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cxptain-rex · 17 days ago

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What Parents Do For Their Kids

Pairing: father figure!Aaron Hotchner x reader Summary: 5 times Aaron remembers that you're not his kid (+1 time he knows that you are). Warnings: r is a teenager (around 16 at the start), abusive family, child neglect, allusions to aaron's abuse, haley and hotch divorce arc, mentions of the s3 suspension, reference to 3x02, r is anxious, violence, bullying, inaccurate legal info (don't ask me ab logistics bc hotch is a lawyer who does magic), hotch is such a dad Words: 6.4K

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The sound of the door opening was almost so light that he didn't hear it, but your footsteps made it obvious to Aaron that you were there.

He knew it was bad practice to leave his door unlocked when he was an FBI agent. He knew that, which is why you had a key. He still left the door unlocked, anyway.

"Hey, Mr. H."

He gave you a brief nod of acknowledgement, busy gathering his files for his briefcase. He had half a mind to correct you, It's Aaron or you can call me Hotch, but Mr. H might be as informal as you'd ever get. He should know—he tried.

Though he didn't look up at you, he still spoke. "I'm really sorry to call you in on a Friday night. I know you must have other plans." Now he looked up, seeing you standing there, fiddling with the strap of your bag. You must've come straight from school, he thought.

How late are they keeping them at school nowadays?

"I, uh—" you shook your head. "No, I don't have any other plans." He hoped you weren't just saying that for his sake.

He drove his point home. "Regardless, I apologize. I was supposed to have the night off, but this meeting was called last minute." You opened your mouth to interrupt, but he didn't let you offer the assurances he knew you'd give. You were a teenager. Of course, you had better ways to spend your Friday night than with his kid. "And Haley is out of town with Jessica."

"Really, Mr. Hotchner." You pursed your lips into what he assumed was meant to be a smile. It looked more... nervous (and maybe even painful) than anything. But you tried. "It's fine."

He resisted the urge to sigh, both at the return of the moniker and your quick dismissal. You did that often, he noticed. Dismissing yourself. He wished you would stop.

You were a good kid.

He sometimes wondered if you knew that.

He chose not to worry you anymore with the conversation. He didn't want to make you feel like you had to smile. It was almost as bad as the way you cocooned into yourself, trying not to take up space. Opening the door quietly as to not disrupt. Making yourself smaller despite his efforts to let you know that there was enough room for you here.

He was running late, anyway.

He picked up his bag. "Alright then. Jack is in his room. I should be home by," he checked his watch, "nine. Maybe ten or eleven at the latest."

You nodded absentmindedly as he made his way to the door. Just as he was about to turn the knob, another thought crossed his mind.

He quickly turned around, perhaps too quick. He barely caught it. If he'd have blinked, he would've missed it. A flinch, sudden and reflexive, before you could stop it. You collected yourself within the same second.

His brows furrowed, but he didn't mention it. Don't read into it, he told himself. (He was already reading into it).

Instead, he just went with his original question. "I forgot to ask earlier, but your parents are okay with you staying out this late, right?"

Again, it was almost too fast for him make out. If he wasn't a profiler. But he was, and he could see the look that passed over your face clear as day. Surprise. Discomfort. Embarrassm—

Stop profiling her.

(He was already profiling you).

"Oh, yeah." You waved a hand in the air. "They're totally cool with it. Don't worry about it, Mr. H." The weird smile was back on your face. Nervous.

He'd be more content that you were back to "Mr. H" if it weren't for the fact that you were trying to placate him. For what, he wasn't sure.

His attempts not to profile had failed. A preliminary profile had already built in his head, filled with bullet points and question marks. He tried to shake it off.

He was late.

He nodded to you. "Okay." He made a mental note to ask you about it later, but right now he had somewhere to be and other promises to keep.

He was out the door before the "bye" could leave your lips.

—

When Aaron got home, he wasn't expecting you to be asleep. He wasn't sure why: you were a kid, and it was normal for kids to be tired at the end of the week.

Maybe because you had never fallen asleep there before, not once in the year that you'd been Jack's babysitter.

You were curled up on the couch, the TV still running in front of you. He should wake you up. He was home, and you deserved to be home, too. Your parents were probably wondering where you were.

It was only then that he realized you were completely still. Not twiddling your fingers or awkwardly trying to find the right way to stand when he was in the room. You were just... there. And because of that, he could now see the bags under your eyes clearly.

His shoulders fell. You were tired. He wanted to let you sleep.

But responsibility won his internal turmoil. He lightly shook your shoulder. "Y/N?"

Your eyes fluttered open slowly, disoriented. "Hm?"

"My meeting ended."

It took you a few seconds to understand. When you did, you bolted up, his hand falling in the process. Your eyes nearly bulged out of your head. "Oh, um—" you ran a hand through your hair. "Jack went to bed a while ago after I fed him dinner. I didn't mean to fall asleep, too. I'm sorry."

His brows knitted together more prominently this time. "You have nothing to be sorry for. I told you, when you're here, you can treat this place as your own." It almost sounded like a scolding.

You winced. "Right. Sorry, Mr. Ho—"

He cut you off, "Hotch." He couldn't help it. You looked confused, so he elaborated, "You can call me Hotch. Or Aaron. Either or."

"Okay... Aaron?" Your voice lifted at the end like you were testing yourself. He gave you a reassuring nod.

He thought he was done, but he added, "And you don't need to apologize for everything, Y/N. You've done nothing wrong." He tried to make eye contact with you so that you'd know he was being earnest, but you avoided it.

"Sorry—" you screwed your eyes shut, very obviously kicking yourself. "Sorry."

He sighed. This was progress. In... some way.

"It's fine." Because he didn't want to make you feel bad about it, he switched the subject. "I can walk you home. It's dark out." You lived right down the street, but he'd seen too many horror stories of young girls who walked home alone and never made it there.

Your mouth opened and closed and opened and then closed again. You looked like you were scanning your brain for something to say. Your profile was brought right back to the forefront of his mind.

"That's okay, Mr— Aaron," you corrected yourself. "I'll be fine." You were already standing up and grabbing your things.

"Y/N—"

"I'll text you when I'm home safely. Good night."

You practically sped out of the house. The door closed a little louder behind you this time. Not a slam, but not the controlled quiet it normally was.

Aaron was left standing in the middle of the living room. He looked to the couch and then to the door. In a flash, you were there, and then you were gone. He didn't even get the chance to pay you.

Any worries he had that he was overthinking had disappeared. He'd never seen you react like that, let alone cut him off.

You were... skittish. You always watched what you said. You were tired. Maybe overly tired. And your parents. Hotch hadn't ever spoken with your parents. You seemed anxious when he brought them up.

He was worried about you. It was easy to be worried about you. You were so quiet, and in many ways, too independent. In some ways, you reminded him of a younger version of himself of himself. And that scared him.

Aaron knew what he was like when he was a kid, and he also knew why.

His phone dinged, pulling him from his thoughts. He took it out of his pocket, checking the notification.

Y/N (babysitter): Made it home.

A bit of relief flooded his chest. At least you made it home safe. He just hoped you stayed safe.

He prayed his suspicions were wrong.

But, deep down, he knew they weren't.

It was a weekend. For the first time in a while, the Hotchner house was full. Aaron was playing with Jack. They didn't often get to do this together, so he tried to seize these opportunities whenever he could.

"Hey, buddy, I'm gonna go check on mom real quick, okay? I'll be right back."

Jack nodded without looking at him, too immersed in his toys. Aaron was glad.

It wasn't totally a ruse. He was checking on Haley. Maybe that wasn't the full reason, but it was true.

He walked into their shared bedroom, finding her folding laundry on the bed. She looked up, a smile crossing her face. "Aaron," she playfully teased. His lips quirked up in response, a stark contrast to how things had been between them recently.

"Hi, honey." He kissed her cheek, taking a seat across from her on the bed. "I've been wanting to talk to you about something." She raised a brow, so he added, "It's about Y/N."

Her face twisted in confusion, then concern. "Y/N? Why, has something happened to her?" She fully sat up, angling her body toward him. The clothes in her hands were long forgotten.

He didn't reply as quickly. He didn't have the answer she wanted. He wasn't sure if he had the answer he wanted. What he knew was that something was happening to you. He just didn't know what.

Some foolish part of him didn't want to know.

Some part of him already did.

Finally, he responded, "I think that... something may be happening with her parents." He didn't have to say another thing. A look of understanding dawned her face, and he knew she knew what he meant.

He watched as her eyes softened. She set the clothes aside entirely, cupping his cheek in her hand. "Oh, baby." She understood. Too well.

Haley was there for him in high school. She didn't know everything, but she knew enough. She knew that sometimes his ribs hurt just as much as his heart. She knew enough.

He wanted to lean into her but resisted. This wasn't about him. This was about you.

She removed her hand of her own volition. "Aaron, I think that if you think something, then it's probably true. I mean, if... if you have reason to believe something's wrong..." she trailed off. And Aaron knew what he had to do.

He proposed his idea to Haley, being met with her agreement. He kissed her softly, knowing his sweet wife hadn't seen what he'd seen but that she was just as cautious. Cautious and kind.

He hoped he could extend that kindness to you.

—

"Y/N, come in."

Aaron surprised you by waiting at the door this time. You were used to entering silently, but there he was, waiting.

"Thanks, Aaron."

He let you walk into the house, guiding you to the couch. "Here, take a seat."

You hesitated. He could see you taking in his attire—not work clothes—and listening in to hear the quiet of the house. You sat down in spite of whatever you were noticing, but you swallowed. "Is— did I do something wrong?"

His brows furrowed. He took a seat across from you. "No, Y/N. You did nothing wrong," he assured you.

"Are you firing me?"

He wondered why you kept jumping to the worst conclusions, but his profile told him exactly why. It wasn't so often that he hoped his profiles were wrong. "No, I'm not firing you."

"Okay, so," you wrung your hands together, "what's wrong then?"

Aaron didn't say anything for a moment, just staring at you. He noted the long-sleeve sweater, even though it wasn't that cold yet. "Is there something wrong?" he prompted.

You stammered, "I— I don't understand." Your hands wouldn't stop moving.

He glanced down at them before making full eye-contact with you. Softly, he said, "Y/N, I don't like to assume things. But I'm afraid that's what I'm paid to do."

Another swallow. "I'm really not sure what you mean."

Hotch had seen tens of kids like you at work. Children of unsubs, victims, and witnesses alike. He saw you whenever he looked at old photo albums of himself as a child, too.

He was hoping he was wrong.

But he wasn't.

He paused, trying to find a way to go about this without causing you to curl into yourself. "Your parents... do they ever hurt you?"

Your eyes widened. "What?"

He repeated himself. "Do they hurt you? Do they leave you home alone for stretches at a time? Are you in that house alone?" Hotch's questions were starting to sound less like questions and more like statements.

Because you both knew everything he was saying was true.

"I—" he watched you get defensive, looking more frustrated than he'd ever seen you—more frustrated than you'd ever allowed yourself to be seen. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't I?" He leaned forward, trying to catch your eyes. "Y/N, I can help you—"

Finally, you broke, and Aaron felt guilty for wanting that outcome. "How?" Tears welled in your eyes. You blinked and one went racing down your cheek. "How can you help me, Mr. Hotchner? Are you— are you gonna alert the authorities and then have me sent to some foster family?" You shook your head. "I— I know you think I'm a kid, but I'm not stupid."

"Y/N, you are a kid." He needed you to believe that. But he needed you to believe what he was going to say next even more. "And you are not alone. You deserve to be supported, just like any kid does."

You sniffled. "And how is that gonna happen?"

Aaron felt a little piece of his heart break. He didn't know how long you'd been in this situation, but it was clear you'd gotten yourself to believe there was no way out of it.

Not if he could help it.

"What if I could get you out and you wouldn't have to go to a foster family?" he proposed. "You could come stay with us."

Now, your eyes widened more than ever. You rapidly declined, shaking your head fervently. "No— no, I couldn't."

Aaron didn't move to touch you at all, too worried he'd overstep a boundary. But he did get closer. "Yes, you could. You wouldn't be imposing. You already help out so much with Jack. It would be fine."

You met his eyes directly, and Aaron could tell that you were at least considering it. "How would you be able to even pull it off?"

"I used to be a lawyer," he reasoned, shrugging. He wanted to be as relaxed as possible so that you knew this wasn't any trouble for him. "I'm confident I can do it."

You wiped your eyes, crossing your arms. Still defensive, but he knew he made it somewhere because you said, "You can try. But— but nothing's going to happen."

He would certainly try. Because Aaron Hotchner wasn't the type of man who just "tried" things.

He got them done.

Aaron insisted on carrying in your box, despite your protests. It was a single box, a little heavy, and it was quite literally the only thing you had. In his mental checklist of things to do for you, he added: Buy her new clothes.

You had a distinctive style hiding beneath your appearance. Another mental note: Introduce her to Garcia.

He set the box down in your room. It had always been your room, just in case you needed to stay over. Now, it was permanent.

Just as you were entering the room, his phone chimed. He pulled it from his back pocket, seeing a message from JJ. He didn't have to read it to know what it would say.

It seemed you knew what that meant, too, because you were looking up at him expectantly. Still nervous. Another note (a recurring note): Work on that.

"Sorry, honey. I have a case." It slipped out before he could stop it. Work on that.

You nodded like you didn't notice it at all, perking up just slightly. "That's okay! I can watch Jack for you." If he didn't know any better, he'd say you were happy to see him go. (He knew better).

Work on that.

Still, he felt guilt seeping into his veins. He was pulling out his wallet automatically while simultaneously watching your face drop. "Here," he pulled out a crisp hundred dollar bill, holding it out to you. "Buy yourselves something to eat and then keep the rest."

Your mouth opened and closed, sputtering, "Mr. Ho— sorry— no, not sorry. Aaron. I can't take that."

He raised a brow. "I don't see why not."

"You—" you gestured to him then to the rest of the room, "you're already giving me a place to stay. I can't just take your money."

He found your reasoning ridiculous, but he tried not to show it on his face. You were still all too nervous. Instead, he gently reached for your hand and enclosed it around the paper. "Think of it as an allowance." Parents do that for their kids, he wanted to add. But you weren't his kid, even if it felt like that now more than ever.

Work on that.

"An allowance?" you echoed, breathing a laugh. "You're giving me an allowance even though you're already doing so much for me?"

"You deserve it," he said, still gentle but now a touch firmer. The kind of voice you couldn't quite argue with. "Haley will be home soon. And I promise I'll try to be back as soon as possible."

You nodded, a soft "Okay" leaving your lips. He went to go say goodbye to Jack right after.

It felt like leaving his children. He had to remind himself that he only had one child.

He was working on it.

"Hey, kids, are we feeling like it's a superhero night or an animal night?" Aaron shouted, holding DVDs of Spiderman and Madagascar in alternate hands.

From the kitchen, Jack shouted back, "Episode III!"

Aaron turned to you and gave you a funny look, making you laugh. "Jack, buddy," he groaned, "we watched Episode III the other night."

Jack didn't seem to care, repeating, "Episode III!" as he ran in the living room. Behind him, Haley came running, picking him up and contradictorily scolding him, "Jack! No running in the house. You could get hurt."

She took her seat next to you on the couch, giving you a little smile before looking to Aaron. The smile became a little more exasperated. "Aaron. Don't we think that Star Wars is a little too mature?"

Aaron, for lack of a better word, looked sheepish. For a lawyer, he didn't have much of a rebuttal, and you—taking pity on him—pitched in. "If it makes you feel better, Haley, I was watching much worse when I was his age."

Hotch could tell by the look on her face that it didn't make her feel better, but she still upturned her lips nonetheless. A sigh of defeat left her. "Okay. I suppose Episode III, it is."

Jack cheered while you giggled. Aaron watched the two of you contentedly. His kids. His kid and the kid that wasn't his kid (but felt like it, anyway). It warmed his chest to know that you felt more comfortable participating in family discussions now. And as he stared at you, Jack, and Haley sitting on the couch, that's what this felt like. A family.

He got rid of his initial choices and picked up Episode III, taking the disc out of the casing. He always handled it by the edges with careful fingers, but it was still scratched from previous use. He'd deal with the buffering, though, if it made Jack happy.

The best thing about the suspension from Strauss were these movie nights. Time chasing killers turned into time watching his family grow.

He turned off the lamp and sat down as the opening credits started rolling. Amidst the darkness, Haley's eyes met his. A wordless conversation took place, but he was enough of a profiler and enough of a husband to tell what she was saying. The tilt of her head. The soft quirk of her lips.

See? Isn't this better? Spending more time with your family instead of being halfway across the country?

A small feeling of guilt crept up his spine, knowing there were other things he was missing. He tried not think about them.

Instead, he nodded back to her, and then turned to the TV, watching a movie he'd all but seen countless times.

When he got back to the BAU, he would put in for a transfer to a desk job. It was what was best for his family.

—

Yeah, well, make sure you give your son a kiss before you leave.

Hotch closed his eyes tightly, reaching a red light. Haley's words had been echoing throughout his head the entire time he was in Milwaukee. Time had passed since he last saw her, but the conversation still played through his head on a loop.

I can't just switch off my loyalty, Haley.

Who are you being loyal to?

He didn't know how to balance it. How to be the husband and father his family needed and a leader for his team. He was trying. He wanted to make it right—he needed to make it right.

He pulled into his driveway, quickly slinging his bag across his shoulder and beelining for the door. All the lights in the house were off except for the kitchen, so he hoped Haley was still awake and that he could talk to her. That he could make it right.

But when he walked into the kitchen and found you sitting at the dining table, his confident step halted. "Y/N?"

When you looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes, he nearly forgot what he was doing in the first place.

He dropped his go-bag to the ground, rushing to the seat next to you. "Hey, hey, hey, what's wrong?"

His hands found your forearms effortlessly, like comforting you was an evolutionary instinct he couldn't control. And, truthfully, he couldn't.

His mind was already running a mile a minute, doing mental calculations to tell how long you'd been sitting here, alone, crying to yourself. He started to wonder where Haley was, but then—

You sniffled, "Aaron, I'm so sorry." You couldn't get through saying his name without your voice breaking.

Aaron's left hand moved to wipe a tear as it fell. "Sh, sweet girl," he whispered, wiping away another tear like he'd been caring for you his whole life. "What could you possibly need to be sorry about?"

"I— I couldn't stop her. I tried." You shook your head lightly. "But I couldn't stop her."

Suddenly, Aaron understood exactly what you were saying, no matter the wobble of your voice. His heart dropped into his stomach.

Make sure you give your son a kiss before you leave.

He knew what happened, but, if not just to torture himself, he asked, "They're gone?" It wasn't a question.

Slowly, you nodded. He blew a breath through his lips. They're gone.

He was halfway through processing it when you spoke up. "Aaron, I am so sorry. I swear, I can leave—"

He was pulled out of his trance by your apology, making him pinch his brows together and cut you off. "Y/N." He faced you head-on; you didn't look away. That was good, because he needed you to hear what he was saying. In the same manner he talked to his team, he firmly said, "This is not your fault."

You didn't look convinced, protesting immediately, "No, I showed up and then look what happened—"

"Y/N." He re-positioned his hands so they rested on your shoulders. Then, he repeated himself. "This did not happen because of you. Haley and I had an argument about my work. This is my fault, not yours."

The dam in your eyes broke despite what he said. "I'm sorry."

He engulfed you in his arms without a second thought, and you quickly returned the embrace. Your cries tugged on his heartstrings like you were a musician and he was a guitar. He shushed you, wanting to make this terrible song end. "Sh, you have nothing to be sorry for, sweetheart."

He didn't know if you believed him. He rubbed your back hoping you would understand that he was telling the truth. But the truth was simple.

You still believed you had to apologize for your existence. His act of leaving to join the case had set you back months in confidence.

And it set him and Haley back years in their marriage.

But he just kept rubbing your back, kept holding you, in hopes that he could keep at least one part of his family.

It'd been a few months since Haley left. Aaron had been working through divorce proceedings with her. They agreed that she should have full custody of Jack, who was too young and deserved a kind of stability that the unit chief of the BAU couldn't provide. You, on the other hand, stayed with Hotch. You asked to stay with him, so you did.

There were some undeniable facts of your relationship with Aaron, including the fact that you would be leaving for university sometime soon. Haley believed you shouldn't be moved around so often, so she let Aaron keep the house. At least for the time being.

"What about Georgetown?" he suggested. "I went there for my undergrad before GWU."

The two of you were sat at the dinner table yet again. The difference this time was that college pamphlets were scattered across the table.

"Or, if you don't want to be in DC, I have a colleague who vouches for Yale tremendously. Another for CalTech, but you haven't mentioned anything about technology, so I assumed—" he glanced away from the pamphlets momentarily, seeing you wringing your hands nervously. He turned his full attention. "Hey, are you okay?"

You opened your mouth, but then it looked like you swallowed the words. He waited patiently for you to be able to express what was wrong. Finally, you said, "Aaron, I don't think I can go to any of these schools you're talking about."

He furrowed his brows, confused as ever. "Why not? You have the grades to do it. I've read your report card." Your senior grades had improved immensely since you started living with the Hotchners. You qualified for all the advanced classes you wished to take. You just took the SAT. In his mind, you could make it anywhere.

You opened and closed your mouth again. This time, he knew you had the words, but you were clearly reluctant to share them. "It's not about that."

He tilted his head. "Then what is it about?"

All the telltale signs of a flush appeared on your face, signalling that you were embarrassed. He was even more confused, but you explained, "I don't... I don't have the money for Georgetown or Yale, or... anywhere, really."

Realization dawned on him. "Y/N—"

"I mean, I'm not a super-athlete, so I can't really get any major scholarships, and financial aid won't pay nearly enough—"

He called your name a second time. "Y/N." You stopped rambling, choosing to gnaw at your bottom lip instead. And, for what felt like the thousandth time, Aaron felt his heart snap in half at the look on your face.

He wasn't your dad. He wasn't. But you felt like you didn't have any parent to turn to at all, and that caused a burning in his chest that nothing could get rid of.

He maintained eye contact with you and tried to keep his voice steady, despite the lump growing in the back of his throat. "You don't ever have to worry about that. You can go wherever and do whatever you want. Let me take care of the money." That's what parents do for their kids.

You chuckled the same way you did whenever he gave you money. Only this time, you were discussing a lot more than a hundred dollars. But to Aaron, the dollar value didn't matter.

You were worth every penny.

"You can't keep spending all this money on me—"

"I have the money," he interrupted. He tried to lighten the mood by adding, "You're not going to put a dent in my wallet, I promise."

It clearly worked, because your lips curved up into a smile. Albeit, it was bittersweet, but you were smiling, nonetheless. "Aaron, you have a kid who's probably going to go to college, too—"

"Don't worry about that," he said. "Just let me take care of this." Let me take care of you.

You bowed your head down, and he knew he had you. Still, you insisted, "I will get a part-time job, and I will help pay."

He smiled one of his rare smiles. They were never rare around you. "Sure, sweetheart." He picked back up the first pamphlet he saw. "Now, what about UPenn?"

He didn't say You're my kid, too. But somehow, he hoped you heard it.

Hotch sat at his desk, reading over reports from his team. He skimmed them, checking everything was correct before he signed his name in black ink. 30 minutes in, and the stack on his desk still stood tall.

He was halfway through signing when the telephone rang. He picked it up without lifting the pen from paper. "Hotchner."

"Uh, hi, sir." He raised a brow at the sound of Anderson's voice, already moving onto the next file. "There's a kid here to see you."

He paused, the file still mid-air. "A kid?"

"Yeah, says her name's Y/N." Aaron dropped the file onto his desk; it would have to wait until later. It wasn't even noon yet—you were supposed to be in school. "She's not listed on any log, so they called me down to verify—"

"Bring her up," Aaron ordered. He hung up the phone and stood up in the same breath, heading for the door. His gut churned with something intuitive, knowing you wouldn't be here if something wasn't wrong. He'd meet you at the elevator.

He took the steps down from his office two at a time, finding Rossi at the bottom. With a coffee cup in cand, the greying man raised his brows. "Case?"

Aaron's response was automatic. He said it without thinking about the implications or the weight his words held. "No, it's my daughter."

He didn't wait around to see the way Rossi's brows raised even higher. He didn't even wait to process what he said himself. He strode toward the elevator with his heart thumping louder by the second.

He got there just as the doors were opening. As soon as your face was in view, he could've sworn his heart stopped.

Because, even though it was faint, he could see the unmistakable beginnings of a black eye.

He got his bearings, racing to you. Anderson seemed to get the memo, stepping away while Aaron wrapped his arms around you. He barely gave you the chance to hug back before he was pulling away, holding onto your shoulders. "Sweetheart, what happened?"

You gave him a pained smile—pained because you were nervous and because it looked like it was actually hurting you to do. "We should probably get out the elevator before I dive into the details," you joked.

Through profiling Through living with you, Aaron had learned that you didn't take your trauma seriously. You liked to joke about things or deny that they ever happened. But considering that you were there, giving him a heart attack, he figured that you did plan on telling him.

Trying to calm his heart, he stepped out of the elevator, his hand on your back. He nodded to Anderson, telling him in no words to go away.

He turned back to you, his eyes practically gluing themselves to your bruise. He all but demanded, "What happened?"

You sighed. "Don't freak out."

He might as well have just blown a fuse. "Honey, I'm not sure if you're aware, but I'm kind of already freaking out."

You took a deep breath, and then you let the words speed out of your mouth. "I got into Georgetown, but Stephanie didn't, and it was her dream school, and she hates me, so she hit me, but don't worry, it doesn't even hurt!"

Aaron blinked, trying to process everything you just said. Then, a smile spread across his face. "You got into Georgetown?'

You let out another sigh—of relief, this time—and you reciprocated his expression. "Yes."

You weren't even finished enunciating before Aaron was engulfing you into his arms again, making you squeal as your feet lifted off the ground. He knew by now that agents must've turned in your direction, but he couldn't find the will to care about anything but the fact that you into university and—

His eyes narrowed, and he set you down. "Who is this Stephanie girl?"

You screwed your eyes shut, then opened them again because it likely hurt. "I thought the whole Georgetown part trumped the Stephanie part."

"It did. Momentarily. Now, who is she?" He crossed his arms together, slipping back into his work persona almost seamlessly. "I can have Garcia find her. I'll make sure she doesn't get into any university on grounds of violence toward another student—"

You stopped him, putting your hands on his arms. "Dad. I'm fine, I promise." It took you a few seconds to realize what you said, but Aaron realized instantly.

Dad.

You called him dad.

If his heart didn't stop before, it certainly stopped now.

You slapped your hands on your mouth, your eyes going wide. "Oh, my gosh, I'm so—"

He didn't let you finish whatever apology you were going to spout, opting to give you his third hug of the day. You shut up immediately.

With wet eyes, he muttered, "I told you, Y/N. You don't need to apologize for everything."

"I'm s— right. You're right."

He huffed a small laugh. You were the most endearing person he'd ever met. He'd even forget about Stephanie—momentarily—so that he could be here, with you.

He kissed your temple and didn't hesitate before he told you, "I love you, kid."

You went stiff for a moment, and he almost got worried, but you soon relaxed, hugging him even tighter. "I love you, too, dad."

And in that moment, Aaron knew that, no matter your blood, you were his kid through and through.

He would never reject the thought ever again.

Double Bonus!

Inside the bullpen, the BAU had ceased pretending to do work. Their paperwork lied exactly where they left it as they crowded around Spencer's desk, peeking out to the glass doors where their boss stood with a girl with a black eye in front of the elevators.

"Look, he's hugging her again!" Emily whisper-yelled, smacking Spencer's arm.

"Ow," he muttered, but no one paid him any mind.

"Do you think she's his girlfriend? Ooh, or a long, lost niece!" Garcia guessed.

Morgan made a face. "Ew. She looks like a kid. I doubt Hotch would ever go that young." He shuddered at the thought, despite having no idea how old you were. He nudged Reid on his other shoulder. "Reid, c'mon, pretty boy. Read those lips. What are they saying out there?"

"I'm trying!" he defended. "The girl was talking too fast for me to tell what she was saying." He spun around in his chair, facing his colleagues. "Given his behaviour, though, I would say she has to be some form of close family. She's far too young for her and Hotch to be romantically involved. There are around 439 teenagers in the immediate Quantico area. If you include the rest of the Washington Metropolitan Area, where Hotch lives, that's 819,578—"

This time, Garcia pushed him. "Shut up, nerd, they're talking again!"

Reid turned back around, his eyes squinting and flying over your lips to see what you were saying. "She's talking about someone named Stephanie."

"Stephanie?" Prentiss echoed. "Who's Stephanie?"

"I don't know," he answered, watching as your lips stopped moving. "I think Hotch's is saying something now. I don't—" he cut himself off, his eyes widening.

"What? What, pretty boy, what is it?"

"I—" Reid was having a hard time jumpstarting his brain again, stuck in shock. "She just called him dad."

"What?" Garcia screeched.

Emily followed up with, "No way. She's like seventeen!"

"How the hell is that possible?" Derek asked. "He's never said anything." At the sight of Rossi passing by with what looked like his second coffee of the day, Derek called to him. "Hey, Rossi!"

Rossi stopped walking, turning to them with an all-too-smug and all-too-knowing look on his face. He looked them up and down. "What do you nosy kids want?"

"What's this about Hotch having a daughter?" Morgan interrogated, crossing his arms.

Rossi glanced out to the elevators then turned back to the team. A smirk grew on his face. "It's true." He shrugged, already starting to walk away. In a sing-song voice, he confirmed, "She's his kid."

With those three simple words, chaos erupted in the bullpen.

Hotch would have to deal with it later.

After all, that's what parents do for their kids.

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cxptain-rex · 1 month ago

Text

Flawless

Word count: 2.7k

Pairing: Superman/Clark Kent x coworker!fem!reader

Content warnings: Fighting with partner, angst, insecurity, crying, established relationship.

Description: You and Clark Kent have been dating for over 6 months, but when your own insecurities devolve into a fight, you don't know how you'll ever get back to where you were. This one is angsty, but it has a happy ending.

Fic written based on this request from @icybarness. I tried my best to stick with what was asked. I hope you like it!

icybarness asked: Clark Kent request!! Argument between him and the reader, he says things he shouldn’t have said, superrrr angsty lots of tears but in the end all fluff when they make up. Dyingggg to see what you chef up🤓 Can’t wait!!

“Superman!” You called, fighting through his crowd of adoring fans. You held your tape recorder tightly and shuffled through. Superman's eyes were immediately drawn to you, his super hearing making it easy for him to pick you out of a crowd.

You could see his lips forming the beginning of your first name, but he caught himself just before the word came out. “Ms. Y/L/N,” he said correctly.

“Great work out there,” you said gesturing to the giant, unconscious monster tied up with cable wires from the phone lines. Government officials poked and prodded at it as they yelled back and forth how to transport it back to a secure location.

“Thank you,” Superman nodded earnestly.

“I would love to have an interview. I know you usually connect with the Daily Planet through Mr. Kent, but he is currently working on another article. I hope I will suffice in the meantime,” you explained coyly to him.

A teenage girl beside you narrowed her eyes as Superman gave you a small grin. “Of course, let's find somewhere quieter.”

At that moment, a chant rose up from the crowd. “Super-man! Super-man! Super-man! Super-man!” The people pumped their fists in the air and clapped for the man of steel.

As Superman himself grinned and waved, thanking those around you… You felt a sick twisty feeling in your gut. The feeling of smallness.

Of course you were proud of him. He literally saved the world once a month. But it made you feel miniscule, that here was this larger than life, alien superhuman… and you were a girl from a small town whose biggest accomplishment was getting an article on the first page at the Daily Planet. Something that this alien superhuman had also accomplished.

It wasn't a feeling of jealousy, but more so inferiority. How could Clark claim he loved you, when you were so insignificant? A blip in the timeline continuum. People would remember Superman. No one would remember you.

Clark put a hand on your back and ushered you past the chanting fans and towards the row of shops. He led you towards a bookstore, holding the door open for you, as you both ducked inside.

“What if someone is in here?” you asked, looking around the old piles of dusty hardbacks.

“No one is.” he replied, locking the door behind you.

“Right, X-ray vision.” you sighed.

He stalked towards you, forcing you to walk backwards further into the shelves, until you were both completely hidden from the front of the store by the towering masses of ancient tomes. You noticed Clark frowning as he grabbed you gently by your shoulders to stop you from bumping into a bookcase.

“Are you trying to escape from me?” he teased, leaning down until his face was almost level with yours.

“I am trying to do an interview.” you explained, holding up the tape recorder between your chests.

His eyebrows furrowed as he glanced from you, to the tape recorder, and back to you. He straightened up, towering over you once more. “You actually want an interview?” he asked, sounding confused.

“Sure, while I have you here.” you said. You had interviewed him several times since you had learned of his identity, but your articles never got so succinct an idea of who he was, as Clarks did, but he did have an unfair advantage.

“What's wrong?” he asked, sweeping a lock of hair out of your face and letting his hand rest on your shoulder.

“Nothing, why would something be wrong?” you brushed off.

“You're not acting like yourself. You're never… cold with me.” he explained.

“Well, I did just see you defeat a 400 foot tall monster from a different dimension. Maybe I’m in shock.” you offered.

“No, you've seen me defeat worse. What is it? Tell me.” he insisted.

You sigh once more and shrug. “I just don't know that this is working for me as well as it used to.” you admit.

He jerked back from you as if he had been slapped. “What?” he asked in a breathy, shocked voice that was decidedly Clark Kent and not Superman. “What did I do?” his hands slipped off of your shoulders.

“Nothing! No, you're perfect. That's kind of the problem.” It was your turn to grip his forearms and tug him a little closer. “It's too big for me, this life you lead. You're off fighting monsters and super villains. You're this beacon of light and hope and everyone acts like you were sent here to save humanity, and there is a large chance that you were.” You were on a roll, “Is it weird that I don't even fear for your life anymore? I don't have to, because you're impenetrable.” you rant, looking down at the giant S on his chest as you spoke.

“You know underneath it all I'm just a guy from Kansas. That I like peanut butter on my toast. I click my pen loudly when I'm not writing with it. I always quit crossword puzzles right before I finish them. I'm late to work like every morning. You know I'm not perfect.” he argued.

“Do I? Because you're not just that guy from Kansas. You’re so much more.”

He blinked down at you for a moment, his face was screwed up in pain. “So… what? Superman is too much for you?”

You really just needed to hear that he thought you were more to him than a journalist or a girlfriend or a human. That you were multidimensional and at the core of everything, a good person.

“No… I don't know.” you shook your head, “Maybe it's not really that you're too much, maybe it's that I'm not enough.” You muttered, wincing as your words felt flat and sounded insecure.

“I don't care that you're not enough, I just…” he stopped abruptly and you did too, pulling your arms away from his. He would never have physically hurt you, you knew that in your bones. But his words cut so deep that he might as well have hit you. You sucked in a deep breath.

“I didn't mean-”

“We’re done Clark.” You cut him off before he could explain this away. You pushed past him and he stepped back easily without a fight.

You knew you would listen to him if you had let him speak. You loved him so much that you would forgive him if it wasn't for everything else, but love didn't make a good relationship, it just played a part in it, and the rest of your relationship was fraying at the seams now. He didn't think you were enough. You didn't measure up to him and how could you?

You turned your head away so he didn't see the tears falling, although he probably could anyway considering he had x-ray vision. “I'll bring your things to work on Monday. Please just… let me go.” you said, your voice cracking and full of emotion as you walked out of the bookshop and back onto the street.

Two days and three and a half pints of Ben and Jerrys later, you were sitting at your desk trying and failing to focus on writing a piece on labor unions. Out of the corner of your eye, you had seen Clark walk into the office about thirty minutes ago and had been trying to ignore his eyes on you ever since. He had been 15 minutes early this morning.

It had felt like a stab to your heart to leave a box of his things on his desk. You had gotten here a full hour early to ensure he wouldn't be sitting there when you did. The box contained three pairs of pants, his running shoes, a The Mighty Crabjoys T-shirt, a Black Canary t-shirt, his toothbrush and two notebooks he had filled to the brim with article ideas, short stories and doodles. You knew he would probably see the tear stains you had left as you poured over them yesterday, but you hadn't cared much at the time. You had also left a necklace and some CD’s he had given you at the bottom of the box. You didn't want to see the reminders of him.

It had not taken long before you heard his heavy, lumbering footsteps as he attempted to approach your desk. “Don't try to talk to her, Clark. You've done enough.” Lois said from her desk.

“Is she okay?” you heard him ask her quietly as if he didn't want you to hear him ask.

“Of course she's okay.” Lois scoffed. You could see her eye roll even though you were turned away from them both.

“Good, good… it's just...” his voice was low and gravelly, not sounding entirely like Superman or like Clark at the moment. Hearing him sound as broken as you felt, twisted the knife that was already embedded in your chest. You squeezed your eyes shut to prevent tears leaking down your face.

“Nevermind,” he said finally, and you heard him walk back to his desk.

The following day was a little easier. Once you had pushed through seeing him around the office on Monday and Tuesday, it felt like your wound had cauterized slightly rather than just gush blood.

You were sitting in your apartment after work, flipping through your photo album, looking at pictures you had taken together over the past 6 months. You had looked so happy, you both did.

A tear leaked down your face once again as you came across your favorite picture of the two of you. Him, standing behind you, smiling at the camera as his arms were wrapped around your middle, his chin resting on your shoulder and you clinging to his arms. It was taken by Jimmy when you had hosted a friendsgiving party three days before actual holiday. You were wrapped up in a coat having just come in from the snow outside.

A sudden knock pounded on your door, scaring you so thoroughly that you clenched your phone to your chest and stared at the door for an extended amount of time, thinking of who it could be. It took you so long to kick into gear, that they knocked again.

You scurried to the door, looking through the peephole to see Clark staring down at the ground, his leg bouncing animatedly. You sucked in another breath and the sound made him glance up. Damn his super hearing.

You hesitantly unlocked and opened the door, leaning against the door frame as he looked terrified. He had flown through bullets, fire, interdimensional matter, and who knows what else, but this is what made him stressed.

“Hi.” he said frankly.

“Hey,” you replied.

“I know you said not to contact you, I just have been thinking about what I would say if I could go back and change what happened… and the thing is, I messed up.” He said.

Mrs. Prussel from down the hall opened her door and bustled past us with her dog on a leash yipping loudly. She stared so hard that you knew the entire building would know that you were having relationship problems by the end of the night.

“Come in,” you mumbled, resigning yourself to at least letting him have some closure. Maybe you needed it to.

“Thank you,” he sighed in relief as he stepped in and you closed the door behind him.

You gestured to your couch and he gingerly sat down on it, but you remained standing. You knew you could compose yourself best if you kept the high ground.

“You can say what you need to say, but after that, you need to go.” You insisted, your eyes staying on the spot next to him on the couch. You could barely see him nod in agreement.

His mouth flattened into a line before he spoke. “I messed up. My words weren't coming out right. You are enough, you are.. everything to me.” his voice cracked slightly and you could already feel your eyes welling up with tears.

“I didn't understand what you meant at the time, but your words have been running on a loop through my head for days. I know that I'm a lot. I didn't choose to have all of these powers and most of the time, I have no idea what to do with them. But… who would I be if I didn't use them? I couldn't live with myself if people died because I wasn't there,” he reasoned.

You finally lifted my eyes to meet his and your heart cracked just a little further. “Of course I want you to use your powers, Clark. That's not the problem.” You insisted.

“I know, I know. I just... if I could, I would give it all up for you, but I have a responsibility. " He said sincerely.

"I don't want you to not be Superman." You repeated quietly.

He looked so deeply into your eyes that you were sure he was seeing your thoughts and feelings. "I have seen every continent on this planet, I can fly into space and travel to different solar systems in minutes… but every constellation and galaxy pale in comparison to you. You said you're not enough, but it's the opposite. You overwhelm me sometimes, just the thought that you love me of all people.”

“Clark…” You started, but he cut you off.

“No, I'm not done.” he said standing back up. “Gosh, you are beautiful and funny and talented. You amaze me and I'm not just saying this because I might lose you. I want you to know how I see you, especially if you don't forgive me. Please, never think that I don't love you, you are so much more than enough. It's me who doesn't deserve you.” he finished. Tears were making their way down both your cheeks and his as he turned to go. "Don't see me walking away as me not loving you." He pleaded softly, always true to his word.

“Wait!” You exclaimed as he reached the door. “I was scared. I still am.” you admitted, turning around to face him.

“Of what? I will always protect you.” he asked, coming a step closer to you.

“That you’ll look around one day,” you paused and sniffled. Your nose was running an embarrassing amount. “and realize you could have any girl you want. That I'm a fish in a sea of billions.”

“No.” he said definitively, striding over and scooping you up in his arms. Your feet lifted off the floor several inches and you weren't even sure if he noticed. You could hear it in his voice that he cracked a small smile as he said, “You’re the only fish for me.”

"I believe you," you replied.

"So are we back together?" he asked.

"Yes, we are back together." you smiled as he squeezed you just a little tighter.

You clung tightly onto his neck as he smoothed a reassuring hand up and down your back. “I think this whole thing was silly.” you surmised.

He stilled as he asked, “what do you mean by "whole thing"?”

“Our fight,” you answered, pulling your head off of his shoulder to see his face. You ran one hand up the back of his head to mess with his hair as his expression changed into a light grin.

“I think it was good in the end. It made us both realize that I'm very flawed and you're perfect,” he joked and you rolled your eyes.

“Oh is that what you learned?” you teased, leaning your forehead against his.

“I already had a feeling. What I really took away from this is that I can't live without you.”

“Really?” you asked gleefully, “I think I was fairly uneffected.” You shrugged, acting nonchalant.

“Huh, that must be why there are tear stains in both of my notebooks and my t-shirt looks like you wiped your nose with it,” he cocked his head to the side as you blushed.

“Fine! I can't live without you either. I lied, I was miserable.” I admitted.

“That makes two of us.” he smiled and kissed you sweetly.

Give me some more Superman/Clark Kent requests and I'll get to them soon! This was so much fun to write!

Hope you enjoyed it!

XOXO,

Junebug

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