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Summary Aaron stays home to take care of you , after realizing you’ve waking up with full blown migraine , he’s pretty much your doctor for the day .
Pairing Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader , angst , being in pain mention, Reid & Garcia to the rescue , Garcia being her delight funny self , Hotch making up for loss time with you , Haley is mentioned by you comfort , hotch cuddles you, reader in her early 20s in Hotch in his mid 30s WC : 2.3K |
Author notes : not me google if hot stones for therapeutic massage therapy purposes only , works for migraines , and where to get them if needed … Reid to the rescue well Garcia to the rescue .. 🫣🫣… not fully proof read … wish I can make my words at the top colorful .. you guys make yours look neat in I love it … let’s just say I got over a migraine in coulda in wished Aaron was around to help 😭
You wake up with a full-blown migraine—your neck aching, the pressure in your skull so intense it made your stomach twist. You didn’t even have to say a word. When you rolled toward Aaron, you let out that tiny, miserable little noise… the one he knew instantly. The one that meant you were in real pain.
Aaron wasn’t completely sure what was going on, but he had a good idea. And the moment he realized how bad it was, he moved. It was 7:35 am in the morning
He slipped out of bed quietly, making sure not to disturb you. He pulled the curtains tighter, darkening the room until it was soft and safe. Then he adjusted the thermostat lower—cool enough that you wouldn’t feel the heat pounding behind your eyes.
After that, he grabbed his phone.
He did research first, scrolling through reputable medical pages the way only Aaron Hotchner would—methodical, focused, determined to help you. But then he went a step further.
He called Reid.
Because if anyone understood migraines, it was Spencer. And Aaron trusted him with anything involving you.
“Reid, she’s hurting. Bad. What do you do when yours get this severe?”
His voice was quiet, clipped with worry—Hotch-worry, that barely contained tension that only shows when it’s about someone he loves.
“I hear massage therapy works wonders,” Reid says after a moment. Hotch can practically see him adjusting his hand in his pocket through the phone. “And—uh—hot stones. Those help too.”
“…Excuse me?” Aaron asks, because hot stones are not something he expected to come up in this conversation.
“Trust me,” Reid adds quickly. “Place the hot stones on her neck and then down the line of her spine. It relaxes the muscles enough to ease some of the pressure.”
Hotch exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “Right. Anything else?”
“Oh, yeah—she needs electrolytes.” His tone shifts into that gentle, clinical cadence he uses when he’s trying to be helpful. “Try getting her to drink Gatorade. But only the blue twist kind, she won’t drink anything else.”
Aaron huffs the smallest breath through his nose—something close to a soft, fond laugh. “You noticed that too , huh ?”
“Of course,” Reid says. “Also give her strong Tylenol. Dim the lights—or no lights at all, if she prefers. Let her sleep once the medication starts working.”
There’s a pause, and then Reid adds, almost shyly, “Maybe put some lavender nearby. It can help calm her nervous system. Just… make the environment feel safe.”
Aaron nods even though Reid can’t see him. “Got it.”
He ends the call and stands there for a moment, hand still holding the phone, eyes drifting toward the dark bedroom where you’re curled up and hurting. Then he squares his shoulders.
Your pain is something he can’t fight directly—but he’ll do everything he can to make it easier.
Reid hangs up with Hotch and immediately turns toward Garcia’s office. He steps inside, fingers tapping restlessly against his thigh as he says—
“Garcia, I need you to run a search.”
She spins in her chair, eyebrows lifting. “For what, my star-eyed genius?”
“How to get hot stones. For therapeutic reasons,” he says in one long breath.
Garcia just stares at him. “Hot stones? Spencer, are you—are you starting a spa? Should I be concerned?”
He exhales sharply, already flustered. “Just do it. It’s for Hotch.”
Her eyes go wide. “Hotch? Boss man Hotch? Are we massaging Hotch??”
“No,” Reid groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “She has a migraine. A bad one. I suggested he use hot stones but he’s not going to want to take her to a massage place right now.”
Garcia’s confusion melts instantly into concern. “Oh sweetheart…” She’s already typing, acrylic nails clacking like tiny weapons. “Okay, okay—on it.”
A few seconds later, her screen flashes. “Found a place. Twenty-four-hour therapeutic supply shop. Closest one to Hotch’s route home. I’ll text you the address.”
Reid lets out a tight breath. “Thanks, Garcia.”
She softens. “Tell him she’s gonna be okay. And tell him to call if he needs anything.”
Reid nods and heads out , already dialing Hotch back with the information.
Reid catches Hotch on the second ring.
“Hotch—it’s Reid. I found a place. Garcia located a twenty-four-hour therapeutic supply store. I’m already on my way.”
Hotch pauses. “Reid, you don’t have to—”
“I’m already in the car,” Reid interrupts, voice firm in that rare way he gets when he’s decided something. “You shouldn’t leave her alone, not when she’s in that much pain. I can be there in less than twenty minutes with everything she needs.”
Hotch exhales, the tension in his shoulders loosening just a fraction. “Thank you, Reid .
“No problem.” Reid shifts gears—Hotch can hear the turn signal click softly through the phone. “I’ll get the stones, the heating wraps, electrolyte drinks… all the things I know she actually tolerates. I’ll bring lavender oil too—the one without the synthetic additives. She reacts better to the natural one.”
Hotch is silent for a second, struck by the precision, the care. “Reid—really. Thank you.”
“That’s what family does,” Reid says quietly. “I’ll be there soon.”
Hotch ends the call, staring at the bedroom doorway where you’re curled under the blankets, trembling at each throb behind your eyes.
Reid moves through the therapeutic shop with laser focus—hot stones, heating wraps, electrolyte drinks, the specific lavender oil that won’t overwhelm your senses. He double-checks each item twice before placing it in the basket.
At the counter, he sets everything down carefully.
The clerk rings it all up. It’s… not cheap.
Reid doesn’t even blink, at this point he doesn’t care how much it is , it’s for you .
He pulls out his wallet and pays for the full total without hesitation. Because this isn’t optional. This is you, and Hotch asked, and that’s enough.
Once the bags are in his hands, he steps outside into the cool early morning the air is crisp —and that’s when he remembers something important.
She hasn’t eaten.
He stops, looks at the supplies and then puts it in the passenger seat, and then nods to himself before getting to the car in starting the engine again.
Two minutes later, he’s pulling into the parking lot of your favorite little bagel shop. He walks in, still holding his phone like he’s expecting Hotch to call again at any moment.
“Two everything bagels,” he orders, “lightly toasted, small amount of cream cheese on the side.”
The lady handed him the bag of bagels . Reid studies it with a quiet, resigned expression.
“…Not my thing,” he murmurs to the lady , adjusting his grip on the handle of his bag . “But she’ll enjoy it.” The lady smiles .
He opens the passenger side door places the bag gently next to the therapeutic supplies—like it belongs with them—and then he gets back in the car and buckles himself in, and starts the car back up .
Reid pulls into Hotch’s apartment complex, grabs every bag—stones, wraps, lavender, Gatorade, the bagels—and heads inside. The elevator hums softly as he rides up to Hotch’s floor, shifting the bags in his hands.
He finds the right door and knocks.
It opens almost instantly.
“Reid,” Hotch says, relief flickering through his normally steady voice.
“Everything she’ll need is in here,” Reid replies, stepping inside and setting the bags carefully on the table. “Stones, wraps, electrolytes… even food. Is she awake yet?”
Hotch shakes his head. “No. Not since earlier.”
But he doesn’t realize—
you are awake.
Barely.
You’re sitting up in the dark bedroom, elbows on your knees, hands pressed to your temples as if you could hold your skull together. The darkness feels thick. Your head is pounding so viciously it makes the room tilt.
Hotch steps away from Reid and moves quietly into the doorway.
“Hey,” he whispers, voice low and warm.
You look up at him—eyes squinting against even the faint hallway light—and your voice comes out raw, scraped, fragile.
“You… you shouldn’t be home.” You swallow. “The office needs you.”
Hotch moves closer, crouching beside the bed so he can see your face in the dim. His brows pull together—concern, frustration, tenderness all mixing into something that makes your chest tighten.
“The only place I need to be,” he says softly, “is right here.”
His hand reaches out, gentle, fingers brushing a strand of hair away from your forehead so carefully it almost makes you cry.
“You’re in pain,” he adds. “Nothing else matters.”
Your voice is barely above a whisper, low and rough.
“I can handle myself,” you breathe, even though you can hardly keep your hands steady.
Hotch’s jaw flexes, not in anger—just quiet worry. Before he can answer, another voice breaks the silence.
Reid steps into the doorway, arms full of supplies.
“You called Reid?” you say, folding your arms across your chest despite the way your shoulders tremble with the throbbing pain.
Hotch straightens a little, but Reid moves first. He sets the bag down on the dresser, sorting through everything like he’s preparing a medical kit.
“You need this,” Reid says gently as he brings you the medicine and the blue Gatorade he picked just for you.
You shake your head, frustration rising under the migraine haze.
“I said I can take care of myself.”
Reid freezes for half a second—not offended, just concerned.
Then he crouches down the way he does when he’s trying to make something less overwhelming.
“I know you can,” he says quietly, in that surprisingly soft tone he only uses when you’re hurting. “But you don’t have to right now.”
“You’re not alone,” Hotch adds softly. “Let us help.”
The room stays dim and quiet, like it’s holding its breath, waiting for you to let the walls down just an inch.
Reid moves gently, like he’s afraid of making the pain worse.
He twists open the Gatorade, pops the seal, then screws the lid back on loosely so you don’t have to fight with it. Then he presses the medicine into your hand.
You take it—unhappy, exhausted, but compliant.
At least he remembered blue twist.
That tiny detail makes something inside you unclench just a little.
You shake your head, eyes closing briefly against the throbbing behind your temples.
“Hotch… you don’t need to be here. Neither of you do.”
Reid’s eyes soften, flickering to Aaron, but you speak before he can say anything else.
“Reid… can I talk to Hotch alone?”
Reid nods instantly, stepping out of the room without hesitation, the door closing softly behind him.
Hotch steps closer to you, but not too close—just enough to be present.
“Tell me something,” you whisper, even though talking feels like needles in the side of your skull.
“You shouldn’t be sitting up,” he murmurs, voice steady, low, careful. “You need to rest.”
But you push through the ache.
“Tell me this,” you repeat, throat tight. “Did you… did you do this for Haley? When she was hurting?”
Hotch freezes.
Just for a moment—but you see it, the way his breath stills.
“Not as much as I would’ve liked to,” he admits, honesty cracking through the air like something fragile. His voice softens even more. “But I’m here now. And I want to help you.”
You swallow. “But the office—”
“The office can wait,” he says, and there’s no room for argument in his tone, only sincerity. Then, quieter, “You can’t.”
“But it’s your job…” you whisper, as if you’re trying to free him from some invisible weight.
Hotch shakes his head slowly, stepping close enough to rest a hand against your shoulder—warm, grounding.
“My job,” he says, voice low, firm, “is whatever needs me most. And right now? That’s you.”
Reid steps back into the room, tablet already in his hand.
“Hotch,” he says quietly, “I have to head out. They just called me in—new case.”
You look at Aaron immediately, worry tightening your face despite the migraine.
“You should go too,” you whisper. “I’ll be fine.”
Hotch shakes his head before you even finish the sentence.
“No,” he says firmly but gently. “I’m staying until you’re doing better than you are now.”
Reid gives him a small, understanding nod.
“Keep me updated,” he says softly.
“Thanks, Reid,” Hotch replies.
And then Reid slips out the door, quiet and careful, leaving the apartment in the same soft dimness he entered.
Hotch waits a few seconds, listening to the silence settle again, then picks up one of the small lavender diffusers Reid bought. He places it on your nightstand, then another near the dresser, one by the door—soft pockets of calm throughout the room.
You smell it instantly, even with the pain still clawing behind your eyes.
“Lavender…” you whisper.
He nods. “Reid picked it up. Said it might help.”
You watch him for a long moment—how deliberate he is, how steady.
“You didn’t have to stay,” you say softly. “I don’t want to pull you away from your job…”
Hotch turns back toward you, expression soft but unmistakably serious.
“I’m exactly where I need to be,” he says quietly.
He comes closer, sits on the edge of the bed like he’s afraid to disturb you.
“You’re hurting,” he adds, eyes locked on yours. “I’m not leaving you to deal with that alone.”
His voice is low, warm, full of something that makes your chest ache more than the migraine.
“Work can wait,” he murmurs. “You can’t.”
Hotch stands carefully, moving toward the dresser to set up the kit Reid had brought—the hot stones, wraps, everything neatly arranged.
“What’s that?” you ask softly, voice still rough from the migraine.
“Hot stones,” he says quietly.
You giggle a little despite the pain, eyes widening. Something about the idea makes you almost forget how awful your head feels.
“Reid says it works,” Hotch adds, glancing at you briefly.
“Really?” you murmur, curiosity flickering through the haze.
He leans just a bit closer, voice low, almost a whisper. “Wanna try?”
You nod, heart fluttering—not from the migraine, but from the way he’s here, focused on you, steady and calm.
Can you… lay on your stomach?” Hotch asks softly.
You nod and carefully pull off your shirt, the migraine making every movement feel heavier than usual. You lie down on the bed, letting the blanket cover you halfway—just enough to keep you warm but not restrict him.
He pauses for a moment, hands hovering over the kit, and looks at you.
Are you comfortable?” he asks, voice low and careful, like he’s afraid any sudden motion might make the pain worse.
You nod again, wincing slightly as you settle into the pillows. “Yeah… I’ll be fine,” you whisper, even though every muscle in your body is tense.
Hotch studies you for a moment longer, then finally reaches for the stones, his movements deliberate and slow, making sure each step is calm and safe.
Hotch reaches out, moving your hair gently off your neck so he can work. His fingers brush lightly against your skin, careful not to hurt you.
Then, almost instinctively, he leans down and presses a soft, lingering kiss to the nape of your neck before picking up the first hot stone.
“Have you ever had this done before?” he asks quietly, voice low, cautious.
“No,” you whisper, your voice barely audible over the pounding in your head.
He nods, placing the warm stone carefully on the tense muscles along your neck. His touch is deliberate, grounding, like he’s anchoring you to the present so the migraine doesn’t consume you completely.
“Just relax,” he murmurs, brushing his fingers lightly over the stone. “I’ve got you.”
The room is dim, the faint scent of lavender curling around you, and for the first time since waking, you feel a little of the pressure start to ease.
He places the warm stone carefully on your neck.
You feel it immediately—a gentle, soothing heat that isn’t as uncomfortable as you feared. Your body eases slightly, and you let out a deep, shaky breath.
Hotch watches you closely, studying the way your shoulders relax, how the tension in your neck softens just a little. He waits, giving you a moment to adjust and respond, before he picks up the next stone.
Slowly, deliberately, he moves down your spine, placing the second stone with the same careful, grounding touch. His eyes flick to yours, silently asking if it’s okay, if the heat feels right, if you’re comfortable.
The migraine is still there, but somehow, with him here, the pain doesn’t feel quite as sharp.
He carefully places the next two stones along your back, spacing them just right so the warmth spreads evenly over the tense muscles.
Then he reaches for the lavender oil Reid brought, holding the small bottle delicately in his hand.
You shift slightly on the bed, the blanket still draped over you, and murmur, “Yeah… it feels… nice.”
He leans a little closer, his eyes scanning your face. “How’s it feel? Can you tell me?”
You take a slow breath, the warmth of the stones radiating through your back and neck. “It… it helps. More than I thought it would,” you admit, voice faint but honest.
Hotch nods, almost relieved, his hand brushing briefly over yours to reassure you. “Good. That’s what I wanted to hear.”
The room is quiet except for your breathing and the faint hum of the lavender diffuser, the soft intimacy of the moment wrapping around both of you.
Hotch pours a few drops of the lavender oil over your shoulders, the scent mingling with the warmth of the stones.
He starts to massage gently, slow, deliberate movements meant to ease the tension knotting your muscles. His eyes never leave your face, watching closely for every reaction—every small shift, every breath you take.
“Has no one ever done this for you before?” he asks softly, voice low and steady.
“No,” you whisper, your voice barely audible, eyes fluttering closed as the warmth and pressure begin to relax your muscles.
Hotch nods slightly, continuing the massage with careful precision, his hands firm yet gentle. “Then let me take care of you,” he murmurs. “Just for now, you don’t have to do anything but breathe.”
You take a shaky breath, letting the heat of the stones and the lavender wash over you
Hotch’s hands move carefully, pressing into the knots in your neck—muscles that had been tight for far longer than you realized. He works slowly, deliberate, giving each spot the attention it needs.
As he eases the tension from the first knot, a small but undeniable wave of relief washes over you. You let out a quiet, grateful breath, the tight ache in your neck loosening for the first time in hours.
Hotch pauses for a moment, watching your reaction closely, making sure the pressure is right. “How does that feel?” he asks softly, almost whispering.
“Better… so much better,” you admit, your voice rough but tinged with relief. The migraine hasn’t vanished, but the burden in your muscles is lighter, and it makes the pain a little more bearable.
He nods, a small, satisfied movement, and continues slowly, working out another stubborn knot. His hands are steady, precise, grounding—you can feel his focus entirely on you, and it’s almost more comforting than the warmth of the stones or the lavender in the air.
Hotch works slowly, easing the last of the knots from your neck. The tension that’s been building for who knows how long begins to melt under his careful, grounding hands.
You let out a long, shaky breath, closing your eyes and savoring the relief. The migraine is still there, but for the first time since waking, it feels manageable.
When he pauses, brushing a stray strand of hair from your neck, you can’t help the sudden, soft tug in your chest. Your lips part slightly as you look up at him through the dim light.
“Hotch…” you whisper, voice low and raw, almost hesitant.
He looks down at you, expression soft but unreadable, waiting for you to say more.
You lift your face just a little, heart racing in your chest. “Can… can you —” you trail off, voice trembling.
He leans slightly closer, and before you even realize it, your lips meet his in a gentle, tentative kiss. It’s soft, warm, grounding, and for a moment, the migraine, the tension, everything falls away, leaving only the two of you suspended in this quiet, intimate space.
When you pull back slightly, breath shallow but calmer, he brushes his thumb along your cheek. “Better?” he murmurs, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips.
Hotch takes the stones off your back one by one, his touch warm even without the heat of them. You let your body relax into the bed as he gathers everything up.
You roll onto your side, cheek pressed into the pillow, eyes drifting toward him. He’s bent slightly as he puts the stones away, black slacks stretched perfectly across him, the lines of his body , the tight but of his still incredible even through the haze of your headache.
“Aaron…” you whisper, barely loud enough to cross the space.
He glances over his shoulder, brow lifting in that quiet, attentive way he has.
“Could you… stay?” you ask softly. “Could you lay with me?”
A slow smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Now you want me to stay,” he teases, voice warm, low, a little amused.
He finishes with the kit, then turns fully toward you, walking back with that steady, unhurried confidence that always makes your chest tighten.
“Of course I’ll lay with you,” he says gently.
Your heart beats faster, nerves and want tangled together. “Can I… lay on your chest?”
He doesn’t even hesitate. “Of course, sweetheart.”
He slips off his shoes and sits on the edge of the bed before easing down beside you. His arm opens, inviting, protective. You move toward him, slow and careful, resting your head against the solid warmth of his chest. His heartbeat is steady under your ear—strong, grounding, exactly what you need.
His hand settles on your back, thumb brushing up and down in slow, soothing lines.
“You comfortable?” he murmurs against your hair.
You nod, eyes already sliding shut. “Yeah… better with you.”
He exhales softly, almost like he’s been holding something in too. Then he presses a light kiss to the top of your head and pulls you even closer.
I saw that he says , saw what you say “ Nothing he says . You curled up in to him he holds you tight as you drift off to sleep in his arms , as he pulls the blanket over in him he drifts off to sleep to ….
Few hours go by , you both awake , you sit up your acutely hungry, he tells you that Reid left some bagels oh good you say , getting up to get them from the dresser , you got the cream cheese, you head back to bed , you share your bagel with Aaron . Thank you , for today you say softy , don’t thank me he says , I wanted to be here for you in I would do it again ..
Summary: After months of talking on the phone, you decide to surprise your girl.
Warnings: N/A
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-~-
Penelope lived her life on the computer. She was tied to it all day at work and even at home, had learned to escape the horrors of what she researched all day by sinking into a virtual reality game. It is how she came to start a relationship with you.
She loved to play between cases, and you played anytime you got home from work to remind you there was a life outside of your job. You didn’t see murder and death in the same way that Penelope did, but you had your fair share of horrible things that clung to you. Being in the child welfare system for five years had taken its toll on you, but you were determined to stay in it till you felt like you were accomplished. However, it was becoming a little murky on what it would look like to be accomplished.
So you sank into a world where people didn’t need you, and you could be someone else entirely. It was an open-world adventure game that allowed you to cross paths with Penelope multiple times. You had teamed up for a couple of adventures, and then, when it was clear both of you were enamored of the game, you became regular duo partners. It allowed y’all to spend hours together.
As the weeks passed by, Penelope’s work unraveled around her, and she was unable to play as much as she wanted. She didn’t want you to think that she was standing you up, so she messaged you her number so that you could text her outside of the game. It had taken a little courage and polite prodding from a friend, but eventually you texted her.
You expect a text back, but instead it is a FaceTime call. You had only talked to her over voice chat before and didn’t know what she looked like in real life, and it was only because your friend swiped the answer button that you actually answered. Penelope’s smile immediately filled the screen, and you were captured by her blonde hair and pops of color. She was so similar to her virtual character. It didn’t take you long to realize that you wanted to know everything there was to know about this woman who was behind the screen. All you could do was hope that she was just as amazing in real life as she was in her virtual life.
That first phone call bled into weeks of texting and FaceTime dates. The game wasn’t important now because the only person who mattered was on the phone with you every day. You would have your phone propped up with Penelope on the screen any time that you could. She was there in between meetings at work, on the drive home, while you were making dinner, before you went to bed, and sometimes even after you went to sleep. She was the one constant in your life that you had begun to rely on.
It was a dream until three months into phone talking, when you accidentally slipped up. One of your coworkers had slipped into your office to get your order for lunch when they locked eyes with Penelope. They asked who she was, and you said she was your girlfriend without even thinking about it. Honestly, you had been thinking about asking her for weeks but didn’t want it to seem weird, so you had pushed it aside. Now, as you sat there with red cheeks, you realized that Penelope had stopped what she was working on entirely.
When your coworker had left, you had been too embarrassed to look at the blonde. Instead, you mumbled an apology under your breath.
“Oh sweet pea,” Penelope said in a soft hum that had you looking up at her. “You can make it up to me by officially asking me out.”
You grinned at the excitement that was already written across her face. “Beautiful, smart, amazing, glorious Penelope Garcia, will you be my girlfriend…officially?”
“Yes! Of course, yes!” Penelope squealed, practically bouncing out of her seat. “I have to go tell Derek! Stay on the line.”
There were butterflies in your stomach as she ran off to talk to her best friend. It was nervousness that you were feeling, just the excitement of feeling like something was finally going right in your life.
Later that night, you were still humming with excitement, but Penelope looked like she was drained. The case she was working on was particularly awful, and she had been more on edge than ever. She was typically never the one to ask to fall asleep on the phone, opting to stay up long after you had already fallen asleep. However, today she asked if you would stay on the line with her to keep her bad dreams away.
The request had taken you off guard, but you willingly accepted. It was a small piece of comfort that you could offer Penelope when separated by hundreds of miles. You watched over her as she curled under the covers, holding the stuffed animal unicorn Derek had bought her. She was so cute with her blonde hair cascading over the pink covers, and you wished desperately that you were there to hold her while she fell asleep. Instead, after a couple of moments, you watched her drift into dreamland.
You knew then that you had to find a way to see Penelope. The chance didn't arise till two months later, when you had scheduled a week away to spend with her. You were excited to finally be able to see her in person, to hold her, to kiss her, to be around the woman you were falling in love with. There was just one thing that made you extra anxious: you didn't tell her you were coming. You had been working with Emily and Derek to put together this surprise, and now that it was here, you were regretting it. They promised you that Penelope would love it, but you still worried about the execution.
You sat on your final FaceTime trying to talk to Penelope before what she thought was a day full of court hearings that would keep you away from the phone. In reality, your bag was packed by the door, and your ride was approaching to whisk you away.
“I wish I could teleport you here,” Penelope whispered, setting up her computer for the day. “I could really use a hug.”
The admission hung heavy in the air, and for the first time since you had met Penelope, you saw her frown. Your heart ached for her, and you almost blew your secret right there. Instead, you gave her a hint, hoping she would put together the pieces.
“Why don't you make a list of all the things you want to see or do when I visit? That when I do come over, we will be prepared.”
Penelope smiled at the thought but then admitted, “I think all I really want to do is hug you.”
“Then I will give you all the hugs your heart desires, hun,” you reassured her.
Penelope’s face brightens even more now that she has a mission to focus on in your absence. “I hope you are prepared for how many hugs that truly is.”
“I'm prepared,” you grinned, but then your alarm sounded, letting you know it was time to leave. “Alright, I have to go, babe, but we will talk soon, okay? Stay beautiful while I'm gone.”
“Always,” Penelope said, and then within seconds she was gone.
You grabbed your suitcase from beside the door and got into the car. Your friend drove you to the airport, and there was a moment when you approached security that you still debated texting Penelope about what was happening. You called Derek instead, who promised that he would be there to pick you up on time.
The plane worked until you got delayed, and soon your day trip turned into an overnight trip. You couldn't risk talking to Penelope that night, fearing that she would figure out you were in Chicago for a layover. So instead, you sent her a text that it had been a long day and you were going right to bed. You spent the night alone, worried that you had epically fucked up.
-~-
The next morning, the whole squad was on edge, waiting for you to come meet Penelope. She was on edge all morning with dark rings under her normally perky eyes. She hadn't been able to sleep all night. The blonde had begun to rely on seeing you in the middle of the night to keep her nightmares at bay. When you had asked for space, Penelope’s mind flicked through the worst scenarios all night. She had been looking forward to telling Derek what was going on and getting his opinion, but he was gone. When it was clear he wasn't going to be around soon, Penelope had sought out Emily, but that comfort had been less than helpful. To top off the day, Penelope spilled her coffee all over the break room and chipped the edge of her favorite mug. It was shaping up to be a horrible day.
Penelope had just started to force herself to work when there was a knock on the door. Penelope didn't even look up, content to ignore whoever had come. Derek attempted to call out to her. “Hey baby girl, I heard you had a rough night.”
“That’s what happens when my girlfriend goes completely AWOL after asking you to plan a trip for her to come out. She didn't even call to say goodnight, so maybe she doesn’t want to see me after all,” Penelope sighed, tears welling in her eyes. “I can't sleep without her, Derek. Now, what if she doesn't want to be around me at all?”
“How about a hug, baby girl? Those always make you feel better.”
Penelope shook her head, trying not to cry. “Not now, I'll be okay.”
“What about a hug from me? Would that make up for my absence?” you asked, replacing Derek’s spot in the doorway. “I believe I was supposed to give you all the hugs that you could ever ask for.”
Penelope swiveled in her chair, nearly topping over as she tossed her headset. Her eyes were wide when she finally looked at you. You hadn't had the time to change or shower like you wanted. You were still in sweatpants and a dingy cardigan pulled around an old t-shirt. Your hair was pulled up in a messy bun with sunglasses high on your head. You opened your arms slowly, trying to gauge Penelope’s reaction.
“Am I dreaming? Is that really you?” Penelope asked, her voice shaking.
“Yes, it’s really me. Surprise.”
Penelope rushes into your arms, then nearly topples you over. You catch your footing just in time to wrap your arms tightly around her waist. Her hands clutched in the back of your shirt with her head settling against the crook of your neck. Immediately, you were overwhelmed with her strong lavender perfume. It was exactly the way that you had imagined Penelope to smell, and it instantly calmed your nerves. You turned your head just enough to give her a small kiss on the forehead when you noticed she was crying.
“Sunshine, why are you crying?” You asked, alarmed, moving back just enough to wipe some tears off her cheek. “I’m so sorry, I should have told you that I was coming. I thought you would like the surprise, but maybe I was wrong.”
“Oh, that’s not it at all,” Penelope reassures you with a wobbly smile. “I just can’t believe that this is real. You are actually here, holding me and smiling at me. My baby is here.”
You grinned so much that a small dimple began to show. “Well, you better believe it, Pen; I’m really here and staying for a while.”
Penelope was giddy with excitement now, and you chose that moment to lean down and press a soft kiss against her lips. You could feel her smile against you as she leaned on her tiptoes to deepen the kiss. Finally, after months of talking on the phone, you had broken the distance.
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I'm not sure how often I'll allowed to request, but could you do Garcia x reader? Strong minded and gritty reader that only listens to Garcia or if she asks anything of the reader - @fangedreject 💜
Sitting on your desk, you were reading through some of your papers when you felt someone tap your shoulder and you looked up.
“Don’t sit on your desk I’ve told you this.” Hotch sighed.
“My desk, therefore Hotch, my ass may sit wherever it wants.”
He sighed, crossing his arms as he looked at you.
“And it’s not professional.”
“Neither is the fact that I’m wearing a hoodie but here we are boss man, my ass wishes to sit on the desk.”
Hotch just nodded and walked away and you went back to doing what you were doing.
It wasn’t long until you heard someone walking over and you smiled, setting the paper aside.
“Penny.” You smiled.
“You know you’re not supposed to be sat there.” Garcia scolded.
You hummed a little, propping your foot on your chair and you rested your arm on it as you leant forward a little bit.
“Are you telling me to move?” You whispered.
Garica gave you a sweet smile.
“Yes please!”
Putting your foot down, you slid from the desk and put your chair back the way it was supposed to be.
“Thank you my lovely.”
Garica kissed your cheek and you wrapped your arm around her shoulder as you looked at your watch.
“Lunch time, I’m buying let’s go.”
“Oh yay! Can I choose where we go?”
“Of course you can.”
Hotch watched as you and Garica walked away and he turned to everyone else who had just walked into the bullpen.
“How does she do it?” He asked confused.
“Do what?” Rossi asked.
“Get (Y/N) to listen, they don’t listen to anything we say.”
They all looked to where you and Garica had walked and they all shrugged a little bit.
You and Garcia came back, and you set your coffee on the table and turned to look at her, handing her the bag you were holding.
“Your belongings.”
“Thank you (Y/N)!” She chirped.
She kissed your cheek again and started to walking away before she stopped and walked back over.
“Hoodie.”
“Hm, I suppose I can live without it.”
You pulled your hoodie off and handed it over to her and she beamed brightly at you.
“I expect that back Miss Garica, I will be coming for it later.”
“And it’ll be safely stored away in my office!”
With that she walked away again and you sat down, taking a sip from your coffee as you pulled some things over to you.
“Do we have to be sweet to you like that?” Emily asked.
You looked up, kicking your feet up on your desk.
“What?”
“You always do whatever she says. If we kiss your cheek will you do that for us?” Derek smirked.
He walked over and you pointed at him making him stop.
“Try it and I’ll drop you so fast you won’t even know what’s happened or what hear it is Derek Morgan.”
He whistled, raising his hands a little as he took a few steps back away from you.
“What’s the secret, what’s does Garcia have we don’t?” Rossi asked.
The whole team stood around you, and you looked at them idly.
“Maybe it’s something to do with how she’s talks to them?” Reid asked.
“No I’ve tried that, didn’t work and then they took my coffee and drank it all.” JJ said.
You nodded your head as you rested your hands behind your hand.
“Maybe it’s something Garcia does?” Hotch asked.
“Keep guessing, you’ll be there all day. I’ve got a meeting so have fun.”
With that, you grabbed your cup, some files and left them all stood there still trying to figure out how she did it.
Nothing they came up with made any sense, so they decided to go to Garcia and ask her directly how she managed it.
“Why does (Y/N) listen to you?” Emily asked her.
Garcia turned around and looked at everyone stood in the doorway of her office.
“You know I’m not sure, I did once ask but they never told me.”
“Come on babygirl, you can tell us. Please?” Derek grinned.
Garcia shrugged a little.
“Sorry lovely, I really don’t know.”
They kept pestering her, even when she went to get a new drinks they kept asking and she kept telling them she had no idea.
Because she really didn’t.
She had absolutely no idea why you listened to her and not them, why you were so different with her but not them.
“Guys please, I really don’t know.”
You walked into the kitchen and set your files on the table and walked over, taking over making her drink as you grabbed a clean cup to make your own.
“Can you make us a drink?” Rossi asked.
“You’ve got arms make your own.”
You handed Garcia her cup and picked up your own, tapping her forehead with your finger as you grabbed your files.
“There you go angel.”
You turned to the rest of the team and narrowed your eyes at them all.
“Stop pestering her. First and only warning.”
With that you walked away again.
“I don’t get it!” Emily huffed.
They all laughed at her and turned to watch you sit down at your desk and kick your feet up again as you grabbed your phone.
You were a great agent, you were good at what you did, but you really were a mystery to them all and they couldn’t figure you out but they still trusted you with their lives because they know you had their backs.
