c-losur3
“what doesn’t kill me makes me want you more.”
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Latest Posts by c-losur3
7. It wouldn’t have been possible without you, lots and lots of warm hugs and sans rival kisses from the other side of the world! 🫂🫂 🧡
Pride & Pettiness
Aaron Hotchner x deskmate!fem!reader Genre: angst, mutual pining with the same energy of a sitcom Summary: Even the best partnerships - even a fresh one like yours and Hotch’s - had to go through rough patches. But that’s what mentors are for, right? Especially if they happen to be Rossi and Gideon - the undisputed masters of working in a duo. Too bad that even the BAU gods were not immune to human pettiness, and instead of fixing things when you and Hotch each stormed into their offices for advice, they somehow managed to make everything worse. Warnings: Rossi and Gideon, despite technically being your bosses, are way too caught up in their own petty feud to be of any actual help. Instead, they’ve chosen to channel their energy into something far more productive - gossiping about you and Hotch via fax. Because, well, it is the late ‘90s, after all. Word Count: 5.9k Dado's Corner: This piece is based on the first part of a request (and way too many private brainrots) sent by the co-relator of this series @c-losur3 for my 400 followers celebration event YEEEHAWWWW there will be a second part, set many years later… hehehe the angst is never over. Ah, also, the resolution of all of this is so silly. Sorry... I guess.
masterlist
The strongest bond someone working in law enforcement could form was a partnership - two people moving in sync, instinct sharpening instinct, and skill complementing skill.
Plato, in The Republic, had grand ideas about an ideal government ruled by two philosopher-kings - an 'interesting' proposition, considering he just happened to be a philosopher himself.
How convenient.
But the most remarkable part of his argument wasn’t the thinly veiled intellectual self-promotion, it was the number.
Two. Not one.
Because, according to Plato, the only way to arrive at truth was through dialogue, through debate, through the friction of two minds constantly challenging each other.
And while most people would assume that ancient political philosophy had very little bearing on the modern world, somehow, against all odds, Plato’s vision of dual leadership had found a foothold in an institution he probably never would have anticipated: the FBI.
Specifically, in the form of Jason Gideon and David Rossi - two men, one partnership, leading the Behavioral Analysis Unit.
And, much like Plato’s philosopher-kings, they operated under the firm belief that they possessed the wisdom to shape the world around them.
Which was exactly how you and Hotch - through what was definitely pure coincidence and not at all the result of their very deliberate meddling - had ended up as partners.
And now, thanks to their brilliant mentorship, you both found yourselves sitting across from them… airing your grievances about each other.
Of course, this wasn’t supposed to happen.
You had gone to Gideon’s office with the perfectly reasonable intent of professionally complaining about Hotch over a minor misunderstanding. Nothing dramatic, just a slight escalation that 'totally' warranted the intervention of your superior.
Or at least, that’s how Hotch saw it.
Because if you had just communicated like a normal person, you would have told him that you weren’t actually filing a formal complaint, you were just looking for advice.
But no, that would have been too easy.
Which is exactly why Hotch, ever the beacon of patience and maturity, having spotted you doing so, decided to return the favor. If you were going to drag your boss into this, then he was going to do the exact same thing, marching straight into Rossi’s office to even the playing field.
What neither of you could have predicted was that, somehow, a discussion that was supposed to be about you and Hotch had instead morphed into a thinly veiled continuation of whatever unresolved argument Gideon and Rossi had been stewing over for days.
Plato may have waxed poetic about two-person leadership as the pinnacle of governance, but clearly, he had never met Gideon and Rossi - what with him being dead for over two millennia and all.
Minor detail.
“I spent ten - ten - minutes explaining the UnSub’s pattern. Laid it all out, even a metaphor that I thought was particularly strong! And you know what Hotch said? You know what he had the audacity to say?”
Gideon, wisely, did not attempt a guess.
He merely adjusted his glasses and regarded you with the patience of a man who had endured enough existential crises - his own and others’ - to know better than to poke an already burning fire.
“He said-” you inhaled, because even the memory of Hotch’s voice made you feel the heat creeping up your cheeks - from rage, obviously, rage…
…“You’re overcomplicating it. That’s what I told her,” Hotch stated at the same time, on the opposite side of the wall, seated in front of Rossi. “It was just a perfectly rational observation.”
Rossi took a long, slow sip of his coffee. If he had known what he was about to deal with, he would have gladly corrected it with enough whiskey to make this tolerable. “Sure, Aaron. Reasonable.”
"But then she looked at me like I had personally insulted her, completely ignored the part where I agreed with her - just with fewer metaphors - and instead of talking to me like an adult, she stomped off to Gideon." Hotch exhaled, rubbing his temple. "That woman is a -”
He paused, searching for the right word, the perfect descriptor, something that fully encapsulated the absolute trial that was dealing with you.
“…A paradox.”
But no, that wasn’t enough. That wasn’t nearly enough.
“…A walking contradiction. She can read everyone else like a book but when it comes to herself? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. She’s-” he exhaled sharply, frustrated beyond belief, “-she’s so infuriating.”
And then he winced.
Because what the hell had just come out of his mouth? A contradiction? A paradox? Was he seriously talking like that now?
Goddammit. You were infecting him.
Meanwhile Rossi, watching him spiral, was mentally preparing himself for the stupidity that was about to unfold.
Because unlike Hotch - who was still stubbornly convinced that this was about anything other than what it actually was - Rossi saw the issue with absolute, irrefutable clarity.
This wasn’t about communication issues.
This wasn’t even about professional disagreements.
This was textbook mutual pining.
And not just any kind of mutual pining - the worst kind.
The kind where both of you were so deep in denial that the only way your brains could cope was by turning every minor inconvenience into a full-blown incident, bickering like an old married couple because neither of you could stand being within five feet of the other without your neurons short-circuiting and risking the horrifying possibility of self-awareness.
It was, frankly, embarrassing.
Rossi knew exactly what he should do.
As Hotch’s mentor, it was his duty to sit him down, force him to face reality, and guide him toward the inevitable conclusion that all of this frustration wasn’t about you being impossible - it was about the fact that he was hopelessly, stupidly attracted to you.
But then he remembered that one time Gideon had acted intellectually superior to him.
And suddenly, this had nothing to do with Hotch and everything to do with the fact that Gideon was wrong about whatever they had been arguing about before.
So, rather than responding to Hotch, Rossi silently reached for his fax machine.
TO: JASON GIDEON
FROM: DAVID ROSSI
SUBJECT: IT’S YOUR KID’S FAULT
Your kid is the reason Aaron has been ranting for five straight minutes without blinking. And while I should be concerned about the blinking thing, I’m honestly more disturbed by the fact that I’ve never heard him talk this much since I met him. It’s unnatural. It’s unsettling. It’s frankly ruining my entire perception of reality.
Fix your kid. She should apologize to him so he finally stops.
You barely registered the whirr of the fax machine as you continued venting, pacing in Gideon’s office.
“What if I’m not enough for him?” you muttered. “I get it, I’d be mad too if I got paired up with someone who’s only been legally allowed to drink for a few months, but at least he could have said it differently.”
Gideon, barely listening - because his brain was currently short-circuiting over the sheer idiocy of Rossi’s latest fax - grabbed a fresh sheet of paper and started typing.
“Don’t worry, I hear you,” he said absently, which, given the circumstances, was not entirely true.
You huffed, still pacing. “He makes it sound like I’m incapable just because I don’t summarize my entire profile in monosyllabic grunts and I don’t stare deep into people’s souls with those unreadable-”
You frowned slightly. “What color are his eyes, anyway?”
That was the exact moment Gideon mentally checked out.
Because while he should have been focusing on mentoring you through this crisis, Rossi had just challenged him.
And there were some things in life that simply could not be ignored.
Like proving David Rossi wrong.
So, without hesitation, he sent his reply.
TO: DAVID ROSSI
FROM: JASON GIDEON
SUBJECT: INCORRECT. TRY AGAIN.
Oh, please. Your kid is the reason my kid has been pacing my office for ten minutes, trapped in an existential spiral so deep she may never escape.
And why? Because your Aaron - stoic, logical, deeply repressed Aaron - is either willfully ignoring her brilliance or is so profoundly distracted by something else (I wonder what that could be, David?).
And now, look at what he’s done. He’s unraveled her. Entirely.
Philosophers have written essays on the fragility of human perception, on the agony of misunderstanding - but even they would struggle to articulate the absurdity of what he’s done here. Because rather than acknowledge the blindingly obvious truth - that he is so disastrously affected by her mere presence that his entire ability to process information has been compromised - he has instead chosen to, what? Dismiss her? Challenge her? Stare at her like she personally upended his worldview and then claim she’s the problem?
So no, David. I will not be fixing my kid.
Fix yours.
Meanwhile, in Rossi’s office, to his absolute horror, Hotch was still talking.
This was unprecedented. Unnatural. Downright unsettling.
Rossi had seen a lot of disturbing things in his career, but this?
This was genuinely alarming.
“I don’t approach profiling the way she does,” Hotch admitted, his voice quieter, almost strained. “I’m not Peter Rogers. I never will be. If she wanted a partner who thinks like that - if she wanted him - I’d understand.”
Ah, Peter Rogers - the one agent in this entire bureau Hotch had the misfortune of knowing, solely because the man had once occupied your desk - which, by extension, meant he had spent far too much time sitting in front of him before you joined the BAU.
That moron.
That living testament to the FBI’s questionable hiring practices.
That bureaucratic seat-filler whose greatest contribution to law enforcement was proving that, apparently, anyone could get a badge.
If Rogers had contributed one remotely valuable thing to society in his otherwise remarkably unimpressive career, it was possessing just enough cognitive function to form complete sentences - and, for some baffling reason, to be your friend.
Which, naturally, checked out - you both had degrees in linguistics, spoke the same academic language, and were intellectually aligned.
Unlike him.
Because, of course, you never let him forget that he had once been a prosecutor - a lawyer - a fact you brought up constantly, with that little glint in your eyes.
Which was, clearly, because you despised him.
Obviously.
That was the reason.
Not because of… well, what other reason could there possibly be? That you liked him? No, that was ridiculous.
Hell, how could you? He barely liked himself.
People like you weren’t supposed to be attracted to someone like him - someone who had zero ability to flirt, zero charm, and zero interest in playing mind games.
Unlike Peter Rogers.
Oh. Again. That bastard.
And so, Hotch exhaled sharply, as if he could physically shake that idiot’s face out of his mind and replace it with something less infuriating… like yours.
Or - Rossi’s.
Anyone’s, really.
It wasn’t specifically your face he wanted to picture. Any face would be fine.
But now that he was picturing yours, he felt… calmer.
No wait, enraged.
Yes. That was what he was supposed to be. Mad at you.
“If she wants someone more in line with her methods, fine,” he muttered, forcing the words out like they physically hurt. “But she could have just told me. We’ve spent months working together - sharing a desk, hotel rooms - why throw all of that away without a conversation?”
Because, really, if you wanted Peter Rogers, you could have him. In fact, Hotch would be thrilled to gift-wrap him for you and never have to see his smug, thesaurus-abusing face again.
…Though, would that mean he’d never again get to see you frowning down at a case file, tapping a pen against the page whenever something didn’t quite add up - waiting, deliberating, until finally, you swallowed your pride, got up from your seat, dragged your chair around your desk, and settled beside him with a barely muttered, "Tell me if this sounds insane."
Would that mean no more of those moments that were supposed to last just a couple of minutes - just a quick consultation - but always, always stretched into something more?
Where your case somehow became his, where the file he’d left open to return to later suddenly had two sets of eyes on it instead of one?
Would that mean no more of those accidental non-accidental moments - like how you both always ended up in the break room at the same time?
And even though there were two coffee pots, you’d linger just a second too long near his, just so he’d sigh, roll his eyes, nudge your elbow, and pour you a cup before you could ask?
Would it mean no more of those quiet, almost too easy nights in whatever godforsaken motel the Bureau had thrown you into, where you sat cross-legged on your bed, case file open but forgotten, sharing a dessert you had insisted on ordering - because you knew he wanted it but would never ask for it himself?
Would it mean no more of those moments where you’d nudge the plate toward him near the end, claiming you were too full, even though he wasn’t oblivious enough to miss the way you always just so happened to stop right before the last bite?
No more of that way you glanced up from your files when you thought he wasn’t looking, brow slightly furrowed, like you wanted to ask him something but weren’t sure how?
No more of you in his space, where he had somehow, stupidly gotten used to you being?
Would that mean no more of those rare, exhausted moments in transit after a long case, like that time on the train back to Quantico? When, somewhere between wrapping up the last loose ends and reviewing the final report, you had dozed off mid-sentence, your head slowly tipping forward before settling against his shoulder?
Would it mean no more of the way he had to fight off a betraying smile - muttering something about how next time, one of Gideon or Rossi should sit beside you before they had the chance to start poking fun at him - when, in reality, he’d never give up that seat for anything?
No.
No, he couldn’t just give you away like that.
That would be insane.
Unfortunately, not as insane as what Rossi was about to tell him.
If only his mentor could read his mind, maybe he wouldn’t have made such a huge mistake out of sheer spite for his own partner, currently seated on the opposite side of the wall.
“Well, kid,” Rossi said casually, leaning back in his chair like he wasn’t about to detonate a nuclear bomb of bad advice. “She doesn’t trust you anymore. Clearly.”
And just like that, Rossi confirmed what Hotch had been trying to push down - what had been ringing in his head ever since you had walked right past him and into Gideon’s office.
Hotch froze in his chair, fist clenched, his thumb already moving along the side of his index finger. “…What?”
Rossi shrugged, as if none of this was a big deal. “She’s already decided you’re not worth explaining things to anymore. She thinks she’s the oracle of who-knows-what, and your job now is to bring her back to earth.”
There was a beat of silence.
And then, with all the confidence of a man giving genuinely terrible advice, Rossi added, “You should get revenge.”
Like this was a completely reasonable course of action.
Like this was not one of the worst things he could have possibly said.
Hotch frowned, fully expecting this to be some kind of joke. “That is not helpful.”
“Oh, isn’t it?” Rossi lifted an eyebrow, looking deeply, profoundly pleased with himself. “Listen, kid, if she doesn’t think you listen to her, then stop listening to her. Completely. Ignore everything she says for the next few cases. Act like her theories don’t even exist. Hell, outright disagree with her just to make her question herself.”
Hotch just stared at him, expression caught somewhere between disbelief and actual concern. “You cannot be serious.”
“Oh, I’m dead serious.” Rossi smirked. “You need to win this, Aaron. Make her realize how much she needs you to listen. Make her miss it.”
Hotch blinked. “That is-”
“Brilliant? I know.” Rossi shrugged, feigning modesty. “She thinks she’s above working with you? That she doesn’t need to explain things to you anymore? Then fine. Make her prove it.”
Hotch exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. “This is insane.”
Rossi, seeing his hesitation, sighed and leaned back. “Look, Aaron. You came to me for advice. And I’m giving you advice.”
Which was, of course, the only justification he needed before turning to his fax machine with all the righteous indignation of a man personally victimized by his best friend’s existence.
TO: JASON GIDEON
FROM: DAVID ROSSI
SUBJECT: SUCK IT
You ever notice how your kid has a response for everything, until someone dares to disagree, and suddenly, it’s an affront to her entire existence?
Sound familiar, Jason?
Because it should.
She’s got that same holier-than-thou, no-one-understands-my-genius attitude you do, thinking she’s the only one with a fully functioning brain, acting personally offended the second someone suggests she might not be the sole guardian of the truth.
The only thing keeping her from turning into a full copy of you is the massive, pathetic, completely obvious crush she has on Aaron.
I would feel bad for him, but honestly, it’s probably still a better fate than what I’ve been dealing with for years.
At least she’s smarter than you. But then again, so is that half-dead plant you keep on your windowsill.
TO: DAVID ROSSI
FROM: JASON GIDEON
SUBJECT: STOP DIGGING
Oh, that’s rich coming from you, Dave. Aaron’s repression? Learned straight from his brilliant mentor, whose idea of guidance is bad advice and a pat on the back.
And don’t start on my kid when yours is one lingering glance away from self-destruction. If she’s me, then Hotch is just you, with even worse social skills.
Now, unless you want them to figure out we’re talking behind their backs, quit the fax war while you’re ahead.
P.S. The plant is alive, you absolute moron.
It didn’t matter how much the two old men were mad at each other, some things in life were just undeniable truths.
Like the fact that partnerships - the real ones, the ones that settle so deep in your soul they become part of you - created something stronger than just teamwork.
The greatest partnerships - ergo theirs, and, unknowingly to you and Hotch, yours too, despite having far less time to marinate in dysfunction - had a way of forming their own language.
A language of mirroring postures, finishing each other’s sentences, predicting a move before it was even made. A near telepathic connection that let you know exactly what the other was thinking without them having to say a single word.
Some people were just meant to be.
At work, of course.
Not that fate, luck, or - let’s be honest - the sheer misfortune of the universe always knew where to draw the line.
And maybe that’s what Rossi should have told Hotch…
Or - tying it back to the telepathy portion of this completely doomed thesis - what Gideon should have told you.
Because instead of actually helping, they both did what they always did when their own egos got in the way:
They screwed up magnificently.
And gave you the exact same, equally terrible advice – to get revenge.
“…What?” You blinked, certain you had misheard.
“Revenge.” He waved a hand, as if this was a well-established principle of psychology. “If he won’t listen to you, then don’t waste your breath. Let him see how well he does without your insight.”
You squinted. “So… you’re telling me to intentionally not do my job?”
Gideon sighed. “No. I’m telling you to strategically withhold information until he realizes how much he relies on your perspective.”
When you returned to your desk, Hotch was already at his, stiff-backed and stone-faced, his jaw so clenched that you could hear his teeth grinding.
Which was fine.
Because you weren’t speaking to him anyway.
Not that he was speaking to you, either.
Which was also fine.
Except for the fact that Peter Rogers, in all his wheeled-chair-rolling, space-invading glory, had wedged himself directly between you - parking himself right next to you, far too comfortable in a way that made Hotch’s grip on his pen visibly tighten.
"You know," Peter said, "I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen you two actually not talking."
You didn’t respond.
Hotch also didn’t respond.
Which, in Peter’s mind, was an invitation to continue. "Okay, what’s going on with you two?"
You both exhaled sharply through your nose and, in perfect unison - much to no one’s surprise except Peter’s - said, "Nothing."
Because him, a smug ass who apparently lived to poke the bear, grinned. “Oh, you two are so in sync.”
You shot him a glare. "Pete, I swear-"
But before you could finish, he leaned back, tilting his chair just enough that Hotch seriously considered kicking it out from under him - especially when he, with all the confidence of a man who had never been punched in the face, set a file down directly in the middle of both your desks, precisely equidistant, like he was deliberately trying to start a fight.
“So, partners,” Peter started, dragging out the word like he knew exactly what he was doing - or maybe, because he was bitter about the fact that he still hadn’t been formally paired with anyone himself. “Thoughts on this?”
“I’ll let Hotch answer first,” you said smoothly, barely glancing up.
Hotch’s eyes narrowed immediately. “No, I insist,” he replied, voice sharp, looking up from his desk.
“Oh, no,” you said, flipping a page in your file with exaggerated care. “I wouldn’t want to overcomplicate things.”
Hotch’s jaw locked.
Rogers blinked, glancing between the two of you. “…Are you two-?”
“Fine,” Hotch interrupted, because the last thing he needed was Peter Rogers analyzing his relationship with you. He turned his attention to the file, scanning it for a total of three seconds before declaring, “This isn’t the UnSub’s pattern.”
“Oh, really?” you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “Because I could’ve sworn that the signatures do match-"
“They don’t,” Hotch countered.
“They do,” you shot back.
“I disagree.”
“Well, I disagree with your disagreement.”
Hotch exhaled. “That’s so childish, it’s not how that works.”
Rogers, still holding the file, hesitated before looking at his own notes. “…Actually, I think-”
Both of your heads snapped toward him so fast it was a miracle he didn’t die on the spot.
“Oh, do tell, Pete,” you said, voice sweet in a way that was clearly threatening. “What do you think?”
“Well,” he mused, rubbing his chin - probably in an attempt to convince the two of you that he was capable of actual thought and not just winging it as usual - “I think I just walked into the middle of a divorce proceeding.”
If he thought that was a joke, he was probably the only person on earth who considered it funny.
Didn’t help that you and Hotch were tough critics at the moment.
“But don’t worry,” Peter continued, absolutely delighted now, “I would be thrilled to play mediator. You know - help you work through your issues, since I’m obviously neutral in this.”
“I mean, I’ve known little Y/N since she was only fifteen,” he said, reaching out to ruffle your hair before thinking better of it, then he turned to Hotch. “And I was your desk mate buddy for two whole years, am I right, Big H?”
Silence.
To top it all off, Peter actually had the audacity to make a stupid finger-gun gesture, wink at Hotch, and fire.
Click. Click.
And was met with absolutely nothing.
Just the coldest, most silent, most deeply unimpressed stare Hotch had ever delivered in his life.
Peter, undeterred, clicked his tongue. “That makes me, what? Your best man, Champ?”
In Hotch’s opinion, that made Peter Rogers the best possible candidate to be murdered right here in the FBI building.
And yet, the absolute audacity of this man.
Something - something trickling at the edges of Hotch’s sixth sense, or maybe just his profiler instincts - had never sat right with him about the way Peter always had to stress that he had known you since you were fifteen…
…While he had been twenty-one.
And maybe Hotch could have voiced that. Could have said something. Could have acknowledged the way that detail had always gnawed at him.
But, unfortunately, Peter was your best friend.
Which meant, for the sake of professionalism, and also the fact that you would probably take a bullet for this absolute idiot, Hotch had to keep that particular opinion to himself.
“Well,” Peter continued, flipping casually through the file like this wasn’t a crime scene in the making, “Don’t you worry, guys. Every great partnership has rough patches.”
He paused, smiling.
“But - I can fix it... it is surely your lucky day. Divorce attorneys are expensive, you know?! And with this pay?!”
Silence.
Nobody laughed.
Again.
"Alright, fine. Moving on," Peter announced, standing up with way too much enthusiasm. "Step one: acknowledging the problem. And for that, we’re gonna do a little trust exercise."
Your eyes immediately narrowed. "Peter, no-"
"Peter, yes," he shot back, already gesturing for both of you to stand up - and, when Hotch predictably refused to move, physically dragging him out of his chair because, apparently, he hadn’t budgeted time for stubbornness today.
"Great! Okay, now come closer - yeah, you stay there - Hotch, maybe less like you’re standing in front of a firing squad… perfect, that’s my man..."
That made Hotch almost roll his eyes.
"Before either of you start whining-" Peter clapped his hands together, "let’s just-"
So, before even finishing his sentence, he shoved you forward.
Directly into Hotch’s arms.
And despite the fact that the last time either of you had done a trust exercise like this was probably in kindergarten, the entire world stopped.
Because for a moment - for one infuriatingly long, electric moment - every single reason you were mad at each other suddenly took a backseat to an entirely different kind of tension.
The kind that was definitely not workplace appropriate.
The kind that had Hotch’s hands tightening around you on pure instinct before he could even process it.
The kind that had your breath catching in your throat when you realized that, yeah, he was definitely built like a solid wall of muscle under that suit.
The kind that made you far too aware of how close his face was to yours, how you could actually feel the faint warmth of his breath against your hair.
The kind that had Hotch’s face immediately turning the exact shade of his tie.
The kind that had you way too afraid to check if yours was the same.
The kind that meant neither of you had stepped away yet.
“Oh.. alright now...” Peter beamed, far too entertained. “hold the pose …and tell each other how you feel.”
Hotch scoffed, like he was seconds away from handing in his badge, changing his name, and disappearing into the mountains to escape this entire mess.
Too bad his body language was telling a completely different story.
His grip on you tightened - just barely, almost imperceptibly - so slight that if you weren’t hyperaware of every tiny shift around you, you might have missed it.
“Look into each other’s eyes,” the idiot instructed, brimming with the confidence of a man whose entire playbook came from a $2 self-help book he picked up at a gas station.
And so you raised your eyes, leaning back slightly - and there he was, already looking at you, his pupils blown wide.
You convinced yourself it was from the shadow cast on him by that one broken lamp you’d been shuffling underneath, the dim light flickering in just the wrong way.
Because there was no way, no possible way, that his pupils were that dilated just from standing too close to you.
Just the lighting.
Just the lighting.
And yet, despite knowing that, your pulse still spiked.
Silence.
Absolute.
Dead.
Silence.
Peter sighed, as he glanced between the two of you, who - after who knew how many seconds - had still yet to utter a single word.
“Do you want me to count to three?” he deadpanned.
And maybe it was true, maybe the greatest partnerships were in sync, maybe they did move in tandem, maybe they did know each other too well-
Because at the exact same moment, you both spoke.
“I’m not enough for you,” Hotch said, voice steady, controlled - wrong.
“I’m too much for you,” you admitted, quiet, careful - wrong.
And then, you both turned to each other, eyes locking, like the other had just said the single most idiotic thing in existence.
More idiotic than Peter Rogers’ entire existence.
More idiotic than every ridiculous word that had come out of his mouth up until now.
“That’s not true,” you said, in sync.
And yet-
You had both believed it.
You had both convinced yourselves that this was the truth for a few hours.
That you were too much - loud, overwhelming, excessive, impossible to follow - while he was not enough - too restrained, too distant, too closed-off, too incapable of keeping up with you.
You stepped back - not entirely, just enough to put space between you, enough to feel the cool air where his warmth had been -
But not enough to look away.
Not enough to actually leave.
Because as much as you loathed to admit it, as much as you didn’t want to acknowledge it, there was something deeply unsettling about the way you had both spiraled into this.
How you had both ended up in opposite places, on opposite sides of the same fear.
And how, somehow, in all of it, the one thing neither of you had ever questioned-
Was each other.
TO: JASON GIDEON
FROM: DAVID ROSSI
SUBJECT: MAYDAY CANCEL PROOF
From the way they’re both storming toward our offices, I have a sinking feeling something’s gone horribly wrong. Yes, they’re dumb, but they’re also profilers. Very good ones.
And sure enough, Hotch burst into Rossi’s office like a man ready to prosecute a case in real-time.
Rossi, already prepared for impact, barely looked up. “Well, to be fair, you came to me for advice. I gave you advice.” He spread his hands like that was a reasonable defense.
Hotch stared at him, unimpressed. "Old man, have you taken your medicine? This is your fault."
Deciding Rossi was no longer worth another second of his life, Hotch turned on his heel and stalked back toward his desk - only to find you already mid-way, coming back from Gideon’s office, looking just as exasperated.
You jerked your chin toward the two closed doors. "They’re still mad at each other."
Hotch sighed. "Shocking."
Your gaze lingered on Rossi and Gideon’s offices for a beat before you spoke again. "Maybe we should intervene… before they cause any more damage."
Hotch gave you a skeptical look. "Do you have a plan?"
The second he saw the look on your face, he groaned. "If we seriously tell them to do a trust exercise, I think Rossi might just file for early retirement." His dimples flashed as he tried - and failed - to keep a straight face… they always seemed to betray him.
"Retire?! And what’s he gonna do to pay the bills? Become a bestselling author?" You scoffed, rolling your eyes. "Oh, please."
You and Hotch had no idea, at the time, just how painfully accurate that little joke would turn out to be.
And you definitely hadn’t anticipated how often it would come back to haunt you - every single time you collapsed onto your shared couch, exhausted but grinning, only to glance at the monstrous, leather-bound book sitting on your coffee table.
A book that contained every single fax Rossi and Gideon had ever exchanged, all meticulously preserved and bound, because apparently, their legacy wasn’t their actual contributions to criminal profiling, but rather their collective inability to mind their own damn business.
It was your favorite bedtime read.
Except for the times when you were too busy doing things that two newly engaged lovebirds, in a brand-new home, had far better uses of their time for.
You both made sure to put the book away when that happened.
Because somehow, despite knowing full well that Rossi and Gideon were nowhere in your house, the sheer existence of that book made you feel watched.
Unfortunately, this time, your Aaron - who had been mindlessly flipping through its pages - suddenly froze.
"...No."
You, half-dozing against him, cracked an eye open. "What?"
He cleared his throat, stiffened, and angled the book just enough so you could see the offending text exchange.
TO: JASON GIDEON
FROM: DAVID ROSSI
SUBJECT: START STEAMING YOUR GOOD SUIT, OLD MAN
Because I bet they’re getting engaged in three years.
TO: DAVID ROSSI
FROM: JASON GIDEON
SUBJECT: THREE IS GENEROUS
For how it’s going, I give them two.
Silence.
You and Hotch stared at each other.
Then, in perfect unison - "They forgot to add ten."
Which felt even sweeter when Aaron pressed a slow, lingering kiss to your temple, his breath warm against your skin.
“…Aaron,” you murmured, fingers threading through his hair, already tugging just enough to make him hum.
“…Yes, honey?” he replied softly… knowing.
You smirked. “Could you hide the book?”
A deep chuckle rumbled in his chest - because, oh, he knew exactly what that meant.
Still, with a reluctant sigh - because this required temporarily leaving your side - he stood, barely resisting the urge to toss the damn thing across the room. Instead, he made his way to the bookshelf, scanning for a worthy hiding place.
“What about behind this one?” he asked, holding up a book.
You barely glanced at it before nodding. “That’ll do.”
Aaron exhaled, shaking his head as he returned to the couch - where, of course, you immediately pulled him back down into your space, arms wrapping around him like he'd been gone for years instead of thirty seconds.
"There," he murmured against your hair , lips brushing the shell of your ear. "Book’s hidden."
Hidden.
Buried.
Tucked away behind Plato’s The Republic.
Fitting, really.
that absolutely incredible gifset I used is by the insanely talented @holoship AAAAA I LOVE YOUR GIFS
taglist: @beata1108 ; @c-losur3 ; @fangirlunknown ; @hayleym1234 ; @justyourusualash ; @khxna ; @kyrathekiller ; @lostinwonderland314 ; @mxblobby ; @oxforce ; @percysley ; @person-005 ; @prettybaby-reid ; @reidfile ; @royalestrellas ; @ssa-callahan ; @softestqueeen ; @theseerbetweenus ; @todorokishoe24
Can we talk about the way Levi just quietly allows Drasa to guide and teach him, placing his hands and slowly counting the steps so he can learn, and adorably tugging his suspenders to make him take that first step forward. Then BAM he spins her. The vibe shift when he takes her hand after that spin and begins actually leading in the dance had me almost screeching. That scene was the perfect balance of sweet and endearing while also being blazing hot. 🫠
My followers are just gonna have to deal with me while I obsess over this lol
THE GORGE (2025) dir. Scott Derrickson
Philosopher and #4 for the character ask game, please! 🫶
4. If you could put this character in any other media, be it a book, a movie, anything, what would you put them in?
Okay, just a heads up, because I have some wildly specific ideas for the most random reasons:
BONES: I’ve only watched the first two seasons, but hear me out: she and Brennan. ICONIQUEEE Two intellectual powerhouses going head-to-head, but from completely opposite angles. Brennan’s hyper-rational, scientific worldview versus Philosopher’s more nuanced, abstract, philosophical perspective. Brennan would scoff at anything even remotely psychological, and Philosopher would probably say something snarky about science being limited by the rigidity of data, not getting the full picture etc. (enemy to lovers when?)
STAR WARS (The Clone Wars): Because she’s literally Satine in real life, it makes perfect sense for her to hang out with Obi-Wan: exchanging philosophical banter, clashing with every ideal he holds dear, and hopefully [REDACTED] him while she waits for Aaron to finally make up his damn mind. They’d have an absolute blast debating Jedi ethics, galactic politics, and whether the Jedi Code is a sham. Obi-Wan would be totally smitten while she would have fun but ultimately thinking, “Yeah, this is nice and all, but you’re no Hotchner.” Unfortunately for her, Obi-Wan has an annoyingly good sense of humor and is so dry and sarcastic that she wouldn’t get as much fun out of challenging him. Still, smash - because he has a beard. And sometimes that’s all the justification you need.
SUITS: Purely because it’s a lawyer-filled world, and I want to see Philosopher go into lawyer-overload mode. She’s always going on about how much she hates lawyers (do we believe her? That’s up for debate) so it would be so fun to see her eyeroll at everything that comes from Harvey's mouth (and I want her in that stupid mock-trial with Luis for Mikado's custody). Of course as you know this is totally biased by our SUITS brainrots (damn I really need to write them downnnn). Bonus: she and Donna would 100% be besties. Donna would take one look at her, understand her evil nature, and the two of them would start running the office within a week.
TRUE CRIME DOCUMENTARY: It would also be ridiculously fun - not just for her, but for the entire BAU - to appear on one of those real crime documentaries where experts break down and comment on cases they’ve solved. Good. Now, imagine her having to share her interview segment with Aaron. BYEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE It starts off professional enough, but then the cracks start to show. They’d accidentally veer off into bickering mid-interview because one of them just has to comment on how the other misremembered a minor detail. She’d roll her eyes at his “Unit Chief voice,” and Aaron would glance sideways at her like he’s fighting the urge to smile, or murder her, or [REDACTED] her. Probably all of the above. But then ofc it gets worse. The yearning kicks in. The camera catches those lingering glances, the way Aaron’s voice softens ever so slightly when he talks about how “her insight was instrumental to solving the case.” (PRETTYYYYYY) And the way she pretends not to blush but totally does? A national audience would eat it up. Meanwhile, the rest of the team is watching the documentary at home, screaming and commenting on their secret groupchat how they're basically flirting on national television. AAAAAA lovebirds.
Character Ask Game
GUYS I KNOW WHOS BOOPING US
You can boop a hundred boys in bars
REBLOG THIS IF YOU WANT EVERYONE TO BOOP YOU NONSTOP
so I got into grad school today with my shitty 2.8 gpa and the moral of the story is reblog those good luck posts for the love of god
Please do not ignore our suffering and leave us alone My name is Salman Helles, from the stricken Gaza Strip. We were displaced from the north of the Gaza Strip to the south of the Strip, and the family was dispersed in tents and displacement shelters. Our situation is very miserable. We do not have any of the necessities of life. We would not have asked for support and donations except because of our dire circumstances. Please donate to me as much as you can and make sure that your donation, no matter how small, contributes to saving us. If you cannot donate, share my campaign on your blog
My campaign has already been verified by 90-ghost
🙏
send this to all your favourite moots and pass the pumpkin round! KEEP THE PUMPKIN TRAIN GOING 🎃🖤🎃🖤🎃
AAAH that’s so sweet of you, THANK YOU SO MUCH!!!!
*pulls out an uno reverse card*🧡🫶 I’ll be making a small bowl of pumpkin seafood soup, then.
(Lesser known bit of Chlo lore but I’m allergic to doses of pumpkin larger than a small cup 😭 which is so sad because I love pumpkin soup so so much and eating during the autumn season is like trying to avoid a dedicated and persistent hitman.)
Hi, I hope you are doing well.🌹
Can you help by sharing my story, reblog, and donating if you can, to keep hope alive for me, I'm type 1 diabetes. I am calling on your humanity and kindness to help me raise $340.
This amount will enable the approval of an insulin pump that will help me better control my diabetes. Although I am happy that I have been approved the hardest part is the money to pay for the pump and equipment, please your contribution is important. Be blessed ♥️
^^
Hi 🌟,
I hope you’re doing well. We’ve raised very little so far to support me and my family during these challenging times due to the conflict in Gaza. We’re still working to reach our goal and would greatly appreciate your help. 🙏
If you can’t donate, could you please share or reblog my pinned post? Your support in spreading the word would mean a lot to us. 💪
Pinned post: https://www.tumblr.com/ahmedharara/757031731268386816/weve-been-able-to-raise-only-120-so-far?source=share
Donation link: https://gofund.me/f751a38a
Thank you so much for your kindness and support! ❤️
Ofc! 🫶🙏 praying you get the donations you need.
If you actually had to date a F1 driver for a year, who would it be?
I'm curious to see which drivers are perceived to be the least insufferable
Couldn't fit all the drivers so you're stuck with my selection
2010 rbr seb truly was a menace (adorable as hell but a little shit through and through).
✨Sebastian Vettel propaganda hours✨
just you wait, sunshine. just you wait.
and this is why baseball is the best sport (see also: these baseball sidequests)
if i'm making tim asian, im Going to give him the asian right of passage experience (bowlcut......)
(this was a twt drawing request :])
i want to play a (racing) game
a series of f1 fics based off of some of my favorite horror movies
charles leclerc- the shining
you, your boyfriend, and a bunch of friends decide to spend your winter break together in a giant hotel. what could go wrong?
max verstappen- it
after years away from your hometown, derry, you suddenly receive an urgent call from your long-forgotten childhood friend, alex, that leads to you returning to the very place you swore you would never face again
carlos sainz- a quiet place
after losing everything you know when the world fell into apocalypse due to the invasion of alien-like monsters with some very sharp ears, you find a new family in the other survivors
lando norris- scary movie (saw parody)
you wake up next to a stranger in a dimly lit room chained to a chair, which is bolted to the floor. luckily, the situation turns out to be more humorous than terrifying (may or may not be 100% based off of the jerma episode of generation loss LOL)
fernando alonso- freaky
you wake up in the body of a middle aged man. but not just any man. a man who also happens to be a wanted serial killer.
george russell- the purge
you and your best friend alex's annoying best friend, george, have to work together to survive the purge night (lily's also there)
pierre gasly- unfriended
you and your friends video call every friday night to hang out together. unfortunately, an angry spirit has decided it wants to spend some time with you guys as well...
mick schumacher- fnaf
after countless failed attempts, you've finally found yourself a new job! the bad news is, it's a night shift and you're scared of the dark. so, naturally, you drag your boyfriend along with you.
alex albon- child's play
when you and your boyfriend unexpectedly have to take in your young niece, you two struggle to make a connection with the little girl. maybe splurging on the cool new doll she's been wanting will fix that.
yuki tsunoda- final destination
what do you do when some random guy that you've never spoken to before tells you he's seen visions of you dying? what do you do when it turns out he was right and death is pretty pissed off?
oscar piastri- the menu
you and your husband have worked non-stop to build a successful, stable life for yourselves. you two really deserve a break. how about a fancy dinner on a remote island prepared by one of the most revered chefs in the entire culinary world?
ollie bearman- scary stories to tell in the dark
it's the final halloween before you have to move away from your hometown and your best friends since birth. hopefully you can make it a night to remember.
lance stroll- the cabin in the woods
you and your boyfriend decide to invite some friends to spend the weekend in a little log cabin in the forest as a way to momentarily retreat from your stressful lives. well you definitely won't be getting any rest this weekend, that's for sure.
logan sargeant- scream (aka yelp)
an eerie masked killer has made its way into your town and is slowly picking kids off one by one. who could it be? is there anyone you can trust? prologue chapter 1
liam lawson- happy death day
happy birthday! i hope you're excited because this will be the longest day(s?) of your life
sebastian vettel- the texas chainsaw massacre
it's summer, which of course means it's time for a roadtrip! unfortunately, you and your friends decided to visit texas, usa, where everything's bound to go wrong (because it's texas, usa)
kimi raikkonen- would you rather
desperate times call for desperate measures, although at this point desperate would be an understatement. so when the perfect opportunity falls right into your lap, who are you to turn it down?
jenson button- halloween
it's halloween! the spookiest day of the year. even though you don't bother participating in silly little holiday celebrations, there are some traditions you can't ignore…
mark webber- 28 days later
the world has gone to shit. even so, you're doing everything you can to survive, despite how hard it is on your own. maybe it would be better if you formed a team?
the story behind George signing the dad's shirt twice:
and the final result:
The Chinese GP is coming!!! As a Chinese fan of Sebby，I'd like to share some fun Chinese nicknames of him with you. The fans and medias in China tend to call him by his last name "Vettel" instead of Seb or Sebastian，which was translated into "瓦特尔"（sounds like wa te er）when he started his career. So many fans call him "瓦瓦"（sounds like wa wa）or"小瓦"(sounds like Xiao Wa). "瓦"in Chinese means “tiles on the roof”，but it don't have too much practical meaning in the nickname. "小" in Chinese means "TINY"，we add this word in nickname to express our affection and urge to protect this person. (English is not my first language but I tried my best❤️) Sometimes we call him "瓦兔" which basically means Bunny Vettel because he looks like one according to MARK WEBBER.
I hope you enjoy it🌹
repost bc the translation was wrong whoops
Japan GP
5/25
i stole this from twitter
Reality of Mothers in Palestine.
“ you came. ” “ i always will. for you.”
this looks like it’s from twilight. or an early 2000s romcom. or a wedding catalogue.
Is being a sport fan art?
Hello everyone! I'm doing a research assignment about the relationship between being a sports fan and art and how I precieve one to be the other!
If yall have like 5/10 minutes of your time free to answer this form for me that would be awesome and would help out a lot! ya'll are so free to send this around to whatever people or groupchat. it doesnt matter what kinda sport fan they might be, I want as many answers as I can!!
thank you sm!!
Top 5 Oscar Piastri expressions please! (He has so many and whoever says he doesn't, I will personally fight them)
1. mouth scrunch (sardonic, mild)
2. the weird woobified-despite-himself heart eyes but specifically at lando because lando is his teenage crush and i’m not fighting ppl about it cus it’s factually true
3. the challenging face when he’s being asked whether he’s truly the best driver on the grid and he’s like. is that even a question
4. the one in the winter break picture with lily at the restaurant like good lord, that’s the face of a romance protagonist who got the happy ending
5. whatever is going on here
Carlos Sainz singing smooth operator after winning the 2024 Australian GP