#platonic Aaron Hotchner x reader

[samsblades]

✶ . ၄၃ .  something to cling to — aaron hotchner

cw : gn!reader, father-figure!hotch, hurt/comfort, angst, reader is around 18-22/a young adult in college, set sometime before/close to the beginning of season one, dead parents (reader's dad), abandonment, overall parental issues lol, anxiety, crying, panic attack probably, ft haley and the early season one team, food mentions, poor editing, 4.6K words. thank you @beatlewishes for inspiring me!

summary : aaron has been a sort of father figure since the death of your father. he picks up from your apartment at the start of winter break only to find out that your mother has left you.

aaron doesn’t hear from your mother very often. not that he needs to. you’re an adult with your own phone and campus apartment and abilities to communicate when you need something from him. that just means he takes things extra seriously when they come from her. so when she texts him, asking if he can pick you up for winter break and let you stay in his home just until her work day ends, he immediately responds with a resolute, yes, of course.

it’s the sort of thing that you’d normally ask him about, but it’s nice to see your mother be the one to take the initiative to ensure that you don’t have to take the subway with your heavy bags, all alone in the cold.

the text he receives is last minute, and he leaves work earlier than usual to arrive at your apartment on time. your mother told him you have to be out of campus housing by 8pm, and it’s a bit of a drive from quantico to your school. unfortunately, he has to be on a call the whole way over, and never gets the chance to text you that he’s on his way. he just hopes that you know he’ll be the one to pick you up rather than your mom.

the look on your face when you open the door for him tells you right away that you weren’t told. he holds back a sigh, giving you a gentle smile instead.

“hi, kid. i know you were expecting your mom. i’m sorry. she had to take an extra shift at work, but she’ll come pick you up from my house later tonight. that okay?” he asks sincerely, even though you don’t really have a choice.

you try to smile back. at least he’s here, you suppose. it means something that your mom asked him to come get you when she couldn’t, though you wish she’d have told you about it so that you didn’t get so excited by the knock on the door, expecting it to be her. she’s sort of distant these days, and you barely get home because you work on the weekends. you haven’t seen her in a while, and though things have been hard for years now, you still were looking forward to seeing her. she gives good hugs and promised to take you to your favorite restaurant on the way home to celebrate the end of your semester.

“hi, aaron. of course it’s okay. thank you for coming to get me. it’s too damn cold for the subway,” you say, trying not to sound disappointed. you’re sure he can see right through you, just how he can with nearly anyone at all, and he knows you well.

“it certainly is too cold. i’m glad your mother texted me. can i carry anything for you?” he always offers to carry your things, even if there isn’t much. you hand him your heaviest bag, and carry all the totes and looser things in your own arms. you murmur a thanks, to which he replies, “of course,” then watches as you balance a considerable amount of bags in both arms as you turn off the front light and lock the door. he’d offer to help with those too if he didn’t already know that you’re stubborn and like to take care of things for yourself.

his car is right in the parking lot, but he wishes you’d put on a scarf or a hat or maybe both before going outside. it’s quite cold; there’s snow in the overnight forecast. haley told him so this morning. he walks at a brisk pace so he can get you in the heated car sooner.

there’s enough room for your things in the backseat, so he doesn’t bother with the trunk. he puts your duffle bag on the seat, then opens your own door as you set down the rest of your things before heading to the driver’s seat. he knows he doesn’t have to worry about it, but he still checks that you’ve buckled your seat belt before he pulls out of the parking lot.

you’re polite and never snappy, entertaining his questions about how things have been since the last time he saw you, which wasn’t all that long ago. he’s a very busy man, arguably busier than your mom, but you’ve seen him more recently than you saw her. he’s very caring like that, though outwardly quite stern and stoic. you were very intimidated by him when you were younger, scared even. but your father was friends with him for years and years, close enough that you sometimes would forget that they worked together. it’s not something you forget anymore, not after your dad died on the job. and since then, you very rarely see him in his casual clothes like you used to as a kid.

he’d be over at the house in t-shirts and quarter-zips, but since your father died, your mother doesn’t invite him over for casual dinners much anymore. he’s become busier, too, so nearly any time he visits or takes you out to dinner, he’s still in his suit and tie. that’s not something you mind, of course, it’s just one of the many things that have changed, even if small and often inconsequential.

when aaron runs out of things to say, he sighs to himself, quiet enough so you won’t hear it or overthink it. you lean against the cold window and keep your eyes trained on the passing street lights and shops and tall dc office buildings. he knows you’re feeling upset that you’re mom couldn’t make it, but that you’re being adult about it, by being kind to him and trying to talk it through in your head, like always. you’ve always been a little too adult for being so young, he thinks. he can’t blame you, though. 

there’s simple lights on his front porch and a pretty christmas tree showing through the front window. haley hugs you when you step inside, and you can feel her growing belly against you. their house is perfectly warm and it smells like dinner’s been cooked not too long ago. you give her the warmest smile you can muster.

aaron puts his hand on your shoulder as you head to the table for dinner and you start to relax. maybe this isn’t what you were wanting, but it’s nice. you’d been hoping to have dinner with them soon, anyway, so what’s the harm in it being now. haley’s always so sweet, extra maternal and doting now that she’s pregnant. aaron can tell she likes the way he acts around you, caring and soft, because it makes her think of how he’ll be for their baby on the way.

you’re very grateful for a warm, home cooked meal after a semester of whatever you can scrounge up in your apartment or the less than ideal dining halls. after dinner, you get comfortable on their couch. aaron sits on the other end and turns on the tv to the channel he thinks you’ll like best, at least for background noise. he’s relieved to see you working through your disappointment of not seeing your mother right away. it pains him to see you upset in any capacity.

but the contented calm of being in a warm, familiar home doesn’t last all that long for you. your mother’s night shifts always go late. then there’s the twenty minute drive from there to here. you understand this very well, but conversation with aaron lulls and the tv runs turn boring and the clock ticks late enough that a tired haley retires to bed. you’re naturally anxious, unsure how to react as your night is ruined once again.

you try to call her, text her, call her again. aaron watches you carefully. you huff out in frustration. “she’s not picking up. she should’ve been here half an hour ago.” he can tell that you’re covering up your worry with a hint of anger.

“i know. i’m sure she’ll be here soon, she’s probably on the road right now. that’s why she’s not picking up,” he placates.

“no,” you shake your head, “the calls just aren’t going through,” you stress, a hint of your anxiety peaking through the cracks of your weary composure. “it says her phone is off.” this sparks real concern for him.

“let me try,” he says, hiding his own worry to avoid adding to yours. he almost promises to get you home with her tonight, but he’s learned not to make promises he doesn’t know for sure that he can keep. when he calls her, he steps away. not to hide anything from you, just so you don’t see his face as he calls her once, twice, three times. she doesn’t pick up and you’re noticeably distressed now. 

he sits right next to you on the couch and puts his arm around your shoulder. “her phone could’ve just died, sweetheart,” he quickly assures you, knowing that you’re already thinking about worst case scenarios.

because the worst case scenario has happened to you before, and no matter how many years it’s been, that feeling of dread and worry and then absolute devastation never leaves you. aaron was the second person you cried to after your father died. your mother was of course the first. now, you try not to cry in front of either of them, but you fear it’ll happen tonight.

you’re more than anxious, on edge, and maybe at your wits end tonight. after finding out about one dead parent, you worry extra. you scare easily. and this semester hasn’t necessarily been easy. you’re so tired. not just pulled an all-nighter and fell asleep on your computer for an exam tired, but months of stress and loneliness were supposed to come to an end today, but have just gotten worse kind of tired. and that’s very quickly tugging at your ability to think rationally or keep any sort of composure.you wring your hands in your lap and your shoulders are tense underneath his steady arm. he gives your bicep a comforting rub.

“we’ll find her. she’s alright. we’ll wait up a little longer for her. if she doesn’t show up tonight, you’ll sleep here and i’ll call my team. they’ll find her and make sure she’s alright,” he reassures you. he knows you’re worried something bad has happened to her. 

he doesn’t want you to know that he’s worried that she’s left on purpose. the way she texted him to take you home today, neither of your calls going through, and the way he can tell even from afar that she’s been distant as of late makes him wary. and he’ll have to tell you eventually, but he’d rather wait until he has better proof, rather than a hunch. he knows his suspicions would upset you, likely make you angry with him.

“shouldn’t we start looking for her now?” you ask nervously, eyes already teary. his heart clenches at the sight.

“well, honey, i’d start with calling her workplace to see when she left,” he tells you, leaving out the ‘or if she was there at all’ part, “they’re already closed, though.” he takes another look at you and sighs softly, not in frustration, but concerned affection. “but you’re right. it’s a good idea to at least check if there’s someone there still. i’ll call there and a few people who might be able to help. but we’ll be able to find out the most tomorrow morning, okay?”

his words provide both assurance and a new bout of urgency. “but what if something happened to her?”

aaron’s face softens a bit more, just for you. “i understand you’re worried about that. and you know i’ll always take this sort of thing seriously. that’s my whole job, buddy. i really think she’s alright. you know she gets lonely at home and stays at her friend’s sometimes. and… you know she sometimes has bad nights that she’d rather you not see. there’s lots of potential reasons why she hasn’t shown up yet, and i can promise you, statistically, the odds that something very bad has happened to her aren’t as high as you think. she works in a safe area and your mother is a very smart woman. i’m not telling you not to worry or that i won’t do everything i can to find her right now, i’m just telling you that i think she’ll be okay, yeah?”

you listen closely, almost clinging to the sound of his low, comforting voice to avoid spiraling. you nod along, swallowing nervously. “okay,” you relent, huffing the word out, but not relaxing one bit. your body can’t get rid of the memories of finding out that your father had died. since then, you’ve never done well with waiting or uncertainty. 

“there’s not much you can do to help me. will you try to get some sleep? the guest room is set up.” the moment he suggests it, he physically feels you tense even further underneath him. “or you can stay up right here to wait for her while i make some calls.” that gets him a nod.

the idea of being left alone with just your anxious thoughts, the dark, and the quiet as company is unsettling to say the least. that’s what trying to fall asleep in the guest room means.

aaron can easily assume that’s why you’d rather stay here, but he knows it’ll do you no good to try and stay awake. that’s just more overthinking and lost sleep. so he changes the channel to nature documentaries and sits at the dining room table where you can see him through the doorway and just barely hear the low rhythm of his deep voice over the tv. he doesn’t want you focused on what he’s saying, but more so his steady, reassuring presence. 

it’s 3:04 in the morning when hotch runs out of things to do. he’s called his best assets that might pick up at this time, and written down every detail about the situation and your mother to share with his team. he looks through into the living room to see your drooping eyelids and slouched form. a little longer and you’ll probably fall asleep on your own, but he wonders if he could coax you to lay down with a blanket and a pillow. he stands quietly, and your eyes flick up to look at him when he walks past. he gives you a small smile, doesn’t answer the question in your tired eyes yet.

he takes the comforter and pillow from the bed in the guest room and before you can protest, he lays the blanket over you.

“did you find anything?” you ask sleepily, hesitantly taking the pillow from him as he hands it over. you’ll feel less guilty if you sleep on the couch rather than a comfy mattress. the pillow lays over the plush of the comforter in your lap.

“not yet,” he says gently, “i wasn’t able to get a hold of anyone at your mom’s work, but i got in contact with a few people i know who can help. the team will have plenty to work with in the morning. i already emailed and asked them to come in early.”

you give him a dejected nod. “thank you,” you murmur. he takes one of your hands in his.

“of course,” he says firmly, like he needs you to know just how much he means that. there’s absolutely no hesitation in his desire to help you. he’d stay up until three in the morning every night until he does what he can to fix this. unfortunately, his suspicion is that it’s something he can’t fix, but he’s prepared to be with you every step of the way.

“i’m too anxious to sleep,” you whisper. he crouches in front of you, his knees bumping against your shins for a moment through the fabric of the blanket.

“i know,” he murmurs back, taking one of your restless hands in his before pulling you into a hug, not bothering to move the softness of the comforter and pillow between your bodies. you sink into him, wanting to cry, but too tired. you’ll probably cry tomorrow instead. his hand smooths over the back of your head, coming to rest on your back right below your neck. it’s so steady and firm, warm and comforting. “i’m sorry this is happening. we’ll figure it out. why don’t you lay down? i’ll sit with you if you think it’ll help. i’m just waiting for someone to call me back.”

“okay,” you mumble into his shoulder, taking a long, deep breath and savoring the shield of his arms against all else for a few moments longer. then you pull away and he sets the pillow down on the couch cushion for you. you sigh, lowering your head and pulling your legs up. you take care of the blanket yourself, but he still takes the time to make sure your feet are nice and covered so you don’t get cold overnight. he turns off the last lamp in the room, though the dim chandelier over the dinner shines through the doorway. then he pulls the coffee table closer to the couch and sits on it.

by the time he’s settled, your eyes are already closed, but there’s a pinch between your brows and a frown on your lips. he frowns back at you, his gaze sweeter and sadder now that you can’t see him. one of his sturdy hands finds yours, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles as if he can soothe away the crease right above your nose. a little huff of air leaves your nose and he frowns deeper. his other hand lands gently on the side of your head, smoothing over it to calm you and ease you into sleep. haley always falls asleep faster with his hands in her hair, so he thinks it might help you.

you feel his thumb brush over your eyebrow and you wonder if he knows that your dad used to do that when you were younger or if he’s just trying to get the anxious muscles in your face to relax. you’re pretty sure the frown never leaves your face, but you fall asleep much quicker than you thought you would. 

it’s not very restful, but your body keeps you in the dark until it picks up on the movement of aaron and haley going through their morning routine. there’s hushed footsteps and the sound of cereal pouring into a ceramic bowl, milk splashing.

you stretch slowly, neck aching, eyes dry, stomach and heart heavy. then you pad into the kitchen, feeling oddly shy and sheepish after overtaking the couple’s couch for the night and keeping aaron up and away from his wife until so late. they’re both in the kitchen, aaron ready for work and haley pouring her bowl of cereal. she looks tired when she turns in your direction at the sound of your footsteps, and aaron looks composed as always. haley looks at you with a much more obviously sympathetic expression, but he smiles at you too.

“would you like some cereal, honey?” haley asks, walking over to give your shoulder a little rub. “if you feel like something else, you’re more than welcome to anything in our fridge. don’t tell aaron, but there’s frozen waffles in the freezer.” the thought of eating makes your stomach churn a bit, but you think you can handle something as simple as cereal.

“just cereal is alright, thank you,” you murmur.

“of course, sweetheart,” she smiles, grabbing you a bowl and spoon and letting you serve yourself. you sit at the table in silence, slowly chewing the food that takes a little bit like nothing to you. neither of them ask you anything or try to make you talk when you’re clearly not wanting to. aaron stands to put his bowl away and leave. haley watches with a sigh as you quickly stand to meet him at the door.

“please let me come with you,” you ask, letting a bit of vulnerability seep into your voice. “i won’t be any trouble, i just– i don’t know if i can sit here and do nothing.” 

he purses his lips and studies you for a moment. sometimes it doesn’t help to have a family member hanging around as they search for someone. and sometimes they’re worse off there, too. but he knows you’ll listen if he asks you to just stay in his office and it might be good for you to see gideon. you’ve known him even longer than hotch.

“alright,” he relents, “why don’t you go grab a book, you won’t find the ones in my office to be any fun. get dressed quickly.” 

you nod once and your thank you trails behind you as you rush off to change out of your pajamas. then you’re in his car on the way to visit the bau after a long time. you haven’t been to the office in over a year. sometimes you avoid it like the plague, other times you try to visit more often to feel closer to your father when nothing else works.

gideon is the only one who’s there before hotch. when you were a kid you thought he lived there. he’s quick to give you a kind smile and warm hug. aaron thinks the hug does do you good, though it makes you a bit emotional when gideon says your name and a simple, “we’ll do our jobs and take care of it.” then he sends you back to aaron with a firm pat on your back.

aaron keeps you in his office after that, so you don’t see reid or morgan when they arrive. you catch a glimpse of morgan walking across the bullpen when you look out the window, though. it’s alright, you don’t really know them as well as hotch or gideon.

it takes a few long, silent, and tedious moments for you to settle enough, but you somehow find it in you to read the book aaron advised you to grab. you don’t really pick up all that much, but it’s a distraction. you scribble on some loose paper with a pen you unceremoniously lift from his desk. it takes a lot less time to get an update than you though it would. your hope was running low.

but hotch shows back up not to long after and closes the door behind him. he sits next to you. you stare at your hands.

“our technical analyst, garcia, was able to track your mother’s phone. it’s not turned off… but if looks like our calls weren’t going through. she didn’t answer, but garcia’s number was able to call her. we should be able to get a hold of her soon,” he explains evenly, gently, as he places a hand on your shoulders. there’s something, maybe more, that he’s not saying and you know it.

“…why weren’t our calls going through?” you whisper, afraid of the answer. he sighs like he’s afraid of giving it to you.

“it seems like she blocked our numbers, honey. we’ll keep looking until we’re sure she’s safe and we get in contact with her, but right now it looks like she’s… well, it looks like she’s running. garcia tracked her to a town in western pennsylvania. she’s stopped for gas along the i-80. we called her job. she put in her two weeks at the beginning of the month,,” he tells you, both apologetic and matter of fact. his suggestion hits you like a punch to the gut. they’ve found her. that’s good. aaron thinks she’s running, presumably away from you. not good. unacceptable, you feel.

“wh-why would she do that?” you ask, voice breaking and turning teary much faster than you intended for it to. you’re a bit horrified, and maybe a little lightheaded from it too. you’re sure that this can’t be real. 

“that’s what we’re trying to figure out. is there any reason you could think of?” he asks gently, trying not to make the question too abrasive. 

“no,” you insist, a little harshly and vehemently that it makes you feel a bit guilty. you’re angry and upset, though. “you’re asking me if there’s any reason i could think of that would explain her leaving me? s-supposedly rubbing away like- like some kind of teenager? except that means leaving her kid behind without a word? after promising me she’d pick me up and take me to dinner, is that what you’re asking?” you’re crying by the end of it. you hate how your anger always dissolves into these stupid, pitiful tears. 

aaron’s sorry that he asked, but it’s hard for him to believe it, too. he just wants to understand the situation. that’s how he figured out a way to start making it better. that’s his job. but he remembers that right now it’s his job to hug you. to tell you he’s sorry and that he’s honestly not sure what’s going on either. that he’ll figure it out, though, and get you back to your mom. maybe he’s not supposed to be completely honest, but he’s one for telling the full truth, so he tells you it might take time, but that he’ll be with you the whole time.

“i’m sorry, honey,” he says again. you cling to him and cry for a while. he fights the urge to check his watch and just keeps his hands cupping the back of your head and soothing up and down your back. 

you want to argue with him. to demand further proof, to insist that she’s innocent, like you’re her damn lawyer and he’s her prosecutor. that though makes you cry harder because you’re her child and he’s only trying to help. and you’re just so tired. far too tired to say anything, but a pained “why,” mumbled into his chest. he’s not perfectly sure, but he’s spent all last night and this morning figuring it out. he wishes he’d paid better attention, tried to see her more and picked up on things before she actually skipped town. god, he feels so sorry. 

“i don’t know,” he says quietly, a half truth at best. his whole job is to come to see and understand the why, and he has a few ideas, but it’s your mother’s job to explain it to you, not his. and his overly analytical conclusions, even if spoken gently, wouldn’t ease your mind one bit. “we’ll get her on the phone and we can ask her. we’ll figure it out. i want you to stay with haley and i until we’ve got everything sorted. is that alright with you?”

you wipe at your face and nod, still leaning against him. “okay.” you’re not sure how you feel about staying with your mother after all of this, even if she returns sooner than later. right now, it feels like aaron’s your only constant, even when he’s gone all the time. it’s just that he seems to come back each time, with a certain gentleness and the sort of soft smile that his coworkers don’t see very often. 

then, you suppose it’ll be weird. aaron will be away from home most of the time, and it’s not as if you can spend your days in his office. so you’ll be with haley, who’s about to become a mother, and you wonder if that’ll hurt too much.

but at the end of the day, you won’t be alone. “okay,” you repeat, as teary, a little more relieved, because you have something. something to cling to, and it has to be enough.

[sarcasm-and-stiles]

Y/N: Aaron and I are having a baby.

Spencer: That's gre-

Y/N, slamming adoption papers on the table: It's you, sign here.

[marvelwitchergilmore]

Together

Summary: Aaron Hotchner x Fe!Reader -> The team knows something is up between yourself and Hotch, except Rossi seems to be the only one to put the pieces together.

Disclaimer: Descriptions of sick. Fluff. Jack and Haley don't exist in this fic. Happy ending. Not Proof Read.

The whole team knew something was up. They just didn’t know what. 

Usually, you were normal with everyone. Chatty. Smiley. Professional. Maybe a little blunt every now and again. 

But not this time. 

For the last week you had been…cold. Well, not with them, at least. 

But with Hotch? You had been as cold as ice. 

But no-one could pin why. 

Even if it had just been small things, like the feeling in the meeting room in the morning when it just seemed to be the two of you, or the small looks you both gave each other – which had started out as awkward, but then quickly turned to shame and clear annoyance, the latter being much more clear on your end. It was definitely clear now. 

From the beginning of the case, you had been quick to change subjects. Always staying on the case, which was normal. But not your abruptness to do so. And when Hotch tried to pull you aside as the others made their way to the main doors, you brushed him off. 

Hotch was someone you never brushed off. Not until recently. 

And when you all landed in Seattle, Hotch was assigning teams for who was driving. But before he could place you with himself, JJ and Morgan, you pushed past him. 

“I’m going with Rossi.”

And Hotch didn’t say a word. 

Instead, he watched you walk away with your go bag, throwing it into the trunk with Dave. He gave his orders to Prentiss on what would happen and she updated you in the car. 

However, forty five minutes into a ninety minute drive, Emily’s voice started to make you feel dizzy. Then the heat in the car felt like it was blasting. So you rolled down the window. But that didn’t help. 

“Garcia said she’s already sent over some case files- Hey, you okay?”

From the backseat, Emily leaned forward to get a better look at you. 

“I’m fine.”

But five minutes later, you changed your mind. 

“Pull over.”

“What?”

“Pull over, I think I’m gonna be sick.”

“Okay, okay. Just hold on.”

The car had barely been put into park by the time you threw the door open, tore your seatbelt away and ran out. 

Less than ten feet from the open car door, the last three drinks and meal you ate came straight back up and soaked into the dry grass. 

You heard a second car pull up behind and then heard Morgan and Hotch’s voice. Dave had already reached you, placing a hand on your back before pulling your hair back. 

“Okay, take it easy. Are you okay?”

You could only hum before throwing up once more. He rubbed circles on your back for a moment before you finally finished throwing up and wiped your mouth with the back of your hand. 

“Is she okay? Y/n, are you-”

“I’m fine!” You called out, a little harsher than you had intended. 

Holding out a hand, Rossi signalled for Hotch to stop and stay where he was with the others. 

“She’s okay, she just needs a minute. Emily, do we have water in the car?”

“Yep, here.”

Making her way over, Emily poured some water onto a tissue before handing it to you. You wiped down your mouth and your hand before being handed the bottle by Dave. 

“Small sips, okay? Are you sure you’re okay?”

You nodded, your back still to the rest of the team. “I just need a minute.”

“Aaron, we’ll meet you there.”

It took him a minute before he moved back to the car, but Hotch eventually nodded, calling out they’d see them at the precinct. 

“Do you know what it could be?” Emily asked. 

“Probably just some bad sushi.”

Emily nodded before getting back into the car. 

“Are you sure that’s all it is?” Rossi asked once she was out of earshot. 

And for a moment, you paused. 

“Let’s just get going.”

Things only seemed to get worse from there. 

You managed to hide it as best as you could from the rest of the team, but every hour you had spent a good ten minutes in the bathroom throwing your guts up. 

A couple of officers did question where you had been when they couldn’t find you but hadn’t seen you leave the building. One mention of Aunt Flow and they didn’t ask again. 

Your coldness with Hotch didn’t ease, either. It just seemed to become more frigid. And everyone saw it. 

By the third day in Seattle, Prentiss and Morgan had questioned you on it in the break room. 

“Yeah, what do you have against Hotch all of a sudden? What, one week away from us and you’ve suddenly made an agenda against him?”

“Because I love you, I’m going to ask this only once. Please don’t ask about Hotch.”

Morgan and Prentiss looked between each other, slightly worriedly, but both silently agreed to drop it. 

“But you will sort it out?”

You bit the inside of your cheek. “I don’t know.”

A few hours later, you were coming back out of the bathroom when Rossi seemed to jump out at you. 

“Jeez. Rossi. Give a girl some warning next time.”

Dave smiled. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Have we caught a break?”

“No, but I need to talk to you.”

“What about?”

“About the fact you’re running to the bathroom every hour to throw up.”

“Like I said, it was probably just some bad food. I’ll be okay.”

Only, as you started walking away, Rossi asked you a question. 

“What happened between you and Hotch?”

“Nothing.” You answered, your back still to him. 

“Really? Because I wouldn’t call it nothing. I’d call it strange.”

“Rossi, I’ve asked Morgan and Prentiss-”

“I know, and I heard. But, to be frank, I think you’re lying and you’re too scared to tell anyone.”

“Tell anyone what?”

But rather than voice it, Rossi just gave you a look. It took you a moment before you cracked a little. 

“Rossi…”

“You don’t have to tell me how or what happened, but I’m asking, just find out the truth. You don’t have to tell anyone. But I think the sooner you do it, the better it will be.”

“We’re in the middle of a case.”

Rossi shrugged, “Morgan and JJ are on their way back. Reid’s got it handled here. We’ll pick up some coffee on the way back as a cover. Let’s just go now.”

You seemed to hesitate, and Rossi could see it. 

“Please, for my sanity's sake?”

“Okay.”

Twenty minutes later, you found a pharmacy and picked up a box. 

“Can you wait outside the door for me?”

“Of course.”

And he did. 

Once you paid for the box, the cashier directed you to a bathroom in the back. Except, long after the two minutes were up, you still hadn’t come out. So, Rossi knocked on the door. 

You swung it open and he jumped back a little. 

“I can’t look at it.”

“Well, you’re gonna have to at some point.”

“I’ve wiped it down and it’s got a cap but…can you look? I’m too scared.”

Rossi could see the fear in your eyes. Oh, how two little lines could instil so much fear into people who dealt with crime every day. 

Handing the package to Rossi, he turned it around and pulled it out of the packet. 

“I believe congratulations are in order.”

Turning it around so you could see, you took it back into your grasp as you pushed one hand through your hair. 

“Oh, my god.”

“I think you and Hotch need to have a conversation.”

“Please don’t tell anyone.”

Rossi smiled, holding your hand which he could feel shaking. “You have my word.”

Somehow, back in the precinct, you managed to keep your cool. You’d brought back coffee for the team and, despite the fact you caught Hotch watching you from his seat, noticing your shaking hand, you pulled it back and found a spare pen from JJ’s notepad and spun it over and over in your fingers. 

Thankfully, due to the “food poisoning”, you had been kept out of the field when it came to finding the unsub. However, this just gave you a very large sense of dread. You watched them all run out of the door, Rossi placing a hand on your arm talking directly to you. 

“I’ll look out for him.” He told you before the others could hear him. 

“Thank you.”

Possibly carrying Hotch’s child made watching him and the team run out of the door, without you, made that sense of dread practically triple. Especially considering no-one other than Rossi knew the truth, or at least a part of it, about yourself and Aaron. 

Thankfully, no-one got hurt and the unsub was apprehended in time before he could hurt anyone else. They all came back with looks of relief and tiredness when you saw them, but there was a barely visible look of confusion and perhaps, hopefulness, on Hotch’s face when your scowl at him didn’t seem so cold. 

On the plane ride back, you were quiet. Everyone was, but there was just an air about you that told those paying attention to you that you were in your own world. 

Of course, Rossi knew why. 

But it was tearing at Hotch why he didn’t. 

Pulling back into the office, Penelope greeted you all by the elevator, hugging you all. And handing you some dry crackers and a bottle of water. 

“Thanks, Garcia.”

As everyone said their goodnights, you watched as Hotch walked directly through the bullpen and towards his office. 

“I think there are a couple of things you and he need to talk about.”

You nodded, with a light smile. “You’re right.”

Rossi kissed you cheek before saying goodnight and saluting you before the elevator doors closed. You did a small one back before turning your gaze back to the dim lights coming from Hotch’s office. 

However, first, you ran to the bathroom. 

Sitting at his desk, Hotch was halfway finished with the last of his reports when a knock came to his door. 

Looking up from his desk, there was a slight look on his face that told you he wasn’t expecting you. And you couldn’t be surprised. You’d barely been able to look him in the eye for the last month and a half, and you’d been nothing but cold and if a little harsh with him for the last couple of weeks. 

“Is everything okay?”

“Can we talk?”

Hotch nodded. “Come on in.”

You nodded back, entering, but closing the door behind you. Which made Hotch stand. 

“Is everything-”

“I’m pregnant.”

A silence settled over the room that you were expecting, but still shocked you. And every possible emotion, some you couldn’t even name, passed over his face before he was forced to sit down. 

“Oh.”

“Can I sit?”

He nodded, quickly signalling for you to do so. And so you did. 

“What did…How- When did you find out?”

“Sometime in the last twenty four hours.” You answered which confused Hotch, which you could understand. It was a vague explanation. “It’s all been kind of a blur.”

He nodded, understanding what you meant. 

“Does anyone…know?”

You nodded. “Rossi.”

“Dave knows?”

“He seemed to know before I did…kinda.”

“What does that mean?”

“I guess I had a feeling when I got carsick, but denial carried me through.”

“Does anyone else know?”

You shook your head. “No. Oh, and, um, I-I took another test to be sure. H-here.”

With a lot of nerves and a lot of awkward courage, you passed the second test across the desk to Hotch who took it in his hands and looked at it. 

Two bright pink lines. 

Positive test. 

“Just so I’m…clear. You are telling me because I’m…”

“The father?” you questioned. “Yes. There wasn’t anyone before or after you for it to be someone else.”

Hotch nodded. “Okay.”

You both sat in silence for a while, taking in what had just happened. 

“I, well, I haven’t been to see a doctor yet so I can’t know for certain but these tests are usually pretty accurate.”

Hotch could only nod. 

“You’re free to make any decision you wish,” Hotch assured you. “I’ll support you either way.”

You nodded in a small thank you. “Honestly, I don’t know what I’m going to do. With our line of work, it gives you the handbook over why you shouldn’t have children. But, if I do decide to do this…I’m prepared to do this on my own. If I am going to do it, I’d prefer to have you in their life.” 

Your hand absentmindedly touched your stomach and you looked down to it for a moment. 

“But, I’m prepared to do it on my own.”

Hotch took in everything you said and nodded. “Like I said, I’ll support any decision you make but if you do decide to have our child…” 

Those two words settled over the both of you. 

Our Child. 

Our Child. 

Our Child.

“One thing you don’t have to worry about is doing it alone. I want to be a part of their life. And whatever support you need, I’ll try and help with.”

You nodded before looking back down to your stomach. 

Once again, a silence settled over the both of you and it was like he could hear your brain going into overload with information and feelings. But just as he was about to call your name, you looked up. 

Tears were being held tight behind your eyes, but a few words and they were ready to fall free. 

“I’m…I’m scared, Aaron.”

It didn’t take him a second thought before he stood up and met you where you were sitting. As he got around his desk, you stood and he embraced you tightly. 

He swallowed thickly, nodding and placing a quick kiss to your hair. “It’ll be okay.”

A week later, the team had taken notice of the change between yourself and Hotch. It was no longer cold, but it wasn’t what it was. It was something…uneasy. You had both clearly had a tough talk and were on rocky shores, but you were both finding a way to make it work. 

It was also a week later that you had made your decision. 

You were going to have a baby. 

A lot of different scenarios passed through your mind when you thought about what you were going to do. It would be hard, of course. It would be difficult to work the cases you do and not feel a little more emotionally involved. But you also couldn’t help but think that maybe this was a blessing in disguise. 

A part of you had wanted children for a long time, but the thought of actually having them was slipping further and further away the more you worked. 

And, despite you feeling selfish, you wanted a baby. You wanted to see a child, your child,  grow up and have a life of their own. You wanted to make the memories you had as a kid, but with them. 

You knew it would be difficult to do so when you joined the Academy, but part of you always wanted a home filled with the sound of laughter and joy. 

And maybe this was your only chance. 

And in all honesty, Aaron had similar feelings. 

It would be hard, sure. But he also wanted this in his life. He wanted a child. He wanted you in his life, however that would be. 

Of course, neither of you had seen this coming when you had run into each other at the Inn you had found. A halfway stop to your actual destination. Only, rather than continuing on your separate journeys for your week’s vacation time, you both found yourselves unable to leave the small town and the safe walls of the local Inn. 

It was that part of the story the team would forever speculate on once they found out you were pregnant and it was, in fact, Hotch’s baby. 

That was a piece of information they clued together themselves when Hotch called them in for an early meeting, but had confirmation on just a few moments later.

“So, what’s happening here?”

“Are you together?”

“We’re…still figuring that out.” Hotch answered, looking at you.

Neither of you had exactly had the conversation over what you were. Were you a couple? Were you friends? Were you co-workers? Were you just co-workers having a baby together?

HR weren’t exactly happy about the get-together but so long as the relationship wasn’t going to break any codes of conduct within the field, you were both still free to keep working. And more importantly, working together. 

However, over the next nine months, certain things seemed to blur. 

Aaron came with you to every doctor’s appointment, never missing one. When you had both first heard your baby’s heartbeat, you had clutched onto his hand and not let go. And when the sound got clearer, he pulled you a little closer, rubbing your arm and kissing your hand. 

It was a little odd, feeling the baby kick for the first time whilst being stood outside of a crime scene. 

Morgan had been with you at the time, quickly calling for Hotch when your posture and face changed from quizzical to concerned. Only, by the time Aaron had reached you both, you laughed and told them what was happening. 

Morgan then called JJ over as you guided Aaron’s hand to your stomach. And you both shared an intimate moment, just looking at one another, feeling your unborn baby kick at your stomach for the first time. 

JJ was able to confirm what was going on and both herself and Morgan congratulated you before you all remembered where you were and got back to work.

The cold glares you had given Hotch in the weeks leading up to you finding out had disappeared completely after the hug you shared in his office when you told him. And by the time you were entering your second trimester, they had turned into something similar to what they were before everything had changed. 

You had both become friends. 

He had also relaxed a little more around you, which allowed him space to take in what was actually happening. So, when your cravings started kicking in, he would hand you snacks throughout the days. You wouldn’t even know what you wanted at the time and he just…seemed to know. 

And at some point between him attending doctors appointments, helping you with your pregnancy cravings and reading to your belly, you had both begun to live together. 

It made sense, at least for the first couple of weeks after the birth and partly during the pregnancy. If you went into labour, it would be safer if someone was with you. And, it meant he was there when, in the middle of the night, you woke up with braxton hicks and panicked a little before getting checked out at the hospital, just in case. 

Also, small touches began. 

From you holding his hand against your stomach when your baby kicked, to his fingers tracing yours whilst they held that position. Then, in break rooms. They were quick, but light kisses would be pressed to your head or cheek whenever he handed you something. He was always close to you, barely leaving your side when in the field. His hand, always at the small of your back when leading you somewhere. And in the early hours of the morning, his arms would be across you as you both lay in bed, holding you close against his chest. 

Until, finally, one night whilst lay in bed, you asked a question. 

Both facing each other, despite your eyes being closed, Aaron traced repeated patterns from pushing your hair back to trailing his fingers down your arm to find your hand, rubbing soft circles with his thumb. 

Both of you should be fast asleep, yet you weren’t. 

“Aaron?”

“Hmm?”

“What are we doing?”

“Sleeping.”

You laughed a little. “No we’re not.”

“I’m sleep talking.”

“Aaron, I’m being serious.”

With a small laugh, Aaron sighed. “Okay, what is it?”

He finally opened his eyes and so did you.

“What are we doing? About us, I mean. We’re having a baby together, but we’re not together together. We work together, but we also live together. What happens after the first couple of months? Do we…what do we do?”

“I suppose we just have to take each day as it comes and see what happens.”

“I can live with that.”

“Or…”

“Oh, no.” 

Aaron laughed a little and shook his head, bringing his hand back to your face and brushing the hair from it. 

“Or,” he repeated, “we treat this for what it really is.”

“I don’t…” you shook your head. 

“I know I don’t regret what happened that week away. Even more so now, but before…before we both found out. I still didn’t regret it. I don’t. We say we live together out of convenience, but I know, at least for me, it’s something more. Now, if for you it’s still out of convenience and bonding for our child, then we can have this conversation when the time comes. But, you should know my feelings for you run deeper than just you being my co-worker and the mother of our child. Do you…could you see yourself…feeling the same?”

The silence that came over both of you for a moment made Aaron worry. Maybe he had gotten it wrong in his head. Maybe you didn’t feel the same. Maybe you were just caught up in the emotions of carrying his child and, since you were in it together, some form of feelings, similar to that of his, were getting blurry. 

But then you blinked. 

And a light smile graced across your face. 

“I do.”

Your voice was barely above a whisper. But still, your words echoed louder and louder around his head. 

“You…you do?”

You nodded. “I do.”

Aaron took a moment, before leaning in and pressing a kiss to your lips. It was like your first, all over again. Except, this time, rather than a little fear being behind it, considering at the time you were both still co-workers just on vacation, there was nothing but…

Relief. 

More specifically, relief for love. 

For months you’d both been avoiding the biggest barrier between both of you. Too scared and too fearful that the answer to each question would be some variant of “No.” 

And now…

Finally the answer was yes. 

Yes to love. 

Together.

Yes to a life.

Together. 

Yes to a family. 

Together.

[the-guilty-writer]

Aaron x daughter!reader,

His daughter is a cane user and she has a bad day pain wise?

Aaron Hotchner x daughter!reader

Just like your father, you'd always been stoic, easily able to hide your pain from the outside world. It was something Aaron always had to keep in mind, how you'd push through and never speak a word about your discomfort. He'd always seen the characteristic in himself as a blessing, but in you he viewed it as a curse to himself.

There were times when you couldn't hide it, though. Usually you were well past a manageable pain level when it happened, and Aaron beat himself up for not noticing sooner. He'd never thought the hardest person to profile would be his own daughter, but apparently you were. People didn't see what you didn't want them to see, including your father.

Today, however, you'd reached your breaking point, hardly able to get out of bed, even with the help of your cane. You had tried, of course, but the gravity of your pain had been too much to bear. The sound of Jack's bare feet running past your door reminded you of the day to come, how your brother approached everything in stride with a smile on his face.

You tried your best to do the same, but you could only do what your body allowed.

A soft knock landed on your door and you called to invite whomever it was in.

"Morning, sweetheart." Your dad peeked his head through the door, his brow already furrowed with concern.

"G'morning," you mumbled out the words.

Aaron padded into the room, closing the door behind him. He stayed as quiet as possible, not wanting to draw attention from Jack, who would have wanted to stay for the conversation.

Your dad sat down on the bed, running a gentle hand through your hair. The gesture was something he'd done since you were a little girl, one of calm and quiet understanding.

"Do you want to stay home today?" he asked.

"No." Truthfully, you didn't want to stay home. Want implied that it was something you could give or take, a choice. If you could have chosen to go to school, you would have, but your body didn't allow that kind of liberation.

"Do you need to stay home today?" Aaron re-phrased.

You didn't have the energy to speak this time, managing a slight nod.

"Okay." He kissed your forehead before exiting the room quietly.

As soon as he left, you fell into a state of half-sleep, unable to reach full rest due to the pain coursing through your body. It was like some sort of horribly sick joke that you needed sleep to aid the ache, yet it kept you from sleeping in the first place.

The sound of the front door opening, your dad talking to JJ, her leaving with the boys in tow, all happened in a haze. It was only when your dad’s footsteps ascended the stairs that you were able to pull yourself from the fog.

A quiet knock on the door brought you out of your head and into your body. Gentle footsteps sounded against the carpet until you felt the bed dip slightly, followed by a gentle hand tucking loose hairs away from your face.

You opened your eyes slowly, being met with resistance from your own body that so desperately wanted to block out the light. Pain made it difficult to process your surroundings, but once you did, the sight of your dad in his normal house clothes surprised you.

"Don't you have work?"

"Nope." He planted a gentle kiss on your forehead. "Anderson is bringing me some files, but I'm staying home with you."

"You didn't have to do that." It came out as a painful whisper.

"I wanted to." Hotch reached for the bedside table, grabbing a cup with a straw. "Can you try just a little?"

He helped you prop yourself up against the pillows and held the straw to your lips. The taste of a fruit smoothie filled danced along your taste buds, and slowly but surely you were able to consume half the contents of the cup. When you were done, you pushed it away slightly and laid back down, your dad tucking you in just as the doorbell rang.

"I'll check on you in a bit. Promise to call if you need anything?" he asked.

You nodded your head, eyes already closed, mind in a half-sleep.

Hotch kissed you on the forehead gently and left the room, closing the door quietly so as to not disturb your rest. He could only hope that sleep (and pain medication) would allow you to begin the day again in a few hours.

[aspenmissing]

ꜱᴛᴇᴀᴅʏ ʜᴀɴᴅꜱ

ᴄʀɪᴍɪɴᴀʟ ᴍɪɴᴅꜱ ᴄʀᴇᴡ x ᴘʟᴀᴛᴏɴɪᴄ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ/ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ-ɪꜱʜ || 6598 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ᴛᴀʟᴋꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴍᴜʀᴅᴇʀ ᴄᴀꜱᴇꜱ, ᴠɪᴏʟᴇɴᴄᴇ, ꜱᴇʟꜰ-ᴅᴏᴜʙᴛɪɴɢ

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ʏ/ɴ ᴊᴏɪɴꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴀᴜ ᴀꜱ ᴀ ɴᴇᴡ ᴘʀᴏꜰɪʟᴇʀ, ɢᴜɪᴅᴇᴅ ʙʏ ᴀᴀʀᴏɴ ʜᴏᴛᴄʜɴᴇʀ’ꜱ ꜱᴛᴇᴀᴅʏ ᴍᴇɴᴛᴏʀꜱʜɪᴘ. ᴏᴠᴇʀ ᴛɪᴍᴇ, ꜱʜᴇ ɢʀᴏᴡꜱ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴀ ᴄᴏɴꜰɪᴅᴇɴᴛ ᴀɢᴇɴᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ᴍᴇɴᴛᴏʀ ʜᴇʀꜱᴇʟꜰ, ᴄ���ʀʀʏɪɴɢ ꜰᴏʀᴡᴀʀᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴇᴀᴍ’ꜱ ʟᴇɢᴀᴄʏ ᴏꜰ ᴛʀᴜꜱᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴛʀᴇɴɢᴛʜ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ᴄʜᴀɴɢᴇ.

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴀᴀʀᴏɴ | ꜱᴘᴇɴᴄᴇʀ/ᴛᴀʀᴀ | ᴅᴇʀᴇᴋ/ꜱᴛᴇᴘʜᴇɴ | ᴊᴊ/ᴘᴇɴᴇʟᴏᴘᴇ | ᴇᴍɪʟʏ/ᴀʟᴇx | ʀᴏꜱꜱɪ/ʟᴜᴋᴇ

FIRST STEPS

Y/N’s palms were slick with sweat as she stood outside the glass doors of the BAU conference room. The muffled voices inside were a steady hum, but inside her head, everything was louder — the pounding of her heart, the racing of thoughts, the questioning of whether she was truly ready for this.

Her fresh FBI badge felt heavy on her chest, almost like a physical reminder of the expectations resting on her shoulders. She was the newest member of the Behavioural Analysis Unit — straight out of training, with just enough classroom knowledge to feel overwhelmed now that she was about to face the reality of profiling actual criminals.

The door slid open, and Aaron Hotchner stepped out. His presence was calm and authoritative, as always. He noticed her immediately and gave a slight nod — no smile, but something far more reassuring in his eyes.

“Miss Y/L/N,” he said, voice steady and low. “Glad you’re here. Let’s get started.”

Aaron stepped out of the conference room and glanced back at Y/N with a steady, calm expression. “Follow me,” he said simply, his voice low but firm.

Their footsteps echoed softly down the corridor as they made their way toward the bullpen. The hum of conversation and the clicking of keyboards grew louder with each step, a mix of focused work and casual camaraderie filling the open space ahead.

=

The bullpen was a hive of activity. Spencer leaned over his desk, animatedly explaining a complex theory to Derek, who stretched his arms above his head and cracked a rare, easy smile. Emily stood nearby, casually scrolling through her phone as she exchanged a few quiet words with JJ, who leaned back in her chair, relaxed but watchful. Penelope hovered close by, her bright energy unmistakable even from a distance as she chatted animatedly with the group.

Aaron stopped beside Y/N and nodded toward the team. “This is where you’ll be spending most of your time. Everyone, this is Y/N — our newest agent.”

Before anyone else could speak, Derek smirked and raised an eyebrow. “Well, rookie, welcome to the madhouse,” he said, his tone teasing but warm.

Penelope’s eyes sparkled as she looked up from her keyboard, fingers pausing mid-typing. “Finally!” she exclaimed, practically bouncing in her chair. “I’ve been hacking into the transfer sheets for weeks, just waiting to see a new name pop up. You’re officially the newest addition to the team — I’m so excited to meet you!”

Y/N blinked, slightly taken aback but smiling nonetheless. “Wow, you were waiting for me?”

Penelope grinned. “Absolutely! It’s not every day we get fresh talent, especially someone with your reputation already circulating.”

Emily smirked and crossed her arms. “Don’t worry. You’re in good hands here.”

“We’re glad to have you with us.” Spencer said, giving her a small smile.

JJ sat forward, eyes kind and steady. “If you ever need anything, you just let us know.”

Just then, David Rossi emerged from his office, his presence commanding but warm. He approached with a welcoming smile.

Y/N’s eyes widened for a moment, a spark of admiration clear in her gaze. “Mr. Rossi, it’s an honor. I’ve read all your case files and your work on behavioral analysis — you’re kind of a legend.”

Rossi chuckled, clearly amused and pleased by the sincere compliment. “Well, thank you, Y/N. That means a lot coming from someone joining the team. Welcome aboard — we’re glad to have you.”

Y/N swallowed, her nerves easing as she took in the steady confidence radiating from the group — each member offering their own unique welcome, all unmistakably sincere.

“Thanks,” she said quietly, feeling the mix of excitement and relief settle deep inside her chest. “I’m really glad to be here.”

Aaron gave a brief, approving nod. “Alright. Let’s get started.”

LEARNING THE ROPES

The first case Y/N was assigned to was a home invasion turned murder in a small, unassuming town in Virginia. On paper, it didn’t stand out much — a wealthy couple, mid-40s, brutally murdered in their home. Nothing stolen. No signs of forced entry. The local police were rattled by the sheer violence of it, and their confusion was apparent in the jumbled case files that had been passed along to the BAU.

It was her first real field case, and it felt like the ground beneath her feet had shifted.

She’d been assigned background research and victimology, and she'd thrown herself into the task. But now, hours later, well past the fading hum of the office’s usual day shift, Y/N sat in the dim bullpen with her jacket off, sleeves rolled to the elbows, her face illuminated by the flickering light of her desk lamp and the glow of her laptop screen.

The silence was oppressive — the kind that settles deep in your bones. She didn’t even realize she was chewing on the end of her pen until her jaw ached.

Dozens of open files lay scattered across her desk. Crime scene photos. Autopsy reports. Victim histories. Witness statements. None of them made sense. The timeline had no gaps, but no meaning, either. The couple had no known enemies, no recent drama, no financial motive that jumped out. The violence was overkill — the husband beaten so badly his own brother hadn’t recognized him in the morgue. But why? Why them?

She leaned back in her chair, exhaling slowly. Her fingers ran through her hair and lingered there, gripping the strands like she could hold her brain in place if she just squeezed hard enough.

“I just don’t see the connection,” she muttered aloud, voice rough from disuse. “It doesn’t add up.”

A voice answered quietly from behind her.

“Sometimes it’s not about what’s in the files.”

Y/N startled slightly, her hand falling from her hair. She twisted in her seat to find Hotch standing there, just a few feet away, coffee in hand. His tie was loosened slightly, the first few buttons of his shirt undone — a rare sight that reminded her how long he, too, had been up.

The lights above cast shadows beneath his eyes, the weight of the case visible in the tired set of his jaw. But his presence was steady, unwavering, as it always was.

“It’s what’s missing,” Hotch continued, stepping closer, voice quiet, unintrusive. “What the killer doesn’t say or do. That can tell you just as much as what they leave behind.”

Y/N swallowed, her frustration rising into her throat. “I’ve gone over it all, five times. There’s no pattern. No forced entry, no witnesses, no real motive that sticks. It’s like they were chosen at random.”

She gestured toward the photos. “But that doesn’t make sense either — this wasn’t chaotic. It was personal. Deliberate. Angry. But there’s nothing in their past to explain that level of violence.”

Hotch nodded, setting his coffee down on the edge of her desk and leaning slightly over the files, scanning them silently for a long moment.

“I used to get stuck in this part too,” he said finally, voice even softer. “Trying to build the profile from what’s there. But the truth is, a good profile comes just as much from the gaps. What’s absent can be louder than what’s present.”

Y/N leaned forward, mirroring him instinctively, her fingers resting beside his on the folder between them.

“How do you do it?” she asked after a beat. Her voice was smaller this time. “How do you look at this — at all of this — and keep your head when everything’s falling apart?”

Hotch didn’t answer immediately.

He straightened slightly, crossing his arms, eyes fixed on the evidence board nearby. The tension in his shoulders was subtle, but it was there. A heaviness that came not just from years of experience, but from carrying the weight of other people’s trauma — his team’s, the victims’, the survivors’. And maybe even his own.

“I’ve asked myself that question a lot,” he said eventually, his gaze still distant. “In the early days, it nearly swallowed me whole. You think you can separate yourself — keep work and life in two neat little boxes. But this job doesn’t let you do that.”

Y/N was silent, watching him, listening to every word like it might be the key to unlocking her own sense of overwhelm.

Hotch rubbed the back of his neck, a gesture she’d come to recognize in their short time working together. It was subtle, barely there — but it always came before something meaningful. Something he didn’t often let himself say.

“You do it by focusing on the work,” he said finally, voice low and steady. “You find something small — a thread, a detail — and you follow it. Because in the middle of the chaos, that’s all you have. Control over your own process. Discipline. The hope that if you keep digging, eventually, the truth will give itself up.”

He looked down at her then — really looked. And in his eyes, she saw something she hadn’t expected.

Understanding. Recognition. Not just in her struggle, but in the fact that she was still trying.

“And you remember,” he added, “that you’re not alone.”

The weight of those words landed like a soft blow. Y/N blinked, biting the inside of her cheek.

She nodded, slowly. “I guess…I keep thinking if I don’t figure it out, someone else gets hurt.”

“You’re not wrong,” Hotch said. “But you’re also not the only one in the room.”

He gestured gently to the quiet bullpen around them — dark now, mostly empty, but still echoing with the lives that passed through it.

“We do this as a team,” he said. “Lean on us. Learn from us. You don’t have to shoulder it all on your own.”

For the first time that day, the tightness in her chest began to loosen.

She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding and looked down at the files again, eyes sharper now. She saw what he meant — not the details she had already memorized, but the gaps. The missing behavior. The things that weren’t there.

“Maybe the lack of forced entry is the entry point,” she murmured, more to herself. “If the couple knew their killer…”

Hotch gave the faintest nod. “Now you’re thinking like a profiler.”

He left her then — quietly, without fanfare — and returned to his own office, the glass walls glowing faintly in the dark.

Y/N stayed at her desk a little longer, newly focused, her mentor’s words echoing in her mind.

You focus on what you can control.

You’re not alone.

And just like that, she got back to work.

TEAM DYNAMICS

Over the next few weeks, Y/N began to settle into the BAU’s rhythm — a rhythm that was unpredictable, demanding, and always moving faster than she expected. The days bled into nights, flights blurred into crime scenes, and every briefing felt like a test. But amidst the chaos, something else began to form — a bond. A connection to the team that wasn’t in the job description.

At first, she treaded carefully, afraid to misstep. But the team, for all their brilliance and weighty presence, made space for her in their own quiet ways.

=

Spencer Reid was the first to break through her nerves. He was a whirlwind of intelligence — the kind that could be intimidating in theory, but in practice was surprisingly kind. One afternoon, while reviewing a case involving multiple arson-murders across state lines, Y/N found herself stuck on the victimology. She sat at her desk, flipping through autopsy reports with furrowed brows and a scribbled notepad in her lap.

Spencer, walking by with a book in one hand and coffee in the other, noticed her expression.

“You’re looking for a pattern,” he said gently, setting the book down on the table beside her.

She glanced up. “Yeah. I thought maybe it was occupation-based, but two of them were retired, and one was a college student. I can’t find a common thread.”

He leaned in slightly, eyes scanning the files over her shoulder. “Sometimes the connection isn’t in who they are — it’s in where they are. What if it’s geographic?”

She blinked. “Like a comfort zone?”

He smiled. “Exactly. See, Y/N, if we look at the victimology and the locations, we might uncover a pattern in the unsub’s emotional comfort zone or perceived control area.”

“Right,” she said, scribbling quickly in her notes. “That makes sense.”

He tilted his head, thoughtful. “You’ve got a good eye. You just need to trust it.”

His words stuck with her. Spencer never made her feel like she was playing catch-up — instead, he treated her like a colleague in the making, someone worth investing in. And every time he launched into one of his rambling facts mid-case — about fire behaviour or geographic profiling or the neurological link between scent and memory — Y/N listened like she was soaking up gold.

=

Derek Morgan, on the other hand, was all instinct and presence. He had the kind of charisma that filled a room without trying. At first, Y/N had been nervous around him — not because he was unfriendly, but because he was so confident. But that shifted the night they ended up in the bullpen after hours, both nursing lukewarm coffee and lingering over the same case files.

She’d been second-guessing a line she added to the profile — a detail about dominance behavior at the crime scenes.

“I just… I don’t know if I’m reading too much into it,” she admitted, voice low.

Derek leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, studying her.

“Profiling’s part science,” he said, “but it’s also part gut feeling. You look at the data, yeah, but you also listen to what your instincts are telling you. Don’t ignore them.”

She glanced at him, uncertain. “Even if I’m wrong?”

He smiled, something warm and steady in his eyes. “You’ll be wrong sometimes. We all are. But if you don’t trust your instincts now, you’ll never learn where they’re strong. This job’s about reading between the lines — and that starts with trusting yourself.”

And from then on, Derek became someone she knew she could lean on. He didn’t coddle. He expected her to keep up. But when he clapped her on the back after a good profile or nodded at her in the field, it meant something.

=

Emily Prentiss was different — quieter, more watchful. She didn’t say much at first, but Y/N could feel her presence. The way she’d catch Y/N’s eye in a tough moment. The subtle nods of encouragement. And eventually, Emily started offering insight — not all at once, but when it mattered.

One day in the field, Y/N hesitated during a suspect interview. She stumbled over a question, letting the unsub redirect the conversation. Afterward, Emily pulled her aside in the hallway of the precinct.

“You did fine,” she said calmly.

“I froze,” Y/N muttered.

“You paused,” Emily corrected. “That’s not the same thing. You didn’t lose control of the interview — you were just feeling the room. That’s a skill, not a failure.”

Y/N blinked. “You think so?”

Emily gave a small smile. “I know so. And if I didn’t, I’d tell you.”

That was Emily’s way — honest, direct, and unshakable. Over time, Y/N began to emulate her — the cool head in high-stress situations, the fierce loyalty, the ability to walk into a room and own it without needing to raise her voice.

=

JJ, as the team’s media liaison and sometimes profiler, was grace under pressure personified. She had a way of connecting with people that was natural and genuine — victims, press, teammates — and she extended that same warmth to Y/N without hesitation.

“You have to listen more than you speak,” JJ said during one of their quieter afternoons back at Quantico. “Interviewing isn’t about pushing for answers — it’s about giving people space to speak.”

Y/N nodded, biting the inside of her cheek. “I worry I come off… stiff.”

JJ chuckled lightly. “You’re new. That’ll fade. Just try to be present. People can tell when you’re really listening — and that can mean everything.”

When Y/N finally nailed her first interview — calm voice, controlled pacing, the right questions at the right time — JJ was the first to clap for her when she exited the room. And she didn’t say much, just a proud, “Told you,” and a little wink that made Y/N’s stomach flip in the best way.

=

And then there was Penelope Garcia — walking glitter, joy incarnate, the BAU’s very own heartbeat. To say Penelope took a liking to Y/N was an understatement.

On Y/N’s third week, a mug showed up on her desk — pink, bedazzled, and proudly declaring: Rookie, but Make It Fashion. There was no note, but when she looked up, Penelope was peeking over her monitor with a grin.

“Welcome to the chaos, cupcake,” she said. “You need anything — coffee, snacks, a hug, a crime tech miracle — I’m your girl.”

Y/N quickly learned that Penelope ran the tech with lightning speed and grace, but also ran emotional triage for the whole team. She was the one who made sure birthdays were remembered, that people drank water during long debriefs, that someone brought cookies after hard cases.

And she adopted Y/N like a little sister.

“You’ve got that wide-eyed ‘am I supposed to be here?’ look,” Penelope told her once while adjusting the settings on a case file projection. “But trust me — Hotch doesn’t waste time on people who can’t handle it. If you’re here, it’s because you belong.”

That meant more than Y/N could ever admit.

=

David Rossi was… different. Elegant in his approach, deliberate in his words, and always with the quiet gravitas of someone who’d seen far too much and still showed up anyway. At first, Y/N felt intimidated — Rossi was a legend in the Bureau. But one night, long after everyone else had gone home, she found herself alone in the break room, pouring lukewarm coffee into a paper cup.

“Bad day?” came his voice from the doorway.

She turned, startled. “Oh — no. Just… long.”

Rossi walked in, sleeves rolled up, loosened tie, holding his own cup. “They’re all long in this job. But some are worse than others.”

He sat across from her and nodded at the case file she had tucked under her arm.

“You know, the secret to surviving this job isn’t just profiling. It’s pacing yourself. Knowing when to push and when to pause.”

Y/N hesitated, then asked, “Do you ever… feel like you’re in over your head?”

“Every damn day,” Rossi said without missing a beat. “But then I remind myself I’ve earned the right to be here. And so have you.”

From that moment, Rossi treated her like someone he expected to become great. He’d slide books onto her desk — ones he’d written, and ones by people who'd inspired him. He’d throw in subtle questions during briefings to challenge her thinking. And when she nailed a theory or contributed something solid, he’d raise an eyebrow and murmur, “Nicely done.”

For a man of few unnecessary words, that praise went a long way.

=

Bit by bit, without even realizing it, Y/N was becoming a part of the team. They taught her in small moments — in case files and coffee breaks, in long flights and hallway conversations. Not by lecturing, but by treating her as one of their own.

And through all of it — their quirks, their brilliance, their scars — Y/N found something unexpected.

Not just a job. Not just a team.

But a family.

PRESSURE AND GROWTH

The walls of the bullpen felt like they were closing in.

It was 2:47 a.m. and the BAU headquarters was eerily quiet, save for the occasional rustle of paper and the hum of the overhead lights. The current case had been dragging on for six days. Three victims, all abducted, held for roughly thirty-six hours, then murdered and dumped near bodies of water. The unsub’s ritualistic staging made no sense. No clear signature, no solid victimology. Just chaos that masqueraded as intention.

Y/N sat at her desk, surrounded by scattered files, coffee gone cold, and a notebook filled with theories that had led nowhere. She was exhausted — mentally, emotionally, physically. Her hands were trembling just slightly as she flipped through the autopsy report for the third time, eyes blurry from lack of sleep.

This was the hardest case yet — and her first major one where she’d been trusted to help shape the profile.

And now they were stuck.

She rubbed at her temple, biting the inside of her cheek. What if I’m not cut out for this? What if I’m not strong enough, sharp enough? What if I already missed something? That thought lodged deep in her chest and stayed there, growing heavier by the minute.

"Still here?"

The quiet voice broke through her spiral, and she looked up to see Hotch standing just behind her desk. He looked as tired as she felt — tie loosened, shirt sleeves rolled up — but still composed. Always composed.

"Yeah," she said softly, trying to sound steadier than she felt. "Didn’t want to go home knowing we still don’t have a lead."

He stepped closer and looked over the scattered case files.

“You’ve been going over the victimology again?”

Y/N nodded. “Trying to find a pattern. An age group, a shared career path, something. But it’s like the victims were picked at random. There’s no consistency. It doesn’t make sense.”

Hotch pulled out the chair next to hers and sat, folding his hands on the desk. His voice was calm, measured — the kind of tone that slowed racing thoughts.

“You’re doing better than you think.”

She exhaled, eyes drifting down to the table.

“But what if I’m wrong?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “What if I already missed something important and someone else dies because of it?”

There was a long pause. When she looked up, Hotch was watching her — not just listening, but seeing her. The weight behind her words wasn’t lost on him.

He spoke gently. “This job… it forces us to carry things no one else can see. Doubt, guilt, fear. It’s part of the work. But you don’t let it stop you. You learn from it. You keep moving.”

She swallowed, trying to hold back the sting behind her eyes. He continued:

“You’re here because you earned it. You were selected for this team because you see things others don’t. You think deeply. You care. And yes — sometimes we miss things. But you don’t carry that burden alone. You carry it with us.”

There was a pause. Then, almost imperceptibly, she nodded. His words grounded her — the kind of reassurance that didn’t sugarcoat the weight of the job, but reminded her she wasn’t bearing it alone.

Hotch stood up and gave her a small nod. “Get some air. Then come back to it with fresh eyes.”

She nodded again, quietly this time. “Thanks, Hotch.”

=

Y/N didn’t go home. She stepped outside into the early morning chill, took a deep breath, and then came back inside.

She sat down at her desk and forced herself to look at everything differently. Not as a profiler trying to prove something — but as a teammate trying to save someone.

What am I missing?

She laid out the timeline again, side by side with the dump sites. Three rivers. Three bodies. Roughly the same travel distance from the city center, but in completely different directions. Then she paused, eyes narrowing.

They weren’t placed randomly. Not exactly.

Her heart began to race — not with fear this time, but with clarity. She pulled out a map, overlaying each dump site. She traced the points.

There was a pattern — a triangle, perfectly even.

She looked at the center point. An industrial park. Abandoned warehouses. She zoomed in. One in particular had once been a city-run treatment facility — it had shut down two years ago. Fenced off. Forgotten.

She checked the timestamp of the latest abduction. Thirty-four hours ago. The window was narrowing.

Without hesitation, she grabbed her notes and shot to her feet, the chair skidding slightly behind her.

“Hotch!” she called, moving briskly toward his office, where the light was still on.

He looked up from his desk as she burst through the doorway, breathless but focused, gripping the map in her hand like it was a lifeline.

“I think I found something,” she said, voice urgent but steady. “I was going over the dump sites again — and it hit me. They’re not random.”

Hotch rose from his chair immediately, crossing to meet her as she spread the map across the surface of his desk.

“Look,” she pointed quickly, tracing the three known locations. “They form a triangle. Almost perfect. Equidistant, equal angles. It’s deliberate. And when I mapped the center of the formation…” She tapped the center point. “It lands right on an abandoned water treatment facility on the edge of the city. Decommissioned two years ago, barely patrolled, but still standing.”

She looked up at him, eyes wide with realization. “It’s secluded, close enough to each dump site to match the unsub’s timing, and he’d have complete control of the environment. I think that’s where he’s keeping them.”

Hotch studied the map for a few seconds in heavy silence, his eyes scanning the locations, her markings, the logic she laid out. Then he looked back at her.

“You’re right,” he said firmly. “That fits the timeline. And it fits him.”

Y/N’s heart leapt, but she kept her hands steady.

Hotch reached for his phone. “I’ll get a team mobilized. You stay with me — you’re the one who cracked this open. We’ll brief them en route.”

He paused, looking at her with something deeper than just approval. “Good work, Y/N.”

And just like that, the doubt that had been gripping her chest for days started to unravel — replaced by purpose.

She gave a sharp nod, adrenaline rising again. “Let’s go.”

=

By sunrise, the team surrounded the warehouse. Inside, they found the latest victim — alive. Frightened, but alive. The unsub had fled moments before, likely sensing law enforcement’s approach. But thanks to Y/N’s lead, it didn’t take long before they tracked him to a nearby motel.

He was in custody within hours.

=

The sun was high in the sky when Y/N finally sat down, adrenaline giving way to exhaustion. She was drained, but there was a glow of quiet accomplishment under her fatigue.

Hotch walked over, coffee in hand.

“You saved her life,” he said simply, setting the cup in front of her.

Y/N looked up, a little stunned.

Hotch didn’t often hand out praise.

“I just… saw the pattern,” she said modestly.

He gave her a rare smile — small, but sincere. “And you trusted yourself. That’s the mark of a real profiler.”

She felt her chest swell — not with pride, exactly, but with something deeper. A sense of belonging.

“Thank you” she said. “For not letting me spiral.”

Hotch nodded once. “That’s what I’m here for.”

BELONGING

The elevator chimed softly as it slowed to a stop on the BAU floor. Y/N stepped out, the familiar hum of computers and low murmur of voices usually greeting her. But today, something was different. The hallway was unnervingly quiet—too quiet.

She paused, brow furrowing. No laughter bubbling out of Penelope’s office. No pages flipping in Spencer’s quiet corner. No teasing banter from Derek echoing down the hall. Even JJ’s soft footsteps were absent.

The silence wrapped around her like a thick fog. A flicker of unease stirred in her chest.

She rounded the corner, coffee in one hand, a thick case file tucked under the other arm, and pushed open the glass doors to the bullpen.

The sudden eruption of sound startled her so much she nearly spilled her coffee.

“SURPRISE!” they shouted in unison.

Confetti cannons exploded near Y/N's desk, scattering colourful flecks through the air. Streamers fluttered like bright ribbons against the sterile walls. Balloons bobbed near the ceiling, and at the centre of the commotion stood Penelope, practically glowing with excitement. Her fingers clapped enthusiastically, eyes shining wide and bright.

Y/N froze for a heartbeat, blinking rapidly as the team’s faces came into focus — smiling, teasing, beaming with something warm and genuine. Spencer’s lips curved in an almost shy smile. Derek leaned casually against a desk, arms crossed but eyes sparkling. Emily’s gaze held a quiet, proud twinkle. JJ gave a soft, approving nod. And there, near the back, stood Rossi — leaning against a filing cabinet with a grin tugging at his lips, arms folded but eyes alight with pride.

A tray of cupcakes sat perched on the corner of her desk, frosting glistening under the fluorescent lights, candles waiting to be lit.

Her lips parted in surprise, voice tentative. “Um... okay, I’m flattered, but my birthday’s not for another four months.”

Penelope gasped with mock offense, nearly tripping over her own feet in her trademark heels as she hurried to Y/N’s side. Grabbing her hand firmly, she practically pulled her forward with infectious energy.

“It’s not your birthday, silly!” she laughed. “Come on — just come see!”

Y/N laughed along, feeling the warmth spread through her despite the early hour. She allowed herself to be led, curiosity sharpening as she approached her desk, where a small black box sat neatly in the center, wrapped with a red ribbon that shimmered in the overhead light.

The room hushed, all eyes turning toward her, the weight of anticipation suddenly heavy in the air.

Her fingers trembled just slightly as she hovered over the ribbon.

“You guys didn’t have to—”

“You earned it,” Hotch’s voice broke through softly behind her. His presence was calm and solid, yet unmistakably warm.

She glanced back to see him standing with that familiar quiet authority, but something gentler flickering behind his usual composed gaze.

Carefully, Y/N untied the ribbon and lifted the lid.

Inside, nestled in rich velvet fabric, lay a gleaming new FBI badge alongside freshly minted credentials. She lifted them reverently, eyes scanning the embossed words:

Special Agent Y/N L/N — Behavioral Analysis Unit.

The weight of the moment settled around her like a quiet tide. For a heartbeat, she was still — the gravity of what she held finally sinking in. This was more than a piece of metal and paper. It was a symbol. A recognition of every late night, every doubt faced, every case studied and every instinct trusted.

Hotch stepped closer, expression unreadable but steady as ever.

“You’re no longer in training,” he said, voice low but steady. “As of today, you’re officially a full-fledged agent of the BAU. Congratulations.”

Her breath caught. She blinked once, twice, as disbelief slowly melted into pride. “Wait… seriously?”

Spencer, standing nearby with a shy smile, nodded. “It’s official. You passed your evaluation with flying colors.”

“You’re one of us now,” JJ said, her tone warm as she extended a cupcake toward Y/N — a peace offering wrapped in purple frosting.

Derek grinned, crossing his arms with a teasing glint. “Not bad, rookie. Guess I’ll have to find a new nickname for you.”

Emily smirked, folding her arms. “Or maybe not. ‘Rookie’ has a nice ring to it.”

Rossi chuckled and stepped forward, voice rich with warmth and a hint of pride. “You’ve earned every bit of this. I remember what it was like starting out — that mix of nerves and determination. You wear it well.”

Laughter bubbled around the room, soft and genuine, wrapping Y/N in a sense of belonging she hadn’t fully allowed herself before.

Her gaze swept across each face, overwhelmed but grateful. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Say you’ll eat a cupcake before I burst from holding in all this excitement,” Penelope said, already pushing the sweet treat into her hand with a grin that could light up the darkest case file.

Hotch’s lips twitched, the smallest hint of a smile breaking through his usual stoicism.

“Say you’re ready for what comes next,” he added, eyes locking with hers in a moment of unspoken understanding.

She met his gaze, seeing not just the leader who demanded excellence, or the mentor who challenged her relentlessly, but the man who had believed in her when she doubted herself most.

“I am,” she said firmly, voice steady and sure. “I’m ready.”

The bullpen erupted into light applause and playful cheers, Penelope already rallying the team for an impromptu photo with the cupcake tray held like a trophy. Derek and Emily refused to hold anything frosting-related, sharing amused smirks. Spencer was busy cataloguing the chemical composition of the confetti glitter, mumbling to himself about polymers and biodegradability. JJ just shook her head fondly at the chaos.

Rossi clapped her on the shoulder one last time, his smile widening. “Welcome to the family, Special Agent.”

Hotch gave her one last nod — a flicker of pride passing behind his calm, steady eyes.

Then, turning quietly, he retreated toward his office, pausing in the doorway to glance back one final time.

“You’ve got the instincts,” he said quietly. “And the heart. That’s what makes a real profiler.”

Y/N clutched the badge to her chest, her smile soft and real — the kind reserved for moments when the world finally feels right.

For the first time since joining the team, she didn’t feel like she was trying to keep up.

She felt like she belonged.

STEADY HANDS

Years later, Y/N would find herself revisiting those early days at the Behavioural Analysis Unit with a quiet, almost reverent pride. The kind of pride that doesn’t shout from rooftops but hums softly beneath the surface — a steady heartbeat in the background of all she had become.

She remembered the sleepless nights spent poring over case files until her eyes burned, the gnawing uncertainty that came with her first few field interviews, and the weight of every decision made in the grey areas of morality and logic. The work was relentless, often merciless, testing every ounce of her mental strength, her emotional endurance, and her belief in herself. There were days when the darkness felt suffocating, and the line between hunter and hunted blurred in dangerous ways.

But through it all — every tense briefing, every breakthrough, every devastating loss — there was one constant, unyielding presence.

Aaron Hotchner.

She could still hear his voice, low and steady, during those moments of doubt:

“You focus on what you can control,” he had said once, after she’d questioned herself in the bullpen. “And you remember you’re not alone.”

Y/N nodded quietly then, but now those words were a lifeline.

He didn’t offer easy answers or empty encouragement. Instead, he gave something far more valuable — unwavering trust and a clear path forward when the way seemed impossible.

=

Even after Hotch left the BAU — after the tough decision to step away to protect his family and himself — that legacy lingered.

One afternoon, as the team gathered for a briefing, Y/N found herself sitting beside Derek Morgan, who gave her a reassuring smile.

“Hotch set the bar high,” Derek said, his voice calm but firm. “But he also taught us how to pick up the pieces when things fall apart.”

Y/N glanced around the room, catching the quiet agreement in everyone’s eyes.

Derek leaned in, lowering his voice. “And remember — you don’t have to carry it all on your own.”

His departure, not long after Hotch’s, left a different kind of silence. Where Hotch was the calm strategist, Derek had been the fierce protector — a force of nature who challenged the team to be brave, to fight harder, to never back down from the darkness.

=

New faces began to fill the office, weaving their own stories into the fabric of the BAU.

Tara Lewis arrived with her sharp mind and quiet determination, challenging Y/N to see the behavioural science from fresh angles, pushing her to grow beyond the comfort zones Hotch had helped create.

One afternoon, as they reviewed a complex case file, Y/N looked up from the notes. “Tara, your insight on the victim’s background—sometimes the smallest detail that seems irrelevant is actually the key to understanding the offender’s mindset. Keep pressing on that.”

Tara nodded thoughtfully. “I’m still finding my footing, but your experience makes it easier to know where to focus.”

=

Luke Alvez brought relentless energy and a willingness to dive headfirst into danger, teaching Y/N lessons about courage and intuition in ways no textbook ever could.

“Luke, your gut instincts during interviews are impressive,” Y/N said after watching him work a lead in the field. “Don’t second-guess them, but always back them up with evidence. That balance will keep you sharp.”

Luke flashed a grin. “That’s why I’m learning from the best.”

=

Stephen Walker, steady and reliable, became another pillar — someone who understood the balance between tactical precision and empathy, often reminding Y/N that strength wasn’t just physical, but deeply emotional too.

During a strategy meeting, Y/N said, “Stephen, your approach to de-escalation is just as crucial as any tactical move. Remember, sometimes the strongest thing we can do is listen.”

Stephen gave a small smile. “Thanks, Y/N. Your guidance makes all the difference.”

=

Alex Blake, with her meticulous attention to detail and calm professionalism, added another layer of perspective that Y/N found herself increasingly valuing in the complex puzzle of profiling.

As Alex laid out the timeline for a case, Y/N remarked, “Alex, your thoroughness keeps us grounded. Don’t underestimate how much that steadiness helps the team connect the dots.”

She looked up, appreciative. “I’m grateful for your mentorship, Y/N. It’s shaped how I approach this work.”

=

Throughout these changes, Y/N never lost the feeling of being part of something bigger than herself — a team that was less about titles and more about trust, respect, and a shared burden. Each new member brought a new spark, new challenges, and new lessons, but the spirit of mentorship and steady support remained, passed down quietly from one leader to the next.

And though Hotch was no longer standing at the helm, his influence lingered in every strategic plan, every calm directive, every moment when Y/N found herself guiding others with the same steady hands and measured voice she had once depended on.

One evening, as the team gathered to debrief, Luke glanced at her and said, “You remind me a lot of Hotch—calm under pressure, but never losing sight of the people.”

Y/N smiled softly. “That means more than I can say. I only hope I can give you all what he gave me.”

She realized then that mentorship wasn’t just about the one who leads; it was about the legacy they left behind — the seeds they planted in those who came after, the courage they inspired, and the quiet strength that lives on even when they’re gone.

=

Y/N had become that steady hand for others now. The one who would listen without judgment, who would offer guidance not through commands but through example. And when new agents walked through the doors — wide-eyed and uncertain — she would meet them with that same quiet encouragement Hotch had given her, because she understood better than anyone what it meant to feel lost, and what it took to find your footing in the dark.

So when the weight of the world pressed heavy on her shoulders, and the nights grew long with the unending hunt for justice, she reminded herself of one truth:

She was not alone.

She never had been.

And through every change, every goodbye, every new hello, the BAU was home — a family forged not by blood, but by trust, resilience, and the steady hands of those who had come before.

[mxssingmemories]

boundaries // hotch & rossi x platonic!reader

summary: after hotch confronts you in his office, you react intensely. rossi is worried. comfort ensues, hotch and rossi are honorary father figures.

wc: 3k~

warnings: reader’s boyfriend is abusive and a piece of shit, yelling, happy ending i swear

“Okay, what’s going on?” Hotch asks, shutting the door to his office behind you. His tone is slightly concerned and you know he’s not letting this go by the look on his face; his eyebrows are folded down and he’s frowning. You sigh and flop down on the chair in the corner of his office, looking down at the floor like it killed your best friend.

“Listen, whatever’s going on, we can fix it. Even if you don’t want my help, it’s got to be fixed, kid. Just tell me what’s going on. Even Reid came to me about this. You know I can’t just let it go,” he said, his expression tight as he stared at you. The tension in the room was high as your eyes widened. Whatever Hotch wanted to accomplish with this “chat”, it was clear to the both of you it wasn’t going to get far. You stood up and slowly started walking towards him with squinted eyes.

“What is your problem, Hotch? I am perfectly fine! Even if I wasn’t, you have no right to say shit like that! That’s my damn business, not yours!” you yelled, jamming a finger at his chest. On a normal day, you wouldn’t even think about saying any of this to your boss. Your brain didn’t process the consequences at all, but Hotch’s did.

“Y/L/N! You do not speak to me like that! I am your boss-” he started, but was cut off by the door slamming behind you as you walked out. He deflated instantly, sitting back in his chair as all the tension drained out of his body.

The stairs creaked as you stomped down them. The whole team looked up at the noise with slightly concerned facial expressions.

“You alright, kid?” Rossi asked, attempting to pace his gait with yours. You were practically running through the office. Rossi prided himself on being quite agile, but even he was no match for you.

“Fuck off,” you grumbled. Rossi’s eyes widened as he froze in his place. When his wits came back to him, he took a few steps back towards the group. “Jesus, ragazza,” he whispered as he watched you walk away.

“The hell’s her problem?” Morgan asked Rossi, holding his hands up placatingly when he received nothing but a death glare.

“Guess it’s her time of the month,” Derek muttered to himself, eyes widening when he realized how loud he actually said it. 

“Derek Morgan. I will beat your ass,” Rossi deadpanned, already starting to walk out of the doors to follow you. You’d left a bit of a trail when you stormed out. Your phone laid by the top step of the stairs and so did your badge. The older agent picked up your phone & badge and tucked it in his pocket, knowing you'd end up wanting that later.

You walked speedily, fueled by the anger still coursing through you at the situation. You had a certain level of respect for Hotch-he was your boss, after all-but in your eyes, he had stepped way over the boundary. Deep down, you knew he had good intentions, but that didn’t excuse his overstepping.

You sat down on the pavement with a sigh, your gaze falling to the ground as your brain ran 1,000 miles a minute. Rossi's presence was made evident when he sat down beside you, holding your phone in one hand and badge in the other. You kept your eyes steadily on the ground, pointedly ignoring him. Of course Rossi was not one to give up, reaching his hand out further as he silently asked for acknowledgement of his presence.

"Hey, ragazzino, I know you're pissed, but I'm here for you. I just want to help." he said reassuringly, a kind smile on his face as you finally made eye contact. Quickly, you grabbed your belongings from his hand.

"Thank you," you said softly.

Rossi smiled at you as you slowly leaned against him, bringing an arm around you as he took a deep breath.

"Listen, piccola, I promise Hotch didn't mean anything bad. We both know I have no idea what happened, but he wouldn't try to hurt you on purpose." the older agent reassured you, watching your facial expressions attentively as you tried to come up with an appropriate response.

"He breached boundaries, Rossi. Even if he didn't mean to hurt me, he went too damn far. I can't just move on from that!" You half-cried, half-yelled as tears gathered in your eyes. The minute your body started to shake, Rossi took his cue and gathered you in his arms. He held you tightly as you let everything out, loud sobs escaping your mouth as you buried your head in his chest. He rubbed your back lightly, the comforting touch grounding you slightly in the midst of what seemed like hell.

"It's okay, tesoro, let it out. I'm here," he cooed, rocking you back and forth like a baby. Rossi couldn't lie when he said the emotional reaction you had surprised him. After almost three years of being on the team, they hadn't seen you cry once. Even after you'd gotten kidnapped and shot by the Reaper himself, you held steadfast. His heart hurt as he watched you fall apart in his arms, only tightening his grip on you as your cries started to die down. When you were ready, you pulled back. Your head was still resting on Rossi, but you could see him now. The tears in his eyes came as a shock to you, and you looked up at him questioningly but he just shook his head. He reached into his pocket with his free hand and handed you a tissue.You accepted gratefully. Taking it with a sniffle, you wiped your eyes as you desperately tried to regain your composure.

"Do you want to talk about it?" the older agent asked softly as he looked into your eyes. You took a deep breath as you nodded, shifting your position to be able to sit beside him.

"You remember Alexander?" you asked quietly, so quietly in fact Rossi had to physically lean closer in order to hear you.

"As in your boyfriend Alexander? Yeah, I do." he spoke, watching you carefully as you planned your words out.

"He, uh. He didn't like me going out with you guys for dinner." you nervously said, your face dropping as you saw the confusion evident in David's eyes.

"He yelled. Really loud, Rossi. He didn't even let me explain, he just yelled and he kicked me out. I don't even know why I let him, that's my damn apartment. I slept on the street for two nights straight." Rossi's eyes widened as he realized the full extent of the situation, the anger for your "boyfriend" calming down as his paternal instincts kicked in.

“Angel, no one should ever treat you like that. Do you have a place to stay tonight?" he asked softly, and you nodded.

"I got the balls to kick him out two days ago. I don't know why I didn't do it sooner. He just made me feel so small, Dave. I didn't know I could even feel like that. I thought he loved me!" you choked, your voice breaking once again as you brought the situation out in the open. For the second time in thirty minutes, David pulled you into his arms. One hand cupped your face, forcing you to make direct eye contact with him.

"Listen to me, kiddo. You did not deserve that. it is not your fault, do you hear me? You did nothing wrong." he reassured, brushing the tears that fell at his words. You tucked your head back into his chest as more tears fell, but he stayed by your side for all of it. The quietness of the alleyway was disturbed once again by your cries. A lone tear fell down Dave's own cheek as his heart contracted at what you were going through.

"Sweetheart, why didn't you tell us?" he asked quietly, both of your teary eyes looking at each other as you sighed.

"I didn't want to be a burden. I thought it would get better, you know? But Hotch saying what he did..I don't know. I can't just keep pretending." you confessed. the older agent placed his hand back on your shoulder.

"You're never a burden, angel. You're part of the family. You're like one of my kids, okay? I never want you to feel like you can't talk to me. About Aaron, though, I think we both know you need to talk to him." He said, squeezing your shoulder as your eyes traveled back to the building. Quietly, you nodded your head. As David stood up, he offered you a hand which you gladly took.

"You really see me as your kid?" you asked, head down while you walked. There was a part of you that thought he was kidding, but Rossi immediately dismissed all of your doubts.

"Absolutely, piccola. Don't ever think I don't, okay? You're more important to me than you think." A small smile rose on your face at his words. The walk to the doors was almost over, and by then you had done your best to fix your appearance. With a deep breath, you walked in as Dave held the doors open for you. The stairs to Hotch's office were a death sentence in your mind. The presence of his hand on your back gave you the confidence you needed to talk up the stairs. The team eyed the both of you, but you sent a small smile down to them and their faces changed from apprehension to a mix of relief and concern.

The knock on Hotch's office door seemed to reverberate through the entire bullpen. You stood at his door with a tight expression, and he opened it with an even tighter one.

"Y/N. I think it's best if you come in." You nodded as your eyes fell to the floor. Hotch motioned for you to take a seat as he shut his door. You did as asked, only making eye contact with your boss when he sat in a chair beside you. The silence in the office was deafening, as you both waited for someone to speak. It became clear about 2 minutes in that you weren't going to say anything, so Hotch took the hint. "Listen, kiddo. I want you to know I'm not mad. I understand that whatever you're going through has caused this situation, and I want to be here for you, but I can only do that if you let me in." he said evenly, and you felt your shoulders relax at his reassurance.

"I'm so sorry, sir. What I said and did was completely out of line. I promise you there's a reason for it." Hotch nodded to show he was listening, his body language open as he waited for you to explain.

"You remember when we went out to dinner last week?" you questioned, and continued when Hotch nodded again. "Apparently, I neglected to tell Alexander that I was going out with you guys. He was waiting for me. He..he wasn't happy, Hotch. He yelled a lot. I didn't know he was capable of that. He ended up kicking me out of the house. I slept on the street for two nights." you explained, voice breaking at the last part as your boss' face immediately contorted into concern.

"Oh my god. Are you okay? Do you have somewhere to sleep?" he asked almost frantically. The nod you gave him seemed to satisfy the statistical part of his brain as he studied your face. Tears pooled in your eyes at the situation you'd somehow gotten yourself stuck in. Crying in front of your boss (and admittedly father figure) was not on your to-do list today.

"I'm so sorry. I should've noticed. Fuck," he whispered. He abruptly got up out of his chair and wrapped you in a full-body hug. It caught you off-guard for a second, but you returned it the second you realized what was happening. The dam broke for the third time in a day, tears spilling out onto your face as you held onto him like a lifeline.

"I've got you. I'm so sorry, sweetheart," he muttered in your ear as he held you. You just cried even harder, the sounds not missed by the team in the bullpen. They were watching through the blinds with sad looks in their eyes. You're their baby, and it pained every single agent to see you in tears.

You pulled back from Hotch's arms as he studied your face, his focus falling on the dark circles under your eyes.

"When was the last time you slept?" he asked, and you sniffled as you tried to respond.

"You can't expect someone to get more than an hour of sleep on the street, Hotch," you tried to joke, but it failed miserably as Hotch looked at you like an injured animal.

"Okay, that's okay. Can you sit down on my couch for a second?" he asked you, and when you nodded, he gave you a timid smile. Unfortunately, your body decided it didn't want to cooperate. You instantly fell back down when you tried to get up. Hotch's instincts kicked in as he caught you and carried you over to the couch bridal style.

"Jesus, next time warn me," Hotch murmured as he sat you down. "I'll be right back, kiddo," he assured you. He walked out of his office to see the whole team watching him with looks on their faces that belonged at a funeral.

"What did you do?" Garcia asked, the death glare on her face actually scaring Hotch. He had to remind himself that he was, in fact, the unit chief.

"She's going to be fine, Garcia. She just needs us right now, okay? Now can you get me my stash?" he asked her, and she sighed but nodded. As her footsteps retreated, Morgan and JJ came to his side.

"Listen, Hotch, I don't know what you did but you need to fix it." JJ whisper-yelled, staring Hotch down.

"JJ, you are one of my best team members. You should know by now I do not take well to being told what to do. I have this under control. Y/N does not need you all against me, she needs us as a family right now. I am asking you to understand and respect that." Hotch ordered, walking away from the two as Garcia returned with a basket that had a blanket, some candy, and a pillow in it.

JJ and Morgan watched as he retreated back up the stairs, looking at each other in confusion before going back to their watching positions.

By the time your boss made it back up, you had cleaned up a little bit. Your runny mascara had been taken care of and you were sitting up properly. You smiled at him, and he returned it.

"Can you lay down for me, kiddo? I know you need the rest." he murmured, and you nodded as he draped the blanket over you. His hands held your head as he placed the pillow behind it, and they lingered as he stared at you.

"You're not a burden, honey. I can practically hear negative thoughts buzzing in your mind right now, but I can assure you none of them are true. You know I see you as my daughter too, right? It's not just Rossi. We love you, kid." he smiled at you, and both of your eyes were wet with tears as you smiled back at him.

"Thanks, bossman." you said, as Hotch sat down on the floor.

"You know you don't have to sit on the floor, right?" you asked, giggling when he rolled his eyes at you.

"Can I sit on the couch with you, then?" he asked, joking manner gone as he looked you in the eyes. At your nod, he pulled himself up and sat on your end of the couch. You adjusted yourself to where you were facing him, your head on his chest. His hand absentmindedly carded through your hair as his paternal instincts kicked in. It didn't take long for you to drift off, his steady heartbeat lulling you to the sleep you so desperately needed. You thanked whoever had the power over your life for giving you a team who you knew always had your back. Hotch continued to card his hand through your hair, making sure you were asleep before he let himself fully process what you went through. 

His thought process was interrupted by a text message from Garcia, and he smiled as soon as he saw it. She'd sent a photo of the two of you in your current position, the caption reading 'team dad confirmed?'. He rolled his eyes at her antics and let himself exhale for the first time since the confrontation this morning, his fatherly smile coming back onto his face as he looked down at you. Nobody could blame Penelope when she snapped a photo of that, too; she had a feeling this would be something they would want to see in the future.

[reveseke]

The box of skulls

CM — Hotch & son!reader...

No warnings, just origami and startled reader.

Reader is written to be interested in origami. :') also blurb based on/Inspired by the image below lol.

It had been a long week, R just got home from camp and the house was quiet for the most part. He'd been told that Jack had been sleeping over at a friend's house for the last few days and his dad was out of town for the moment. A nice peaceful moment, no distractions, no people — just silence that fell nicely over the house.

The window was cracked open a little, the light of the sun in the early morning streamed into his room with the birds singing, cars driving by, and the wind blowing. The sound of paper being folded over the table of the teen's room as he folded the origami paper, at this point going over the steps by memory and letting his hands just handle the paper with care. By the table was a small box, filled with small origami skulls that R had recently —not even recently, looking that he'd been doing this for quite a while— picked up on.

Learned to make even with all the mistakes he'd done, some faint scars over his hands from the paper cuts he'd managed to conjure up from his work.

What he hadn't counted on was to not hear his phone go off with the familiar message ping, an hour or so ago. Too focused on making the small origami that he was startled by the hand that came to land on his shoulder.

"holy shiiuhhm.." R nearly cursed out as he spun his head, eyes widening as he saw his father standing over him. Swallowing the curse as he flashed an awkward smile and let the unfinished skull hit the table, "Hi, dad! When'd ya get home?"

Aaron looked a little amused as he curiously looked at the paper scraps and what his teenaged son was doing, "Just now. Didn't you hear me calling you?"

"nope!" R said as he lowered his hands on the table, letting his fingers thrum a few times against the surface, "No I didn't, sorry."

"What are you doing?" Aaron asked as he leaned back a little, now looking at his son as he picked up the unfinished origami and slowly cast his gaze upon the small box of skulls, "You've been .. certainly busy, no?"

"oh, that's just my box of skulls..." R smiled a little as he took the box of multicolor skulls and picked one of them up, "yeah, I learned to make them like a month ago."

"that's nice, why skulls though?"

"Uhh, no real reason just thought they looked cool and a little challenging, wanted to try it out."

[ssa-atlas-alvez]

Hi! I hope your okay! I was just wondering if I could get an angst with happy ending m!readerxhotch. No worries if not! Thank you!!

Hiya, it's not romantic or anything, more of a familial bond between the two but I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: homophobic parents, getting kicked out because of homophobic parents

“I’m sorry.” You mumbled, wiping your eyes quickly before looking up. “I, er, I didn’t have anywhere else to go. I didn’t know what else to do.” 

Hotch immediately frowns, seeing his intern at his door, soaking wet, eyes rimmed red. He wordlessly moves out of the way, ushering the younger man in. He had about a million questions to ask. ‘A time and a place,’ He reminded himself gently. 

“How about you set your bag down, take your shoes off, and try and warm up in the shower?” He says, giving you a small smile. “I’ll find you some clothes to change into and I’ll put what you’re wearing in the wash.”

You looked at him before giving a small nod. “Y-yeah, thank you.”

“(Y/N), you don’t have to thank me,” Hotch gave a small smile. “When you’ve done that, we’ll talk, alright?” You nod. That seemed like a good plan. 

You take your shoes off, placing your bag on top - not wanting to get your boss’ floor too wet - and followed him upstairs. 

“Jack’s asleep right now, but he sleeps like a log,” Hotch’s lips curl upwards slightly, “Fresh towels are in the cupboard, help yourself. Use whatever you need to.” 

And with that, you gave an awkward nod and Hotch made his way to the guest bedroom. 

You showered quickly, using the first shampoo and conditioner (separate bottles, not 2in1) as well as the first bar of soap you saw. 

A quiet knock on the door drew you out of your thoughts, “(Y/N)? Can I come in? I’ve got some clothes,”

“Oh, er, yeah,” You answer. The door opens quietly, there’s a gentle sound.

“Alright, I’ll be downstairs, okay? I’ll put the kettle on.” 

“Okay, thank you.” 

Thanking the heavens to feel warm with your skin no longer sticky, you stepped out, wrapping a towel around your waist. There was nothing worse than rain making your skin itch. You looked at the clothes Hotch had piled up for you, they were probably going to be a little big, but the pants had drawstrings, so it wasn’t exactly the end of the world. 

You made your way downstairs once dressed, feet padding softly against the carpet. When you enter, Hotch turns to you, two cups of tea in hand. “Perfect timing.” He places, the cups on the table. “Careful, it’s hot.”

He sits first, you follow suite.

“I’m sorry,” You say. “I, er, I didn’t know what else to do. Sorry for bothering you at home, in practically the middle of the night-“

“(Y/N), you’re absolutely fine,” Hotch gives a smile. “I’m glad you felt comfortable enough to be able to reach out… But, I do have a question, if that’s alright?”

Nodding, you quickly answer, “Yeah, I, er,  I thought you might have a question or two.”

“Okay, and obviously you don’t have to answer them, not if you don’t want to.” He pauses for a moment, “What happened?”

You take a moment, watching the light dance off the tea. “I… I’m not really all that sure.” You swallow. “My parents and I got into an argument.”

Hotch nods slowly. He knew you were still at college, living with your parents in order to save up money. “Okay…”

“I, er, sort of… might have been kicked out.” You say, cupping the hot beverage in your hands. “It’s sort of a bit hazy. I just know that they yelled, I yelled, and I think they told me to, and I quote: ‘get the fuck out and stay out’,”

Hotch frowns, eyes darting over your face as he took the information in. “If you don’t mind my asking, what brought this on?”

“I told them- well, I didn’t tell them, they found out – but that part’s not all that important right now. I’m rambling a little, sorry.” You pause, taking a small breath. “They found out I was gay.”

You watch as Hotch’s frown deepens. “I’m sorry that’s how they reacted. That’s not fair on you.” He pauses. “How are you feeling about it all?”

“Um, well, I was flustered, I guess?” You said.

“And now?”

“Done.” You gave a shrug, “I don’t think I can be bothered to care. It’s probably the sleep deprivation, lack of coffee, or even adrenaline, but I can’t- I can’t seem to get myself to care right now.”

You pause to scratch the back of your head, risking a sip of your tea and burning your tongue in the process, but you carry on. “Like, I know I should care. I really should. Because if they’re serious about it, then right now, I’m technically homeless.” You look back at Hotch. “But all I can think about is the report you wanted me to finish… It’s not finished, by the way.”

“(Y/N), right now, I don’t care about the report, okay? Don’t worry about the report. But here’s what we’re going to do, tomorrow morning, I’m going to drop Jack off at Jessica’s, and I’m going to drive you home.” Hotch says, “I’ll go in with you and we’ll pack up some things, okay? Essentials for a few days or things you don’t feel like you can live without.”

“Hotch, you don’t have to drive me-”

“(Y/N), don’t even bother trying to argue it.” You snap your jaw shut and give another nod. “Good. But, for now, try to relax, drink your tea, alright? The guest bedroom’s all made up for you.”

“Thank you.”

“It’s no trouble,”

“No, Hotch. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

[averalia]

A Convenient Truth

| Pairing: Derek Morgan x Garcia!Reader, Penelope Garcia x Sister!Reader, BAU x Reader

| Warning/s:

| Summary: After a tough breakup, Y/N moves in with her sister Penelope, only to have her secret relationship with Derek Morgan unexpectedly exposed when her ex shows up.

| A/N: Unwelcome Guests 😩

The insistent buzz of the doorbell dragged you from a fitful sleep. You groaned, pulling the blanket tighter around you, but Penelope's chipper voice floated from the living room. "I got it, sweet pea!"

You'd been living with your older sister, Penelope Garcia, for the past months and a half, ever since your dramatic, and frankly, emotionally exhausting, breakup with Mark. He'd been a controlling jerk, and the sudden need for a fresh start had brought you straight to Penelope's door. Her vibrant, technicolor apartment was a stark contrast to your own minimalist, muted decor, but it was safe. And more importantly, it was far, far away from Mark.

A deeper voice, one that sent a familiar flutter through your chest, followed Penelope’s. "Hey, Garcia. Got a minute?"

Your eyes flew open. Derek. He wasn't supposed to be here. Not now, not when you were a mess of tangled hair and old sweats. You scrambled out of bed, grabbing the first relatively clean shirt you could find.

"Morgan! What a surprise!" Penelope's voice was a little too loud, a little too cheerful. You heard footsteps approaching your bedroom door. "And guess who’s here! You remember my little sister, right?"

Panic flared. You weren’t ready for him to see you like this. Not after the clandestine, stolen moments you’d shared over the past few months, the secret dates, the whispered conversations in the dark. He knew about Mark, of course – he'd been a quiet, unwavering support throughout the whole ordeal – but the pretense of you just being Penelope’s "little sister" needed to be maintained.

The door swung open, and there he was. Derek Morgan, in all his broad-shouldered, perfectly tailored glory. His eyes, warm and dark, met yours, and a flicker of something passed between you – understanding, concern, and a hint of that familiar, illicit spark.

"Hey, Y/N," he said, his voice a low rumble. "Long time no see."

You managed a weak smile. "Derek. What brings you to Penelope's lair of wonders?" You tried to sound casual, but your heart was hammering.

"Just dropping off some case files," he replied, holding up a manila folder. "Garcia's the only one who can decipher my chicken scratch."

Penelope, oblivious to the silent communication zipping between you and Derek, clapped her hands. "Well, since you're here, why don't you stay for a bit? I was just about to make some coffee."

"Sounds good," Derek said, his gaze still on you for a beat longer than necessary.

You excused yourself to the bathroom, splashing cold water on your face. This was going to be harder than you thought. You and Derek had been so careful, so discreet. The last thing you needed was Penelope, the queen of observation and deduction, putting two and two together.

When you emerged, Derek was perched on a stool in the kitchen, casually chatting with Penelope while she bustled around, clinking mugs. He glanced up, offering you a small, reassuring smile that only you would understand. It was enough to settle your nerves, just a little.

"So, Y/N," Penelope said, handing you a mug. "Tell Derek about your big plans for getting back on your feet! You know, now that you're free as a bird." She winked at Derek, clearly referring to your breakup.

You felt your cheeks warm. "Oh, you know, just figuring things out. Maybe a new job, definitely no more toxic relationships." You threw a pointed look at Derek, a silent reminder of the unspoken rules of your secret.

Derek chuckled, a low, easy sound. "Sounds like a good plan, Y/N. Sometimes a fresh start is exactly what you need." His eyes held yours, a silent message passing between you: I'm here for you. Always.

The rest of the morning passed in a surprisingly normal haze of coffee and comfortable conversation. Derek was, as always, charming and engaging, and Penelope was her usual effervescent self. You even found yourself relaxing, almost forgetting the precarious balance of your secret. Almost.

As Derek finally gathered his things to leave, Penelope walked him to the door. You, feeling a sudden surge of something you couldn't quite name – longing? relief? – followed them.

"Thanks for the coffee, Garcia," Derek said, turning to Penelope. "And it was good to see you, Y/N." His eyes lingered on you for a moment, a subtle message in their depths.

"You too, Derek," you said, trying to keep your voice steady.

Just as he was about to step out, the distinct sound of a car horn blared from the street. A moment later, a familiar, unwelcome voice shouted, "Y/N! I know you're in there!"

Your blood ran cold. Mark. He’d found you.

Penelope’s eyes widened, a flicker of alarm crossing her face. Derek, however, went absolutely still. His jaw tightened, and his gaze sharpened, shifting from you to the door.

Before you could react, the doorbell rang again, aggressively this time.

"Who in the blazes is that?" Penelope muttered, already moving to look through the peephole. Her jaw dropped. "Oh, you've got to be kidding me. It's Mark!" She turned back to you, her expression a mixture of anger and confusion. "What is he doing here?"

You swallowed hard, your mind racing. You couldn't let Mark in, not here, not now. But you also couldn't have him making a scene on Penelope's doorstep.

Derek, however, had already made his decision. Without a word, he stepped forward, placing a hand on the doorknob.

"Derek, no!" you whispered, but it was too late. He swung the door open, revealing Mark, looking disheveled and furious.

Mark’s eyes, narrowed with anger, landed on you, then on Derek. "So, this is where you ran off to, Y/N? Hiding out with your sister and... who's this?" His gaze, full of suspicion and malice, raked over Derek.

Derek’s posture was impossibly calm, impossibly intimidating. He stepped forward, putting his body between you and Mark. "The name's Derek Morgan," he said, his voice low and dangerous, "and I'm Y/N's boyfriend."

The words hung in the air, a shocking, unexpected declaration. Penelope gasped. You stared at Derek, your heart leaping into your throat. He met your gaze, a subtle, confident smirk playing on his lips. It was a lie, yes, but a convenient one. And judging by the way Mark’s angry expression faltered, it was an effective one too.

"Boyfriend?" Mark spluttered, his voice losing some of its bluster. "But... but you just broke up with me!"

"And she moved on," Derek said, his voice unwavering, "with me. Now, I suggest you leave. Unless you want to have a very unpleasant conversation with the police."

Mark hesitated, glancing from Derek's unyielding stare to your wide eyes, then back again. Finally, with a frustrated huff, he turned and stomped back to his car. A moment later, the roar of his engine faded into the distance.

Silence descended, thick and heavy. Penelope was staring at Derek, then at you, then back at Derek, her mouth slightly agape.

Derek turned to you, his intense gaze softening. "You okay?" he murmured, just for your ears.

You could only nod, still reeling.

Penelope, however, finally found her voice. "Boyfriend?!" she shrieked, her voice an octave higher than usual. "Since when are you two... together?!" Her eyes, wide with shock, bounced between you and Derek, demanding answers.

Derek just grinned, a genuine, dazzling smile that reached his eyes. "Well, Garcia," he said, slinging an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close against his side, "it's a long story." He squeezed your shoulder, and you felt a warmth spread through you, a mixture of relief, surprise, and something undeniably like joy. The secret was out. And somehow, it felt like the beginning of something real.

Chapter 3: The Confession

Penelope’s apartment, usually a haven of chaotic joy, was now an arena of stunned silence. Her eyes, wide as saucers, darted between you and Derek, who still had his arm casually draped around your shoulders. The air was thick with unspoken questions.

Finally, Penelope found her voice, though it was still a little high-pitched. "A long story? Morgan, don't you dare 'long story' me! I'm your best friend! And you're my little sister! How long has this been going on? And why in the name of all that is holy did you two keep it from me?"

Derek chuckled, a low rumble that vibrated through your side. He looked at you, a silent invitation in his eyes to take the lead. You took a deep breath.

"Penelope, calm down," you began, trying to sound more confident than you felt. "It's… it's complicated. And we didn't mean to keep it from you, not really. It just… happened."

"Happened?" Penelope threw her hands up in exasperation, her brightly colored bracelets jangling. "Things like this don't just 'happen,' Y/N! There are dates, there are phone calls, there are feelings! And you two, the master of secrets and the queen of… well, me! You kept this from me?" She looked genuinely hurt.

Derek squeezed your shoulder gently. "Garcia, listen. We know we messed up by not telling you. There's no excuse for that." He turned his full attention to Penelope, his expression serious. "But it wasn't because we didn't trust you, or because we didn't care. It was… complicated." He looked at you again, a shared understanding passing between you.

"When we first started getting close," you picked up, "it was after… after a really bad time for me. Mark was still in the picture, and things were messy. Derek was just… a really good friend at first." You glanced at Derek, who nodded. "Then, when things ended with Mark, it became more. But it was still new, and fragile. We didn't want to complicate your relationship with Derek, or mine with you, if it didn't work out."

"And then," Derek added, his voice softer, "when Y/N moved in with you, we knew we had to be even more careful. We didn't want to put you in an awkward position, or have you worrying."

Penelope listened, her initial shock slowly giving way to a more thoughtful expression. She crossed her arms, her gaze still sharp. "So, you were being… considerate?" she asked, a hint of skepticism in her tone.

"In a convoluted, terrible, secrecy-ridden way, yes," you admitted with a wry smile.

Derek stepped forward, letting go of your shoulder and facing Penelope directly. "Look, Garcia. I care about Y/N. A lot. And I care about you too. You're like family. The last thing I ever wanted was to hurt you or make you feel like we were going behind your back. We should have told you. We know that now."

Penelope studied them both for a long moment, her bright eyes assessing. Then, a slow smile spread across her face. It started small, then grew, lighting up her entire face. "You two are idiots," she declared, but there was no malice in her voice. Instead, she let out a delighted squeal and threw her arms around Derek first, giving him a bone-crushing hug. "But oh my god, I knew it! I knew there was something!"

Derek laughed, hugging her back. "You did?"

"Of course, I did, you big oaf!" She pulled back, then turned to you, her eyes sparkling. "My little sister! And Derek Morgan! This is… this is amazing!" She enveloped you in a hug, squeezing tight. "I'm still a little mad you didn't tell me sooner, but I guess I can forgive you… eventually." She pulled back, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Now, spill. Every. Single. Detail. When was the first kiss? Who made the first move? Did you really think you could keep it a secret from the queen of all information?"

You groaned, but a smile touched your lips. Derek just chuckled, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you closer. The tension in the room had dissipated, replaced by Penelope's infectious excitement.

"Well, Penelope," Derek said, his gaze lingering on yours, "it all started with a late-bootycall…"

You knew there would be endless teasing, endless questions, and probably a few too many "I told you so" moments from Penelope. But as Derek’s arm tightened around you, and you saw the genuine warmth in his eyes, you knew it was all worth it. The secret was out, and somehow, being honest felt infinitely better than the quiet deception. And with Penelope’s unexpected, enthusiastic acceptance, it felt like your fresh start was truly beginning.

[kimstills]

blame

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!bau!reader, platonic!spencer x reader summary: in which your close relationship with spencer makes aaron wonder if there’s something going on between you and the young doctor. content warnings: mentions of kidnappings, torture, child abuse (typical cm case stuff), insecurities, age gap, and haley, jealous!aaron (hb is DOWN BAD), he kind of acts like a prick in the middle of this? but it’s v brief and he apologizes!! hints of autistic!spence, angst if u squint but mostly fluff, miscommunication, technically idiots to lovers but hotch is the only idiot <3 word count: 5.1k (this was NOT supposed to be this long omfg) a/n: this was inspired by a dream i had where i was besties w reid and everyone thought i liked him until i had to blurt out that i was into older men… enjoy!!

If looks could kill, Aaron was sure Spencer would be dead by now.

It was contradicting, in a way. How he thought of Spencer like the son that had come before his actual son, yet he was staring at him like a predator stalking their next victim.

You were standing next to the young genius, shoulders brushing against shoulders as you went back and forth with the geographical profile the two of you had been assigned to work on, something Aaron was really regretting having done.

The team had been called in to assist with a case in Portland, Maine, involving an abductor-type unsub. One who would stalk his victims and learn their routines before kidnapping them, torturing them for two to three days before disposing of them in forests and parks all throughout the city.

You and Reid were both tied when it came to your skills with geographical profiles, one of the many things that had blossomed your relationship with him. But with the way the unsub was beginning to rapidly devolve, the rush to develop said profile and figure out his next move had forced Aaron to assign you two together.

Deep down he knew that it had to be done for the sake of the case and all its victims, and that it was the best decision to make as leader of the team.

But, still, he couldn’t help the jealousy that was bubbling from within him, his gaze completely focused on the way you giggled and smiled, endeared, while watching Reid struggle to tape the map one of the sheriffs had supplied you with to a spare whiteboard in the office the team had been given to work in.

He hadn’t even noticed when JJ walked up to him, the blonde hair and white button up she was wearing apparently not enough to break him out of his trance until—

“Hotch.”

Aaron snaps his head towards her, blinking in bewilderment, “Sorry, what?”

JJ stares at him with a look of both concern and amusement, a smile tugging at her lips. Her hand is raised expectantly and her eyes flicker towards the case file in his hands.

He looks down at it, brows furrowing when he finally sees the death grip he was holding the paper with. It’s slightly crumpled from where his thumb had rested, the pages wrinkled.

He clears his throat, trying to soothe out the file as subtly and smoothly as he can before handing it to JJ, “Sorry,” he grumbled.

The blonde chuckles softly, taking it from him and doing her own best to bend it back into place. She begins to flip through the pages, though she can’t help but follow Aaron’s gaze back to you and Spencer.

You had finally gotten up to help him in taping up the map, taking it from his hands and effortlessly doing so before turning around and giving him a cheeky smile.

JJ turns her attention back to him, biting back a smug smile when she sees her boss practically glaring daggers at the two of you, “I assume you’re trying to figure them out, too?” She asks, looking down at the file.

Aaron blinks, this time slowly turning his head to gaze down at her, “What do you mean?”

Her eyes widen at the realization of what she just had insinuated about her co-workers to her boss. She shrugs coolly, trying to play it off, “Nothing. They’re just really close is all,” she gives him a tight-lipped smile before quickly walking away, leaving Aaron more confused than before.

He feels his fingers twitch by his side when he glances back at you. It’s cheesy, the way his heart skips a beat when you tuck the strands of hair that had made itself to the front of your face behind your ears. His hardened features soften at the sight of you laughing at something Reid’s said, something he’s sure only the two of you understand.

Aaron’s not sure what it was that had gotten him to stick out for you like a sore thumb or how his sudden infatuation with watching and admiring you and your every move had happened.

All he could recall was that it happened, and it had happened too fast for him to begin realizing how you had begun to overcome his every thought and consume him with feelings he hadn’t felt since Haley’s passing and his marriage with her.

A part of him had told himself that he wasn’t to blame; not only were you one of the best agents he had ever worked with, but you were the loveliest and wholesome of humans.

You had your rough days, everyone on the team understandably did, yet you never failed to meet people with kindness and patience, something else that Aaron wasn’t used to receiving when it came to his co-workers. And, as much as they loved him and he loved them, even his team members were prone to calling him ‘cold’ and ‘stoic.’

While you, on the other hand would always meet him with fond, bright smiles and greetings, never once avoiding his gaze or running the opposite direction as to ‘not get in his way’ like others did.

You were like the sun peeking out of the clouds after a dark and tremendous storm, shining on him with such warmth.

So, in the end, he couldn’t really help himself from falling for you. Or for even feeling childishly jealous when you were shining your warmth onto others.

Especially with someone who apparently the rest of the team suspected you of dating.

Perhaps he couldn’t blame Spencer for falling for you, too.

Everyone meant well, and Aaron knew he was also victim to cutting him off when the boy rambled, but you were the only one who truly listened to him. Who would interrupt him gently during urgent matters and let him continue after they were solved, and never made him feel inadequate.

He doesn’t know how he hadn’t seen it before now that JJ has mentioned it���too blindsided with his own feelings for you—but he begins to wonder, though, if there actually is something more between the two of you.

He likes to think that he begins playing close attention to your mannerism, body language, and shared interactions the two of you have throughout the entirety of the case because he has to. Now that it's been brought to his attention that two of his subordinates might be in a relationship, it's his job as Unit Chief to keep tabs.

So, he watches, when the whole team is sitting in the rectangular table, debriefing with one another and sharing ideas all whilst munching on take out food.

"So, we obviously know that the significance of the victim's being dumped in nature spots is important to this guy," Morgan explains, motioning his hand around the air as he goes on, "but could it be that he kidnaps and keeps his victims in similar spots, just somewhere more secluded?"

"Spencer and I were thinking that that could be a possibility," you say, stealing a fry off of said boy's take out plate, "Maybe he doesn't live in these same places, but he could be taking them to a hidden spot somewhere in the forests, something possibly hidden by debris, wood, or anything makeshift."

Spencer doesn't even blink as you continue to steal more neglected food off his plate, continuing to sort through pictures. Aaron could see Emily and Derek give each other a knowing, smug look through his peripheral.

He manages to swallow, the tip of his middle finger and thumb tapping against one another, "What else have you two come up with regarding the geographical profile?"

"Well, besides where he himself could be living or where he could keep his victims, the whole profile is scattered," Spencer answers this time, sliding the plate towards you as he sets down a picture of each victim with the name of the forests and parks they were found in written underneath. "The first two victims were dumped in a forest, the third in a park, and the fourth in another forest.."

As he goes on, you take advantage to continue eating, the way in which he had just let you eat off his plate despite his known phobia of germs not going unnoticed by everyone else.

If that one wasn't a sign, Aaron didn't know what else was.

*

With the geographical profile being all over the place, Aaron decides on pulling you away from the task the following day, instead pairing you up with him to check out the crime scene of the most recent victim.

He doesn't know if it's the leader in him doing so, pulling you away from your original project he had tasked you to do, or if it's just the mix of both curiosity and jealousy that continues to gnaw at him.

He was a grown man, for Christ's sake. Yet he couldn't help the way his heart churned when you hold his hand for a second longer than necessary after he helps you climb up the small, but frosty hill.

"Thanks," you mumble sweetly, your shoulders brushing against him as you walk past him and towards the await detectives.

Aaron trails behind you, trying to calm his beating heart as the lead detective on the case walks you both towards the victim's body.

"This is the second victim that's been dumped in a park," you start, squatting down to inspect the cuts and bruises on the woman's face. "These sites are obviously more public than the forests, yet he still leaves them in more secluded spots, away from general view."

"Well, we ruled out that he can't feel any remorse or sympathy," Aaron adds while he looks around the now closed off park. "He holds and tortures these women for hours."

You stand from your spot, placing your hands on your hips as you look around the park. Aaron recognizes the face you make as your 'thinking' face, your eyes squinted and your nose scrunched.

"What is it?" He asks, trying to meet your wandering gaze.

“Reid and I were talking about the possibility of the unsub dumping his victims in the same places where half—if not all—of his childhood abuse took place,” you miss the way his breath hitches in his throat and the way his shoulders sag slightly, continuing. “We know that he has to be a local here from Portland—probably raised around these same areas—and that he was abused severely as a child.”

Aaron tries his best to nod as nonchalantly as possible, “Something from his childhood obviously triggered him for him to start abducting and inflict the same pain on the victims before leaving them in similar places where he could have been left as a child after being abused.”

“Exactly,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest. “We were theorizing around that idea for a while but weren’t too sure if the abuse could play such a huge part on his M.O.”

At the mentions of you and Reid again, Aaron couldn’t help but feel like an idiot.

Not only was he a grown man, but he was also your boss. And you were his subordinate, someone he should never had feelings for in the first place and someone he shouldn’t be feeling possessive over as if anything was to truly ever happen between you.

At first he had thought that Spencer wasn’t to blame for having the same feelings Aaron so strongly harbored for you. But, maybe, you weren’t the one to blame.

For falling for someone more your age, for someone you worked and paired so well with, for someone nobody else made such a grand effort to understand the way you did.

Not only was he a grown man and your boss, but he was also double your age, a single father, and a widower.

Swallowing harshly, he pulls out his phone from his suit’s inner pocket, “I’ll have Garcia check out any reported speculations of childhood abuse in these areas and see if she can narrow down our list,” He turns, using his height to his advantage and speeding off, leaving you completely behind.

You frown, rushing to catch up to him. You halt when you come to the same frosty hill he had helped you climb up and open your mouth to call for his help, but close it back up when you see he’s already made it back to the SUV and is climbing inside.

When you finally climb inside the car after successfully managing to climb down the hill without busting your ass, he’s talking with Garcia.

You wait patiently as he drives, the phone on speaker as he gives out quick orders that your friend rushes to catch up with. You try to take the chance of speaking up once he hangs up with her, but he’s quickly dialing for Rossi afterwards.

You’re quiet throughout the ride back to the precinct, the sudden change in mood too heavy for you to gather the courage to make any sort of conversation. Once parked in front of the building, he gets out right away, slamming the door while you’re barely unblocking your seatbelt.

You make a beeline to the conference room where you find Reid, no longer paying any mind on trying to find Aaron any longer.

Spencer jumps when you hurriedly slam the door behind you, eyes filling with worry when you lean against the wood and stare at the floor pensively, “You okay?” he asks.

“Fine,” you mumble, pushing yourself off the door and taking a seat across from him. “I just got back from the latest crime scene with Hotch and he started acting so weird after I told him about our theory of the unsub’s dumping pattern.”

“Weird how?”

You move to speak, but hesitate when you realize that going into detail about how cold your boss suddenly acted towards you after being used to receiving such kind—some might say preferable—treatment would make your friend speculate things he, of all people, did not need to speculate.

You shake your head, “Nothing. He’s probably just stressed or tired,” you drop your forehead onto the table’s cold wood, your arms stretched out in front of you. “I know I am.”

A beat of silence passes before you hear a creak and the feeling of a finger press against your index. You bite back a laugh, looking up to find Spencer leaning forward in his own seat to do a ‘finger touch,’ something you had come up with for him after realizing how persistent his germophobia was, even with the people he loved the most.

You smile at him, leaning your head on one of your forearms and pressing your finger into his.

From outside the glass-windowed office, Aaron watches you both, a solemn look on his face.

*

The case is finally closed once you and Spencer’s theory is proven right, the unsub securely put away and the green light to go home given at last. But with the late night icy weather too dangerous for the jet to take off, Aaron orders for everyone to instead turn in for the night at the hotel and head out first thing tomorrow morning instead.

He gives a silent thanks to no one in particular when he finds out it's his turn to have a room all for himself, the rotation always being cheated by Dave, Derek, or Emily that he always forgets who's next.

Shockingly enough, he's ready to turn in for the night, not even sparing an extra glance to any of the files he had brought with him as he prepares for bed. He's just about to sit down when a knock comes from behind his door, echoing throughout his room.

He lets out a quiet groan but stands nonetheless, rubbing tiredly at his face before swinging the door open. His first instinct is to snap at whoever's behind, but that's before his eyes cast over you.

You're fiddling with your fingers, dressed in your pajamas that consists of an off-the-shoulder shirt that dips low enough to show off your collarbone and the very top of your chest, your bra strap in the middle.

And, despite the chilly weather outside, you were wearing shorts. A pair of cotton shorts that peek out from underneath the shirt you were wearing and leave little to the imagination—more so, Aaron’s imagination.

Truth be told, he's seen you in a lot less. Your usual team outing outfits consisted of tank tops, baby tees, shorts, and slightly more revealing clothes.

But this, seeing you in what you would normally sleep in, sends him into a completely different spiral.

You cringe and immediately panic at the thought of having woken him up, "Sorry, were you already asleep?" you ask, taking a tentative step back.

Aaron blinks and clears his throat, the pads of his thumb and middle finger once again tapping against one another, "No," He lies. "I was barely getting ready."

Your shoulders drop and the panic dissipates as a small smile replaces it, “Oh, okay,” you bring your hands behind your back, rocking on your heels, “I just wanted to talk to you. If that’s alright?”

Aaron’s brows furrow though he immediately steps to the side to allow you in, a soft ‘of course’ following.

He takes in the way you hesitantly step in, back facing him and arms still intertwined behind your back.

You’re being respectful, probably hoping that you’re not overstepping with whatever it is that you want to talk about. And though you always are, he can’t tell if you’re nervous, worried, or filled with insomnia that you just couldn’t sleep.

“Is everything alright?” He finally asks when you don’t make a move to sit down anywhere, his hands slightly ajar to his side like he’s ready to reach out and touch you.

God, how he wishes he could touch you.

You clear your throat and turn around, “Actually, I was just coming to ask you the same thing,”

The harsh lines on Aaron’s face deepen when you take a seat on the edge of the bed, glancing beside you as a signal for him to join you.

He swallows as he does so, careful not to sit too close and award you space. His eyes flicker back up at you when he hears your breath hitch.

Seconds of silence pass before you shuffle closer to him, bringing your body forward so that you were staring at him directly.

“Are you… feeling okay?”

Aaron freezes, his movements completely stilling at your question. His mind begins to race with all the possibilities of what could have brought on your question when it clicks.

How he had concurred that you and him were completely different and could never be a possibility, and how he immediately decided that acting cold towards you would shun out the feelings he’s felt for so long now.

Another clear of his throat, he replies, “I’m fine.”

You raise a brow at him, giving him a look that shows that you know he’s not telling the truth.

“Are you sure?” you ask again, this time more firmly. “I don’t mean to overstep, but you’ve been acting rather…strange ever since you and I got back from the fifth victim’s crime scene.”

Aaron cringes at how your expression turns into a sad one, quickly masking it with one of concern afterwards.

He sighs. He supposes that if there’s a possibility that you and Spencer are dating, now’s the time to ask you about it.

He makes a show of staring directly at you in the same way he does when he’s in his ‘boss mode,’ trying to study your face before he asks the question, “Is there something I should know about you and Spencer?”

That wasn’t what you were expecting.

You’re taken aback, quite literally flinching as if you had been struck. It takes you a few seconds to take in what he’s just asked you, and you shake your head almost as if it wasn’t real.

“I’m sorry?”

The desperation gnaws at him once more, and he’s not sure which side of him wants to find out the answer.

“Are you and Spencer dating?” he asks again, voice somehow unwaveringly calm as he punctuates each word clearly.

Your mouth opens in shock, letting out a sound that’s half a scoff half a broken laugh. You look around the room in utter bewilderment.

“What correlation does my relationship with Spencer have with what I asked you?” You can’t tell if you’re angry or just confused, but you stand from the bed and stare down at him.

Aaron follows your lead, “I never noticed it before until the rest of the team pointed it out, but you two are close. Close in such a way that—” He swallows, “—as your boss, I have to ask.”

Before the rest of the team pointed it out. Of course.

You fully scoff this time, “As my boss, you should know that Spencer and I have always been close,” you concur.

“Then why can’t you look at me?”

Despite your heart hammering in your chest, you force yourself to look at him, “Excuse me?”

“You’re not looking at me, you’re getting defensive, and you’re practically avoiding the question,” he says, his own gaze practically boring into you.

“Hotch—”

“You’re deflecting by saying that I should know that you two have always been close, and while I do know that, you’re still not answering my question.”

It feels cruel of him to press you for answers like this, knowing that there was an easier way to do it.

“Reid and I are not dating!” you do your best to not shout it at him in fears of waking the rest of the team up, fists balled at your sides.

“Then why are you so nervous?” he asks, taking a step closer to you. “Why can’t you still look at me?”

“Because it’s you that I like!”

You slap your hands over your mouth immediately and the room falls silent.

Aaron blinks. Once, twice, three times.

You liked him?

You lower your hands, nervously brushing your hair behind your ears as you look around the room in a state of panic, “I-I’m just going to go,” you mumble and immediately rush towards the door.

Aaron stands the for a second, too frozen to do or say anything before his own panic settles in brazenly. His body moves before he has time to register what he's doing and what he'll do when he reaches you.

He wraps an arm around your forearm just as you open the door, halting you from stepping outside, "Y/N, wait,"

"Hotch, please," you're quick to try and release yourself from his grasp, yanking your arm towards yourself in what results as a poor attempt. "Just ignore what I said."

"I can't do that," he dips his head to try and get you to look at him but you simply avoid your gaze even more than your originally had, your cheeks flushed.

"Hotch, let me go!" you whisper-shout, once more fighting his grip. “I’m already embarrassed enough, I don’t need you chastising me anymore.”

“I’m not chastising you, Y/N,” Aaron’s sure he sounds as desperate as you probably feel, but he can’t find it in himself to let you go and ruin his one chance of bringing his feelings to the light. Even if it went against everything he had been telling himself earlier that week.

“Do you not think it’s possible for me to feel the same way?”

Your head snaps towards him, your movements suddenly rigid at his question, “W-What?”

You’re sure that, if your heart hadn’t raptured beforehand, it certainly will now.

Aaron takes you letting your guard down as the chance to bring a hand to your waist and pull you back into the room, shutting the door and thanking that nobody else from the team had emerged from the commotion.

“What do you mean by that?” you’re quick to ask, staring up at him with curious, yet hopeful eyes.

He lowers his head as to avoid your gaze this time, letting out a deep breath. Everything he wanted to do now went against everything he had told himself the day before, when he ridiculed himself for ever thinking that you would like someone such as him or that something could ever happen between you two.

“Hotch,” your voice is firm and you allow yourself to take a step closer to him. You need him to look at you, to give you some sort of clue that he didn’t just say what he said to play you, to get you to re-enter the room just so he could profile you even more. “What do you mean by that?”

Repeating your question doesn’t help him and it certainly doesn’t help the way his heart hammers in his chest, a sound so loud that he’s sure you can hear it from how close you’re standing.

“You like me?” you whisper, dipping your head to try and meet his eyes. How ironic that just a couple of seconds ago you were trying to avoid it.

Aaron shrugs, finally looking up, “How could I not?”

His boyish, yet vulnerable expression makes your breath hitch.

“I said that I had to know if there was something between you and Reid as your boss, but it was just because I was jealous,” he shakes his head, trying his best to suppress an all but amused smile. “It was immature of me, really.”

You shake your head, trying to collect both your own thoughts and everything he was telling you. He had been jealous?

“So, is that you acted that way after I told you about our theory in the park?”

The way in which he left you behind in both the park and in the parking lot of the precinct hits him like a brick, cringing at his actions, "I realized then, when you were talking about what you had both come up with, how compatible you two are. How it would make more sense for you to like someone more suited for you. I'm sorry for how I acted,"

Your heart breaks at hearing his confession, of how he, the same man you practically fell head over heels for after your first meeting, could think that he was unworthy of your attention. If you were being honest, you hadn't been hurt by the way he had acted earlier in the day, only confused as to why.

"Hotch--" you stop yourself. You take another step closer, closing the space between the both of you more and more. "Aaron,"

He snaps his head up at your usage of his first name, the way you said it so gently and naturally getting all his attention.

"I've liked you ever since I first met you," you confess. "I'll admit I was too intimidated by you to fully register what I was feeling, but the more I got to know you, the harder I began to fall. And I fell really hard," you let out a laugh, trying to ignore just how much you were putting on the line right now and how self-conscious you felt with his eyes boring into you.

"You've been with the BAU for three years," Aaron's voice is barely above a breathless murmur and he's sure you wouldn't have heard it if you weren't standing so close. "That's how long you've liked me for?"

You nod, lips pursed, "I never said anything because I thought you would never see me that way, let alone reciprocate my feelings. If I'm telling the truth, I wouldn't have said anything if it weren't for you pressing me into telling you that I was dating Reid."

Aaron smirks despite the warmth he feels on his cheeks, shrugging his shoulders and letting out a soft laugh, "Well, then I'm glad I ended up asking. Who knows how many more years we would've gone like this if I hadn't."

You both laugh, subconsciously curling towards each other when you both double over and bring yourselves even closer than before.

You stare up at him with a warm expression before casting your eyes downwards. You lift your hand to linger above his, the pads of your fingers brushing against the hairs on the back of his palm, "So, what happens now?"

Without breaking eye contact, he takes your hand in his while the other reaches for your waist once more. You let out a small yelp when he pulls you even closer, your bodies now touching and radiating the warmth you both thought you’d never be able to feel from one another.

The next few seconds are filled with bliss when he lowers his head to press his lips against yours. You’re immediately weak, letting go off his hand to place both on his shoulders as to support yourself.

The other now free hand of his comes to rest on your other hip, fingers digging into the fabric of your shorts ever so possessively. A whimper escapes from your mouth and Aaron takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, doing so with so much fervor and passion that it leaves you feeling dizzy even with your eyes closed.

Aaron is relentless even after you pull away to catch your breath, the act of kissing you now something he’s inevitably hooked on. He presses kisses all over your face, from your cheek to your chin to your jaw, then all the way down to your neck.

“You know,” you cough out, flushed from the attention, “I told you how long I’ve liked you, but you didn’t tell me how long you’ve liked me.”

Aaron smiles into your skin, immediately recalling when he first realized his own feelings for you. He lifts his head to press a sweet kiss to your lips, eliciting a hum from you.

“I can tell you all the details over either a nice dinner tomorrow evening after we land,” he says, another kiss to your lips. He turns your bodies around so that his back was to bed, the mattress dipping under his weight when he sits. “Or you can spend the night here and we can stay up all night talking about it.”

His voice is sultry, and the way in which he grabs at your hips to get you to straddle him makes you flush.

“Are you already trying to seduce me?” you ask, mock offense in your tone though you happily take your guided seat on his lap, both knees on each side of his thighs.

Aaron hums this time, brushing your hair back to begin kissing at your neck again, “Can you blame me?”

He already knows your answer, he’s sure. He knows you can’t, because he can’t, either.

[the-guilty-writer]

Aaron x daughter!reader where she is struggling with her mental health and has a crying breakdown in the middle of the night and he gets up from bed to comfort her?

My controversial opinion is that Hotch would be the best BAU parent for mental health struggles ❤

(Note that this is probably medically inaccurate, but I was too lazy to look it up)

Aaron Hotchner x daughter!reader

It wasn't unusual for teenagers to struggle with mental health - this was a fact that Aaron Hotchner knew simply from studying behavior for so many years. The stages of brain development and the hormones impacted the mental state of many adolescents. The phase of life led to a more stereotypical phase of emotional ups and downs. He hoped that you'd be one of the many kids that grew out of such intense struggles as you got older.

Many parents would see that as an excuse not to validate the experiences, but he knew better. The idea that one might grow out of struggles was no reason to neglect them in the present.

It's why he didn't hesitate to get out of bed in the middle of the night when he heard you sobbing in your bedroom. He stroked your hair and hugged you tight, not caring that it would leave tear stains on his shirt.

The words he spoke were calm, validating, soothing. He kept his demeanor soft and steady, anchoring you to earth with his presence. Some nights you simply needed a good cry - a way to release all the energy that had built up inside - and he was always there to comfort you however you needed.

When your body grew tired and the tears stopped flowing, he stayed with you. He tucked you into bed, just as he had when you were a little girl, making sure the blankets kept you warm and safe for the night ahead.

In the case you got cold or felt unsafe, he made sure you knew he was only a call away.

[keirareidss]

father figure - a.h

♡ summary: reader has never had a good relationship with her father, so when hotch shows up for her, she's not quite sure what to do pairing: father figure!aaron hotchner x fem!artist!reader (platonically!) warnings: reader has a bad relationship with her family, crying, tooth rotting fluff, inspired by the episode in the office where Michael goes to Pam's art show wc: 1.5k

You sat on the plane wringing your hands anxiously. The team had just finished a big case in Orlando. It wasn't as bad as usual, leaving the team tired but not traumatized. You were nervous for your art show coming up at the local exhibition hall. You wanted the team to come and see your art because you didn't have anyone else to show up for you. Your family never supported your art, your mom claiming that it just distracted you from your schoolwork and your dad saying that you'll never go anywhere in life. Just ask them. Just ask if they want to go. Just ask.

"Hey-" You cut yourself off, clearing your rough throat. "Uh, does anyone want to come see my art show this weekend?" You asked the team.

"I can appreciate good art." Rossi smiled, reliving some of the tightness in your chest.

"Ooh, I am definitely in." Penelope chimed in.

"I'll try to come." JJ said, glancing at you for a second before going back to typing on her phone.

"Great, I'll uh- I'll text you guys the time." You said, feeling a lot lighter than before. Your team would support you. They were like your family. Of course they'd say yes, they're all great people.

You couldn't wait for your art exhibit. You've been doing art since you were young, a way of coping with your... family problems. It was, as your therapist said, a way to process your emotions. You expelled what you felt onto the canvas and once you were done, being able to step back and look at the piece as a whole, it felt good. Relieving.

Once you got back home, you texted the BAU group chat the time and place of your exhibition. You could barely sleep that night, anxious for the weekend.

It was crowded. Crowds make you anxious. You couldn't help it. Maybe it stemmed from the time your parents left you at the mall and you waited in the crowds of people for them to come back. It took over an hour for them to realize you were even gone.

You looked around the art exhibit, hoping for any glimpse of your friends. After an hour had gone by, you were leaning against the wall, insecurely tugging at your dress. Were you too dressed up? Everyone else was wearing jeans. Was the hem of the dress too short? You were feeling entirely self conscious and it sucked. So far, only two people have come up to completely see your work. One, a sweet old woman who complimented you art and the second, a couple whose conversation you overheard when coming back from the bathroom.

"It just feels bland. Like, there's no emotion."

"Yeah, I get that. Like if you're not even going to try, then why make art in the first place."

"Honestly." He rolled his eyes and they walked away from your art. You crossed your arms over your body.

After nearly three hours and no other visitors, you decided to give up. You pushed off the wall, turning to take down your failed art exhibit when you heard a voice behind you.

"Am I late?" You turned to find Hotch, dressed more casually than at work but still made up nicely. "I'm sorry, Jack didn't want to go to bed." He gave you an apologetic smile. "Did everyone else already leave?" He asked when you didn't say anything.

"Um..." His gaze moved to the art pieces behind you.

"Wow. Are these yours?" He asks, stepping closer to look at your art.

"Yeah." You said dumbly.

"They're amazing. I bet Rossi liked this one, huh?" He chuckled, pointing to one of your pieces. You stayed silent. "These are really good. You're very talented." He said, turning to you with a soft smile.

"Thank you." You stammered out. His expression fell slightly.

"Is something wrong?" He asked, noticing your shifty demeanor.

"No. No, I'm fine." You said. Hotch looked around, noticing how empty the exhibit seemed, many of the guests having cleared out by now.

"Has it been this empty the whole time?"

"No, it was a lot busier earlier in the night."

"Did you get a lot of guests?" He asks, his head tilted slightly.

"Uh... a few." You lied. Hotch stared at you for a few seconds and you immediately knew he was profiling you. Before you could tell him to cut it out, he spoke.

"None of them showed up, did they?" He asked and you knew he was talking about the team.

"Um..." You trailed off and Hotch sighed.

"I'm sorry." He began to apologize and you shook your head.

"Oh, no, it's fine."

"They shouldn't have stood you up-"

"No, really, it's- it's fine." You said, crossing your arms as if to shield yourself from his pity. He says your name in that gentle way of his that always makes your eyes well up with tears. "I'm used to it."

"That makes it worse." Hotch said, his voice incredibly soft.

"I'm fine." You chuckle wetly, surprised at how quickly you started to get emotional. He steps closer, putting a gentle hand on your arm. "It's okay." You said, blinking quickly to push the tears back. You look down at your shoes, avoiding his gaze.

"Oh, honey." Aaron pulls you closer, wrapping his arms around you. Your arms circle his torso, burying your face in his chest.

"I'm sorry." You cried.

"Sweetheart, why are you sorry?"

"... I don't know."

"It's okay." Hotch holds you tight, letting you cry into his chest. Once your eyes were dry, you pulled away, wiping your cheeks and looking guiltily at the small stain on his shirt from your tears.

"Sorry." You mumbled.

"It's alright. I'm sorry no one showed up. They're missing out." You just waved him off but he continued. "Really. Your art is extraordinary."

"Thank you." You murmured. "But, um, I think I'm just going to go." You said, moving to take your art down.

"Let me help you." Hotch said. He was extremely careful when peeling your pieces off the wall. You packed them all up and carried your bags out, Hotch insisting to take some of them. He held the door for you like a gentleman and stood on the sidewalk with you. "Did you drive here?"

"Uh, no, but I'll get an Uber or something." You said, attempting to get your phone from your purse.

"No, let me give you a ride. Please."

"Oh, Hotch, no-"

"Please. It's the least I can do." He was already putting your bags into his backseat. You sighed and got into the passenger side. After a few minutes of awkward silence, Aaron spoke up again. "If I may... why didn't your family come?" He asks, wincing immediately as he realized how nosy he was being. "I'm sorry, that- you don't have to answer that, I shouldn't have-"

"No, no. It's fine. Um... my parents haven't always been very supportive of my art. They always said it would take me nowhere in life."

"I'm sorry."

"No, please, it doesn't matter. They were right." You stared out the window, avoiding his gaze. Hotch didn't know what to say. He'd had his fair share of family troubles, sure, but they were his. He could deal with them internally. He hasn't had much experience with comforting other people in this area. He'd always wanted to make sure that his own son, Jack, never felt that way towards him. He needed to be better than his own father.

"I'm sorry." He says your name reverently. "I'm sorry that you had to deal with that and I'm sorry you don't think you're good enough. You are. Your work is amazing. Excuse my language but, it was shitty of the team to not show up for you when you needed them."

"It's fine. They're probably just busy." Aaron shakes his head.

"You don't always have to brush everything off. I know you think that if you act like you don't care it won't matter but I also know that you still feel it. Deep down, you're still disappointed." Your eyes were welling up again. Hotch reached over the console to take your hand in his, squeezing it. You stayed silent until the car pulled up outside your place. You got out, grabbing your stuff from the backseat. Hotch got out as well, pulling you into a hug. "I'm proud of you." He murmurs into your hair. "I'm so proud."

[mxssingmemories]

your instagram, but you're friends with the bau

═════════════════════════════════════════════

yourusername

liked by boygenius, chocolatethunder and 134 others

yourusername he found a goat. everyone run and hide, we're all fucked

boygenius his name is is edgar

yourusername for the last time, HE DOESN'T HAVE A NAME

keepitpg please tell me you kept him

yourusername we did not and now spencer is mad at me

boygenius @/yourusername we could have kept him!!!

chocolatethunder reid in his natural habitat

boygenius that was uncalled for

doublej henry saw this and wants to meet the goat, you're screwed @/yourusername

yourusername

liked by doublej, prentiss and 145 others

yourusername i did what i had to do.

ahotchner I'm pretty sure this qualifies as workplace harassment.

yourusername sorry dad

doublej y/n terrifies me

chocolatethunder same

prentiss same

boygenius same

italiandad same

yourusername i'm flattered

keepitpg it had to be done

yourusername EXACTLY

yourusername

liked by keepitpg, boygenius and 156 others

yourusername welcome to the family of weird ass profilers, roo :)

keepitpg I AM FOAMING AT THE MOUTH

chocolatethunder i want to meet this animal now.

boygenius did you know that world war one made german shepherds famous ? in other words, i can't wait to meet this guy

ahotchner Are you able to bring Roo to the office tommorow?

yourusername that can be arranged, boss

doublej me and @/prentiss are requesting custody of this angel

yourusername permission granted

prentiss SHIT YEAH smd @/chocolatethunder

italiandad I might have made some dog treats for Roo

yourusername you know my address, just knock and roo will love you forever

yourusername

liked by ahotchner, italiandad and 198 others

yourusername i love our dysfunctional little family

boygenius i forgot my socks were purple

chocolatethunder wtf is with reid's socks

ahotchner I appreciate all the work you do for this team, Y/N. We all love you.

yourusername dude you can't just say that i'm crying in the club rn

keepitpg i love you guys :)

doublej <3

prentiss stop i'm feeling things

italiandad Love you guys.

[reveseke]

thinking about the reader being nicknamed as a magpie, the magpie of the team in fact. Solely known for his job title but also known for being a gift-giver. He just randomly gives whatever little things he finds to his teammates as little gifts that he deems suitable for it; Reid, Morgan, Garcia, Hotch, Prentiss, JJ, and so on.

Garcia and Reid would most honestly have them in a jar or something, sorted. Reid would most likely just leave a few little things in the pocket of his jackets or otherwise in some sort of container orginized. Prentiss would probably have something in her pockets or in one of the shelves. Morgan, JJ & Hotch keep them, but have very little idea what they would do with them (lies, give them to the kids if they feel like it. :D Morgan doesn't even have to give to his kid, he could give them to his sisters if he wanted to tbh.). Rossi probably would just forget them somewhere, same with Gideon mostly and just randomly find them and be amused by it.

Hotch doesn't mind Reader doing it as long as it doesn't distract him from the job. Also check the pockets before boarding the plane because someone most likely has something metallic in their pockets that R has found and given them (including [especially] him if R tended to be absentminded & forget things easily) that would set off the metal detectors.

[greyowl-archives]

Coffee Breath ~ A.H

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x f!reader

wc: 1.15k

cw: pure fluff, Hotch being soft around you, tb to 1996, kind of a “what are we” platonic relationship vibe

a/n: first fanfic since TikTok officially got banned and this is my way of coping with the loss of all my CM edits. Please be nice 🥹 and please leave your thoughts I’d love to hear them !! :)

Summary: You don’t like coffee, but you don’t tell Aaron that, not when he had first come up to you so sweetly with two cups of coffee in his hands and placed one on your desk. It’s been 14 years and you still drink the coffee he brings you every morning on the job.

Seattle, WA 1996

You brought your hand up to pinch the bridge of your nose as the words on the file seemed to scramble again. The team was called into Seattle late last afternoon and after a nearly seven hour flight have touched down just shy of midnight.

You’ve given up on trying to get some sleep on the plane about halfway through the flight and then barely got any once you’ve collapsed onto the bed in the hotel.

Now it’s half eight in the morning and you’re dreading the fact that you still have the whole rest of the day ahead of you.

You needed something.

Tea preferably, that aromatic herbal one your friend brought back from India. Or maybe you’ll seriously consider getting one of those energy drinks standing neatly in the fridge of the station cafe, each with a ridiculous amount of neon colors and designs on their packaging.

Or maybe…Coffee?

Your face scrunches slightly when you catch the warm, nutty smell that appeared to have wafted in out of nowhere. It pierced through the smell of paper and wood and if you thought it was just someone passing by, it only seemed to get stronger. Your eyes flutter open when there was a soft sound of something being placed on your desk and you’re met with one of the disposable white cups from the office filled just shy of the brim with the steaming brown liquid.

“I uh…didn’t know how you take it so…I brought some milk and sugar as well”

Another series of soft sounds, this time as two small containers of milk and two packets of sugar were dropped alongside the cup, thudding quietly against the napkin.

You finally lifted your head towards the owner of the voice. Young, he couldn’t have been more than thirty years old, his face was soft with brown features, including his eyes which were gentle under his strong brow.

You must’ve been quiet for a moment longer than you thought because then he was speaking again.

“I’m Aaron…Aaron Hotchner? we met yesterday at the hotel when you flew in”

Your brows furrow a bit, your mind finally forcing its gears to whir back to life. You remember him yes, he was wearing that navy FBI jacket and faintly smelled of the same cologne he was wearing now.

Coffee. He had coffee in his hand when he had stepped forward to shake your hand, your half conscious mind barely registering his warm greeting over the smell of the beverage.

You open your mouth to speak.

I don’t like coffee

But at the sight of how his eyes lit up, even just so slightly at the fact that you’re speaking to him, you find the words quickly dying out on your tongue. The poor guy was just like you, the youngest and newest member of a team, in a position so serious that people your age take you too seriously and people older don’t take you seriously enough. The sight of you, as young an ambitious as he was, was probably the biggest breath of fresh air he’d had in a while.

So instead you just sighed, allowed your features to soften and a grateful smile to creep onto your lips.

“Thank you Aaron, I really needed this” you said, reaching for the steaming cup. You nimbly took the milks and the sugars, dumping the components in and stirring it until it was decently combined. The steam tickled your nose as you brought the cup up to your lips, taking a small sip and humming softly as the taste flooded your mouth.

It was bitter and you held back a small grimace as the aftertaste of it lingered heavily on your tongue, not much helped by the milk and sugar you’ve added.

You smiled softly again as you set the cup back down, seeing he was still idly standing just shy of your table, his own files clutched to his side and the same bright look on his face.

“So” You started, shifting a bit in your seat, freeing up a bit space between your chair and the one next to it. “Have you happened to look into the case? I was going to run it through with Gideon but, I figured a like mind might be more fun”

His smile widened at your subtle invitation and he let out a short breath as he stepped up to the chair beside you and sat down. “I was really hoping you’d ask that”

Your eyes followed him as he situated himself into his seat, opening his files alongside yours. And as the two of you lean over the files, surrounded by paper and ink, you don’t seem to mind the coffee breath anymore.

»»» ─── ⋆⋅ ⋅☆⋅ ⋅⋆ ── ・❥・

Quantico, VA 2010

Perhaps a late night at the Shamrock House wasn’t the best idea. You should’ve anticipated a three day weekend was too good to be true on this job.

You lean back from your laptop, your hands sliding under your glasses to rub at your tired eyes, the lingering alcohol weighing down on them. you keep them there for a moment, finding that the darkness and slight warmth of them over your eyes helped with the surfacing tension slowly growing in the back of your head.

And then

Coffee

“Long night (Y/N)?”

You sigh softly and lower your hands from your face, allowing your glasses to fall back in place on your nose. You lean back in your chair, a small smile lightening your face as you greeted Aaron.

“Always a long night these days, handsome”

It earned you a low chuckle from him as he dropped the milk and the sugar packets down next to your cup. Two of each just like always.

“Well I hope you wouldn’t mind if I made tonight just a bit longer. If I’m not mistaken you owe Jack your lasagna and a bedtime story”

You smiled again, fondly as you tilted your head back to look up at where he was standing behind your chair.

“Sometimes I wonder if I owe Jack or you my lasagna and a bedtime story” you teased.

At this he smiled one of his smiles again, the tender ones where you would catch yourself focusing in on his dimples and the soft blush that would adorn his cheeks.

“So I’ll meet you out front at 7?” He asked.

You hummed. “I suppose you will”

He gave your shoulder as squeeze, his hand lingering on your back as he walked away, his fingers briefly sweeping along the back of your neck as he passed.

You let out a breath, waking your laptop back up when its screen started to go dim, and went back to reading, the coffee warm in your hand.

“Thought you didn’t like coffee” You heard Derek’s voice as he came into the office for the morning, his bag slung over his shoulder.

You shrugged.

“There’s some things to like about coffee”

Photo from Pinterest

Galaxy border: @cafekitsune

[mrs-weasley-reid]

this was hella sweet!!! I had to pause from reading and sob for a second then continue😭

drunk dial

pairing: platonic aaron hotchner/reader

rating: t

word count: 8.1k

tags: implied sexual assault, referenced sexual assault

summary: when you drunk dial your boss in need of rescuing from a night club, aaron hotchner doesn’t hesitate to respond. the only problem? you thought you’d called emily. hotch insists on you letting him take care of you for the night as you’re in no state to be on your own. as the night progresses, you find that you’re finally able to disclose a trauma you’d kept buried for years.

Aaron blinks hard as he stirs from sleep. He rubs the backs of his eyes with one hand as he reaches for the phone buzzing on his nightstand. He swipes his thumb across the screen and brings it to his ear.

“Hotchner,” he answers groggily.

A harsh sob echoes through the receiver and he sits up, bringing the phone down to view the caller ID. The dark slash of his brow furrows as he views your name and photo.

There’s concern in his voice as he says your name, but you don’t seem to hear it.

You heave another sob through the phone. “My friend left with some guy. And now this one, he won’t—” Your voice suddenly sounds far away the music pounding in the background overtakes your words. He’s missing information as your voice becomes clear once more. “He wants more than I’m willing to give Emily and I just want to go home.” Your words are slurred. “I just,” another choked sob, “I need he—” The line disconnects.

“Hello?” Hotch questions and tries your name again. He redials your number and curses as it goes to voicemail. Throwing back the sheets, he climbs out of bed and dials Prentiss’ number as he pulls a hoodie over his t-shirt.

She laughs as she answers, “Hotch, it’s past midnight. Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

He cuts her off and curtly explains the call he’d just received. “Where is she?”

“Oh, um, The 930 Club. She’s—”

“Thanks, Prentiss.” He hangs up and shoves his phone in his pocket. He grabs his raincoat and keys and swiftly exits his apartment.

The club isn’t far from his complex, but with Saturday night traffic in the heart of DC combined with the summer storm raging on, it seems to take ages. He lays on the horn as someone cuts him off and curses as he slams on his brakes. Briefly, he considers throwing the red and blue lights on, but thinks better of it. He’s not far now and after making it through the next red light, the club comes into view. Disregarding the no parking signs out front, Hotch pulls up alongside the curb and throws the SUV into park.

Despite the rain, a line stretches out the door. Couples and groups of friends clad in leather, satin, high heels, and sleek accessories huddle under wide umbrellas to protect themselves from the storm. Hotch approaches the door and a bouncer stretches his arm across the way.

“There’s a line, old man.” The bouncer inclines his head toward the line of anxiously waiting club goers. “Get to the back before I put you there myself.”

Hotch is unfazed by the bouncer and the sense of power his job provides him. Standing toe to toe with the man, he stares him down, his eyes hard. He reaches into his pants pocket and retrieves his badge. With two fingers, he flips it open and pushes into the bouncer’s face. “Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner,” he states flatly. “I’ve got an agent in trouble in there, so get the hell out of my way before I have you in handcuffs.” He’s bluffing, obviously, the bouncer has done nothing wrong. He doesn’t know that though, given how wide his eyes open in fear. He says nothing and steps aside, granting him entry.

“Thank you.” For good measure, Hotch drives his shoulder into the bouncer as he shoves his way into the noisy nightclub. His eyes dart around, scanning the scene. There are two long bars on opposite walls, a DJ against the short wall where dozens of people bump and grind against one another on the dance floor, and two levels of tall tables and booths for people to crowd around or sneak into to get away from the music.

On the phone, you’d sounded distressed. Your words were slurred and he could only hope and pray that you’d not been drugged by whatever “he” was with you at the time of the call. God, he could only hope that you were even still here. If he knew creeps as well as his job had accustomed him to, if a man was trying to procure a woman under the influence, he’d either leave immediately and attack her in a secondary location or he’d take her somewhere more private within the environment.

Pushing through the crowd, he shouldered past couples who shot dagger sharp glances at him and took the stairs two at a time up to the second floor. The music still pounded over the speakers up here, but this was clearly where people went to escape the bustle of the crowded dance floor and get away to drink or order food or conversate more

privately. He calls your name and begins scanning tables. Patrons dining or trying to steal a romantic moment glare at him. Some curse and tell him to fuck off. He pays them no mind. As he winds around tables, he begins losing hope despite there being much more of the club to explore. He has half a mind to shut the whole place down and call in the team, but that would be a gross overreaction. There is no evidence that you’re actually in danger or missing aside from a drunk misdial. Still though, his heart pounds erratically as he calls your name over the music.

He reaches the end of the second floor and at first doesn’t see that there are people in the booth they’re that far tucked into it. The man’s hulking frame blocks the girl from view and he knows it’s you.

“Hey!” he barks over the baseline.

“We don’t need anything,” the man says without looking back.

Fury floods his veins. Without a second thought, Hotch reaches for the man and grabs him by the back of the neck. He reels back, pulling the man to his feet. Catching his balance, the man pulls his fist back. As he aims to deliver a punch, Hotch ducks and sends his fist into the man’s gut. As the air vacates his lungs and he doubles over, Hotch fists his hands into his shirt and slams him back into the table. With the man immobilized, he looks up at you. A strap on your dress falls over one shoulder and your hair hangs limply, having fallen free of whatever style it had been in. You look at him from half hooded eyes, blinking slowly. The scene is spinning and your temples are throbbing.

“Are you okay?” Hotch asks. His knuckles blaze white as the man struggles beneath his grip.

“Stop moving!” he barks.

“Can somebody help me?” the man calls.

Someone is saying your name, asking if you’re ok. The music is loud and your ears feel like they’re plugged with cotton. Things seem to move quickly and slowly all at once. Where are you? You’ve not left the club yet, but where did Mariah go? There’s your name again. God, you’re really out of it. Mariah left, you remember. She left with Andrew’s friend and Andrew, God, he wouldn’t leave you alone. When was Emily going to get here? There’s your name again. You blink hard and try to get your bearings. Though things are hazy and tilted through your alcohol laden senses, a picture starts to form in front of you. Aaron Hotchner, your boss, has Andrew pinned against the table in front of you.

“Sir?” you question, though the word feels far away and unfamiliar on your tongue.

Hotch raises his eyes from Andrew, concern reflecting back at you in them. Your eyes widen as you take in Andrew’s form beneath him. You glance down at yourself and see your dress straps pulled down, exposing the lace of your bra. What the fuck had he been trying to do before Hotch got here?

Two bouncers approach as a crowd begins to gather, people are always hungry for drama after all.

“Is there a problem here?” the first bouncer asks. He’s tall, built, and wears sunglasses despite it being dark inside. His ginger beard is bushy and his brow is pierced. He looks pissed as all hell that he has to be up here breaking up a fight. Hotch recognizes the other bouncer from the door. When they make eye contact, his eyes widen.

“Yo, Liam, that’s that FBI agent I was telling you about.”

Liam arches a brow, but his expression softens. “What’s going on, officer? Or should I call you Agent?”

Hotch ignores him and pulls Andrew to his feet, pushing him toward the bouncers. “Get this guy out of here,” he orders. He looks toward you again, his eyes searching for signs of further harm. He turns his attention back to Andrew.

“Did you slip her something?”

Andrew’s face screws. “What? No!”

Hotch steps forward, his face inches from his, and repeats the question louder, “Did you give her something?”

Andrew flinches. “No! I don’t do that shit, man. She took a bunch of shots with her friend. Guys were buying them drinks all night. I just—”

“You just what?” Hotch questions, his voice low and dangerous. “Wait for a woman that can hardly stand, take her upstairs, hide away, and see just how far you can take it?”

“Hey, she was into it!”

Hotch grabs him by the jaw. “Look at her!” he says. “She can barely keep her eyes open! That’s not consent, idiot!”

Andrew swallows and he looks like he might wet himself.

“Hotch,” you say and try your best to sit up, the world spinning as you do so.

Hotch releases him, but first leans in close to his ear. “If you ever, and I mean ever try this again, with anyone. I will have you arrested and will personally make sure you never see the light of day ever again. I was a federal prosecutor, so I know how to make charges stick. Do I make myself clear?”

Andrew nods vigorously and a tear slips from his eyes. “Not so confident now, huh?” Hotch whispers, disdain dripping from his lips. “Get him out of here.”

He watches as the bouncers lead Andrew down the steps. Hotch immediately turns his attention on you. He slides into the booth beside you. “Did he hurt you?” he asks.

Your brow furrows as you try to make sense of what’s happening. The music is so loud. Hotch looks around and then back at you. “Let’s get you out of here, come on.” He stretches his hand out to you and you take it, letting him pull you out of the booth. When you find your feet, you stumble and he catches you, his arm bracing around your lower back.

“It’s raining,” Hotch says as he shrugs out of his jacket. “Take this.” He drapes it over your shoulders, his little finger curling under the strap of your dress and pulling it back into place as he does so. The smell of cedar and teakwood reaches your nose, a severe contrast to the club’s overarching scent of vodka, sweat, and the amalgamation of various perfumes and colognes sprayed in earnest.

The second you exit the club your head feels a fraction clearer. The air is muggy, the humidity amping up with the cold rain coming down after a week of intensely high temperatures.

Aaron reaches into his pocket and fishes out his car keys. He clicks the unlock button and the car beeps in response. He opens the door and helps you inside, his eyes lingering on you for a moment as you clumsily buckle your seatbelt to make sure you can get it on alright. Once secure, he gently shuts the door and jogs around to the driver’s side.

He slides into the driver’s seat and twists the key in the ignition. He places his hands on the wheel, but before shifting the car into gear, he looks at you, intensely. When he says your name, it’s gentle. It’s not the tone he uses in the office when he’s calling the team for a briefing or to review something you’d written in a report. There’s a warmth in his voice, and there’s real concern there too. “You don’t have to tell me,” he starts. “Just know that you can.”

You nod, squeezing your eyes shut as the world tilts on its axis. Your stomach roils and for a moment you’re afraid you might be sick. You take a deep breath and manage to hold it down. Hotch tilts his head, regarding you. “Is there anyone at home that can take care of you?”

“No,” you answer and this time you don’t shake your head to avoid aggravating the nausea. “My roommate is out of town visiting her family,” you speak slowly but your words still come out slurred.

Hotch nods and shifts the car into gear. “You can stay with me then, tonight.”

“No, sir I can’t let you do that. You’ve got Jack and—”

A smile cracks his stern visage as he pulls out into traffic. If you had your wits about you, you would’ve taken a mental snapshot as you don’t think you’ve ever seen such a genuine expression of mirth cross his face. “Jack is at his aunt’s. I wouldn’t have exactly been able to come out like this if he wasn’t. Beth has an event for work this weekend, which is why I’ve stayed back in DC. It’s no trouble at all.”

You sink back into the seat, a part of you unable to believe that this is happening while the other part of you is still trying to fully process what all had transpired in the last fifteen minutes.

“Hotch, how did you know—”

His eyes are on the road as he speaks. “You thought you’d called Emily. You called me.”

“Oh my God,” you groan, drawing out the last letter. A scarlett heat creeps into your cheeks and you cover your face with your hands. “So you heard—Jesus Christ. Oh my God.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Hotch says, his words genuine. “I’m glad I can help.”

The rest of the ride passes in silence. It’s not long by any stretch of the imagination, but the constant stop and go traffic of late night DC has your stomach doing somersaults. You squeeze your eyes shut and rest your head against the cool glass of the window hoping it’ll quell the churning in your belly.

A quiet groan escapes your lips as Hotch pulls into his designated parking spot at The Langham. It stopped raining. As soon as he shifts the car into park, your stomach feels as though it’s just been bounced around like. ping pong ball. “Oh god,” you moan and fumble with the door handle. Somehow you manage to undo the lock and fling open the door. As soon as your feet hit the pavement, you rush over to the nearest bush, the vomit you’d staved off finally forcing its way up and out of your body. It’s vile, the way the alcohol and stomach acid burns your throat.

Footsteps rapidly approach and there’s a hand at your neck, gathering your hair. “Alright, ok,” Hotch says soothingly, his other hand rubbing up and down your back. “Get it all out, oh yeah, yep. There you go.”

When your body stops purging itself, you gulp down a fresh breath of air before spitting the acrid taste of bile from your lips. You stay like that, hands on your knees, and take a few deep breaths. “Do you have your gun?”

Hotch releases your hair as you stand, but keeps a steadying hand on your arm. His expression is puzzled, his brow arched. “No, why?”

You roll your eyes and turn toward the sidewalk leading toward the front entrance to his building. “To kill me now so I don’t have to live with the embarrassment of knowing my boss just saw that happen.”

Something between a laugh and scoff escapes Hotch’s lips as he catches up to you in two long strides. Him and his long ass legs, you drunkenly muse.

The lights hurt your eyes and your temples continue to throb as you let Hotch navigate your way through his complex. The walk feels excessively long and you wonder if all apartment complexes are this maze-like. As he fishes his keys out of his pocket and unlocks the door to his apartment you realize you’re actually at Aaron Hotchner’s apartment. You’ve never been to his apartment. You’ve been to Emily’s, Penelope’s, and Spencer’s apartments; Rossi and JJ’s houses, but Hotch? Definitely not. Suddenly you feel like you are about to encroach upon the shadowy place Mufasa warns Simba about in The Lion King.

You blink and that clears the weird image forming of Hotch as a cartoonish fatherly lion from your mind. You stumble through the threshold as he pushes the door open and curse as he catches you again. “These fucking heels,” you grumble. As you reach down to work out the straps your stomach flips and you groan.

Hotch’s eyes flare slightly. “Why don’t you stay up there?” he cautions. “Let me help you.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” you respond, voice tight as your stomach threatens revolution once more.

He bends down on one knee and begins to undo the straps from around your ankles. He holds the back of your calf as he pulls the heel off and places it against the wall. You have to catch yourself on his shoulder to keep from falling but as soon as your foot falls flat on the floor, a languid moan leaves your lips.

“Good God, that feels so much better.”

He helps you slide out of the other high heeled shoe and stands. Without the heels on, he has a decent amount of height on you. You have to look up to meet his eyes, those eyes still shining with concern.

“Let me take the coat,” he says, lifting his hands toward you. You turn and shrug out of it, your limbs feeling awkward and heavy as you do so. He hangs it on a hook on the back of the door and gestures down the length of the hallway.

“It’s just the one bedroom,” he explains as he leads the way toward the main room. “You can sleep in my room. I’ll take the couch.”

“No!” you blurt. “No, no, no you don’t have to do any of that oh my God.”

Hotch chuckles in response. “I think you’ll thank me in the morning if you do.” Wordlessly, you follow as he leads the way to the aforementioned bedroom. He flicks the light switch on and the lamp on his bedside table illuminates the room. It’s simply decorated with store bought abstract paintings and dark blue linens on the queen sized bed. A framed photo of Jack sits on the nightstand, angled toward the bed. The idea of Hotch lying there looking at the image of his son tugs your heartstrings. You move past Hotch and plop down on the bedspread before reaching for the photo. You smile as you look at Jack’s crooked smile.

“He’s so precious,” you muse and poke Jack’s nose through the flat plane of glass. You look up at Hotch from where he stands in the doorway. “He’s lucky to have a dad like you, sir.”

Hotch smiles softly and crosses the distance to sit beside you, the mattress sinking beneath your combined weight. “Thank you,” he says. “I’ll be honest, it's hard to feel like a good dad some days with our job.”

You bump him with your shoulder, or at least that’s your intention.You more or less use your entire arm to nudge him just barely. “You give him all the time you’re able, we all see that. If we do, Jack definitely does.”

You pass him the picture frame and smile. Hotch smiles in turn, his lips together. “Thank you,” he says as he places it back on the nightstand. “I hope he grows into a good man.”

“With you as his father, there’s no doubt. There ought to be more dads like you out there to teach their sons how to be men.” Your smile falters and your voice grows small. “Maybe then they wouldn’t try to see just how far they can push the envelope.”

Tears spring to your eyes and you use the back of your hand to clumsily wipe them away. Turn off the waterworks, you chide yourself. Your temples already throb from how much the alcohol, first round of tears, and vomiting dehydrated you, no need to compound it now with more tears.

Hotch says your name quietly. “You can talk to me, you know.” He pats your hand that rests atop the bedsheets. “I’m not your boss right now, I’m your friend.”

Your lip quivers as you stare blankly at the wall ahead. “If I talk about it, that means I let it happen. I’m a fucking FBI agent, Hotch. I should know better than to drink that much. I should—”

Hotch’s brow pinches. “Woah, woah, woah,” he starts, “where is this coming from? You know better than anyone that how much you drink doesn’t matter, that doesn’t entitle anyone else to you or your body. And fuck if you’re an agent, you’re allowed to go and enjoy drinks and a night out without worrying if some asshole is going to try and take advantage of you. I think I scared him within an inch of his life, too. You don’t have to worry about him anymore.”

But it’s not about Andrew. It’s not about tonight anymore. Tears slip over your lash line.They’re hot and fat and you hate how they have little minds of their own, dropping freely down your cheeks. You know what he says is true. Hell, you preach it to everyone, especially when you teach self defense at the local university. What you wear is never an excuse for someone to touch you. How you dance isn’t an excuse for someone to grope you. How much you drink isn’t an excuse for someone to lay claim to your flesh. The only thing that means yes is explicit, enthusiastic consent. You know this. You teach this.

But right now, it’s so hard to believe because that’s what you had to fight so hard to teach yourself when you first had to learn what happened wasn’t your fault.

You drop your head into your hands and stifle a sob. “God, it was nearly ten fucking years ago.”

“What was ten years ago?” Hotch asks, his voice soft and kind.

Oh God. You’d said that out loud.

You scrub your hands over your face and curse as you smear mascara into your eye. “Fuck!” you exclaim as your hand flies to your eye instinctively.

“I’ve got something I think can help,” Hotch says as he rises from the bed and darts out of the room. From your point of view, you can’t see anything but you hear bottles rummaging around from where you imagine is the bathroom out in the hall. When he returns he carries a small green package in his hand. He crouches in front of you and peels back the plastic film on the container. With two fingers he extracts a wipe and folds it in half. As he reaches for your face he hesitates, wipe paused in mid air above your cheek. “Is this alright?” he asks.

Sniffling, you nod. With one hand, Hotch gingerly wraps his fingers around your wrist. As he pulls it away, he uses his other hand to place the cool moist towelette against your eye. He holds it there for a moment before he begins to wipe and blot at the black swirls of mascara that had dried in tear stained patterns around your eyes and cheeks and whatever vestiges of eyeshadow remained. Once that wipe is fully soiled, he retrieves a fresh one; repeating the gesture on the other eye before moving on and clearing away what remained of your face and lip makeup. You don’t speak while he does this, and you don’t have to. You needed it. You needed that. You needed someone. You needed him. A friend. Someone that would ask no questions and just show up for you when you needed them most. No questions asked. And when he did ask questions, when Hotch did, there was no expectation to answer. But right now, in this strange moment, in Aaron Hotchner’s apartment, in his bed no less, you felt like you could finally tell someone.

“I was a teenager,” you say as he takes one final swipe at your cheek.

His hand freezes along your jawline and his eyes lock on yours. “You don’t have to do this,” he says gently, lowering his hand.

“If I don’t say it now on what courage the alcohol left in my system is giving me, I’m afraid I never will.”

Hotch sits back on his heels. “Alright.”

“I was dating an older guy at the time. I was a freshman in college. He was a senior; vice president of his fraternity. He came from a wealthy family, too. I was naive and so excited to be dating someone like that, someone with status. I grew up comfortably, but not that well off. He took me to nice dinners and bought me expensive gifts. We had a physical relationship, and it started out fine enough.” You pause and take a deep breath. “But we started fighting. He wouldn’t,” you pause. “I couldn’t get him to talk to me or communicate in any way that led to resolution when we did. He’d just keep apologizing and told me that he’d do better next time. He’d start kissing me to interrupt and then his hands would be in my pants and I just,” you stop and shake your head. “I thought if I could just deal with what he did physically, that things would be fine again if I just pretended I liked what was happening and got it over with. I thought that we’d go back to the fun, happy go lucky couple everyone knew us as. Until it happened again, and again, and again. When he graduated I finally felt safe enough to break things off once there was distance between us. I knew something had felt off about those experiences. It never occurred to me that that was assault.”

“You suffered through numerous unwanted physical advances because he emotionally manipulated you through stonewalling.” Hotch says quietly. It’s not an explanation, but validation of your experience.

A choked laugh escapes your lips. “I know that now. At the time, I thought assault was like what you see on TV. That it’s some stranger in an alley that blitz attacks you. I never thought it could be someone you knew, let alone someone you were in what you believed was a loving and committed relationship.” You shake your head again, a wry smile playing on your lips. “Imagine my surprise when I learned that the perpetrators were almost alway statistically someone the victim knows.”

A warm hand slips into yours. You look up and Hotch is looking at you intently. “What happened wasn’t your fault.” He says, squeezing your hand.

You lick your chapped lips and drop your eyes, nodding. “It took a long time for me to learn that.”

“I can’t imagine how hard that must have been,” Hotch says. “To have gone through that alone,” he shakes his head. “I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you,” you reply, because what else was there to say? “I wasn’t completely alone. I did go to counseling throughout the remainder of my time in school, they had services for the students. There was a support group, too; one for people who’d experienced sexual violence. It was there I really learned that things weren’t my fault. Other people had experienced similar things. Without that, I don’t think I’d have made it through honestly. I definitely wouldn’t be here.”

His hand squeezes around yours once more. “I’m glad that you are.” He smiles and a dimple forms in his cheek. “I know I'm a better man for having known you. The team, hell, the impact you have on the lives of those going through the worst possible moments of their lives in these cases we work…you have touched so many lives for the better. Please never, ever forget that.”

You smile crookedly and it feels somewhat genuine. “What do you think gets me through the day?”

The throbbing in your temples intensifies suddenly and you screw your eyes shut, your hands moving instinctively to rub them. “God, I’m going to be so hungover in the morning.”

Hotch claps his hands together. “Let’s see if we can’t get ahead of that.”

He leaves the room and when he returns he has a glass of water. “Here,” he says and passes you the cup.

You graciously accept it and take a long drink, the cool water soothing your throat, raw from crying and vomiting. “Thank you,” you murmur.

“It would probably help if you got some sleep. Do you feel up to taking a shower?”

You scoff, “Ok, Hotch. I threw up and it helped a little bit, but I’m not that sober.”

He chuckles and puts his hands up in surrender. “Fair enough. Let me at least get you some clothes. I know sleeping in a cocktail dress won’t be too comfortable.”

“Do you know?” you tease.

He presses his lips together. “Let me go see what I can find.”

You exhale a short laugh as he disappears from view and you fall back onto the mattress, a dull thud echoing as your body hits the sheets. You heave out a big sigh and stare at the ceiling. “This is a weird fucking night.”

You close your eyes and behind closed lids, it feels like you’re spinning. Yep, definitely not sober. You open your eyes and lazily reach up to start pulling bobby pins from your hair.

“Alright, I’ve got a pair of sweats and an old academy hoodie that should fit you.”

At the sound of Hotch’s voice, you let your head loll to the side. “You look absurdly tall from this angle,” you muse.

Hotch chuckles, “Spoken like someone desperately in need of sleep.” He steps into the room and drops the clothes onto the bed.

“Hotch?” you question, ignoring his last comment.

You roll onto your side and push yourself back into a sitting position. He arches an eyebrow. “Yes?”

“Why is it you’ve got makeup wipes in your apartment?” You inhale sharply. “Ooo, are you secretly a drag performer?”

Hotch laughs. “I am not a drag performer, though I do think Anderson does drag brunch on Saturday mornings if I remember right.”

You blink twice. “I’m sorry, and you’re only telling me this now?”

Hotch shrugs. “I’m surprised you don’t know about it. Garcia does.”

Your jaw drops. “Garcia knows?? Oh, when I get my hands on her—”

“To answer your question though,” Hotch butts in, an amused glint shining in his eyes. “They’re Beth’s.”

A smile pulls at your lips. “Beth keeps things at your apartment? What are we talking, like, a couple of things on the counter? A drawer?”

Hotch’s eyes drop to the floor as a scarlet blush creeps up his neck and spreads across his cheeks.

“Oh my God, this is serious isn’t it?” You feel the apples of your cheeks as your smile widens. “Spill, Hotch! Should I be looking at outfits for the wedding?”

To that, Hotch raises his hands as a smile splits his lips. “Calm down,” he laughs. “We’re not quite at wedding bells, but we do see each other almost every weekend. With the commute on the train, it is easy to have a drawer or two at one another’s apartments.”

You feel like kicking your feet, you’re so happy. If anyone deserved this kind of joy and love in their life, it was Hotchner. God knows he deserved it after all the hell he’d been through, all the trauma he survived.

“I’m really happy for you,” you say. “Beth is a remarkable woman”.

Hotch nods, a sheepish smile playing on his lips. “She is.”

You reach over and pull the clothes onto your lap. “Thanks, again, Hotch.” You toy with the sleeve of the hoodie in hand. “As horrified as I was when I realized I’d called you instead of Emily, I’m glad you came. I’m glad it was you.”

“We’re a team. We’re family,” Hotch replies. He leans against the doorframe. “Hell, I’m old enough to be your father. Maybe that’s why I’ve always felt a bit more protective of you, anyway. So, when I heard your voice on the line, there was no hesitation. I’d like to think if I had a daughter and she were in trouble, that someone in her life would do the same.”

You spring off of the bed, a little uncoordinated due to alcohol still gently buzzing in your veins at this point, and throw your arms around him. You bury your face in his neck and though, muffled, you say, “Thank you, Aaron. Thank you so much, for everything.” You don’t need to say what for, he knows. Your gratitude extends far beyond just rescuing you from the night club.

His arms snake around you, his palms pressed flat against the middle of your back as he squeezes you tightly.

“You’re so welcome,” he says into your hair. “I’m so proud of you, you know. Don’t ever forget that.” He pulls away just so and presses a fatherly kiss to your hairline, “I’ll be on the couch if you need anything. Don’t hesitate to wake me up.”

You nod and brush away a stubborn tear. God, you’d think you’d have nothing left in the tank at this point. You stifle a yawn as you close the door. The clothes Hotch left you fit well enough; the warmth and coziness of the fleece lined fabrics acting as security blanket as you tuck yourself in between the sheets. You barely remember to flick off the lamp on the bedside table before crashing onto the pillows where the heaviness of sleep finally drags you under to the sweet realm of nothingness.

Three things are incredibly clear the second you wake up: one, it’s too bright and you have to squint against the white rays of sunlight cutting through the slats in the blinds; two, your mouth feels like it’s stuffed full of cotton balls, you swallow but there’s not even an inkling of saliva to wet your dry throat; and three, it feels like someone has been slamming on a timpani inside of your skull.

You exude a long, slow groan into the pillow before rolling onto your side to get a glimpse of the alarm clock on Hotch’s nightstand. The red numbers blink back 10:23AM. There’s a fresh glass of water on the nightstand alongside two tablets and a folded piece of paper.

Your brow furrows as you prop yourself onto your elbow and reach for the note. You unfold it with one hand and in Hotch’s tight, neat scrawl it reads:

Ran out to grab a few things. I left some aspirin there on the table. You should probably take them.

-Hotch

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” you mutter as you toss the paper onto the bed.

You try not to gag as the pills start dissolving on your tongue and quickly chase it with the glass of water. After washing them down, you make a rather unattractive display of gulping down the remaining water. You drink it so quickly that some spills over the glass and you have to use the sleeve of your sweater, well Hotch’s sweater oops, to wipe off your face.

It doesn’t sound like anyone else is home. Pushing back the sheets, you swing your legs over the side of the bed and stand and for the first time, the room isn’t spinning. Even though Hotch is out, you still walk on the balls of your feet as if you need to be quiet. It feels strange to be stepping out into the hallways and walking into his bathroom. Sure, you’d swung by his apartment a few times to drop off a file or other work necessities. You’d never been in his house though.

Walking in and using his bathroom feels so strange, like an invasion of privacy. Like his bedroom, it’s simply decorated. A shower curtain decorated with blue and green swirls lines one wall. Plush bath mats of a similar blue line the area in front of the shower and sink. His very few toiletries sit in a neat row to the left of the faucet on the sink. He’s a Gillette guy, interesting. You’d always taken him for an Old Spice sort of man. You hear the front door and stop profiling his bathroom, instead, quickly using it for its intended purposes. You can’t help yourself though as you dry off your hands. You pull open the two drawers beneath the sink and smile to yourself. The one holds all of Hotch’s things: razor, comb, toothpaste, the usual; the other is clearly Beth’s: makeup, hair elastics, and the green makeup wipes sit neatly inside among other items. You bump the drawers closed with your hips before making your way back out into the hallway.

“Hey, Hotch,” you say, “Thanks again so much for—” Words fail you as you look up and see JJ and Prentiss in his living room.

Wide smiles spread across their faces. JJ spreads her fingers and holds her hands in the air, “Surprise!”

Brow furrowed, you cross the room and let them pull you into quick hugs.

“Not that I’m not happy to see you all, but what’s going on? Where’s Hotch?”

Emily’s perfectly manicured eyebrows arc toward her hairline as she tilts her head, “He thought you could use a pick me up.”

“So, he called you guys?”

JJ nods. “We’ve all had rough nights, followed by even rougher mornings.” She inclines her head toward Emily. “Remember the morning Hotch ran that triathlon?”

Emily cringes. “God, don’t remind me!”

“Where is Hotch, anyway?” you ask, craning your neck around Emily and JJ.

“Oh,” Emily says, her lips forming the shape of the word. “He should be right behind us he—”

Just then, the front door swings open and it’s not Hotch.

“There she is!” exclaims Penelope. She waltzes into the apartment, adjusting the massive purse on her shoulder as she does so. Her knee length pink skirt swishes around her legs as she crosses the room to pull you into an embrace. The smell of jasmine clings to you as your face is buried in her chest and neck. She pulls away after a long moment, though her hands don’t drop from your shoulders. Her eyes scan your face. “Oh, sweetheart, look at you. Do not fret! Penelope is here to help get you feeling refreshed and revitalized!”

You look to JJ and Emily for help. “I look like shit, don’t I? Be honest.”

JJ shakes her head. “Noooo.”

Emily presses her lips together and tilts her head back and forth, “Well—”

JJ slaps a hand against her stomach and Emily winces. “What?!”

“Drink this,” Penelope says. She reaches into her bag and pulls out a bottle of yellow liquid. You take it and turn to read the label, Crisp Lemon Berry Pedialyte. “It’s got electrolytes. You need those!”

“Yes ma’am,” you say agreeably and crack open the bottle. The label makes it seem like it’ll be better than it is, but the taste is bearable. You need as much hydration as you can get at the moment, so you don’t complain.

“Sorry I took so long!” Hotch’s voice fills the room as he enters carrying a drink tray of coffees and an extra one in his free hand. “Line at the cafe was nearly out the door.”

“Oh my God, is that coffee?” you ask, salivating at the thought.

Penelope points a purple polished finger at you. “Finish that, then you can have coffee.”

He sets a cup down on the kitchen table before approaching them in the living room. “Non-fat, vanilla latte for you,” Hotch says, passing a cup to JJ. “London fog for Emily, can’t quite shake England there, can you?” he teases as Emily accepts the cup, not before flicking him off though with a cheeky grin playing on her berry red lips. Iced matcha green tea latte—”

“With soy?” Penelope questions, eyeing the cup suspiciously.

“With soy,” Hotch confirms and she accepts it happily.

“Last but not least, almond milk mocha for you.” He holds the cup out and smiles warmly. You hold his gaze for a moment, the exchange carrying more than a simple ‘thank you’ would allow for. He dips his chin just slightly in acknowledgment. As you reach for the cup, Penelope’s hand shoots out to intercept, her bangles jangling against her wrist.

“I’ll take that!” she chirps before taking a long sip of her own drink.

“Hey!” you whine.

Penelope gestures toward the Pedialyte with your coffee. “Finish!”

You roll your eyes and reluctantly chug the remaining liquid. “There,” you say and shake the empty bottle. “Happy?”

“Very!” pipes Penelope. “Oh! Here!” she reaches into her bag and withdraws a drawstring bag. Did she own the Mary Poppins bag? How did all of this fit inside of her purse? “I stopped by your apartment and grabbed a few things. Toothbrush, deodorant, change of clothes, the works.”

“Oh, Penelope Garcia, you are my angel!” You gratefully take the bag into your hands and disappear down the hall into the restroom.

The aspirin has started to kick in alongside what attempts you’ve made to rehydrate and the throbbing in your skull has dwindled to a soft drumming. Searching through the contents of the bag, you praise Garcia’s name as you find your skincare and toothbrush.

It takes all of ten minutes for you to brush your teeth, wash your face, and style your hair up and out of your face. Garcia had packed you two different styles of underwear, (leave it to her to give you the choice of thong or bikini styled undergarments. She’s probably also one of the only people you’d feel comfortable rummaging through your underwear drawer if you’re being honest) a pair of leggings, and a cropped Fleetwood Mac t-shirt. You change quickly and fold the sweats and sweater Hotch had lent you. You throw all of your toiletries into the bag and shrug it over shoulder before scooping Hotch’s clothes into your arms.

Hotch and the girls are sitting around the coffee table on the couch and recliner, enjoying their beverages. Penelope smiles widely when you emerge.

“There she is!” she exclaims. “I brought your Birkenstocks too. They’re by the door. Hotch said you’d worn heels out and I knew you definitely wouldn’t want to be in those.”

“Good call,” you say and take your coffee from Penelope. You take a slow sip of the warm mocha and moan.

Everyone laughs. Emily checks her watch and shoots up. “We better get going if we’re going to catch Anderson’s performance.”

Your eyes widen at that. “Wait.”

Emily smiles and nods. “Yep. He comes on in about an hour. We figured you’d need a nice greasy brunch after last night. The place he performs at makes a mean breakfast sandwich.”

“And potatoes with sausage gravy!” Penelope adds. “Though I’m more partial to mushroom gravy because precious baby piggies should not be slaughtered for my breakfast.”

“Okayyy, Penelope,” JJ teases as she loops an arm around her shoulders. “I’m pretty sure they added veggie sausage to their menu just for you.”

“Yeah,” Emily agrees. “They were probably afraid she’d hack their system and mess with their food shipments otherwise.”

Penelope looks over her shoulder as JJ guides her to the door. “I could do that!”

“Gonna pretend I didn’t hear that!” Hotch calls after them as JJ and Penelope leave the apartment.

“I wonder if they remember I’m the one with the car keys,” Emily says, her lips drawn into a warm smile. “Meet you downstairs?”

You nod. “Yes, I’ll be there in a second.”

Emily nods and leaves. You cross the living room toward the door where Hotch stands, one arm holding it open.

“Hotch I—

He shakes his head. “Don’t.”

“No, Hotch. I’m serious. What you did for me last night, I can’t even begin to thank you.”

“And you don’t have to,” he says, his tone firm. You look up and meet his unwavering gaze. “I would do it again without question. Like I said last night, we’re not just a team, we’re family. We look out for each other. We pull each other up when we’re at our lowest. In fact, I should be the one thanking you.”

You can’t help the quizzical expression that pinches your features. “For what? All I did was wake you up in the middle of the night, throw up in your bushes, and kick you out of your own bed on a Friday night.”

Hotch laughs and shakes his head. “Okay, well when you say it like that, it definitely doesn’t look good. What I was going to say though, is thank you for trusting me. I know that I wasn’t who you expected last night, but I’m glad I could be the one to help you when you needed it. Furthermore, I’m incredibly grateful that you felt as though you could trust me to tell me about your past. I know that can’t have been easy. And if you ever need someone to talk to, I hope it’s clear now that you’ll always have a listening ear with me.”

A surge of emotion courses through you in that moment and you can’t help but launch yourself at him. You loop an arm around his neck and awkwardly attempt to hug him with the other arm that stills holds his clothes, the bundle of fabric creating an odd wedge between your bodies. Hotch is taken aback by the gesture, but his arms comfortably fold around your back and he squeezes you gently.

“I could’ve used someone like you, you know.” You say after a moment. “I didn’t really have any older male figures I could talk to at the time it happened.”

“Well, I’m here now,” he assures you. “And I’m not going anywhere. That is, until Strauss gets sick of me.”

You pull back and scoff. “Yeah, like that’ll happen any time soon.” You hold the clothes out to him. “Here! Before I walk out with them.”

“It’s actually a bit breezy out there,” Hotch says as he takes the bundle and passes you back the sweater. “Why don’t you take this?”

You reach out and accept it, pulling it back into your chest. “I’ll bring it with me to the office on Monday.”

“Sounds good,” he says with a smile. “Oh! And you’ll probably want these.” He walks away and while he’s off grabbing whatever it is he’s talking about, you scoop your heels up off the floor and slide into your Birkenstocks.

Hotch returns with a pair of black Ray Bans. “If I know one thing about hangovers,” he says as he passes them to you. “It’s how horrible a sunny day can be on the eyes.”

He reaches for the door knob and pulls it open for you. “Enjoy your weekend. I’ll see you at work on Monday.”

As you slide his sunglasses up the bridge of your nose, you curse. “Shit! The report on the McPherson case. I was going to work on it today. I’ll email it to you first thing tomorrow.”

“It’s already taken care of,” Hotch explains. “Emily and JJ took care of it for you before coming over this morning.” He’d orchestrated everything with them as soon as he’d woken up to make sure you had nothing to worry about today except for fighting your hangover. He’d not told them everything of course, he’d never betray your trust like that. Some things the team didn’t need to know, and that was okay. If you were ever ready to tell them, he knew you would in time. For now, he just told them that you’d had a tough night and would need some TLC from the girl gang. They hadn’t even bothered with follow up questions. The three girls were ready to drop what they were doing and change their plans to be able to bring comfort and fun to your Saturday morning. He’d have done the same thing for any of them if they’d been in your shoes.

Your lips quirk into a small smile knowing further words weren’t necessary to convey your gratitude and appreciation for all he’d done and continues to do. “I’ll see you, Monday.”

He smiles in turn, “See you, Monday.”