#morgan x reid x hotch

[nhasablogg]

Checkmate

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Characters: Morgan, Hotch, Reid

Anonymous said: so for lee!reid, could it be that he’s constantly bragging abt how good he is at chess, and hotch and morgan tickle him in an attempt to (lovingly) bring down his ego

Words: 630

“Checkmate.”

“Oh, come on.”

Reid seemed to try, to his credit, not to gloat, but Morgan knew this scenario all too well. Had seen it with both himself and other members of the team. The only person who rarely got to see Reid brag about winning chess was Gideon, but Reid probably wouldn’t be gloating at Gideon anyway.

He watched him now, annoyance rising slowly inside of him as Reid bit his lip to keep from smiling, eyes downcast, looking so goddamn smug that Morgan nearly angered, having siblings and all. Maybe it was because he had siblings that he found himself unable to not take the bait. “You cheated.”

“I didn’t,” Reid said matter of factly. When he looked up he seemed earnest, which made Morgan huff. “I swear.”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t be so goddamn smug about it.”

Reid turned to Hotch, who was sitting beside him with his gaze stuck on the case file. “Tell him you can’t cheat at chess.”

“I’m not getting involved,” he said, but he looked up at Reid with raised eyebrows. “You do gloat, though.”

“I didn’t even say anything!” Reid said, throwing up his hands. “I think Morgan’s just a sore loser.”

“Oh my god, you’re asking for it.” Morgan reached over the table for him, alternating between swatting at him and trying to poke him. “Hotch, hold him in place for me.”

“What did I just say, Morgan?” But he placed the file on the table and crossed his legs, ultimately making it harder for Reid to flee had he tried to.

Morgan laughed in delight, standing up so that he could reach him properly, fingers worming their way under his arms. “Admit you cheated.”

“I did not- don’t!” He was laughing, something high pitched and panicked, and Morgan had barely started tickling him. “Morgan!”

Reid’s knee hit the table, making the pieces tip over. Morgan took that as his cue to not bother keeping this neat and moved even closer, his torso knocking over the remaining pieces as he managed to stick his hands beneath Reid’s arms, fingers curling against his upper ribs. “Well, if you won’t admit you cheat, at least admit you gloat.”

“But I dohohon’t!”

“You kind of do,” Hotch said, looking at the scene as if this was just an everyday occurrence for an FBI agent to witness. “Hmm, Morgan, do you recall if his neck is ticklish?”

“As a matter of fact,” Morgan said, stilling his hands momentarily. “I don’t remember. Why don’t you find out for me?”

“Hotch, oh my god, please-” But Hotch, of course, was now on a mission and seemed to have forgotten all about his not getting involved stance. Morgan went back to tickling as Hotch stuck a hand beneath Reid’s chin, unleashing a sound that was nearly terrifying had Morgan not been so utterly delighted to see his younger friend succumb to ticklish laughter. “Hotch!”

“Oh, Hotch, huh? I think I need to up my game.” Morgan leaned even closer, moving his semi-trapped hands from Reid’s underarms to his belly. “Careful before I lift your shirt too, pretty boy.”

“I admit it, I admit it!” Reid was sliding down the seat, but there would be no space for him to fully fall. “I gloat, okay? I gloahohoat!”

“Oh, we know,” the other members of the team called out and Morgan laughed at the expression on Reid’s face when he realized everyone was aware of what was happening, but no one was helping.

“Right then,” Hotch said, stopping his tickling as quickly as he’d started it. “Now that that’s settled.” He grabbed the file, but Morgan kept prodding at Reid’s belly for good measure, unable to get enough of his whiny giggles.

Checkmate right back at you, Doctor Reid.

[thegirlinmaroonsweater]

Do y'all remember that one episode when Elle got arrested in Jamaica and Hotch have to fly there to take her in bail.

The moment he walked into that room he took in Elle's outlook (because she was arrested in her night dress) without missing a beat he removed his jacket and offered it to her.

That's it, that's the bar. That's what I look for in men.

I look for Aaron hotchener in men.

[patrickispinky]

Derek: are you the big spoon or the little spoon?

Emily: i'm the knife

Jj: *from across the room* she's the little spoon

[bucker3911]

the colorblind one 😈

[cuddleprofiler]

FAINTING & FEVER - When you confess your deep buried feelings to your boss in your fever.

Summary: Hiding a fever? Check. Passing out? Check. Confessing your feelings to your boss? Wait woah?

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x reader, BAU x platonic!reader

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: fever, fainting, rest is good I guess.

Word Count: 3.8k

A/N: This was supposed to be platonic but I didn't feel like it is romantic :) This is my first time writing any non-platonic work. All the pics I have inserted are more clear when clicked if you want to see (Tumblr did something). Positive Criticism is welcomed.

"So, what are you ladies up to tonight?" Morgan asked while driving, his focus on the road. You'd just finished a case, and as usual, Morgan was eager to make plans before another case thrust you back into the world's horrors.

"Well," JJ began with a sigh, eyebrows raised, "I'm going to spend the whole day resting with my boys." She finished with her radiant smile.

"What about you, Prentiss?" Morgan glanced at Emily in the passenger seat.

"No plans yet, but who knows? I might have something by the time we land."

"L/N?" Derek called out when he realized you hadn't answered, lost in your own world.

You sat beside Spencer, staring out the window, oblivious to your surroundings. The heat you felt was consuming every coherent thought.

"L/N?"

"Huh? What did you say?" you asked, turning your head so quickly that JJ and Spencer wondered how you didn't get whiplash. Your voice remained calm and soft.

"You okay?" Spencer asked, his hazel eyes filled with concern.

"Why wouldn't I be, Spencer?" you replied, mustering a small smile to maintain your façade.

"You just seem...down," he commented, studying you intently. You gave him another small smile, shook your head, and winced. Your head felt as if it had been struck by an invisible hammer. Spencer either didn't notice your wince or chose not to comment.

"You up for some fun tonight?" Morgan asked again, though you were barely aware.

"What fun?" you frowned. The way he said "fun" made you think it might not be the kind you'd enjoy.

"Seriously, sweet girl? You're spending way too much time with Reid. I'm talking about bars, drinks, and if you get lucky, then maybe—" Morgan started with a Cheshire grin, while your eyes widened.

"No," you said in a high-pitched tone, embarrassed at the thought of hooking up with a random guy when you already loved someone.

"What do you mean, 'no'? Come on. We don't get many days off, L/N. You should enjoy them when you can."

"Morgan, I can't," you said, shifting uncomfortably.

"And why is that, sweet girl?"

"Hey! Garcia will take offense if you call someone else 'sweet girl,'" you said with a smile, appreciating his use of a nickname for you.

"Nah. My baby girl will never be offended by this, and you're not just someone else," he replied confidently.

"But answer the question, sweet girl," he prompted, aware you were avoiding it. He assumed your hesitation was due to your reluctance to go out, knowing how you and Reid felt about drinking and socializing.

"I've got some work to do, Morgan. Also, I'm tired," you said, leaning your head back.

Morgan's expression changed instantly.

"Go straight home when we land, Y/N, not to Hotch's office. Whatever files you have to work on can wait. If I didn't know him better, I'd say he's making you do overtime."

"Exactly. Hotch will understand, and there's no need to tire yourself out," Spencer added softly.

Their concern warmed your heart. "Of course, gentlemen," you replied, amusing the others.

The conversation drifted back to their plans while you gazed out the window, watching amoeba-shaped clouds float slowly across the sky. The view was therapeutic, but you didn't tell them how awful you were feeling.

When you woke up that morning, it felt as if hell had descended upon Earth just for you. Your muscles ached, protesting and begging you to return to bed, but you couldn't. Lives were at stake, a case needed solving. Now, the muscle pain had given way to a headache and constant zoning out.

You longed to get home as soon as possible, yearning for your fluffy blankets to engulf you completely, save for your head. You hoped your phone might end up in a ditch for the day, allowing you to remain in your cozy cocoon until you felt well enough to face the world—and potential case calls—again.

Soon, you arrived at the airstrip, where Emily and JJ surrounded you.

"So, where's your mind wandering today?" Emily asked with a mischievous grin. Before you could answer, JJ chimed in.

"In dreams of Hotch, of course. Right, Y/N?" You quickly shushed her, glancing around to ensure no one had overheard.

"JJ, Emily, we're at the airstrip," you whispered urgently. "Someone might hear you. It's supposed to be a secret. Sometimes I think you and Garcia are determined to let Hotch find out." You began trudging toward the plane, feeling drained.

They both laughed and high-fived.

"We do want you two together," Emily said.

"You should tell him yourself," JJ added. "Besides, if he overhears by accident, it'll only speed up your love life."

"By the way, Y/N, will you only go out with us if Hotch is there too?" Emily teased.

"Guys!" you groaned as they laughed.

Your crush on Hotch had started early in your tenure, initially based on his looks. But it deepened into something more profound, to the point where his well-being affected you deeply. You felt terrified when he faced dangerous situations. That's when you knew you were in trouble.

There was no way he'd fall for someone who could barely speak to him. You had your reasons for avoiding him. The days leading up to this decision were hellish. Never had you stumbled over your words as much as you did then. And what did he do?

He always gave you a patient look and nodded softly, encouraging you to speak your mind. It was manageable until you started losing yourself in his eyes or staring at his face constantly. After that, you ensured you were never alone with him except when working on case files. You began doing this so he could go home early and rest, reasoning that a few extra files wouldn't impact your time.

You were startled from your reverie by the memory of Garcia suggesting that Hotch might like you too. You still don't believe her, but a girl could hope.

"If it gets too much, I want you to pull out."

"Sir?" you asked, confused, looking up from your gun at your boss, who was surveying the team preparing to ambush the unsub's house.

"Everyone has off cases, L/N, but with time, most of us have learned to deal with it. Still, we pull ourselves out when needed. You're still new. So, pull out if necessary. Do you understand me?" he said, now looking at you, his gaze sweeping over your shorter form. You looked up at him intently, lost in his eyes until he raised an eyebrow. You could have sworn you saw his eyes soften slightly.

"Yes, sir."

"Call me Hotch, Y/N." With that, he walked towards the rest of the team as you hurried to catch up.

Back at the FBI building, you dashed to Garcia's lair. She was your first friend, and you both had a tendency to ramble about various topics. Sometimes Reid joined in. As soon as you saw her, you hugged her. Hugging Garcia was like therapy—you could feel your worries, guilt, and other negative emotions leaving your body. You felt yourself relax, your body lighter. You called it "Garcia magic”! It was an added bonus that Garcia was fond of physical affection.

When you told her about Hotch's words and your feeling that he was worried and all other incidents where he acted the same—though you thought that was impossible—she flashed her beaming smile, all her white teeth showing. Her eyes, however, held the amusement of knowing something you didn't.

"I didn't know sweet cheeks, he cares for you this much." Garcia mused, clearly pleased by what you'd shared.

This much? And what do you mean?" you asked, your curiosity evident.

"Hmm hmm. He looks at you the same way Will looks at JJ. He's so soft with you and he isn't like this with anybody. Maybe except Jack of course."

“Garcia there’s no way in hell he likes me. Maybe he was trying to be sweet.” you asked her trying not to get your hopes up.

This is a paradox. You are sure. Damn sure! Garcia began laughing while you gave her an incredulous look. She didn’t stop until you threw a teddy at her. “My sweet sweet girl, Hotch is never sweet with anyone. Ask Emily about it if you are unsure but nope nada in my so many years of being at BAU, he’s never sweet with anyone.”

"Maybe you are overthinking this Garcia. Hotch and I don't even know each other.”, you mumbled looking at your hands in your lap.

“That is an argument I will have with you on another day but what I'm saying is that Hotch likes you.", she says with a small almost sad smile.

"If you want you can observe him. You're a profiler baby. Yow will know.", she added gleefully.

Henceforth, you observed Hotch as profiling team members was off-limit. He had a tendency to smile at you softly and he didn’t offer others the same amount of options that he did to you , but you attributed this to being new. You were certain he'd show his more authoritative side once you were no longer considered the newest member. Definitely!

Lost in these thoughts, you suddenly felt your vision blur and your surroundings distort.

"Whoa! You okay?" Emily asked as she grabbed your forearm, while JJ held the other. They exchanged concerned looks when you didn't answer immediately. You shook your head slightly and replied,

"Yeah, yeah. Just slipped."

They didn't seem convinced but didn't press further.

"Be careful," JJ said, patting your shoulder.

"Yeah, of course," you mumbled, trying to regain your composure.

Hotch and Rossi chatted as they walked, their conversation drifting from Jack's football to other topics. Before they knew it, they'd arrived at the airstrip. As Hotch boarded the plane, he froze in surprise. You were seated next to his usual spot—an unexpected sight, given your habit of avoiding him outside of group settings or work situations. Your presence there felt nothing short of miraculous.

Not wanting to give Rossi a chance to tease him, Hotch quickly sat beside you. He was certain you hadn't noticed his arrival, as you were deeply engrossed in the case report—something you rarely worked on during flights.

His attention shifted back to Rossi when the older agent began discussing plans for a pasta dinner. From the corner of his eye, Hotch caught you glancing up, offering both him and Rossi a small smile before burying yourself in the file again. It was odd, considering the report wasn't due for days.

He didn't want to finish it quickly, knowing an empty home awaited him. No one would be there to greet him—just silent walls. Jack was on vacation with Jessica's family for the next few days, leaving Hotch alone in the city. He stole another quick glance at you, resisting the urge to look more often.

Hotch was sure he would never fall in love again after Hayley. He loved her from such a young age and so much that loving someone else felt betraying the love he had bestowed upon Hayley all those years. Even after getting a divorce, he didn't stop loving her completely. Sometimes, he liked to believe they separated not because they fell out of love, but because their love was so intense that their arguments became too painful. However, he knew this wasn't the reality. He sighed and pulled out his file.

His thoughts soon drifted to you. Lately, contemplating love inevitably led him to think of you. Sometimes you don't know what hit you until it does. Falling in love with you was the same. He was falling in and never realised until the day he got a letter. From you.

Hotch had slowly fallen in love with you. That was the truth of his life, he stayed away from for a long time. How could he stay away when your every action seemed to win his heart anew? Each time he learned something new about you, he fell a little deeper.

You were a sweet addition to the team. It didn't mean you were all the time sunshine. Everyone learnt that the hard way. He mentally chuckled at the fight you and Morgan had over dark chocolate to the extent you were ready to beat him black and blue. However, your sweet gestures towards everyone on the team always warmed his heart.

He reminded himself to remain professional. After all, he was on a plane with a group of profilers who could decipher his feelings in minutes if given the chance.

"L/N, can you tell me about the—"

"L/N?" Hotch called out again, surprised you didn't hear him the first time. Still, you didn't reply. Rossi also looked up.

"Y/N? Y/N!" He said, touching your shoulder.

"Yeah, yeah. What happened?" You looked like a deer caught in headlights, making both Hotch and Rossi confused.

"Nothing happened. I was just asking you about the case," he replied, looking at you. You were looking...different. It was as if every laugh and joy had been drained from your life.

"I'll be right back," you said, standing up and moving before Hotch had a chance to stop you.

The moment you stood up, you knew you shouldn't have done that. You were far better sitting down. Now the pounding in your head intensified, along with the feeling of being shaken up to the point where you could see everything oscillating. You tried to keep yourself still, hoping your surroundings would become normal.

The next thing you knew, everything went black.

Hotch saw you swaying and moved instinctively. He caught you, one hand on your waist, the other on your shoulder, trying to keep you up while you were dead weight. However, it wasn't as easy as it seemed in the movies.

"Y/N? Y/N. Hey, wake up!"

"Y/N!" He squeezed your body against him.

However, his yelling got him nowhere. You didn't respond, lying still in his arms as if you were taking a nap. Hotch would have believed it if he hadn't seen you go down in front of his eyes.

"Y/N," he called out again, softly this time, yet the response was the same. He swept your hair back from your face.

Unable to keep you up, he gently lowered both of you onto the aisle. He moved his hands to your shoulders, gently shaking you, but you showed no sign of waking up.

He didn't notice anyone else until he felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up and saw Rossi sitting beside him, looking alarmed by the happenings. Morgan was above your head. The rest of the team was also hovering.

"What happened, man?" Morgan asked while taking the sweater Reid offered and putting it under your head.

Hotch didn't answer. He himself didn't know what was wrong with you. One minute, you were standing and the next plummeting down like the apple which led to the discovery of gravity. His hand went to your cheeks, where he felt the heat radiating. His frown appeared and deepened as he touched your forehead.

"She's burning up!" Hotch said worriedly, still keeping his tone full of calmness while his heart was trying to beat out of his chest. Having a fever is one thing but passing out from it is entirely another. He couldn't help but feel the small burning sensation in his chest at the thought of being ill, even if it was a fever.

You could hear people talking, but why would there be people at your home? You scrunched your face and blinked your eyes multiple times before fully opening them. Everything was blurry at first, but soon it became clear, along with the horrible pounding in your head. You tried to sit up, but a firm pair of arms pushed you back.

"Hey Bella, don't try to get up. Stay still."

"Wha-what happened?"

"You fainted," Hotch said. The rest of them had dispersed, knowing Hotch would take great care of you and that a crowd wouldn't help much.

"I don't feel good," you groaned, your hand massaging your head.

"Yeah, I gathered that much. Tell me what's exactly wrong, L/N?" Hotch had your hand in his, rubbing it softly to ease the pain in any way he could.

"I don't feel good," you mumbled again with half-closed eyes. You were mostly disoriented from what Hotch could figure out.

"You have a fever."

"I do?"

It was taking you time to gather what was happening. He blamed the fainting and fever. It took you time, but you slowly opened your eyes fully when you noticed Hotch still sitting at the edge of the sofa. He still held your hand, and your legs were on his lap. Being in touch with him felt like second nature; you didn't even notice until you opened your eyes. You quickly tried to pull back your legs and hand, but Hotch stopped you with his hold.

"Don't move so much, Y/N. Relax," his voice soft and calming, as always.

You sat in silence for the rest of the journey, which wasn't very long. You were clutching onto his forearm as he helped you sit up to go home. When you came outside the plane,

"Hotch, I can go home by myself," you began, your voice small, hoping to regain some of the dignity you lost after fainting in front of your entire team.

"Y/N, you can't stand straight, and you want to drive home by yourself?" Hotch asked with a raised eyebrow.

"There are other ways to be suicidal than this, sweet girl," Morgan quipped, walking beside you, not that you noticed. You looked up at him and then at Hotch, concern shining in both of their eyes.

"I'm not joking," you huffed.

"Neither are we," Morgan said.

"Y/N, it's final. I'm taking you home," Hotch ordered. That's what it felt like to you.

Hotch had an arm around your waist, supporting you as your body threatened to collapse. He hurried towards your apartment, aware of your rising fever. He couldn't give you medicine without food, but he was grateful for your unfiltered speech—it revealed the extent of your discomfort.

"You know, Hotch?" you began as he fumbled with the door. You leaned against the wall for support.

"Dahlias are my favourite flowers. They symbolize change, dignity, and elegance."

"They're native to Mexico, right?" he replied as you entered the apartment.

"Yeah! You know about them?" you asked, turning your face abruptly.

"Easy, honey. No sudden moves," he cautioned. "And yes, I've picked up a few facts over the years."

"I've always loved them. So colourful, bright, and beautiful," you laughed softly.

Hotch had never heard you speak so freely. He found himself enchanted by your voice, certain you could rival Reid in flower trivia.

After settling you on the sofa, Hotch fetched water, fruit, and medicine. You tossed your shoes aside and reluctantly took the pills, groaning as you slumped back.

"You should change into something more comfortable," Hotch suggested, removing his own shoes.

You looked at him, startled. Realizing his phrasing, he quickly clarified, "I mean, you should put on some comfy clothes."

At his insistence, you changed. When you returned, Hotch had shed his coat and tie, his shirt partially unbuttoned.

"Aren't you going home?" you asked, confused.

"I'll stay tonight, in case you need anything."

"There's no need, Hotch. You must be exhausted from the case. Go home and rest. I'll be fine."

"Y/N, it's better if someone's with you tonight. You fainted on the plane. I wouldn't be able to relax not knowing how you're doing," he admitted, his voice soft.

You smiled at his thoughtfulness and curled up on the sofa with a blanket and pillow. You both decided to watch Star Wars.

Partway through the movie, you turned to Hotch, staring intently.

"You know, Hotch?"

"Yes?"

"I love you. Like, really, really love you," you said with a lopsided smile.

Hotch froze, completely still. He hadn't been this motionless since he first held Jack, afraid of hurting his newborn son. He never imagined you reciprocated his feelings, but he knew if he didn't get the conversation going right now, he not going to know about your feelings when you are not loopy due to medicine.

“Yea?”

"Mm-hmm. You're so wonderful and adorable and just... so cute. Yeah, you're intimidating at work, but the rest of the time? Totally cute."

"Oh, am I?"

Though your tongue was loosened by the medicine, you were more lucid than you let on. Having suppressed these feelings for so long, you couldn't stop now that you'd started. You wanted to tell him everything—him about all those feelings that you shouldn't have about him but you do, how couldn't help but fall for him slowly and every day seeing him made your day.

He was so handsome! His pretty dark brown chocolate-coloured eyes are swoon-worthy. Whenever you look into them, you feel hypnotized, unable to look away from them but not being present in the time; you often find yourself lost in them, forgetting his words as you gaze at him. Right now, he was looking directly at you, and you were drowning in his gaze.

How does he not realize the effect he has when he looks at someone like this?

Hotch's smile grew with each word you spoke.

"You're so handsome, ridiculously handsome. Have you seen yourself under that table lamp? You look like some movie hero poring over case files."

He blushed and glanced away at your flood of compliments. You cupped his face, turning it back to you, your eyes wide and intent. His smile made your frown melt into the biggest grin he'd ever seen on you. You looked beautiful.

"I just really like you, but I know you don't like me," you said, your voice small.

He frowned at your words.

"I love you too, honey, but I'll give you the full answer when you're well enough to remember it. Word for word," he replied softly.

You squealed with delight.

"You aren't just saying this to spare my feelings, right?" you mumbled a few moments later.

He cradled your face in his hands. "I would never say such a thing just to spare someone's feelings, Y/N. I love you. More than you can imagine."

Your questioning continued throughout the movie, but you refused to turn it off.

"You must have had many admirers in college. How many girlfriends did you have?" you asked, your head resting on his shoulder while his hand on your waist pulled you closer. Both of you kept your eyes on the TV.

"I only had one."

"No, you're lying. You're far too handsome to have had only one girlfriend your entire life."

'You can become the second.'

"What did you say?"

"I didn't say anything, sweetheart."

"Did you just call me sweetheart?"

"You're imagining things, L/N. It's a common symptom of high fever. Of course, I didn't call you sweetheart, honey."

"Oh, but I—you just called me—"

"What?"

"Never mind. I must be imagining it."

"Yes, you're definitely imagining things."

[m1lfsh4ke]

Emily Prentiss P Links - 18+

Part two

! - explicit nudity + visual porn + talks of cheating

MDNI. Disclaimer, I am NOT responsible for your media consumption and will not take accountability from any issues it may have caused once you’ve clicked on the links below.

୨ৎ - Emily fingering you + having your hands tied behind your back

୨ৎ - She bottoms out after having a rough day at work :(

୨ৎ - Jj comes to visit Emily while her husband is out

୨ৎ - Riding her fingers

୨ৎ - "I know you can fit more inside that pretty pussy, sweetheart"

୨ৎ - Letting you record to see how good she fingers you

୨ৎ - Emily riding you

୨ৎ - Wearing a skirt so she can have easy access

୨ৎ - Eating you out from behind

୨ৎ - Taking her anger out on you

୨ৎ - Videos you send her with the toys she bought you while shes out at work

୨ৎ - Securing her thighs with a vibrator cause she can't seem to behave

୨ৎ - Emily coming on your skirt

୨ৎ - Prentiss has a 3some with Hotch and Derek

୨ৎ - Riding a dildo in front of the windows so she can show others how well you take it >-<

[ithebookhoarder]

(BAU Headcanons) If you fell asleep on them

A/N: So... guess who fell into another fandom? I blame everyone on here and their amazing fics for convincing me I need to give this show and wonderful cast a chance. I may have binged 13 seasons in like a month... oops? I'm also looking at my fav BAU bunch here but I'm open to writing for other characters from the show

Aaron Hotchner

Just like some of the other members of his team, Hotch has a hard exterior that very few people manage to crack through. 

If you and he are in a relationship then I can bet you’ve already had to chip away at it, so you’re already pretty intimate with one another. Falling asleep on him is nothing to bat an eyelid at. If anything, he would welcome the opportunity to relax and hold you close to him.  

It also gives him an excuse to steal a few moments of sleep himself, not daring to move and wake you from your rest. 

He loves holding you close, letting himself listen to the steady beating of you heart as it gently lulls him to become calm enough to shut his eyes. 

However, if you weren’t in a relationship or if it happened in front of the others at the BAU then you know he’d immediately react by saying something about ‘work place conduct’. 

However, he’s clearly saying it for the sake of it as he’d make no effort to wake you or remove you from him. 

In fact, he makes sure to stay still and let you rest peacefully, making sure your neck isn’t bent so you don’t wake up in pain. 

He’d also make sure to lay his jacket over the top of you, a clear sign that you are not to be disturbed - under pain of death. 

David Rossi 

Rossi would be the first to complain if you ever fell asleep on him but it’s all good natured. In fact, he only ever complains about it to you after you’ve woken up and only as a joke between the two of you.

“What am I? Just a pillow to you? Are you trying to say my cooking has made me plump?” 

It’s hard to resist his charming smile, especially when he actually is rather comfortable to lean on. His expensive shirts are always soft to the touch, and the cologne you’d brought him last Christmas lingers as you nestle in close. 

He always make you feel safe, and that is an honour greater than any he’d ever been awarded. 

If it happened in front of the others you know he’d roll his eyes and mutter about the cheek of it all. However, his smile would be enough to tell the others he didn’t mean it. 

“I started reading my manuscript and this is what happens… guess that’s one way to leave a review.” 

He’d be sure to shoot daggers with his eyes at anyone else nearby who looked like they would wake you up. 

He’d also shoot down any possible jokes being made at your expense, his parental nature coming out in full force. 

Derek Morgan

This boy would be so smug if you ever fell asleep on him. Like, if you imagine a Labrador’s tail wagging with one of those big dopey grins, then that’s what he is. 

He is keen to try and capture the moment with a picture, setting it as his phone background to prove to himself it really happened. 

If it happens in front of the rest of the team then you know he is going to keep reminding you and everyone else whenever he gets the chance. 

However, you know that for all the bragging and teasing Morgan is actually super touched by the fact you fell asleep on him and he is keen to offer you a place to lay your head whenever you look like you need to take a beat. 

He even has a blanket and pillow in his go-bag especially for you. 

“Only the best for you, hot stuff.” 

He will never complain about it and - considering how much torture and pain we know this man can endure - he is more than capable of handling any cramp or pins and needles he gets as a result of you lying against him. 

Eventually, he would take the opportunity to try and sleep as well. With his job and his manic lifestyle, if he gets the chance to close his eyes he knows better than to waste it. 

Emily Prentiss

She would be shocked at first, especially if it’s early-on in your relationship. She isn’t really used to public displays of affection and you sleeping with your head on her shoulder is pretty public. 

She would stay as still as possible, though, scared of disturbing you or ruining the moment. She’d also probably be panicking internally, unsure what she was supposed to do. 

However, she soon takes a breath and relaxes. After all, you look so cute when you’re asleep and she is honoured you feel comfortable enough to relax around her like this. 

She doesn’t often get the chance to just sit and be peaceful so she savours the moment you’ve given her. 

She’d end up watching you for a while before relaxing and trying to adjust you so that you’re both comfortable. 

She would also take the opportunity to be affectionate, loving that she can run her hands through your hair and kiss your head without any fear of being embarrassed or rejected. 

After all, we know Emily has a soft centre underneath her tough, bad-ass exterior. She just needs to know she is able to express it. 

JJ

JJ is such a mom to everyone including you, so is over the moon the first time you fall asleep on her. She welcomes it with open arms, happy to melt into the embrace. 

It doesn’t matter if you’ve been together long or not, or if you’re in public. Either way, it feels like a personal badge of honour to be trusted in such a way, whether or not you meant to do it. 

She has enough patience not to move a muscle in case she disturbs you and ruins the moment. She knows that if you fell asleep like this then you probably need the rest. 

JJ would totally form a blanket cocoon around you to keep you warm and toasty as you sleep, wrapping her arms around you and cradling you close.

She’d smile the whole time, pressing kisses to the crown of your head and gently murmuring in your ear whenever you seem to stir. 

“Ssssh, Sleepyhead. It’s ok. I got you. Go back to sleep, honey.”   

If it was just the two of you then she’d be sure to try and move you somewhere more comfortable after a while, like the sofa or your bed. 

However, if you were in public then she would turn into a full mama bear and threaten anyone who came close or tried to disturb you. She has that angry mom look down to a fine art and has made grown men wither with it.

Penelope Garcia 

This beautiful baby angel would be so delighted if you fell asleep against her that she’d probably wake you up by accident after squealing a little too loudly. 

“Oh, oh, sorry. Sorry! Go back to sleep. I’m staying as still as a statue, you precious angel, I promise. So you just close your eyes and let me hold you.”

She’d probably manage like five minutes before she moves again and wakes you up, but it was enough time for her to steal a few private photos to commemorate the moment. 

They will most definitely be the background on her computer the following morning, and possibly yours too.

She would also be sure to make sure she has a blanket and pillow stashed away for you if you ever felt like taking an impromptu nap again when you weren’t at home. 

If you worked at the BAU they’d be kept in her lair - or your private napping room, as she tells you. 

They’d also be brightly coloured and super soft, chosen specifically by Penelope to make you as comfortable and as happy as possible, even whilst at the government building. 

“Just so you know, I gave them a spritz with this gorgeous lavender mist spray to help you knock right out the moment your pretty head hits the pillow. So, sweet dreams honeybun.” 

Dr Spencer Reid

Spencer is a precious boy and would be utterly baffled at first if he looked down and realised you had fallen asleep on him. 

He would be surprised he hadn’t noticed you drooping against him sooner, or that your breathing had slowed as you fell asleep. 

At first he thinks it must be a mistake, immediately trying to ease you off of him. After all, he wasn’t the most comfortable person to sleep on and people are far more likely to find his company irksome rather than soothing. 

However, after you start doing it more often he realises that isn’t the case. 

In fact, he feels rather proud that you’ve got the point in your relationship where you aren’t afraid to relax around him. 

He also learns how not to let it over-stimulate him. It takes some time to train his mind to not think about the possible pathogens that could be passing between you or the way your hair tickles his face. He’s also able to talk to you about positions to curl up in if you ever want to sleep against him again, that he feels more relaxed in. 

He’d also totally be happy to tell you all about whatever his latest hyper-fixation is, knowing the sound of his voice helps you settle better than any lullaby. 

Masterlist

[rainydayathogwarts]

The team discovers you're dating - Aaron Hotchner

d/n: daughter's name.. Summary: The team discovers you're dating because of Jack's freudian slip. (singlemom!bau!reader) 0.7k wc

Small trudging footsteps paired with loud squeals caught the attention of the agents in the bullpen, an apologetic SSA following after his son. Derek and Penelope raced to the young boy, Derek scooping him up the second he was close enough, beating his work wife by seconds. "I'm sorry guys, national holiday and our sitter cancelled." The team dismissed him, understanding of his protectiveness over his son. After seeing so many cases, there was no way he'd let a random person look after his son. "I'll take him down to the daycare in a second, but Jack here just wanted to say hello to someone first."

Derek exaggeratedly frowned, looking down at the blonde boy "Is uncle Derek not the person you were looking for Jacky boy?" Jack shook his head, loud giggles filling the bullpen, just as the glass door opened one more. "Sorry guys," You started, trying to flip strands of hair out of your face while balancing your coffee and keeping your bag on your shoulder. "I had to drop d/n at daycare, sitter cancelled." You gasped loudly when you spotted the small figure in Derek's arms, placing all your things on the closest desk as you opened your arms wide. Jack wiggled his legs in Derek's arms so he could be put down on the floor, a wide smile gracing his features. You crouched down on the floor, grinning at the boy, who yelled loudly "Mommy!" as he ran into your arms.

An eerie silence filled the bullpen as all conversation died down. You wrapped your arms around the boy, his words sinking into your teammates' heads. You lifted Jack up into the air with a clueless smile, standing tall enough so you could see all of your coworkers' facial expressions, when it hit you. Your eyes widened and you froze, past the point of collecting yourself or trying to brush off what Jack said as an accident.

"What did he just say?" You hear Penelope interrogate, looking back and forth between the profilers in the room, hoping to get an answer. As though sensing the change in atmosphere in the room, Jack lifted his head from the crook of your neck, looking up at your face. You moved your stance to balance him on your hip, using the other hand to pick up your to-go cup and take a long sip of your coffee. "You wanna try my coffee Jack?" You teased, breaking the silence between you and him, laughing as the boy pulled a face of disgust, remembering the time he smelt his dad's black coffee one morning when you were over with d/n.

"Yuck! ... Mommy, am I gonna see d/n?" He asks, swinging his legs happily. You're painfully aware of the eyes stuck on you and the boy, glancing up to look at Aaron, observing his reaction. He's smiling softly at you and his son, back turned to the other agents in the bullpen. He walks over to you just as you reply to Jack "She's in daycare right now! Do you want to go join her?" Jack nods excitedly, arms lifting up when his dad walks over, allowing him to take him from you. "Well since the cat's out of the bag." Aaron shrugs, leaning down to press a kiss on your lips, walking out with Jack in his arms who giggles loudly "What cat daddy?"

With Jack finally facing away from you, you let all your emotions show up on your face: shock, confusion, and most importantly embarrassment to being exposed to your relentless team of close friends who will never stop the questions:

'How long?' 'Jack calls you mommy?' 'Don't you owe me money Morgan?'

You laugh at Spencer's comment, watching as Derek fishes his wallet out of his pocket, holding up a 20 dollar bill for Spencer to take. Rossi pushes himself off the desk behind him, where he faces Emily and the rest of the team. He sighs, shaking his head "For the record, I knew his whole time. And at least now you don't have to hide your ring, y/n." He states as he walks away. "You're married!?" Emily and JJ yell at the same time as Penny squeals loudly, running to hug you tightly. "Engaged!" You try saying over the noise. "Engaged not married!"

[marvelwitchergilmore]

First Kick

Summary: Aaron Hotchner x Fe!Reader -> Both you and Aaron have been in a secret relationship for three years, except when you go into labour, the rest of the team can't help but speculate.

Disclaimer: Just pure fluff. Small descriptions of labour. BAU being a family. Jack and Haley don't exist in this fic. Not Proof Read.

You would have thought working with a bunch of FBI profilers, they would have figured out the truth by now. 

But they hadn’t. 

Instead, both yourself and Aaron had lived in wedded bliss for the last three years and were now expecting your first child. 

Of course, that couldn’t be hidden from the team. The constant morning sickness. The aversions to certain smells. The swollen ankles, the overwhelming emotions and the growing belly. 

Which, as you were sitting at the dim light of your desk filling in the last of the paperwork for your latest case, began to move. 

The others had stepped out for a while, grabbing some food. They had invited you except the thought of walking a block and a half already made you want to fall asleep. So, kissing the top of your head, Morgan took your order and promised to bring you back extra guac. 

The hum from the headphones you placed around your belly filled the small silence, a tune of Motzart rather than a constant drum of a nearby printer. 

However, from under the headphones, you felt a movement. 

It wasn’t big. Barely noticeable. But it was there. 

Or was it? 

Maybe it was nothing. 

Except, twenty seconds later, you knew for certain. 

Pulling the headphones from you, you stood up immediately and rushed towards Hotch’s office. 

And you continued with your normal routine. Knocking on his door, calling his name and stepping inside. 

“Is everything okay?”

Trying not to raise any alarm, you closed his office door behind you before shutting the blinds. 

“Is everything okay?”

Aaron scanned your face. “Honey?”

Within seconds he was by your side. “What is it?”

But then you smiled. And he became confused. 

“What-”

“Feel.”

Taking his hand, you guided it to cover part of your growing belly. “What am I-”

Kick.

You watched every emotion possible pass over Aaron’s face as he took in the feeling of your child kicking his palm. 

“Is that-”

Kick.

Then he laughed. 

Aaron Hotchner laughed. 

It wasn’t often that you got to see this side of your husband when at work. So it was a nice surprise when you did. 

Within seconds, he had stepped a little closer and had carefully removed his hand from the top of your stomach and slipped it under the hem of your shirt, allowing his warm palm to rest against your skin. 

Then your baby kicked harder. 

You both laughed that time. 

“Hey, ow.” You said, looking at your stomach. 

Aaron chuckled lightly before resting his forehead against yours as his other hand rested against your face, brushing the fallen hair from your face and cupping your cheek. 

“She’s moving.” 

You smiled. “You’re still convinced it’s a girl?”

“Of course I am. I’m a profiler. I should know.” 

You chuckled lightly, shaking your head. “I’m a profiler, too, you know.”

“I know.”

“And it’s mother.”

“And you disagree?” He asked, still with a light smile gracing his lips. 

You hummed. “I’m uncertain.”

“Well, how about I give you my profile and see how you feel?”

You laughed. “It really is second nature to you.”

Aaron hummed before moving his hand, still under your shirt, to the top of your belly. 

“You’re carrying high, for one.” His thumb traced back and forth on your stomach. “You’ve suffered with morning sickness before twelve weeks, your main craving so far has been fruit. You sleep on your right side.”

“I always sleep on my right side.”

Aaron smiled. “And your skin,” He stroked his thumb against your cheekbone. “It’s soft.”

You smiled, leaning into his touch. “Except, they are just old wives tales.”

“I’d like to think there is still some justice in them. Are you sure you want to wait until they’re born?”

“Yes.”

“And you couldn’t be persuaded?”

“Nope.”

“Are you sure?” Aaron smirked a little before leaning in and kissing you. 

Pulling his hand from your stomach, he brought it up to the other side of your face and it wasn’t long before he felt your body melt into his. 

“The others are going to be back soon.”

Aaron groaned a little but not before kissing you a last few times before pulling away. 

“You’d think they would have figured it out by now.” 

You nodded. “But it is kinda fun. And I can’t wait until they see our baby. I have a feeling they’ll look like you.”

“I should hope so.”

You laughed. “You know what I mean. And, if it is a girl, don’t they usually look like they’re dad?”

“Are you saying you agree with my profile?”

You hummed. “Maybe. Just a little. You are the Unit Chief of the BAU, so I suppose you have some credibility.”

“Even if they’re just old wives tales?” He asked, raising his eyebrow a little. 

You nodded, with a slight smile. “Even if they’re just old wives tales.”

You finally left his office just before the team got back, but not before stealing a few more kisses. 

Over the following months, the team grew more protective of you. With your pregnancy coming to an end, and still not knowing who the father was, they began to step up. 

It was sweet to watch. 

Penelope had planned your baby shower with JJ’s help. Reid had read up on everything a doctor and midwife knew about giving birth, just in case you went into early labour. Emily had helped you pack your spare hospital bag for the office in case you were rushed into labour whilst at the office or away on a case, being too far from home to drive to get your hospital bag. 

And when Hotch couldn’t be by your side, he made sure either Rossi and Morgan were there to help you. 

“You okay there, Momma?”

You looked to Morgan who had appeared from around the corner. You were leaning against the counter, your hand holding onto the bottom of your belly. 

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine.” You breathed out. “Just a little- ow. Okay. Hey-”

“Whoa, hey, okay, take it easy.”

Morgan placed his coffee mug down, coming right back to your side and holding your hand. “What do you need?”

Your grip tightened around his hand. “Ow. Hospital.”

“Okay, okay. Where’s your hospital bag?”

“By my desk. Emily-” You grunted in pain. “Emily knows.”

“Okay, okay. It’s okay. Emily!”

Turning around, it took Emily less than ten seconds to realise what was going on. 

“Okay, Garcia. Hey! Penelope, call Hotch. Let him know what’s going on.”

“Why, what’s-O…oh my god. Okay, Okay. Calling him now.”

By the time Morgan got you to the parking lot, Hotch was pulling in. 

“Get in, I can drive her straight there.”

“Have you got everything you need?”

You nodded. 

“Call us if you need anything?” Emily asked, shutting your door. 

You could only hum, holding onto Emily’s hand. 

She leaned in for a moment, kissing your cheek. 

“See you when you get back, Momma.”

Hotch pulled away a few moments later, rushing you directly to the hospital. 

And for the next twenty hours, Hotch stayed by your side. And the rest of the team started to think. 

“I mean, think about it. When she got braxton hicks. Who was the first one at her side?”

“Hotch.” Penelope answered. 

“Yeah, and the way he looked. I don’t know about you but I have never seen Hotch that nervous.”

“That is true.” Rossi agreed. 

“But they can’t be…together, can they?” JJ asked. “You all had it sussed about me and Will. They couldn’t go this long and not have us at least find out.”

“Maybe they didn’t want us to.”

“Or maybe they’re not together at all.”

“When have you ever known either of them to be that close with each other as they are with us? Rossi, have you ever seen the inside of Hotch’s house?”

“Not for a while, no. Why, have you ever seen hers?”

Emily shook her head. 

“Penelope, can you find out anything?” Morgan asked, turning to his best girl. 

“I can but it would completely wreck my moral standing.”

“You’ve never run a background check on us?” JJ asked. 

“No! That would be an invasion of your privacy. And theirs! If they are a..them, I suppose. Or maybe not. Maybe she is just a single mother and Hotch has decided to help her. He was the first to find out.”

“See, another thing!” Emily pointed out. 

“But Hotch is the first to know everything about us. He’s the main person we have to tell when it comes to personal things that could affect our work.” Morgan explained. 

“But why not come to one of us?” Rossi asked. “JJ, what do you think? Out of us, who would you have come to?”

JJ thought for a moment. “Out of you boys? Probably…Hotch.”

“Really?” Rossi asked. 

“Why not me?” Morgan asked. 

“Or me?” Reid finished. 

JJ smiled. “You know I love you all equally, but out of Three Divorces, Pretty Boy and Chocolate Thunder, I’d want to tell someone I know to be calm. That could remain level headed.”

“And we’re not level headed?” Morgan asked, causing JJ to look up above her shoulder. 

“What did you do when I told you I was pregnant?”

Morgan paused for a second. “You may have a point.”

“Either way, we can’t know for certain that they’re having a baby together.” Reid pointed out. 

“Well, she’s married. Or engaged, at least.”

They all turned to Emily. 

“How do you know that?”

“Her wedding finger. Last time she came back from AL she had a tan line. It was faint, but it was there.”

“Maybe he ran off? They got pregnant but he didn’t want to be in the picture?”

Penelope scoffed. “What a jerk.”

“I don’t think they’d appreciate us speculating like this.”

“JJ’s right. Maybe they’re just friends and Hotch is helping her out. Garcia, have you heard from them yet?”

“Not yet, Sir.”

Meanwhile, at the hospital, the midwife was instructing Aaron to get behind you, holding you up and holding your hands and you continued to push. 

“I don’t think I can do it.”

“Yes, you can. Yes, you can. Come on, honey. I know you can.”

“Can’t you do it for me?”

Aaron chuckled. “I wish I could, but I can’t.”

“Just a couple more pushes, Mrs Hotchner.”

Another wave of contractions hit and you continued to push for another fifteen minutes before finally everyone in the room heard the cries of your baby. 

“You did it, honey. I’m so proud of you. You did it.”

“Is she okay? What-Where is she?”

Aaron smiled, tears in his eyes, pushing the hair out of your own. “She’s-She’s okay. Look, the midwife is just wrapping them up.”

A few moments later, the midwife handed you your baby. 

Two days later they discharged you from the hospital and the first stop made was at the office considering the last of your things had been left there when you went into labour. 

And it also meant the team could finally greet your baby. 

“Ooh, ooh, they’re here. They’re here.”

Penelope was the first to spot you and Hotch standing in his office and it wasn’t long before they were all standing outside. 

However, as the congratulations and praise was made, Penelope’s voice dropped an octave after she got a clear look of the baby. 

“Oh my god.”

“What is it, Garcia?”

“Ohh, ohh, ohh my goodness.”

But you could only smile. 

“You!” Penelope pointed before turning to look at Hotch. “And you! Oh my god! You are!”

You looked behind you, finding your husband standing closer to you than when the team had first walked inside. 

“Are what? Baby girl, what’s-”

And then it clicked. 

With all of them. 

And for a moment they were all stunned into complete silence. 

“Aaron…why didn’t you…”

“Tell you?” Hotch asked, finishing Rossi’s question.

“Truthfully, we kinda maybe wanted to see how long it would take you all to figure out.” You explained. 

“But…how?!” JJ asked. 

You just shrugged. 

“Hints were there if you looked for them.” Aaron said. 

“Hints were- Oh, so, now he tells us. How long?”

“Four years.” You both answered. 

“Four years?!” They all half shouted, quickly remembering there was an infant present. 

“Wait.” Penelope said, holding up her hands. “Oh my god, it’s all coming together. This must be how Sherlock Holmes feels when he cracks a case.”

Both yourself and Aaron smiled before looking down at the sleeping baby in your arms. 

“The weekends away, the lunch orders, the arrive at work together. Oh my god! The touching.” Penelope hit Emily and Derek’s arm. 

“Ow!” They both called. 

“How could you two not have noticed this?!”

“You didn’t notice either!” Emily replied, rubbing her arm. 

“Baby girl, they kept this from us for four years. Why aren’t you hitting them?”

“Because,” Penelope explained. “She had just had a beautiful baby girl. And Hotch is my boss.”

“Can you ever find a way to forgive us?”

They all looked at each other before seemingly coming to the same conclusion. “Fine. But, only if you tell us how it happened and when. And, if you have a wedding re-do so that we all get to attend.”

Both you and Aaron looked at each other. 

“That could work.”

“Great! Now, let me see this beautiful baby girl.” Penelope said, her voice once again chipper, as she came to your side. 

“My goodness, she’s beautiful. Hotch, she looks just like you.”

Aaron smiled at the compliment, but shook his head. “No, that’s all her mom.”

“Oh-ho,” Rossi laughed a little. “She is going to be running rings around us all soon enough.”

Four weeks later, each member of the team turned up together on different days, listening to the story of your relationship. First were the girls and Reid before JJ showed up with Morgan and Rossi. JJ was there to drop some items off that both yourself and Hotch would find useful with the nursery but she didn’t mind hearing the story a second time. 

Eight weeks after you had given birth, your doorbell rang and just as Aaron opened up the front door, Penelope and Rossi walked inside carrying boxes of items before directing the rest of the team through your home into the garden. 

“Dave, what’s going on?”

“You, my dear friend, are getting married.”

“We’re already married.” You said with a small laugh, walking to stand beside your husband. 

Dave nodded. “That you are, but today, you are both getting remarried. You did promise us.”

“We did promise them.” Aaron said, turning to look at you. 

“We did, didn’t we?”

Dave smiled. “So, Uncle Reid is going to be looking after this little one.”

You carefully handed your baby girl to Spencer as Dave continued to explain. 

“Whilst the girls help you get ready and I enlist your help,” Rossi turned to look at Hotch. “To help finish the set up.”

Penelope appeared from down the hallway. “Come on, Emily is finishing setting everything up.”

“I guess I’ll see you at the wedding?”

“I’ll be the one in white.”

Aaron smiled before kissing you quickly as barely a second later Penelope was dragging you upstairs. 

That night was filled with joy, laughter and happiness. Yourself and Aaron shared another set of marriage vows in front of the team. You shared a second first dance, a second first kiss and a first family dance. 

It was a quiet moment on the corner of the dance floor. You were swaying with your baby, softly, in your arms when you felt a familiar pair of arms wrap around your waist from behind and a familiar pair of lips kiss your shoulder. 

Turning around you, Aaron held both of you close. Your forehead against his and your eyes closed, his fingers traced patterns against your arms back and forth before down your side and to your hips where he pulled you in a little closer. 

Neither of you knew it until a week later, but Morgan had, with Emily’s help, caught everything on camera. And with help from Penelope, a second wedding video had been made. 

Capturing the full length of your first family dance together.

[d0llfaac3]

Dating Spencer Reid Hcs

Pairing: Spencer Reid x FBI!F!Reader

Warnings: these are NSFW and SWF head canons so minors do NOT interact, mentions of neurodiversity which is probably badly written because I’m autistic myself and I can’t write for it very well!!

SFW

When Spencer is overstimulated, he attaches himself to your hip..like he gets clingy. (I’m projecting)

Having a weekly routine, Tuesday night was Star Trek night and Friday night was pizza and movie night.

Spencer’s REALLY good with kids if you ever babysit.

Going on cute little bookstore dates.

He’s memorised your food orders and coffee orders in case you get too scared to order.

On lunch breaks you two sit on the FBI offices’ stairs, just talking.

Spencer really appreciates that you listen to him rambling and he’s able to unmask around you.

When Spencer gets anxious, he plays with your hair tie that’s on his wrist.

NSFW

Hickeys..Spencer REALLY likes hickeys.

Certified bottom™️

He loves you being on top because he can grab your boobs.

Spencer is a tits guy, obviously he loves all of you but your boobs really got him going..

(Post prison) Spencer is usually on top, he gets angry more often but not at you and he needs a release..

When you and Spencer start going out, the first time you two had sex was almost mind blowing for Spencer, he had only had sex once or twice but you made it so much better.

Spencer’s sex drive is crazily high when it comes to you.

In the middle of a case one time you where in the filing room of the BAU and Spencer starting kissing your neck, he even put his boner against your ass.

You really see Spencer out of his shell with you.

Hope you enjoyed!! Request anything else :)

[chithereader]

first impressions / aaron hotchner

pairing: aaron hotchner x f!reader

word count: 2.6k

genre: fluff

cw: shy!reader / naive!reader, hotch has a crush!! a bit of mutual pining

a/n: i feel like this is a little all over the place but i love a pining hotch too much so i just had to post it!!!

Anderson has been doing his case reports in the pantry for the past four hours. Perhaps it does have its perks– one, he’s closer to the coffee machine and two, he’s farther away from all the chatter that is coming from the place he should actually be working in– at his desk. 

That’s because for the past four hours, the whole BAU team or what’s left of it– being Derek, Rossi, Garcia, and Reid– have been crowding the rows of desks directly across Hotch’s office. Occupying desks and chairs that are definitely not theirs. 

The rowdy bunch has been debating, gossiping, and most importantly, profiling their unit chief for the past four hours. Figuring out which applicants impress him, disappoint him, or straight-up irritate him– all through his office window. 

They’ve seen a total of seven applicants walk out of his office without a handshake, which is Hotch’s tell on whether he would consider that candidate or not. Out of those seven, two were way prettier than they were smart, three way too confident than they were competent, and two solely able to step foot in Quantico because of their last names. 

As for those that did walk out with a handshake were… well.. non-existent. If anyone were to ask someone from the team, they’d insist that they don’t need a new member. They don’t need anyone new to replace the beloved ones that have left. 

However, remembering the previous cases from the past two weeks– the truth is, they all felt a little like they were drowning. It felt like the more days that went by, the more cases there were to filter, solve, and close. The more killers there were to profile, hunt, and stop. The more reports there were to fill out, file, and submit; 

Each member of the team was doing double the workload of what they usually handle which had started to take its toll on their health, both physical and mental. And Hotch being the responsible leader that he is, recognized what had to be done. Especially after Reid fainted while running and Morgan’s strength notably faltering while in a tussle with an unsub. 

Now, the team didn’t know if it was perhaps because Hotch was measuring all these potential agents against Emily and JJ but none of them appeared up to his standard. Although accepting applications was his idea, judging by the way his brows had furrowed permanently they could tell Hotch was starting to regret it. Rossi, who knows Hotch a little better than everyone, could tell that he was about to give up. 

He could tell by the way he had his lips pressed in a thin line for the past forty minutes unwaveringly. 

He could tell by the way his shoulders were more obviously rising and falling, his breaths deeper- like he was calming himself. 

He could tell by the way Hotch would stand with clenched fists, unclenching them slowly on his sides. 

He could tell by the way Hotch was staring at the files, not reading. 

But just as Rossi was about to go up to Hotch’s office so they could all call it a night. To give his friend a pep talk about being there for each other and how tomorrow’s another day. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees someone entering the BAU walking briskly. 

The profiler in him skims over the figure quickly: 5 foot 3. Tiny. Mid-20s to early 30s. Young. Cardigan, jeans, sneakers, and a messenger bag. Is this kid Reid’s twin or what. Soulful round eyes, cute nose, pink lips. Pretty. 

“Uhm, hi.. I’m here for an interview? with uhm.. Mr– Agent Hotchner, sorry. Could someone point me to his office? Please?” Interesting. 

For some reason, none of the members of the team spoke, mainly surprised by the sudden addition of this stranger’s presence. One by one, like falling dominos, they slowly pointed to Hotch’s door. Simultaneously taking their precious time assessing whatever they can from what they’re seeing. 

Their observations didn’t stray far from what Rossi had seen. You’re pretty. That’s the first thing one can deduce. The incredibly-adorable kind of pretty, Garcia thinks. You seem smart, the same way anyone knows boy genius is smart– darting eyes like you’re thinking at a thousand miles per minute. Like you’re studying your surroundings, assessing threats, friendlies, and potential threats. 

You’re shy. You speak softly as if scared to intrude. Your movements are precise as if scared to impose. You stand still as if scared to take up more space than necessary. But your posture says otherwise. You may be introverted but your intelligence reeks in your diction and the way your head is held high, a part of you you’re sure of. Literally a lot like Reid, it’s creepy. 

You’re young. Young enough to steal pretty boy’s title as the baby of the team if you were to be accepted. To be honest, you look like a college student. Like a straight A, extra credit, shy and quiet type of student– and they weren’t wrong. 

You didn’t find anything weird about their behavior, the silence with which they responded to you. Probably because you were too nervous about your interview. Everyone knows the BAU is the team that’s the most difficult to get into, and that their unit chief’s the most intimidating man in the FBI that the Director himself avoids running into him altogether. 

So it was definitely a surprise when you were called in by Erin Strauss. A fresh graduate from the academy, you had no field experience at all. You’d only been working as a forensic scientist for the Organized Crime Division for a little less than a year, and more often than not you were in laboratories and morgues. Mainly there as a junior consultant than anything, having the more seasoned agents out in the field, on active crime scenes. 

Your gaze followed where they were pointing to, nerves permeating through your body. As you make your way up the stairs to get to his door, you’re trying to even your breathing- desperately. You don’t want to seem incompetent and inexperienced, pathetic even. 

Raising your hand to knock, you take in one last deep breath. Suddenly aware of all the people watching you from behind, possibly profiling you– you knock. Loudly. Like you were trying to prove something, show false strength and confidence. 

Maybe a little too loud, you realized. Shit. 

You’re in your own head when the door whips open and you see him. You knew he was good looking. You’ve seen him on TV and in pictures but god they did not do him justice. Just as you were processing how good-looking he was and how it would be a crime to embarrass yourself in front of him, your body decides it’s time to let out that big breath you inhaled before knocking. 

Now it appears you’re just blowing cool air into his chest, frozen while he stands there towering over you, most likely curious about why you knocked on his door so hard, why you are blowing cool air into his chest and more importantly, who the heck were you? 

“Hi, I’m, uh, here for the interview. For, uhm, the vacant position at the BAU team, Sir– Agent!” clearing your throat you scramble to make a good impression, or at least salvage what’s been established. 

Swallowing your pride, you bow your head in embarrassment, softening your voice as you say “Sorry, Agent Hotchner. What I meant to say is that I’m applying to be on your team. I’m here for the interview.” Looking up at him eye-to-eye, to hopefully convey your sincerity, you held his stare and his breathing stuttered. 

Let’s be honest. Hotch just went through four hours of his personal hell, getting to know people he doesn’t want to get to know. Asking questions, engaging in small talk, studying mannerisms and language– all to assess whether that person could be the much needed addition to his team. And the last thing he wants right now, as it nears the end of the work day, is another applicant to entertain. 

So Hotch, along with the rest of the team, becomes quite surprised when he moves his body out of the way to let you in his office when seconds ago he looked like he was about to give a very tempered advice at whoever just banged on his door. 

While he gestures for you to sit walking around his desk to sit on his own chair, he convinces himself that it’s because he is a good person and because he would do anything to help his team even if it meant enduring another painful interview. 

Definitely not because of your eyes. Or pouting lips. Or the adorable way blood rushed to your cheeks in embarrassment. Or your soft, soft voice that said his name in such a way that he’s dying to hear it again. 

Nope. It is simply his duty to lead and care for his team, and that means interviewing you. Somehow. 

-

It was quiet. You were nervous. It was obvious. He was waiting for you to talk but you’ve been staring at his tie instead of his face. You’re fiddling with your rings, wiping your palms on your jeans. And you were still very obviously trying to even your breaths. 

Observing these were enough to make him soften his voice slightly as he spoke, “Could you tell me about yourself?” He said slowly and softly– soft enough that if the air conditioning was a little louder you probably wouldn’t have heard him at all. 

Hotch became extremely conscious about coming across as demanding. He simply didn’t want to intimidate you further. He knew that if he wanted you to talk, open up, and present yourself justifiably, he would have to tread lightly. 

Now, he didn’t know when exactly he had started to care about whether he came off as intimidating or not, nor does he know why he’s the one adjusting for someone applying to be on his team– but apparently the times have changed. 

He’s brought out of his thoughts by your faint reply, “Well I, uh, have a bachelor in Psychology and in World Literature. Uhm, and.. I also have a Masters in Criminal Psychology but pursued Forensic Psychology for my doctorate.” You sounded almost hesitant to list all your achievements, which made him think you’ve probably been told once or twice that it is impolite to talk about such achievements to one’s face. 

The thought of someone invalidating your achievements, your brilliance infuriates him. You’ve achieved so much so early in your life, you deserve to be celebrated. There’s a subdued smile on his face, hopefully one you interpret as encouragement to continue. 

With a small smile gracing your face at his kind reaction, you added, “I only recently finished actually– I did it simultaneously with the academy’s progr–”

He cut you off, “Congratulations– sorry.” Too eager. Since when am I the one doing the impressing? “You like studying,” he observed. The smile on your face, although small, seemed genuine. Your face and your posture increasingly relaxed the more you talked.

You breathe out a laugh, “A little.. A little too much maybe.” Looking at your hands, rearranging the rings that adorn your nimble fingers. 

Hotch’s face has softened. He didn’t notice by how much, but it has relaxed a lot more the longer he observes you, everything about you. He commits your every movement to his memory, every mannerism, chalking it up to some part of his assessment. Words that describe you flashing in his head: introverted, intelligent, beautiful, accomplished– He hasn’t read your file. He gave up on reading files three candidates ago and has been relying on his profiling skills to get him through. 

But there’s something about you. Something that he can’t figure out, can’t name or explain. He felt it the very first time your eyes met, which isn’t even an hour ago but feels damn near to ages ago. He’s feeling it deep in his bones– a tingling feeling, an electric current, a rush of excitement. His heart has been beating slower yet louder. He feels it strongly in his chest. 

It had made him silent for a minute, so you look up from your hands subtly to check if he’s alright. For a second you were worried that he had said something that you just didn’t pick up on, and he’s been waiting for you to respond. 

But as your eyes meet again, he feels he’s suddenly in unfamiliar territory, treading powerful waters, and he can do nothing but go along with it. 

You’re surprised by the look in his eyes, but the sudden silence is at the forefront of your mind and you try to diffuse it, “Uhm–”

He cuts you off again, “Tell me something about yourself that I won’t read on your file.” He had the same idea- to talk. But for you, it was to diffuse the silence you thought was a dead giveaway of how disastrous your interview’s turning out to be. To him, it was to get somewhere, anywhere.

He’s got this weird feeling– a desire to get you talking more, even though soon enough there will be an awakened part of him that is certain there will be more talking in store for you two in the future. 

“What?” You don’t know why you said that. You understood what he said. Now you probably helped him affirm in his head that you’re ditzy and possibly the least reliable candidate to make agent. 

But..you just caught him looking at you like he was in love with you. Now you’re officially crazy. Dark, compelling eyes calling to you– it threw you off. It wasn’t even the usual sickening look of love, it was more of this serious, earnest yearning- almost pained.

- 

Now while the two of you were battling awkwardness and inexplicable feelings, the team was watching the whole thing unfold through his office window like a silent film. In fact, Garcia and Derek were already sharing a bowl of popcorn he ran to microwave the second they all saw Hotch’s entire existence falter at your presence. 

“What– what is happening? They’re barely talking!” Garcia worries. You’re tiny and adorable, and you look so kind and so incredibly soft and fragile. She just wants to protect you regardless of having met you less than briefly, minutes ago. 

“Baby girl, look closely. Both are just nervous, blushing idiots. They’ve just gotta push through this. Aren’t I right?” Derek’s smart mouth smugly adds. Looking to Rossi for any confirmation that he had guessed right: Hotch has a crush. 

Ever the skilled lip-reader, Reid comments “It’s been six whole minutes and Hotch has only asked her to tell him about herself.” He ponders for a moment, tilting his head “And judging by his relaxed jaw movements, gestures, and the decreased amount of strain his neck shows, I’d say he’s speaking softer than his usual volume.” 

Essentially Hotch’s best friend, every member looks to Rossi for his reaction. If they need any sort of confirmation that they’re reading their boss man right, they only ever have to read his right hand man Rossi who wears how he feels and what he thinks like Garcia wears her individuality. 

But Rossi’s only looking back at Reid with twinkling eyes and a smug smile growing bigger by the second. He lets out a quiet laugh, turning back to see Hotch smiling at the girl who is unaware of the fool grinning at her, “Addition to the team my ass– he'll be adding her to his life."

[miley1442111]

safe- a.hotchner

a/n: i imagined a fem reader but as per usual, imagine what you like :)

you and aaron have jack (obvi) and a daughter, ellie. :) (1.4k + words)

summary: you become an unsubs target

pairing: husband/dad aaron hotchner x wife/mother reader

warnings: general cm minds topics, knives, stitches, head wounds, trauma talk of harm coming to the team, the reader is harmed, etc.

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

There you stood, your own blood as well as another's blood all over your body. 

What happened? 

You were just leaving work, you were going to pick up Jack and Ellie on your way home. It was taco night, you three would cook together tonight, though since Aaron was on a case a few states over, you would be the only ones doing it. So, how did that exact same unsub get to you?

You sat in the ambulance, stitches going into your skin, but you weren’t even flinching, you didn’t even feel it. You knew Jack and Ellie were expecting you, so was Jessica. 

“Can I make a phone call?” You whispered to the paramedic. She nodded her head, sympathy on her face. “Thank you.”

You pulled out your phone as she finished the stitches in your head, moving onto the ones in your arms. 

“Hey Jess,” You sighed into the phone. 

“Hey, is everything alright?” she asked. “Do you want me to take Jack and Ellie for the night?” 

You could honestly cry at her generosity. “Yes please, thank you so much Jess.”

“No problem,” she smiled, worried from the other line. “Are you hurt?” she whispered. 

“I’ll be ok, someone just… yeah,’ you sighed. “Tell Jack and Ellie I love them, yeah?”

“Always.”

You hung up. The paramedic finished up and the officer who had been sitting with you for the past few minutes escorted you to a squad car and brought you to the station, informing you that the FBI were on their way. The FBI, really? Surely it wasn’t Aaron, right?

God, you missed Aaron. You’d never wanted to see him more in your life. Just to know he was ok, that he was there. 

Such luxuries could not be afforded at that current moment. 

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

Aaron sat beside David on the plane, exhaustion pulling at his eyes as Spencer read out the latest attack. 

“Oh, apparently there was one survivor,” Spencer said. “That might be his next target.”

“We should look into them, what’s the name?” David asked as Aaron yawned. 

“Y/n Y/l/n, she has a son, daughter, and husband,” Spencer said, and Aaron was wide-awake again. 

“Pardon?” He asked, hoping he’d heard wrong. 

“Y/n Y/l/n. She was beaten pretty badly and had a head wound and a stab to the arm, she’s at the station now. SHe agreed to a cognitive interview. She’s a professor of nuclear physics at a university nearby-” Spencer reads off. 

“She has more pHds than boy genius, 5 and counting,” Penelope interrupts him from the screen. 

“Well, she is older than me,” he stressed, attempting to keep some of his pride. 

“By what, 4 years?” Emily snorted, the rest of the team laughed, but Aaron was frozen. 

A head wound? You got stabbed? He felt faint. Immediately, he reached into his pocket to grab his phone, trying to call you. 

You didn’t pick up.

He tried again as the team stared at him in bewilderment. What was he doing?

No answer again.

“Sir-”

“I want a profile before we leave this plane,” he ordered and the team all stared at him. “Is that too much for you?” He asked snarkily. They all shook their heads and began breaking off into groups to work. Aaron stayed seated, a million thoughts running through his head at once. Was Jack ok? Was Ellie ok? How much blood did you lose? Was the unsub already on his way to you again? Were you a target because of him?

“Hotch I think we have something,” Morgan stated after 30 minutes. “The unsub is targeting women with the same description as the survivor. I'd say he’s a college student who is jealous of her husband. He’s formed a parasocial relationship and obsession with her and his delusions have led him to hurt those closest to her. It makes sense she’s beautiful, described as being extremely kind and caring about her students, she’s ridiculously intelligent, and apparently she and her husband are madly in love with each other. What’s her husband’s name Pen?” Derek asked, looking at the computer. 

“Aaron Hotchner,” she said, a gasp following her words. Aaron looked up, meeting the eyes of the team as they stared back, shocked. 

He could deal with them later. 

“Send police to Jessica's house,” he ordered before he got up to go to the back of the plane for a moment of peace. He took out his phone, dialling Jessica’s number.

“Hey, is Y/n ok?” She asked. “I have Jack and Ellie right now, are you with her?”

“Not yet, I’ve sent police to your house, just as extra protection, ok?”

“Alright Aaron. Take care of her when you see her, she seemed pretty shaken.”

“Course,” he gritted out and hung up. This was going to be difficult. 

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

You sat in an office, a cop’s jacket strung over your shaking shoulders. You were still covered in blood, you still saw the horrible image of one of your students being killed in front of you.

Where was Aaron? 

 “Can I go and clean up?” You sniffled, asking the sheriff who was sitting at his desk beside you. 

“Course sweetheart,” she smiled softly. “There’s a bathroom down the hall, if you want a shower there’s one in the training centre.”

“Thank you,” you whispered, feeling smaller than you ever had. You were told to be careful with your stitches and that you’d be brought into the hospital in the morning once all of the stuff with the station was over. You walked down the hall to the bathroom, standing in front of the mirror, staring at your bloodstained face and clothes. The tears started falling, going down the drain with a red-tinge. 

You grabbed some tissue, wet it, and started scrubbing your face. The ache of your body was nothing to the turmoil in your head. Was it your fault one of your students was killed? Was Jack ok? Was Ellie ok? Was Aaron ok? 

You didn’t even notice him coming behind you until he took the tissue out of your hand. He discarded it, damped the towel from his go-bag in his hand, lightly washing your face. Tears fell freely as he did so, but he wiped them away, a comforting hand on your lower back as you wrapped your arms around his neck. 

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your clean cheek. He continued his gentle cleaning, bringing it down to your neck.

“I’m sorry too.” 

He smiled softly. “You don’t have to apologise for anything.”

“Neither do you, but we do it anyway.”

His emotions became too much all of a sudden, the feeling of nearly losing you becoming unthinkable. 

“I love you so much,” he whispered.  

“I love you too.”

After Aaron sufficiently cleaned as much of the blood off of you as he could, he took your blood-stained shirt off and replaced it with one of his extra dress shirts. Walking outside the bathroom, you felt eyes on the both of you. You recognised some of the team from stories and photos Aaron had shown you. They stared as Aaron wrapped you into his side and walked you back into the sheriff’s office. 

“I want the kids,” you admitted. “I know we shouldn’t but I’m so worried that they're not ok,” you cried into his bicep as he sat beside you. 

“I’ll send one of the team to grab them and Jess,” he nodded.

“Please don’t leave,” you whimpered, holding onto him for dear life. You needed him. 

“Of course not, honey,” he soothed. He signalled for Derek to come in. He walked in, careful of your feelings. “Will you go to Jessica’s house and pick up Jessica, Jack, and Ellie?”

“Of course sir, but… who’s Ellie?” he whispered the last part. 

“My daughter,” Aaron said and Derek went wide-eyed.

“I’ll be right back with them,” he promised. 

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

"Darling, do you feel up to telling me about it? Or even just something?" he whispered against your skin.

"I know who did it," you whispered back. You felt such guilt. You knew the unsub, he was one of your students Andrew. Andrew was obsessed with you, with your life, but you just took it as a student being interested in your life to get out of work. You didn't pay enough care to the way his interest dampened when you spoke about Aaron and when you talked about your anniversaries or dates.

"Honey-"

"His name's Andrew. He's in my chemical sciences class."

Aaron was silent for a moment. "Alright. I'll send officers his way."

"I'm so stupid, I didn't even realise-" you started but Aaron shushed you with a gentle kiss.

"Don't talk about my wife like that," he joked. You chuckled softly and he felt a sense of great accomplishment.

"I'm so glad you're here," you sighed into his neck.

"I'm so glad I'm here too."

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

"You're married?" Derek asked.

"Yes," Aaron admitted as he ran a hand through your hair as you lay on his lap asleep, Ellie and Jack playing by the sheriff's desk.

`'And you have another child," Penelope said, shock apparent in her voice and facial expression.

"Yes."

"Why didn't you tell us?" Spencer asked.

"I wanted to keep her safe," Aaron smiled. "I also just assumed you'd figure it out. Clearly you're not all as good as you think you are," he chuckled.

The team collectively rolled their eyes, but still smiled. Aaron was happy, you were safe, another unsub was awaiting jail, and they could almost feel the love radiating off of Aaron.

All was well.

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

criminal minds masterlist :)

navigation for my blog :)

[ladycaramelswirl]

definitely not old

Aaron Hotchner x Reader

A/N: Did I create an extremely improbable scenario just to suit my need to create another highly improbable scenario? Yes. Do I care that it’s unrealistic? No. Please forgive any typos/ grammatical errors. 

CW: suggestive content, but not explicit (like 15+?). Use of y/n one time. (Technically this would probably warrant one of those hostile workplace environment seminars like they had for Derek and Penelope. But it’s funny? Idk this isn’t serious.) Sassy Hotch. Crack plot tbh. 

Also I know the timeline doesn’t really make sense, because JJ is a profiler and Emily and Rossi exist, but I imagined Season 1 Spencer while writing this! I guess it’s 2005? Btw I do not know how tapes work, so just pretend it makes sense please. This is so unserious. 

Summary: reader wife and Hotch are private people; the BAU team is nosy. Spencer is just constantly in the right place at the wrong time. 

Enjoy!

——————

The screen in front of you depicted horror - just not the kind the BAU was used to. The UnSub had confessed to leaving a message in an old tape. He had already been arrested, but you were all hoping it might contain something that might help the conviction stick. Only he was extremely paranoid, so not only had he left the message in a code, but he had spliced it into a tape he thought people were least likely to watch. His p***. It was the last thing to do for the case and everyone was trying to help. You all sit at the round table, and Spencer shifts in his seat, clearly uncomfortable. Derek laughs at his shyness and Emily laughs at the very unrealistic movements. She and JJ tilt their heads at the shape the two on the screen have put themselves into. 

“That does not look comfortable”, JJ mocks. 

The words are out of your mouth before you think. “Trust me it’s not”. 

Everyone at the table snaps their heads to look at you. 

“Damn Mama”, Derek laughs. “Who are you doing these moves with?”

You try to hold back a laugh. You were not ready to share about your sex life with your colleagues, no matter how close you were. Plus you’re pretty sure Aaron would not appreciate it. 

“That is inappropriate workplace conversation”, you say, pausing the video. “And you’re going to miss the next series of code”, you tell him, trying to get him to revert his attention back to the video. Emily grins at your attempted evasion.

“We already got all the code. She just doesn’t want us to tell Hotch she’s capable of all that. Doesn’t want to make the old man feel bad”.

“He’s not old. He’s only 5 years older than you”, you remind her. She puts a hand on her chest in mock offense like you’ve stabbed her. You roll your eyes. “And this is still inappropriate”.

“So it wasn’t Hotch”, Derek laughs. 

“You’re just annoyed because you haven’t tried it yourself”, you deflect, moving to sit next to Spencer who seems to actually be doing his job. 

“I’ve seen her do yoga and she’s very flexible, so if she couldn’t do it I don’t think you can”, JJ tells Morgan. 

“Oh you have no idea what I’m capable of”, he teases, which earns laughs from around the table. “I’m better than the old man for sure”. They all start laughing and talking about you and Hotch. 

You roll your eyes. “Wasn’t old in bed last night”, you mutter under your breath. You startle at the sound of a book hitting the floor and see Spencer’s bright red face. JJ, Derek and Emily look over in curiosity at what they might have missed, but you ignore them, attempting to give Spencer an apology for making him uncomfortable. He moves to drink his coffee in an attempt to avoid more of the conversation. Only he chokes on it because Hotch enters the room. 

“Have you finished working out the code?”

Everyone’s heads snap to him - JJ, Emily and Derek wearing matching grins. Hotch eyes you patting a coughing Spencer’s back.

“Are you alright?”, he asks. 

“Yes! Good! I’m good!”, Spencer squeaks, afraid Hotch is going to ask him why he’s so nervous. Aaron looks to you for some answers but before you can tell him it’s nothing, Spencer suddenly stands up.

“Got the code! Going to call the local PD. DA is waiting”, he warbles before you all watch him run out of the room. Hotch turns back to the rest of you. 

“Well then that wraps it up. Go home now, get some rest”, he instructs. Everyone starts packing up. You and Hotch walk towards the door when he realises there’s only 6 of you in the room. 

“Where’s Dave?”, he asks.

You’re about to tell him Rossi went to the bathroom when the Italian walks back in. Rossi immediately notes the paused video.

“Wow that looks uncomfortable”, he remarks. Everyone smirks in your direction. Hotch snakes an arm around your waist and looks at the screen. Then at you. 

“It was, wasn’t it?”

He smiles at the jaws dropping to the floor. 

“Good night everyone”.

—————————

A little bonus scene:

In his office later:

“You heard us talking before you came in the room didn’t you”, you question your husband. He was so private, he wouldn’t have said something like that otherwise. 

“They called me old”, Aaron grumbles, but his tone is amused. “Just wanted to shock them a little”.

You make your way over to his side of the desk, pulling him to stand up beside you. 

“Well Agent Hotchner, I have to tell you, there’s been some speculation about your performance”, you taunt. “Care to prove them wrong?”

“Last night wasn’t enough proof?”, he laughs raising an eyebrow. You run your hands up his chest and behind his neck, pulling him close. 

“The results were inconclusive”, you tease. He grabs your hips and traps you between himself and his desk, his mouth trailing kisses down your jaw. 

“Well I can’t have that kind of speculation going around”, he murmurs into your skin. Your breath hitches from the sensation of his lips on the sensitive spot on your neck. But instead of continuing, he pulls away and meets your eyes in a conspiratorial grin. “We should do an in house evaluation as soon as possible”.

You open your mouth to reply when the door swings open, Spencer finding you sandwiched between Hotch’s thighs and your blouse rumpled. His mouth drops open and suddenly all 187 iq points mean nothing when his brain loses function.

“Oh- I- um- sorry!”, he manages before running away. You stare at the slammed door then back at Aaron and burst into giggles. He drops his head to your shoulders and sighs. 

“I feel like a teenager”, he groans.

“At least you don’t feel old.”

—————————

Bonus bonus: 

Still in the conference room: 

“I want to go back to 10 minutes ago when I didn’t know this information”, Emily moans. 

“I think I need 5 more minutes before I can form a coherent thought”, JJ laughs in disbelief. Spencer walks back in.

“I finished my report. Where’s Hotch and y/n? Can we go home?”

“Probably doing it in his office for all we know”, Derek mutters.

Spencer’s brows furrow in confusion. “Doing what in his office?”

Rossi raises an eyebrow at Emily. “Is this kid serious?”

She shrugs back at him. 

“Spence, Hotch says we can go home. But you should probably report about what local PD told you before you go”, JJ tells him.

Spencer nods and makes his way to Hotch’s office. The rest of the team watch him walk away.

“You think we should have told him to knock before going in?”

“Probably.”

The sound of a high pitch yelp and the slam of an office door echo down the hallway. 

“Oops.”

——————

thank you for reading :)

masterlist

[multifandom-exe]

Oblivious - A. Hotchner x Reader

Request: Hotch x bau reader where hotch has feelings but reader is completely oblivious? 

Word count: 2k 

A/N: this is a rewrite of a fic from like 5 years ago, if you want to check out the original here to see how much has changed. Feel free to leave requests! PLEASE LEAVE FEEDBACK IN COMMENTS OR ASKS PLS i need to know if I'm still writing like I'm 14 😭.

The line. There was always a line. A line between good and evil. A line between love and hate. A line between professional and personal. That was a line you loved to flirt with, to teeter on, to play with like it was your favorite toy. Of course, you shouldn't be flirting with your boss, but when he was stood there, in that suit that highlights his shoulders and his wrists and his thighs and oh god... 

“(Y/N)?” And the way your name came from his lips was like heaven on earth right there. “(Y/N)?” What? A hand lightly brushed against your shoulder as he moved his head to be in eyeline with you. Slight concern in them as he gave you a small smile, sending electric through your body and thoroughly grounding you to earth. 

“Yes, I'm sorry, I'm just... tired.” You tried to look anywhere but his eyes as you so desperately tried to cover the train of thought that had your skin buzzing and your heart racing. You glanced at his hand on your shoulder as he took it away, wanting to whine at the loss of contact.  

Flirting with your boss was your own self sabotage. But you relished it every time. Every touch he missed. Every glance he didn't see. Every time your heart rate sped up as you saw him leave his office. He didn't notice any of it. And it made you want him all that much more. You should've been glad. Ecstatic even. Because once he realized you liked him, in a way he didn't like you, in a way no subordinate should ever like their boss. That line would be crossed. And no amount of ‘I'm sorry’ or ‘let's forget about it’ could undo it. 

Morgan and JJ stood a length away, taking in the scene in front of them. You, absentmindedly playing with your hair, a sign of flirting. And him, fiddling with his hands as he looked into your eyes whilst you spoke. 

- 

“Do you think they’ll ever notice the other is so head over heels for them?” JJ stated, watching you two with a look that's usually only reserved for Henry when he doesn't understand what he did wrong, or when Emily is openly talking about someone right behind her. A grimace more like. 

“Nope.” He started, popping the ‘p’. “They've been doing this dance for too long; I'm starting to think it's never gonna happen.” He tutted and tried to take his eyes off... whatever was happening over there. 

- 

“You look nice today, by the way. You do every day, but you know.” His attempt at flattery didn't go amiss as you smiled bashfully. 

“Thank you, so do you. I enjoy this side of you much more, the happier side. Is this some new technique to raise team morale?” You quirked an eyebrow as you smiled at him, desperately trying to quell the faint blush on your cheeks. 

His smile faltered slightly. Right. The team. It's been years since he flirted with anyone and clearly, he must be doing something wrong if you're thinking of him and the team. Every day he saw you. And every day he just wanted to throw caution to the wind and hold your hand, touch your face, stroke your hair. Feel you. Gently. Fully. Months. Months of slight flirts and fleeting touches and he feels no closer to being with you now than when you first joined the team. How one of his best profilers could miss something that was right there, he would never know. He was sure he was getting to the point where he looked pathetic. Rossi had even mentioned it to him, a late night in his office over a bottle of scotch. ‘I'm starting to question your profiling skills Aaron, if you two could see what everyone else sees, you'd know there's no question about what happens next with you two’. But here he was, trying his best to put his heart on his sleeve, and even that wasn't working. Or maybe it was, and you knew, and you were simply saving him the embarrassment of rejection. 

A cough broke him away from his thoughts. He looked at you as you nodded your head towards your nosy team members, who stood absentmindedly watching the two of you. He copied your cough and looked pointedly at his team. 

“Back to work.” He said firmly, turning to touch your arm and give you a small smile before returning to his office. Your cheeks heated as you stared at the spot on your arm, slowly walking back to your desk. You sat in your chair, thoughts going a mile a minute and you sighed, pulling your files closer. 

“Oh, Hotch your just so dreamy!” Morgan lays his hand dramatically on his forehead, attempting to mock you. 

“Oh (Y/N), you look absolutely ravishing today.” Emily came over to join in the teasing, doing her best Hotch impression. 

“What are you two idiots yapping about?” You looked up at the scene, laughing inwardly at their antics. 

“Cmon, Hotch is so into you!” Came from JJ as she giggled softly. “And I'm willing to bet the feeling is reciprocated.” She tugged at your cheek, pointing out the obvious blush dusting them. 

“Okay, we’re all bullying me, stay mad.” You tried to joke but they all gave you pointed glares like you were the stupidest person in the world. “He is not into me! He just wants someone in this office to actually do their work.” You giggled before pulling all your files together. You pushed your chair back and stood up to deliver your files for the day. 

“Keep telling yourself that, Sugar!” Derek shouted as you walked away, receiving an unceremonious middle finger in response. 

You jogged up the stairs to Hotch's office, raising your hand to knock on the door, finding it already open. Your heart hummed against your chest at the thought of him hearing the ‘workplace gossip’. Well, can it really be gossip if it's true? 

“I have the files you wanted.” You held them close to your chest as you absentmindedly played with the small pieces of paper sticking out. The tension in the office was palpable. The same tension that hung over you when you looked a little too long, or smiled a little too brightly.  

His head snapped up at your voice and he broke out into one of those very rare Aaron Hotchner smiles TM. “You can just put them there.” He pointed to his desk, trying to shield his face that sported the same bright pink as you. As you approached, he begged to every god on earth you couldn't hear his heartbeat threatening to break out of his ribs. There was a beat of silence as you put the files down. You knew you shouldn't linger, but you couldn't help it. Youd do everything in your power to look at him a second longer each time he leaves. He looks up at you. He really looks at you. Eyes so bright whilst still working a job like this. Plump lips being gently bitten between your teeth. That conversation, outside. A conversation he never should've heard. This was his in. 

“They are right you know.” Your head lifted gently, taking you away from whatever thoughts lingered. Your eyebrows knitted together as a nervous smile and quizzical look painted your face. He stood and moved around his desk toward you. “i am ‘so into you’.” He tried his best to keep his earth shattering confession as light hearted as he could, rolling his eyes a little at the end of his sentence. He sucked in a breath as your face didnt move an inch from the shocked look plastered on it. God. This was the worst idea ever. He could already feel the anxiety and the nervousness and the everything, trying to claw its way out of his throat. His usual stoic look must have faltered, as he felt you lay your hand on his arm, breaking through his layer of despair. 

“Hotch.” Your eyes softened as you looked at him, and your eyes closed lightly, a blush spreading on your cheeks. It felt like this wave of emotion had hit you and you just wanted to cry. The line. It had been crossed, and it was so utterly terrifying, and felt so fucking amazing. 

He had obviously mistaken your soft tone as one of pity, of rejection. He stuttered slightly and turned his back to you, flushing deeply. He babbled, about how ‘sorry’ he was, and how we should ‘just forget he said anything’. God, he had taken risks in his life, but this was possibly the most, stupid, miscalculated, inconcieve- 

“Hotch!” Your raised voice broke him out of his spiral as he turned to face you once more. You moved toward him and lightly pushed a stray hair from his forehead. He so desperately wanted to lean into your touch. “Whatever is going on in that pretty little head of yours, at least let me finish what i was saying.” He shook his head lightly, like he was trying to shake his thoughts away, as he gazed into your eyes for the first time since his confession. “I'm totally into you too.” You mirrored his earlier words with a slight giggle. And just like that, a wave of emotion erupted in him. He breathed deeply, not realizing he was depriving himself of air waiting for your answer.  

He moved to softly run his thumb over your cheek as he gazed at you lovingly. “I've been wanting to tell you for so long. I tried flirting but I figured I just wasn't very good because you hadn't realized.” 

“Stop. I've been doing the same thing!” You gently dropped your head to his chest, laughing incredulously at the stupidity, that two very intelligent profilers had missed all of this. So oblivious. Both wrapped in their own little world of desperate pining.  

“How about i take you on a date? I could definitely use some time away from this office.” He lifted your chin gently, so you were looking into his eyes. 

“I couldnt think of anything better” You gazed at him, happiness threatening to burst your heart into two. 

Bonus 

Through the large office window, the 5 profilers stood, huddled around your desk, staring intently, like it was the finale of their favorite rom-com. They all sighed a huge breath as they saw you lay your head on Aaron's chest, all turning to eachother with the most shit-eating-grins. 

“I think, Reid and Morgan owe me 20 bucks.” Rossi smirked as JJ and Emily burst into laughter. Morgan hit himself on the cheek playfully with a little ‘ouch’ before rooting through his pocket for a 20. Reid had tried to argue ‘as Hotch's best friend, of course you'd understand him the best’ But it was to no avail, as Rossi just stuck his hand out and gave him an unconvinced look. He sighed and rooted through his pockets.  

After much laughter and gossip, they all turned back to see you placing a chaste kiss on his cheek and hurrying out of his office. They caught him lifting a hand to where you had kissed. Upon realizing his blinds were open, he promptly shut them, trying his best to plaster his intimidating look back on his face. You stopped at the top of the stairs as you realized all eyes were on you. You coughed and tried to indignantly hide the blush that coated your cheeks.  

“Back to work.” 

-

let me know what you think! and pls request this was so cute.

Taglist

@back-totheoldhouse

[mrs-kmikaelson]

What's in a Name?

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x reader Summary: 5 times you and Agent Hotchner questionably cross paths over the years, just for him to watch you walk away (+1 time you don't). Warnings: long asf, murder, violence, addiction, unhealthy coping mechanisms, corruption in government, allusions to abuse, one made-up case, hotch is a lil ooc (not rlly), and reader has grey morals (lmk if there's more) Eps incl: S1E21 (secrets and lies), S3E20 (lo-fi), S4E1 (mayhem) Words: 24.4K

Masterlist | Bonus (no.6)

a/n: this is the longest fic i have ever written. guys, one section is literally 10k words long— and i didn't notice!! it's too long for one part (there's a 1k block limit on tumblr) so the bonus is linked above and at the bottom. it took me... a while. so i hope u enjoy! might do a part 2. also i'm only on s4 of cm rn (even tho i know too much alr) so pls don't spoil. ly guys!!

1. The myth

Quantico, Virginia, 2004

The interrogation room was cold and your fingers felt frozen against the metal of the table, but you doubted it had anything to do with the fact that it was December. If anything, you'd bet good money that as soon as you stepped out of the room, the heat would return. You'd bet good money that a certain Agent Hotchner sitting across from you had fucked with the AC unit.

Nonetheless, you didn't show your discomfort, keeping a poker face.

Well, as much of a poker face that you could keep.

You had a smile on your face, a twinkle in your eye. While you preferred not to spend time in police stations, this really was turning out to be quite interesting.

Agent Hotchner didn't seem to hold the same opinion as you. The frown on his face was unmoving, his expression stone cold. High-strung, you thought, and then you wondered what crazy things he might've seen to make him that way.

You turn to the man sitting next to him (the boy really), and asked, "Does he ever smile?" You pointed to the man in question to emphasize your point, even though it was clear as day who you were referring to.

Spencer, as you'd learned his name was, looked somewhat flustered at your question, like he wasn't expecting you to speak to him, but he ignored you regardless. You took that as a no. "Ms. Y/L/N, you're known throughout the United States and many other European countries as 'The Angel of Death.'" Your smile widened at your nickname. "They say that, as soon as you contact someone, they're as good as dead."

"Oh? Is that what they say?" Your voice was sly and teasing.

Spencer ignored you yet again. Rude. "You send them a message through various online media, and then they mysteriously turn up deceased."

"Do they?" you drawled.

The stoic and silent Agent Hotchner took this as his cue to speak up. "As of late, your existence has been nothing more than a rumour, an urban legend amongst criminals and internet sleuths. A myth."

You hummed.

"But your recent attempt on Congressman Baylor has failed. You got sloppy," he deadpanned. "You went for a fish bigger than you could handle, and now the myth is likely headed for life without parole unless you tell me who you're working for."

You were silent for a moment as you held his stare, and he thought that finally, he was getting somewhere with you, but then you broke that silence with a giggle so bubbly it was almost hard to believe you were assassin.

"That's cute," you remarked.

He narrowed his eyes. "What's cute?"

You shrugged nonchalantly. "The fact that you think you can convict me."

It was Spencer this time that spoke up, his voice soft in comparison to the jagged edges of his partner's. Perhaps this job hadn't broken him yet, you thought. "Y/N, arrogance isn't gonna get you out of this."

You snorted. "No, trust me, this isn't arrogant. It's self-assured." You didn't give them a chance to get another thing in. "Tell me, what exactly has your technical analyst, Penelope Garcia, been able to dig up on me?" You saw slight alarm flare up in Agent Hotchner's eyes, surprise in Spencer's. "She's FBI, yeah, and you guys sure do like to play by the rules, but she isn't an agent like you, Hotchner. She must get impatient, bend the rules, perform some illegal activity that you don't question because it helps you with your case. That's why I'm a bit surprised that, even though she likely did run an illegal background on me, she didn't find my records. I mean, they're not that sealed. I bet I could unseal those bad boys right now."

He's lucky you didn't put money on that bet, because you would've won.

Aside from his eyes, no emotion other than irritation showed on his face. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh, you poor sweet things." Another chuckle left you. "Have you ever heard of this little thing called immunity?"

Hotch was quick to dispute. "No. You do not have immunity."

You contested, "Oh, yes, sweetheart, I do. And if you had checked my pockets for anything other than a pistol, then perhaps you'd have noticed this." Since they hadn't cuffed you, you reached into your back pocket easily and pulled out your badge, the words Central Intelligence Agency catching their eyes immediately. 

Hotchner scoffed, the most emotion you'd seen from him since you met. "You're CIA?"

You cocked your head. "Y'know, for some of America's supposed best minds, I'm a little unimpressed."

Reid leaned forward in his seat. "You're—"

"Yes, I am. So your girl back at HQ seemed to miss a few details about me, and you have missed more than a few details about this case— if a case is even what you could call it." You stood up and rested your hands on the table, getting bored of this game already. "What you have, SSA Hotchner and Dr. Reid, is not a serial killer. I hope your victimology analysis picked this up already, but the quote-unquote victims you have are all bad people, people who have broken the law in irreparable ways. And when I say irreparable, I don't just mean Bill Clintoning it up with minors, despite many of them having done that. I mean selling government secrets, espionage, treason. Things that threaten national security, things that my bosses do not like. I'm sure you catch my drift, don't you?"

Before Agent Hotchner could respond, the door to the interrogation room was opening, and a smirk automatically arose on your face. About damn time. 

A man who you instantly recognized as Jason Gideon stood in the doorway. You briefly met once, but you doubt he remembered you. His face was stern, too, and reluctance shined through his voice. "Hotch, the Secretary of Defense is here, and the DOD is demanding she be released."

You maintained Hotch's stare all the while Gideon spoke. The clench in his jaw was small, but you caught it. Something told you this man didn't like to be challenged—you'd keep that in mind.

Eventually, he nodded.

You grabbed your coat from behind your chair, stowed your badge away and flashed them your million-dollar smile. "Well, it was nice meeting you, boys. Let's do this again sometime, yeah?"

Then you were out the door, and Hotch thought that if he went forever without seeing you, it'd still be too soon.

And when Congressman Baylor was found dead a few hours later, he wasn't surprised.

2. Smile

Langley, Virginia, 2006

"I've got the personnel files all set up for you guys. Video, whatnot—it's all there in the conference room. Now if you have any questions, feel free to talk to my senior officers. This is Gina Sanchez, she's the Associate Director of Field Operations. And that guy up there is Kruger Spence, the Assistant Director of Operations. The lady with him is his second-in-command, Olivia Hopkins. And then there's, of course, my boss."

Gideon's brows went up. "Your boss?" he echoed. The rest of the team's confusion was just as palpable. When he was brought in by Bruno Hawks to assist the CIA in finding their mole, he assumed he was the one running point. As far as he was concerned, Hawks didn't even have a boss that'd be there.

"Yes, she's flown in from an assignment to help with this case." Right on cue, you walked out of an office, heels clicking on the floor and the same smile on your face that Hotch could remember from two years ago. "Meet Director Y/N Y/L/N; she's head of a CIA black ops initiative and envoy from the NSA."

Your voice was smug. "Oh, trust me, Bruno, we've met before." This time, Hotch couldn't conceal his scoff. He felt Elle glance at him in confusion—she's the only one who didn't know who you were. "Agent Gideon, it's a pleasure to meet you formally." He shook your hand, albeit unenthusiastically. "Agent Hotchner, I knew I'd be seeing you again." He rolled his eyes, making your smile widen, but out of his strong urge to be polite above all other things, he shook your hand, too, pulling away as fast as he could. "Dr. Reid." He nodded back to you, almost hesitant. You nodded to the rest of them individually. "You two I haven't met, but you must be Derek Morgan and Elle Greenaway. I wish we had more time for pleasantries, but lives are on the line, so I'd like to get moving ASAP."

With that, you swiftly turned and walked back to the office you'd made your own. You didn't often spend time at headquarters, but a mole in the Agency was enough to pull you away from the case you'd been working previously.

As you left, you heard Reid explain to Elle in a hushed tone, "That was The Angel of Death."

You stifled a chuckle. Let's see if Agent Hotchner's team was as good as they claimed to be.

❧

You and Hotch stood on either side of Bruno on the platform as he spoke to the entire office, Gideon off standing alone, seemingly in thought. "Now, we all know why BAU and Ms. Y/L/N are here. They have their job and we have ours. And we're down to the wire on this. Aaliyah Nadir risked everything, and now she and her children deserve our fullest attention. Let's find her."

They all walked off after Bruno dismissed them, all but Gina Sanchez. You glanced at her from the corner of your eye as she went to talk to Agent Gideon. You didn't hear their conversation, but you saw the hostility painted all over her face. Interesting.

After she left, Gideon made his way over to where you were standing, speaking quietly. "We think the agent who's tipping off Hassan may have had some kind of extreme event in their life."

"Something that distorted or redefined their belief system," Hotch added.

Bruno was quick to get defensive. Why, you weren't sure. "No, every agent undergoes regular psych evals. You know that. They're trained to cope with extreme events"

"Well, whatever turned this agent must not've been something you can train for," you cut in. You didn't miss the way Hotch glanced at you.

Bruno gestured outward with his hands. "Well, you're welcome to everything I have. Every op undertaken by these guys is on file."

You snickered a bit under your breath. Your ops certainly weren't "on file."

"What about the ones that aren't on file, like the wiretaps of the Saudi Embassy?" Hotch questioned.

"Those don't even exist," Bruno said. You didn't confirm nor deny that statement.

"How long has your department been running operations in Riyadh?" Hotch turned to Bruno, back straight and eyes sharp.

"We have a declared presence in Riyadh, monitoring US interests there. You know that. Now if that's all, I have an informant to save." You hummed as Bruno walked off, finding his attitude quite intriguing.

"And you, Agent Y/L/N?" You turned to face Gideon. "What do you think?"

You tilted your head. "Aren't you and Bruno friends? Why not ask him?" Because he had the same feeling you have.

He responded without missing a beat. "You don't have a belief system—this job is all you believe in."

This caused you to chuckle. He wasn't wrong. "Good profiling, Agent Gideon. And yes, I have my suspicions, but until further information is gathered, I'm not at liberty to discuss them. For everyone's safety." You gave one last glance to Agent Hotchner. "I look forward to see what your team has brought together."

❧

Not long after your talk with Hotch and Gideon, you stood with the latter and Agent Greenaway in a supply office where the body of Olivia Hopkins was lying dead.

Gideon turned to you expectantly. "It's your job to clean house. You do this?"

You scoffed. "If I wanted to kill a CIA senior officer, believe me, you wouldn't have thought it was a murder at all." You glanced around the room you were in. "And I certainly wouldn't have done it in a federal building."

He must've believed you because he ended his line of questioning there, turning back to Elle. "Have any other agents seen the body?" When she shook her head, he replied, "Good. We can use this to our advantage. Get the others."

You met up with the rest of the BAU in their designated conference room as Gideon quickly explained the situation. Your suspects filed into the room shortly after, each confused and annoyed. You analyzed their body language closely, standing next to Agent Hotchner.

"You're pulling us away from our assignments?" questioned Kruger. "There's a woman out there whose life depends on us."

Defensive. Self-centred. Rude. But not your guy.

Gina was the first to ask where Olivia was, which was either genuine or she was covering her ass.

Hotch was the one to answer. "Olivia Hopkins was murdered 10 minutes ago. Her neck was snapped."

"Just like John Summers," you drawled.

Kruger let out a scoff, but you kept your eyes on the other two as he spoke. "What are you talking about?" Gina looked spooked, but Bruno's expression was cold, even as he tried to imitate warmth. "You're lying. Where is she?"

"Right now, she's dead," you emphasized, not really caring to be sensitive.

Kruger looked at you like you'd just killed his dog. "Look, people don't just... get murdered inside the CIA."

Gina looked at him with betrayal in her eyes as if he were a traitor. Shifting blame.

Hawks spoke up. "I realize the enormity of this, but Hassan Nadir is still out there looking to kill his wife, and I need every agent on this." You tilted your head. Deflecting. He didn't even acknowledge that his own colleague, his responsibility, was dead.

Gina was the first to leave the room, deeply frazzled. Gideon followed after Hawks, but you didn't go with him. You stayed in the room with Hotch while the rest of his team filed out.

You weren't expecting him to talk to you, let alone ask for your opinion, but he did. "What are you thinking, Y/L/N?"

You hid your surprise, nodding to the door Gina and Kruger walked out of. "My money's not on her; it's not on Kruger, either."

He furrowed his brows, lowering his voice. "You think Bruno Hawks is the mole?"

You shrugged your shoulders. "Bruno's been leading this unit for all of, what, ten years? And he hasn't advanced at all? Someone like him must have higher ambitions, like leading the Agency one day, but that's not in his cards. Gina Sanchez and Kruger Spence have bright futures here; Hawks is already at the end of the line. So what's the next best thing in this city besides power?"

Realization dawned upon him. "Money."

"And by the looks of the old car he drives, that's something he's lacking, but something that he wants," you deduced, pausing. "But I'll let you continue your investigation."

He caught your hand just as you turned away, and you ignored the small spark that was sent through your body. His eyes were earnest and curious, but most of all you realized that they were beautiful. "Y/N, what's going to happen to the mole when we find them?"

You ignore the unfamiliar flutter you felt after he said your name for the first time, and it's then that you remember Hotch was a prosecutor. Before he was unit chief Agent Hotchner, he was just Aaron Hotchner, a man who valued balance and believed in justice. Even now, after climbing the ladder, he still didn't seem to understand that his own government was different.

In matters like these, the United States government didn't value justice.

They valued revenge.

But still, if not just to help him retain his faith in his country, you shrugged and told him, "The scales will be evened, Hotchner." 

Then you pulled your wrist out of his light grip and walked away, and he couldn't tell if he wanted to know what you meant.

❧

Sanchez and Morgan were on their way to rescue Aaliyah and her children, and then you were made aware that Hassan was already there.

Bruno turned to Gideon. "Look, we can't arrest him. This is still a CIA matter. You do know that?" He then turned to you, like he was expecting to you to back him up.

You shook your head as Gideon said what you were thinking. "How are you going to explain this to the Saudi government?"

"Explain what?" he fired back. "This isn't happening."

You crossed your arms. "That's not how this works, Bruno. You don't just kill a Saudi diplomat and get away with it—that is how wars begin."

He scoffed at you. "Look who's talking. The Angel of Death, giving me a lecture on in-house cleaning."

You narrowed your eyes and stepped forward. "I don't know who the hell you think you're talking to right now, but you need to double back because, at the end of the day, what I. say. goes."

Bruno opened his mouth to argue, but Jason mediated, "Let's just get Aaliyah and her children back alive. We'll worry about Hassan's life after."

You gave Bruno one last hard stare before you turned back to the screen showing the Nadirs with Morgan and Gina outside. "Make the arrest, Morgan," Gideon called out. "It's FBI jurisdiction. You're in charge."

You listened to them over the comms. [FBI! Let the lady go and put the gun down. I said, put the gun down!]

The movement of heat on the screen told you that Hassan listened. [Diplomatic immunity, my friend], he said, and you chuckled.

[Uh-uh, you got it wrong, my friend. This container hasn't passed through customs. Officially, we're not on US soil. Summers was a smart man.]

Suddenly, you heard Gina's voice. [That he was.] Pause. [Drop the gun.]

The feed cut in and out as the figures moved out of the container. Confused, you called out, "Morgan, Sanchez, what's going on?"

Hawks turned to you and Gideon, and you wanted to wipe the smug look right off his face. "You two still certain that Gina isn't the mole?"

Gideon ignored him. "Morgan." No answer. "Morgan, what's going on?"

[Gideon, we got a situation here.]

You raised your voice. "Gina, don't do this. Do not do this."

"She doesn't take orders from you," Bruno snided. 

You took another step forward to him. "Listen here, asshole—"

Gina cut in, [Bruno, what do you want me to do?]

"Gina, you put down that gun. That is an order—"

[Bruno?]

This made you turn to Bruno, and if you were in an animation, smoke must've been coming out of your ears. "Hawks, I swear to god, if you don't stand down, you will be endangering the security of this country—"

Bruno only responded to Gina. "You know what to do."

[Say it!]

"This is not your call. It is not your fucking call, Bruno."

He finally turned to you. "This is strictly in-house and you know it."

"I don't give a damn. It is still not. your. call."

"Finish him."

"Gina, don't you dare do this."

[You're going to cut the visual feed, right, Bruno?]

"Of course. Cut it now. Cut it," he ordered, and the feed was off before you could even protest.

And then you heard four gunshots. 

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. White hot anger rushed through your veins in contrast to your normal playful demeanour. Meanwhile, Bruno turned to Gideon, saying, "I want to thank you, Jason, for your help."

You stayed quiet as Gideon responded, too angry to speak. "Why?" He paused, genuine disbelief evident in his tone. "Why'd you turn against everything you believe in?"

"What are you talking about?"

"When someone asks you how you feel about... losing one of your colleagues, the only human answer is 'I feel guilty,' isn't it?"

Bruno nodded and mocked, "But as you so brilliantly deduced, Kruger Spence is the guilty one." Following that statement, you watched as Elle walked up to where you three stood, a tiny paper in hand that she gave to him. Based on the ignorant smile that graced his face upon reading it, you could guess what it said. "Ridiculous," he deflected, tucking the paper into his jacket pocket. "Absurd."

That's when you snapped out of your anger-induced stupor. "No, Bruno." You shook your head. "The only thing that's absurd is how arrogant you are to believe that you're getting away with this."

Bruno pursed his lips, flashing you a sarcastic smile. "Unfortunately, with Hassan now dead, you have no proof."

"Oh, you son of a—"

Dr. Reid cut you off, announcing to everyone, "Actually, Hassan is alive and well. He's en route—that's all the proof we'll need." At this, you let out a chuckle. You certainly didn't need that proof, but it was nice to prove Hawks wrong before he was sent to where he deserved to be.

He clenched his jaw, stepping closer to Gideon instead of you, likely because he knew he couldn't shake you. "You are a fool if you think they're going to put me in prison with all that I know." He glanced at you and your lips quirked upward, because this was true.

"Why'd you have to kill Olivia?" Elle interrogated. She was straight to the point; you liked her. 

"Economics," Gideon replied, staring straight at Bruno. "Olivia was looking into your financial records when you snapped her neck."

Elle scoffed under her breath. "So she knew your dirty little secret."

"Which one?" Bruno asked. "I have so many."

You stepped closer to the trio. "The one that involves you cashing out through Hassan, maybe buying a real Rolex instead of the fake you don so proudly."

You could see Bruno's façade cracking, his frustration leaking through. "Twenty-million from Hassan will go a very long way to help occupy my mind on a beach somewhere."

Gideon wasn't fazed. "The only beach you'll see is on a postcard I send you from my vacation. Let me have your gun."

Knowing there was no way out of this, Bruno did what he said willingly, but he still had to taunt. "You know, I think the consequences of what you're doing to me, my friend, are going to be a lot harder to live with than you think."

Jason stared at him without blinking, and he stared until Bruno walked out, escorted by agents left and right of him. You found it comical, that petty thieves were escorted to the back of police cars in chains, yet a man who nearly started a war could walk out freely.

Well, you supposed Bruno Hawks wouldn't be free for much longer.

And it was your job to see to that.

❧

You were packing up your things in your office when a knock sounded. You turned to see a raven-haired man in a suit standing there, a hand in his pocket. A grin came to your face. "Agent Hotchner," you greeted. "Congrats on solving the case."

He let out a chuckle that surprised you. Aaron Hotchner didn't look like a man who laughed often. "Yeah, well, thank you, but I have a feeling you knew from the beginning."

Your grin widened. "Ah, I just needed proof." You continued to pack your things. "And besides, I wanted to see what your team was capable of."

He hummed, and you thought he'd leave after that, but he stayed, looking around the room with a careful interest. "No pictures," he noted. "No personal artifacts. It's extremely clean in here—untouched, almost. How much time do you spend here?"

You fully turned to him after that, giving him your full attention. With comments like those, that must've been what he was after. You crossed your arms, but the smile never left your face. "Perceptive, Hotchner," you remarked. "Profiling me now?"

He shook his head. "Not profiling, just observing."

Now it was your turn to hum, looking him up and down. You found that you liked what you saw, visually, but the implications to what you saw weren't very fond. "Well, what I observe, is an accomplished man in a nice suit, but you don't wear that suit because you're unit chief, you wear it because you got used to it as a prosecutor and now it makes you feel on top of things... professional. You're stiff and stoic, but that's because you like to separate your work life from your home life. At home, with your wife and kid, you're lively and relaxed, but that's also to compensate for the fact that this job takes a lot out of you; you're not home often, and that puts a strain on your marriage, which is why you haven't called your wife once today." Your voice was soft as you delivered that final blow. Hotch looked both uncomfortable and, surprisingly, impressed. But thus far, nothing about Aaron Hotchner was what you were used to. "Tell me, Agent Hotchner, was I correct?"

Hotch lightly snorted, but he didn't answer. Instead, he took to staring right back at you. You'd been stared at by bad men, murderers, rapists, terrorists and the like, but for some reason, his stare bothered you. You turned back around and packed one last thing into your bag. Then you walked toward the door, stopping just before you made your exit like an invisible barrier was holding you back. 

You patted his shoulder, telling him, "You should smile more, Hotchner. It'd suit you."

And then Aaron watched you leave for the second time in his life, except this time—for reasons he couldn't begin to fathom—he hoped he'd see you again.

3. The games we play

Washington, D.C., 2007

The air in Washington was always crisp. There was something different about it—like you could smell the power in the air, like you feel it. When you were home, in your apartment, it was suffocating. There was enough politics in this city that you could drown in it, politics you didn't care for. You saw enough of it as is.

Nevertheless, you weren't home often, so it wasn't too troublesome. Today, however, you were home, except you weren't here to rest.

You stepped out of your Mercedes as soon as you parked, locking the car and walking straight into the alleyway. Men in blue stood in your path, hands out. "Ma'am, this is a crime scene—"

You wordlessly held up your badge, effectively shutting him up. With red climbing up his neck, he nodded and lifted up the yellow tape for you.

When you made it past them, there was a woman in a red dress there. She'd be beautiful, you thought, if she weren't sprawled out dead on the ground. Her dress was so dark you almost couldn't see the blood stain. 

But the blood pooled around her was a telltale.

Next to her body was a card with typed-out letters and numbers that appeared random. 

But you knew better than that.

There was a woman taking photographs of the scene and a detective analyzing it. He was just as confused as those officers when you showed up. "Excuse me, who are you?"

You gave him a short smile. "Detective Walker, I wish we could've met under better circumstances. I'm Y/N Y/L/N." You held one hand out and simultaneously held up the other with your badge. "I've been instructed to take over this case."

He furrowed his brows. "I'm sorry, Ms. Y/L/N, but I've already alerted—"

"Detective Walker."

At that, you screwed your eyes shut and cursed under your breath. You recognized that voice—hell, you recognized the sound of his footsteps. And he was exactly what you didn't need.

Composing yourself, you spun around with your signature smile. "SSA Hotchner."

Hotch looked momentarily stunned at your being there, but that was quickly wiped away. "Y/N. What are you doing here?"

"Well, if you mean in the city, I live here. And if you mean at this scene, then that's because it's mine." You paused, letting that soak in. "This is my case."

Confusion was visible on his face. For a second, you thought it was cute. "No, this is a BAU case. Series of murders, victimizing high-level escorts—forgive me, but I don't see why this would require a CIA presence."

Of course, you don't, you thought, but for once, you didn't say what you were thinking. Instead, you explained, "I understand that 4 women have died in the past week, but believe me, Agent Hotchner, that is not the case I'm here to solve." When his brows knitted together, you elaborated, "These women are not the targets of these attacks."

"What do you mean?" 

You sighed, pointing over to the woman's body. "See that card over there?"

"Yeah, it's the unsub's signature."

"No, it's more than that. It's not a way for him to get off; it's not something he does compulsively. It is a taunt," you stressed. "Those letters aren't random. They're part of a code."

"A code to what?"

"A code to an NSA file recording every single undercover operation the United States has in foreign countries." Like your words were a vacuum, they sucked anything lighthearted out of the atmosphere—if there was any to begin with—and left tension in their wake. "6 high-level analysts have parts of that code. I'm guessing that 4 of them are already dead." You glanced back at the dead body before looking back at Hotch. "The unsub isn't a serial killer, Agent Hotchner. He's a traitor with a mission to annihilate everything in his wake."

❧

After looking at the scene, you sent Detective Walker away, telling him it wasn't personal but this case was too sensitive to be worked by local police. They didn't have the clearance nor did they have the means to help. You asked him to send you all of his evidence, and he complied easily, but someone wasn't so easily persuaded.

"You're going to need help."

You snorted. "Thank you, but I think I'll do just fine without it." Just as you reached your car, Hotch grabbed your wrist. 

You turned around, but before you could say anything, he spoke. "You could use my team, and you know it."

Your eyes ever so slightly narrowed. "All due respect, Agent Hotchner, but this is above your pay grade."

He held your stare for a few seconds until you saw his jaw tense. He glanced to the side before he exasperatedly muttered, "Please, Y/N." He looked up at you. "I want to help with this case."

Unknowingly, you straightened your back. Aaron Hotchner surprised you more and more each time you saw him. The corners of your lips curved upward, but something about your smile was more sincere. "You're not a man who says please much, are you?"

He rolled his eyes and neglected to answer. "Does that mean you'll accept our help?"

You paused. Was that what you meant? Your mouth didn't correspond with your brain as you replied, "I'm running point on this." Hotch's shoulders imperceptibly relaxed and he nodded. "I'll tell Detective Walker to send his stuff over to the BAU. I'll meet you there to brief your team." You turned away before you could see him nod a second time.

You don't know why you said yes, but you did. On the drive over, you told yourself it was because he was right, you could use some extra hands, and it helped that the BAU were good at what they did.

Yes, that's why I didn't send him away. 

You didn't explore any other option.

❧

Hotch got to the BAU before you but waited for you to arrive before walking into the building. To make sure you got to the right place, you reasoned. 

You went through the typical security procedure: removed your guns, walked through the metal detector, and showed your ID. In the elevator, you cracked a couple jokes that he didn't laugh at, asshole, but you nearly caught him slipping at one.

"This city's so damn power-hungry that even the serial killers would prefer a fucking computer code over sex. What a nerd. Hey, how often does that happen in your line of work, Hotchner?" You turned your head for his response when you saw his lips twitching.

You let out a dramatic gasp. "Agent. Hotchner. Are you..." you lowered your voice, a devious smile crawling to your lips. "smiling?"

His efforts to suppress his little smile failed after that. "Let's focus on the case, Y/L/N."

"Sureeee," you drawled. The elevator dinged and opened. "Better be careful, Agent. I might just start thinking you have a soul."

He shook his head at you and walked out of the elevator ahead of you so that you couldn't see him as a full smile graced his face. However, once you got to the conference, Hotch erased any sign of that smile and walked in full-stride.

You gave the room a cursory glance, duly noting that they must've spent a lot of time in here. You noticed immediately afterward that some faces were missing, and on the other hand, some new ones had appeared.

You followed Hotch to the front of the room in front of their TV. 

"Everyone, this is Director Y/N Y/L/N from the CIA. She'll be leading this case—and as some of you may recall, she's already worked with us on an investigation about a year ago," he announced, subsequently gesturing around the table. "Y/N, this is SSA Emily Prentiss, SSA David Rossi, our communications liaison Jennifer Jareau, and our technical analyst Penelope Garcia."

You nodded, smiling at them. "It's nice to meet you all—"

"You're— you're her."

You turned to the blonde with pink highlights that'd cut you off, Penelope, and furrowed your brows. "I'm sorry?"

"Oh my god, you're her," she whispered, her eyes wide and her face awestruck. "You're The Angel of Death."

You held back a laugh. "That is what people to tend to call me, yes."

She opened and closed her mouth repeatedly before eventually blurting, "I— you're an icon. I've read some of your code before in snippets, and it's beautiful. And, I mean, when you can code like that and then do what you do, it's no wonder that the government would want you all to themselv—"

"Garcia." At Hotch's command, Penelope's mouth snapped shut and snickers were heard around the table. "We are here to work," he told her, trying to be serious, but you could hear the amusement hiding behind his tone.

"Yes— yes, Sir. Work. Working," she said, but her eyes remained trained on you even as she spoke.

Morgan laughed, swivelling his chair toward you. "Sorry, angel. She gets a little..." he twirled his finger next to his head, "Comicon-y whenever things involve computers."

This snapped her out of her trance and made her whip around to point her finger at him. "You better shut it, Morgan, before I show everyone those pictures of you at Comicon with me."

His smile dropped. "Babygirl, you wouldn't."

"Oh, yes, sugar, I would."

Hotch exasperatedly cut their very entertaining banter off. "Work."

"Morgan, you've been to Comicon?" Without even looking at him, you could hear the smirk in the man's words.

"Leave it, Rossi. You heard the bossman: we've got work," he changed the subject, but based on the fiery look being sent his way by Reid and the teasing one by Emily, you'd bet that this conversation wasn't over.

Hotch signalled for you to start, so you stepped forward, got a little more serious for his sake, and began, "The serial killer you've been phoned in on is not a serial killer. The women he's killed are unfortunately collateral damage to a much bigger problem." Behind you, pictures of the paper left next to the bodies appear on screen. "The unsub is going after high-level members of the NSA who have fragments of a specific code. He's been leaving those fragments at the crime scenes. So far, he has 4—there are only 2 more. Once he gets the last two, it'll only be a matter of time before he's able to unlock a classified file, detailing every undercover op we have or have had in other countries."

The room was quiet. Morgan was the first to question, "So, he's a whistleblower?"

"No, not necessarily. Given his M.O. and need to taunt us with these papers, his goal isn't to expose the government—it's only a stepping stone to what he truly wants, which is chaos."

Emily spoke up next. "Well, he's clearly a narcissist, and he's sadistic at that. Otherwise, he wouldn't have killed these women like this."

Dr. Reid nodded, keeping his eyes on the file in front of him. "Craves control, finds a way to manipulate the situation and mold it into what he wants it to be." He looked up, talking with his hands while explaining, "Narcissists are devoted to themselves and will further themselves in whatever way possible. They lack empathy and find enjoyment in causing others pain, stemming from their grandiose sense of self-importance. Nathan Leopold and Richard Loeb were drawn in and obsessed with Nietzsche's idea of Übermenschen, supermen who possessed such high intelligence that it put them above the law. They later confessed to the police that they sought to commit 'perfect crime.' This unsub is likely suffering from the same sense of entitlement."

Rossi tipped his pen at him, agreeing, "Yeah, he's arrogant and he believes he can get away with this, hence the taunting. All he wants is to feed his ego, but he hides behind the whistleblower façade to absolve himself of blame."

"And he's impatient," Derek added. "4 bodies in one week. We don't have much time before he strikes again."

"No, we don't," you said. The screen changed to display the pictures of two men. "The last two people with the code are Malik Hussein and Ethan Torrie. I believe he'll go after Ethan first; he's in D.C. for this big gala tonight. That's where the unsub will make his move."

Emily looked between you and Hotch, almost as if she was unsure who she was addressing her question to. "So what's our plan?"

You, too, glanced at Hotch before looking back at her, splaying your hands out in front of yourself. "Well, we only have one course of action: wait for the unsub to approach Ethan."

Unexpectedly, Hotch interrupted you, saying, "Y/N and I will go in undercover." What? You held yourself back from widening your eyes and whipping your head around. "The rest of you will be waiting for our signal. Garcia, can you get us on the guest-list?"

"Already on it, Sir."

He nodded, firing orders away, "Alright, Morgan and Prentiss, I want you both to go back to the crime scenes. Talk to the owners of the establishments, bartenders, doormen—anybody who could've seen the unsub leave the building with the victims. Garcia, consult with CCTV footage. Rossi and Reid, I want you looking at his M.O. and why he didn't leave the men there with the women. JJ, contact The Post and tell them not to run the latest murder; it's imperative we keep this and the unsub's true motives out of the press. Y/N and I will go over tonight's plan."

They all voiced their confirmations and, like clockwork, filed out of the room until it was just you and Hotch left standing. The air suddenly got heavier—with what, you had no idea.

It felt different, old and new all at the same time, like everything and nothing you'd ever felt before. You couldn't pinpoint it, couldn't describe it.

Growing bored of the silence, you raised a brow, repeating, "'Y/N and I will go undercover?'"

Hotch, who was in the middle of collecting his things, paused and raised a brow of his own, turning to face you. "Yes. Is there a problem?"

You looked him up and down, taking your time and not bothering to be subtle about it. After a moment, you responded, "No." A smirk slowly came to your face. "Let's go over that plan."

He maintained his stare for a few seconds, reminding you of when you met. Eventually, he nodded and got to it. All the while, your mind ran rampant—but not with the case.

Agent Hotchner continued to surprise you.

And you'd be sure to return the favour.

❧

After planning for hours, you and Hotch came up with a decent story. He'd be going as himself. You'd pretend you were his girlfriend, his tag-along for the party, with a fake identity. His presence would make sense, but if people found out Y/N Y/L/N was there, they'd start to wonder things that this plan couldn't afford.

Your name wasn't widely known, nor was your face, but at a party like this, you had to be careful.

That's what you explained to Hotch.

"I don't understand. Nobody knows who you are. Not even Garcia could figure out who you really were when we met." He furrowed his brows in confusion.

You sighed, "There's going to be a lot of powerful people there, Hotchner. Everybody knows The Angel of Death, but there are some big fish in Washington that know she's Y/N."

This seemed to confuse him more. You surmised that he didn't like not knowing things. "Why do you say it like that—say your name as if it's not your name?" 

You gave him a look.

His eyes widened. And for the second time that day, you found yourself thinking that Aaron Hotchner was cute. "It's not your name?"

"Why do you think Penelope had such a hard time finding my credentials?" you inquired. You went on before he could answer. "I take it she didn't find my records at The Academy, either. She found that I went to Caltech, but she didn't find yearbook photos or my social media. She found that I grew up in Massachusetts, that my parents are dead, that I was born in '79. But otherwise, I'm a ghost, aren't I?" Your voice was somewhat playful.

Hotch didn't seem to find the humour in what you were saying.

"So everything about you is a lie." It wasn't a question.

Your eyes glinted with amusement. You leaned in to where he sat across from you on the other side of the table. If you didn't know any better, you'd say that Agent Hotchner stiffened. "'Nothing more than a rumour, an urban legend amongst criminals and internet sleuths. A myth,'" you whispered. "Does that sound familiar?"

He didn't respond.

"As you said, Agent Hotchner, I am a myth. I am not meant to exist. So find me another identity and show me that you're up for the task before this entire plan is derailed by a name."

Your memory was cut off by a knock at your door. You swiped your lipstick across your lips and they immediately quirked upward right after.

You took your time getting the door. Whether Agent Hotchner realized it or not—or rather, whether he was willing to admit it or not—this was a game. And you were nothing if not a damn good player.

Without knowing it, he started it when he picked you up off the street that day in '04. He moved another piece on the board when he walked into your office in '06. And then he asked to work on this case.

It didn't matter what he thought about you or what your name really was. All that mattered was the next move.

You opened the door and his eyes immediately widened on their own accord. They travelled down your body, tracing the outline of the red dress you'd picked out, finding the slit on the side. But this was all within a split-second.

In the blink of an eye, his eyes were back on yours. If you hadn't been paying attention, you would've missed it. He was hoping you did.

But you didn't.

You did, however, miss his ears going red when you turned around, leaving the door open as an invitation inside. 

"You're wearing a suit," you noted, smirking. "How out of character for you."

You heard the door shut, and then footsteps behind you. "Funny, Y/N."

You chuckled. "Please, I know you think I'm hilarious."

He lightly shook his head as you stood in front of your mirror, putting on your earrings. He took that moment to look around your apartment, eyes scanning over your living room. No pictures anywhere, no plants or art. You had a couch, but no television. He glanced to the adjoining kitchen. There was an espresso machine, but he was willing to bet that if he checked your fridge, it'd be empty. 

"You can stop trying to profile my apartment," you informed him, still adding the finishing touches to your outfit. "I don't stay here often."

"I can tell."

He watched as you picked up your heels then went to sit on the couch to put them on. He tried not to let his eyes wander, instead trying to look around the room some more, but even without having his eyes on you, he still couldn't get your picture out of his head.

Distractedly, he heard you absentmindedly ask, "Hey, whatever happened to Gideon and Greenaway?"

He looked at you to respond, seeing you get up. "Things with the job. Certain cases take more of a toll on others." He didn't explain that Elle spiralled or that Gideon lost everything he held dear. He preferred not to think about it.

You tilted your head. "Did things happen with you, too?"

He didn't answer, instead opting to suggest, "Let's go over the case one more time."

You nodded and let him get away with it.

Hotch schooled his expression. "You're Deirdre Carter. You're a CPA. We met years ago on a work conference but hit it off recently. We've been dating for five months."

"Dating," you repeat.

His brows furrowed. "Yes." He didn't understand why you were hung up on it until he saw you glance down at his hand. It's then that he realized he was still wearing his ring. "Oh."

Your voice got softer, and you didn't know if that was part of the game or not. "Look, Hotchner, you don't have to do this if you don't want to. I can do this solo."

"No—" he sighed, looking down at the ring he'd worn everyday for years on end. "I'm divorced. I guess I just wear it out of habit," he revealed.

"Oh."

He took it off and stuffed it in his jacket pocket. "Let's head out," he said. You nodded, leading him out.

And you didn't mention the ring again.

❧

Once you got to the building, you met Derek, who was in a secuirty uniform, at the front. He momentarily disabled the metal detector for you so that the guns on your thigh and in Hotch's boot weren't caught.

In the hall, the music played ceremoniously, an orchestra of jazz players working tirelessly to entertain D.C.'s wealthiest and most powerful. The President would be making an appearance later. You hoped to get this done and get out of here before that happened.

Your eyes found Torrie within a minute, subtly signalling his location to Hotch. He was by the bar, a redhead on his arm. The two of you went that way.

He ordered you drinks at the bar that he wouldn't drink, but as soon as your martini was in front of you, you were picking it up and taking a sip.

"What are you doing?" he hissed, talking through his teeth. "We don't drink on the job."

You smirked at him. "You don't drink on the job. I'm just keeping up appearances." You then took the olive and bit into it. For some reason, you enjoyed getting under Hotchner's skin.

He rolled his eyes at you, likely about to reprimand you again, but a voice in your ears stopped him. "Do the two of you have eyes on Torrie?"

Hotch turned to you and brought his hand to your face, cupping your cheek. To those surrounding you, he was just a man caressing his girlfriend—hell, the leap in your chest told you that you nearly bought it. But you knew he did this so that the mic hidden in his sleeve would be at your mouth. You held his stare, a sweet smile gracing your face as you replied to Rossi, "Yes. By the bar."

"Good. Prentiss is on the floor with the ambassador if you need her."

You leaned into Hotch, too, running your hands down his suit jacket while he glanced around for Emily. "Got it."

The next voice you heard was Garcia's. "Hello, my lovelies, I am watching you on camera. Hotch, to your left is the door through which you'll take our bad guy. It's being guarded by Reid and JJ as we speak."

You lowly thanked her, to which she stammered out a "you're welcome." Hotch took his hand away from your face and you removed yours from his chest, cursing the part of yourself that missed his touch.

If you weren't on a case, you'd have thought more about how pretty his eyes were.

The music suddenly changed, becoming a slow song. Your eyes darted behind Hotch to see Ethan and his date making their way to the dance floor. You downed the rest of your martini then grabbed onto his hand, wordlessly pulling him to the floor.

You felt him lightly tense when you put your hands around his neck. "Relax," you whispered. "Just go with it."

At that, he eased up, wrapping his hands around your waist. You moved to the beat of the song, taking control of your dance while he kept a close eye on Torrie. No one had approached them yet, you gathered.

The dance came easy to you, too easy, like it'd been rehearsed or like it was something you'd been doing all your life. Your feet moved synchronously like they had a mind of their own. You didn't have to think about it—it just happened.

It was funny, almost. The stiff and stoic Aaron Hotchner could dance. Your mind went back to when he smiled in the elevator earlier. It made you wonder what he was like before. Before he was a profiler or unit chief.

You know you were different before you were in this life, before you became Y/N.

You wondered what would've happened if you met back then, when you were just you and he was just him.

And just as soon as you started wondering, you no longer wanted to think about it. Instead, you asked him, "Did you ever think you and I would be dancing together like this when we met?"

He glanced down at you then looked away. "No." A ghost of a smirk came to his lips. "I thought I'd be putting you behind bars."

You chuckled. "I know. It was quite entertaining."

"To you, maybe." He glanced down at you again. "I don't like being blindsided."

"Oh, I know." When he glanced down at you this time, he saw your eyes twinkling. "That is precisely why it was so entertaining, Agent Hotchner."

He chuckled under his breath, and something in you fluttered. "You're something else, Y/L/N."

You hummed, murmuring, "And don't I know it?"

He was gonna say something else but then something in his expression changed. He was back to stoic, eyes hardening. You straightened your back and stopped dancing. "7 o'clock," he muttered.

You unwound your hands from his neck, turning around to see a man beelining at Torrie from across the room. But if you had your way, which you would, then he wouldn't make it to Ethan at all.

With Hotch hot on your heels, you headed his way, moving through the crowd effortlessly. Just before he was about to reach them, you inconspicuously unholstered your gun from your thigh and pressed it against his back, stopping him in his tracks.

Hotch caught up to you, standing to the side and obstructing the view. "Careful, friend. I wouldn't want to shoot you in front of all these people, but I will." As a warning, you clicked the safety off. 

The man tensed as Hotch grabbed his arm. Your voice was sweet in comparison to your sour words. "Now, you're gonna follow him or I'm gonna pump you full of lead. Capisce?" Neither you nor Hotch waited for a response, leading him towards the side doors that Garcia had notified you of.

Upon getting there, Reid and JJ opened the doors without a word and closed them immediately after you'd gone through them.

As soon as the doors closed, the unsub twisted Hotch's arm, prompting him to yelp. Simultaneously, he knocked the gun out of your hand, sending it thudding across the floor. 

He shoved you against the wall, knocking the wind out of your lungs. Meanwhile, Hotch threw a punch his way. A crack resounded through the hallway followed by the unsub growling. He threw a punch back that Hotch narrowly dodged, but in one quick motion, he pulled Hotch's tie, catching him off guard.

In a flash, he had Hotch in a chokehold, fighting for breath. You acted quickly, reaching for the knife sheathed on your thigh, running up behind the ubsub and holding it to his throat, causing him to go rigid.

"Let him go or I slit your fucking throat," you spat.

He didn't ease his hold, making you bring the knife closer, knicking him. "I said, let. him. go."

Begrudgingly, he let Hotch go, who was gasping for breath. You let him catch his bearings for a moment, but you had to alert him, "Hotchner, the cuffs."

He coughed but nodded, grabbing the cuffs from his pocket. You took them from him, shoving the unsub against the wall just as he did to you and pulling his arms behind him. You wrapped the cuffs around his wrists and tightened them until you heard him grunt.

"In case you didn't get the memo, you're under arrest, asshole."

Knowing this would never reach a courtroom, you didn't read him his rights or tell him what he was being arrested for. He knew.

Where he was going, he'd never forget it.

❧

You and Hotch stood to the side in an alley after you'd shoved the unsub into the back of a black sedan, watching the car drive off. 

"I know that you're just itching to interrogate him," you commented, your voice echoing in the night. "But trust me, that's somebody else's job now." You felt Hotch's eyes on you, but you didn't look at him.

His stare burned into the side of your head. "That wasn't a cop car," he said.

"No," you finally looked back at him. "it wasn't."

"Who was driving that car?"

"A CIA agent."

"And where is he going now?"

"To pay for his crimes," you slowly answered, narrowing your eyes. "Stop worrying about it."

He stepped closer to you. "He should be doing that in a federal prison, with a sentence decided by a judge and a jury. The families of those analysts, those women— they deserve closure."

You shook your head, an incredulous laugh leaving you. "You still don't get it, do you?" Your voice was teasing, but your undertone was hard and serious. "A trial means telling a bunch of people, including civilians, about ops that are not meant to exist. It's just not gonna happen."

Hotch kept staring at you for what felt like forever but was really only a few seconds, giving you the urge to squirm under his gaze. For some reason, you didn't like the way he was looking at you. Finally, he looked away, exhaling, "It's not right, Y/N."

Somewhere, deep inside, you felt a pang. You touched his shoulder, softly telling him, "You should know better than anyone that the law isn't about right and wrong." 

He still didn't look at you.

You sighed. "Thank you for your help, Agent Hotchner." You patted his shoulder one last time and then left the alley, walking through the door you came out of and, in doing so, you felt something change. 

The game was over.

You just couldn't tell who won.

By the time Aaron had noticed this change, he tried to follow you, but when he opened the door only to see an empty hallway, he realized it was too late.

You were gone.

And he didn't know why that disappointed him so much.

4. Unpredictable

New York, New York, 2008

Whenever Aaron was in New York, he liked to pick up good coffee and eat good food. But as he stood over a dead man's corpse, he felt his appetite vanish.

He and his team stood at the crime scene, analyzing it. It was different, but he couldn't shake the feeling that everything about these murders were different. There was something off about them, and he couldn't figure out exactly what it was.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a black car pull up next to the yellow tape, the Mercedes logo glinting in the light. He furrowed his brows then shook his head, thinking better of it. Stop thinking about her.

"Uniforms are rounding up witnesses."

Detective Cooper and Brustin's arrival made him look away from the car and toward them instead. "Doesn't sound like anyone got a clean look," Cooper said.

Morgan looked up at the security camera that should've caught everything but in reality caught nothing useful. "It's over in a flash," he remarked. "He's probably gone before anyone even realizes what's happening."

Right beside him, Kate asked, "Is this what it felt during the Son of Sam?"

Just as Brustin was about to answer, a new voice sounded from behind them. "Son of Sam is the least of your worries." His breath hitched. They all turned around, and Hotch instantly realized that he was right: that car was yours—and now you stood right in front of him.

You gave him a glance but then your eyes were back on Kate. "What you should be focused on is another 9/11."

Kate lightly scoffed. "My apologies— who are you?" 

"Y/N Y/L/N, CIA," you introduced yourself, flashing your badge. Recognition briefly flickered through her eyes. "And you must Kate Joyner, head of New York's field office." To be polite, you held out your hand, and she reluctantly shook it. "I'm here as the Agency's delegate, and I'll also be representing Homeland Security for the time being."

"Homeland Security?" You looked to Morgan. "It's nice to see you again, angel, but what does Homeland Security have to do here?"

You went to answer, but Joyner cut you off, "I'll ask the questions, Agent Morgan, thank you." Your eyes widened slightly in surprise, and a quick look at Derek told you that his did, too, but then Kate was looking at you again, waiting for you to answer.

Your mind was brought back to the situation at hand. You glanced at Hotch once more to see he was already looking at you, but then you looked away. "I have reason to believe that this guy is more than a serial killer. In fact, I have reason to believe this is more than one guy."

Kate crossed her arms. "What are you suggesting?"

Every time Hotch had seen you, no matter how serious the situation was, you were lighthearted, amused, knowing you'd come out on top. But this time, your voice was devoid of its usual playfulness as you disclosed to them a fact that changed their entire investigation.

"If I'm right, Agent Joyner, then we're dealing with terrorists."

❧

Once the initial shock from your revelation died down, you told them that you'd explain everything back at the field office. Unexpectedly, Morgan asked to ride back with you and you obliged, figuring his company wasn't too bad.

Hotch stared at you the entire time as you got in the car, and he continued to stare at you until you sped out of sight.

You didn't look back once.

"So, terrorism, huh?"

You glanced at Derek and smirked, finding that playful nature again. "I told you, I'd explain at the Bureau."

He shook his head at you, a similar smirk on his face, then he quizzed, "Hey, did Hotch happen to tell you why Joyner's giving me attitude?"

You furrowed your brows as you came to a stop light, turning toward him. "What makes you think I've talked to him?"

Derek snorted. "Please, every time I've seen the two of you together, you're all flirty—even when he was still with Haley."

"So what? I've flirted with Spencer before—doesn't mean I wanted to get into his pants," you defended.

His smirk widened. "I never said you wanted to get into the boss' pants."

"You insinuated it."

"Why, angel? Do you want to get into his pants?"

You deadpanned, "No, I do not." Despite yourself, you couldn't stop red from crawling to your cheeks.

"Yeah, keep telling yourself that." Right after, the light turned green, as if saving you from whatever this was. Then the teasing disappeared from Morgan's voice, replaced with curiosity. "Wait, so you're seriously telling me Hotch didn't call you?"

"Yes, Derek. That is exactly what I am telling you," you insisted, then you glanced back at him. "But to answer your question, Kate doesn't like you for the same reason she doesn't like me: power." He stared at you confusedly, so you elaborated, "Word on the steet is that the FBI wants to reassign her, and you're their star replacement."

"What?" Shock laced through his voice.

"What, are you telling me you actually didn't know?"

"No, I thought the Bureau was so proud of itself for stealing her away from Scotland Yard."

"Well, don't ask me to explain FBI politics to you. I'm in an entirely different organization, my guy."

Derek groaned in exasperation, making you laugh and forget about Hotch, even if it was only for a second.

❧

By the time you and Derek got to the field office, you were all business, unlike any time Hotch had ever seen you.

With the team gathered around you, you stood in front of the evidence board and started, "The unsubs' behaviour is questionable. They're disciplined, they're using countersurveillance. They take a quick shot then leave the scene immediately, not stopping to watch or enjoy the kill at all. There is nothing sexual about it, and that is because these killings are not the work of a serial killer. They're methodical. They look like mob hits at first glance, simulate gang initiations. They seem random, but they're not. The murders, just like the Death card you received, are a smoke screen."

Kate cut you off. "How can you be so sure?"

You suppressed your irritation at being interrupted and kept calm. Cooly, you explained, "Murders like these create panic— not just amongst the general population, but amongst law enforcement, as well; it is terror. It serves their greater goal." You gestured with your hands as you spoke. "The murders simulate a bombing. From there, they station someone to watch, gauge how long it takes police to respond."

Understanding flashed through Morgan's eyes. "At which point they bring in a second bomb."

"Exactly," you affirmed. "The goal is always to take out a first round of civilians, followed by a second wave of emergency responders. It's trial and error—it's how they practice. And if someone catches the shooter, that's fine because we just end up thinking we have a murderer; the cell is never compromised. And in creating such panic, they ensure the most urgent response time short of a bombing. It's by far the smartest way to plan for a terrorist attack."

You crossed your arms, giving them time to absorb your words. You didn't expect anyone to respond so soon, and you certainly didn't expect that person to be Hotch. "It's a theory, Y/N." His voice was soft, and that seemed to only add fuel to the fire.

You resisted the urge to scoff, sharply retorting, "Isn't any profile?"

He didn't answer. Perhaps that was the smartest choice; he didn't want to pick an argument with you, not now.

Hesistantly, Spencer spoke up, "I think— I think she's right." He walked behind you to the board, picking up a red marker and circling spots on the map before turning back around to face you. "I think they're targeting points of entry. All the murders have taken place near a bridge or tunnel."

"Holland Tunnel, Midtown Tunnel, Manhattan Bridge," Emily muttered.

"If bombs went off, emergency response would shut down any ability to get in or out of the city," JJ remarked. "It's— it's like people would be trapped on the island."

It looked like you had everyone convinced, even Hotch—despite his reluctance to believe you—but for some reason, Kate Joyner just couldn't let up. She crossed her arms. "I still fail to see how you came to the conclusion of multiple shooters."

Unbothered, you replied, "Having followers do the shootings would ensure they're willing to kill or be killed for their cause."

She countered, "But is there any evidence that that's the case?" 

You narrowed your eyes, going to respond when someone's ringtone sounded. Derek picked up his phone and put it on speaker. You could almost thank whoever it was for stopping you from saying something you would or wouldn't regret. 

"Talk to me, babygirl."

Penelope's voice came through the phone. "Okay, I have bad news then badder, connected news. What would you like me to start with?"

Derek glanced up at you, then at Hotch. "Gimme the bad news, Garcia."

"Alright, well, I was looking at the surveillance footage from the murders, specifically the most recent compared to the previous, and found something very, very off. I'll share my screen with you." Emily turned on the laptop on the table closest to all of you, and the footage immediately appeared. Silently, you watched the videos one after the other, and you had a feeling that Garcia was just about to vindicate you. "You guys see what I saw?"

"Well, he sprints off in one and walks calmly in the other. It's two entirely different demeanours," Morgan said.

"Exactly, my dove. So check it out, I did a digital perspective analysis rendering on all the shootings we have footage of. Now the first two were inconclusive, but again, in the last two, I found something très weird." Garcia did a freeze-frame, her analysis software appearing. "Your calm, walking type—he's about 6 foot 1." The screen changed to the other scene. "But your sprinter, he's like 5'9", 5'10" tops."

While the air in the office got colder, you stood there holding back the urge to smirk. You saw both Morgan and Hotch glance at you from the corner of your eye, but you only turned to Kate, seeing somewhat of a defeated expression on her face.

"Is this evidence enough for you, Agent Joyner?"

❧

That surveillance footage was enough confirmation for you, no matter what Joyner had to say about it. Following Garcia's revelation, you walked away from the team's makeshift conference room and walked into the bullpen, pulling out your phone and dialling Homeland Security.

You notified them of the situation at hand and that you were expecting something big soon, but not yet, telling them not to act without your say-so. It was of vital importance that you controlled the situation; you couldn't let the unsubs know you were onto them, so you couldn't make any moves just yet, either.

You hung up the phone, sighing. You hated cases like these. Being The Angel of Death was something you got used to; you could control that, but dealing with a cell like this wasn't just more challenging—it was unpredictable, and unpredictable was something you weren't quite fond of.

You turned around and nearly jumped out of your skin when you saw Hotch standing right behind you. Your hand slapped against your chest. "Holy shit, Hotchner, don't they teach you not to a sneak up on a girl in FBI school?"

Something almost like a smile came to his lips, the last thing you were expecting from him, especially at a time like this. "I'd hardly call that sneaking up on you. And according to you, you've been to 'FBI school,' so you should know."

You scoffed. "Regardless." Hotch's eyes remained on you, and the corners of his lips never went down. An uncomfortable silence then settled between you, despite the loud bustling in your surroundings.

You were hoping you could've gone this entire visit without speaking to him alone.

He must've noticed this, because his next words were, "You've been avoiding me."

You tensed ever so slightly. You'd been here all of five minutes, and he thought you were avoiding him. "I have not been avoiding you—"

"Yes, you have."

"We have bigger problems to deal with. Not everything is about you, Hotchner."

"Why are you avoiding me, Y/N?" You hated how his voice sounded, calm and soft. You hated the fact that he was even asking you this right now. You wanted him to be the stoic guy he always was. You didn't like this. And deep down, you knew that that was why you were avoiding him.

You didn't like the unpredictable.

And Aaron Hotchner was just that.

In lieu of responding, you dodged the question, biting back, "Why do you care?"

Hotch stilled as if you'd just hit him with the question of the century. It was then that he realized he didn't know. He couldn't answer you because he didn't have the answer himself.

He didn't know what he was going to say when he opened his mouth, and he supposed he never would, because a second later, a phone rang.

A sigh left his lips as he went to pick the phone up off some agent's desk, and you watched as the stoic man you knew returned. Yet, for some reason, you weren't as relieved as you thought you'd be.

"Hotchner." Kate chose that moment to walk out of her office while Morgan and Rossi came up from behind you. Hotch's voice became grave. "Does it look it could be one of our guys?"

Derek took the words right from your mouth. "What's going on?"

Hotch put down the phone. "We've got eyes on one of them," he answered. "He's on the subway platform at 59th and Lex."

"59th—? We could've been right there." He looked at Kate with an accusatory glare. The fury that lit up in his eyes and the way she refused to look back told you there was a conversation between them that you missed.

Over the phone, you heard Garcia let out a shaky breath, telling you all that the unsub shot the woman.

Kate paced. "Where the hell are the police?" 

Meanwhile, you picked up another telephone from the adjacent desk. "This is Y/N Y/L/N with the CIA. We have a murder suspect on 59th and Lex, subway platform. Hurry."

You slammed the phone down as you heard Penelope fret, "God, he's getting away."

"Garcia, can you get eyes on him above ground?"

A few clicks were audible as she responded, "He's heading west on 59th Street."

Kate spoke up, stating what you already knew. "If he makes it to the park, we've lost him."

"We lost the visual," another woman said.

Derek scoffed while Rossi questioned, "Are the police on the scene?"

"Negative."

And just like that, without another word, it was clear to everyone in the room that you just lost your only suspect. 

You pinched the bridge of your nose, cursing under your breath. Next to you, Derek made his frustrations much more known. "We could've had that guy," he snapped.

Kate finally looked at him. "Even if we were on that platform, odds are he would have moved onto someone isolated."

This didn't console him at all. "Maybe, but it was worth taking a shot—"

"I had every available man on the street."

Morgan stepped forward, seething. "And I suggested to you that you use this team." Realization came over you. Now you understood why he was so angry; Kate let her resentment of him get in the way of the case, and that decision may have just cost you a life.

Just as you thought Hotch couldn't get any more unpredictable, he scolded, "Morgan, second-guessing doesn't do us any good right now."

Your brows raised, but he didn't look at you, nor did he look at Derek. 

"Hotch, we have a possible terrorist attack coming. How am I supposed to look these cops in the eye and tell them that we're actually here to help them?"

Hotch's reply was sharp. "We're here to present a profile. That's what we need to do."

Derek ignored him, pressing, "I said to put as express stops. 14th, 42nd, 59th— and that's exactly where they hit—"

"It's not your place to have this discussion." This time, Hotch did look at him, and his eyes were hard.

Immediately, you cut in, spitting out his name. "Agent Hotchner." Hotch's eyes went right to you. You stepped forward, firing, "We have six bodies. And right now, I have to call Homeland Security and tell them that we not only have another one, but we also just lost a valuable chance to find one of the perpetrators."

"Which is exactly why we need to stay focused."

"Focused?" Derek echoed. Then he took a step closer, standing eye to eye with his boss. "From where I'm standing, all your focus is on her."

Kate's head ducked down, and from there, it didn't take much for you to connect the dots. All of a sudden, it made sense why Derek had asked you about Kate earlier instead of going straight to Hotch.

And to think that, just a few moments ago, he'd been going after you.

With a tick in his jaw, Hotch commanded, "Take a walk. Now."

Derek stared at him for a split-second before walking off without another word. 

"You know, I think I'm gonna take that walk with him," you muttered. And just like that, it was as if Hotch realized you were still there.

He went to say your name, but you were turning your back and walking away before he could even utter the first syllable.

Unpredictability. What a fickle thing.

You hated it.

❧

You found Derek at a nearby bar, the closest bar to the field office. Contrary to what you said to Hotch, you didn't come looking for him; he just so happened to find the same place you did.

Before you even pulled out the barstool, he was sighing. "I know. I was out of line."

You lightly snorted. "I'm not here to chastise you, Derek." He looked up at you, surprise flashing through his eyes. "I'm just here to drink." Right on cue, the bartender came up to you and asked you wanted to drink, to which you ordered brandy, neat.

When said drink arrived in front of you and you downed it in one go, it prompted him to ask, "Aren't you still on the job?"

A slight chuckle left you. "Morgan, I run an entire CIA ops division and then I also get asked to do things like this." You then deadpanned, "Trust me, I can hold my liquor."

He held his hands up in surrender, an amused expression on his face before something serious took it over, wiping the smile from his face. "I'm sorry about Joyner, by the way." When you look at him confused, he explained, "I didn't have to say that. Not in front of you."

You sighed. Not this again. "Derek, I have nothing going on with your boss. So whatever the deal is with him and Kate is absolutely none of my business." For some reason, the words stung coming out of your mouth, and you didn't like it one bit.

He left it alone and didn't press the issue further (thankfully). You glanced at the beer in front of him. You nodded toward it, stating, "You haven't touched that."

He glanced at it. "Guess I don't have the appetite for it right now."

You hummed. "Or you want to go back."

He let out a long, dramatic sigh, nearly making you laugh. "I have to apologize to her, don't I?" This time, when you nodded and he ran a hand over his bald head, you did laugh. "Fucking hell."

You sarcastically patted his shoulder. "Don't sweat it, sweetheart. I'll walk back with you."

"Sweetheart?" you heard him question as you stood up, putting enough money down for both of your drinks. "And now you're paying for me? You're threatening my manhood here, angel."

"Get over it, Morgan."

And as he let out a hearty laugh, you let yourself pretend that you didn't have a different agent on your mind entirely.

❧

Upon getting back to the office, you suddenly wished you'd had another drink as you were informed that there was not only another shooting, but Detective Cooper was shot after he and Prentiss chased after him.

Kate seemed to have taken Derek's suggestion and sent the team out on the streets in the hour and a half you were away. In that time, Prentiss and Cooper nearly got one of the shooters, but he was fast; he could've gotten away. Yet he stopped and shot Cooper, prompting Emily to fire a shot of her own.

Suicide by cop.

You hung up the phone, walking back into the room after telling Homeland that you'd be calling with another update soon. "Three shootings in one day," you said, catching everyone's attention. "They're ramping up to something."

Morgan held his phone up in the air and wiggled it. "Yeah, well, while you were on the phone, Garcia called. They hacked into at least one camera at every scene and have been watching from day one."

You cursed under your breath just as Kate called your name. "Y/N." You looked up at her in half-veiled surprise, seeing her standing with her arms crossed, a somewhat uncomfortable look on her face. "Aaron told me more about your position in the CIA, how you're more well-versed in situations such as these." It looked like she had a hard time getting the words out, despite the sincerity in her tone. "I'd like you to take the lead on this." 

You were sure that the surprise must've shown on your face, courtesy of fatigue, but you quickly masked it and nodded. You took one deep breath, and then you dived in. "We need to hit the ground running." You turned to everyone individually as you gave them instructions. "Rossi, I'd like you to talk to the Commissioner. He'll be familiar with you." He nodded and left the room. "Derek, you brief Homeland Security, tell them I sent you. I want them to know we're expecting them to strike any minute now."

"You got it, angel."

You turned to Emily, who was already ahead of you. "I'll head to the hospital, check on Cooper, and brief Detective Brustin."

"Good. And Spencer—"

He (with a creepy accuracy) anticipated what you were going to say before you even said it. "JJ and I will talk to the Port Authority Police."

You nodded then realized that left only two people, unwelcome dread filling you. Out of a stubborn attempt to prove his earlier claim about avoiding him wrong, you looked to Hotch but still didn't meet his eyes. "Agent Hotchner, you and Kate should speak to the mayor. I have to make some calls to the DOD. We'll all meet back here as soon as possible. We are crunched for time, but the one advantage that we have is that they don't know we know they're watching."

Everyone who hadn't already left nodded and got to their tasks. Hotch looked like he wanted to stick around and say something to you, but as you said, the clock was ticking. 

You called the DOD and briefly explained what Homeland Security had likely already spoken to them about, that you saw a terrorist event on the horizon. They told you that, luckily, the Deputy Secretary of Defense was in town, only ten, maybe twenty minutes away from where you were. 

Quickly, you gathered your things and made your way out of the building. At the exit, however, you found exactly who you didn't want to see.

Hotch and Kate.

They hadn't left yet.

They stood outside the door, facing each other. He had his hand on her elbow, and he was saying something you couldn't make out. Whatever it was, it made her lips upturn.

You couldn't recognize the feeling that crawled through your veins at that moment. The green monster and you hadn't been acquainted in a while, but for some reason, she was showing up, making your body her home, and you hated it.

Shaking off whatever it was you were feeling, you pushed the door open. Hotch noticed you first. "Y/N," he said. He took his hand off her arm. A weight was lifted off your chest.

"Agent Hotchner," you greeted, promptly turning to the blonde and doing the same. "Agent Joyner. I've gotten word that the Deputy Secretary of Defense is in New York; I'm heading to see her."

Kate nodded. "Good. Aaron and I are on our way to the mayor's office now." She turned, starting to walk away, and then you realized she was heading in the same direction as your car.

Fuck. They parked next to you.

You started walking, too, Hotch now at your side. Kate was ahead of you guys. You're sure that Hotch could naturally walk faster than you, but he remained at your side. This is deliberate, you thought.

Your conversation from earlier hung in the air. With Kate gone, the tension between you was now palpable. But he wouldn't say anything, you assured yourself, not with her in earshot.

But perhaps you underestimated him. With every meeting, Aaron Hotchner continued to surprise you. He had become unpredictable to you.

Yet, the two of you would soon bear witness to just how unpredictable life could truly be.

Just as you were nearing your vehicles, Aaron opened his mouth to say something, but a loud boom cut him off.

Before either of you could register it, you were sent flying backward, shockwaves rippling through your body.

And then everything went black.

❧

New York City has never been so quiet, you thought, blinking your eyes open. And you've never been able to see the stars in this city, either, but tonight, you saw them just fine. Part of you wondered if you were dreaming.

No, not a dream. A hallucination.

There's been an accident.

The thought hit you like a ton of bricks as pain erupted in your side. A groan left you unwarranted. You went to touch it then hissed at the throbbing. There was no blood there, though, no wound, so it must've been the bones.

Nowhere else hurt—not that bad, at least. You tested yourself, trying to sit up. It hurt to do so, but you did it. And when you did, you were met with the sight of an SUV, up in flames.

No, not an accident. This was planned.

But it wasn't your car. It would've made sense if it were your car, if you were the direct target, but you weren't. Your mind ran a mile a minute. Why would they blow up a random SUV?

It's then that you remember it wasn't a random SUV. It was Hotch's.

Hotch and Kate.

They were with you.

With that realization, any and all intellectual thought escape your grasp. You shot upward, the pain becoming nonexistent as a surge of adrenaline flowed through your body. "Hotch!" you screamed. No answer. "Hotch! Kate!" No one answered. "Aaron!" You continued to cry his name but no one answered.

Tears you welled up in your eyes. It was lost on you that you hadn't cried in years. It was equally lost on you that this was the first time you'd ever said his name.

You spun around, letting go of a breath you didn't know you were holding when you spotted a man in a suit, standing there, just staring at the fire. You jogged over to him and called out his name, but he didn't move his head. You tried again. "Aaron." No response. "Aaron!"

Finally, he looked at you. A plethora of emotions could be seen on his face. Confusion. Anger. Fear. Then worry. "Y/N," he breathed. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, I'm fine." That was a lie, but you could handle the pain well. You had good experience. "Are you?"

"Yes, I think so." 

You took a quick moment to examine him, the cut by his brow, the blood by his ear; you think back to how he didn't respond to your calls. Concussion, you thought, and a ruptured ear drum.

You take ahold of his arm, gently but firmly, and slowly asked him, "Aaron, where's Kate?" 

He blinked, glancing back at the wreck and then back at you. You watched him swallow. "I—"

"Hey! Are the two of you okay?"

Your eyes and his simultaneously snapped to the voice that'd just appeared, seeing a scrawny kid stand in front of you. Like a switch had been flipped, the abundance of emotions on his face dissipated into one.

Determination.

"What's your name?" he questioned.

The kid looked at him, confused. "What?"

Hotch repeated, "What's your name?"

As if he thought you two were crazy, he glanced between you warily. "Sam," he replied.

Hotch didn't look at him or acknowledge his name as he ordered, "Call 911." 

"Yeah— yeah, I did."

"Call 911— tell that there's been an explosion."

"Sir, are you okay?" His eyes darted to you. "Ma'am, are you hurt?" Momentarily, he glanced down, his eyes catching the gun on your belt. He looked to Hotch, finding the same thing. Stunned, he looked back up. "Are you guys cops?"

Hotch's eyes were still on the fire. "Call 911. Tell them... that a— that a federal agent—" Without warning, he took off running towards the car, yelling, "Kate!"

"Hotch!" You went to follow him but the kid stopped you.

"Okay so you want me to say you're a federal agent?"

You turned around, eyes blazing. "Call 911. Tell them that there's been a car explosion, involving two FBI agents and one CIA officer." You barely finished your sentence before you were running after Hotch.

By the time you got to him, he was taking off his jacket, about to shield himself and run right into the car but you stopped him. "Aaron!" 

His eyes darted to you then travelled behind you. The dread painted on his features mixed with relief, but you couldn't tell which emotion was stronger. You turned, following his line of sight, and saw Kate lying on the ground, a trail of blood leading to her body.

Without missing a beat, you both ran to her, her coughing becoming more audible as you got closer. Aaron got down immediately, and her first words were, "My purse. I can't find my purse."

He shushed her. "Don't move, don't move."

"Aaron, my purse."

Shock. She's in shock.

If only just to placate her, Hotch glanced around for it. "I don't think you had one," he said.

"I must've dropped it," she gasped, moving her head.

"Kate—" you cut in from above, "Kate, you need to stop trying to move."

She looked up at you, her eyes widening at whatever she saw. "Y/N. Y/N, what happened?"

You ran a hand through your hair. "I don't— I don't know. A bomb. An IED, I think." You glanced back at the car, your mind going back to the same race it was racing in before you found Aaron.

"An IED?" she echoed. "I have to get up."

"No. No, no, no. Lie down. Lie still. You need to lie still," he pleaded with her.

Suddenly, she caught your attention back. "Am I moving my legs?"

Hotch shushed her again at first, then he questioned, "What?"

Both of you glanced down at her legs at the same time. You resisted the urge to cup your mouth.

You were gonna be sick.

Weakly, she asked again, "Am I moving my legs?"

You didn't have the heart to answer her. From the looks of it, neither did Aaron, because he changed the subject. "I'm going to have to turn you and see where the blood is coming from," he said.

"Do it."

"Alright? Okay." He turned her while you focused on the sirens wailing in the distance, getting closer. The sound blended in with Kate's crying until it was all one and the same to you.

Police cars and ambulances soon pulled up just ahead of you, maybe a hundred yards away. You stood taller, yelling, "Officer down!" When they didn't come any closer, you flailed your arms. "Officer down! Here! There's an officer down!"

Kate's voice, ever so quiet, cut through the noise like a knife. "They're not coming." You turned to her, seeing her look at both of you defeatedly. "We told them not to. Remember?"

Your own words rang through your head. The goal is always to take out a first round of civilians, followed by a second wave of emergency responders.

The reality of the situation struck you. They weren't coming.

"The first wave of responders are the targets," she got out. "ESU orders are not— to let anyone in until the area is cleared."

"No." You shook your head. "I'm not taking that as an answer."

"Y/N—"

"We are getting you out of here, Kate, come hell or high water." Your previous aversion to her no longer mattered. She was lying on the ground covered in blood, unable to move her legs. All that mattered was getting her out.

Without wasting another second, you ran toward the barricade. ESU officer braced their rifles, but you had your badge ready as you stood a safe distance away from them. You were trying to think calmly, as calmly as you could. Your ribs stung as you held the badge up in the air.

The words were spoken in an erratic panic. "My name is Director Y/N Y/L/N, I'm a senior officer of the CIA. Behind me are SSAs Aaron Hotchner and Kate Joyner. She is injured— badly—"

A man stepped forward and cut you off cooly, "I understand that, ma'am, but I have orders not to let anyone in—"

You lost it. "Screw your orders! She can't fucking move!"

"Ma'am, my orders are what they are."

"Your orders are what they are," you repeated under your breath, a humourless chuckle escaping. "What's your name?"

He squared his shoulders. "It's Captain Warner, ma'am."

"Well, Captain Warner," you spat. "Allow me to re-introduce myself. My name is Director or Agent Y/L/N, not ma'am. Director. And I am quite familiar with your orders, Captain; I gave them. You are here because I made the call that put you here. And, so help me God, if you don't listen to this order, I will make the call that relieves you of your position."

Warner didn't appear to be shaken, but you could see the cloud of doubt floating in his eyes. You'd think that anyone would grapple for their job, but Warner was being difficult. "I apologize, Director, but I can't do that."

Your nostrils flared. You were just about to continue telling him off when an awfully familiar voice sounded, asking for someone in charge. Your eyes widened. "Derek!"

Derek's head snapped your way. "Holy shit. Y/N!" He came running towards you but was stopped by the same officers that kept you from crossing the barricade, holding up their guns.

"This area is restricted," he said.

He held up his badge. "I'm Agent Morgan, FBI. That's my friend—"

"This area is restricted," Warner repeated, barely looking at him. "I will take care of your friend. Now go back to the Federal Building. There are evac marshaling spots. Check in and make sure they know where you are."

Morgan held his ground, stepping in front of Warner and retaliating, "I am not about to do that."

"Get out of my face or I'll have you bodily removed, Agent."

"Derek." You caught his attention. "Hotch and Kate are down there."

He spun around. "That's my boss down there!"

"My orders are what they are." 

You scoffed at the recycled statement while Derek argued, "I don't give a damn what your orders are!"

"I get it, Agent, but we've been told by you" he gave you a glance "'Responders are the targets.' So, until the blast site is cleared, no one goes in."

Morgan looked back at you then back at the Captain with a renewed resolution, trying a different approach. "You're Marine Corps, right?" Warner didn't respond, looking down. "Right?"

"Please. Go back to the marshaling point."

"I'm not doing it." He pointed to the site. "I'm not just going to let my man lie down there like that."

As if on cue, Hotch screamed, "Someone! Damnit, we're here!" You nearly flinched at the sheer pain in his voice, and Derek certainly didn't look unaffected, either.

"'Never leave a man behind.' You do remember that, don't you?"

Hotch kept screaming as Morgan and Warner stared each other down. It seemed that he must've gotten to him, because within just a moment, he said, "Go."

Derek didn't waste another second, immediately running to you and grabbing onto your shoulders. "Y/N, are you alright?"

"I'm fine! I'm fine, it's Kate."

He nodded and then took off following with you trailing closely behind, but not before you gave Captain Warner a pointed glare.

When you got to Hotch, the kid was back, seemingly tending to Kate as Morgan explained, "They're not letting any ambulances down here until they clear the scene." He glanced at the kid like he just noticed he was there. "Kid, you've gotta get behind the barricades. Let's go." The kid didn't move. "Go!"

"Go, Sam." At Hotch's word, the kid got up and ran, but your attention was focused solely on Kate, checking her vitals.

"Talk to me. Can we carry her?" Morgan barely gave him time to respond. "Hotch, can we carry her?"

"No, I tried. Morgan—" he paused, intaking a shaky breath, "she's going to bleed to death if we don't get her out of here. We've got to do something."

Derek's phone ringing cut off whatever he was going to say. He picked it up immediately. "Garcia, I got Hotch and Y/N, but listen to me, you got to get somebody down here right away. You hear me? Right now." You didn't hear what Garcia said next, but it caused his head to snap up. "What? You're absolutely sure?" He glanced at you then to the kid who you realized never left.

The kid held his hands out like he was asking what you were waiting for, causing you to tilt your head, confused.

Morgan hung up the phone and then his next words shocked you. "Hotch. The kid. He's the bomber."

Your eyes went wide before instantly going to Hotch. "Are you okay to stay here?" you asked.

He didn't even think about it. "Go."

With that, you and Morgan took off running. The kid bolted, leaving you to chase after him.

Despite the heels on your feet (that luckily weren't stilettos) and obvious bruise to your side, you couldn't feel pain. All you feel was the pure adrenaline pumping through your veins. You hadn't been so ready to fight in ages. The anger coursing through your body was unparalleled.

This kid wasn't getting away with this, and you'd make sure of it.

You chased the kid down the street, Morgan ahead of you. An ambulance passed you while you ran, and you prayed it'd be heading Hotch's way.

You kept chasing after the kid, turning a corner and he was gone, but Morgan was already heading down the stairs for the subway, so you knew he was down there.

You ran down the stairs, skipping steps as you went, following Morgan's lead and pulling out your gun. Civilians filled the station, evacuating. "Out of the way!" you screamed, pushing past them.

"Move! Where'd he go? Where?" Some pointed straight ahead, so you kept running.

You got down to where the subway was, but by now, it was empty. You came to a stop next to Morgan, holding up your gun.

"Show your face, you son of a bitch!"

No one showed. You nodded to the train and panted, "Morgan, I'll take the back. You take the front."

Heaving, he nodded, going for the front. You entered the train with your gun held high, pointing it on either side of the door. You walked through the cart slowly, checking beheind yourself periodically to ensure the kid wouldn't sneak up on you.

You pushed open the door to the next cart warily. It was just as empty as the previous one. You went for the next cart. Nothing again. You met Morgan in the middle. "Nothing," you said.

"Me neither. But there's a door at the front. I'm thinking he could've hopped through there," he told you.

You nodded and followed him there, accepting his help and jumping down. Carefully, with your gun and flashlight in hand, you walked on the tracks, avoiding the power supply. You shouted, "We know you're in here, kid. Show your fucking face, you coward!"

A noise sounded, making you turn around to check it while Morgan continued forward. "You've got nowhere to run, man. You hear me? There's nothing down here for you."

"Is that all you see?" At the sound of the kid's voice, you spun around, moving your flashlight around. "Huh? Darkness?"

You caught up to Morgan, and then the kid showed himself. Your flashlight revealed his shoes lying on the ground while he slowly walked on the rail, balancing himself like this was a game. You cocked your gun. "You listen to me, you little shit. This is not a fucking game. Get your ass off the tracks and put your hands on top of your fucking head. Do it now."

When he failed to listen to you, Derek yelled, "Do it now!"

The kid did as you said, but not to listen to you. It was to mock you. "You will lose in the end," he said.

Derek moved forward. "Shut up. Shut your mouth."

"You wanna know why?" He continued on like he'd never said a word. "Because you fear what we embrace."

Before you could do anything, he took one foot off the track and put it on the third rail. "Get off the— no! No, no!" Derek and you were forced backward as the light blinded your eyes. Without even lifting your eyes up, you knew undoubtedly that the kid was dead.

He just killed himself right in front you.

"Damnit." You reached to run a hand through your hair but you were stopped by the stabbing pain in your ribs, suddenly reappearing. You hissed, "Ah, shit."

"Y/N?" Within a blink, Derek was in front of you. "What's wrong? Are you okay?"

"I'm fi— fuck." Your knees buckled, but Morgan caught you, holding onto by your waist. When that caused another hiss, he switched his hold to your arms.

"I think you might've broken some ribs. How the hell didn't you notice this before?"

"I— it didn't feel this bad before."

Morgan cursed under his breath. "Your adrenaline is wearing off. We need to get you to a hospital."

"No, I'm o—" a sharp stab cut you off, making you grunt. "Fine. But what about Kate?" 

"We both saw that ambulance drive their way," he reasoned. "They're gonna be okay. Look, if we get back and they're still there, we can stay, alright?"

You thought over his proposal and eventually relented and let him lead you off the tracks, giving in to the pain. You just hoped that he was right, that they were okay.

Please let them be okay.

❧

You arrived at the hospital in record time, passing through the streets like light work. After receiving confirmation that Hotch and Kate were at Saint Barclays, he drove the two of you there, too, insisting that a doctor see you despite your equal insistence that you were fine.

Now, you sat on an ER bed. You had a few cuts here and there but nothing too deep; you were given sutures for one cut across your cheek. The doctor wasn't looking at you right now; she was looking at your chart, giving you time to glance around the triage room.

You weren't a big fan of hospitals, never were. They were never a source of good news, and every hospital you stepped into smelled the same, like bleach and chemicals. When you were younger, you were convinced that this was to cover up the smell of death.

That wasn't too far off.

The doctor pulled you out of your revierie, snapping the chart shut. "So, Ms. Y/L/N, I've ruled out the possibility of a collapsed lung, but you've broken 4 of your left true ribs," she informed you. "From what your partner has told me, you've over-exerted yourself, and thus exacerbated the issue."

"I'm a CIA officer and had to chase a suspect," was the only explanation you offered.

She deadpanned. "I understand that, Ms. Y/L/N, but you've just made your healing process ten time harder."

You gave her a short smile. "I've been through worse."

She looked at you for a few more seconds before she sighed, re-opening the chart book. "I can prescribe you some medication for the pain."

You declined perhaps a bit too quickly. "No, that's alright."

Slowly, she looked up at you, her eyes questioning. "No? Why not? I can imagine you're in a great deal of pain right now."

At her inquiry, you were reminded of someone else's interrogative questions. Hotch's voice filled your head, Why do you say it like that—say your name as if it's not your name?

Your mind travelled back to a time you weren't Y/N. There was a girl with a different name who wore your face, a girl you separated yourself from entirely. She didn't grow up thinking she'd have a future in law enforcement—she didn't even think she'd have a future at all.

She hung around the wrong crowd and picked up bad habits, habits like oxycodone and amphetamines. But you weren't her anymore.

You were 7 years sober.

You'd rather not explain all of this to the attending in front of you—you'd rather not explain it to anyone. Instead, you just said, "I have a high pain tolerance. I can handle it."

She stared at you warily, but otherwise, there wasn't much she could do but accept your decision. "I'd advise against that, but it is your choice."

You pursed your lips into what you hoped was a small smile. "It is."

She kept her persistent stare until she eventually gave up, leaving the makeshift room. You didn't wait long before you left, too, jumping off the table and pushing back the curtain. You walked through the halls in search of the tan-skinned man you came in with, avoiding looking anywhere but ahead of you.

Hospitals were unpredictacle.

You didn't like that.

You turned a corner, and as if you just had good luck, Derek was there, already walking your way. 

He raised a brow at you. "You all good, angel?" 

You fell into step beside him, letting him lead the way to wherever you were going and flashing him a flirtatious smile. "Never been better, muscles." It wasn't a total lie; the pain had mostly subsided, and you'd felt worse in your life.

Morgan didn't bat an eyelash. "Well, that's good because we need to get moving. The team's on the way."

At the mention of the BAU, your thoughts were re-directed. Without stopping, you glanced over at Derek and gave him a quick once-over. He seemed normal: he was flirting with you, no signs of dejection. So Hotch must've been alright. Still, though, you felt compelled to ask, "Hotchner and Joyner. Are they okay?"

If Derek noticed the small blip in your voice, he didn't say anything. You weren't sure if you even noticed it, either. "Hotch is fine, back to barking orders and being a drill sergeant. Kate's in surgery, though."

You couldn't explain the wave of calm that came over you at that moment. You couldn't explain why you even cared.

But you did.

You nodded in response and changed subjects. "Has anything happened since the first blast?"

"No. Nothing."

An exasperated sigh left you. "That doesn't make any sense. Something should've happened by now." You ran a hand through your hair, your gears turning. "I mean, why go through all this trouble just to hit a single SUV with a few agents? Why not wait until we were in our cars?"

"I don't know," he replied. "What I'm still stuck on is why the kid would stay knowing we'd figure him out."

"Yeah, why would he stay—" suddenly, you halted in your tracks, cutting yourself off as memories rushed to the forefront of your brain.

[Thank you for your input, Ms. Y/L/N. The Secretary of Defense is unavailable at the moment, so the Deputy Secretary will be fielding all defense matters for the moment. She happens to be in town, and she'd like to be briefed in person, if that's alright.]

Yes, I can do that. Just send me an address.

Then you heard the voices of Secret Service agents in your head: I'm sorry, but this hospital is on strict bypass.

"What? What is it?" Derek's voice shook you out of your reverie. You looked up to see him standing in front of you, a worried expression on his face. You would've laughed if it weren't so serious. He probably thought you had a concussion—and while you didn't, what you were going to say was worse than that.

"Derek," you started.

Your tone must've scared him because he stepped closer. "What?"

You paused, mulling over the details in your head. Secret Service was here. Someone important was in the building, someone like the Secretary of Defense. And that bomber just so happened to stick around until an ambulance showed up, taking Hotch and Kate straight here. 

Sam didn't wait until you were cars, and that wasn't a careless mistake. It wasn't because he was so excited that he couldn't wait. It was because that blast wasn't meant to kill you, not on impact.

It was meant to take you here.

When you made up your mind, you took a step closer to him and lowered your voice, not wanting to attract panic in spite of the fact that it'd happen, anyway. Your voice was rigid.

"I think there's a bomb in this hospital."

❧

After quickly explaining your theory to Derek, you parted ways; he went to go find the team while you took off to find the head of that Secret Service detail.

Any uneasiness you felt being in this hospital increased a tenfold, no longer because of the fact that it was a hospital but because it could blow any minute now. You knew you weren't scared, though—and maybe you should've been, but this was the job.

You found the SS soon enough, calling out to them, "Hey, men in black!"

Your volume turned heads, including theirs. The bald man stood up from where he was leaned over on a counter and greeted you first, leading you to believe he was in charge. "Ms. Y/L/N." So he knew who you were. That made this a lot easier.

You didn't waste any time. "The Secretary of Defense is in this hospital, isn't he?"

"Ma'am, I know you're high up on the ladder, but—"

You cut him off briskly, "There is a bomb in this building, and it's rigged to assassinate the Secretary." 

The agent whose name you didn't ask for stiffened but adapted quickly, ordering the agents behind him to hit the alarms all without looking away from you. "Where is it?" he then questioned.

"The ambulance my colleague drove in, I believe." The word colleague tasted wrong on your tongue, but you didn't have the time to dwell on it. "Is it already in the basement?"

"Yes."

"Okay, then you need to evac the building. You need to get the Secretary and everybody else out of here right now."

"We can't do that," he answered. "He's undergoing surgery as we speak."

You were sure that the next words to leave your mouth would be curses, but before you could even get them out, a band of rushed footsteps became audible from behind you. It didn't take you long to recognize who they belonged to.

The footsteps stopped where you were. You glanced to see the team surrounding you, Derek on your left and Hotch on your right. So he was alright. You held back a sigh of relief and kept your eyes off him, directing all your focus to the task at hand. 

Silently, Morgan handed you a Kevlar vest. You nodded to him in thanks and put it on while Hotch hurriedly interrogated, "The paramedic I came in with—do you have eyes on him?"

The Secret Service Agent briefly glanced at you, to which you nodded, prompting him to turn over a computer playing a live feed. 

"Is that a cell in his hands?"

Rossi pressed onto a mic on his chest. "Garcia, can you remote access the grid I'm in and jam all the frequencies?" She said something you couldn't hear and then he added, tone clipped, "There's a bomb in the basement of this building."

Garcia worked quickly, disrupting the satellite feeds in your location within seconds. You could tell she did this by paramedic's actions on the screen. "Look. He's coming back," Prentiss said. "He's going to detonate the bomb manually if he has to."

"Where did Morgan go?" At Hotch's abrupt words, you turned to your left but Derek was no longer there. He'd snuck off while you were paying attention to the feed, and you had no doubt as to where. 

His appearance on the computer screen confirmed your suspicions. You sighed, before tiredly voicing, "He went to find the ambulance."

Hotch's voice was incredulous. "Alone?"

Rossi didn't share Hotch's surprise. "Let's head down."

You were off before he even finished the sentence, trusting the Secret Service agents to do their jobs well enough while you all did yours. You removed your gun from your holster, holding it up and jogging through the now empty hallways with tunnel vision.

You barely noticed the others behind you until Hotch somehow got ahead of you. "He's going to the basement," he called out.

You think it was Emily that replied. "Stairs."

You pushed the door to the stairwell open and Hotch entered quickly, scanning the area with his gun as he moved. It was eerily silent, the only sound being the alarms in the distance and your footsteps rapidly hitting the stairs as you took them two at a time. 

None of you said a word.

By the time you reached the basement, the alarm was non-existent. Your loud footsteps became quieted, soundless with the precision only people like you could have. You could hear a pin drop. 

At the end of the hallway, you wordlessly split into two groups: you with Hotch and Rossi, and Prentiss with Reid.

Hotch led the way while you and Rossi covered him. Your bomber was sitting criss-crossed against the netted gate, gun tossed on the ground with a cellphone in one hand and a knife in the other. Fuck.

You could only pray that Morgan got out before that signal came back online.

You had your gun in the air, even though you knew what was gonna happen. You all did.

Rossi's voice cut through the air. "FBI."

The bomber didn't flinch, staring at the ground with a lifeless look in his eyes. He was a dead man. 

He raised the knife to his neck—and if you weren't with FBI agents right now, you would've shot his shaking hand and knocked that knife straight to the ground. You would've forced him to take accountability—perhaps not in a courtroom, but in a place that would still enforce a semblance of justice.

But you were with FBI agents. And Hotch reminded you of this as he spoke up, "Put it down. It's over."

Yes, it was. Because the coward slit his throat thereafter, and the knife clattered to the ground.

Slowly, you lowered your guns. You holstered yours, and then you were walking away. You didn't spare the body another glance. It wasn't a life lost.

Either way, he would've died. It just shouldn't have been on his terms.

Emily was behind you. She flipped her phone open and then you heard a sigh of relief. "Garcia just messaged me," she told you. "Morgan's okay."

Spencer and Rossi let out their own sighs while you muttered a small "Thank God" under your breath. You hadn't known Derek Morgan for long, but he was good, and he felt like a friend.

You didn't have many of those.

You got back to the floor you were on in little time, and everyone parted ways, likely going to rest. The night was over—this was over. You, on the other hand, still had some administrative work to do, starting with checking on the Secretary of Defense.

But before you did anything, you stood there. You stood there and watched the team trickle out of the area, everyone but Hotch. He was still down there.

You went to glance back to see if he was coming up but then thought better of it, choosing to walk away instead.

He's fine, you thought. He was fine.

And so were you.

❧

You got off the phone with the DOD, your last in a long line of phone calls, telling them that the threat had been eliminated as far as you were concerned. You would've been out of that hospital ASAP, but they asked you to stay there until the new Secret Service detail arrived, and you couldn't really say no.

The lack of action suddenly made you more aware of your surroundings. Your senses returned to you; the smell of bleach became more pungent, and the fluorescent lights seemed to just bounce off the white tile.

With nothing else to focus on, the pain in your side returned, too, but you were good at handling pain. It hurt to breathe, but the alternative was relapsing, and you'd come too far for that.

Normally, when you were craving drugs or just stressed, you'd find a drink. It wasn't the best coping mechanism, but it worked. Alcohol wasn't strong enough to hook you; it was just enough to sate you, to take your mind off the pills.

However, you were in a hospital, and none of that was around. So you went looking for the next best thing: coffee.

You found a mini coffee bar in a nearby waiting room, right next to a vending machine. It was one of the automatic ones that took capsules. The selection was pretty shitty, but you weren't exactly expecting premium Italian coffee, so you plopped a pod into the machine, anyway.

You waited for your coffee to brew in silence, listening to the sound of the machine whirring. The PA dinged in the background and footsteps were muffled. You had a habit of listening for those, for footsteps. Most times, like now, if you weren't preoccupied, you could detect them right away.

You sensed Hotch when he was 5 feet away. You could recognize his footsteps so easily, but that was the habit.

You told yourself it was the job.

Without turning around, you quietly greeted, "Agent Hotchner."

He returned your greeting, grabbing a styrofoam cup and going to stand next to you. "Y/N." His voice was as saccharine as the sugar you poured into your coffee.

 You hated that, and you hated what it implied.

The case was over. The threat was defeated. And now you were alone together with a conversation unfinished, a conversation you'd much rather not have.

To think that, when you last saw Hotch in Virginia, you were all for the game, the chase. But now it felt like the roles were reversed. This was different. He shouldn't be talking to me.

But he was.

"Yo—"

You cut him off, "How's Kate?" Low blow, Y/N. The breath of air he sucked in made you look up from the creamer to his face. His eyes were no longer on you; they were on the machine as it poured his coffee, but you understood. You could taste apology on your lips before you even said the words. "I'm sorry."

Hotch nodded, grabbing his coffee from the tray when it was finished brewing. "She wasn't in pain," he said. That's all there was to say, really. She wasn't in pain when she died, nor was she in pain when you found her.

Kate Joyner was dead the second that blast hit.

But you spoke none of this. You went to grab your cup, intending to walk away, but Hotch stopped you, placing his hand on your arm before you could fully turn away. You stopped yourself from intaking a sharp breath.

"You're avoiding me."

He said it so plainly, like you were talking about a case or the weather, like this was normal, like the two of you didn't see each other every other year at most, like you weren't you and he wasn't him. It made you want to screw your eyes shut, but you didn't. As if to prove a point, you turned yourself toward him fully, facing him head on.

"I'm not."

"You are."

Your eyes narrowed. "I'm not an unsub, Hotchner. I'm not gonna fold to this interrogation tactic."

"I met you as an unsub," he retorted.

"But I wasn't." You let out a little scoff, half amused, half annoyed. "How would you know if I was avoiding you? You didn't know me then, and you don't know me now."

"But I want to."

Whatever reply you were expecting, it wasn't that. Your breath got caught in your throat. His voice was still so soft, a harsh contrast to the cuts littered across his face. He took a step closer to you. "I want to know you."

You blinked once in shock, almost like you were checking if you were hallucinating, but when your eyes opened, he was still there. When you blinked a second time, it was in realization.

He's just been told Kate's dead, and now whatever pain meds they gave him are kicking in.

Reality slapped you across the face. You took a step back, slowly shaking your head. "You don't want to know me, Hotchner."

He took another step forward. "I do."

Another step back. "You don't." You shook your head again, emphasizing your point. "You really don't."

"Y/N—"

The shrill sound of your ringtone cut him off, and you'd never been so grateful. You picked it up immediately. "Y/L/N." The lady on the other end got to it quick; all you had to do was agree. "Okay, I'll be there momentarily. Thanks."

You hung up your cell, snapping it shut. You gave Hotch a glance before you were looking away, letting your eyes wander everywhere else. "That was the DOD. Secret Service is here. I have to go check out with them." You didn't let him get a word in. "I'll see you around, Agent Hotchner."

And then, just like every other time Aaron Hotchner had ever been in your proximity, you were leaving. In his grasp one second, in the mist in the next.

He watched you walk away wordlessly, not knowing when he'd see you again, words he was going to say dying on his lips.

And then you were gone.

He let out a long sigh, and then looked to his coffee on the mini table, spotting a similar one right next to it. 

You left your coffee there, he realized.

With all the other things you left, too.

5. The gavel and the gun

Southbridge, Virginia, 2008

You didn't find yourself down in Virginia too often, not unless you were on business, but Derek assured you that tonight was about everything but that.

"I'm breaking you out of your shell, angel," he said, making a turn on Curtis Drive. "You need to get out more."

You snorted. "One, I don't have a shell. Two, I am literally out so much that my apartment collects dust, and three," you held up a third finger, despite his close attention to the road, "that's bullshit. You just want me to score you some hot chicks."

He let out a burly laugh, something you'd gotten used to after hanging out with him. "Baby, I don't need you to pick anyone up for me. I can do that all on my own."

"What, are you afraid that I'll steal all your girls, Morgan?"

His reply was swift. "Couldn't do that if you tried, Y/N/N. You're still hung up on Hotch."

Your jaw nearly fell, but you were used to this banter you had. You quipped back, "Please, the only one hung up on anyone here is you. You want Garcia."

He choked on his own spit, making you throw your head back and laugh. He didn't see that one coming.

You caught onto Derek's feelings for Garcia early on, but they became especially prominent when he was buzzed one night and told you she was the one on call with him when he drove that ambulance into the field.

That was six months ago. And now, you were in Derek Morgan's car, trying to coax him into asking out a woman with whom he violated many HR regulations.

Derek clearly didn't have a response which only made you laugh harder. You patted his back while he recovered. "Caaaaareful, muscles. I don't want to die on my way to a bar. I'm literally in the CIA—that would be so heavily anti-climactic."

The only thing he heard in that sentence was his nickname, snapping out of his stupor. "Okay, this 'muscles' thing is starting to feel less like a compliment and more condescending." 

You huffed out a little chuckle as he put the car in park. "And 'angel' isn't?"

He furrowed his brows, opening his door. "You love that name."

You copied his movements, getting out of the car before pointedly looking at him. "Yeah, when the words 'of death' follow it."

He snorted. "Cryptic." He held his arm out for you, to which you obliged, wrapping yours in his before walking into the estabishment with him.

You would've responded and teased him further had you not been cut off by an oddly familiar voice. "Morgan!" Your head snapped to a table where not only the object of your teasing stood, but all of their crime-fighting friends. From afar, you watched Penelope's eyes widen behind her glasses. Then she squealed, "And Y/N!" 

To her credit, she did look just the slightest bit embarrassed when people turned to stare at her.

She still wasn't used to you. And God, was that comical.

A smirk crawled onto your face as you walked to their table, glancing at Derek and recalling your earlier quip. "Ooh, careful, Morgan. Your girl's a fan. I might just take her."

For a guy that nearly died in the car at the mention of her, he didn't seem all that startled. In fact, a smirk of his own graced his face. "I doubt you'll be focused on Penelope tonight, angel."

Your brows pinched together, but before you could question what he meant, you reached the table. JJ and Emily greeted you with wide smiles, the latter pulling you in for a hug that was surprising but not unwelcome. Garcia followed right behind her, hesitantly wrapping her arms around you. You cleared this hesitancy by embracing her tightly. Goodness, she's precious.

Over her shoulder, you mouthed to Morgan, Don't fuck it up.

When you let her go, Rossi tipped his glass at you while Reid just gave you an awkward wave. For his benefit, you resisted the urge to laugh.

You spun back around to flash a smug smile at Morgan, eager for him to see that you weren't fazed by this little surprise he so clearly wanted to jar you with, but then your eyes locked with a darker pair and you realized, oh. They weren't the surprise.

He was.

"Y/N."

What was this feeling? Winded? Was it— breathless? You couldn't describe it; you'd only felt it a few times in life, and you didn't know why you felt it right now. Eventually, you realized you had to answer. 

"Hotchner."

You were going to fucking strangle Derek Morgan.

❧

If it wasn't considered rude and you weren't surrounded by a horde of profilers, you would've been texting Derek furiously. It didn't help that the only spot left at the table was next to the man you'd be texting about.

Derek was fun to party with—you went out with him all the time—but whenever he invited you out with the rest of the BAU, you politely declined and came up with whatever excuse was available. Clearly, he caught on to the reason.

You've been avoiding me.

And maybe that was true.

A gasp broke you out of your thoughts. You looked over to see Penelope jumping out of her seat. "Oh, my god, I love this song. Derek, get up right now, we're going to dance," she all but demanded.

It's then that you noticed that JJ and Emily had already beat them to the dance floor, and Spencer was being talked up by some girl at the bar. 

No— "Alright, alright, calm down, mama, I'm coming." You glared daggers at him as he flashed you a sly grin, then he wrapped an arm around Penelope and left. He left you alone with Hotch and Rossi.

At least Rossi's still here— "You know, I think I'm going to get another drink." You're kidding.

Apparently, he was not kidding. Rossi got up, and you could've sworn you saw him wink at Hotch before he left for the bar.

And then there were two.

Fuck.

Now that the others were all gone, you felt his proximity much more prominently. If you moved just the slightest bit, your knees would touch. You hated that the thought even crossed your mind.

But you couldn't leave. If you left, then it'd be obvious that you were, in fact, avoiding him, and you didn't want it to be obvious. It shouldn't have been obvious because there was nothing there to avoid; the two of you were nothing, so you had no reason to avoid him.

You were nothing.

Even if, for a second, you might've felt something.

"What's wrong?" His voice cut into the tension like it was butter. But the question didn't sound like concern; if you didn't know any better, you'd say it was almost teasing. 

You finally looked at him, turning your head and realizing he was closer than you thought. Close enough to see the specks of green in his eyes and the locks of hair falling over his face. Close enough that you could push those locks back if you wanted to. And you wanted to. 

But you didn't.

You schooled your expression and raised a brow, causing him to elaborate, "You were much more flirtatious when we didn't know each other."

Of course, I was, is what you wanted to say. Of course, you were; that was before whatever happened in D.C., before you danced with him and before you let him down. Before reality came knocking and showed him that you were polar opposites, that he was a man of the gavel and you were a woman of the gun. Before he confronted you. Before he told you that he wanted to know you.

So, of course. Of course, I was. Because what the hell was I supposed to do with that?

That's what you wanted to say, but you didn't. Instead, you countered, "Why do you assume something's wrong? Maybe I've just lost interest in our game."

Hotch looked at you like he knew that was a load of bull. He looked you up and down like he could see right through you, and you hated that, because if he looked hard enough, he just might. You thought, for a second, he'd drop it, but then he came back harder. "Is that because you're not winning?"

Taken aback, you laughed to hide how astounded you were, looking away as you deflected, "You must've been one hell of a lawyer, Agent Hotchner." 

He let you re-route the conversation, humming. "I was good at my field," he admitted, pausing briefly. "I actually got my nickname while I was working at the DA's office, Hotch."

"Oh?" you uttered, disinterest shining through your voice that you hoped he'd pick up on.

"Yeah. And now it's what everybody calls me." Another pause. "Everybody but you."

You turned back to him. Clearly, that's what he wanted from you with that statement. He was looking at you expectantly, waiting on you for something—you just didn't know what. "You dwell on what I call you?"

He shrugged like he was unbothered. "It's just an observation. You refer to everyone using their first name, even Kate. At one point, I think you even said our names consecutively. Agent Hotchner and then Kate."

Shit, you didn't remember that, but he was probably right. It must've been a blip, you must not have been paying attention. Still, you shrugged right back at him. "I don't put that much thought into it."

He continued like you'd never said anything. "You said my name after the blast." You stiffened. "Repeatedly. And then, once we were in the hospital, you were back to formality."

You forced a smile onto your face in attempts to mask the discomfort. "So?" you said. Like you weren't affected. Like you weren't surprised that he noticed or equally surprised that he was calling you out on it.

"So," he repeated. "What's holding you back from saying my name?"

Damnit, he had you. He had you, and he knew it. You knew he knew it based on the fire in his eyes, fire with intent to burn.

But you had more. 

You had walked through fire; you were forged in fire, so this was a challenge you'd accept.

You leaned in closer, just until your mouth was next to his ear. He inhaled sharply. Good. Slowly, you breathed, "What's in a name... Hotchner?"

When you leaned back, you were met with a thrown-off-Hotch, but you didn't stick around to savour the image. You hopped off your barstool and left the table, opting to go dance with Emily and JJ as opposed to let him have the last word.

If you had it your way, he wouldn't get another word in for the rest of the night.

If only you could always have it your way.

❧

You danced with the girls the rest of the night, Hotch forgotten. The others were elsewhere, off on their own. They were good company, and it was nice to hang out with other women. Eventually, the dancing wore them out and they decided it was time to head out, making sure to exchange numbers with you and add you to their group chat before they bid you farewell.

Something told you they were a little more than friends, but you weren't sure if they even knew that.

Alone, you decided to get off the dance floor, making your way over to the bar to text Derek. It was getting late; the bar would close soon, and you wanted to head home. But when you opened your phone, you already had a message from him—timestamped an hour ago. Furrowing your brows, you clicked on it.

Sorry, angel, but Pen opened a window for me and I had to take it.

If you know what I mean ;)

Please don't kill me. I'll send a car for you when you're ready.

Audibly, you groaned, closing your eyes in exhaustion. Of course, he shot his shot with Garcia on the night he's meant to drive you home. And you couldn't even be that mad about it. 

You sighed, accepting it and going to open your Uber app when a voice queried from behind you, "Are you alright?"

Fuckkkkkk, you were really hoping he left by now. Reluctantly, you turned around, facing Hotch. "Yeah, Derek was my ride home, but he um," you paused, wiping a hand across your face, "he got lucky."

"With Garcia?"

You laughed at how transparent it was and how quick he, their boss, was to get it. "Yeah, so I'm just gonna catch an Uber home."

"Don't be ridiculous; I'll drive you home." You were shocked at how quickly he shot you down, looking up at him to see he was being totally serious.

"No, you are being ridiculous. I live all the way in Washington."

He shrugged his shoulders like it was nothing, like you were friends and his offer was normal. "I live in Arlington—it's not out of the way. Besides, would you rather pay for an hour-long car ride or have me drive you for free?" 

Honestly, you'd rather do many things besides let Hotch drive you home for an hour, so you excused, "I'm good for the money."

He rolled his eyes. "It's 1AM, Y/N; I'm not gonna let you take an Uber home." He nodded to the exit. "Come on, let's go."

Now you rolled your eyes. He'd made up his mind, despite your disapproval. Yet you still glanced down at your phone, debating it. You supposed that he was better than a total stranger, and it was only an hour.

Maybe you were tired and your judgement was impaired, but for some reason, you obliged. "Fine."

You didn't know if it was a trick of light, but for a second there, it looked like Hotch's lips quirked upward.

For a second.

❧

The car ride was silent if not for the music drumming lowly in the background. You didn't crack any jokes or say anything playful or innapropriate; you were a silence filler, you hated silence, but you'd rather sit in silence than talk to Aaron Hotchner any longer than you had to.

His presence was already pushing it.

If Hotch noticed how quiet you were, which he likely did, then he didn't comment on it. You were sure that he was profiling you silently, though, the same way you were silently profiling him.

He wasn't driving his official government vehicle, but it was still a black SUV. Not a Tahoe, though; it was an Escalade. It wasn't too proud or boastful but it wasn't too unassuming, either. Expensive but not too much of a head-turner.

A glance to the back displayed a car seat. You suspected that his son was with his ex-wife, since he was here at one in the morning and not at home. He was a stable father, and you could tell.

You knew what instability looked like.

The CD he had in when you got into the car was the White Album, Beatles. That, you could've guessed easily. It fit.

The car was clean. It smelled like peppermint and his cologne. If you opened the glove box, you'd probably find a gun. He carried two on his person while working, so he probably had one in here and then another at his place.

Prepared.

But what neither of you were prepared for was the sudden downpour of rain.

Hotch turned on his windshield wipers, then you saw a flash of white followed by a loud clap of thunder. He cursed under his breath, and you then cursed yourself for finding it attractive. "It's a storm."

"I can see that."

He ignored your quip. "Well, we're already in Arlington. My apartment is two minutes away—we could stop there until it's clear."

You held back a sigh. Regardless of your feelings, it was unsafe to drive in this weather. That's why you agreed. "Okay."

He wasn't lying about being two minutes away. With in no time, you were in front of his complex. Running inside barely did anything; you were drenched after being outside for maybe ten seconds.

The thunder was loud and continuous; the only place you didn't hear it was in the elevator. Then it returned once you were out, walking through the halls to his apartment.

You were on your phone while he unlocked the door, checking the weather app. This time you couldn't repress the sigh that left you. "Forecast says this storm's going all night."

"Oh." He opened the door, holding it open for you. "Well, you can stay the night." What? "I'll drive you home first thing in the morning."

"Um—"

He gestured to his living room, suggesting, "I'll take the couch. You can have the bed." Well, it wasn't really a suggestion, and you didn't have much of a choice, either.

So you nodded. He said something about going to change and fetch you clothes, and then you were alone in Aaron Hotchner's foyer.

You. In his apartment.

You thought back to when you met him, in an interrogation room as he accused you of being a serial killer. And you were a killer, just not that kind. Yet, now, he willingly had you, a gun for the government, in his apartment. This was the same Aaron Hotchner who prosecuted criminals, who hunted down evil, and believed in justice and court of law. The same Aaron Hotchner who frowned upon your unseriousness and grey morals. And he was also the same Aaron Hotchner that stood next to you in a hospital waiting room and told you he wanted to know you.

God, it was ironic. Him wanting to know you. You didn't know if he understood what that meant, what that entailed. 

He was the gavel, and you were the gun.

And that was that.

He walked back into the room after a good three minutes, changed into attire more informal than you'd ever seen him. He wore a button-down and jeans to the bar, but you didn't imagine you'd ever see him in sweats.

"Bathroom's on the left," he told you, pointing to it. "Feel free to use the shower. I left some clothes on the bed for you, and if you need anything, I'll be out here."

You nodded, saying a quiet "thanks" before you walked past him to his room. You'd skip the shower; you didn't have any underwear for that.

Closing the door, you took a moment to scan his room. Bed in the middle, navy blue sheets. Window facing the door, dark red curtains covering them. There was a closet to the side, likely filled with suits, then a dresser across from the bed for ties and everything else.

There were two nightstands on either side of the bed, a frame on one. When you got closer, you saw it was a picture of a little boy with a grin so wide that it brought a smile to your face. 

On the bed, Hotch left you a pair of grey jogging pants and a worn blue hoodie with George Washington University painted on in chipped white in the middle. You changed out of your wet dress, and all hesitation for wearing Hotch's clothes went out the door the second you put on his hoodie.

The sweatpants were just as comfortable, despite having to pull the drawstrings immensely far. You could fall asleep like this no problem, but then just as you went for the bed, the light cut out, drowning you in darkness.

You're kidding me.

There was a knock on the bedroom door soon after. You weren't sure if you could find it without stumbling or knocking something over, so you just shouted, "Come in."

Hotch's head poked in, illuminating the room with the flashlight on his phone. "It's the whole neighbourhood. Do you want a candle?"

Yes, I do. You had a thing about sleeping in the dark, but like hell if you were gonna tell him that. A CIA agent, afraid of the dark—you weren't telling anybody that. "No, I'm good, but um," why am I stammering? "Could I get some water, please?"

"Yes, of course." Hotch was quick to leave the room for what you requested, and you were quick to follow him. He was the one with the flashlight.

His kitchen was barely visible, but you caught a glimpse of a few drawings on the fridge. When he lit a candle and placed it on the counter, you saw the the drawings were finger paintings, one of a whole child's hand. Again, you couldn't stop the corners of your lips from curving upwards.

Aaron Hotchner. You'd seen the prosecutor, the profiler, the unit chief, and now the father.

"Here." Hotch's voice cut through your thoughts as he handed you a glass of water. You didn't even hear when he turned the tap on.

You wordlessly took the water, thanking him with a nod. He stood there as you took a sip, watching you with a gaze that felt scrutinizing but probably wasn't. He was good at hiding what he was thinking, but you could still tell that he was thinking, nonetheless.

In a split-second decision, you lost the battle with yourself not to engage in conversation. "What? Did you poison this?"

He ignored you, like always, and questioned, "Are you afraid of the dark?"

You just barely stopped yourself from choking, masking your cough with a chuckle. "What?" How the fuck did he guess that?

Vaguely, he added, "You seem like the type."

"Oh, 'I seem like the type?'" you echoed. "Is that your normal-person way of saying 'it fits with my profile?'"

He shrugged. "More or less."

Another chuckle left you, this time unforced. You were wondering if he was drinking before you and Derek showed up. This confidence and nonchalance was new, but amusing. Maybe you had one too many drinks, too, or maybe something about this version of Aaron was drawing you in, but you indulged him. "Okay, Hotchner. Give me my profile."

He paused, looking at you like he was debating if you really meant it but you saw the moment he made up his mind, decision flashing through his eyes. He gave you a once-over, but not because he needed to; you had a feeling this profile had been brewing for a while now.

"You're a control freak," he started. "This doesn't just shine through in your work—it also appears in your day-to-day life, like your overwhelming need to fill silence or dislike for the dark. This comes from a period of your life when you weren't in control, and now you have to control every situation you encounter. You come off as easygoing, but in reality, you're closed off. You hide behind jokes and arrogance because you don't want people to know the real you, but every once in a while, she reveals herself. She cares, but you can't have that be used against you, so you pretend you don't. You don't have many friends because that opens doors, and you are afraid of what is behind them. That is why, even as you stand in my kitchen, wearing my clothes, you still refuse to say my name. It's a defense mechanism, a way for you to create distance because, as much as you deny it, you feel something."

Somewhere in his explanation, he got closer to you. He never broke eye contact, not once. He stared at you like you were a puzzle he was waiting to solve, and he had too many pieces. You suddenly wished you'd never asked.

You intook a deep breath. "Ho—"

He cut you off, voice now just above a whisper. "What are you hiding from, Y/N?"

What am I hiding from?

Your eyes involuntarily darted down to his lips, and he caught it. He took another step closer, and you let him. What am I hiding from?

Your breath was shaky as Hotch leaned down, resting his forehead against yours. One movement and your lips would touch. You wondered what it'd feel like. To kiss him. To stop hiding. 

What are you hiding from, Y/N?

You leaned in, and then just before your lips met his, the lights turned back on.

Just like that, you pulled away, the sound of your racing heart concealed by the sound of the heater kicking back on. "I should— I should get back to bed now." You kept your eyes on the tile.

"Y/N—"

"Um, thank you for the water—"

"Y/N."

Finally, you looked up at him, concern and confusion swimming in his eyes, and you understood it. One second, you were on the verge of kissing, and now you were on the verge of tears. You didn't understand it, either.

But this, whatever it was, it couldn't happen. This was a lapse of your judgement. He was Aaron Hotchner, the prosecutor, the profiler, the unit chief, and the father: the gavel. You were Y/N Y/L/N, the hacker, the director, the addict, and the killer: the gun. 

This wasn't gonna happen.

So you loaded a round into the chamber, put your finger on the trigger, and took the safety off. Then you aimed it at yourself and fired, "You're a good man, Aaron." Too good for me.

You think he was too shocked by his own name, and that's why he let you walk away.

And as you closed his bedroom door, you had a feeling that it wasn't the only door you just closed.

6. A lie is the truth (link)

taglist: @flow33didontsmoke

extra a/n: guys i'm so mad ab this block limit and how this can't be one part but wtv!!

[cuddleprofiler]

STITCHES — When you save Aaron and land in the hospital.

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x reader, BAU x platonic!reader

Genre: Fluff, Whump & bickering

Warning: Kidnapping, getting shot, daddy issues (tell me if I missed any)

Word Count: 6k

A/N: Even if it's 3rd Nov officially here but I wrote this for Hotch's bday. It's not based around bday but I couldn't get an idea for that, so....Positive criticism is welcomed.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY AARON HOTCHNER

“Y/L/N.”

“Y/L/N. Wake up.”

You heard a displeased sound, but all you could see was darkness.

“Y/N. Wake up!”

You heard the sound again.

“Y/N, as much as I would have wanted to let you sleep, this is not the situation.”

What is he talking about? Oh! Wait a minute. Who is he?

You tried to open your eyes, but it felt as if you had just returned from an exhausting shopping spree, stuffed to the brim and struggling to wake up. But that wasn't the case; there was no time for shopping now.

Your attention drifted to the sensation of someone's fingers wrapped around yours, pressing gently. The pressure wasn't hard, but it was enough to pull you from the depths of your subconscious, urging you to wake up and resist the temptation to whine for “five more minutes.” Suddenly, the memory of what happened rushed back, and your eyes flew open as if you hadn't been trying to wake up at all.

You glanced around frantically. The scene was tilted at an odd angle; everything seemed askew. That’s when you felt something—or rather, someone—shift beneath your head. 

As soon as you attempted to move, you were hit with the familiar ache of someone who had just completed their first day at the gym.

“Y/L/N! Y/N! Calm down, calm down,” Hotch urged in his ever-composed voice.

Your eyes locked onto his warm, chocolate-brown ones, filled with care and concern. His irises darted left and right, never leaving yours, even for a moment.

Your gaze then fell on your wrists, turning red from the ropes being tied too tightly around them. But that wasn’t what was important. What was important was the fact that your right wrist was tied to his left, and his right was tied to your left.

“Who ties hands this way?” you exclaimed, looking up at Hotch with the innocent curiosity of a child in kindergarten, eagerly seeking answers from a teacher who loomed over you.

“I think it’s part of the ritual they perform before disposing of their victims. They want to create an emotional connection before they end their lives by manipulating them.”

You nodded in understanding, trying to focus your vision, blinking several times to clear the fog from your eyes. Suddenly, everything faded to black.

When you came to again, your head rested on Hotch’s shoulder, and both of your hands lay haphazardly on your thighs.

“It’s a symptom of the drug—losing consciousness for a few minutes,” he said.

“You let them drug me?” you questioned, a hint of disbelief creeping into your voice, sure that he would protect you.

He looked at you in confusion, his expression scrunching up as if you were an alien rather than the agent he had known for months—someone he had never fantasized about(why would you think that?)

“We’re being kept captive,” he said, as if he were reminding you.

“We're kidnapped.”

“You could say that.”

“Being formal about this doesn’t change anything, Aaron. We are kidnapped,” you insisted, your voice rising as you widened your eyes to look into Hotch’s, which had narrowed as he stared intently at you.

Hotch had never seen you like this. You were usually the one to shy away from confrontation, avoiding discussions as if you were facing a gallows. You would opt out of outings with promises of future plans, crafting convincing lies that most believed—except for Rossi and him, who saw through your facade. He didn’t know you had this fire within you.

“You said this would be safe. We’d go to the party to meet your colleagues and return home soon,” you said, accusation lacing your voice, making Hotch set his eyes on you, anger evident in them.

“Yes, but you also knew the dangers lurking around in the city right now, didn’t you, Y/N/N?”

“But you didn’t put a sign saying ‘idiot’ in front of your name, did you? You have years of experience dealing with danger; you walk around with that stoic ‘I am the boss. Don’t mess with me’ vibe, and you’re saying you didn’t know what you were getting into?”

“Like you knew what you were getting into? You came in with roses to propose that day, right before I was leaving, with your enchanting face and beautiful wide eyes. Yet none of those things told me about your lack of common sense and respect.”

“Oh, please! Like you have a lot of common sense. You know what? You should drink your coffee with some sugar. Maybe it will help sweeten your bitter tongue.”

“Yeah, like the amount of sweets you consume did yours?”

“Don’t go after my sweets.”

“Then don’t comment on my coffee.”

“Then what should I comment on? Huh? How you can’t keep your hair in place? Seriously, how do those strands keep falling on your forehead?” Your gaze drifted toward the way his hair fell, then back to his eyes, and finally to his lips.

He noticed where your eyes wandered but kept his expression neutral. By “neutral,” he meant hiding how his heart plummeted at the brief longing in your gaze.

“Y/N, have some dignity when it comes to my hair. You use serum to tame the jungle of your morning madness and keep it presentable throughout the day.”

Your train of thought was interrupted by Hotch’s unexpected remark. For a brief moment, your eyes met his, a spark of connection flickering before you both returned to the weight of the situation.

How does he know I wake up with a jungle for hair?

Your mind wandered back to the other day when you were telling the girls about this, who then suggested you get some hair products while Hotch and Rossi walked by.

He remembers such trivial things about me.

Stop it! He’s a profiler. It’s in his nature to remember things about people. Don’t flatter yourself, Y/N.

The team had profiled the unsubs to be from the upper class; they had the means to enter these sorts of parties without striking to anyone as odd. The way the victims were disposed of spoke about the unsubs being used to ostentation without meaning to, fitting into the norms of upper-class society.

You and Hotch knew you would be abducted. It was part of the plan; you basically set the stage to lure the unsubs in. Initially, you and Hotch were reluctant to go—more you than him because you found him attractive. You were sure you wouldn’t be able to take your eyes off him the whole night, especially as the people at elite parties dressed to the nines, and you were sure the way the whole team was looking at you would make you drool all night. You pressed your lips together, trying to stop yourself from imagining your handsome boss in a tight shirt, flexing his arms, showing off his muscles.

No, no, no! There’s no way I would be able to focus on catching the unsub.

However, none of them accepted your “no”—not even Hotch. He told you how you would be the perfect choice, seeing the pattern of female victims remained the same—one that you would fit. He turned you slightly toward himself by your shoulders, looking you right in the eye, promising that nothing would go wrong and that he would be there the whole time with you. Promise!

What you didn’t know was that they would hurt you to make you comply. The female victims had fought back; you would have to do the same. But none had been hit in the head—either they weren’t, or you were the unfortunate one. If so, the coroner made a grave mistake, and you would deal with him when you got out of here because your head was pounding like crazy. You were sure you had at least a mild concussion

You and Hotch had strategized in his hotel room the previous night, reviewing case files and delving into the plan to demonstrate a temper akin to that of the unsub and to display behavior contrary to the victims.

“What if we don’t show fear?” you suggested.

He raised an eyebrow, and seeing his expression made you gulp. You hadn’t thought much before speaking; it was a bad habit, but sometimes you couldn’t help yourself.

“Elaborate,” he prompted.

When he nodded, you continued, speaking slowly to avoid waking the sleeping bear that resided within Hotch—the one that got angry and lectured people. 

“So what if we show other emotions? Throw them off? They’re organized and live for perfection. Fear is part of the torture they perform, but they won’t be able to if we don’t let things go their way.”

“What do you suggest we do?” 

He seemed impressed, his tone hinting at approval. You looked down to hide your blush, and as you pondered your next idea, you began pacing the floor while Hotch sat in his chair. After a while, he realized it had been too long since you started pacing and opened his mouth to stop you.

“Argue!”

Hotch widened his eyes in disbelief. “You want us to argue while we’re kidnapped?”

“Yeah!”

He was trying to match your enthusiasm, but he struggled to comprehend your willingness to argue with him—let alone with anyone. “Are you sure?”

You turned to him, feeling a seed of insecurity beginning to take root. “I think the idea could work well, sir. However, there’s a chance it won’t be effective with me. You can choose someone else from the team if you’d like.”

He immediately recognized that he had done a poor job of reassuring you. “I want you to be there. With me.”

“Are you really su—?”

“I am, Y/N. We will go to the ball and execute the plan.”

You nodded your head, without any further arguments. He used anyone's first name on the team only when he was quite serious.

Before you could speak again, one of the unsubs struck both of you, causing you to flinch in pain.

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?” one of them yelled, his brows knitted in frustration. 

If anyone asked them, they would surely return the two chuckleheads they had kidnapped. You two were effectively ruining their game.

“All of the previous ones shivered in fear before us, begged us to spare their lives, but you two are… bickering?” He toyed with the knife in his hands—the same knife you suspected had been used to stab the female victims multiple times. Stuffing down the feeling of emptiness inside, you forced a sweet smile.

“See, first of all, we were arguing, not bickering,” you huffed, feigning annoyance at their mislabeling rather than genuine fear.

Things I do for this job!

“Exactly. And what are you saying about fear? Try living with this woman—she's a walking nightmare!”

He means dream, actually.

You gasped. “YEAH! You didn’t see the nightmare when you happily accepted my proposal. Oh! Or at the altar?”

“If I had, I wouldn’t be here, wearing the ring, would I?” he retorted, giving you a fake smile—more mocking than sincere.

The team had taken care of the rings for the whole undercover mission and made you guys wear them in front of them.You closed your eyes slightly, suddenly remembering the embarrassment of that moment, the heat rising in your cheeks.

The way your cheeks were turning red, Hotch was glad this was a mission and he was not actually married to you; otherwise, he would never be allowed to set foot in the house after the stunt he just pulled. He was definitely sure of that. You were clenching your fists. He wondered whether they were for beating him up or controlling your anger.Your eyes betrayed your frustration, the one you were trying to hide.

She’s a wonderful actor.

“I’m telling you, Aaron. Shut up!”

The way your name rolled off your tongue sounded so soft and fluffy that he could hardly believe it. He knew his heart would ache when you went back to Hotch. He pursed his lips.

“You always complain about me not giving you enough time,” you said, your voice harsh. He nodded in acknowledgment.

You and Hotch could see the team surrounding the room, clad in FBI vests with guns trained on the unsubs. When you glanced at Hotch, he signaled for you to proceed with the plan.

He knew it was risky, but it was a solid strategy to shock them. You were against it. Your face had turned horrified the night before when he explained his plan. It felt as if he had promised you paradise and then snatched it away. You were hesitant at first; he understood, but eventually, you warmed up to the idea.

“Tell me, why should I make time for you when you're always busy at the FBI? In your office, having an affair with your case files,” you said, your tone dripping with feigned anger.

“Like you aren’t in the office, working so hard that you don’t even remember your husband works in the same place.”

Your heart stopped for a moment. You mentally squealed at his use of the term ‘husband.’

How much I wish it were real!

“Wait, what?” one of the unsubs asked, his voice filled with disbelief.

“What?”

“What did you guys just say?” His tone was low, likely from the shock of realizing he had kidnapped two FBI agents.

“You’re FBI?”

“From everything we’ve said, that’s what you gathered?”

As the realization hit him and he raised his gun to shoot you and Hotch, Morgan and Emily barreled into the room, swiftly disarming them. Thus, ending your and Hotch’s plight.

“You know, for being a parent, you are quite adventurous.” You said to Hotch as you walked down the stairs, who in turn moved his head toward you. You were so close that one move and your noses would touch.  

“What can I say? Being with you brings out my inner talent,” he answered back, continuing the funny banter you had begun.  

You chuckled quietly. “Oh really? Then I probably should tell Garcia about this. She would be really happy for you to try new things.”  

“No. I’m pretty happy that those types of adventures are out of my comfort zone,” he added.  

“Getting kidnapped comes in your arena, huh?”  

“Absolutely,” he let out a laugh.

Lost in the bickering, neither of you noticed anything else. You were so invested in winning and being lost in each other’s eyes that you paid no heed to your surroundings.  

The team and the detectives were searching the place for any other evidence or things that needed their attention. Hotch, being the boss, should have been there. He knew that. You knew that, but neither of you made any attempt to move, staying in your place and bickering like an old married couple.

Unbeknownst to you, the hours spent in captivity had forced you out of your comfort zone with him. You were trying to retreat back to your ‘before-you’ self, but it was proving to be a challenge. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy it. Hotch was grappling with similar feelings.  

He didn't interact like this with anyone on the team, except Dave, but he had known him before he became Unit Head. When he transitioned from prosecutor to agent and had a wonderful life—not the broken one like now—Dave had been a part of that life. It was easier to share things with the man who had seen him evolve into the man he was today. He would always understand where he was coming from.  

On the other hand, the others were too young to be burdened with his matters. They didn't know much about him, and it would be foolish to share too much with them. However, you were the exception.

Suddenly, your gaze landed on a figure at the top of the stairs, his finger poised on the trigger. You instinctively pushed Hotch aside, but you couldn’t move yourself.  

Though you had some inkling of what was happening, you felt no pain. Instead, you saw shadows moving around you, felt a shove, and then you were falling, like a ragdoll.  

For a fleeting moment, an unfamiliar fluttering stirred in your stomach—not the kind that came for him, but something more alarming.  

What the hell? Why does it hurt?  

You closed your eyes, wishing the pain would vanish as if it were a fleeting thought. When you opened them again, you found yourself in someone’s arms, both of you on the ground, the ceiling above seeming impossibly high. Your head rested on his forearm.  

Honestly, it was getting hard to put together what was going on. You closed your eyes again. But soon, someone was patting your cheeks, asking you to wake up!  

Rude! What happened to manners?  

As you opened your eyes to scold the intruder, you were met with the most beautiful brown eyes you had ever seen. Had you been more lucid, you might have noticed the worry and glistening tears in those eyes. You raised your hand to touch Aaron's face, but it felt impossibly far away.  

I need to eat more. I have no energy.  

Aaron caught your hand in his.  

“It's okay, Y/N. It's okay,” he said softly, a tone you had never heard from him before.  

I want to hear his soft voice every day.  

A sharp pressure at your wounds made you gasp. You gripped the person’s wrist, trying to stop him, but he didn’t flinch, continuing to apply pressure. Pain shot through you, relentless and overwhelming.  

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I’m so sorry.”  

He was feeling the pain of getting you shot. One minute, you both were talking, and the next he was on the floor while Reid shot down the assailant.  

Hotch grabbed you instinctively, lowering your hand to keep you safe before you could fall hard. His focus was solely on you, blocking out the chaos around you. Just moments ago, he was teasing you, trying to draw you out, and now he was fighting to keep you with him. He never saw the attack coming, but you had, and you had acted heroically to save him.

This moment shouldn't have happened. He took off his jacket hurriedly.

Your darting eyes and panicking face pulled him out of his train of thoughts—more of a train of depressing thoughts. He clutched your hand, trying to provide some comfort, some sort of… anything to keep you from feeling only numbness. To keep you here.  

Your breathing grew shallow, and he could feel your heartbeat racing beneath his fingertips.  

“Y/N, listen to me. Look at me,” he urged in a firm yet gentle tone, and you complied.  

“Take a deep breath. Copy mine.”  

He guided your hand to his chest, demonstrating as best he could.  

“I know it’s hard. Please, just try,” he said, watching your eyes flutter open and close.

His sole purpose was to comfort you, to ensure you lived. You had to— for the team, for your family, for him.  

He pursed his lips and scanned for the paramedics, who should have been there by now. He fought the urge to shout for them as your blood soaked his clothes at a pace that terrified him.  

Your groans sent a chill through him, a reminder of the stakes.  

How could I have made such a mistake? What did I do?  

Dave appeared as if summoned, taking the jacket from Hotch and applying pressure to your wounds. You winced at the pain, squeezing Dave's wrist to distract yourself.  

“It’s okay, it's okay, it's okay, Y/N. Don't worry. I need to do this. I’m sorry, but it's required.”  

“It hurts,” you said, tears in your eyes.  

“I know, I know, Bambina. I’m sorry.”  

“I’ve called the paramedics. They’re stuck in traffic,” JJ rushed in, her voice laced with frustration.  

“Tell them to hurry!” Hotch snapped.  

“I have, but they said it’s going to take time,” JJ replied, anger and helplessness evident in her tone.  

“It’s okay, JJ,” you said, trying to comfort her despite your own pain.  

Hotch’s mind immediately wandered to Kate. Just how similar the situation was. So much blood had been on the road in New York, and he was trying to stop the bleeding while Kate spoke whatever came to her mind. How he tried and failed! Failed Kate. Failed in protecting you. Today again, he had been placed in a similar situation. However, he wouldn't let you lose your life today.  

“Make it stop, Aaron. Please, please, please.”  

“I’m trying, Y/N.”  

He was sure your cries would forever haunt him. The pleas to save you would plague his mind like how Hayley's death did.  

“Hotch.” He looked at you.  

“What happened?”  you asked him, dazed.

“You were shot.”  

He could see the delirium in your eyes, the blood still flowing, your head tilting to the side. 

“Hey, hey, Y/N. Open your eyes. Keep them open.”  

“You're being mean.”  

“I would rather be mean than let you lose your life, Y/N,” he said in a desperate tone, wanting you to stay conscious until the medics arrived.  

“WHERE ARE THE MEDICS?”  

He yelled, succumbing to his instinct to urge them to hurry. 

“Don't yell, Aaron, please.”  

“Okay, sweetheart. I won't.” Neither of you noticed the slip.  

As sirens wailed in the distance, he gathered you into his arms, pressing his jacket to your wounds, and rushed outside, placing you on the gurney. He relayed the necessary information while clutching your hand, reassuring you both that everything would be alright. It had to be.

He looked down at his hands. Covered in blood—your blood—they were crimson, reminiscent of a child's crayon used for innocent drawings. Yet today, the red staining Hotch's hands and sleeves, which he had dismissed, marked your act of sacrifice to save him. Save him. He chuckled bitterly at the thought.

Why on earth would she save me?

He thought about the numerous times he let someone down in various ways. Hayley always topped the list.  He had ruined the one good thing in his life back then—the thrill of their early relationship.Guilt wrapped around him like a suffocating embrace every time he was away on a case.Not being there with her, even for a day, felt like a punishment.

However, as time flew, he gained more responsibilities, going from being a newbie on the team to being the Unit Chief when Gideon took the teaching job at the Academy. From worrying about not being home for a day, he became worried about how to solve cases and how to tell his wife he wouldn't be there again.

It was a mess. His life was a mess. He was a mess. And you put your life on the line to save the man who didn’t have anything in his life to live for except for his son.

He could feel the coldness of the hospital’s black seats, on which he was adamantly made to sit. While he tried to give a stare, he was no competition for Dave, who just raised an eyebrow in response. 

“How on earth do you plan to help her if you constantly try to land in the hospital, Aaron?”

With an audible sigh, he dropped into the seat beside Garcia, who muttered words that sounded like “She’s going to be okay” and “Don’t worry, Penelope. She’ll come back and confess her love.” Hotch had no idea what she meant.

His eyes drifted toward the operating room. He didn’t know how long he had been staring, lost in thought until he felt a hand resting on his knees. Morgan had placed his hand there, a silent reminder to stop bouncing his legs.

“She’ll be alright,” Spencer said, his voice filled with such conviction that it ignited a flicker of hope in Hotch’s heart, warming the void that had settled since he had held you in his arms, your blood and life slowly leaving your body.

He was struck by how quickly you had integrated into the team, despite having joined not long ago.

He couldn't help but reminisce about the first time you entered the bullpen. He always laughed at that memory. You looked like a child who had entered their favorite toy shop, looking around in the hope of buying the whole shop, even if it was impossible. He could see the way your eyes lit up at every scene they captured.

He concluded that it was probably due to being in the BAU, chalking it up to your dream. If you had such wide, radiant eyes at the prospect of meeting unsubs, then he needed to order an evaluation, stat.

Lost in thought, he didn't realize when he stopped and was basically in your path until you bumped into him and jumped two feet back as if you had just been electrocuted. Maybe you did, because he felt a spark through his body when you made contact. He shook his head slightly, hoping not to be noticed, and focused on your apologizing self.

“I’m really sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“I didn't see you there, Sir. I was—”

“No worries, Agent. It happens,” he reassured, sensing your anxiety and hoping to quell the panic rising in you.

He didn't know why, but the way you reacted stuck with him. As time went on, he couldn't help but notice how you reacted to things. It was rather wrong of him to profile you, but after being on this job for so long, he did it naturally. He sensed that your fidgeting stemmed from some past trauma, a lingering shadow you carried.

Once, Garcia and Reid came into the office, looking downright nervous.

“Sir, we want to ask you something, and we don't know if you’re gonna get upset, but we need to ask. We don’t mean it in a negative way—”

“Yeah, it’s just we’ve noticed things and thought we should clarify. We know you couldn’t do it, but—”

“What is it?” Hotch asked, hoping to get them out of the awkward situation they had placed themselves in.

“Have you said something to Y/N?”

“In what context?” He didn't know where this was going. He talked to you about many things—from cases to asking about your mental health to your godson’s picture, which you kept on your desk, and whose soccer game you attended where you met Aaron—and he knew they could be talking about anything.

“Sir, we’ve seen the way she fumbles and the constant fidgeting with her bracelet. So, we thought you had scared my new favorite pookie,” she said, now herself looking scared to stand in front of her boss.

“No, I didn’t, Garcia and Reid,” he said, addressing the genius as well, who looked at him with fear, the expression screaming, If you scare my friend, I won’t leave you. “I am not aware of the reason she does it, but I’m pretty sure I’m not behind it.”

At that moment, the reason for your anxiety walked onto the floor, flanked by a cadre of guards. He was a significant figure, an employer who provided for many—but to you, he was the man responsible for your fear.

“Agent Y/N Y/L/N?” the doctor called out.

“Yes.” The answer came in unison, and the team exchanged glances as Hotch stepped forward.

“The operation was successful. We’ll keep her under observation for a few days, but she’s going to make a full recovery.”

They sighed in relief at the news and thanked the doctor, who walked away smiling. Hotch felt his knees ready to collapse with the sheer amount of relief he experienced. He shuddered, thinking of everything that had happened during the last few hours. Hearing the news about you brought a smile to his face. His professionalism faded into something more intimate, a shared feeling of happiness growing inside his chest at the thought of you being okay again.

Suddenly, a commotion drew their attention—doctors, senior staff, arriving to greet a man Hotch didn’t recognize.

“She’s doing okay now. The bullets went through, but we repaired the damage. She’ll be just fine,” one of the doctors assured.

Then the gruff voice reached him. “Are you SSA Aaron Hotchner?”

“Yes.”

“I’m Arthur Y/L/N, Y/N’s father.”

“Hello, sir.” Hotch extended a firm handshake.

“And I assume this is the team, right?”

Everyone either nodded their heads or, in some cases, gave a little wave. However, the common factor was that they all looked confused.

“None of you got injured?” he demanded.

Hotch maintained his stoic demeanor while Emily replied, “No, sir.”

Arthur snorted. “Shows Y/N’s incompetence, doesn’t it?”

The team stiffened, sensing the tension. Hotch narrowed his eyes. “Excuse me?”

“I know, I know. She isn’t cut out for this agent thing. I’ve known her since she was a child. I know her capabilities.”

Morgan and Reid exchanged incredulous glances, fully aware of your remarkable capabilities in fighting, learning, and prioritizing. Rossi shot them a warning glance, suppressing the urge to confront the man standing before them.

Hotch opened his mouth to respond, but the audacity of Arthur Y/L/N cut him off, allowing the tirade to continue.

“Her decision-making ability was nonexistent from the very beginning. If I hadn’t guided her, she wouldn’t have even finished her studies—she’d probably be stuck with a GED or something. I know, Agent Hotchner, it takes a great deal of skill to thrive in this field.”

No, you don’t, Hotch thought, anger simmering beneath his calm exterior.

Mr. Arthur Y/L/N sighed as if he couldn’t help but stop, having so much to say but not wanting to expose his problem child.

“I hope, Agent Hotchner, you make the right decision now. You’ve seen how she ended up in the hospital. What good could it do for her to stay? If she leaves the FBI, your headache would vanish. I have my son handling my business right now—he could do something for her.”

Listening to him talk about you—a friend, a daughter figure, perhaps even a future lover—filled everyone with rage, yet no one dared to speak. They knew Hotch would take care of it; he didn’t need their help.

“Listen, Mr. Y/L/N. Y/N is the most hardworking and dedicated agent I’ve ever encountered. So don’t you dare speak ill of her,” Hotch said, stepping closer, his anger simmering as he examined the features you had inherited from this man. The thought of you living under his shadow sickened him.

“The decision I’m about to make is to have you removed for speaking against a federal agent and trespassing when she doesn’t want you here.”

“How would you know that?” Arthur challenged.

“I’m pretty sure she never contacted you after moving out. You must have people watching her closely; you got here too quickly for someone who wasn’t even contacted. By the way, I just remembered—you aren’t her emergency contact.”

Hotch was. A fact he was pretty joyful and grateful about, despite how he felt he had broken your trust.

“A father having his daughter trailed just to know about her speaks volumes. Do you know she’s afraid to speak because she doesn’t want to be a bother, doesn’t want to be scolded just because you used to talk to her like that? She cut all contact with you so she wouldn’t have to be near you, so it would be best if you leave before I take drastic measures.” His voice rose, startling Garcia.

Now, everything fell into place for everyone in the room, and their hearts broke.

How could a father be like this?

They had encountered many men like Arthur, but they had hoped that beneath your caring exterior lay a loving family—something none of them had ever known. But they forgot that none of them had any chance of that; otherwise, they wouldn’t be in the BAU.

“Jack is lucky to have you as his father.” Your comment now made more sense in Hotch’s mind.

“She’s just another agent to you. You can dispose of her. No need to make a fuss,” Arthur continued with a crooked smile.

“She’s not an item you can dispose of. She’s a person, an individual. She’s special to many people.”

“Oh yeah? Who is she important to? To you?”

“Yes. And if I ever see you near her without her permission, I won’t hesitate to get a restraining order. I’m letting you off this time because you’re her father.”

“I will end your career, Agent Hotchner,” Arthur threatened, a dangerous glint in his eyes.

“Try your best.” Hotch turned and walked toward your room, leaving Arthur to simmer in his anger.

“What a pretty face to wake upto.” you said, making him move his head from the window he had been looking out of, thinking about your father. You looked at him with a soft smile.

As you offered the compliment, Hotch felt an unexpected warmth flood his cheeks, a rare blush creeping up beneath his usually stoic demeanour. His heart quickened, betraying the calm facade he so often maintained.

It was a warmth that contrasted sharply with the wan smile Arthur had worn. Hotch felt a surge of protectiveness.  Hotch was sure he would have done something if your father hadn’t left quietly. However, he was certain of one thing: he wouldn’t have regretted it. He would never regret standing up for any of his teammates—especially not for you. Hotch smiled softly.Yes, you bore a resemblance to your father, but you radiated warmth and humanity that set you apart. And you had a very pretty smile.

When you finally woke up, it felt surreal. Before you sat the man of your dreams, the one who had invaded your thoughts for months.

I know I have a crush on you, but geez! Stay out of my dreams!

You squinted at him, still dazed.

“Was he here?”

“Who?” Hotch feigned ignorance, but you shot him a look that he recognized as one Dave had taught you.

“How do you know?”

As far as he knew, no one except the medical staff had been in your room.

“Your face. I have a talent for reading expressions, especially yours.”

“Seriously?”

“No. The nurse mentioned you argued with him earlier.”

“I’m sorry for—”

“Don’t. You did me a favor, Aaron.”

“Wow! Your name sounds nice,” you mumbled, and Hotch felt his heart swell. He knew the medication had you loopy, but he was genuinely flattered.

“Then also—”

“Shhh. Just listen. I would have fought him too.”

Your gaze held his, and he felt the weight of everything between you—the unspoken connection, the shared warmth. His usually stoic expression softened as he grasped your hand.

“You’re not alone anymore, Y/N. I’m here for you.” He smiled, and you returned it, a spark igniting in the air between you. For the first time in a long while, there was hope.

From the doorway, the rest of the team watched, unable to tear their eyes away from the chemistry crackling between you and Hotch. It was a warmth that cut through the sterile chill of the hospital, a bond forged in adversity.

“What just happened?” Prentiss whispered.

“I believe we just witnessed the start of a love story,” Rossi replied with a knowing smirk.

“Bossman is in love,” Morgan added, grinning.

“Well, it’s better than watching them steal glances at each other and be awkward,” JJ said, smiling at the prospect.

“Actually, it’s going to be more. They’re bound to evolve into more affectionate gestures,” Reid chimed in.

“Nooo. It’ll be cringeworthy, but the blackmail potential would be priceless,” Morgan teased.

“Oh my! We can use this for their wedding speech!” Garcia exclaimed.

“Wedding?” Rossi raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, maybe we’re getting ahead of ourselves,” JJ admitted.

“Yeah, probably they won’t even start dating anytime soon,” Prentiss added.

“You haven’t been in love, Em. I’m telling you, they’re going to get married soon,” Garcia insisted.

But in that moment, as Hotch stood by your bedside, he felt the flicker of hope—perhaps even love—beginning to ignite in the space between you. A new chapter was unfolding, filled with promise, support, and a chance for happiness.