to sound casual.

He didn’t look up from the file, his voice as calm and collected as always. "Yes?"

"That case you’re working on... the one with the body positioned against the wall?" You gestured subtly toward the photo.

His eyes flicked up to meet yours, a hint of curiosity in them now. "What about it?" Thankfully he was so desperate he didn’t even call out on you snooping on his files.

You leaned forward a little, glancing between him and the photo. "Well... I couldn’t help but notice something about the victim’s posture. It looks deliberate, almost ritualistic, but there’s a subtle tension in the arms. It feels like... he wasn’t posed post-mortem. What if he was still alive when the unsub placed him in that position?"

Hotch’s brows furrowed slightly as he considered your words. He leaned back in his chair and studied the photograph again, his focus intensifying. After a moment, he glanced back at you. "Go on."

Feeling a little more confident now, you continued. "If the unsub posed him while he was still alive, it means he’s not just seeking control after death, he’s enjoying the power he holds over his victims while they’re still conscious. That could point to a different kind of psychological profile. It’s not just about domination or display; it’s about interaction. He needs to see their fear."

Hotch’s lips pressed into a thin line as he processed your theory, and you could almost see the gears turning in his head, coming unstuck for the first time. Then, to your surprise, he gave a slow nod. "You might be onto something."

You blinked, not expecting such an immediate acknowledgment. "Really?"

He leaned forward, quickly scribbling a note in the margin of his case file. "It changes how we look at his escalation pattern. If he’s interacting with them before death, it suggests a different type of compulsion." His gaze flicked back to you, and there was a hint of admiration in his eyes, though it was still masked by his usual stoic demeanor. "Good catch."

You felt a small surge of pride at his words, then you caught Rossi, who had been hovering nearby with his coffee, heard the exchange and couldn’t help but smirk. "Looks like you’ve got some competition, Hotch."

Hotch glanced at Rossi, his expression barely changing. "I’m always up for a challenge."

Rossi chuckled, clearly amused by the dynamic between you two. "This ought to be fun to watch."

Later that day, while you were both in the kitchenette grabbing some burnt bitter coffee, Hotch broke the silence. "You know, Rossi’s not wrong. I’ve worked with a lot of people, and not many would speak up the way you do."

You looked up, surprised by his sudden candor. "I guess I’m just stubborn."

"That’s not always a bad thing," Hotch said, his voice softer than usual. "It’s how you learn."

You shared a quiet smile before the moment passed, and you both returned to your desks. But it lingered, this newfound sense of mutual respect.

As the day drew to a close, you were working through your own case files, reviewing behavioral patterns for a consultation you’d been asked to give. It wasn’t as high-stakes as Hotch’s case, but it still somehow puzzled you. You were working through the details when you heard Hotch’s chair scrape against the floor as he stood up.

"You’ve been staring at that file for hours," he observed, walking around his desk to stand beside yours. "Something bothering you about it?"

You glanced up, caught slightly off-guard by his sudden attention. "It’s just... I’m having trouble piecing together the unsub’s motivations. The crime scenes are chaotic, impulsive. But then there are these little moments of control. It’s not adding up." You blurt out

Hotch studied the pages you had spread across your desk, his eyes scanning over the crime scene photos and notes. After a moment, he pointed at one of the reports. "The pattern of escalation doesn’t match with someone who lacks control. Look here." He tapped the page. "The victims all lived within a few miles of each other, but the attacks are spaced out by months. He’s controlling his impulses, waiting for the right moment."

You leaned forward, following his train of thought. "So he’s picking his moments carefully, but when he acts, it’s chaotic."

"Exactly," Hotch confirmed. "The chaos is part of his release. But the periods of waiting, of planning - that’s where his real control lies. He’s not impulsive, he’s deliberate. You’re dealing with someone who needs the build-up almost as much as the act itself."

A lightbulb went off in your head. "Which means the chaos at the crime scenes isn’t a lack of control: it’s the goal. It’s what he’s been working up to."

Hotch nodded, clearly satisfied with where the conversation had led, finally making you become unstuck. "Now you’re thinking like a profiler."

You smiled at his words, "Thanks for the help. I guess I owe you one”

Hotch’s expression remained neutral, but there was a twinkle in his eye. "I’ll remember that."

The rest of the evening passed in a comfortable silence, both of you working on your respective cases. But every now and then, your eyes would meet across the desks, and you couldn’t help but feel that there was now starting to be an unspoken understanding between you now, built by your small moments of banter.

Suddenly, as the clock neared midnight, Hotch spoke up again. "You should get some rest. Tomorrow’s going to be another long day."

You chuckled softly, packing up your files. "You always say that, but you never seem to take your own advice."

He gave you a rare, brief smile. "Someone has to keep an eye on you."

You raised an eyebrow, amused. "Is that what this is? You’re secretly just keeping tabs on me?”

"Something like that," Hotch replied, his tone dry but not unkind. "Besides, you’ve been sneaking glances at my case files all day."

You bit back a laugh. "Caught red-handed."

Hotch crossed his arms, though there was no real accusation in his voice. "Next time, just ask. I might let you take a look."

You smirked. "I’ll hold you to that."

As you both gathered your things and headed for the door, you glanced at him one last time. "See you tomorrow, early bird."

Hotch gave you a knowing look. "We’ll see who gets here first."

The next morning, when you arrived at the office, Hotch was already there, of course. But this time, as you approached your desk, you noticed something new. A fresh file, placed neatly on top of your papers, with a small note attached.

"For your curiosity. - Hotch"

You couldn’t help but grin as you opened the file and began to read.

You opened the file carefully, half-expecting it to be another mundane consultation, but no. The more you read, the more it drew you in: it was a cold case, one with a string of victims found in seemingly random locations but with similar grim injuries. Each one had been reported missing for weeks before their bodies were found posed in open fields. There was something about the methodical yet personal nature of the kills that stood out.

The file indicated that the team hadn’t cracked this one yet, and the investigation had stalled. Hotch was likely trying to see if you could spot something they hadn’t. You glanced across the bullpen at him, just coming back from the kitchenette holding a cup of coffee. His face was unreadable, but you could sense that this was a test, not in a malicious way, but in his own way of pushing you to think bigger, to trust your instincts.

You spent the rest of the morning poring over the details, making notes, and jotting down ideas. Something wasn’t clicking, there was no clear pattern in the victim’s personal lives. They weren’t all the same age, gender, or background. But then something Hotch had said to you while yesterday helping you on your consultation echoed in your mind.

"The chaos is part of his release. The periods of waiting, of planning, that’s where his real control lies."

You took another long look at the victims, and then it clicked. They weren’t random. The locations, the way the bodies were posed, they weren’t haphazard at all. It was a pattern, but not one based on the victims themselves. It was based on where they were found.

Without realizing it, you stood up from your chair and made your way over to Hotch’s desk. He looked up at you, raising an eyebrow as you approached.

"Got something?" he asked, setting his pen down.

You handed him the file, unable to hide the excitement in your voice. "It’s not about the victims. It’s about the locations. They’re all near bodies of water—rivers, lakes, even a man-made pond. I think the unsub’s been using these locations as part of his ritual."

Hotch’s eyes narrowed as he flipped through the file, his expression becoming more focused. "Bodies of water... it’s symbolic. Cleansing, rebirth."

"Exactly," you said, feeling the pieces fall into place. "He’s not just dumping the bodies. He’s placing them there, almost like he’s trying to wash away something. Maybe guilt, maybe some twisted idea of purification."

Hotch leaned back in his chair, a thoughtful expression on his face. "That changes things. If he’s choosing these locations deliberately, we can use that to predict where he might strike next."

You nodded, excitement building. "There are three other bodies of water in the same radius where the previous victims were found. If we stake those out, we might catch him before he strikes again."

Hotch studied you for a moment, and for a brief second, you felt a flicker of self-doubt. Had you jumped the gun? But then, his lips curved ever so slightly into a small, approving smile.

"Good work," he said simply, and that was all you needed to hear.

Little did you know that the next day, you surprisingly found yourself riding in the SUV with Hotch, heading toward one of the potential strike zones you’d identified. The sun was setting, casting a warm glow over the landscape as the two of you drove in comfortable silence.

"I didn’t expect to be heading into the field this soon," you admitted after a while, breaking the silence. "Especially not with you."

Hotch glanced at you from the driver’s seat, his expression as calm as ever. "Let’s say your early mornings finally paid off. Besides, you saw something we didn’t, that’s exactly why you’re here."

The compliment caught you off guard, and you weren’t sure how to respond. Instead, you focused on the task at hand. "I just hope we’re right about the unsub coming back here."

"We are," Hotch said with a certainty that made you feel more confident. "He’ll be back. It’s part of his pattern now."

You spent the next few hours staking out the area, watching as the quiet evening slowly turned into night. The stillness of the surroundings, combined with the anticipation of the chase, made every small sound feel 10 times louder than it actually was. You and Hotch barely spoke, but the tension in the air wasn’t uncomfortable, it was rather a focused kind of tension, the kind that comes with knowing you’re close to a breakthrough.

Hotch glanced at you from the corner of his eye, his usual stoic demeanor softening just a bit. “You know,” he started all of a sudden, a hint of amusement in his voice, “I’ve been meaning to ask, did all those philosophy books you read in college inspire you to show up so early every morning? Is that where your existential rivalry with me started?”

Of course he had to poke fun at you again for your philosophy degree just when all the rest of your coworkers recently found out it wasn’t your only personality trait. “Philosophy books? Really? That’s where you’re going with this?”

“I mean, you’ve got that whole ‘deep thinker, rise-before-the-sun’ vibe going." He said with a deeper than usual mocking tone trying to simulate a hippie "I just assumed you were contemplating the meaning of life every morning before anyone else got to the office.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Yeah, that’s it. All those Nietzsche and Sartre quotes really got me fired up to beat you to the office every day. And here I thought you just couldn’t get enough of the terrible coffee.”

Hotch chuckled, his eyes briefly meeting yours before returning to scan the darkening landscape. “That’s part of it. But I have to admit, I didn’t expect you to keep at it for this long. Most people would’ve given up.”

You shrugged, playing it cool. “Maybe I just like a challenge. And it’s not every day you get to try and beat the infamous Aaron Hotchner at something.”

Hotch almost sounded surprised as soon as his full name escaped your lips but then his tone shifted slightly, more serious now, though still laced with that dry humor. “I know why you started showing up early.”

You blinked, caught off guard by his sudden change in tone. “Oh? Enlighten me, then.”

He leaned back in his seat, his gaze still fixed ahead, but his voice softened. “You wanted to prove yourself - to show that you were ready for more, especially to us senior profilers. You’ve got that drive, that need to show that you belong, and you wanted to earn your place, not just be handed it.” He glanced at you then, his expression more open than usual. “And I noticed it from the first time you walked in early, thinking you’d catch me off guard.”

You felt a mix of surprise and embarrassment; you hadn’t expected him to see through you so easily. “I… well, yeah. I guess I didn’t hide it as well as I thought.”

Hotch’s smile was small but genuine. “You didn’t have to hide it. You’ve got the skill; you just needed the chance to show it. And you’ve been doing that every day since.”

You nodded, feeling a strange mix of validation and warmth from his words. “Thanks, Hotch. I guess I just… didn’t want to be the newbie forever.”

He nodded, his expression thoughtful. “You’re not. And you’ve more than earned your place here, I wouldn’t have escorted you here to sit in my car for 4 hours straight otherwise.” He paused, his eyes returning to the scene outside. “But don’t think I’m going to let you win the next morning race.”

You grinned, the familiar competitive spark reigniting. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

It wasn’t until the early hours of the evening, just when you were beginning to wonder if you’d missed something, that Hotch’s hand suddenly shot up, motioning for you to stay still. You followed his gaze, and there - just barely visible through the trees - was a figure moving toward the water’s edge, dragging something behind them.

The adrenaline surged through you as you and Hotch exchanged a quick glance, silently confirming what you both knew. This was it.

Moving as quietly as possible, the two of you approached, your hearts pounding in sync as you drew closer to the unsub. He hadn’t noticed you yet, too focused on his ritual as he began positioning the body at the water’s edge.

"FBI!" Hotch’s voice cut through the silence, sharp and commanding.

The unsub froze, and for a split second, you thought he might run. But instead, he dropped to his knees, hands raised, as if surrendering to the inevitable.

You and Hotch moved in quickly, securing him before he had a chance to change his mind. As you handcuffed the unsub, you couldn’t help but feel a strange mix of triumph and exhaustion.

Back at the office, the energy was different. You felt you weren’t just the youngest on the team anymore. You’d proven yourself, and even though Hotch didn’t say much, you could feel the shift in how he treated you. There was more trust, more recognition of your abilities.

The next morning, when you arrived at the office, Hotch was already there, of course. But this time, as you approached your desk, you noticed another file waiting for you, along with a familiar note.

"For your next challenge. - Hotch"

You couldn’t help but grin as you picked up the file, feeling the anticipation build once more. The friendly rivalry between you was still there, but now it felt like something more - a mentorship? Partnership? Definitely there was a shared respect.

As you glanced over at Hotch, already deep in thought at his desk, you felt a sense of belonging settle over you. Even if you weren’t part of the dreaded senior team just yet as you were still earning your place every day. Although you felt that with Hotch’s guidance, you knew you’d only get better.

"Let’s see what you’ve got for me this time," you muttered to yourself with a smile, flipping open the new file and diving back into the world of profiling.

And maybe, just maybe, Hotch was enjoying this as much as you were.

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