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ayda describing gorgug's mind as a perfectly clear pool undisturbed by ripples = esther's grandma searching for darkness in ricky's heart and coming up empty
5 times aaron had to adjust to physical affection and the 1 time he accepts it
cw: smut/one 18+ section, aaron is insecure, mentions of haley, injury/blood, aaron has anxiety
wc: 3.2k
༺♡༻
1. holding hands
you were not shy with pda, especially with aaron.
since your first date, you always touched him in some way.
he had picked you up at your apartment, walking alongside you as you headed to your location.
your hand had bumped each other a few times but neither made the move to interlock. for you, it was out of fear that it was too early. he, on the other hand, had an entirely different reason.
on the way back, however, you made the first move. when your hands brushed together for the second time, you finally laced them together.
you walked from the restaurant, hand interlocked with his as you babbled about your day: what happened at work, coworker gossip, anything that came to mind. at dinner you talked more about each other, not about your jobs.
aaron didn’t hesitate to notice the way your hand will tighten or loosen around his depending on your passion with what you’re talking about.
you stopped at the entrance to your apartment building. he wanted to walk you to your door but you shook your head claiming it was ‘unnecessary to go the distance.’
there was one fleeting question from the night, though.
since you had interlocked your hands on your walk back, aaron’s demeanor had changed.
never in the time that you’ve known him have you seen aaron go shy.
“hey,” you start. “what’s wrong? if you don’t like holding hands we can stop. i don’t mind.”
“no!” he blurts it out quick, a little too fast.
you look up at him, small look of content on your face. you’ve pulled him so your chests are pressed together, both hands interlocked at your side. it takes a moment for his eyes to meet yours. you may not be a profiler but you know his mind, always thinking.
“i don't know,” he mumbles. “i just didn’t think you’d want to hold my hand.”
his revelation makes you frown.
“you’re my boyfriend,” you smile. “of course i want to hold your hand.”
aaron turns away to hide the rosiness on his cheeks.
“is that alright?” you ask.
he can only think to squeeze your hand, one, two, three times.
“more than alright.”
2. kisses
you almost always get off of work before aaron.
his schedule is all over the place. between taking care of jack and traveling for cases, he could be home anywhere from 8am to midnight. your 9-5 guarantees you home by 5:30 at the latest.
aaron’s on his way back from a case. it’s early when he lands, only 9, and jack is already at school thanks to jess.
he texts you, asking ‘can i stop over?’
you don’t hesitate to respond with a ‘yes’.
you’re off of work, thankfully, and you bounce on your heels waiting until you hear a knock on the door.
the door is barely open for a few moments before your lips are on his.
“god, i’ve missed you.”
aaron’s taken aback by the display of affection. he doesn’t have time to even kiss back. it was just a quick peck before you wrap yourself around him.
this might be the first time you kiss him like this, casually, but it's nowhere near the last.
you kiss him before he leaves and when he comes to see you. even in passing, when you get up to grab something, you’re kissing his lips quickly.
it’s not something he’s used to - not since when him and haley were first dating. but in no way does he mind.
the blush that crosses his face each time never seems to fade, either.
3. touching
aaron doesn’t quite understand that you always want to be touching him.
you hold his hand, you hold his face when you kiss him, and you seemingly always have a hand on him.
he’s at your apartment this time. it was a rough day for you at work and the only person you wanted to be around was him.
you sat on the couch together, pressed into his side as some movie plays on your tv.
“shit,” you curse, hand coming up to press against your forehead as the realization hits you.
“what’s wrong honey?” his concern is genuine, fearing you’re hurt in some way.
you sigh. “just remembered i’m hosting brunch tomorrow for some friends and i forgot to clean up. do you mind if i do a few things while you’re here?”
aaron shakes his head. “not at all. can i help with anything?”
you smile. he’s too sweet.
“i’m alright, thank you though. i shouldn’t be too long.”
you abandon him on the couch, heading into the kitchen to start cleaning up.
aaron tries to focus on the screen in front of him. he wants to relax too. but, he can’t help but notice one thing you do without fail.
each time you walk past him, no matter the distance or what room you’re coming from, you touch him in some way: a squeeze to his shoulder, arm running across his back, hand combing through his hair. something.
he can’t tell if you realize what you’re doing or not, but it makes him flustered each time. was he really that touch starved?
this time, when you pass him and run your hand across his back, he catches your wrist. he turns your palm over, bringing it to his lips to place a gentle kiss.
you bite your lip, blushing at the seemingly small gesture.
you escape his grasp and bring your hand up to ruffle through his hair.
his laugh echoes through the apartment as you walk away grinning.
4. cuddling
you’re first night with aaron is one full of nerves.
aaron invites you over friday night, citing that you can spend the weekend together before he’s scheduled to pick jack up on sunday after his week at summer camp.
you show up at his apartment right on time, weekend bag slung over your shoulder and a shy smile on your face.
he greets you with a kiss, mumbling a “i missed you” as he takes your bag from you.
as he takes your things into his bedroom, you stand awkwardly in the living room. you’ve been here before, several times actually, but this is the first time you’re spending the night. it feels off.
aaron returns a few moments later. he senses your hesitance but doesn’t comment on it.
you spend the rest of the night lying on the couch. aaron’s head rests in your lap, your hand falling down to comb through his hair as he recounts his week. when his story about jack is cut off by a yawn, you look down to meet his eyes.
“bed time?
he nods. “bed time.”
his hand is firm in yours as he leads you to his bedroom, pointing out where things you may need are.
you pack your own pajamas, though both of you know you’ll end up just stealing one of his shirts from the drawer. you already have a nice collection of sweatshirts, crewnecks, shirts - they’re especially nice to have when he’s away on cases.
you’re trying not to think too much into it, but something feels so right, so domestic, about getting ready for bed together. between flicking water at him when you wash your face and giggling while you brush your teeth, you’re a blushing mess by the end.
aaron kisses your cheek as you’re finishing up. “gotta go check on a few things,” to which you nod.
you get into bed first.
aaron is still maneuvering through the house. you know he’s locking doors and checking his gun safe; standard routine.
in the meantime, you settle further into the sheets. his duvet is soft and the pillows smell like him. you’re shocked that you haven’t spent the night before.
“honey?”
aaron’s voice rings through the room. your eyes had slipped shut at this point, arm extended to the part of the bed where he should be. you hum, too tired to give much more of a response.
“do you need anything before i get in bed?”
you shake your head against the pillow, eyes still shut. “just you.”
aaron watches as you peek an eye open and he smiles. you wanted to make sure he was following through with what you wanted. after turning off the bedside lamp on his side, the covers lift and he slides in.
his warmth envelopes you immediately. he’s practically a personal space heater. you don’t even think twice when you move to curl into him.
you feel him stiffen before you even fully settle.
retracting immediately, you sit up. you’re thankful it’s dark to hide the clear embarrassment you’re feeling. sure you and aaron cuddled when on the couch, but you hadn’t realized that didn’t translate to his sleeping habits.
“honey-” he starts, arm reaching out to grab your hip.
“aaron, it’s okay.” you want to save the inevitable apology. “if you don’t like cuddling when you sleep, it doesn’t matter to me. really. just being near you is enough.”
his heart creeps up to his throat. he’s so lucky to have you, you’re so good to him.
“no no, it’s not that. i’m just,” he struggles for words. “i’m just not used to it i guess.”
you know what he means without coercing him to explain further. aaron being vulnerable with you is important. any part of him that he shares with you you’re grateful for.
you don’t respond verbally.
it’s a bit of a struggle to find his lips in the dark. you kiss his cheek at first, then nose, before finally finding his mouth. it’s soft and sweet, innocent.
“it’s okay, handsome,” you whisper. “whatever you’re comfortable with.”
you stay like that for a few moments longer, foreheads pressed together with only the faint light from the nightlight in the hallway providing you some idea of what the other is feeling.
aaron’s arms hold you around your waist. one hand has creeped under your shirt, rubbing up and down softly.
he’s pulling you back into him before you can even process it.
you’re where you wanted to be initially, head resting just under his and his arms around you. his defense is down and he’s clearly relaxed. you adjust yourself more, leg slung across his waist and you push yourself further into the crook of his neck.
“goodnight aaron,” you finally voice. you’re clinging to him like a koala bear.
he kisses your forehead. “goodnight honey.”
5. sex
the second you and aaron stumble into the apartment, his lips are on yours.
you’re both slightly tipsy, having come off of a date night downtown.
you wore that outfit he loved and he chose the one black shirt that makes you want to tear him to pieces. he wore it just for the rise and it had worked.
dinner had gone over as usual, conversation always flowed easily. but, the second you left the restaurant, all bets were off.
aaron held your hip as you walked back to his apartment, though it occasionally drifted down to ghost over your ass. you were flustered and he knew it, not hesitating to drop a comment about it.
the elevator up is even worse.
his lips ghosted over the shell of your ear and you sucked in a breath.
you decide at that moment that that’s not how you wanted to play tonight.
in the stumble from the apartment entrance to the bedroom, you accidentally tear one of the buttons on aaron’s shirt. he doesn’t seem to mind, hands replacing yours to rip the last two before you can push it off his shoulders.
“too bad about the shirt,” you gasp. “was my favorite.”
his hand creeps up to your chin, tilting your head up at him. “i’ll get a new fucking one, i don’t care.”
your lips connect again and it’s a rush to see who can get the other undressed faster.
when you collapse onto the bed, aaron pulls you into him - half on his lap, half at his side.
you take his moment of distraction as an opportunity. your mouth leaves his bruised and puffy lips and move to his neck.
it doesn’t take you long to find his spot. you focus your efforts there, biting and sucking to mark him up.
it only takes a few minutes of you kissing his neck before you can tell he’s getting frustrated. you decide you’ve marked him plenty.
to ease his desire, your hand dips below the waistband of his boxers to graze the head of his cock. it’s teasing and aaron is close to begging for you to fully touch him.
he groans instead, fist gripping the sheets below him.
“i’m supposed to be taking care of you.”
you kiss his pulse point again, soothing the forming bruise with your tongue.
you don’t care in the slightest that he’s going to have to cover his marked neck up. you’ll help him pick out a shirt to hide it or run to get concealer later. right now, he’s yours.
his hands find your hips when you straddle his thighs.
“sorry, handsome. my turn tonight.”
his hands begin to wander - holding your hips, creeping up to your chest, anywhere you can reach. you grab his wrists, not breaking the kiss, and pin then off to the side.
he’s stronger than you, clearly, but allows for you to control this motion.
“god i love you under me,” you mumble.
aaron wants to protest again, flip you over and go down on you like he loves doing. the pleasure feels good, too good.
and then it stops.
you sit back on your heels, biting your lip at the expression on aaron’s face. his lips part to ask what’s going on but the question never makes it out. you brush the stray hair out of your face, tucking it behind your ears to get it out of the way.
fingertips creep back up to the waistband of his boxers and slowly pull down. your lips press against each inch of the newly exposed skin as it appears.
you look up at him for consent, his nod happening without you even needing to ask.
you take the head of his cock in your mouth, feeling more than good at the sharp gasp aaron intakes. you take a bit more of him in your mouth; he was big and what you couldn't take, you made up for with your hands.
“y/n,” aaron stammers, hand moving to hold your hair as you bob your head. “god, y/n-”
you pull back for a moment to squeeze his thigh, doe eyes meeting his half-opened ones.
“i got you, baby,” you hum. the vibration makes him buck his hips. “now hush.”
aaron sighs, head falling back as he finally allows himself to go under.
+1 reciprocating
you heard about aaron’s current case on the news.
four year old gabby hoffer was abducted from her aunts car and was missing.
you texted aaron before he left, you always did - but you sent another. child cases were always rough, everyone knew that. adding on the national attention this case was getting, you couldn’t imagine the pressure the bau was under both physically and emotionally.
he gets back to you half a day later. it’s quicker than you had expected. there had been instances where it had gone days with radio silence.
‘good news?’ you ask, hopeful.
‘yeah, got her home safe. i just really need to see you.’
his message makes you worry. usually after cases he goes home, unwinds. you see him the next day. if he wants to see you as soon as possible, you know this one was bad.
aaron texts you again when he’s taking off, adding in the flight time. only three hours until you can see him.
you make the decision to go to the bau to greet him when he gets there. it’s out of character, but his text from earlier makes you anxious. you’ve seen aaron at low points, absolutely, but this feels different. waiting just doesn’t seem like an option.
aaron’s always told you you’re welcome at work when he’s there. you’re down in his files as a potential visitor and would have no issues getting a pass.
the issue present: his team.
hotch never explicitly told his team about you. mentioning “i have a girlfriend,” felt unnecessary. they were profilers, they could figure it out. and they did.
besides, the privacy and intimacy of your relationship was discussed between the two of you long ago. telling them added an extra risk. when the time felt right, he would introduce you. he had no problems showing you off, believe him, but the anxiety after haley never quite left him.
the team picked up on the changes in their boss’ demeanor fairly quickly into your relationship.
hotch’s signature frown lines seemed to ease up. he was less of a drill sergeant at quantico, even letting the team go home early on occasion. in the field, however, he was as serious as he could be. they caught him smiling at his phone on the jet and rossi pointed out the bruise on his neck he forgot to cover up.
he even kept a framed photo of you on his desk. it was one from the summer, when you and him took jack to the park. jack had crawled into your arms while you were on a bench and aaron couldn’t not take a picture.
they knew what you looked like, they just didn’t know you. but most were there for the foyet and pressuring their boss to introduce one of the most vulnerable sides of him was out of the question.
it’s a shock to the entire team to see the lights in hotch’s office on when they step into the bullpen.
it’s late, a weekend too. no one should be here.
before anyone can react, your head is poking out of the office. aaron practically melts when he sees you, stepping around the others to be at the front.
you’re all but rushing down the catwalk, desperate to see him, to make sure he’s okay.
you stop a foot away, face falling when you notice the dark bruise along his jawline and cut on top. he got hurt.
“what happened?”
fingertips reach up to trace down the cut. his hand reaches to hold your wrist. the skin to skin contact does wonders for him.
“took a beating,” he’s open, honest. there’s no point in lying.
“aaron-”
he stops you. “feels better than it looks, i promise.”
you’re not confident in his words but it doesn’t matter. he’s here now and you can dote on him until he feels better.
aaron doesn’t waste any time after that, taking one small step to bring you close to him and kiss you gently.
it’s a greeting, a welcome home, a security blanket. one that he initiates.
he doesn’t care that his team is there.
he’s bruised, bloody, and exhausted. the only thing he knows will make him feel better is you.
you pull away first, keeping both hands on his cheek, careful of his bruise, and press your foreheads together.
“wanna go home?”
you already know the answer but you want to hear his voice.
I GOT INTERRUPTED WHILE READING THIS AND REALIZED I NEEDED TO FINISH IT AND BROOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. my heart aches for hotch he’s so touch starved and precious and i love the way you write him UGH
can i req a emily prentiss daughter reader after emily “dies” and reader’s reaction to her death. angst, and then emily comes back and reader acts like morgan and is mad at emily, then fluff
motion sickness
emily prentiss x teen daughter!reader
the rise and fall of losing and regaining your mom
cw: character death, follows season 6/7 plot, reader has symptoms of depression, angst, yelling, grief, panic attacks, aaron cares so much for the reader
wc: 2.3k
༺♡༻
losing your mom doesn’t just hurt, it destroys you.
emily wasn’t just your mom, she was your best friend. stemming from experience with her own mother, she made sure you two were close.
the two of you traveled a lot when you were younger due to her job. but, joining the bau set permanent roots in washington d.c. you adored the city to grow up with and more importantly, you adored her team.
emily trained you like a profiler - on a much smaller scale, obviously, but you knew basic human behavior and safety. you were in highschool, she wanted you to not only be safe, but to be able to take care of yourself when she was away on cases.
you had woken up that monday to a note on the counter from your mom. you initially didn’t think much of it. she always left notes if she had an emergency case.
you went through your normal maneuvers, getting ready for school and feeding sergio before leaving.
it seemed like a normal day.
aaron had been the one to break the news.
you got a knock on the door of your home late that night. you were up late doing homework and if you were being honest, from anxiety too. your mom hadn’t texted or called. no contact worried you immensely.
turns out, your gut feeling had been right.
you don’t say anything, peering up at the agent with curious eyes as to what he’s doing here at this house.
“i’m so sorry,” he starts.
three words.
i’m so sorry.
something had happened.
“we did everything we could,” the rest of his words seem to go fuzzy. if he keeps talking, you don’t hear anything.
your mom was dead.
he didn’t even say it and you knew. her job had caught up to her.
he’s there when your knees buckle, arms wrapping around you to help you to the couch.
the tears come hot and fast, breathing becoming erratic as everything sets in. your mom was dead. she was gone and she wasn’t coming back.
she hadn’t even been able to say goodbye.
aaron rubs your back as you sob. he doesn’t try and assure you that it’ll be okay because you know for a fact it won’t. all you wanted was her.
you don’t know how long you cry. the only thing you remember is aaron forcing you to match his breathing to back you down from the panic attack you were already spiraling yourself into. time doesn’t seem to be real, but that’s how grief is.
the one thing you know for sure is that you’re grateful aaron’s the one with you. he’s stoic and is, was, close with your mom.
the second wave of panic hits hard: you’re alone. you have no parents and no one to care for you. you’re going to have to do it on your own.
you eventually run out of tears.
the numbness quickly replaces the weeping.
your mom was dead.
no matter how often that realization hits you, it feels like a fresh wound. you don’t know what happens, nor do you want to. all you can hope is that she went peacefully, that she wasn’t alone.
aaron stays the rest of the night and into the next day.
you barely sleep, a few hours at a time. each time you wake up, without fail, there’s the split second you forget what had happened before it all comes rushing back.
your mom was dead.
__
sergio gets rehomed quickly.
the cat had nudged his way into your room one afternoon. you were alone. parts of the house sat in boxes for your move. you hadn’t even dared to touch anything of your moms. the house was set to stay in your name as an inheritance. if you ever chose to return to d.c. it would serve as a place to stay.
he jumped on your bed, pawing his way up your duvet to meet where your face was pressed against the mattress, stiff with tears. he meows, seemingly sensing your mood.
and you freak.
you throw back the covers as you jump up.
“she’s dead, serg!” you scream, voice hoarse. “she’s fucking dead and she’s not coming back!”
sergio just sits, tilting his head.
you break.
looking at him reminds you of your mom. you picked him out, she chose the name. you couldn’t even look at him, let alone take care of him. it was just more pain.
penelope takes him in a heartbeat.
__
family friends in the midwest take you in.
it’s universal that staying in the city, in the home you shared, wouldn’t be good for you.
you leave almost immediately after your mom's funeral.
it’s a big gathering.
agents from the bureau and friends in the surrounding area are there. the entire team, too. you sit in the front row with j.j.
you don’t speak, you can’t.
staring at her coffin doesn’t seem real.
you’re the last one to place a rose on the casket before it's lowered down. tears flood your cheeks and you have to bite your lip to suppress your sob.
one kiss to the shiny wood and she’s gone.
the team each gives you a long hug. it’s a blur of ‘please reach out if you need anything’ and ‘you have our numbers’ but you appreciate it.
aaron is the one who drives you to the airport.
you hold his hand the entire way.
__
life moves on but you change.
it marks five months since you left d.c. and the grief of losing your mom never lets up.
you keep the note she wrote the day of her death with you everyday. you trace the ‘i love you’ she signed it with more times than you’d like to admit.
to put it simply, you lose yourself after her death.
everything that made you you seems to disappear. school becomes an afterthought. you pass your sophomore year, barely, but if you didn’t you wouldn’t even care. your voice goes too. staying quiet is easier, better. nothing even feels worth talking about anymore.
you’re grateful for the people who took you in and they do their best to help, but nothing replaces your mom. nothing will.
you get a call from a random number.
you decline it. you rarely pick up unknown numbers if ever. but when the number calls back two more times, you finally answer.
“hello?”
“is this y/n prentiss?”
you flinch at the last name but hum.
“this is erin strauss. i’m the bau section chief at quantico. i worked above your mother.”
erin strauss? you barely knew the woman, only hearing about her from your mom on the rare occasion she complained about her. why she was calling was beyond you.
she speaks before you can say anything. “while i know you’ve relocated, i do have a box of your mothers things here in washington if you are interested in coming to get them. i know this may seem like a postponed call but i’m sure you understand it’s a sensitive topic.”
she has no idea.
you didn’t know what she could have but you agree. you needed anything else you could get of your moms.
“i can talk to my foster parents and work something out.”
“great, i’ll see you soon.”
it takes you a few weeks after the initial call to make it back to washington d.c. emotions aside, you’re still a minor and flying alone needs additional paperwork. one of your family friends had offered to go with but you declined. you needed to do this on your own.
stepping off the plane, however, you seemingly regret that.
it’s been five months, nearly six, since the funeral. five months since you lost your mom. five months since you had spoken to and seen any of her team. five months since being home.
a car was arranged by your family friends to be waiting at the airport for you to drive to quantico. you ease back into driving in the city quickly, trying desperately to block out the visuals around you that pour memories in your mind.
it takes you nearly a half an hour to walk into quantico.
seeing the building reminds you of your mom, obviously. you know that she has a picture on the wall with the same inscription on her tombstone, you had seen ones of other agents when you visited her at work. one deep breath and a swipe of tears later and you’re heading in.
when you had informed strauss of your arrival date, she made sure things at security were set. clipping a visitors badge on your shirt feels strange, like you shouldn’t be allowed to be here.
strauss’ office is easy enough to find with the help of an agent.
she isn’t even in there, though the box, clearly labeled, sits on one of the chairs.
you hoist it in your arms, fully intent on leaving the bau though the remembrance of the portrait makes you pause.
you need to see it. even in picture form, you need to see her.
maybe saying hi to the team wouldn’t be a bad thing either.
you push through the glass doors to the bullpen, eyes darting around to take in the atmosphere you hadn’t seen in so long.
and then you see her.
she’s leaning against j.j.’s desk, laughing at something spencer said across from her. the team, aside from aaron, is out and mingling as well.
she’s alive.
your mom is alive.
she’s not just alive, but she's standing less than 30 feet away from you.
everything seems to stop. the box in your hands slips out of your grip, clattering to the floor with a loud thud. if there was anything in there that was breakable, you were sure it had shattered.
all eyes in the bullpen snap over to where the commotion is.
you meet your mom's eyes, unable to focus on anything else.
“y/n-” she breathes out, seemingly in equal awe at seeing you.
your mom was alive.
when she takes a tentative step towards you, you take one backwards.
the atmosphere of the bau becomes suffocating. the months you spent mourning your mom's death was for nothing. she was here in washington d.c. laughing with her coworkers and she hadn’t reached out to you at all.
everything is too much to process for you. none of it even makes sense.
you abandon the dropped box, turning on your heel and rushing out of the bullpen.
you take the stairs for the purpose of time. her voice calls your name behind you. in an effort to lose her, you weave your way between floors, taking different staircases until you’re back on the ground floor.
the fresh air outside doesn’t even help.
you avoid going back to your house. it was only yours because your mom left it in your name when she died. or well, faked her death.
instead, you find a hotel and check in. cash, of course. it would take penelope longer to track a paper trail than if you used your debit.
technically it’s illegal to book hotel rooms for minors but, like with your safety, you were raised as a profiler. lying your way into a room wasn’t hard and you had no shame in using bau relations for further convincing.
the second the door of your hotel room closes, you break.
betrayal takes over as the primary emotion. you buried her. she didn’t say goodbye and all this time you had thought it was because it was an urgent case. she planned to fake her death and let you mourn her.
the team didn’t even seem shocked by her return; the same ones who held you at her funeral and one of whom spent the entire night after delivering the news comforting you.
oh god, did aaron know?
your mom was alive and she hadn’t even thought of you.
__
you maximize your time at the hotel, choosing the latest possible check out time.
you head back home. that word leaves a sour taste in your mouth. it’s a 50/50 chance if your mom is there or not, but the realization hits that you’ll want, need, to see her.
the key to the home hasn’t changed. it still dangles from your keychain and fits perfectly when you slide it in to unlock the door.
your mom is sitting on the couch when you walk in. sergio purrs beside her, clearly ecstatic that his mom is back.
he jumps off the couch when he hears the door open, parading towards you with a meow. you, however, can only focus on her.
“y/n-” she starts again.
she lets you make the first move, eyes pooling with tears at the site of you.
your tears have long begun to stream down your cheeks. a sob falls from your mouth when you reach her, hands extending out to hold her face.
thumb rests on her pulsepoint on her neck. her heart is beating, steady. that feeling alone makes everything more real.
“how?” is the only question you can ask.
she holds your wrists.
“it doesn’t matter right now, i’ll explain later, okay? i promise,” your mom pleads. “i was waiting until things calmed down a bit before i reached out to you. i’m so so sorry.”
you press your foreheads together. you don’t want an apology.
“it’s okay mom. i’m just really glad you’re here.” and you mean it.
the two of you spend the greater part of the day crying and holding each other. when you’ve calmed down, you fill your mom in on everything that’s happened.
you go to bed that night with her tucking you in and kissing your forehead like she always used to do.
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cw: eating/food, she/her pronouns, steve is so in love, reader struggles making decisions, one slight nsfw comment
wc: 1.1k
༺♡༻
hawkins summers are brutal.
being a landlocked state meant no access to an ocean, otherwise known as the best place to cool off.
steve made sure the two of you avoided lover’s lake like the plague too.
it was crowded, murky, and filled with far too many people that steve would be okay with never seeing again.
you and steve find time together whenever you can. his pool is usually occupied by the party during the day and occasionally the night but with him working at family video and you at the record store, days are often spent dealing with nagging customers instead of each other.
steve calls you while you’re at work. you know he is too, probably bored out of his mind from organizing movies.
both you and him are very grateful neither of your bosses check the phone log. either of you would without a doubt be questioned on the multitudes of calls between family video and jason lee’s music store.
“hey,” he greets. “got any plans for tonight?”
you twirl the phone cord around your finger. “i was hoping my boyfriend was available to hang out but he hasn’t asked me. so i mean i guess i’m free.”
no matter the length you and steve have been dating, the shameless flirting and honeymoon stage hasn’t seemed to waver.
“well if he hasn’t asked you then i guess it’s my time to shine,” he started. “what time do you get off?”
“six ‘clock,” you answer.
“i’ll pick you up then.” he doesn’t explain your plans but you don’t mind. being with steve is enough.
“it’s a date,” you confirm.
you faintly hear the bell chime in the background on his end.
“alright i gotta get going, new wave of customers,” steve groans. “i’ll see you soon, though. i love you!”
you blush. “i love you too.”
___
you’re out the door at 6:01, the extra minute needed for clocking out and collecting your things.
just like he promised, steve is waiting in the parking lot. he’s out of the car, leaning against the hood with his arms crossed.
you falter for a moment at his appearance. he’s shed his family video vest, leaving him in just a white t-shirt with two stripes and jeans, specifically the ones that hug his thighs perfectly.
“hi baby,” steve greets. his arms circle around you, pulling you into him as he sighs. “feels like i haven’t seen you in forever.”
you giggle. “i saw you yesterday.”
he shakes his head. “too long.”
the convenience store is right down the road from where you work. steve holds your hand as you walk in, dragging you through the aisles until you get to the back as you laugh.
the slurpee machine is thankfully working though you were sure if it wasn’t, you would’ve heard about it. it once went down during memorial day weekend and every customer that came into your work complained about it. it was brutal.
steve leaves you in the back, letting you know he’s going to grab some other snacks and will be back in a few moments.
you look towards the slurpee machine, head tilting slightly as you watch the drink rotate throughout the barrel.
a hand snaking around your waist snaps you out of your trance.
“what flavor are you going to get, baby?”
he’s pressed so close to you, whispering the question like it’s the most important secret in the world. you know if you call him out on his special awareness, he’ll claim that ‘this is the one time it’s cool enough in public for me to hold you.’ you don’t mind. steve’s your boy, the closeness is nice.
“i dunno,” you mumble. small decisions like this stress you out.
his hand around you squeezes your hip. silent reassurance.
it takes a few moments for you to pick. both look good and you take your time clicking your tongue to imagine what flavor you taste.
“cherry,” you finally decide, pointing to the side with the red slush.
“good choice,” he compliments.
steve kisses your forehead before stepping forward. like the gentleman he is, he grabs two cups, larges, and fills them up; one cherry and one blue raspberry.
he pays too and you pout. “i wanted to treat you.”
“next time,” steve promises, pressing his lips quickly to yours.
you know he’s lying.
you settle back into the passenger's seat of his car. steve’s slurpee sits firmly in the cupholder. his hand falls down to your leg and you squirm when his cold fingers touch your thigh. steve finds it hilarious.
it takes you a bit to get to your destination. once arriving, steve parks at the edge of the quarry.
it’s cooled down significantly, allowing steve to shut of the car’s ac and roll the windows down. it’s still sticky out but the cold slurpee in your hand helps that.
tears for fears plays softly out of the bmw’s sound system. you know it’s from the cassette you gifted him. perks of working at a record store.
you talk quietly back and forth about wherever comes to mind: your work schedule, the stars, plans for the weekend. but then you go quiet.
“hey stevie?”
“yeah baby?”
when you don’t immediately respond, steve’s head lolls to meet your eyes.
you’re curled up in the passenger's seat, legs tucked to your chest and head resting against the cool leather. you’re staring at him. he’s surprised he hasn’t felt your gaze until this point. but that’s how things typically are between the two of you; silence is never uncomfortable.
steve rests his hand on your naked knee, thumb rubbing back and forth. “everything okay?”
you nod, biting your lip to suppress a giggle.
“can we trade?” you smile and for a second steve thinks you don’t realize what you’re doing.
he sighs, though a smile tugs at the edges of his lips.
“of course, baby.”
you grin as he hands his blue raspberry slurpee and he takes your cherry one. success.
“you know, if you weren’t so cute i wouldn’t have traded,” steve huffs.
he’ll never admit it, or maybe not anytime in the future, but he makes it a point to order the opposite of what you get.
if you’re out to eat and decide on a salad, steve will get a burger with extra fries. you pick chocolate ice cream and steve is ordering vanilla (with sprinkles). whatever you decide, even if steve doesn’t want it, he gets the contrast.
so, when you inevitably ask to switch, your other option is always your favorite.
like now, when blue raspberry seems like the better flavor over cherry.
“come on stevie. you should know that my favorite color is purple,” you titter, poking your tongue out to show the result of mixing the two slurpees.
derek doubts your ability on the team. his words hurt more than normal.
cw: case mentions, slight enemies to lovers, derek is kinda an asshole, quiet!reader, reader knows sign language, first kiss, she/her pronouns, bau reader, objectification of women, hotch defender
wc: 2.6k
༺♡༻
you’re quiet, you always have been.
growing up, you sat on your hands, often not making a sound.
it became routine, a habit. speaking became a bother.
you learned to sign from an early age. although most didn’t know the language, it was comforting to have a second form of communication.
when drafted into the bau, your quietness was never a problem; marked on your file actually. it proved to be an asset at times. you see people differently and when a case involves someone who struggles communicating, your skill set helps out.
the team is sent for a case in san jose.
you hate referring to it as standard but that's what it was, four women murdered with the same m.o.
once boarding the plane, you slide into a window seat in the group of four. derek clambers in after you. when hotch assigns you and spencer to victimology and the geographical profile, he bumps your arm.
“was hoping i would get victimology with you for once instead of pretty boy.”
you blush. the comment is flirty enough to speed up your heart rate.
as much as you want to work with derek, you like working with spencer. the two of you work well together and he knows how to sign. makes it a lot easier than writing information down to convey to the others.
though the case is standard, it takes three days to get a lead.
no one takes a break. between another body being found in that time and a restless community, there isn’t time. victimology is tough too. the women are all different, no jobs, friends, or hobbies to connect them.
to combat the long hours, derek brings you and spencer coffee, his warm and yours iced. spencer grumbles about having to add cream and sugar to it but yours is perfect, your exact order. it’s a small gesture but it sends your heart fluttering. but, you know not to overthink it. if anyone asked, you could recite the team's coffee orders off the top of your head; except for hotch who, in secret, prefers matcha.
you choose to stay at the precinct when garcia gives off the name and address of the suspect; arthur miller. raids aren't your strong suit. each member of the team looks at you as they leave to which you nod. a silent be safe.
miller fights the entire way to the interrogation room. derek’s grip on his arms are strong but even he struggles a bit with the thrashing. you don’t blame miller. as of right now, he’s innocent. if you were brought in, you would be kicking too.
once the team regroups, the objective is clear; get a confession or frankly, anything that’ll help the case.
“y/n, get ready. you’re interviewing.”
hotch’s orders are stern.
derek scoffed. “hotch, come on man. we have a missing woman and he is the only suspect we have. you want to send her? she never talks.”
your head drops. it’s not an unusual reaction but his words sting; you’re used to side comments from police officers or families from cases, not a close friend.
“morgan,” hotch warns.
“no no. we have five dead women and who knows if there are any others. and you want to send in the girl who can barely even operate verbally on this team. are you not seeing how she could screw this up?”
it’s silent.
your heart splits out of pure betrayal and dejection. you weren’t exactly open with the team about why you’re so quiet, but you didn’t think anyone on the team thought of you this way, let alone derek.
hotch turns to you with a nod. permission to proceed. you stand up with your head bowed.
you like derek, more than you probably should. it's childish, delusional, to think he would ever like you back. but his words don’t just sting, they burn. barely even operate, screw this up. you bite your lip in an attempt to try to not to let it show how this is impacting you.
derek shakes his head and turns around, mumbling something about it being the wrong decision. you have no choice but to ignore it, grabbing your cosmetics bag and heading into the precinct bathroom to get ready.
eyes fall to you as you stepped out of the bathroom. this is the biggest interview of your career yet, and you needed to dress the part.
you kept your dress pants on, though you shed your top layer besides a tank top, pulling it down just enough to be considered scandalous. with makeup and hair dolled up, you grabbed the file from hotch and stopped.
“are you ready for this?” his questioned stems from protectiveness.
you nod. “i am.”
with the case file in hand, you head towards the interrogation room. you look nervous, like you don’t know if there's a hungry lion or bouquet of flowers on the other side.
but the second the door clicked shut, your demeanor changed.
“well hello pretty lady,” arthur greets almost immediately.
to the teams surprise, you giggle. “pretty?”
“very.”
a smile remains on your face as you sit down, case file placed on the table.
“now i have to ask, what’s a pretty lady like you doing with the fbi?” he muses.
you shrug, hand moving up to twirl a strand of hair. “i dunno,” you start. your tone is sweet, almost sickeningly. “my daddy wanted me to make something of myself. thought crime might be fun. i was actually excited to be asked to talk to you.”
this catches arthur’s attention.
“you interested in murder, little lady?”
you nod, pulling in your bottom lip as you lean forward. his eyes fall to your chest. it’s gross and subjective but expected.
“i asked my boss to let me talk to you,” you reveal. “i couldn’t help it. they all left for the day so i’m working off the clock for this.”
“off the clock?” arthur clicked his tongue twice. “eager girl.”
“yup,” you beam, popping the last letter. “i asked if i could film it but they said no. have to pay to record after hours i think.”
“i guess i’ll just have to make this moment last.”
you met his eyes, though not for too long to keep up your act.
“tell me about this?” you beg after opening the file, a pout passing your lips. “it’s so cool.”
arthur grins and at that moment, you know you have him right where you need him.
“well,” he starts, using two fingers to slide one of the pictures out. “that was lacy walker. ooh ooh ooh, she was sweet. screamed too. all the best ones scream.”
“these are all of your kills?” you hope your astonishment sounds genuine.
arthur grins. “only the public ones.”
only the public ones.
there’s more.
there’s more killings no one even knows about.
your head is spinning. you don’t even want to think about the reaction of the others behind the one-way glass. while you wanted to coerce more information out of him about it, you knew you would be pushing your luck.
instead, you roll your eyes and scoff. facade aside, you can’t help it.
“you know i thought criminals like you were smart.”
arthur freezes. “what?”
“i mean come on. are you really dumb enough to think that all of this isn’t being recorded?” the question hangs in the air. “because you just confessed to a hell of a lot of murders.”
he jumps up, realizing what he’s done. at the same time, you do too, slamming your hands on your desk. you stand taller, height not restricted by handcuffs connected to the table.
“that’s honestly just embarrassing,” you titter.
arthur yells the entire time it takes you to gather the file and walk ouit of the room, but it doesn’t impact you. you got a confession and you got it quick. someone else can deal with interrogating him on his other victims.
you don’t stop to talk to the team, though their faces show a range of emotions: proud, impressed, and a slight bit of panic, no doubt from the information you got out of arthur. after grabbing your cosmetics bag, you head to the bathroom. all of the team, besides one, has turned away at this point. you don’t even have to guess as to who keeps their gaze on you.
hotch sends everyone to the hotel to get some rest. interrogations on arthur’s other murders would wait until the following day.
no one was going to argue with that.
derek made his way to your hotel room that night. he mind was swirling with what he said to you earlier and especially after a not-so-nice talking to from emily, he needed to apologize.
you heard the knock on your door after you slipped a t-shirt on post shower. it was late and you were sure most of the team was asleep.
after checking the peephole, you hook a deep breath and opened the door.
“y/n,” derek greets.
it’s weird for him to be here, especially at this hour and especially after what went down earlier in the day.
“can i come in?”
you nod, opening the door a little wider for him to step in.
your eyes look at him quizzingly and derek swears he melts. if his guilt hadn’t reached the surface, it did now. eyes were always a weakness. when you didn’t talk, your eyes showed how you were feeling and right now, they’re filled with sadness.
“i wanted to apologize for what i said today,” he starts. “it was out of line. i shouldn’t have questioned your ability. I'm sorry.”
short and simple.
you stay quiet.
as much as you want to forgive him, tell him “it’s okay,” a simple ‘i’m sorry’ doesn’t fix things.
derek continues. “you deserve to be on this team, i shouldn’t have questioned that. i’m sorry, i really am. i like you,” you swear your heart stops. “i like working with you. i just hope you understand where i was coming from.”
that last part erases all prior apologies. seconds ago you would have placed money that there was an underlying confession in there. you would have gone to bed blushing and giggling over the possibility of requited feelings. how could you have understood where he was coming from?
your eyes narrowed, lips pressing into a thin line.
you rack your mind for something to say. you need him to know how he hurt you, but yelling isn’t something you do, especially at someone like derek.
the silence becomes unbearable even for him.
“god for once in your life can you please say something?” derek looks to the ceiling. “i’m trying to do the right thing here.”
each word stings more than the last.
he didn’t want to apologize for the things he said, but rather he felt like he had to.
“goodnight derek,” you whisper. anger bubbles but you don’t - can’t - lash out.
derek looks to you defeated. you know that’s not the response he was expecting.
the door closing after him rings in his ears even as he falls asleep.
____
hotch and rossi lead the interrogations the next day.
they’re the opposite of what you gave arthur. they’re strict and stern and get the information they need by early evening.
but it’s too late to fly home to washington.
when he makes the announcement that you would be staying in san jose until the following morning, spencer is nodding off on your shoulder and j.j. is slumped in a chair in the corner. everyone needs sleep.
you trudge into your hotel room, following the same routine as the prior night. a shower feels wonderful on your tired body.
ignoring derek isn’t ideal, but it’s necessary. it’s painful and hurts more every time you remember how much you like him. when spencer goes quiet, derek seems to understand, never pushing him to speak when he doesn’t want to. but for you, it’s different. why is it different?
that question racks your brain as you get dressed.
before you can crawl in bed, there’s another knock. this time you don’t even have to guess who it is.
“we need to talk,” derek pushes out.
everything inside of you is telling you not to open the door further, not to let him in. He didn’t even greet you this time. but you do, derek walking inside, though not moving past the space after the door.
“i know i apologized last night,” he cringes at his words. “well, attempted to apologize. i don’t have any excuses, really. the things about liking you and working with you, those we’re all true, i promise. i let my emotions get the best of me and i took it out on you. i know it doesn’t justify any of this but i wanted to apologize again.”
his apology is nice, it feels genuine but the question from earlier is eating you up and you can’t have it unanswered.
“why do you treat me differently than spencer?”
derek furrows his brow. “different?”
“every time he doesn’t talk, you don’t seem bothered. but when it’s me, it’s like my silence is the greatest inconvenience in the world to you.”
“oh.”
you suddenly feel small, like every instance you’ve picked up on never even happened.
it’s easier to drop your head, tap your fingers consistently on your palm and go quiet. always go quiet.
but derek doesn’t let you. his finger hooks under your chin to pull your face up to his.
“hey hey, don’t hide from me now.”
“i’m sorry,” you squeak.
“no need to apologize.”
his gaze is intimidating. you feel like he’s profiling you, the rule the team put in place seemingly not existing.
“i treat you differently because you’re you. i promise it’s not a bother, i just really really like your voice.”
your mouth parts. you don’t miss the flicker of derek’s eyes down to them. you know your expression is probably embarrassing right now, how in love you look. but you’re past embarrassment and you take your chances.
your kiss is soft and gentle, short and sweet.
derek isn’t expecting it. he thought you would’ve been a lot more upset, not using his mistakes as a reveal of your feelings. but in no matter does he mind. if he’s being honest, he’s waited for this moment for a while.
you pull away first, mouth opening to utter an apology but derek beats you to it, meeting your lips in a bruising kiss.
neither of you know if this would be your only kiss and it’s clear in the way he holds you.
you don’t part the entire way derek nudges you towards the bed. you fall first, him crawling on top. you pull back first. your breaths are heavy and your eyes never leave derek’s.
it’s expected that he would say something first, though you weren’t sure what he would say. are your feelings really the same? are you even allowed to date within the team?
but derek doesn’t verbalize any of that. his thumb moves to the space between your eyebrows, rubbing just slightly back and forth to ease the crinkle you developed from your overthinking. oh.
you know he still feels bad about his earlier words. but he kisses the tip of your nose before ducking down to your jawline, trailing kisses there.
“i’m sorry, i’m sorry, i’m sorry,” each apology is met with a kiss to your neck, almost as if he’s pressing his words into your skin.
and to his surprise, you giggle.
“stop apologizing.”
derek pulls back, eyes meeting yours.
your cheeks are rosy, lips plump from kissing. one hand rests on the spot beside your head, using it to hold himself up. derek’s other hand, previously on your hip, moves to cup your cheek.
“i think that might just be the most beautiful sound i’ve ever heard.”
DUDE i’ve also loved your writing and the characters you create but this and the hotch/teen thing i SWEAR you are writing me. i am an iced coffee bitch and love using asl this is crazy
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aaron hotchner x teen!reader, bau team x teen!reader
5 times the team hears about you and the 1 time they actually meet you
cw: fem reader, set over the span of three years, case mentions, broken family unit, hotchner trio, hotch is a swiftie, also refers to his daughter as ‘sweet pea’, team is nosy, eating/food, forehead kisses run the hotchner home
wc: 3.4k
༺♡༻
1. inception
child cases are always rough.
they’re not only extremely sensitive, but they hit emotionally for everyone involved.
it’s a small town and yet no strong leads. there’s no reason for the case to be as difficult as it is, but every case the team looks into is different.
local p.d. bring in a woman named chancy solace. she was the last one to see the missing boy alive and no one wants to wait around for another death to happen to look for evidence.
hotch was set to do the interview.
he asked basic questions about the missing boy, keeping his voice calm as she recounted her day through tears. they all knew she was innocent, no doubts about it. he was set to finish up after a few moments. it was clear she didn’t know much.
as he went to stand, however, solace had stopped him.
“do you have children, agent hotchner?” her voice was broken.
hotch nods. “i do.”
“how old?”
“my son is 3 and my daughter is 13.”
the air outside the room went stale. everyone on the team knew jack. some had even met him within his first few weeks of life. he was three, that was a fact - but a daughter? not once had hotch mentioned one, let alone one with such a large age gap. jack never rattled about a big sister either.
solace frowned, more tears welling up in the corners of her eyes. “then you must understand the guilt i’m feeling right now. can you imagine if you were the last one to see your daughter before she disappeared? how can i possibly have it in me to be a part of this?”
hotch doesn’t want to think about the question she posed, not at all.
“we’re going to find him. it’s going to be alright,” it was a promise, one hotch intended not to break.
he left the room after that. their only known witness wasn’t much help for the case and there was no point in wasting time.
rossi stops hotch before he can walk away.
“why’d you lie?”
there’s no question on what rossi is asking about. it’s profiling 101 that lying to a suspect, no matter innocent or not, could be dangerous.
hotch glanced at his team.
“i didn’t.”
2. first encounter
you’ve had a really, really, really bad day.
from the second you woke up, everything seemed to go wrong. school wasn’t any better and by the end of the day, the only thing you wanted to do was see your dad. he’s your favorite person and a hug from him always reassures you that things will be okay.
you text him before your last class of the day to ask when he’ll be home. if it’s even possible, a deeper frown appears on his face when he tells you no later than six.
part of you wants to be happy from that response. no later than six means there’s no cases and he’s on top of his files. but after the day you had, you just need someone and waiting nearly four hours for him to get home is less than ideal.
can i come to the bau?
your text is a shot in the dark. your dad keeps you out of his profession and you’ve never stepped foot in quantico. you just hope he gets some sort of semblance for what's going on if you're asking to come see him.
he responds back seconds later. ‘i’ll send an agent.’
it’s not that he doesn’t trust you to get there on your own, there’s even a direct line from the train station closest to your school, but you're still young, only 14, and you know he would feel more comfortable having an agent pick you up.
the next time you check your phone, your dad has sent a message with the name of the agent and instructions on how to prove that it’s him. it’s not him being overprotective, it’s him wanting you to be safe.
agent anderson is easy enough to spot. you run through the procedures your dad wanted and once you know it’s the right person, you get in the car.
he doesn’t say anything when you shove your earbuds in your ears and shuffle your playlist and you’re thankful for that. you’re especially grateful that he doesn’t ask questions when you bite your lip and swipe away stray tears that have fallen down your face.
music is an outlet for you, an escape, and right now that’s all you wanted to do.
earbuds remain in your ears as you step into the bau building. anderson leads you through security and gets you a visitors badge. you very faintly hear any of his verbal instructions.
he leaves you once you reach the right floor, pointing through the glass doors to show you where to go. with a smile, he’s gone.
you weigh your options for a moment before walking in. you told your dad you're here but you don’t know where his office is. and right now, you really do not want to deal with anyone else. but with a deep breath, you decide to take your chances and head in.
a child walking into the bau is an automatic red flag, let alone one with puffy eyes and red cheeks, a clear sign of crying.
morgan and j.j. are the first two to stand up, wasting no time in circling their desks to walk to where you stand at the bullpen entrance; j.j.’s mouth already open with an “are you alright?” on the tip of her tongue.
but before they reach you, and before j.j. can speak, hotch is out of his office and moving down the stairs.
he steps in front of them when he faces you, thus shielding you from the prying eyes of the team. you look up at your dad, eyes full of a new wave of tears.
hotch doesn’t hug you then, though he desperately wants to, nor does he explain who you are to the team. instead, he places a strong hand on your shoulder, turning you slightly before guiding you up to his office. the door is shut and the blinds are closed. the two of you are cut off from the others and all of them know not to intrude.
“who was that?” rossi questioned after stepping onto the catwalk. the commotion was noticeable.
“i think we just met y/n.”
3. phone call
on flights home from cases, what the team does onboard genuinely varies with what time of day it is.
during early morning and late night flights, you can find most of the team asleep, trying to make up for the rest lost in the past few days. anything between that is typically a more active time.
hotch is dealt into a game of poker with the entire team. rossi acts as the dealer claiming he’s “not in the mood to get outsmarted at his favorite game.”
the entire group is laughing and chatting among themselves as they play. there’s no reason not to, it was a successful case - worth the positive mood on the jet.
hotch’s phone ringing cuts through emily’s turn.
he holds his hands up in defense and mumbles a quiet apology.
“hi sweet pea,” hotch barely has time to greet you before he gets cut off with your frantic “did you listen?”
his laugh causes the others to bring their heads up from their cards. a hotch laugh is uncommon, rare.
“i did. we finished up here last night so i listened before i went to bed and finished when i woke up,” he answers your question.
he waits for your response, already knowing that you want to know his thoughts on the album.
“well,” hotch pauses. “if i’m being honest, i liked it more than fearless.”
j.j. and emily are the only two who have any idea what he’s talking about. a record could be set for how fast their eyes snap to each other once it clicks.
hotch is quiet for a few moments. though no one can make out exactly what you’re saying on the other end, they can hear your muffled rambling.
“yeah yeah, i liked that one too,” hotch agrees. “i think my top two are dear john and haunted, though. her songwriting is incredible in those.”
whatever he means clearly pleases you judging by the content look on his face.
“alright i have to get going,” he starts. “but i have the vinyl reserved at the record store. we can go when i get back? should be home by two.”
you agree without hesitation, several “thank you’s” being repeated. hotch won’t admit it ever to anyone besides you, but he’s excited to hear it on vinyl too. it’s kinda your shared thing.
“i’ll see you when i get home, okay? i love you.”
he hangs up after goodbyes, placing his phone back onto the table before picking up his cards. the silence lingers in the air even after he makes the motion that he’s ready to continue. “what?”
“you listen to taylor swift?”
hotch smiles, a genuine one. “my daughter loves her. have to keep up somehow.”
4. vacation
when hotch doesn’t show up to work for a week, it takes only the first day for the team to panic. it had been a little over a year and a half since foyet had stabbed hotch and hotch had gone missing. no one was going to take chances when their boss, who typically had perfect attendance, showed up without notice.
rossi and morgan went to strauss at the end of the day.
their interrogation on hotch’s whereabouts is in good faith, but it doesn’t take a profiler to notice strauss’ sigh at their concerns.
“agent hotchner is on vacation,” she starts. “he should be back next week. until then, i am under orders to not assign a new case unless necessary.”
the agents turn to each other in confusion as they leave. “a vacation? come on rossi, when in all the years of knowing him has hotch ever willingly gone on vacation.”
the older man shrugs. “i don’t know. maybe this’ll be good for him.”
there’s no arguing with that.
when hotch returns the following monday, no one hesitates to notice the change in his physical appearance.
his skin is tanned and he has a slight tinge of sunburn on his nose and cheekbones; a clear sign he went somewhere warm.
“hotch!” emily catches him before he can retreat to his office.
all eyes are on him and he knows it.
“where were you?” she inquired.
hotch sighs. “greece.”
this catches the attention of the other team members in the bullpen. rossi seems to have found an empty chair at j.j.’s desk. even garcia had chosen this exact moment to get a new cup of coffee.
“greece?” emily stutters. “like the european country?”
hotch nods. “that’s the one.”
morgan whistles. vacations in the bau are fairly uncommon. the looming threat of being called back for a case stops most from planning. even if the timing does work out, no one goes far; let alone out of the country.
“and you just decided to go there for a casual vacation,” j.j.’s tone isn’t condescending, but rather showing genuine curiosity.
“it’s y/n’s birthday in a few months and she’s always wanted to go,” hotch explains like it’s the most casual thing in the world. “jack’s still a little too young so he stayed with jessica.”
he doesn’t mingle around after that, choosing to head up to his office to get set up after his week away.
“huh,” garcia murmurs. “didn’t take him for a greek island guy.”
“guess that shows just how much he’s wrapped around y/n’s finger.”
5. baked goods
you don’t have school today.
despite that, you still get up early to have breakfast with your brother and dad. once jack is picked up by the bus for school, your dad gets ready for work.
you stay in the kitchen, however, moving the cookies you made last night from one container to the other.
when your dad reappears, you wait for his hands to be empty before posing your question.
“is there any way you can give these to agent rossi?” you practically shove the container into your dad’s hand.
aaron raises an eyebrow. “rossi?”
“you mentioned he was italian,” you wait for a nod of confirmation. “these are canestrelli, they’re an italian cookie. i wanted to know if you could give these to him for a taste test.”
he smiles. “trying to expand your baking horizons?”
you match his expression. “exactly.”
with a kiss to your forehead, your dad is out the door and off to work.
“delivery,” hotch’s tone is steady as he knocks on rossi’s office door.
“from who?”
“y/n,” hotch answers as he sets the container down. “she tried to make canestrelli and wanted your opinion. i’m just the messenger.”
rossi takes the container from hotch. he opens it up before plucking a cookie out and examining it. “looks authentic.”
if he’s being honest, even if the cookie isn’t good, he’ll still love it.
but it isn’t.
of course it isn’t.
rossi takes one bite and his eyes widen.
“i haven’t had canestrelli this good since the last time i went to italy. tell her she should be very proud and i will be happy to pay for more.”
hotch can’t hide his proud expression. “i will.”
+1 first meeting
you always wait for your dad to get home from work. it’s routine.
plus, you made a promise to jack when you put him to bed that you would send your dad upstairs when he got home.
you bake in the meantime. it’s something to pass the time and you figure having something fresh to eat would be a nice surprise for your dad.
music plays from the record you have spinning. you keep it quiet as to not wake jack up upstairs. he’s not a light sleeper, but you don’t want to disturb his rest.
the side door opens as you're mixing the flour to the batter. tonight’s bake is gingerbread. easy enough to make.
it surprises you when your dad doesn’t call out a hello. he’s come home this late before when you’re still up and he always makes it a point to greet you. plus, you have music playing. there’s no doubt he can’t hear that.
“dad?” your voice is quiet.
you peer around the corner, stepping out a bit further when you see him, though you freeze when you notice the other people following him.
“hi sweet pea,” his voice is tired, you can tell. you close your eyes when he hugs you and kisses your forehead. if his team is here you know it’s not good.
“what’s going on?”
he turns to you. “i can explain in a few minutes. are you okay for introductions?” his voice lowers for the last part, not wanting the team to hear if you say no.
you nod, though anxiety bubbles at the pit of your stomach at the deflection of the question.
“everyone, this is y/n, my daughter,” your dad starts. unsure what to do, you wave slightly. “y/n, this is my team, that’s dave, derek, emily, spencer, j.j., and penelope.” he points to each of the people as he rattles his name off.
while your dad kept you out of his work, you did faintly know each member of the team. he talked about them in passing and jack rambled often about something “uncle dave” or “uncle derek” did.
“why are they here?” you hope your question doesn’t come off as rude.
your dad squeezes your arm. “can you go back in the kitchen for a few? i’m going to get these guys set up and then i can explain. is jack asleep?”
you nod. “i put him to bed a few hours ago. he was asking for you.”
“thank you,” he starts. “i’ll go see him in a bit.”
the conversation is over. you feel awkward standing in the foyer where you’re clearly the center of attention. you turn and walk into the kitchen. finishing your baking seems like a good idea.
aaron enters the kitchen as you’re pouring the batter into the pans. the music is off by now, though the record stays on the turntable. he waits for you to put the pan in the oven and face him before explaining.
“there’s a mole in the bau. we’re trying to figure it out but we obviously can’t work there. i volunteered our house. we would’ve gone to dave’s but he’s having work done.” you know he’s giving you the most minimal answer possible.
“oh,” you’re honestly not quite sure what else to say.
he continues. “we’re hoping to have it cleared up soon but we don’t have a lot of our normal equipment. i wasn’t expecting you to be up for all this. couldn’t sleep?”
“was waiting for you to get home,” you shrugged. “you know i always do.”
“yeah i know. i should’ve called.”
you turn to him. “It’s alright. i’m just going to clean up while i wait for the gingerbread to be done and then i’ll go to bed.”
your dad nods. “let me know when you do.” he disappears out of the kitchen after that.
cleaning up doesn’t take long and you’re still elbows deep in soapy water when the oven beeps. you take it out of the pan and set it on a cooling rack before gathering your stuff. you’re honestly exhausted.
going into the living room takes a moment of mental courage. you know everyone is in there and you don’t want to interrupt them. but, you’ve missed your dad and you want him to say goodnight.
“um, i’m going to head up to bed,” your voice echoes through the room. it was fairly quiet before and you feel embarrassed for interrupting that. the first part is directed at your dad. you turn to the rest of the team. “i made fresh gingerbread if anyone wants any. it’s on the counter, help yourself. i also put on a fresh pot of coffee and that should be ready soon.”
aaron’s heart is so full that he almost forgets the case at hand.
“i’ll be up in a minute,” aaron voices.
you hum, nodding to the team as a non-verbal goodnight.
he dishes out individual assignments within the team. they’ll work as a group to start before taking shifts so others can rest.
jack’s room is his first stop. he doesn’t wake the boy, choosing to instead kiss his forehead before picking up his stuffed dinosaur, a gift, and placing it back on the bed.
you’re just getting under the covers when your dad knocks.
“come in!”
your dad steps inside, shutting the door slightly.
“hi,” you smile.
“hi,” he echoes. “good day?”
you shrug. “yeah, i guess so. i got jack from school and we spent the afternoon together. missed you though.”
aaron frowns. “i’m sorry sweet pea. didn’t think this was going to happen. none of us did.”
“i know you didn’t. i’m not mad.”
you want to continue your statement and wash away any guilt you know he’s feeling. but, your body betrays you and a yawn cuts you off.
“alright, time for bed,” his words make you feel like a child but you know he’s right.
he tucks you in and like with jack, he kisses your forehead.
“goodnight dad, i love you.”
“i love you too.”
his demeanor changes when he goes downstairs and sits with the team. he’s serious, ready to work. right now this case is his priority. he, like others, wants to wrap it up quickly and efficiently.
emily nudges him when he sits down beside her. spencer and derek’s banter about the case is long drowned out.
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