#AND MARVEL with both him and Aaron

[brutal-out-here]

You know I refuse to believe this is all the same person

[phrandallanton]

I've had this AU idea in my head for a while where the Eltingville Club and the Northwest Comix Collective are cousins. Besides Jerry and James, they're half-brothers but more of that later.

Both groups hate eachother when everyone is around. But when it's family or just them alone they don't actually have beef with one another and are completely chill.

I could see Aaron being kinda jealous of Bill in a way. Bill gets to openly be a nerd about superhero comics, while Aaron feels like he needs to hide the fact he genuinely enjoys them. He doesn't want to be seen as a loser like Bill, but at the same time wants to indulge in his interests. Bill probably questions if Aaron is actually into superhero comics, cause Aaron may accidently slip and things here and there. But I don't think Bill Dickey over here would care too much. If Aaron was to tell Bill, they would enjoy eachothers company a bit more. Up until they get into a stupid fight about lore or which marvel girl is hotter. Something dumb like that, lol. Bill would also totally use this as blackmail against Aaron. Maybe it's best if Aaron keeps his love for superhero comics a secret.

Jerry and James are a bit deeper. They have the same mom, but different dads. You can tell by their noses, lol. What I've thought about so far is James' dad passed away, his mom got over it sooner than he did, got remarried and had Jerry. That's why he hates his mom and step-dad and he prefers to go by "Prolongo" rather then switching to "Stokes". He doesn't care for Jerry much if not at all. Probably a bit jealous and mad that he gets to have his blood related father. Is it Jerry's fault? Nah. But who cares? Definitely not James.

Jerry kinda wishes he had an actual brother that would hang out with him and be a brother. I'd imagine his parents are workaholics/always away so he tends to get really lonely at home and hangs out with the Eltingville Club cause that's his only options for friends. He probably tried to get James to like him when he was younger, but with how James was already felt about him and the fact he is years older it didn't work out. Poor Jer...

Unfortunately I don't have any ideas for Rodney, Pete, Jay Bird, and Josh. Though I can oddly see Rodney and Pete getting along when they're alone more then the others, for some odd reason.

Anywho, that's my AU idea. Hope you guys enjoy it.

Edit: Someone reposted mentioning that James and Jerry would be called half-brothers, not step-brothers. I totally forgot that was the right term so I've fixed it. Thank you to that person!

[hoe4hotchner]

Aaron Hotchner x non bau rich reader. Hotchner see's reader be all professional CEO and telling her that she looks hot when talking about work.

Girl Boss | [A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x rich fem!reader| WC: 0.6k | CW: girlbossing

The sharp click of your heels resonated within the room. Sunlight streamed through the towering glass windows behind you, casting your silhouette against the long table where half a dozen personnel sat, their pens poised and eyes alert.

"Let me be clear," you began, your voice cutting through the silence. "We are not pushing this launch back again." Your words were sharp enough to make even the most seasoned executive in the room sit a little straighter. You placed your hands on the table's edge, leaning forward slightly, the subtle move reinforcing your authority.  

"I expect finalized projections on my desk by tomorrow morning. No excuses. No oversights," you continued. "If there are any further delays, we’ll be having an entirely different kind of meeting. Understood?"

The collective murmurs of agreement followed swiftly, though not without a trace of hesitation. Your gaze swept the table, catching each person’s eye for a split second, long enough to cement your expectations but short enough to keep your employees at bay.  

"Good," you said, straightening up. Your expression softened by a degree — but only a degree. "Meeting adjourned."

Aaron had been leaning casually against the doorway to your office, his hands tucked into the pockets of his coat as he observed the scene unfolding. His eyes tracked your every movement, and there you were — fierce and assertive — commanding the room in a way that made it impossible for anyone to look away. Including him.  

He didn’t interrupt, content to watch as you had delivered your final order, and dismissed the room. His gaze lingered, marveling at the way you held everyone’s attention.  

Finally, your eyes found him. You turned and strode out of the room, the rhythm of your heels once again filling the space.

"Aaron," you said, your voice losing the edge it carried moments before as you walked toward him. Behind you, the meeting’s attendees began packing up. "You’re early."

"Traffic was light," he replied. He tilted his head slightly, his smirk deepening as he added, "Should I call you ma’am now, or will boss suffice?"

You rolled your eyes. Still, you couldn’t keep the small smile from tugging at your lips.  

"Come on," you said, closing the distance between you and reaching for his arm. Your fingers brushed against the sleeve of his coat. "We’re done here."

Aaron pushed off the doorframe and let you lead him, his smirk lingering as he fell into step beside you. Whatever commanding personality you projected in the boardroom, he knew the softer version of you just as well — and he loved both sides equally.  

The elevator was empty when the two of you stepped inside. His arm came around you without hesitation, his hand finding the small of your back. "Long day?"

"You have no idea," you admitted, closing your eyes as you allowed yourself to rest against him. "Sometimes I forget why I even started this."

Aaron chuckled softly, his breath warm against your temple as he leaned down slightly. "I think I just remembered," he said with a teasing tone as his lips brushed the shell of your ear.  

You opened your eyes, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze, an eyebrow arching in curiosity. "Oh?" you prompted.  

"You," he replied without missing a beat. "You look unbelievably hot when you're bossing people around. I should make you talk about profit margins more often."

A surprised laugh bubbled out of you before you could stop it, your hand instinctively swatting at his chest. "You’re ridiculous," you said, shaking your head, though the smile that stretched across your face betrayed your words.  

"Ridiculously in love," he countered smoothly, his hand at your back pulling you just a fraction closer, as though he couldn’t stand the thought of even an inch of space between you.  

The elevator glided to a stop, the faint ding marking your arrival at the parking level. Aaron glanced at the doors as they began to slide open, then back at you. "Come on, CEO," he said, "let me take you home."

[ssa-dado]

0 - Symposium, definitely not Platonic love.

Aaron Hotchner x bau!reader (I hope I tagged it correctly woops)

No use of Y/N!

Summary: Hotch, after seeing you reading a book on the jet, picks it up out of curiosity. Late-night texts with you evolve from work to teasing philosophical banter about love, deepening your connection. Through this dialogue, Hotch reflects on both philosophy and his feelings for you, as the conversation subtly flirts with deeper emotions.

Genre: fluff, sapiosexual fluff.

Warnings: Implied alcohol consumption ; Reader and Hotch being completely blind yet marvellously insightful ; Philosophical discussions, I tried my best to make them as user friendly as possible ; Sir kink if you squint, although it's not intended in that way at all ; The story is set around season 3/4 before the team found out about Strauss' drinking problem, I feel so bad anyways.

Word Count: 2.9k

Dado's Corner: be kind this is my first ever Hotch fic and overall first fic I've written in English (yes, I indeed am a real Italian stallion) so there might be some mistakes, bear with me.

next part - set when they first ever met.

Hotch sits on the couch, the soft glow of the lamp casting shadows across his living room, the house is so quiet, he briefly interrupts his late night reading session as he swears he can almost hear Jack’s light breathing from across the house. Those sweet thoughts, mixed up with the muffled night traffic almost lullabies him to sleep while the weight of another long week at the BAU settles into his bones.

His eyes immediately gaze down to his hands, firming holding opened the slim book: Symposium by Plato—a book he wouldn’t normally pick up on his own. The corners of his mouth quickly turn up as he recalls how he’d seen you reading it on the jet a few cases ago, sitting cozily and crossing your legs alone in a seat in front of him, strategically shielded from the table seats occupied by playing the rest of the team, including himself, busingly playing cards.

Every now and then his gaze automatically lingered on your stillness, the only movements coming from the swift air you moved while turning the page or adjusting your pose to be more comfortable, this sight intoxicated him. Your focus was so intense you didn’t even flinch at Derek standing up from his seat and leaning forward, while his hands gravitated towards the doctor’s bare neck after the latter just killed him off the game because oblivious of yet another variation they all added so it would make it easier to beat Reid. An attempt that ended tragically.

In that abrupt mess - from JJ laughing at the ironic hilarity to Reid using the highest-pitched voice his vocal chords could ever produce to defend himself from Derek's accusation of cheating - Hotch only remembers how your statuesque figure slowly had revived itself again as you glanced up to make sure no harm was done to the doctor. You made eye contact with Hotch and and you immersed yourself back to the slim book as soon the Unit Chief signed you not to worry and that he would tackle the situation himself. In a matter of fractions of seconds all your surroundings had disappeared again.

As soon as the Unit Chief was back into his office, curiously reminiscing about your hypnotic serenity, he’d ordered a copy.

Now, as in the comfort of his living room slowly turns the pages, his phone vibrates with a message from you awakening him from his trance, immediately wonders why you would message him so late at night.

“Hotch, quick question: about the profile for the Winger case—should we revise the victimology section?"

…Of course, he almost started to hate how his role as Unit Chief always seemed to ruin his brief-lasting delusions.

He robotically types a response, a straightforward answer to your work-related question but as he presses send, his gaze lingers on the book in his hands. There’s somehow a temptation on his side to share the weird coincidence, to see how you might react.

"Good catch. I’ll review it tomorrow.” He writes.

“Wow that was quick, I didn’t expect you to still be up, did I interrupt your late night reading session?”

He quicky blushes, how could you know him so well?!

“You did. Don’t worry about it. By the way, I’m reading Symposium tonight." He blurts out

There’s a pause, and he can visualize your surprised reaction, how the sight of your smile would always warm his heart; almost immediately, his phone buzzes again.

"Wait, really, Symposium?!”

A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. He wouldn’t smile so much if you were standing in front of him, thankfully, the shield of communicating through texts allowed him to put down his.

You continue. “Not to raise your expectations too much, but that’s my all-time favorite book, just so you know!"

He swears he can hear the intonation of your voice reading that text, visualizing how you would face your palms towards him and raise your shoulders, trying to keep that non-chalant expression of yours and not perk a soft smile to him.

Entitled by that fateful coincidence, Hotch feels brave enough to decide to tease you - just a little - hoping the text doesn't sound that much so out of character for him as much as it does in his head, although he shrugs, sending it before he starts overthinking it.

“Your all-time favorite? A book about love? I should’ve known."

He pauses, imagining you raising an eyebrow, maybe with that knowing smile you wear when he’s teasing you. And even though he’s playing it off as a joke, part of him can completely see how you, could actually have a natural flare for romance - even if you never openly admit it and always tried the best you could to suppress that side of yours.

He decides to blame it on the years spent at the BAU when it was just the two of you along with Rossi and Gideon; At how you were recruited as soon as you turned 21, while the youngest person you worked with on the team and could relate to the most was Hotch himself, even if he was late in his Jesus year.

He quickly remembers how you would always overwork yourself - you both still do nowadays, that's why you're having a conversation at past 2 AM - He could see how you were always trying to prove your worth more to yourself rather than to your co-workers or even to the sketchy police officers and detectives somehow still stuck in the 1400s.

He had always admired you for your intelligence and acute instincts, and so does your nowadays team, immediately entrusting you with the nickname of "Prehistoric Reid" only because because you had started working at the BAU back when they still didn't provide the jet so you all had to move using the trains. Even if you already have 9 years of experience in the field, yet you were the 2nd youngest - still no eidetic memory though - this desire to always prove yourself never fully went away. One day you were the youngest, the other they assume someone way more genius than you were so you can't stand out anymore for merely for your intelligence.

You finally respond: "Well, it’s more than just a book about love. It’s actually quite of a concrete example of Plato’s take on philosophy - the whole thing told through dialogues, like a discussion among friends. But I won’t bore you with all the technicalities"

Hotch chuckles softly, picturing you downplaying your passion, trying not to sound too academic. What you don’t know is that he could listen to you talk about philosophy for hours - especially tonight, about philosophy’s take on love, no less. He doesn’t dares to say that, though.

"I wouldn’t say you’re boring me. In fact, I’m starting to see the appeal. But really, all-time favorite?"

He leans back into the couch, waiting for your reply.

You told him back when you first met that your first ever degree was in philosophy, and now recalling that specific information he's been wondering why exactly a barely-reaching-100-pages-long book holds such a special place for you, out of all the others he’s seen you passionately read during the years. A part of him is genuinely curious, the other part is trying to stretch as much as possible this conversation with you.

"Absolutely. I mean, think about it: a bunch of people crashing at their friend's house, sitting around, getting drunk, each giving their take on love while they feast at a banquet." You continued. "It’s almost like when we’re at Rossi’s, except instead of love, we’re all talking about criminology and cases while stuffing ourselves with his Italo-American dishes".

An image of Rossi pouring wine wearing an ancient greek costume - fake long white beard included - while everyone at the table delves into some intricate discussion about a case flashes through his mind, Hotch immediately chuckles at the comparison. He's sure you've imagined the exact thing too and he can almost hear you suggest hosting a real Symposium next time, his profiling skills never fail him as soon his phone buzzes again.

"Imagine if we recreated the Symposium at Rossi’s. Each of us giving our take on love. I can almost hear Reid's speech delving into the psychology of affection and its variations throughout the various cultures"

Quick on his chubby fingers, after laughing at the scenario, he types the continuation "In stark opposite, Garcia would follow him and pull out her tarot cards and read each of our birth charts, telling us who we're most compatible with based on our stars alignements"

While waiting for you, he stands up and makes his way towards his home bar, reaching for the scotch bottle, swiftly filling up his glass, silently blessing Plato for making this the longest light-hearted conversation you haven’t had in years. You were both either too focused on your work or actively suppressing your romantic feelings and ignoring each other. After all this time he would almost forget how the two of you were first and foremost very good friends. As the liquid burns the back of his throat, his phone buzzes again.

"That's actually really fascinating yet so intimidating, what about Rossi though? Of course he's hosting all of us but I feel he would totally blurt out some old-scool stuff he only understands. I know I'm not the only one who doesn't get his references, but I really feel bad whenever I don't."

He almost chokes himself after your other reply

"So, big boss, have I convinced you with giving us the free week-end or should I extend the invite our lovely friend Strauss? I fear that after a few glasses of Rossi’s wine all that angst towards you might turn into some ol' sweet love. I would watch out if I were you, Unit Chief"

You loved poking fun at him using his rank; It all started a few years ago to jokingly shrug away the awkwardness caused from how the co-worker you always used to joke around, spend the nights together in the same room, sharing your theories about the unsub and building up the profile with suddenly turned into your superior. As much as you both didn't want to admit it, something in your relationship had shifted since this happened, not to mention to the fact that it's much more awkward to admit to your boss you've been having a crush on your him for almost 9 years rather than to your co-worker.

Now Hotch, encouraged by the slight booze, further teases you "And what do you think my take on love would be?"

This was the closest he could ever come to flirting with you, walking on that fine line and never pushing himself further. For Hotch, the gesture of basically asking you to profile him in a moment in which he was so vulnerable, breaking his golden rule of "never profile your coworkers" was the most romantic declaration of love he could ever think that of.

Your text brings him back down to Earth:

"Hmm, I imagine you’d give a thoughtful, analytical speech something with a lot of depth but surprisingly subtly humorous. You would wait for everyone to finish their own speech so you would be last, acknowledging all of us completely busted, only because you have self-control."

You feel the need to add something else, even if you know already he would read into it, at the way how you reserved a mere sentence to describe that scenario involving your teammates. On the contrary, you could write a whole book about him and all his hypothetical remarks, meticulously poiting out every small gesture or expression - or the lack of - of him. Since truth lies in the middle, you decide to dedicate him only another lengthy paragraph.

"You would start with something along the lines of ‘Love is a complex system of emotional responses influenced by myriad factors…’ as if you were delivering a profile, definitely using that same tone as well. You’d probably have us all analyzing every possible nuance and you enjoy watching us slobber, trying to quickly sober up to keep up with your impeccable remarks. Of course we would miserably fail at being analytical whatsoever, but you love whenever we make a fool out of ourselves."

He chuckles "You do know me too well"

He probably hints at the possibilty of having a weekend off with his next text "And since now you're making me think I might have to start prepare my speech about love, it wouldn't hurt to also include a few practical applications for the BAU team’s dynamics."

Ha. You wish he showed you what those practical applications consisted of. Hotch although interrupts even the possibility of recycling this genius quick witted remark with him, making sure to replace yourself with his archenemy section chief Erin Strauss, to not weird him out.

"Jokes apart, your take on love would be fascinating, I'm looking forward to hear it", he says.

"Only if you’re ready for philosophical debates after a few glasses of wine. Though, I’ll warn you - I take my Plato very seriously."

Hotch smiles at that, apparently he took his Plato quite seriously as well. What you're not aware at all is that the late-night session of Symposium you had interrupted wasn't his first.

"I’ll keep that in mind. But honestly, I’ve been finding parts of it�� enlightening."

He had actually finished it for the first time less than a hour before you texted. What you actually interrupted was Hotch helplessly going back through certain passages that reminded him of you. He hypothesises your take on the subject of love, trying to gauge how you view it without revealing feelings he’s kept carefully hidden for a long time.

"Enlightening, huh? So you’ve gotten to the part where Socrates explains how love makes us better people?"

Hotch remembers that part well enough, but he hasn’t revealed just how deeply he’s been thinking about it - how, in his own quiet way, he’s been trying to connect those ideas to his life, and to you, so he chooses his next words carefully.

“Not yet." He lies, knowing that the part you appointed to would only come much later in the book "But I’m guessing you’ve got some thoughts on that?"

He imagines you smiling on the other end, maybe a little amused at how he’s obviously deflecting, although you don’t press him, but your next reply doesn't lack a subtle challenge.

"I do. But I think you'd find it pretty relevant, Hotch. Phaedrus talks about how lovers fight better together - how love gives them courage."

He quickly smirks and reminds himself how much he loves when you put him in the corner with the choice of your words, there was no way he could deflect that, since Phaedrus’s speech comes first, he couldn't say he hadn't read that yet.

Hotch's eyes flicker toward the book again, remembering Phaedrus’s discourse: the idea that love could make people fight harder, be stronger… it strikes a chord, reminding him of the strength he’s seen in you, in the unique way you both handle the intense challenges of your work when paired up together. He types, his words more deliberate now.

"Phaedrus might be onto something. Love as a motivator, as a way to push people to be better. What about you? Do you see it that way?"

There’s a slight pause before your next message, and he can almost sense your careful consideration, you’ve never been one to answer these kinds of questions lightly.

"Yeah, I think so. I mean, love isn’t just about being close to someone, it’s about making each other better, pushing each other forward. But that is not easy at all. It takes patience, discipline… and maybe a bit of faith."

Hotch’s expression softens as he reads your words. He admires your thoughtfulness, your ability to cut straight to the heart of something that most people shy away from. He finds himself thinking about how true those words are, how they seem to apply not only to love, but to the way both of you approach life and work. He types slowly, his words carefully chosen.

"Patience, discipline, and faith. Sounds a lot like what we do every day, maybe we’re already living it."

As he sends the message, he sets the phone down beside him and glances at the book again. He’s aware of the irony - that for all the deflecting, all the jokes, he’s learning more about you through this conversation than he would have if he had simply asked.

The words of Plato, the discussions on love, seem to take on a new meaning - one that feels personal, one that makes him wonder if he’s been missing something between the lines all along.

"You know, this conversation feels a bit like Socratic dialogue. Just without the wine. Maybe I’m learning about love through you and Plato’s dialogues in a way Socrates might’ve appreciated."

He sends the message, a small smirk on his face. He knows how much you would appreciate the unexpected extra philosophical remark about Socrates even if he knows little to nothing about him apart from that his idea of love in Plato's book. To impress you he totally forgets how only just a few moments before he stated he hasn’t read his discourse yet. A few moments later, your reply comes through.

“No way! Aaron Hotchner now delves into the Socratic dialectics?!"

Now you smell the lie so to make sure you trick him with the next text "Well, maybe you should read something by Socrates next, he was quite the conversationalist, you would rely a lot to him, especially after all of this philosophical banter"

"Any recommendations?" He naively takes the bait

"That’s the thing, Unit Chief - Socrates didn’t write anything. He relied on his students to record his thoughts. It’s all oral and dialectical. The dialogues are his legacy, not written works, maybe that’s why it’s such a rich experience—like having an ongoing conversation with someone through the ages."

Hotch leans back, wishing these moments would linger forever, hoping the words you exchanged could be eternal just like those exchanged by the men he was reading about, now printed with black ink on the paper resting in his hands. He's surprised he doesn’t feel the tiredness of the week anymore or neither the need to sleep. Damn, he has so much energy he's sure he could run a whole marathon, but only if you’re out there watching him.

"Well, if our conversations end up like Plato’s dialogues, I think I’m in for a rewarding challenge. Just don’t make me drink too much wine before our next discussion."

"Unit Chief I thought you had self-control and didn't need to be babied like us mortals"

His phone buzzes with another message from you.

“Sorry if I ask, I’m curious - what got you interested in Symposium all of a sudden? I didn’t think philosophy was your usual reading material."

Hotch takes a moment to think, considering how to respond without revealing too much.

"You know, it’s funny. I saw you reading it a while back and it piqued my interest. I guess I wanted to see what you found so engaging about it. And honestly, I’m finding it pretty compelling - there’s a lot more depth to it than I expected."

His cheeks turn into a light shade of pink at your last response. "Unit Chief, do you believe you might need some professional insights on that speech you needed so urgently to write?"

"I definitely might need a hand - if I'm not wrong you do have a philosophy degree, don't you?"

Symposium might just become Aaron Hotchner's all-time-favourite book as well, after all.

[miley1442111]

office couch- a.hotchner

a/n: ok so this is my first smut, it's probably shit but like... whatever. idk if i'll keep doing this, it was mostly because my friend told me to attempt writing smut but the entire time i was writing it felt so dumb and silly so idk.

intended for fem reader, but imagine what you like:)))))))))

pairing: aaron hotchner x bau reader

warnings: nsfw 18+ under the cut

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“You’re doing so well,” he groaned in your ear. “So good for me.”

This had been going on for hours, Aaron pummeling into you at a speed and force previously unknown to man. At least, that’s what it felt like. 

“Aaron!” you moaned into his ear. He had you on your back on the couch of his office. His tall body dwarfed yours beneath him as he rocked his hips into yours. 

“You have to be quiet, baby,” he whispered breathlessly. “We don’t want everyone hearing, do we?”

You shook your head violently, as you clamped down on him once again, feeling closer to your peak than ever before. You muffled your moans behind your clenched teeth and a hand you smacked over your mouth, more afraid of Aaron pulling away and leaving you unsatisfied than how much it would hurt. 

“Good girl,” he smirked, placing kisses on your bruised neck and exposed chest. This was so dirty. Office sex? Really? 

But, it had been late and you were both really tired. It was meant to just be cuddling on his couch as he finished up reports, but it quickly turned into him on top of you with the blind pulled and the door locked. Your work-appropriate blouse had been almost fully opened, your bottom half bare. Aaron was shirtless with his trousers and boxers down at his knees as he fucked you. God, it might’ve been wrong but it felt so good. 

“So good for me,” he whimpered, getting closer and closer to his peak. “So beautiful, my beautiful girl,” he groaned against your skin. “‘Love you s’much.” 

 His kisses were leaving even more marks but you couldn’t bring yourself to care when he was making you feel this good. His finger circling where you needed him most, him inside you, you were euphoric as you came around his cock, a probably- too- loud moan leaving your lips, Aaron came seconds after, pulling out and squirting ropes of his cum all over your blouse and his stomach. 

“Fuck baby,” he groaned. “I love you so much.”

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

criminal minds masterlist :)

navigation for my blog :) (criminal minds, top gun, obx, hunger games, marvel+)

[markrosewater]

As someone who only recently got properly into Magic this year my stance on the recent UB Standard legality is that so long as the mechanics are good, fun to play, and work well with the other Standard legal sets then I don't particularly care if Final Fantasy is legal.

But.

There is something about the Marvel Universe being Standard Legal that feels off. Final Fantasy shares many aesthetic and gameplay similarities to Magic that make it slide into the general ecosystem better from a Look/Feel perspective. Meanwhile, as much of a Spider-Man fan as I am, it is going to be incredibly weird seeing Peter Parker or Miles Morales face off against the critters of Bloomburrow, even more than Thunder Junction or Duskmourn do.

I will attend the Final Fantasy and Spider-Man prereleases because I love playing Magic and I am interested in both sets, but I cannot shake the feeling that this decision makes the overall play experience strange, especially since SIX Standard sets of a year is way overdoing it (maybe 3 In-Universe sets and 1 UB set would be a better balance?)

I understand the decision from a logical standpoint but the emotional reaction to Magic losing some of its Qualia is something that I can't ignore

I have read many of the responses to my request for emotional responses yesterday (I will continue reading - there are just a lot of people sharing). A common through line is the feeling of loss, that the decisions we’ve been making are taking things away from them.

So, I wanted to take a moment to talk about something that I believe Universes Beyond is adding to the game. I’m not talking about value to other people that aren’t you, but something that is upside to the enfranchised players that are the backbone of the game.

As I’m head designer, my focus is on mechanics and the core gameplay experience of playing the game. Universes Beyond has been a bolt of energy for the design of the game.

Because so many of you are sharing personal stories, I’ll use my own experiences as a way to illustrate my point.

One day, when I was seven or eight, I woke up and went downstairs to see that my Dad had bought me a comic book and left it out on the counter for me as a surprise. It was Spider-Man.

I must have read that comic ten times. It was the start of a life long love of comic books. I’m not quite sure why the superhero genre, in particular, spoke to me so strongly, but it did.

As a teenager I was a bit of an outcast, and when I stumbled upon the X-Men, it felt like a story that was core to my lived experience. I too was an outsider, but out there were people like me and if I could find those people, we could bond over our similarities.

I enjoy designing Magic. I mean really, really enjoy designing Magic. I don’t throw around the term “dream job” lightly. It is truly a lifelong passion. I spend so much time writing about it because it is something that brings me so much joy, and there is a desire to share that joy with others, my found family that shares my similarities.

Designing Marvel cards has been electrifying. I have spent years mastering the art of Magic design. Getting to combine that with my love of Marvel characters has been inspirational. It has inspired to make designs I would have never thought of.

It has pushed me in directions I couldn’t have predicted and resulted in designs that tickle both my inner Mel and Vorthoses.

And it hasn’t just affected my own designs. I have given more notes on card designs than I have in my twenty nine years at Wizards.

For example, the amount of back and forth with Aaron who designed the five Secret Lair cards we recently revealed at New York ComicCon was exhaustive. He and I have long bonded over our shared love of Marvel, so getting to translate that into Magic with him has been amazing.

And each Universes Beyond product we’re making has people as equally passionate about that property.

My point is from purely a design perspective, Universes Beyond has had huge dividends. It has inspired us to make fresh new designs. It has sparked creativity. We are making awesome card designs, mechanics, themes, and sets, things that most likely wouldn’t have come into existence otherwise.

The passion that beloved characters and worlds has inspired in us is translated into amazing Magic design, something that will make the act of playing Magic better for anyone who enjoys the nuts and bolts of the raw gameplay of Magic.

[mydearesthrry]

sweet nothing - h.s.

a/n: TOTALLY LOST THE PLOT WHILE WRITING THIS. IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE BASED OFF OF THE PICTURE BELOW BUT I GOT DISTRACTED. pls listen to sweet nothing by taylor swift for the full experience!!!

🎀 warnings/cw: none, most tooth rotting fluff ever.

🐇 pairing: fem!reader x harry styles

💐 wc: 1.6k

summary: taking care of a very sleepy harry in an ice bath, and in the car.

“H, the bath is ready, bub.” Harry heard his girlfriend call quietly to him. He was slumped on the couch, this show particularly draining. He was quieter than usual, and instead of being glued to Y/N’s side like he usually was, he let one kiss to her full lips suffice before he decided to rest. 

“Mm, thank you, lovie. I’ll… I’ll be there in a second, jus’ don’t have the energy to go there right now.” His limbs were sore, almost every part of his body completely lost of energy, and he found it hard to even entertain the thought of getting up. 

“Okay… y’know what, just let me help you, H. The faster we get you into this bath, the faster we can go back to the hotel so you can sleep.” He knew she was right, and because he knew she was right, he allowed her to help (though not really at all since he already had felt bad that she ran the ice bath for him) him get to the bathroom. They walked slowly to the connected bathroom, Harry walking zombie-like in her arms. 

“Ready, sweet boy?” She tried to be as quiet as possible, the fact that Harry probably had a headache in the front of her mind. He nodded softly, stripping down to his boxers before letting her help him balance as he stepped into the bath. 

A wince immediately left him, Y/N whispering out ‘I’m sorry’s, knowing how shocking the bath was at first. She lowered herself with him, and sat on the floor next to the bucket when he sat down, submersing himself fully. 

“Okay bubs, y’know we’ve gotta do this so you don’t fall asleep on me. You ready?” Y/N says, pulling out her phone to pull up the trivia questions she’d pre written for the late night ice bath trivia that had become a tradition for them. Harry hums, and she flips to her notes to start. 

“Pick the category, my love. We’ve got pop culture, or the Marvel Cinematic Universe.” She asked, looking up at him, heart breaking a little at the exhausted expression that was obvious on his face. 

“Marvel.” He mumbles, sinking himself lower until his neck up was the only part of his body above water. 

“Okay… Timer officially starts now. Who played the character Pietro Maximoff, also known as Quicksilver?” Her tone was soft, almost at a whisper. 

“Umm… Aaron Taylor Johnson?” Harry questioned, racking his brain to try his hardest to stay awake. His body had now gotten used to the stark cold that he’d slowly started to get used to over the times he’s done this on tour. 

“Good job, baby. What was the name of Peter Parker’s love interest in Spider-Man: Homecoming? This one should be easy, it’s one of my favorite movies.” She giggled, a serene sense of peace overcoming her at the domesticity of it all. 

“It is easy, she’s called Liz, right? Liz Allan, or something.” His eyes were now closed, feeling the tension in his body slowly disintegrate from the cold of the water. 

“Perfect! Though the both of us know that Peter and MJ were the better couple, they were entirely more in love and cuter.” She smiled. 

“Oh, really? Like us then, hm?” Harry hummed. 

“Yes, H, exactly like us.” A few more questions had passed, and Lloyd had now come to join them in the bathroom, his camera hung around his neck. They’d anticipated him coming anyway, knowing that he would come to snap some behind the scenes pictures. Before they’d even left to go to his dressing room, they’d told Lloyd when to come in so that he could come talk to them. 

“Hey guys, sorry for intruding, but I need one of you to pick a few pictures for tonight so I can get them edited by tomorrow.” Lloyd tried to keep his voice quiet too, knowing the kind of atmosphere he was entering before he even came to meet the two in the bathroom. 

“Oh yeah, of course, did you want some pictures too?” Harry smiled, a tired but polite look on his face. Harry had built a great relationship with Lloyd over the months that they’ve been on tour, and they’d gotten more comfortable with each other than they’d anticipated. 

“Only if you’re comfortable, H.” Lloyd smiled. Y/N and Lloyd talked for a second, scrolling through pictures and picking out a few for him to edit. The time they took allowed Harry to rest in the cold for a little, before pushing himself up and folding over, dipping his head into the ice cold water. He could faintly hear Lloyd’s footsteps move to the front of the tub, along with the flicking of the camera shutter going off as he lifted his head out of the tub, ringing out his hair from the nape of his neck to the front of his scalp. 

A couple more flutters from the camera shutters were heard when Harry was rubbing his eyes with the pruny tips of his fingers, and he failed to see the smile on Lloyd’s face. 

Lloyd pulled the camera from his eyes, looking at the digital screen that held a preview of the picture. In the corner, slightly blurred because of the harsh focus that was set on Harry in the center, say Y/N with a soft smile playing on her lips, a moony gaze in her eyes. He made a mental note to send it to them later, and to also crop her out in the final edit in an attempt to salvage their private relationship. 

“Perfect. I’ll let you two rest now, think I’m gonna head to the hotel now myself. Sleep well, you guys, I’ll send you the pictures in the morning.” Lloyd smiles at them, sharing goodnights before closing the door behind him as he walked out. 

Harry’s now damp hair was combed back by his fingers and rested on the top of his head, save for the rogue curl that shriveled in a tiny curl on his forehead. Y/N rested her arms on the side of the tub, a gleam in her eyes as she watched Harry’s relaxed expression. Her timer, however, had different plans for the relaxed couple, and went off with shrill screams, notifying them that it was now time for Harry to leave the bath. 

“Alright sweet boy, time to go.” She tapped on her screen to stop the ringing, standing up to grab his black and white striped towel. She met him in the middle, her boyfriend already standing on the towel that laid outside of the tub, water droplets falling from his body in a soft cascade, small shivers shaking his shoulders slightly. Wrapping the towel around his shoulders, she pushes herself up onto her tiptoes to meet the level of his face, pecking soft kisses onto his cold lips. They stayed in that position for a bit, waiting for Harry’s skin to absorb the rest of the small water droplets. 

She led him with a soft tug to the main space in the dressing room, taking the outfit she’d gotten ready for him while he was on stage from the makeup chair and placed it onto the couch. Leaning down a bit, she took the towel to let him remove his now soaked briefs, before passing him a pair of boxers, tossing his towel onto the back of the couch. She passed him his clothes as he dressed himself slowly, humming at the words of love and admiration he sleepily spewed out. Once he got his last article of clothing on, she took his hoodie strings into her hands and tugged it down softly, making him lean down a bit to meet her lips. 

Their lips connected in a soft caress, his bottom lip wedges in between her two lips, a sweet hum emitting from his throat from the taste of her coconut flavored chapstick, one that was his favorite. Something that could only be described as love seemed to fill the room whenever they had these kinds of moments. Moments that was completely and purely their own. 

They broke away from the kiss, and when Harry went to say something, a yawn cut him off, mouth opening wide making him resemble something of a lion, making a giggle fall from her slightly swollen lips. “Let’s get you into a bed, sleepy boy.” 

“M’kay.” Harry didn’t put up a fight, wanting to get into bed with her to snuggle more than anything. 

They walked through the halls of the venue, pushing through the back door where their driver was already waiting for them, engine started and purring softly. Y/N opens the back car door, stepping in and moving to the side since she knew Harry would follow her. The driver muttered that it would take them about 5 to 10 minutes to get to the hotel before taking off without another word. 

Y/N snapped her seatbelt on, a confused twinge on her face when she didn’t see Harry do the same. Instead, he scooted over to the middle seat, laying into her sleepily. “H, you gotta put on your seatbelt.” 

“Noooo, s’not even that far, and I jus’ wan’ y’to hold me right now.” He mumbled, slightly muffled from the way he burrowed his face into her neck. She sighed in slight exasperation, saying nothing and just letting him completely collapse and rest into her. He was almost laying completely in her lap, her hand in his hair, a soft smile playing on her lips as she looked out the window and into the city. 

She let out a tiny giggle when she felt the slight tickle of stubble on her neck, followed by sweet kisses on the expanse of it. “I love you, love y’so much, it hurts.” 

“I love you, H.” She intertwined their fingers together, bringing up his hand to her mouth and pressing featherlight kisses onto his knuckles. 

“I love you,” Harry whined, making the smallest of smiles cover her face since knew how clingy and lovey Harry got when he was tired. She tried to relish in these moments as much as possible. 

“I love you, sweet boy, the Peter Parker to my Michelle Jones.” A sweet giggle sounded from Harry as he remembered the conversation from earlier. 

“Entirely in love and cute. I agree.” 

[sugar-petals]

Ho caro ❤ what do you think is the ultimate kibbe body type for pretty boys/heartthrobs ? I know it can be every type but still ! I've noticed that classics ( v , cillian murphy or even zayn ), soft dramatics( jin and hyunjin ) or soft naturals ( aaron taylor-johnson) are really representative of that archetype, even cha eun woo but I can't pinpoint which type he is . Thanks master as always 😂🌸

kibbe theory VS heartthrobs, romance, and masculinity

or: how pop culture pairs Naturals with Romantics, and Dramatics with Gamines.

hi! thanks for your lovely asks. cha eun woo looks like a soft dramatic to me! tall (6'0), but extra yin. much like bts' jin. chiseled bones, small waist, luscious face, T-silhouette: a narrow geometric structure as the base.

i can't see him as an FN or C as he is vertical-first like a Dramatic, not width-first or average height. the long monochrome D black look with sharp shoulders is right up his alley. in fact, anything else would be too short.

but imo he can do both, severe and dreamy aesthetic, unmoving vs flowing fabric. like christian bale, SD is a type walking between worlds, D and R, which is why they are often considered heartthrobs. but in an elegant, regal way, as they have long limbs and statue bodies.

i noticed that much like C men, SDs are often associated with romance cinema: they have soft faces that don't heavily contrast the usually (!) soft-subtyped or gamine female protagonist. SD can do glamor, sleek, decorum, something that's usually not associated with guys, but they pull it off.

the already fleeting veil between men's and women's fashion becomes thin with this image ID, which is why they fascinate as gnc icons. it's an especially celebrated type in SE Asian television, and historical film.

it bridges the gap and is more female gaze-heavy than casting an intimidating pure D or the obiquitous brawny, flexing, mud-covered FN as the lead. which, and that preceeds marvel, rather belongs to the action/superhero genre. to take an exaggerated example: basically, the N family on crack would be the expendables 😅

jokes aside: casting SD men as the lead still creates a height difference 9 times out of 10, though: they're not R types at a distance. SD is a tall sight. sharp yang is a towering, dignified 6'0+ figure (D always adds older age perception) — so, i would not entirely nominate them as the #1 pretty boys and luring heartthrobs. that would be, in my opinion:

soft gamine & theatrical romantic.

in our polarized world, i observe how they usually only show up when there's a yang counterpart involved. my theory is: you can find a Romantic type in the vicinity of any Natural, and if you want to find a Gamine, search for the Dramatic.

e.g. when the female movie protagonist is very yang like keira knightley or anne hathaway, the male is often more yin/gamin-ish: the gap is bridged, but still, they're two worlds. always contrasting essences in hollywood and beyond, rarely sameness. the bridgerton formula: total contrast. and nicola coughlan (pure R) is the heartthrob one here!

how female gaze male beauty is a balance act

in the long run however, female D types quizzically rule the romance genre. i guess it's because they break the often infantilizing "small, soft, R/G girl" uber-trope and covet the gentle yin and classic men, often far below 6'0, which are much more desirable than the "alpha v beta" status quo used or uses to admit. think 5'9 tom hardy's beautiful yin lips. who wouldn't want to kiss him? few would reject such a devastating smokeshow of a guy. he is gorgeous.

think D.O as an actor, he had people fawning. very yin 5'8 man. either soft gamine or pure romantic. silk and satin hanboks just look best on yin men.

james mcavoy is 5'7, for instance, and far from D and N, too. on eye level/small, hourglass + some extra sharpness. reddit consensus is, he's been typed into TR, SG, SC. in all cases, he is appealingly yin.

hell, keira's D jawline is sharper than his! mcavoy's nose and eyes appear rounder, the lips rosier, the waist more stark, the arms shorter. her shoulders are wider, angular. james: smaller, sloped, not bony. see the famous fountain scene in atonement. striking comparison.

a complete turnaround of what our mainstream-influenced eyes expect. there is nothing yin about her, while he is both. subversion creates movies we can look at twice. it's no immediate clarity, no immediate stereotype that's quickly grasped. i think that's how the heartthrob factor is born: walking the tightrope of yin and yang. neither entirely different nor fully familiar.

anything else, sadly so, would still be widely perceived as comedy/emasculation or deviation from the perceived norm. (remember how people made fun of taylor and bruno simply for existing — still, see how culture finds patterns in D/G or N/R — classics often disguised in the mix).

all the kibbe eye sees is D and SG. D has vertical, SG is petite. so, it seems like the heartthrob walks a fine line, something that SG appears to be excluded from: as they are socially branded by their height. which kibbe takes into account and tries to turn into their style persona (very limiting... but we're talking typecasting here). meanwhile: among all 13 body IDs,

TR is the true heartthrob archetype.

because he is both romantic and dramatic separately. not all mixed up (G) or blended (C). the dramatic current shows up in the face, making it 'feline'. that's how TR differs from gamine: G types have youthful, cuter/softer yin faces. a TR man is more mature. he is often portrayed as: "he tempts the same sex, and women celebrate his championing". TR simply has an insane aura. xiaojun, wayv:

jackson wang, a TR working out heavily. still, the smolder and gender-nonconforming appeal remains.

another distinguishing factor: TR sometimes approaches average height due to a D undercurrent, or at least feels slightly taller (they never exceed 6'0). gamines are even shorter heartthrobs.

besides pure R, he's the only type of man that is almost fully yin unlike the androgynous gamine, and at the same time, carries the most yang undercurrent. i think that's the recipe for being a sex symbol: because you need tension for sex. TR is pure intrigue. his body invites. he's soft and beautiful, but never cross him.

i do think that much like male gamins, they are also stigmatized in almost all countries where strength and slenderness are socially glorified persona- and body-wise in men, still. R and TR men are often seen as stout, chubby and 'ugly', not masculine enough.

jimin dressed very casually/athletically after debut, like basketball player (= FN archetype). ultra tall, broad torso, radiates power and a sturdy physique... N is the opposite of R, twice the height and weight — R being small, rounded, curve-dominant. the jack and rose effect. even surgically, one could never be the other. it is day and night.

namjoon (FN) can't be the short and fatal TR scene stealer, while jimin would have a hard time becoming a huge 6'4 machine that's like a wall. and we wouldn't have it any other way to begin with. kibbe typing means crafting a personalized style with the 3D in front of our eyes, which is why this typology has helped a lot of people and remains timeless.

jimin's transformation visually — and his increase in popularity — is probably what kibbe meant by metamorphosis. coming into your own image by choosing an exterior that fits your body lines and communicates what your archetype represents, regardless of how 'masc' one is or what one does (e.g. jimin is a martial artist). it's more about immediate perception and harmonious dressing. TR just fits the "beautiful, proud, sexy prince" aesthetic the best.

just like namjoon was choosen to be the leader, not just because of his insane intellect but also/maybe because subconsciously, his FN image ID instills authority, respect, and robustness. our military-influenced global society equates height and muscle with hierarchy after all. kibbe picked up on those jungian body politics. doesn't mean being yang urges you to rule — what i convey here is just what is perceived based on cultural values.

but unlike D, the N family seems to be accessible, friendlier, and muscle-heavy masculinity, even in k-pop where gamines are the gold standard. shinee's leader onew, stray kids with chan, too. kang daniel back then as well. shownu, monsta X. all very blunt yang men of all subtypes. in kibbe, D is the most masculine, but in the world, N is.

that's why they are often presented as R's counterpart like beauty and the beast 😅 yin and soft yang are frequently paired, as they are similar in soft edges, but different in height and essence. FN sometimes comes with SG, but R hardly ever with D.

hercules FN, megara TR

khal drogo FN, daenerys R

jay-z FN, beyoncé R.

liz taylor R, burton N.

red white & royal blue similar idea

han solo FN, leia TR-ish?

priyanka SN, nick jonas TR

nas N, nicki minaj TR

baywatch is the FN/R axis

justin N?, selena TR

ares N, aphrodite R, greek mythology in general

lord shiva SN, parvati R

007 franchise: bond girls are often yin, daniel craig is FN not D (he's wide > slimly narrow)

mr incredible FN, elastigirl R

(correct or add any in the comments)

ironically, one usually dresses like the other. the rock FN is a yin dresser! he always has R, TR, and SD outfits on red carpets. he channels his opposite ID much like some Ds dress like a G would, and Gamines want to be Ds.

digressing again. so: some other kpop group leaders are gamines at best (GD, taeyong, s.coups). but its a consistent Natural type trend. the heartthrob is rarely the leader and often relegated to the dancer role (smaller height can facilitate movement, after all). and hell, they do it best. TR ten, best example.

since dance is closest to sex, i guess, and sex is ruled by yin according to the more outdated kibbe book. but i have to agree. nothing sexy about a spartan, dramatic structure. yin adds exciting curve that lets the eye trace. skz' dance line, for instance, are all yin subtypes. hyunjin: yin dramatic (tall height), lee know: yin classic (medium height), felix: yin gamin (small height). all with the super soft romantic undercurrent lips.

so, what a pattern! and TRs truly are the most provocative dancers of all, without even trying. think hwasa. gamines only break the rules, TR breaks AND heeds all the rules simultaneously, creating that whiplash.

imo that's why taemin's (TR) career took off when he adapted to that supposed N body benchmark and started bulking up his arms/shoulders to resemble an SN body more, eradicating all soft yin flesh with harsh exercise (though his face and waistline still gives it away just how R he is, and we know how yin his body gets when he doesn't work out).

it made him more yin AND soft natural yang rather than just mostly yin-leaning with a bit of D undercurrent; aka his narrow legs, sharp nose, prominent cheekbones. (k-)pop's reverence for gamines shows us that people crave more of that inherent contrast. many follow suit and re-shape their body in the gym. but TR is still a romantic first, which is why they are sadly more niche anyway. not to mention how fatphobic the whole gym/ozempic cultural shift has become once more. yin can't help being soft! doesn't make anyone less of a man.

the opposing tall, usually slender, shoulder-heavy FN image is the martial ideal worldwide, while TR is supposed to be the feminine, as per the kylie & kim body-mod influencing campaign. as soon as a guy enters that role: taboo homophobic red alert. but you can't fully change being born your own type. (whole family kardashian family is yang. kendall SD, khloe FN, kourtney FG...)

that all being said, that is how male SD, SC and SN become stand-ins for a more softened FN version as you mentioned, since they're yin subtypes and still perceived as taller, stronger, with less 'allowance/deviation' from the male ideal type. TR women are overly centered culturally and the sole surgical goal, TR men operate far outside the mainstream as the underdog (which creates their mystic sexual pull), much like the following ID, too:

Soft Gamin as the pretty boy archetype.

where TR is the adult version (D undercurrent = looks over 20), SG is the more youthful variant (G + R = looks under 20), regardless of actual age. Gamin is always right on trend, or creating the next one, defiant, youth cultured, anti. ah yes, boy band culture. but elsewhere, SG men are niche or dismissed as quick fads, too, be it e-boys or fashion influencers, punks, rebels, rappers. yungblud is letting the SG flag fly!

SGs rose to more acclaim since you don't have to show your height on tiktok or youtube necessarily, avoiding the "no, girls must be the tiny ones" stigma, which only increases as our world becomes more right-wing and war-oriented recently. look at any propaganda poster of bygone times, the man of a regime is always towering. SG is the opposite: petite, compact, femme, pouty, and sweet as pie, even as they age.

like TRs, i feel SG men kind of become the butt of the joke often, as they are far below 5'10 and also commonly less slender due to yin's width/short bones — but they retaliate by never aging ever, and being able to charm people with their innocence. that whole "neotonous face" craze, it's all gamin characteristics. which is why they are the counterpart of the much more fear-inspiring, extremely tall Dramatics. SDs included!

so, funnily D and G almost always come as a combo. tall sharp and petite sharp. appears in pop culture over and over.

jessica rabbit SD, roger SG

joker D, harley G

sherlock D, watson SG

boa hancock SD, monkey d. luffy G

edward D, bella FG

anakin SD, padme G

slash SD, axl rose G

bill skarsgard/nosferatu SD, lilly rose G

pepper potts D or DC, tony stark FG

lauren bacall D, bogart FG

ava gardner SD, sinatra G

john lennon D, yoko ono and paul SG

austin butler SD, vanessa hudgens SG

zendaya D, tom FG, paul/timothee G

sarah paulson D, holland taylor SG

rihanna SD, rocky FG?

top SD, g-dragon FG

l'wren scott SD, mick jagger FG

will smith SD, jada G type

liam hemsworth SD, miley G

snoop D, kevin hart SG

eve SD, wall-e G

it's a novelty that they progressed from side character/comedic relief to main character. thanks to YA movies and boy bands. i think we have to thank daniel radcliffe there, as well as niall, and bts' popularity which brought yoongi to the scene. he does reflect the spitfire SG trope kibbe mentioned quite literally.

[kiwriteswords]

May I please request “Changing to a joint bank account” with Hotch and a wealthy female reader? Your blog is awesome 😎

Hi!! Thanks so much for requesting a short drabble! I hope you enjoy this little snippet!

Drabble Prompts | Other Writing | Ao3

Word Count: 600

Rating: Everyone

TW: finances, money

Balances of Trust

The sleek, modern interior of the bank felt oddly impersonal, considering the significance of the moment. Aaron sat beside you, his calm demeanor giving little away, but you could feel the weight of the decision in the steady grip he had on your hand.

The bank officer, a woman with square glasses, smiled as she flipped through the paperwork. "Once we merge both of your accounts, you'll have joint access to all funds. Does that sound alright?"

You nodded, glancing at Aaron. His eyes met yours, reassuring and warm. "That's fine," he said, his voice steady, as it always was.

It was a big step. Years of building your career, managing investments, family trusts, and now, you were joining accounts with Aaron. The man who lived so simply, with his tidy, understated home, had never seemed concerned with material wealth. Other than his immaculate suits, you'd never have pegged him for someone with much in terms of financial standing.

Yet, as the bank officer started typing away, the numbers on the screen in front of you told a different story. Your brows furrowed slightly as you took a closer look. Aaron's accounts were... substantial. Not just substantial—significant.

You leaned over to get a better look, eyes scanning the details. “Aaron…” you began slowly, your voice barely above a whisper, “I didn’t realize you had this much.”

He raised an eyebrow, the faintest hint of amusement playing at the edges of his lips. “What did you think? That I was broke?”

You blinked, trying to reconcile the image of him at home with Jack, living minimally, with the sheer wealth on display. “No, not broke, but… this? I guess I just didn’t expect—”

“That I’d be your financial equal?” His tone was light, but his eyes held that familiar, serious look he gave you when he was being honest.

You shook your head, feeling a little sheepish. “Well, I mean… you don’t exactly live like you have this much.”

He gave a slight, almost imperceptible shrug. “I’ve never been one for extravagance. I have Jack to think about, and I like things simple.”

You smiled, biting back a laugh. Of course, that was so him. No flashy cars or huge houses, just a man who quietly built a secure future for himself and his son. It was part of what made you love him—he never needed to show off.

"Well," you teased, nudging his knee under the table, "that explains the suits."

His lips twitched into a grin. "I do like a good suit."

The bank officer glanced up, oblivious to the exchange, and handed you the final papers to sign. After both your signatures were inked, Aaron squeezed your hand, his thumb running gently over your knuckles.

As you both stood to leave, the sunlight streaming through the bank’s doors, you couldn’t help but marvel at how little you’d known about this part of him. “You really never stop surprising me, you know that?”

He chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to your temple as you walked side by side. “I hope that’s a good thing.”

You nodded, leaning into him as you reached the door. “It’s a very good thing. Just… let’s make a deal not to blow it all on takeout, alright?”

He laughed, his voice warm and deep. “Deal.”

“I’m glad we did this,” you said, glancing up at him.

He looked at you with that same quiet intensity that always made you feel safe. “So am I.”

Hope you enjoyed! xx

[mrs-stans]

How Sebastian Stan and Adam Pearson got under each other’s skin for ‘A Different Man’

Adam Pearson and Sebastian Stan both know what it’s like to have people stare at them and be made to feel like they owe the public something.(Sean Dougherty / For The Times)

By Tim Grierson

When Adam Pearson was young, he rubbed elbows with celebrities. “I was at Great Ormond Street Children’s Hospital, one of the best pediatric institutes in the world,” he recalls of the London facility, “and they often had famous people come in to meet the kids. I met Boyzone, a big Irish boy band in the ’90s. The other one was Princess Diana.” The British actor was 5 when he was diagnosed with neurofibromatosis Type 1, a condition that resulted in the growth of large tumors across his face. Those tumors would often cause passersby to gawk cruelly, which made Pearson feel an unlikely kinship with the notable figures who stopped by the hospital. “I was like, ‘Oh, these people get the same staring and pointing I do, but people seem to like them.’ I wasn’t resentful, it was just an observation I made as a 12-year-old: ‘Oh, OK, that’s fascinating.’”

Decades later, Pearson, who turns 40 in January, is on a Zoom call from London alongside his co-star Sebastian Stan, beaming in from New York, to discuss their thought-provoking, satirical film “A Different Man,” which is all about appearance and perception. Writer-director Aaron Schimberg introduces us to Edward (Stan), a struggling actor with neurofibromatosis who believes he’ll be happier once he undergoes an experimental procedure that removes his tumors, revealing the sexy man underneath. Later walking around New York with a new identity — that of the slick real estate agent Guy — he discovers that the aspiring playwright he pined for, Ingrid (Renate Reinsve), has written a drama about his former self, who will be portrayed by Oswald (Pearson), a happy, charming man with neurofibromatosis. Guy looks on in horror as his old life is played with such flair by Oswald, who steals Ingrid away as well. Maybe it wasn’t his condition that had held him back — maybe it was just him.

Stan, 42, found two-time Oscar-nominated makeup artist Mike Marino to craft the realistic mask for Edward. But there was something even more important for Stan to get right. “I wanted to talk to Adam about how he was feeling about myself playing this part and having someone step into these shoes without neurofibromatosis,” he says. “Just really trying to be mindful and understand how I need to approach this so I can be of service to the character but also to somebody who actually has this condition.”

It was during those initial conversations that Pearson, who previously appeared in “Under the Skin” and starred in Schimberg’s 2018 drama “Chained for Life,” gave Stan, best known as the Winter Soldier in the Marvel Cinematic Universe, the insight that living with neurofibromatosis was not dissimilar to being famous. “They both come with certain levels of invasiveness,” Pearson explains. “You almost become public property. The public feels that you owe them something. So while Sebastian might not know the staring, the name-calling, the camera phones in a way I do, he certainly knows what it’s like to have people think [they] deserve to have a selfie with him.”

Sebastian Stan plays an actor with an ugliness inside, Adam Pearson plays the disfigured actor who is charming and confident, and Renate Reinsve is friend to them both. (Matt Infante/A24)

The absolute honesty between the two actors was crucial for a film that is candid about the stigmas around disfigurement. Schimberg, who became friends with Pearson during “Chained for Life,” also drew from his own experience with a cleft palate. “Aaron is such an incredible writer — he’s set up these things that rope you in as a viewer to judge Edward because of his appearance,” Stan says. “We project these stereotypical thoughts: ‘He’s lonely, somebody’s taken pity on him.’”

But with Oswald, “We haven’t made the connection yet that someone like Adam could actually be OK with themselves — and not only that, incredibly confident and accepting of themselves as they are.”

Indeed, “A Different Man” toys with our expectations, depicting Oswald as the life of the party, while the conventionally handsome Guy is riddled with insecurity. Unsurprisingly, Stan and Pearson have noticed that viewers sometimes don’t know what to make of Schimberg’s acerbic sense of humor.

“I’m always looking around to see what’s landing and what isn’t landing, because I’ve never had an audience react the same way,” Pearson says, amused. “Everyone finds different things either funny or uncomfortable.”

“The film asks very important questions in terms of disability and disfigurement,” adds Stan, “but we can also offer people permission to experience the film as they might. It is funny. Aaron Schimberg has said, ‘If you think this is a comedy, that’s fine — if you think this is a tragedy, that’s fine too. It’s both.’”

Much has been made of Stan’s recent so-called risk-taking performances, including in the Donald Trump biopic “The Apprentice.” (He won Berlin’s lead actor trophy for “A Different Man.”) “One of the reasons I’ve lately gravitated more toward what I’d call ‘transformational’ roles is because they do make it easier to lose yourself and to stay in it for the entire time,” suggests Stan, who lived in Romania and Vienna as a child. “I wanted to be an actor because it saved my life. I grew up in a very weird, chaotic time. I was always searching for identity — I came to this country when I was 12, and it was a shocking experience. Acting was a way of release and communication — it was a language, in a way, and it allowed me to understand myself.”

Pearson understands that sentiment. “There’s something inherently terrifying about putting yourself out there,” he says. “When I first got into TV when I was 25, one of my friends gave me what we now lovingly call ‘the talk of doom.’ He was like, ‘You are going to go on TV, and people watch TV — if they don’t like you, they will tell you on whatever platforms you are on. Do you think you can handle that?’”

He could, and his work in “A Different Man” has only raised his profile. Now he’s the one who’s a celebrity, although he acknowledges those old anxieties remain.

“Even now, my friends are like, ‘Aren’t you just a little bit scared that people are going to [not like you]?’ I’m like, ‘Yeah, I’m always scared,”’ Pearson says. “Option A is, ‘Don’t do it,’ and then Option B is, ‘Do it scared.’ And I’d rather do it scared than not do it at all.”

[hotchfiles]

This isn't a request or anything I'm just speaking into the void. Aaron and sitter!reader, they're out with Jack like... While they're in the process of figuring out their relationship, like it's Christmas time and they took him out to see Santa and someone(probably one of the elves) mistakes jack for reader and Aaron's son to Aaron after reader has picked jack up to give him a piggy back ride and started to walk away. Aaron doesn't have the heart to tell this random elf woman that, no, that is not my partner, and that is my son not theirs. He just says a quiet thank you and moves to catch up with reader. (I stole this scene from a scene in 911 between two or the MCs😇) ya I'm done now

it has been a while since the last time aaron felt so joyful over christmas. he tried his best always to stay at the top of his dad game for jack, but holidays were hard. haley always made it seem so easy, effortless, and now it was on him to bring that joy to jack and he had felt alone for quite some time trying to do that.

this time around he actually felt the joy himself, he felt warm. he couldn't help but smile as you and him opened the big boxes with the darth vader helmet + mask, a stormtrooper one, the lightsaber and blaster. in people passed by and you didn't seem to have a single care in the world as you helped jack put part of his darth vader costume on.

after renting one for halloween, his obsession with star wars skyrocket instead of going down, and when aaron decided to ask jack what he wanted for christmas and his boy answered with only darth vader with insane amounts of energy, he decided to just take him to the mall to get it instead of having him wait.

you, on the other hand, decided to buy yourself the stormtrooper set, because of course, jack would need company when playing. and now you were both wearing it and pretending to fight in the mall, laughter taking over the whole place as aaron's heart is filled with what he imagines the christmas spirit is made off.

some of the employees hired to play elfs actually stopped to watch, using it as an excuse to take a break and to marvel at how good some families seemed to have.

"you know, if one of my parents supported my interests like that, my teens would've been easier." one of them tells the other, thinking the chatter of the mall will conceal their confession.

"yeah, it's so cute, one of them is there looking so in love, the other is playing carelessly... lucky boy."

lucky boy. jack has had his big share of pain in his short life. but right now?

lucky boys indeed.

[ssa-dado]

9 - Folie à Deux

Aaron Hotchner x bau!fem!reader Genre: fluff, slow burn, so much tension it hurts. Summary: After being called to Houston to solve a gruesome case involving a dancing, folie à deux couple, you and Hotch are forced to go undercover, posing as a couple at a dance event. The operation brings you closer, revealing unspoken emotions as you navigate dangerous waters both on and off the dance floor. Back at Quantico, a matchmaking mission further blur the lines between partners, friends, and something more, solidifying your unique bond. Warnings: The case in this one is very graphic! Mentions of blood. Word Count: 14.1 k - I know, but trust me on this one Dado's Corner: My job with this one was simply to make your heart flutter, and I hope I’ve succeeded. I’m especially proud of this chapter (I secretly titled it “the ovulation chapter.” in my drafts). Unintentionally, it also works as a stand-alone one-shot. Consider this a small treat for all the suffering you’ve endured so far. Please comment and let me know what you think!

previous chapter ; masterlist

A few months had slipped by since you had finally admitted to yourself that you had a crush on Aaron Hotchner - your stoic, impossibly composed coworker but also your unexpectedly humorous friend. Accepting it didn’t make it any easier, though; it only sharpened your awareness of him, turning every stolen glance and fleeting smile into a secret thrill you could never quite tame.

His voice, deep and steady, lingered in your mind long after meetings ended, and every accidental brush of his hand felt electric, sending your heart racing in ways you couldn’t control. You found yourself memorizing the little things: the way his brow furrowed in concentration, the rare warmth of his smile that made the room feel lighter, and the quiet strength he carried that drew you in without trying. Working alongside him became a careful balancing act, a daily routine of holding back when all you wanted was to lean closer, to let your feelings spill out in ways that terrified and thrilled you all at once.

That day especially felt different, it wasn’t just any morning at the BAU; it was the day Hotch would owe you his 200th coffee - a milestone you had secretly been counting down to with a mix of excitement and fondness. What had started as a friendly wager between two competitive colleagues had evolved into a cherished ritual of ‘ constantly reminding you of your failures’, a small but meaningful connection that gave you an excuse to be near him, to share something uniquely yours in the chaos of your demanding jobs.

You stopped by your usual coffee shop on the way to work, picking up two cups of your favorite blend to mark the occasion. And because you couldn’t resist, you brought along the book you’d bought for him months ago but didn’t have enough courage yet to hand him due to the reminders of the dreaded night at Peter’s welcome back party - Hegel for Dummies. You couldn’t wait to see his reaction. Every detail, every inside joke felt like a small victory in your ongoing, unacknowledged crush on him.

As you walked into the bullpen, the morning light was filtering through the windows, casting a soft, golden glow over the quiet office. The light caught Hotch just right, illuminating him like some kind of ethereal portrait, and for a moment, you couldn’t help but marvel at the sight. He was sitting at his desk, engrossed in a stack of case files, the crease between his brows deepening with concentration.

His hair, usually so meticulously combed back, was already starting to rebel, a few strands falling loose and grazing his forehead in a way that made your heart skip. You loved how those little imperfections softened his usually sharp, composed appearance, making him look a touch more human, a little less like the untouchable rising star agent and more like the man you admired.

His eyes, a deep, rich brown that turned to liquid gold when the sunlight hit them just right, glanced up from his work as you approached. The way he looked at you, warm and attentive, made your breath catch. Those eyes, so often serious and guarded, held a softness that in your delusional mind he seemed to reserve just for you. It was like he saw you, really saw you, in a way that only a few else did, and that small, silent acknowledgment never failed to make your heart flutter.

“Good morning, partner,” Hotch greeted, his voice low and rich. It was a voice that always wrapped around you, grounding you in a way you couldn’t quite explain. The way he said “partner” felt special, loaded with a meaning you were too afraid to fully unpack.

“Good morning,” you replied, setting the coffees and the book down on his desk with a playful smile. “Today’s a special day, so I thought we’d celebrate.”

Hotch’s eyebrow quirked, his mouth curving into a teasing half-smile that made your stomach flip. God, you lived for that smile. It was so rare, so fleeting, and every time you saw it, it felt like a personal victory. “Special day? What did I forget?”

You rolled your eyes, biting back a grin as you watched the subtle play of emotions on his face - curiosity, amusement, that faint twinkle of mischief that always caught you off guard. “Come on, Hotch. Today’s the 200th coffee you owe me. Two hundred times you’ve somehow managed to beat me at this ridiculous game, and I’m starting to think you have a secret strategy you’re not sharing.”

He chuckled softly, a sound that was low and quiet, but so genuine that it made your chest tighten. There was something about the way his face softened in those moments that made you want to memorize every line, every subtle shift. “I’ve been wondering when you’d bring that up,” he said, his voice laced with that familiar, dry humor you adored. “At this rate, you’ll owe me another 200 before you even come close to winning.”

The banter between you was effortless, filled with a warmth that made every exchange feel like a private little world the two of you inhabited. You leaned against your desk, studying him like you always did - quietly, reverently, as if each glance was a stolen moment.

There were so many things you loved about Aaron Hotchner, so many small details that made your crush feel like a living, breathing thing. The way his tie was just slightly askew, hinting at the frantic rush of his morning. The way his hands moved as he spoke, precise and deliberate, fingers that always seemed to know exactly what to do, whether they were flipping through case files or adjusting the cuffs of his perfectly pressed shirt.

“You know, by now, you owe me more than $200 worth of coffee,” you teased, unable to suppress the smile tugging at your lips. “I think it’s about time you start paying up.”

Hotch’s eyes gleamed with that playful challenge you loved, the one that said he was always three steps ahead but still enjoyed every second of sparring with you. “Only if you can actually manage to win, which -let’s be honest - could take you an eternity. A philosopher I know once told me the story of Achilles and a turtle”

The lighthearted exchange was cut short when something on your desk caught your eye: a small, neatly wrapped box nestled under your lamp. It was a simple package, wrapped with an almost meticulous care, and you felt a surge of curiosity as you picked it up.

Hotch watched you, his expression softening, as you carefully unwrapped the box, revealing a sleek, elegant gel pen - the same kind he used religiously, except this one had a small “200” engraved near the clip.

Your heart skipped a beat, the significance of the gift hitting you like a tidal wave. It was just a pen, but it was also so much more than that: thoughtful, personal, and unmistakably him. You held it delicately, almost reverently, as if it were a secret you weren’t quite ready to share with the world.

Before you could find the words, Hotch spoke, his voice gentler than usual, tinged with that rare, intimate tone he reserved for moments like this. “I know Gideon never remembers anniversaries,” he began, his eyes flickering with the inside joke you shared, “but I’m not Gideon. And this is my promise that you won’t ever have to storm around like Rossi did on our first case together.”

It was such a simple statement, but the way he said it, so earnest and sincere, made your throat tighten. You couldn’t help but focus on the way his mouth moved, the slight pull of his lips that revealed just the faintest hint of dimples when he smiled. “Hotch, this… it’s perfect. You didn’t have to do this.”

He shrugged, effortlessly brushing off your gratitude in that casual, understated way that always made your heart ache. "I wanted to. It's my favorite kind of pen, and I thought you should have one too. The only difference is the ink color," he added, a teasing smile tugging at his lips. "I've noticed you always use blue... a bit of an unusual choice, but hey, if it works for you."

You couldn’t stop staring at him, your chest fluttering at the way he noticed your quirks and habits. His attention to detail, his thoughtfulness, made you feel seen in a way that was both exhilarating and terrifying. It was as if he’d quietly gathered the pieces of you - those you tried to keep hidden and the small, silly traits that made you who you were - and somehow found them all worth celebrating.

“Thank you,” you managed, your voice barely more than a whisper. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Hotch. You’re… you’re the best partner I could ever ask for.”

He smiled, that small, almost imperceptible curve of his lips that felt like a reward, and it made your heart soar. He leaned back, crossing his arms in that familiar, confident way that somehow made him look both commanding and completely approachable. “I could say the same about you,” he said, his voice carrying that rare sincerity that made you feel special. “Though I’m still waiting for the day you actually beat me.”

You laughed softly, your gaze locked on his. “This is so thoughtful, it almost makes me want to kiss you on the cheek… if you weren’t so against physical contact, of course.”

Hotch’s smile turned mischievous, a rare twinkle lighting up his eyes that made your heart flutter uncontrollably. “Well, unlike Rossi and Gideon, we’re not married, yet.”

Though it was meant as a joke, it felt layered with something deeper, like a hidden promise disguised as banter. “Yet?! Are you planning on proposing? Because after all this thoughtfulness, you just might get a yes out of me,” you teased, your tone playful, even as your heart raced with the weight of your own words.

Hotch’s gaze lingered, his expression softening into something almost vulnerable. “I’ll make you another ‘lawyer’ deal,” he said, leaning forward, his voice dropping to that low, intimate register that made your skin tingle. “I’ll propose by the time I owe you a thousand cups of coffee. So, you’d better start winning, or you might just be stuck with me forever.”

The words were light, meant to tease, but there was a sincerity in his gaze that made your breath hitch. Your heart pounded, the beat echoing in your ears as you tried to think of a witty retort, but all you could focus on was the way his eyes lingered on you, the faint curve of his lips, the way his presence filled the space between you.

“Be careful what you wish for,” you managed to say, your voice wavering slightly despite your best efforts to sound composed. “You know that if you give me a deal like that, I won’t be able to help but accept.”

Hotch’s smile softened, and for a split second, his expression was almost tender, a quiet vulnerability that he rarely allowed himself to show. “Forever,” he murmured, as if testing the weight of the word, as if it were something fragile and precious.

“You’re a lawyer, Hotch,” you teased, though your voice was softer now, tinged with something you couldn’t quite name. “You should know better than anyone that divorces exist.”

Hotch’s gaze held yours, steady and intense, the faintest hint of a smile playing at his lips. “Forever,” he echoed softly, the word hanging in the air like a quiet dare.

You tucked the pen into your pocket, feeling its weight like a promise, a small, tangible reminder of the connection you shared, the quiet care that threaded through every interaction.

As Hotch turned back to his files, the brief flicker of vulnerability and humor slipping into the familiar stoic composure he reserved for work, your thoughts couldn’t help but drift to that thousandth day. A small, impossible hope lingered in the back of your mind, quietly daring to imagine what might happen when that moment finally came.

☐ ⬛

“Well, if it isn’t my two favorite night-owls gracing me with their presence,” Rossi greeted, his voice carrying its usual mischief as he glanced up at you and Hotch. “Hope you’re ready to pack up, we’ve got a situation in Houston. Local police just found a second victim, and it looks like this one’s escalating fast.”

There was no hesitation. Within hours, you, Hotch, Gideon, and Rossi were on a train bound for Houston, the rhythmic clatter of the wheels on the tracks a relentless echo of the urgency ahead. The details of the case gnawed at your mind, filling the air with a heavy dread that clung to you like a second skin. This wasn’t just another case, it was darker, more depraved than anything you’d encountered in recent memory. Two victims in two weeks, seemingly random but bound by the sheer, almost ritualistic brutality of their deaths.

The first victim, Lauren Fields, a 21-year-old English literature student with bright eyes and a future full of promise, had been found hanging from the ceiling of a derelict warehouse. But it wasn’t just the fact that she was dead, it was how she had been killed.

Her body was marred by deep, deliberate cuts, as though the unsub had taken their time, savoring the act. He had let her bleed out slowly, cruelly drawing out her final moments. The scene was a nightmare of gore: blood sprayed across the walls, congealed in thick pools on the floor, smeared in what almost seemed like purposeful patterns. The blood on the floor told a grim story of its own, scattered in ways that suggested not just violence, but movement.

The second victim, Eric Watts, a 36-year-old plumber, had been found in much the same state. Another warehouse, another scene of calculated carnage. His body hung from the ceiling, suspended like a grotesque puppet, slashed with the same cold precision. His blood had pooled beneath him, the same sickening patterns left behind, as if the killers found joy in the desecration of human life.

There were no obvious connections between Lauren and Eric: no shared history, no common threads, but the horror they endured bound them together. The only connection was the sheer sadism behind their deaths, the terrifying reality of what they had suffered.

When you and Hotch arrived at the latest crime scene, the atmosphere was suffocating, the heavy stench of decay mixing with something far more sinister - a creeping, invisible darkness that seemed to pulse from the walls and seep into your bones. The warehouse was cold and damp, every step echoing in the cavernous space, amplifying the feeling of dread that settled under your skin. The scene before you was like stepping into a nightmare: blood was smeared across every surface, splattered like a grotesque and violent artwork that told the story of terror in a language only the twisted could understand.

The victim’s body still hung from the ceiling, pale and lifeless, suspended like a gruesome puppet left to rot. The stark contrast of crimson against the cold concrete created a macabre impressionist masterpiece, each streak and spatter of blood capturing the chaos and suffering of the final moments.

But it was the floor that truly made the scene unbearable: bloody footprints crisscrossed the entire space, overlapping and swirling in erratic patterns, turning the ground into a nightmarish dance floor painted in red. It wasn’t just the sight of the blood; it was the story those prints told, a sickening ballet of violence and madness performed by the killers who saw their victims as props in a twisted dance of death.

Hotch moved through the scene with his usual composed intensity, every step deliberate, every glance calculated. He had a way of grounding you even in the most horrifying moments, his presence a constant reminder that you weren’t alone in facing this darkness.

You watched him closely as he crouched near the center of the room, his dark eyes scanning the bloody prints with the kind of focused calm that never wavered. There was something impossibly magnetic about his concentration, how he could look at chaos and find the patterns hidden within it. It was reassuring, and you couldn’t help but feel even more attracted by him every time you watched him work.

Hotch leaned in closer, tracing the jagged, uneven edges of the footprints with the tip of his pen, his expression hardening as he took in every detail. “There are two sets of footprints,” he observed, his voice steady and sure, cutting through the suffocating silence. “One left by a man, the other by a woman.” His focus was absolute, as if he were piecing together a puzzle only he could see.

You stepped closer, feeling the coolness of the blood-slicked floor through your shoes, the sticky sensation almost making you shudder. As you looked down at the prints, your mind raced, trying to make sense of the bizarre choreography. The shapes and patterns were hypnotic against the blood-stained concrete, swirling and merging in ways that felt oddly deliberate, almost purposeful.

You could feel Hotch beside you, his presence a steady anchor amid this violent tableau, and you leaned into that unspoken support, drawing strength from his calm.

“They’re not just walking around,” you said softly, your voice almost lost in the vast emptiness of the warehouse. The realization struck you suddenly, sharp and undeniable. “It’s almost like they’re dancing.” The prints weren’t just random; they moved in loops, turns, and steps that followed no logical path but instead mirrored something more fluid, more rhythmic. It was as if the unsubs were performing, dancing in the blood of their victim as they died above them.

Hotch’s head snapped up, his eyes meeting yours in an intense, electrifying moment of shared understanding. You could see the same chilling realization dawning in his expression, the pieces clicking into place with a horrifying clarity. You were both thinking the same thing, and when you spoke, the words tumbled out in perfect, uncanny sync: “It’s a folie à deux.”

Folie à deux - madness shared by two. The way the killers had moved around their victims, the sickening dance in their own blood, it all pointed to a couple lost in their own twisted world, feeding off each other’s delusions.

Hotch’s gaze lingered on yours, his expression a mixture of determination and something deeper, something that mirrored your own emotions, an unspoken acknowledgment of the darkness you were about to face.

The air between you felt charged, every breath heavy with the weight of what you had uncovered. In that brief moment, you felt a rush of warmth that cut through the chill of the crime scene, a reassurance that whatever horrors lay ahead, you would face them together, side by side.

You turned your attention back to the scene, but the connection lingered, a silent promise that neither of you had to say aloud. This wasn’t just about catching killers; it was about understanding the twisted minds that had found solace in each other’s madness.

☐ ⬛

Back at the police station, the atmosphere was tense, the air thick with the urgency of finding a connection that seemed maddeningly out of reach. The four of you were gathered around a large conference table, the crime scene photos spread out like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle that refused to fit together.

You watched as Hotch leaned forward, elbows on the table, eyes fixed on the images before him. You couldn’t help but steal glances at him, admiring the way his brow furrowed in concentration, the way he absentmindedly tapped his pen against the table, little quirks you had memorized in the quiet moments between the chaos.

“They have no connection,” Rossi said, frustration evident as he flipped through the victim profiles. “One’s a student, the other’s a plumber. Different neighborhoods, different circles. There’s nothing that ties them together.”

Gideon nodded, his usually sharp eyes clouded with concern. “Lauren was outgoing, well-liked in her classes, no known enemies. Eric kept to himself, lived alone. They were single, no significant relationships that would tie them together. No overlap, no common link.”

You studied the crime scene photos, trying to piece together the senseless brutality into something that made even a fragment of sense. The killers weren’t just murdering—they were performing, re-enacting something deeply personal.

A thought struck you, a theory that felt like it was teetering on the edge of insanity, but you couldn’t shake it. “Maybe the connection isn’t between the victims,” you said slowly, your voice trembling slightly as you spoke. “Maybe it’s about the killers. They’re choosing substitutes, victims that represent something to them. They’re killing themselves over and over, using these people as stand-ins. It’s the only way they can keep their bond alive.”

Hotch leaned back, his gaze fixed on you, piecing together the fragments of the theory you’d just laid out. There was something about the way he looked at you - sharp, attentive, and with a hint of pride that sent warmth flooding through you. “If that’s the case,” he said thoughtfully, “then the unsubs must have a significant age difference. At least ten years, maybe more. One victim is young, the other is older, they’re acting out their issues, punishing each other through these surrogates.”

Gideon’s expression tightened, urgency pressing down on him. “But now we’re running out of time. The pattern is clear: they’ve killed one victim every Friday. Today is Thursday. If we don’t catch them soon, we’ll be looking at another body tomorrow.”

Silence filled the room, heavy with the weight of the ticking clock. The profile was solidifying, but you were still searching for that key piece that would lead you to the unsubs before they struck again.

Rossi tapped his pen against the table, drawing everyone’s attention. “They’re not picking these people at random. The way they kill, it’s theatrical, ritualistic. It’s personal. It’s like they’re putting on a show for each other.”

You pointed to the photos of the bloody footprints, the twisted dance steps that had been burned into your mind since you’d first seen them. “The dance. The way they move around the bodies - it’s coordinated, like a rehearsed routine. Both victims had connections to dance events in the city. Lauren was part of an improv dance group, and Eric attended open dance nights with his niece. They’re targeting couples who, in some way, remind them of themselves.”

Hotch nodded, the pieces clicking into place. “The unsubs are drawn to these events. They’re either participants or observers, targeting couples who challenge their twisted ideas of love and connection.”

Gideon and Rossi exchanged knowing looks, their expressions shifting from grim determination to something almost playful. There was a hint of amusement in their eyes, a rare break from the tension as they turned their attention back to you and Hotch.

“You know what that means,” Gideon said, his tone laced with a sly undertone that hinted at more than just strategy. “We need someone who can really get under their skin, challenge their so-called ‘love.’”

Rossi leaned back in his chair, a smirk spreading across his face as he glanced between you and Hotch. “And who better than the two of you? You fit the victimology like a glove - twelve years apart, just like their preferred targets. Plus,” he added, his voice dripping with mischief, “you two have pulled enough late-night sessions over case files. Now you get to do something a little more… interactive.”

He gave a wink, clearly enjoying the irony, and you could practically feel the teasing energy radiating off him. It was all too clear that Rossi and Gideon were having far too much fun at your expense. They knew exactly what they were doing, and the thought of you and Hotch going undercover as a couple was like handing them a golden opportunity to poke at both of you.

They didn’t just see partners, they saw the unspoken chemistry, the way you worked together like a well-oiled machine, and they weren’t going to miss the chance to play matchmaker, even if it was in the guise of catching killers.

Rossi’s grin widened as he saw the look on your face, and you could tell he was reveling in every second of this. “It’s fate,” he said with a chuckle, barely able to contain his amusement. “Out of all the things you two have faced, this might be your greatest challenge yet.”

Gideon nodded, barely suppressing his own smile. “So, go on. Pack your dance shoes. Time to see if you can keep up with the unsubs.”

The suggestion hit you like a freight train, sending your thoughts spiraling. The idea of going undercover as a couple with Hotch was equal parts thrilling and terrifying. It wasn’t just about pretending, it was about pretending with him.

Every time you looked at him, you felt the undeniable pull of your own feelings, the crush that you’d tried so hard to keep hidden, now bubbling dangerously close to the surface. Being this close to him, touching him, dancing with him… it was everything you wanted and everything you were afraid to confront.

Hotch caught your eye, a small, almost teasing smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Out of all the things I signed up for when I joined the Bureau,” he said, his voice edged with humor, “I never thought I’d end up dancing.”

You tried to suppress the nerves fluttering in your chest, forcing a playful smile in return. “Be careful what you wish for, Hotch. Remember the deal you made back in Quantico? That you’d propose when you owed me a thousand cups of coffee? Well, here we are—on our anniversary, rehearsing for what could be our first dance.”

Hotch chuckled, his smile widening, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Guess we’re ahead of schedule, then. I might have to get that ring ready sooner than I thought.”

You both laughed, but beneath the banter, there was a flutter of something real, something that made your heart skip. The weight of your joke hung between you, laced with the kind of unspoken longing that you’d been trying to ignore for far too long. If only he knew how much you wished those playful words were true.

☐ ⬛

Later, back at the hotel, you found yourself in the lobby, staring down at the dance steps outlined in the file Gideon had handed you. It was a romantic routine: timeless, intimate, and designed to draw attention. As you studied the sequence, you felt Hotch approach, his presence warm and grounding.

You looked up to find him leaning casually against the wall, jacket draped over his shoulder, his sleeves rolled up to reveal the strong lines of his forearms. You couldn’t help but notice how his hair was starting to fall loose, framing his face in a way that made him look almost boyish, at how he was effortlessly handsome.

“You ready for this?” Hotch asked, his voice a low, comforting rumble. There was a lightness in his tone, but you could see the hint of nerves in his eyes. It was oddly reassuring to know that he was feeling the same strange mix of anticipation and anxiety that you were.

You shrugged, trying to keep your voice steady. “The Bureau never prepared me for undercover ballroom dancing. I think the last time I slow danced, I tripped over my own feet more times than I care to admit.”

Hotch’s laugh was warm, genuine, and it sent a ripple of something achingly sweet through you. “Well, it’s not exactly standard training. But you’ve got rhythm, you’ll pick it up. And hey, if we can survive a shootout together, we can handle a dance floor.”

You arched an eyebrow, teasing. “I’m starting to think you’ve been hiding some secret dance skills. Were you secretly moonlighting as a dance instructor?”

He shook his head, grinning. “Not quite. But I did take a few lessons back in college. Thought it’d be a good way to meet people. I was terrible at first - tripped over my own feet more times than I’d like to admit.”

You laughed, the image of a younger, awkward Hotch struggling through a dance class making you smile. There was something endearing about the thought, something that made you feel like you were seeing a part of him that few ever got to see.

Hotch extended his hand, his eyes meeting yours with a gentle challenge. “Ready to give it a shot?”

You took his hand, the touch of his skin sending a rush of warmth up your arm. “Not even one bit.”

The song Gideon and Rossi chose for the two of you was ‘It’s All Coming Back To Me Now’ by Celine Dion. The music began, soft and slow, filling the lobby with a melody that felt both timeless and intimate. As you moved together, each step felt like a tentative exploration of something more than just a dance.

Hotch’s hand on your waist, the subtle strength in his hold, the way his eyes never left yours, it was all so much more than you’d expected, and you couldn’t help but feel the weight of every unspoken feeling between you.

“Careful,” Hotch teased as you stumbled slightly, catching you effortlessly. “Can’t have you falling for me on the dance floor.”

You shot him a playful glare, your cheeks burning with the double meaning behind his words. “If I do, it’s entirely your fault.”

Hotch’s smile softened, his thumb brushing against your hand as you continued to move in sync. “I’ll take full responsibility.”

The song played on, each step bringing you closer, each touch making it harder to ignore the truth you’d been hiding. Dancing with Hotch felt like stepping into a dream you didn’t want to wake from, a dangerous, beautiful dance where every move whispered of what could be, if only you were brave enough to reach for it.

As the song ended, Hotch pulled you close, his voice low and teasing. “Guess we really are rehearsing for our first dance.”

You laughed, trying to ignore the way your heart pounded in your chest. “Yeah, and just think, you’ve still got 800 coffees to go before you have to propose.”

He smirked, a twinkle in his eyes. “Better get to work beating me, then. I’m not planning on waiting forever.”

The words hung between you, playful yet laced with an unspoken promise. You knew it was just banter, just another layer of the teasing that had become so natural between you. But standing there, wrapped in the lingering closeness of the dance, it felt like so much more.

You stepped back slightly, breaking the intimate proximity but not the connection that buzzed between you. Hotch’s hand lingered at your waist for a second longer than necessary, and you felt the warmth of his touch sear through the fabric of your blouse, leaving a ghost of a feeling that you knew you’d carry long after this moment was over.

The silence stretched, not awkward but charged, both of you caught in a rare moment of vulnerability. Hotch’s gaze remained fixed on you, his dark eyes searching yours as if trying to read the unspoken words that hovered just out of reach. For a moment, you thought he might say something, something real, something that would bring down the walls you’d both so carefully built. But instead, he broke the tension with a soft, knowing smile.

“You did good,” he said, his voice a low, comforting murmur that sent a thrill down your spine. “I think we’ve got this.”

You nodded, trying to muster your usual bravado even as your heart thudded in your chest. “Yeah, well, it’s not every day I get to dance with a lawyer. I’d say that’s worth at least a few points in my favor.”

Hotch chuckled, a sound that was all warmth and affection, and you couldn’t help but bask in it, soaking up every second. “Just remember, you’ve still got a long way to go before you catch up. But I’ll admit,” he said, tilting his head with a playful glint, “you’re getting closer.”

The lightness of his words belied the heaviness in your chest, the way your feelings for him felt like a secret you could no longer keep hidden. You wanted to say more, to let him know just how much these moments with him meant to you, how every joke and every stolen glance was a lifeline amid the chaos.

But you couldn’t bring yourself to risk the delicate balance of your partnership, the friendship that had grown into something far more complex than you’d ever imagined.

Instead, you settled for a smile, one that you hoped conveyed at least a fraction of what you felt. “I’ll take that as a compliment, Hotch. And who knows, by the time we hit a thousand coffees, maybe I’ll have you dancing circles around me.”

Hotch’s smile turned softer, almost wistful, and for a fleeting second, you thought you saw a flicker of something more in his eyes, something that mirrored the quiet longing you carried for him every day. “Maybe,” he said, his voice tinged with a kind of quiet sincerity that made your heart ache. “But if you ask me, you’re already leading the way.”  

The moment passed, but the unspoken sentiment lingered between you, a promise wrapped in uncertainty, an almost that hung just out of reach. As Hotch turned back to the files spread out on the table, his focus already shifting back to the task at hand, you couldn’t help but steal one last glance, committing every detail of this moment to memory. It was hard not to get lost in the fantasy of it, to imagine that maybe you and Hotch were dancing for yourselves, not just to catch a pair of killers.

Because even if it was just banter, just a playful dance of words and what-ifs, it was enough.

For now, it was enough to be by his side, to share the weight of the cases and the late nights and the stolen moments of something that felt almost like happiness.

For now, you’d keep dancing around the truth, holding onto the hope that someday, the steps would lead you to something more.

☐ ⬛

The atmosphere in your accommodation felt charged with an energy that was hard to ignore. You and Hotch had just finished a long day of preparation, your bodies still buzzing from the adrenaline of the evening.

This was the first time you had shared a room with him since you realized your feelings for him had deepened into something more, and you were painfully aware of the tension that hung in the air.

You were both drenched in the aftereffects of your undercover mission. The dance had felt so intimate, so dangerously close, and now you found yourself grappling with those emotions in a more personal setting. The idea of showering was both a relief and a distraction, a way to wash away the sweat and tension from the evening.

As you stepped beside the bathroom, you couldn’t shake the feeling that the moment was significant, that it marked a turning point between you and Hotch. You had shared hotel rooms on countless occasions, but this felt different. This time, there was an awareness, a hint of vulnerability that made your heart race.

“Do you want to go first?” Hotch asked, ever the gentleman, as he leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. You nodded, grateful for the moment to gather your thoughts, to shake off the lingering tension of the evening.

After your shower, you dried your hair and slipped into a comfortable shirt and your usual pajama shorts, taking a deep breath before reentering the main room. As you emerged, you found Hotch sprawled out on the bed, a bemused expression on his face as he flipped through the pages of the book you had given him, Hegel for Dummies.

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sight of him attempting to wrestle with philosophical concepts a delightful surprise. “Look at you, and I thought I was the official philosopher of our duo,” you teased, crossing your arms and leaning against the doorframe. “I never thought I’d see you actually reading a book about philosophy. I was sure you were too serious for ‘Hegel for Dummies’.” you emphasized the word “dummies” with a smirk, savoring the rare chance to poke fun at his usually serious demeanor.

Hotch glanced up, his dark eyes twinkling with a rare spark of amusement. “What can I say? I’m already feeling a bit wiser,” he replied with a dry smile. “But hey, who wouldn’t want their mind expanded by ‘Hegel for Dummies’?” He emphasized the word with a smirk, playing right into your joke. “Though, I’ll admit, this wasn’t exactly how I envisioned unwinding after a long day on the job.”

“Just promise me you won’t start quoting him at me,” you said, dropping into the chair opposite him with a playful grin. “I’m not exactly in the mood to have my brain twisted around philosophical notions of love and duty - especially not whatever version of that ‘Hegel for Dummies’ is peddling. That sounds like a headache waiting to happen, that could get overly-simplified.”

Hotch stood up and stretched, his muscles flexing beneath his shirt as it rode up slightly, revealing a teasing glimpse of the firm, toned skin at his waist. You caught yourself staring, heat flooding your cheeks as you quickly looked away, caught between admiration and a surge of embarrassment.

“I’ll do my best to keep the heavy philosophy to a minimum,” he said, his voice low and slightly teasing as he moved toward the bathroom. “But I can’t promise I won’t slip up.” The way he glanced back at you, a subtle challenge in his eyes, left you feeling a little breathless, as if his words were more than just about Hegel for Dummies. 

As he stepped into the bathroom to shower, you couldn’t help but stare at the closed door, the lingering warmth of his presence still in the air. It was a mix of nerves and excitement, and you were acutely aware of how much you wanted to cross that invisible line between partnership and something more.

When Hotch emerged from the bathroom, his hair was still damp and tousled, messy in a way that made him look effortlessly handsome. Droplets of water clung to his skin, trailing slowly down his neck and disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt, drawing your eyes to the strong lines of his throat and the hint of muscle beneath. For a moment, your breath hitched, and time seemed to stretch as you took him in - disheveled, raw, and undeniably attractive.

He exuded a quiet confidence, his body a blend of strength and subtle elegance that was captivating, even in his exhaustion, you couldn’t tear your gaze away, admiring the man who, even at his most worn-down, was impossibly magnetic.

“Are you okay?” he asked, catching your gaze. His voice held a hint of concern, a gentle nudge back to reality.

You shook your head, trying to focus on the task at hand. “Yeah, just… lost in thought.” Your voice sounded distant even to you, the weight of everything lingering in the air. “Oh, and Peter just called. He’s in Los Angeles on a case, and he wanted to know if we’d be up for grabbing drinks when we get back.”

Hotch raised an eyebrow, concern and curiosity mingling in his gaze as he studied you closely. “Are you okay with that?” he asked gently, his voice softening with genuine care and a quiet, almost protective undertone. He hesitated, his eyes lingering on yours, as if trying to unravel the emotions you kept hidden just beneath the surface. “And what about the date you had with him? How did that go?”

You sighed, feeling the weight of the unspoken truth bubbling up before you could stop it. It wasn’t easy to admit, especially to Hotch, but something about his presence made it impossible to hold back. “Honestly, it just reinforced what I already knew,” you confessed, your voice tinged with a mix of frustration and resignation. “We’re compatible as friends, but when it comes to being a couple, there’s… something missing.”

Hotch leaned against the doorframe, his posture relaxed but his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your heart race. His expression was open, his concern genuine, and it was clear that he wasn’t just asking to be polite; he wanted to understand. “Missing how?” he pressed, his voice low and full of quiet curiosity that pulled you in.

You hesitated, grappling with the vulnerability of sharing the deeper truth, a truth that you hadn’t even fully admitted to yourself. “I don’t know,” you said slowly, searching for the right words. “It’s like there’s no spark, no real connection that makes me feel… grounded. I keep trying to find this balance within myself, this sense of who I am and what I want, before I dive back into dating. With him, I just felt like I was going through the motions, hoping for something that wasn’t really there.”

You watched as Hotch absorbed your words, his expression shifting with a flicker of understanding. There was a look in his eyes that told you he got it, maybe more than anyone else ever could. “You’re being honest,” he said softly, his tone filled with quiet respect. “That’s important. And it sounds like you’re making the right choice, prioritizing what feels true to you instead of forcing something that doesn’t fit.”

A small smile tugged at your lips, warmth spreading through you at his validation. “Thanks,” you murmured, feeling the comfort of his support like a gentle embrace. But beneath your gratitude, there was a lingering ache, a nagging wish that you could tell him the other real reason you were so hesitant to start something new with anyone else. The truth was, it wasn’t just about finding balance within yourself, it was also about him.

Hotch studied you for a long moment, his gaze never wavering as if he were searching for something deeper, some hidden truth that you hadn’t yet found the courage to voice. “Just remember,” he said, his voice gentle and laced with a sincerity that made your heart flutter, “it’s okay to take your time. There’s no rush to figure it all out, and no rulebook you have to follow.”

His words were simple, but they carried a weight that hit you straight in the chest. Hotch wasn’t just talking about your reluctance to date; he was offering you the space to breathe, to heal, to find your way without pressure or judgment. It was the kind of reassurance you hadn’t realized you needed, and it made you feel seen in a way that was both comforting and terrifying.

You offered him a grateful smile, feeling a surge of affection for him that was impossible to ignore. “Thanks, Hotch. That means a lot,” you said softly, and you meant it more than he would ever know.

“And, by the way,” you added, trying to lighten the mood, “Even if you are the philosopher now, I don’t think you have to worry about being proposed to anytime soon.”

Hotch chuckled, his voice playful  “You never know. A thousand coffees and a philosophical debate might just seal the deal.”

You laughed, trying to shake off the weight of your feelings. “Well, I’ll just have to make sure I’m ready for that day, then.”

Hotch turned away, rummaging through his bag for a fresh shirt, and your eyes couldn’t help but follow the movement. As he pulled off his damp shirt, you caught a glimpse of the toned muscles in his back, the way they flexed subtly under his skin. The faint sheen of moisture made his skin glisten, his hair clinging damply to his forehead in a way that was both rugged and impossibly enticing. Your breath hitched, heart pounding as you watched him, captivated by the effortless grace of his movements.

You were drawn to him in ways that you could hardly admit, even to yourself. It wasn’t just his looks - though the sight of his broad shoulders and the curve of his spine definitely didn’t help your situation - it was everything he embodied. He was stability, strength, and an unwavering presence that grounded you even in the darkest moments. He was everything you craved, everything you told yourself you shouldn’t want, and yet here you were, heart racing and pulse quickening at just the sight of him.

You shifted on the bed, trying to focus on anything but him, but it was useless. Every movement he made drew your attention. The way he absentmindedly ran his hand through his wet hair, ruffling it in a way that left it messier than before. The subtle tilt of his head as he absorbed your words, genuinely invested in what you had to say. He made you feel seen, and that was more dangerous than any undercover mission.

“So,” Hotch said as he slipped his arms into his shirt, the fabric hugging his shoulders in a way that made your heart race, “do you ever regret it? Not… dating, but just how all of this can make things so complicated?”

You looked up, surprised by the question. The vulnerability in his tone caught you off guard, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to respond. “Honestly? Sometimes,” you admitted, your voice soft. “But I think it’s normal to feel that way. The job… it demands so much. And sometimes I wonder if it’s worth the trade-offs. But then I remember why I started, why I wanted this, and it keeps me going.”

Hotch nodded, his gaze distant as if he were sifting through his own set of regrets. “I get that,” he said quietly. “It’s easy to lose sight of things, to get caught up in the job and forget what you wanted in the first place.”

You swallowed, feeling the weight of his words settle over you. It was a rare, intimate glimpse into Aaron—the man beneath the stoic exterior, the version of himself he reserved only for moments like these, moments shared with you outside the rigid confines of work.

It was moments like this that made your feelings for him feel far deeper than a simple crush. It wasn’t just a fleeting infatuation; it was something profound, something that had quietly grown over time through every shared late night, every unspoken understanding, and every instance of mutual respect and unacknowledged care.

“Hotch,” you began, hesitating as you searched for the right words, “I don’t think I’ve ever told you, but… I really look up to you. You’re the reason I push myself every day. Because you set this standard that I want to live up to. Not just as an agent, but as a person.”

Hotch glanced at you, his eyes softening with a hint of something you couldn’t quite place. Gratitude? Affection? Whatever it was, it made your pulse quicken. “You don’t need to live up to anyone but yourself,” he said, his voice gentle but firm. “You’re… you’re better than you realize. And I’m glad to have you as my partner.”

The sincerity in his words settled over you like a warm blanket, soothing the frayed edges of your nerves. You wanted to say more, to tell him how much his opinion meant to you, but the lump in your throat made it impossible. So instead, you just nodded, hoping he understood the depth of your appreciation.

Hotch finished to dry his hair with the towel, and for a brief moment, you allowed yourself to imagine a different scenario. One where this wasn’t just another case, where you weren’t just colleagues sharing a hotel room for the sake of the job. You imagined lazy mornings, quiet dinners, and dances that were just for the two of you, moments untethered from the weight of your work.

“You know,” Hotch said, breaking the silence with a teasing smile, “for someone who’s supposedly my biggest competition, you’re pretty soft.”

You rolled your eyes, grateful for the lighthearted shift. “Don’t let it get to your head, Hotchner. I’m still gunning for that 1,000th coffee win, and when it happens, you’ll be the one stuck making breakfast every morning.”

He laughed, the sound rich and genuine, and it made your heart swell. “If that’s the price of losing, I think I can live with it.”

He sat down on the edge of his bed, picking up the book again, flipping through the pages as if searching for something to focus on. The sight of him engrossed in philosophy, his brow furrowed in concentration, was both endearing and a little surreal. You hadn’t expected him to take to the book so earnestly, but here he was, deep in thought, as if dissecting the nature of existence itself.

“Never pegged you as the type to dive into Hegel,” you teased lightly, hoping to steer your thoughts away from the yearning you were struggling to hide. “I thought you’d find it too abstract.”

Hotch glanced up, his smile small but genuine. ”Hegel for Dummies” he corrected you “Well, you did say it’d make me the official philosopher of the team. Besides, it’s… interesting. Challenging. A good distraction.”

“A distraction from what?” you asked, curious but careful, not wanting to pry too much.

Hotch hesitated, his eyes briefly clouding with something unspoken. “Just… life, I guess. It’s a lot easier to focus on someone else’s theories than to get lost in my own head sometimes.”

You nodded, understanding the sentiment more than you could say. “Guess we all need a distraction every now and then.”

He smiled at that, and for a moment, the room felt lighter, the heaviness of the day lifting just enough for you to breathe a little easier. Hotch stood up, stretching his arms up again, the hem of his shirt lifting slightly to reveal a glimpse of toned muscle beneath. You quickly averted your eyes, focusing on anything else, the artistry behind the pattern of the carpet, the flowers motives taking inspiration from 1800’s Art Nouveau… anything that wasn’t him.

Hotch caught your flustered expression and chuckled, the sound warm and unexpected. “If there’s something you want to say, you can just say it. I’m not a mind reader, you know.”

You fumbled for words, desperately trying to mask the fact that you’d been caught staring. “No, it’s nothing,” you stammered, your mind scrambling to come up with a quick distraction. “I was just thinking… once this case is over, maybe we should figure out a way to hand this undercover gig back to our two lovebirds. You know, let Rossi and Gideon get a taste of their own medicine. They’ve had way too much fun at our expense.”

Hotch paused, a mischievous smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “You mean like turning the tables on them?” he asked, his tone light but carrying a hint of something more devilish beneath it. “Maybe set them up with a little undercover operation of their own. I bet Gideon would look great in a dance ensemble.”

You laughed, enjoying the image of the two seasoned profilers stumbling through a dance routine. “Oh, definitely. Maybe we should get them to ‘rehearse’ with us. A little late-night surprise choreography. We could even record it, strictly for case review purposes, of course.”

Hotch’s eyes sparkled with amusement as he leaned in, clearly enjoying the idea. “We’ll make them pay for every smug look and every teasing comment. Let’s call it payback with a side of public humiliation.”

“Partners on the job, partners on the dancefloor, and partners in crime,” Hotch said, his voice laced with a mix of playful mischief and sincerity.

You grinned, feeling a rush of warmth at the thought of plotting with him. “The unholy trinity. They should have known better than to pair us up in the first place,” you said, savoring the moment.

Hotch’s expression softened slightly, his smile still lingering. “We would’ve found our way, no matter what,” he said, his voice laced with a quiet conviction that sent warmth flooding through you.

☐ ⬛

The next evening, the dance hall was alive with a soft, romantic glow, illuminated by chandeliers that cast a warm, golden light across the polished wooden floors. The air was filled with the soft murmur of conversations and the gentle strains of a live band playing in the corner.

Elegantly dressed couples moved gracefully around the room, their easy smiles and carefree movements masking the dark reality that lingered just beneath the surface. But for you and Hotch, this wasn’t just another night out, it was a hunt, and the dance floor was your stage.

Hotch was dressed in a tailored black suit that hugged his frame perfectly, exuding both authority and elegance. The crisp white shirt beneath his jacket added a touch of classic sophistication, but it was the open collar and the absence of his usual tie that gave him an air of relaxed charm that was rarely seen. His presence was magnetic, drawing eyes even in a room full of polished strangers.

You wore a sleek, simple white dress that softly hugged your curves, the fabric flowing with every step and catching the light as you moved. It was elegant yet daring, a statement piece that matched the confidence you needed to exude tonight. The neckline dipped just enough to be provocative without crossing the line, and the slit at your thigh gave you the freedom to dance with ease, a pair of dance heels completing the look.

Hotch’s hand rested lightly on your lower back as you entered the dance hall, his touch warm and firm, a silent reassurance that anchored you in the moment. You could feel the heat of his hand through the thin fabric of your dress, and every gentle press of his fingers sent a shiver up your spine that was impossible to ignore.

It was part of the cover, you reminded yourself, just an act to make you look the part. But every time he leaned in close, every whisper of his breath against your ear, it felt like so much more than that.

“Remember, stay close,” Hotch murmured, his lips brushing your ear as his voice rumbled low and intimate, almost sending a shiver straight to your core. “We need to blend in, keep it natural. And if you see anything—”

“Signal you,” you finished, your voice steady despite the pounding of your heart. You shot him a teasing smile, trying to mask the way his proximity made your pulse race. “I’ve got it. Just don’t step on my toes, okay?”

Hotch’s smile was quick and genuine, his eyes twinkling with a rare playfulness that made your breath catch. “No promises,” he said, his tone light but laced with the familiar seriousness of the job. “But I’ll try to keep the damage to a minimum.”

The music shifted, and the opening notes of “It’s All Coming Back to Me Now” filled the room, the familiar melody wrapping around you like a soft embrace. You took your places on the dance floor, and as Hotch’s hand found yours, a current of electricity passed between you. This was the routine you’d rehearsed endlessly, designed to lure the unsubs into revealing themselves. But as you stepped into the familiar movements, it felt like more than just a strategy.

Hotch’s grip on your waist was firm but gentle, guiding you effortlessly across the floor. His other hand clasped yours, fingers interlacing in a way that felt both intimate and natural, as if you’d done this a hundred times before – and actually you did last night.

Each step was precise, each turn fluid, but it wasn’t just the choreography that made your heart race, it was the way Hotch’s eyes never left yours, dark and intense, as if you were the only two people in the room. His movements were smooth, confident, and you couldn’t help but be drawn to the quiet strength that radiated from him.

With every spin, you felt the brush of his suit against your dress, the closeness of his body sending heat coursing through your veins. You were acutely aware of every touch, every shift in his posture as he pulled you closer, his breath mingling with yours in the space between.

The dance was supposed to be a lure, a means to an end, but in that moment, it was easy to forget the purpose behind it. It felt like an unspoken conversation, every movement a confession of the emotions simmering beneath the surface.

As Hotch twirled you around, your back pressed against his chest, the world seemed to narrow to the rhythm of the music and the warmth of his touch. For a brief, dizzying moment, you weren’t just undercover agents, you were two people lost in each other, sharing something that went beyond words.

He leaned in, his mouth hovering near your ear, his voice barely audible over the music. “You’re doing great,” he murmured, and the sincerity in his tone made your heart flutter. It wasn’t just praise; it was a reminder that he was with you, that you were in this together, not just on the dance floor but in everything.

As the song built to its powerful crescendo, you felt the weight of the room shift. Eyes were on you - some admiring, others envious, and two pairs watching with a chilling intensity. The unsubs had noticed you, just as you’d hoped. But in that moment, it was hard to remember that this was all a performance, that the heat between you and Hotch was supposed to be an act.

“Doing okay?” Hotch asked, his voice low and steady as he pulled you closer, his hand resting at the small of your back.

You nodded, meeting his gaze. “Yeah. I think we’ve got their attention.”

Sure enough, as you continued to dance, you noticed a couple standing off to the side, watching you with an unsettling intensity. The man was tall and rigid, his expression dark and brooding. The woman beside him was younger, with a delicate, almost ethereal appearance, her eyes flickering between you and Hotch with a mix of curiosity and thinly veiled hostility.

Hotch’s grip tightened ever so slightly, a silent signal that he’d seen them too. “They’re watching us,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Don’t make it obvious. Just keep dancing.”

You nodded, trying to maintain your composure as the unsubs edged closer, their movements purposeful and predatory. The woman’s gaze lingered on you with a kind of disdain that made your skin crawl, as if she were sizing you up, looking for weaknesses. You felt Hotch shift slightly, positioning himself between you and the male unsub, a subtle but deliberate move to protect you.

As the music swelled, Hotch spun you in a graceful arc, his hand firm against your back, guiding you effortlessly. The dance felt like an extension of your partnership: fluid, unspoken, each movement a testament to the trust you’d built.

“This is it,” Hotch whispered as he dipped you low, his face inches from yours. You could feel the tension in his hold, the urgency mixed with something else, something that made your breath hitch. “They’re coming in. Just a little longer.”

You nodded, eyes locked with his, feeling the weight of the moment. When he pulled you back up, you spotted the unsubs moving toward you, their expressions dark and taunting. They joined the dance, circling you and Hotch with a menace that was palpable. The woman moved erratically, her steps sharp and aggressive as if mocking your movements, daring you to falter.

The man sneered, his presence looming as he matched Hotch step for step. “You think you’re good enough to keep up with us?” he spat, his voice dripping with disdain. “This isn’t just a dance.”

Hotch’s expression remained calm, but you could see the fire in his eyes. “It’s not about being good enough. It’s about knowing when to stop.”

The tension reached a breaking point as the woman lunged at you, but Hotch was faster, pulling you back and shielding you with his body. The room erupted into chaos as undercover agents moved in, surrounding the unsubs with practiced precision. You were yanked out of the way, Hotch’s hand never leaving yours as he guided you to safety.

The man fought back viciously, but the agents overpowered him quickly, wrestling him to the ground. The woman was dragged away, her screams echoing in the dance hall as she cursed and spat, her eyes wild with fury. It was over in a matter of seconds, but the adrenaline coursing through your veins made it feel like an eternity.

Hotch stood beside you, his breathing ragged but controlled, his eyes fixed on the scene unfolding before you. “You did great,” he said softly, his voice tinged with a mix of pride and exhaustion. “We did it.”

You turned to him, the weight of everything hitting you all at once “Yeah,” you replied, your voice unsteady. “We did.”

“Guess our partnership does extend to the dance floor after all,” Hotch said with a faint smile, echoing your earlier banter. His eyes held yours, warm and familiar, and you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of hope for whatever might come next.

You laughed softly, squeezing his hand in return. “Yeah, but I’m still holding you to that deal, Hotch. A thousand coffees, remember?”

He chuckled, his expression softening in a way that made your heart skip, he teased. “You just might get it.”

And for the first time, you let yourself believe that maybe, someday, you would.

☐ ⬛

Back at the hotel, the adrenaline of the night had finally worn off, leaving you both drained. Hotch was seated at the small table in your shared room, his usually sharp posture softened by fatigue, sleeves rolled up. He had his jacket carelessly tossed over the back of a chair, his face illuminated by the soft glow of a desk lamp as he flipped through the case notes one last time. The quiet rustle of paper filled the room, a familiar sound that normally calmed you, but tonight, it only reminded you of how much had happened in the span of a few hours.

You sat across from him, cradling a cup of coffee that had gone cold a while ago, but you didn’t care. Hotch glanced up, his eyes meeting yours, and for a moment, the exhaustion in his expression softened, replaced by something gentler, more personal.

“You handled yourself well out there,” he said, his voice low but filled with a sincerity that sent warmth rushing through your chest. “That wasn’t easy, but you kept your head, and… I couldn’t have asked for a better partner.”

You felt your cheeks warm under his praise, the knot of tension in your chest loosening ever so slightly. There was something about the way he said it, the way his gaze lingered on you, that made you feel seen in a way you rarely allowed yourself to feel. “Thanks, Hotch. I couldn’t have done it without you… literally,” you said with a soft smile, trying to keep your voice light despite the emotions stirring within you.

Hotch chuckled, the sound low and warm, a rare softness that made your pulse quicken. “I think we made quite the team tonight. I’d say Rossi and Gideon were right for once.”

You both laughed, the sound easing the lingering tension in the room. You could almost hear Rossi’s smug voice ringing in your ears, the playful teasing he’d surely throw your way once you were all back at the office. But as the laughter faded, the reality of the night settled back in, leaving you with a quiet, contemplative moment that was all too fleeting.

“It was strange,” you said softly, your gaze dropping to the coffee in your hands. “Being that close to… everything. To you.”

The words slipped out before you could stop them, vulnerability lacing your voice, and you quickly tried to cover your tracks with a joke. “Especially because you’re not the most physical person I know—and this comes from another relatively not-so-physical person.”

Hotch raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips as he leaned back in his chair. “Well, as I’ve already told you, you’ll have to wait until the 1,000th coffee before you get any kind of physical contact.” His eyes sparkled with amusement, the joke a reminder of your earlier banter, but underneath it, you sensed the deeper acknowledgment of the closeness you’d shared on the dance floor.

“Be careful what you wish for, Hotch,” you teased, your voice light but tinged with genuine affection. “With the way things are going, we’re not just approaching our 1,000th coffee; we’re practically rehearsing for our first dance.”

Hotch shook his head, his smile widening as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Maybe it’s all part of Rossi’s master plan. Get us so tangled up in undercover work that we forget how to do anything else.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes at the thought of Rossi’s meddling. “If this is his idea of fun, then I’d hate to see what he has planned for our next assignment.”

The teasing between you felt like a lifeline, something solid and real to hold onto amid the chaos. But even as you joked, there was a flicker of something deeper in Hotch’s eyes, a quiet recognition that this was more than just another case, more than just another day on the job.

Eventually, Hotch set the case notes aside, his focus shifting entirely to you. He leaned back, studying you with an expression that was equal parts admiration and something softer, something you dared not name. “You should get some rest,” he said gently, his voice carrying a note of concern that tugged at your heart. “We’ve got a long day tomorrow, and I think we’ve both earned a break.”

You nodded, feeling the exhaustion tugging at your limbs as you stood and made your way toward your bed. But before you turned off the light, you glanced back at him, unable to keep the small, grateful smile from spreading across your face. “Goodnight, Hotch. And… thank you. For not having stepped on my toes.”

Hotch returned the smile, his eyes lingering on you in the dim light. “Goodnight,” he replied, his voice soft but resonant. “And thank you, for the dance.”

☐ ⬛

When both of you were back to Quantico, the bar was buzzing with the lively hum of weekend chatter and soft music playing over the speakers. After the intensity of your recent cases, you, Hotch, and Peter had agreed to meet up, seeking some semblance of normalcy amid the chaos of your jobs.

The three of you were seated at a circular table, dimly lit by the glow of a nearby lamp. Peter was talking animatedly about his case in Los Angeles, recounting the details with a mix of exasperation and pride, while you and Hotch listened, nursing your drinks.

You watched Peter with a fond smile, grateful for the easy camaraderie you shared, but also feeling the weight of recent revelations about your own feelings. As he talked, you couldn’t help but notice how animated he became when he was excited, the way his eyes lit up when he was deep in a story. It was moments like these that made you value his friendship so much, but also reminded you of why things between the two of you could never be more than that.

Your gaze drifted absently around the bar, soaking in the low-lit ambiance and the scattered patrons enjoying their evening. The clinking of glasses, murmured conversations, and soft laughter created a comforting buzz in the background.

But something else caught your attention: a woman at the table next to yours, just out of Peter’s line of sight, was eyeing him with a mix of curiosity and barely concealed interest. She was attractive, with an easy smile and bright eyes that flickered over to Peter whenever he wasn’t looking. Her body language screamed intrigue—subtle glances, a quick smoothing of her hair, and the nervous excitement of someone contemplating making the first move.

Instinctively, you glanced over at Hotch, who was already watching you with a knowing smirk, as if he’d been waiting for you to catch on. His dark eyes gleamed with the unspoken mischief you both shared, reading your thoughts without a single word.

It was one of those moments that felt like a silent conversation, a shared understanding you’d perfected over years of working together. You both knew what this was: Peter deserved someone who saw him, who could give him the attention he deserved, something you were too tangled up in your own unresolved feelings to offer.

Hotch leaned in, his voice low and conspiratorial, his breath warm against your ear. “We should give him a chance,” he murmured, his lips twitching into a subtle smile that sent an unexpected flutter through your chest.

You nodded, catching on to his plan immediately, your own smile mirroring his. “We just need to find a way to leave him alone. Got any ideas?” you asked, your voice playful yet filled with anticipation.

Hotch’s eyes sparkled with a mischievous gleam, and you could practically see the wheels turning in his head. He had that look—the one that told you he was already five steps ahead, crafting a plan with the precision of a seasoned strategist. “Follow my lead,” he said, amusement lacing his tone. Hotch stood up, stretching casually, his movements drawing subtle glances from the surrounding tables. He made it look effortless, but you knew it was all part of the act.

“I’m going to grab us another round,” he announced, loud enough for Peter to hear but casual enough to keep up the ruse. He glanced back at you, a hint of challenge in his eyes. “You want anything, Y/N?”

You caught on without missing a beat, slipping into character with practiced ease. “Yeah, I’ll come with you,” you said, shooting Peter a quick, reassuring smile. “Keep our spot warm, okay? We’ll be right back.”

Peter, engrossed in his latest story about a wild case from the past, barely glanced up as he waved you off, too wrapped up in his own world to notice the unfolding setup. As you and Hotch made your way toward the bar, you risked a glance over your shoulder, just in time to see the woman take her chance.

She moved quickly, sliding into the seat next to Peter with a confident smile, striking up a conversation as though she’d been waiting all night for this moment. Peter’s expression shifted from surprise to a genuine, pleased smile, his posture straightening as he turned his attention fully to her.

Hotch watched the scene unfold, his smile turning smug with satisfaction. “Another mission accomplished, partner” he said softly, his voice carrying a quiet pride that mirrored your own. It wasn’t often you got to play matchmaker, but seeing Peter’s face light up made it all worthwhile.

You stifled a laugh, feeling the thrill of a plan executed perfectly. “I think he’ll thank us later,” you quipped, sharing a quick look with Hotch that was filled with conspiratorial delight. It was a simple moment, but one that cemented the bond between you.

Hotch returned with two glasses of whiskey in hand, the amber liquid catching the dim light as he handed one to you. He raised his glass, a playful glint in his eyes. “For love at first sight,” he toasted with a grin, the humor in his voice unmistakable.

You couldn’t resist adding your own cheeky touch. “And maybe to something a little more… physical happening tonight.” You clinked your glass against his, the sound crisp and satisfying, and took a sip, savoring both the taste and the success of your little scheme.

Just as you settled back, the familiar, haunting opening notes of “It’s All Coming Back to Me Now” began to play over the speakers, the dramatic chords filling the room with a nostalgic charge. The coincidence was surreal, almost eerie, and you both froze, exchanging a look of incredulous surprise, as if the universe was nudging you with a playful elbow.

“What are the odds?” you laughed, barely able to contain the mix of surprise and amusement bubbling up inside you. Hotch shook his head, smirking as he read your thoughts with ease.

“No,” he said firmly, though the smile playing at his lips betrayed his resolve. “I don’t think we’re going to do another show tonight.”

You leaned in closer, teasing him with a sparkle in your eyes. “Oh, come on, Hotch. Can you imagine the looks we’d get? It would be priceless. Plus, I bet drinks would be on me for the rest of the night.”

Hotch raised an eyebrow, his expression a blend of challenge and barely restrained laughter. “You don’t even have to ask me twice, then” he said, his voice low, filled with that familiar warmth and a hint of mischief that made your heart skip a beat.

Without another word, he set down his drink and extended his hand to you, his eyes gleaming with a mix of playfulness and something deeper, something that had been simmering between you for longer than either of you cared to admit. You hesitated for just a second, your gaze locked with his, before taking his hand, the contact sending a rush of exhilaration through you.

Hotch led you onto the dance floor, his grip firm but gentle, guiding you into position with a confidence that made it easy to fall into step. The music swelled, and suddenly it was just the two of you, surrounded by the soft glow of the lights and the muted conversations of the crowd. There was no case to focus on, no killers to catch, just you and Hotch, moving in sync to a song that seemed to echo every unspoken feeling between you.

His hand settled on your waist, his touch warm and steady, and you couldn’t help but lean into it, your body responding instinctively to his. Every spin, every step felt like a conversation without words, a silent dance of emotions that had been building between you for longer than you cared to admit. When he pulled you closer, his breath mingling with yours, the rest of the world seemed to fade away.

As the final note of the song hung in the air and the applause continued, you found yourself still standing impossibly close to Hotch, your breaths mingling, his hand still warm against yours. There was something thrilling about the moment, something unspoken passing between the two of you as the crowd around you slowly came back into focus.

Hotch smirked, his gaze flicking briefly to the bar. “Well, I believe someone owes me at least two rounds of whiskey,” he said, his voice teasing yet still carrying that low, rough edge that made your heart skip a beat.

You chuckled, your chest still heaving slightly from the dance. “A deal’s a deal,” you replied, your own grin widening. “And I’m nothing if not a woman of my word.”

He let go of your hand reluctantly, the absence of his touch leaving a small void that you couldn’t quite ignore. But there was warmth in his eyes, that familiar sense of playfulness that had surprised you earlier in the night, and it softened the space between you. As the two of you made your way back to the bar, you glanced around, catching sight of Peter and the woman still deep in conversation. A small part of you felt a sense of satisfaction, your matchmaking mission had been a success.

Rossi, ever observant, caught your eye from across the room and raised his glass in a mock toast. You couldn't help but laugh under your breath, giving him a subtle nod in return. He’d undoubtedly have something to say about the impromptu performance on the dance floor.

As you approached the bar, Hotch leaned casually against it, his presence commanding even in the relaxed setting. He waved the bartender over and ordered two whiskeys, his expression calm but his eyes still gleaming with the aftereffects of your shared moment. You had seen him in so many different roles - coworker, partner, friend - but this side of him, lighter and more playful, felt like a rare gift you hadn’t quite expected.

“So,” Hotch began, turning toward you as the bartender placed the glasses in front of you both, “think the unsubs would’ve been impressed with that performance?”

You raised an eyebrow, smirking as you lifted your glass. “They would’ve been running for their lives,” you quipped, taking a sip of the smooth whiskey. The warmth of it spread through you, mixing with the buzz of the evening. “You should see the way you move out there. If profiling doesn’t work out, I’m sure Broadway could use you.”

Hotch let out a soft laugh, shaking his head as he lifted his own glass. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” he replied, his voice still low, but there was an unmistakable amusement in his eyes. “But I think we should leave the dancing to the professionals.”

You clinked your glass against his, grinning. “Agreed.”

Before you could say anything more, Rossi sauntered over, his trademark smirk firmly in place. “Well, well, well,” he drawled, swirling his drink in his hand as he looked between you and Hotch. “I never thought I’d see the day. You two make quite the pair on the dance floor. I’m starting to think we missed our chance to send you undercover at a ballroom competition.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t hide the smile tugging at your lips. “You’re just jealous you didn’t get an invite.”

“Jealous?” Rossi feigned offense, his hand over his chest. “I’m just glad I got a front-row seat to the show.” He winked, clearly enjoying himself far too much.

“Don’t worry, Rossi,” Hotch chimed in smoothly, his voice dry but full of that subtle humor you’d been seeing all night. “I’m sure there’ll be another opportunity. We’ll make sure you’re prepared next time.”

Rossi chuckled, clearly entertained. “I’ll hold you to that, Hotch. But next time, I expect a full routine, choreography and all.”

As Rossi took a swig of his drink, Peter wandered over, his face flushed with a combination of excitement and, likely, a couple of drinks. “Hey,” he said, slightly breathless, his eyes darting between you and Hotch. “That was… something. I didn’t know you two could move like that.”

You exchanged a quick glance with Hotch, both of you trying to suppress smiles. “Just trying to keep things interesting,” you said lightly, noticing how Peter kept glancing back toward the woman he’d been talking to earlier.

Hotch, always perceptive, raised an eyebrow. “Seems like you’ve had a good night yourself.”

Peter’s grin widened, and he rubbed the back of his neck, clearly pleased with how things were going. “Yeah, actually. I’m kind of surprised, but… she’s great. I think we’re going to grab dinner next week.”

You felt a surge of satisfaction at that, knowing that your little matchmaking effort had paid off. “That’s great, Peter,” you said genuinely. “She seems like a good match for you.”

Peter beamed, clearly grateful, before excusing himself to rejoin her. As he left, you turned back to Hotch, the playful energy between you simmering just below the surface.

“Well, look at us,” you mused, swirling the remaining whiskey in your glass. “We’ve played matchmaker, stolen the show, and now I owe you drinks. I’d say tonight’s been a success.”

Hotch tilted his head, that familiar smirk making an appearance again. “Not to mention you’ve proven I can dance without stepping on your toes,” he teased.

You laughed, the sound genuine and light. “I’ll admit, you exceeded expectations. Though, if I remember correctly, you said something about ‘no promises.’”

He raised his glass in mock defeat. “Guilty.”

As the night began to wind down, the bar’s atmosphere softened around you, the conversations fading into a gentle hum beneath the dim glow of the hanging lights. You found yourself more at ease than you had been in a long time, just sitting here with Hotch, sharing drinks and easy laughter, without the shadow of a case looming overhead. And in those quiet minutes, you felt the undeniable bond that went beyond your roles as agents, reaching into something more personal, more real.

Hotch seemed to sense your thoughts, and he turned toward you, his expression softening in a way that was so rare for him—vulnerable, unguarded. “Thanks for tonight,” he said quietly, his voice low and filled with sincerity. “For playing along… and for everything else.” The weight of his words lingered, filled with unspoken appreciation for the comfort of your presence, both on and off the field.

The simple, heartfelt acknowledgment made your chest tighten with warmth, a feeling of closeness that was hard to describe. “Anytime, Hotch,” you replied softly, meeting his gaze and feeling that familiar rush of something deeper between you. “A philosopher I know once said, ‘partners on the job, partners on the dancefloor, and partners in crime.’”

Hotch laughed, the sound rich and genuine, his dimples making a rare appearance that you couldn’t help but adore. “I wonder who that wise man might be,” he mused, his tone playful and self-deprecating.

You grinned, leaning back in your chair, savoring the moment. “Oh, just the real advocate of the ‘Hegel for Dummies’ philosophical current,” you teased, your voice dripping with mock seriousness. “The man who’s mastered the art of the unholy trinity.”

Hotch chuckled, rolling his eyes but playing along effortlessly. “Ah, yes. The esteemed ‘Hegel for Dummies’ dialectics—a groundbreaking philosophy,” he said, putting on an exaggeratedly thoughtful expression that made you laugh. “It’s all about the triad, right? The unholy trinity: partners on the job, partners on the dancefloor, and partners in crime. A revolutionary approach to teamwork.”

You couldn’t contain your laughter, enjoying the easy back-and-forth. It was moments like these that made you feel like you and Hotch were more than just friends, you were partners in every sense of the word, sharing in the lighter side of life that was often overshadowed by the darkness of your work.

As you sipped the last of your whiskey, a mischievous thought struck you, and you leaned closer to Hotch, your voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “What do you say we sign Rossi up for the karaoke list? A little payback for all his teasing.”

Hotch’s eyes gleamed with delight, his smile widening at the suggestion. “I thought you’d never ask,” he said, his voice filled with that familiar blend of amusement and quiet mischief that you loved. “I’m sure he’s got a rendition of ‘My Way’ just waiting to be unleashed.”

The two of you moved with quiet stealth, slipping over to the karaoke sign-up sheet while Rossi was engrossed in conversation with a couple of admirers at the bar. You exchanged a quick, mischievous glance as Hotch scribbled Rossi’s name onto the list with a flourish, choosing the most dramatic ballad you could think of, something that would make Rossi’s grand, showman personality shine, but also give you and Hotch a much-needed laugh.

Rossi’s name was called moments later, and the surprised look on his face as he stepped up to the microphone was priceless. Hotch leaned in close, his arm brushing yours as you both watched Rossi take the stage. “This might be the best decision we’ve made all night,” he whispered, his breath warm against your ear.

You nodded, unable to keep the grin off your face as Rossi launched into a hilariously over-the-top performance, complete with exaggerated hand gestures and dramatic pauses that had the entire bar captivated, and you and Hotch doubled over in laughter.

It was the perfect end to an unexpected evening, a night that reminded you of the simple joy of being around people who knew you deeply and cared without question. And as you stood there beside Hotch, sharing in the moment, you couldn’t help but feel grateful for the twists of fate that had brought you here, partners on the job, partners in crime, even if you always hoped for something even more.

[sp-growingpains]

What sort of "nerd" stuff do you hc the sp guys being into? (Like DND, Star Trek, jrpgs)

So I wanted to wait until I was off work for this one because, like, I'm about to go off!

Stan 'Dungeon Dork' Marsh:

Look you know. I know it. God knows it. He's a nerd pretending to be an 'all American boy next door.'

> Miniature painting king!

> Him and Nichole both are THE people to go to if you ever wanna have something painted.

> I also think he's the best at Homebrewing things. Monsters, Feats, Magical Items, even Classes!

> His favorite Class is Ranger -> subclass Revised Beast Master!

> And he doesn't just play D&D! I think that starts as a gateway drug for him

> We already see he's into Warhammer 40k which have amazing ttrpg books btw

> For the superhero lover in him, definitely Wild Talents!

> In my opinion anything Stan can mentally break down, lay out, and put back together makes him happy - so finding and building characters and worlds scratches that itch for him!

> Casual Pokémon player, only gets competitive with Kyle! Will get defensive over his favorite Pokémon.

-> I think his favorite would be Rockruff or Lucario (especially after watching the movie)

-> They watch the movie and Stan points to the tv when Sir Aaron comes on and is like "That me." Cosplays him

> Which leads to my next thing. Loves cosplay. Cannot craft costumes. Ends up paying out of pocket for someone or his mom to do it

> Somehow convinces the guys to do group costumes together. I fully believe the Avengers costumes were his idea

> That being said, die hard Marvel fan. Doesn't hate DC, but I just know in my heart that boy doesn't give DC the time of day (I just love that his favorite is Captain America. He just like me fr fr)

> As for video games. I can see him really like fighting games. Casual Smash player (Mains Chrom and Pit.) but if you roll up on him in Tekken. Dude sweeps

> Won't get angry if he loses but will get pissy and sceptical. Like...it had to be luck that you won. No way you beat him

> He's alright at First Person shooters. He enjoys listening to the guys more than the actual game.

> Do I even have to say he plays RPGs? Like Baldurs Gate? Dragon Age? I think any game that's story based and you can make your own character, Stan is playing it. Catch him humming Persona music under his breath and teaching himself how to play all the music

> Game Grumps fan! Is the most chill fan though. Loves watching the Kirby Dream Course

> Had Kyle help him build his computer and stays on top of it for the most part.

> Has Discord Nitro

Kyle 'Here for the ride I swear' Broflovski:

Fucking liar. Dude is as big of a nerd as Stan. He's just quiet about it. I don't think it's shame, just he doesn't put as much energy into it as Stan does. Until Stan is involved. Then he's all over it.

> I think Kyle would be really embarrassed to play D&D at first.

> Hear me out. I know he played TSOT with the other kids. But it's a little different. Running around as kids beating each other with sticks and rocks was something he was probably told to give up.

> like "You're not a little kid anymore Kyle. Don't you think that's a little immature?"

> But after Stan begs him and he gets into the groove of it, he finds he really loves it.

> More importantly, he loves the storytelling aspect. The collaboration that comes with being at a table with other people.

> His first character is a high elf of course. Plays a druid -> subclass Wildfire

> Immediately gets a power trip from how BUSTED Druid is

> I honestly think after too many times of Cartman fudging dice or being a pain in the dick, he takes over being the DM

> Loves it more than being a player. Spends his free time writing up plots. Npcs. Events. Backstories.

> He's the kinda DM where if you peek behind their screen, has his shit together (Google Matt Mercer's DM screen and just...yeah that)

> Kind of a stickler for rules but if it's cool he'll let you get away with it

> Much to Stan's dismay, Kenny is his favorite player.

> Won't admit it often, but he genuinely loves the drama and characters that Cartman brings to the table

> Plays in Stan's other games, but he honestly just keeps going back to D&D. Maaaaaaybe Vampire of the Masquerade.

> I headcanon that Kyle goes through a shift in the middle of getting his law degree and goes into English instead

> After finishing his degree, he publishes books about his friends and their adventure. Both in life and at the table

> He loves, LOVES comics. Both a Marvel and DC fan boy. Don't get him started on Dark Horse. (YAPPER!)

> Also a huge Star Wars fan. When the Mandalorian came out, he hosted a watch party

> Avid movie collector. Not just superheros but like classics.

> Maybe in the future I can see him starting a podcast where he watched and talks about movies. Bringing on a different friend each time.

> Loves to build computers. Man can build you the dream PC and provides you with a little cheat sheet on how to take care of it.

> Tech support if he likes you

> FPS King.

> If you play Halo Swat with him. No, you don't. It's just headshot after headshot

> Is unapologetic about it. He won't get snarky about it unless you start to.

> Absolutely rages in video games. Maybe not enough that he's smashing shit, but he's had to replace the joysticks a few times

> Keeps himself on push to talk for that reason.

> He loves Minecraft if he gets to play with someone else. Really good at mining and combat. Ike got him on it and he watches videos when he's eating dinner. Got YouTube propped up and everything.

> Probably fucked around with Destiny 2 a little bit but fell off it when no one wanted to play with him and randos just kept pissing him off

> Got into Pokémon for Stan and Kenny, ended up latching onto the third generation.

> This one is purely indulgence, but I can see him secretly loving the sims.

-> His favorite would probably be Kyogre. No he doesn't care if Legendaries don't count, fuck you.

> As for Smash because I know they all play not just Stan, he mains Fox and Ganondorf

-> That one you gotta waterboard it outta him.

> Got discord Nitro to match with Stan once and just kinda kept it since.

Kenny 'Hobby Supporter' McCormick:

Kenny is one of those nerds you meet and you're like, "Jesus christ, how is this guy so cool?!"

> Dived headfirst into the D&D shit with the others. He was absolutely ready to play with his friends

> I have said this before, I'll say it again, is actually the role playing star. He's got the range darling

> Every character is different, unique, and fun! He'll come to the table with the most out of pocket ass character and just blows people away

> You're like "there he goes again, a fucking joke character"

> Wrong. You got, got. This character has a beautiful backstory, makes sense in lore, and is a team player

> Kenny is every DMs dream player. He shows up with an idea. Asks questions about your world. Engages with other players and makes them feel comfortable. Does things that his character would do WITHOUT fucking over the party and campaign

> And to top it all off. He can do voices. What a perfect asshole

> Will show up late, though, and if he has something come up, he'll forget and tell the group last minute. Oops

> Oh his favorite class? Bard -> Subclass Glamor. Race doesn't really matter to him, so probably Changeling

> He likes to make props and bring them to the table. Oftentimes, they're little pieces of jewelry or an accessory, hats that sort of thing

> He's usually the one that ends up helping Stan with his cosplay ideas. Stan will come to him with an idea, get three sentences in, and Kenny just shrugs and goes "I'm down."

> The kinda person to bring extra material when they go to cons to help you fix your outfit.

> POV - you're at a con and a piece of your costume just tore. Before you can get upset about it. Kenny McCormick comes gliding across the ground with a small kit on their side. They're wearing the most gorgeous Rosalina costume you've ever seen. They bend down and fix that part of your costume and before you can say anything they boop you with the handcrafted wand.

> Behind him are his friends dressed as Mario, Luigi, and Bowser. You already know who they are. I don't need to assign them.

> My dude is so fucking cool. He loves listening to people talk about their -sonas or ocs. Definitely has a fursona and is so chill about it.

> Kenny loves Monster High and you can pry that headcanon from my cold dead hands

> I'm also a firm believer in punk Kenny! Patch jackets, pits, protests, boycotts, music - the whole nine yards!

-> that's not a nerd headcanon I'm just projecting again sorry

> Back on track, I think Kenny is a DC fan for fucking sure

> You CANNOT look at Mysterion and tell me he's not a die hard Batman fan. But I'm talking Batman the animated series Batman fan!

> Kenny is the kinda fan that will absolutely be chill about it until he reads a comic that gets the character all wrong. Then it's like a switch flips.

> I headcanon Kenny as a little theater kid so anything involving that, he's all over

> The guys will come to his plays and while they might make jabs at him for doing it, they're all very proud of their friend

> He drug Butters along with it and those two are a POWERHOUSE on stage. No matter the roles, they kill it every time

> Also maybe not a nerd thing, but huge in the nerd space, if you ever have questions or struggle with self identity - Kenny is the first to pick up on it. And he's so fucking good at doing it casually, like you can trust him with it all

> Sexuality? Gender identity? Any of it, he'll be there to listen and offer advice if you want it

> Does not fuck around with people dead naming you, catch these Netherborn hands fucko

> I see him as a casual video game player. Loves anything he can just shut his brain off and relax to. Also really loves rhythm games.

-> Dude, I just know in my heart they didn't show Kenny playing Guitar Hero with the guys because he'd smoke 'em

> Unapologetic about the amount of mods he has on the sims 4. How many hours he has in Stardew Valley or Harvest Moon. Its about the progression baby!

> That and he likes to put his friends in fun little outfits in the sims

> Loves Pokémon and I know I just said he likes games he can relax to...not Pokémon. Will break down your entire team and sweeps. WHILE also picking his favorites.

> Doesn't know shit about computers aside from modding his game. Has called Kyle at three in the morning for advice and help

-> I imagine his favorite being Gardevoir.

> For the smash bit, he mains Peach, Rosalina and god help you if they pick Zelda.

-> Kyle answers every time.

"This the last time Kenny..."

"Sure sweetness, keep telling yourself that."

> Does not have discord Nitro and does not care to. He's got a meme for everything

Maybe I'll do a part 2 to this because honestly I had a lot of fucking fun with this! Got me out of my head and I got to write some stuff again! Thank you so, so much!

[whateverisbeautiful]

♥️ Ranking Richonne

#12: Kiss Of Life (S7E05)

Ooh it’s called the Kiss of Life for a reason. 🤩 No one does passion like Richonne. ❤️‍🔥 This marvelous scene seriously has a hold on me and features my absolute favorite Richonne kiss (thus far 😏). The moment is just so good and mesmerizes me like no other. It's legitimately hypnotic. And that’s why, even tho Rick and Michonne barely speak in this scene, it absolutely makes my top 12. And you know the kiss is good when you have multiple favorite parts of it lol...

First, it’s important to note that it’s not just the kiss that makes me adore and appreciate this scene but how extremely meaningful this exchange is based on where Rick and Michonne are at during this part of the story.

This was one of the hardest and most depressing seasons for them as they wrestled with losing people they loved and then being expected to be Negan’s servants indefinitely. 

And during this Negan era, it’s one of the rare times when Rick and Michonne are on notably different pages about how to approach the situation. And while Michonne told Rick she’d try to accept this way of "life," it’s clearly eating away at her to just sit and let Negan torment her family.

It’s eating away at Rick too, but with the love he has for tf, and especially for Michonne and his children, at this stage in the show he really feels like he’d rather suffer like this with them than fight and lose them.

This was such a tough time for them, and yet Rick and Michonne's love so heartily prevails with this special kiss. It's the definition of true love's kiss, if you ask me. 🤩

So first, I always feel for Rick at the top of 7.05 when he’s talking to Carl, who is understandably frustrated and behaving coldly to his dad. All Rick wants is for his family to be okay, and they’re so clearly not okay right now, which you know weighs on him.

And I’m not the only one who feels for him because Michonne is of course also in the room for this Grimes family moment, and she seems to be really empathizing with Rick as well. 

So then Rick and Aaron walk out of the room, and Michonne follows and, again, shoutout Aaron for leaving to give Rick and Michonne a private moment lol. Cuz the moment was perfection. 😍 Like for real tens across the board...

Rick and Michonne stand in front of each other, and Rick invites her to join them if she changes her mind. I love that he always wants her with him.

I remember even watching live, I could tell that Michonne wanted to go with him too, cuz magnets don’t part. But she’s of the mindset that she has to try and go out on her own to fight this for the both of them if he’s not ready to fight back yet.

Michonne quietly and compassionately says, "good luck" and even tho Rick is clearly sad and knows this could be a moment of distancing, he still wants to close the gap and at least hug her goodbye, which I appreciate. 🥰

So he goes in for this hug, and whenever I think back to when I first watched this scene live, I just smile because I remember how excited I was that Rick was simply going to hug Michonne and maybe kiss her on the cheek or whatever it looked like he was about to do. But little did I know we were in for something...

Because as he goes in for this cute husband-off-to-work hug, Michonne stops him by gently placing her hand on his face. And I will forever love the choreography of this whole moment.

I love that it’s this moment of Michonne redirecting to let Rick know she wants to send him off right and make it crystal clear to him that even tho they’re going different ways right now, she is not upset with him, disappointed in him, or pulling away from him.

So she warmly takes his face, and then there's this subtle moment where Rick does that signature Rick Grimes head tilt in her hands as he tries to assess what this moment is about.

You can see a heartbreaking split second of Rick seemingly wondering if this is her literally and figuratively pushing him away. And what most pains me is knowing Rick thinks he deserves whatever disappointment or distance Michonne might potentially feel toward him. 😭

His past relationship saw his former wife push him away during a very vulnerable time after he had to kill his best friend for trying to kill him, so it's like he's briefly expecting something like that again.

But one thing that wonderful woman Michonne is always going to do is let Rick know, this is different. 🙌🏽

It's the very thing Rick told Carl the literal morning after he and Michonne first got together - where homeboy didn't even want to wait a few hours before reassuring his son that he and Michonne are gonna be long-term. (which I always am just fully amused by that whole 6.11 scene btw. from rick lowkey forgetting he's talking to his son by emphasizing, "it just happened," carl's reaction to seeing his dad in a tizzy, and judith's 'office' look in the camera. gold 😂. michonne's fam is the cutest, y'all)

And "this is different" has remained an accurate way to describe the elevated love Richonne has with each other.

Because see, now Rick isn't with a love in his life, he's with the love of his life. He's with the one (& only 👑). This is his unequivocal soulmate who will be by his side through any and everything. And I love that Michonne always manages to show Rick that he's met his match in a way he's never experienced before.

So thankfully Rick doesn’t have to ponder what this moment is about for long because Michonne quells any and all of those fears when she proceeds to kiss him with passion in an abundance. It’s utterly perfect. 😍😍😍

No words needed, and she still manages to say everything. I still love you. I still crave you. And I’m still with you was expressed loud and clear. 👏🏽

And Michonne really is such a commendable queen for doing this and making sure no wedge was created between her and her husband. This kiss really made any distance they had prior disappear, and it so beautifully let Rick know he is still cherished and appreciated by his wife.

He needed this moment more than he could probably even express. But of course, without even having to say it, Michonne knew this was needed because she always knows her man. 😊

This moment also feels like something she's been wanting to do since that fateful and scary night in the line-up where there were several times she could've lost him.

Like you know the fact that Rick is still with her and they're still alive, is something she's grateful for and doesn't take for granted. So she needed this moment too. And this kiss lets everyone know that while Negan may have nearly broken their spirits, he can never break their love.

The level of passion in this kiss is great for many reasons, but especially because you know after the lineup Rick and Michonne are now both so much more aware of how quickly things can go fatally wrong and how whenever you leave home and part ways you really could not make it back home to each other. It makes me think about how Glenn left ASZ just to quickly retrieve Daryl, but then he never returned to their home again. 😢

So as Rick prepares to go off on this run with Aaron, he and Michonne really kiss like it could be their last because that's an unfortunate possibility. (even though not too much of a possibility since they're the ones who live, amen. 😌)

And then my absolute favorite part of this kiss is when Rick so clearly gets fully immersed in this moment with Michonne and pulls her closer to him. I freaking LOVE that little gesture of him pulling her into him. 😍 It felt like it was Rick's turn to also let Michonne know - I still love you. I still crave you. I’m still with you.

Rick and Michonne just fit so perfectly together and I love the way they can always get lost in each other. Truly, in that moment for them, it felt like they were the only two in the world and all the other stuff didn’t matter. Their ability to be so present with each other is so special. 🥹

And she was already so close to him but the fact that he pulled her even closer...Magnets. And then whoever pointed out that Michonne kisses his top and bottom lip is a real one because I never noticed it before, but now it’s my other favorite part of this moment. 😋

They were really wild for this whole kiss, y'all. It feels great to be so spoiled. And we're Blessed with a capital B that this ship is literally everything we could dream of. 😌

This kiss is of course steamy and heavenly, but also it is just so powerful. For Rick and Michonne to be going through what they’re going through and feeling so differently about their current circumstances, it is so powerful that they close the gap rather than widen it. That they express authentic love for each other more than opposition.

This moment solidified that Richonne has what it takes to rise above anything and that even when they have entirely different opinions on a subject as big and serious as how to approach fighting for their lives and their people, they will still always be with each other. Wholly, Deeply, & Forever.

Again, I so appreciate that Richonne always chooses each other. And also this kiss was only our second time seeing them kiss like this since their canon ep, and man did they deliver. Like...

I’ve always felt that something so special about Richonne is that they are not like some TV couples who are more interesting in their pre-canon "Will They/Won't They" phase, and then when they finally do get together it doesn’t quite live up to all the steamy passion of their build-up.

With Rick and Michonne it’s a whole different story cuz moments like this kiss let us know that all that steamy passion and build-up was not only matched but topped when they were finally able to express the love they felt romantically. 

Also, when they lost Carl the following season, it was this kiss of life in s7 that I’d think about because I believe this is an illustration of what Michonne and Rick ultimately land on even amidst the toughest adversity. They land on love, which has proven true time and time again.

And as always their moments after the kiss are also profoundly passionate as they look into each other's eyes and then do their signature thing of leaning their heads against each other, truly almost as if finding their center with each other.

I love that they stay in this moment awhile, again with no words necessary to communicate how much they love and are with each other. 

They are the epitome of soulmates, and the way their love shined through in this quiet moment made that clear.

And then I love that Rick can’t help but express gratitude to Michonne for giving him his entire life with that kiss, so he fittingly says what he always finds a way to say to her, "thank you." The absolute cutest. 😊 You know Rick ain't been kissed like that ever before lol. Michonne has that man forever entranced, and I love to see it.

And the thing is, Rick has a special effect on Michonne too, cuz you can clearly see it in the way she looks at him as well.

In one kiss Michonne and Rick were able to breathe life into each other and quiet all the worry of them being on the rocks. They might still have big differences at this point, but nothing will ever be strong enough to divide them.

(that's why when I hear lines like say, "we are the strongest military on the planet" or "we're the last light of the world," or whatever, my only thought is - and yet you're still no match for Richonne. 💅🏽 Rick and Michonne Grimes prove they're the ones who live and the ones whose love is unstoppable every time. 👌🏽)

So it was a big deal for Richonne to have this moment in 7A. I appreciate that Michonne knew her man needed to be lifted up and reminded just who he is to her, and she did just that like only she can. And as the kiss went on, Rick let her know he felt just as strongly about her.

This important kiss shows that Rick and Michonne’s love is unbreakable, and I treasure this scene as such an undeniably powerful moment between them. I love their love, and I will adore this Kiss of Life for life. 😌

[operationandre]

Random AFTG Headcanons

- Kevin has weird fears. He hates normal things like heights and spiders, but he also hates things like elevators and cotton balls.

- New Exy fans (or fans that don’t like the Foxes) mistake the twins for one another all the time.

- Seth and Andrew both have piercings. Seth has a bridge piercing and vertical labret. Andre has an eyebrow piercing and double lip piercings. Allison and Neil love them.

- Basically all of the Foxes are LGBTQ+, even Aaron and Seth (bisexuals). I feel like it’s obvious.

- The girls do each other’s makeup all the time. Before media days and balls, they’ll all sit in front of the mirror and help each other get ready.

- Matt is a big time comic reader. He loves Marvel more than anything else in the world. He talks to Neil about it all the time in the dorm; Neil just lets him because he likes seeing Matt happy.

- Renee and Andrew get ice cream after their boxing matches. They’ll both be out of breath and bruised while sitting together sharing a pint of ice cream.

- Dan is the first person to wish everyone happy birthday on their birthday. She has reminders of everyone’s birthdays on her phone and in person calendars.

- No one was surprised when Andrew and Neil started dating other than Nicky. He hates himself because he didn’t see the signs. He says he’s the “worst gay in the world.”

- Allison is one of the tallest Foxes. She loves heels, too. Even without shoes, she was taller than Seth, and he loved it.

[htchnr]

ミ★ diamond eyed girl ꜜ AARON HOTCHNER.

𖦹 masterlist. 𖦹 buy me a ko-fi!

「 ꜜsummary,, he doesn't even know where you get the little things from, small rocks, sea glass, acorns or other small trinkets finding their way to you — to give to him. aka, three times Aaron receives something small from you, one time where he surprised you. 」

「 ꜜcontent,, mention of heavy cases ⋆ mention of a lot of victims ⋆ mention of digging up remains ⋆ comfort ⋆ angst + fluff ⋆ fluff ⋆ sooooo much fluff it's almost gross ⋆ autistic!reader (not explicitly mentioned, but that's what i had in mind while writing this). ꜜwc,, 1,4k. 」

© 2023 𝐇𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐍𝐑. 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦, 𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫!

Aaron being confused the first time.

he isn't necessarily paying attention to you — his eyes are trained on the gruesome crime scene in front of him and and his focus is on the officer to his right explaining everything they found. so he doesn't fully notice you, on his left, briefly slipping your fingers into his closed hand. he doesn't even notice you pressing something small into his hand.

he doesn't seem to notice until a solid fifteen minutes later when he goes to stretch his hand, noticing something drop from it. he frowns, bending down to pick up a small rock that had fallen out of his hand. did he pick it up? he doesn't remember doing so though. where did it come from?

that's when he remembers, your gentle fingers slipping between his for a brief second — and leaving it behind in his hand.

he looks at it, staring intensely at it as if trying to figure out what it means. hell if he knows, but he can't deny the small smile it brings to his otherwise usual sour expression at these types of crime scenes.

he regains his composure, the always present frown returning only slightly as he pockets the small rock and returns to the scene. he can't describe what it is about the object, but the slight weight of it in the pocket of his slacks grounds and comforts him, making this case a little more bearable.

⋆⊹✮⊹⋆

being on a tough case and Aaron telling you this isn't the time or place right now.

it was an awful case again — the amount of victims was ridiculous and they were getting nowhere with the few leads they had. the scorching sun was beating down on you all and the sand was in everyone's shoes. more and more remains were being discovered — it was weighing heavy on everyone to say the least.

yet you, somehow, had managed to find a small, smooth piece of sea glass — a pretty deep blue that you marvelled at for a little bit. you tightly held onto it while you stood off to the side as you took deep breaths. you honestly didn't know how much longer you could take it all.

Aaron wasn't much different, fists either clenched at his side or running through his hair. the sand in his shoes was starting to piss him off, the sun was causing his head to pound and with every new pile of remains that were dug up he was getting closer and closer to his snapping point.

he stood off to the side as well, though under the other tent away from you. his eyes were clenched shut as one hand massaged his temples, the other clenched at his side. he barely noticed your steps behind him, not until he felt you soft fingers faintly touch the hand at his side. by now, he knew what this meant.

"this is not the time nor the place for this." he sternly said. his fist clenched tighter, there was no way for you to slip something into it.

"Aaron-" your voice was so gentle, he almost felt bad.

"no." he raised his voice.

but you continued, both hands on his clenched fist as you pried open his hand with difficulty, shoving the small piece of sea glass between the thick fingers before closing and shoving his hand against his side. "i'm going to the station, i'm gonna break if this keeps up." your voice wavering both in frustration and in emotion, walking off with a loud frustrated huff and tears starting to prickle at your eyes.

Aaron breathes deeply, fingers still rubbing at his temples, (as if it was going to do anything). he takes a few more deep breaths before opening his eyes, the scorching sun assaulting them immediately. he takes another deep breath, then opens his clenched fist to look at the slightly sharp object that was digging into his skin — a small piece of deep blue sea glass.

instead of a comforting smile, tears start to prickle at his eyes. tears of frustration, tiredness, emotion — hell anything at this point.

he didn't mean to raise his voice at you, he really didn't.

he takes another deep breath, one hand reaching into his slacks for his phone, the other tightly holding onto the sea glass. it was time for everyone to take a break, they all desperately needed it.

and Aaron desperately wanted to say sorry.

⋆⊹✮⊹⋆

Aaron saying thank you and carefully inspecting what you brought him.

it was quiet for the two of you for once — the two of you were merely awaiting answers via a phone call, one that you weren't expecting for another hour at the very least.

so the two of you were sitting inside a café, side by side as you both sipped at your drinks, relishing the warmth spreading through you with each sip. Aaron was observing the place, (as usual), eyes darting around while you sat peacefully beside him flipping something over between your fingers.

"what on earth are you fiddling with?" Aaron mutters, eyes still observing the small yet busy café.

you grin, turning the object around for one last tome before holding it up to him. his eyes stop at a large fern in a pot, before returning to you. his brows are furrowed, until his eyes reach what you're holding between two fingers — a button. a very intricate and pretty button, covered in details and patterns. he can see why you've taken a liking to it.

he takes it from your fingers, laying the button flat in his large palm. he studies it for a few minutes, really studies it — taking in the ridges and dents, the placing of the center holes, how there are three instead of two or four.

you smile, looking out the window and onto the busy street. he smiles as well, slipping the button into his suit jacket, before taking a hold of your hand — his large hand swallowing yours and surrounding it with warmth. "thank you, i like it." his voice is gentle and quiet as his eyes return to observing the room, this time his face is relaxed and a small smile resides on his lips.

⋆⊹✮⊹⋆

needing to grab a file from Aaron's office, and looking through his drawers to stumble across a drawer FILLED with EVERY SINGLE small thing you've given him.

"Aaron!" you call out to him just as he's leaving the round table room. he looks up, his sour expression instantly softening.

"can i do anything for you?" his voice sounds equally as gentle as his eyes look.

you nod, opening up the file that was clasped between your fingers. "i need your file on this case for a few details i think i'm missing for my report, could i borrow it really quick?" you ask him, eyes pleading.

he sighs, he had almost forgotten you had asked to finish up this specific report later — you had shot more than the rest team had and had hit the unsub as well as been hit by the unsub, therefor you had more to fill out.

he reluctantly pulls his keys from his slacks, handing them over. "you know this report was supposed be on my desk yesterday?" he presses, though there's no real force behind his words. "be quick about it, i need to present them to Strauss soon."

you smile as his hand brushes yours as he drops his keys in your hand. "thank you! i swear i'm almost done!" and with that you jog down to his office.

he sighs, watching your form before turning back to head to the coffee machine.

you flick through his keys, finding the one that belongs to his office and stick it in and unlock it before pressing in to search for the file.

you set your file down on his desk before moving to the front of his desk as pull open drawer after drawer. pens, paper and ink — nope. files — but the wrong files. more of the wrong files. you don't pause until you open a drawer that causes a bunch of clanking to fill the room, you physically cringe at the sudden sound. what the?

your eyes widen as you look at the mess in this particular drawer — a shock to you as you know Aaron's a neat freak about his office space. or any space of his really.

you don't realise what you've stumbled upon until you look closer, recognising the button you gave him just a few days ago. and the closer you look you recognise the little egg-shaped pebble you gave him a week ago, along with the piece of deep blue sea glass from a month ago.

"have you found the file yet? it's in the top left drawer." his voice is tired but gentle. he walks into his office with two mugs of coffee.

you look up from where you're kneeled in front of his desk, a look in your eyes that Aaron can't describe. he pauses, "is everything okay?"

you quickly nod, then point to the drawer. "you kept everything i've given you," your voice clearly shows your shock.

Aaron visibly freezes up, only for a mere second before he blinks a few times and walks to where you're kneeled. he sets the mugs down on the desk, crouching beside you. he looks into the drawer that's opened and his expression instantly softens as he looks at all the small trinkets he's been collecting that you've given to him.

he nods, "i didn't know where i could put them at home, so i keep them here," he pauses, reaching into the drawer to pick up the button you had given him a few days ago. "it makes all the paperwork a little easier, more manageable." he finishes, twirling the button fondly between his thick fingers.

you don't know what to say, you don't even know how to react. so you merely kneel there, brows raised and your face showing a strange in between of everything you're feeling. Aaron notices the silence, and looks up from the button. he frowns as he takes in your unreadable expression. "hey, are you alright? do you need anything?" he practically rushes out.

you blink, shaking your head.

now he looks even more confused.

you finally settle on a sudden smile, your face finally cooperating with your emotions as you throw your arms around his neck, burying your face in the crook.

Aaron wobbles a little, setting the button down before wrapping his arms around you and holding you, his heart throbs at the affection. "are you sure you're doing okay?" he asks one more time.

and you nod against him, the smile on your face only growing. "i just really love you." you speak against his skin.

his own smile grows, "i love you to sweetheart."