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cringeiknow · 1 day ago

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Reblogging this again cause it’s so fuckin cute and uhhhh thunderstorm season has started near my house so I’m scared outta my skin.

A/N: I wrote this for my dearest friend @cringeiknow <3 love you bestie <3 It's also posted on AO3 if you prefer to read there! I will drop the link below. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it!

Love, Mal <3

Summary: On a case in Alabama you find yourself facing your worst fear- thunderstorms. To your surprise, you don't have to face it alone.

Warnings: mentions of canon typical violence, unsub critically injured via lightning strike, cursing, Thunderstorms, anxiety, implied age gap.

Tags: Aaron Hotchner/reader (No use of Y/N) Angst, fluff, mutual pining, hurt/comfort, soft Hotch, pre-relationship pining.

Word count: 5.4k

Masterlist

Ao3 link here

Aaron had always loved the smell of rain. He didn’t know why, there was no formative memory or specific reasoning for his love of the scent. He just liked it. So naturally he also loved rainy days. He liked to watch the raindrops run down the floor to ceiling windows in his office, and occasionally lightning would streak across the sky and he always thought it was so—majestic. Rain on the roof at night was the perfect way to fall asleep. It was soothing and it kept him in a deep sleep all night. Rain brought life in the spring and rainbows almost always followed. He just loved rain.

This week though, the rain was nothing but a hindrance. The team had been on the trail of an unsub in Alabama who was using the line of thunderstorms moving through the south as cover, and part of his ritual. This unsub only killed when it was raining, which doesn’t sound like a huge issue, it only rains every few weeks in the south in the summer so the team should have had plenty of time between the third kill and the next rainy day to make progress and complete a profile. Right?

Wrong. The entire south was experiencing a tropical depression because of the hurricane that had just hit the Gulf a few days before. Which meant, it was raining incessantly, and the unsub was now officially on a spree.

To make matters worse, the worst of the storms were due in the next few hours and they were coming with severe weather warnings. The local meteorologist was calling for strong straight line winds, hail, electrical storms, and—at the worst—possible tornadoes across the state. Reid had been watching the forecast all day, and Aaron was sure that thunderstorms and supercells were going to become his newest hyperfixation.

The unsub hadn’t struck today. Not yet. That was the most frustrating part of this whole case, the team had racked their brains over it for the entire week, but they could not figure out how the unsub was choosing his targets! It was about to drive Aaron up the damn wall.

“Hotch! We got another one!” Morgan called from the doorway of the breakroom where Aaron had been standing behind Reid, attention fixed on the radar and the line of storms that was bearing down on their location. “It’s on the other side of the county.”

Aaron sighed heavily and squared his shoulders. “Let’s go and see what we can gather from the scene before these storms hit.” He said, looking from Morgan to Reid. “Why don’t you stay and keep an eye on those storms, that way you can call us if we need to take shelter.”

“Sure.” Reid said, barely glancing over his shoulder at him as he said it. His focus solely on the weatherman’s words and the bright colors splayed across the screen. Aaron shook his head at Reid—fondly, despite the circumstances— and started toward the door, where Morgan had already disappeared to gather the rest of the team. Until he noticed you.

You were sitting at a table in the corner of the room, eyes locked on the TV, brows furrowed.

As the newest member of the team—having joined only three months prior—Aaron didn’t know much about you personally. He knew you were a hell of an agent, and a brilliant profiler for your age. He knew you got along great with the rest of the team and he knew that he’d like to get to know you a little better when he had the time. He liked to know as much as possible about his team, it helped him to lead. You were usually bright and cheerful. A bit of a smart ass, but in an amusing way that was never truly disrespectful. You often had the team in fits of laughter with a well timed one liner and he appreciated your ability to lighten the mood on occasion.

This afternoon, however, you were quiet. Skittish and even bordering on paranoid. You jumped at loud noises and every time he’d said your name it had taken him three or four tries to get your attention. It was unlike you to be so distracted—as far as he was aware anyway—and it was beginning to concern him. Currently, your knee was bouncing a mile a minute and you were snapping a hair tie against the skin of your inner wrist while biting your cheek. Christ, you looked tense.

“Hey.” He murmured, stepping between you and the TV to get your attention without startling you.

“Huh? Sorry Hotch, did you say something?” You asked him, shaking your head as if clearing it like an etch-a-sketch.

He smiled at you, though his concern was clear. “I hadn’t yet, no. I was just trying to get your attention.” He explained gently, stepping a little closer and studying you while you were disoriented. He’d often found himself studying you. He wasn’t sure what it was about your features that drew his interest so often. He found you pretty, beautiful if he was being totally truthful, but you were also… young. Young enough that he shouldn’t notice how pretty you were—but his brain didn’t seem to get the memo. It was an issue.

“Oh.” You mumbled, your voice quiet as you barely managed to maintain eye contact. Thunder rolled softly in the distance and your eyes darted to the nearest window, widening slightly as you startled. Hmm. He’d ponder that later.

“Are you coming?” He asked you expectantly. “Morgan just said we have another victim.”

You once again looked around him to the TV and then looked back at him. Then frowned. “Actually, I think someone should stay behind and pay attention to the weather. Just in case.” You volunteered.

“Yes, that's what Reid is doing.” He told you then nodded his head toward the door. “Come on.” He prodded, not thinking anything else of it. “We’ll need you at the scene. We’re trying to get back before the next line of storms hits.”

You looked like you wanted to argue, which was strange because you had never given any push back over a simple instruction before. He raised an eyebrow at you—waiting for some sort of explanation— and you sighed softly, standing from your seat and walking to the door without a word. He’d have to check in with you later.

You HATED thunderstorms, the only good thing about them is petrichor. You loved petrichor. However, lightning and thunder might as well have been the bane of your existence. You’d been dreading it all week. The last few days had just been incessant rain. A constant, miserable, humid downpour that had made you feel as though you were never going to be dry again. You hated that too. Tonight though, that would be the absolute cherry on top of a terrible week. You were so glad you had grown up in the Mountain West region of the States, where hurricanes didn’t exist and tornadoes were so rare there hadn’t been one in your lifetime. The high altitudes and dry air didn’t allow for it. Thank God.

In the back seat of the SUV you noticed that Hotch kept glancing back at you in the rearview mirror. You didn’t know why, or what you had done, but you were sure you were in trouble— for something… That was just another thing to add to your ever growing list of grievances, but one you’d worry about later. Those thunderheads in the distance were growing ever closer, and the nearer they got the louder the thunder became. Every distant flash of lightning had made you more and more anxious. So Hotch’s possible ire would just have to wait. It was going to take all your energy to maintain focus on the scene, so you didn’t have any left to worry about him.

The crime scene was at a trailer park. The last place you wanted to be with bad weather on the way. The poor victim had been killed sometime during the previous night. No one heard or saw anything because of the rain. Hotch had split the trailer into sections for you all to go over and pick apart. You could hardly focus as you looked around the small bedroom. It was girly frilly and soft, everything was either baby pink or cornflower blue. She had lived alone but she had pictures of friends and family everywhere. There was so much blood, it drenched the bed and splattered the walls and one word kept coming to the forefront of your mind: overkill. It was entirely unsettling, especially as the flashes of lightning grew brighter and the thunder got louder and louder.

“What do you see?” Hotch’s voice made you jump and let out a small shriek. You’d been alone in the bedroom, and you hadn’t heard his footsteps coming down the hall over the a/c unit in the window. You panted as your heart rate spiked and you tried to settle yourself with a hand on your chest. “Sorry, I didn’t intend to frighten you.”

“S’okay.” You breathed on an exhale, waving off his concern dismissively. You looked around the room once more before you attempted to give him a response, hoping to see anything you may have missed before. ��She was loved. She wasn’t a loner like the last guy, she had friends and a family. She was tidy, there’s nothing out of place—besides the blood— and everything is completely aesthetically pleasing. She liked order, or she had just finished a deep clean. But more importantly, she made this space homey, she was comfortable here. It’s not the ritz but she was making it work.

“She graduated from the University of Alabama in May. It’s August so she’s probably only been living here for three months at the most and look at what she’s done with the place. I mean, it’s not my style, but it’s nice. Very sorority, but nice. She wanted to feel at home here. The degree on the wall is in early childhood education, and I’ll bet Garcia is gonna tell us she was going to be working at the nearby elementary school we passed on the way over when school starts back next week.

“Given the amount of pictures, the fact that she was in fact in a sorority, and seemed to be a ranking member, I’d say she was probably outgoing. That’s really all I can gather about her from the appearance of the room, I haven’t gone through her closet or drawers or anything like that yet. I had to wait for the coroner to move her body.”

He studied you intently while you spoke and you just pretended not to notice.

“Good, that’s good.” He murmured, glancing around the room as well and then nodding at you. “What about our unsub? What does this room say about him?” He asks you, looking you over with a soft curiosity.

That's when you realized this was a test. Or maybe a teaching moment? You were unsure, but you knew he was looking at you expectantly and you didn’t want to disappoint him. You know it’s probably silly, but you have a thing for Aaron Hotchner. He drives you absolutely crazy with his dad bod and unruly hair that he keeps cut short because of the cowlick above his forehead. You can’t help but stare at his enormous hands and sometimes you giggle to yourself at the way they dwarf absolutely everything. His phone, pens, the hands of other men when he shakes them, your hands… Which you know because he helped you down off a chair the other day when Penelope couldn’t reach something she needed on a shelf even with the chair. You and JJ were the only ones there to help her and you’re taller than JJ but still not quite tall enough to reach the shelf from the floor. So you climbed on the chair, then Hotch came into the bullpen and almost had a fit because apparently standing in rolling chairs is dangerous—as if you don’t hunt serial killers for a living—and he demanded that you get down. Carefully. He offered you his hands before you stepped down and so you accepted the help—because you thought he might actually pass the fuck out if you just jumped— and that was when you realized that your hands looked like they were tiny compared to his.

Focus.

You cleared your throat and looked around, before looking back at him and answering. “I just keep thinking: Overkill.” You gestured around the room. “This is different than all the other scenes, he didn’t do nearly as much damage to the other victims, or leave such a huge mess. It’s overkill, I’m just not sure why…”

“But you do have an idea?” Hotch prompted you gently, his mouth quirking up at the corner in a rare smirk.

You sighed and nodded slightly. “I think she fought back.”

“That’s exactly the conclusion we all were coming to. Good work.” He said, and the added praise had your cheeks heating to a shade of red you were sure was unflattering. He turned to head back out the door, but stopped and looked over his shoulder to say something else.

A loud clap of thunder beat him to the punch, scaring you absolutely shitless. You screamed bloody murder and jumped nearly out of your own skin. “Fuck!” You hissed, bending down to rest your hands on your knees as you tried to catch your breath.

He startled at your outburst and then turned back to you. “Are you alright?” He asked softly, stepping back to your side and laying a gentle hand on your shoulder, squeezing firmly.

You tried to laugh it off, waving a hand and chuckling awkwardly. “Oh, yeah. I’m fine.” You chuffed, giving him a weak smile. “The thunder just startled me, that’s all. I’m not a big fan of thunder and that one was super loud, it’s not a big deal. I’m fine.” You tried your best to be convincing, standing up straight and doing what you could to mask your anxiety.

He was frowning at you, but he nodded his head anyway. Stepping away from you, he removed his hand from your shoulder and then went back to the door. “I was going to say, we’re about ready to head back to the station. We’ve seen enough and we don’t want to get caught out in these storms if we can help it.”

Then he simply walked away, leaving you to regain a semblance of composure in the gore of this once cozy bedroom.

Aaron was now sure that something had his youngest agent on edge. You were normally unflappable, a crime scene like that one would have been just another day on the job for you. You’d seen worse, he knew you had because he’d personally been there with you. Maybe it was that the victim was near your age, or that she had fought back and you could see yourself in her. Maybe he’d just caught you off guard and that was what had unsettled you.

But none of that rang true for him, not really, because you’d been anxious all day. Come to think of it, now that it had drawn his attention, you had seemed a little nervous all week and the longer this case went on the more nervous you got.

He tried to tell himself that the only reason he really noticed was because you were still new and relatively untested. He was just keeping an eye on his newest subordinate, making sure you were settling in alright.

But that was bullshit too, and he knew it.

You had finished “settling in” weeks ago. You fit in with this team so perfectly it was almost like you’d always been there. Your giggles ringing out through the bullpen as you laughed at Morgan’s jokes had become a familiar sound. Your gentle teasing of Reid now an everyday occurrence that he barely registered anymore. The way you popped your hair tie against your wrist to focus had become as recognisable to him as the way JJ chewed on pencils and Prentiss cracked her knuckles.

You weren’t as experienced as the rest of them, sure. But you belonged here, with them. There was no question about it. He had no doubts about your potential and often he found himself relying on your uncanny ability to mirror others. If there was ever a time when he wasn’t sure when a person was a victim, witness, or suspect he had figured out that he could throw you into the room with them and you would sniff it out like a bloodhound. An empath, Penelope had called you. Hotch had thought he knew how to make empathy a tool and often used it himself to get what he needed from a witness or a suspect. However, the affinity you had for it was something he’d never seen before. It was like you crawled into the other person’s emotions, learned them, understood them, and molded them to fit your needs. It was an impressive interrogation tool and one he had taken full advantage of in the last few months, when the situation called for it.

So he really had no reason to watch you as closely as he did. There was just something about you that drew him in. It wasn’t your beauty alone, he’d worked with plenty of beautiful women in the past. It wasn’t your age, that was what made him agonize over this the most, he felt like a perv every time he found himself watching you. It wasn’t just your personality, your beaming smiles and your quirky little laugh. It was a combination of everything and it was maddening.

Now, back at the station he found himself watching you again. This time however, he was watching with immense concern. You were wound tight enough to break, your muscles tense and your face drawn. Your leg was bouncing wildly and you were snapping the hair tie on your wrist with such force he could hear the slap of it against your skin from across the room, it made him flinch each time. It was pouring down rain outside and thunder rolled every few minutes, each rumble causing you to twitch anxiously. The worst of the storms were due to roll in any minute now and the team had moved from the break room of the station to the basement, built specifically for nights like this. There was plenty of space and light down here to continue working on the case and so that’s what they’d all been doing. You, however, seemed to have nothing to contribute to the conversation. Instead staring into the empty corner of the room, a blank but worried look on your face.

Thunder roared, shaking the whole building down to the foundation and suddenly the room was pitch black. A shrill scream rang out followed by a loud scrape of chair legs on the floor, a crash as the chair in question seemed to topple over and several other loud thuds as someone fled the room. He didn’t need light to guess who had run.

The power came back on shortly once the generator kicked on, and the lights flickered now but they could deal with the minor annoyance. What he couldn’t deal with, was not knowing where you had gone and if you were alright. You might have hurt yourself running in the darkness like that. He was going to have to find you. Just in case.

“I’m going to go check on her.” He said to no one in particular. “I’m not sure what that was about, but she ran into at least two chairs and a table on the way out, so she could be hurt.”

The team nodded their agreement and he set out in search of you.

It was raining so hard now that he could hear the drumming of it on the roof all the way from the basement. The thunder continued to shake the building with every crash of lightning and the wind was howling so loudly it sounded like a band of demons wailing through the halls. He searched every room of the basement until he finally found you.

You were in the very back corner of a supply closet sitting on the floor with your knees tucked to your chest. Your head was buried in your lap so you did see him come in and you were pressing your palms to your ears so forcefully your elbows were shaking. You were rocking back and forth and your body was trembling. He could just barely make out the sound of your sobs over the wind and rain.

“You’re not a ‘big fan of thunder’ huh?” He said softly, just loud enough to alert you to his presence. You looked up at him with tears rolling down your face. Sniffling, you wiped at your tears, it was useless to try though. Your cheeks were soaked and you were just smearing mascara everywhere.

“Sorry.” You gasped, barely able to get the word out because your breathing was so erratic that your chest was heaving and you were doing the uncontrollable hiccup thing that was nearly painful. He smiled at you kindly. “I’m terrified of thunderstorms. It’s pathetic, really I’ll be fine.”

“Don’t apologize, it’s not pathetic. Not at all. Everyone is afraid of something. Thunderstorms are powerful and dangerous, it’s a perfectly normal thing to be scared of.” He said calmly, trying to soothe you. Walking closer and squatting down in front of you, he noticed a box of Kleenex on the shelf just above your head. Grabbing it and tearing back the seal, he pulled out a couple and handed them to you. You wiped at your face, noticing as you pulled the tissue away that there were black streaks on the white tissue.

“Fuck…” you muttered, wiping harder at your face to the point that he was worried you’d rub your skin raw.

“Here let me.” He offered, grabbing a clean tissue and reaching toward your face. He gently dabbed at the black streaks until he was satisfied that they were cleaned up enough. “There.”

He brought his eyes back to yours, finding you staring at him in what he could only describe as shocked awe.

“How can I help you?” He asked, hoping his voice was calming and patient. You shook your head.

“You can’t.” You whispered, your voice shuddering as you looked down again, avoiding his eyes and wrapping your arms around your knees.

“Hey.” He whispered back, reaching out again to move your hair out of your face so that he could see your eyes. “Let me try, I can’t just let you sit here alone, terrified. I won’t do it. So tell me what helps at home.”

You scoffed and shook your head, new tears falling from your eyes and splattering on your pant legs. “At home I put in earbuds, curl up in a ball under a blanket in my bed and cover my head with a pillow to drown out everything but the music.”

You looked up at him, your face embarrassed and expectant. As though you thought he’d make fun of you. He just nodded his head, a plan forming in his mind. He could work with that. “I’ll be right back, stay right here.” He murmured.

“Don’t worry I will.” You quipped, a tad sarcastically and he smiled softly, deciding that attitude was better than tears. “My ass is firmly glued to this spot.”

He chuckled quietly as he left the room, in search of something to help you.

You watched him go with curious eyes at first, but the first peel of thunder after he disappeared had you shaking and crying again. You wished, briefly, that he had just stayed. He made you feel safer, just with his proximity to you. But then you dismissed the notion. You didn’t want him to witness your tears. The shaking, breathless, sobbing mess you referred to as your ‘ugly cry.�� Not when he was always so perfectly composed and put together.

You’d never once seen him crack. Nothing flustered him. Not that you’d ever seen anyway. Granted you’d only known him a few months, and he’d been chasing serial killers for over a decade. Of course he was solid as a rock under pressure.

You didn’t hear him come back. He didn’t say a word, just got to work. He’d found a couch cushion—somewhere—which he placed on the concrete floor against the wall near where you were sitting. The puff of air was what had alerted you to his presence again.

“This should be more comfortable than the floor.” He murmured, gesturing to the cushion and offering a hand to help you stand. You took it and then sat, as he instructed, on the cushion instead. He didn’t stop there though, no, he had a few more tricks up his sleeve. “I couldn’t find a blanket, but this should swallow you whole and it’s already warm.” He said taking off his suit jacket and draping it over you carefully. Then he turned to a nearby shelf and picked something up, handing it to you. It was a set of headphones. “I borrowed them from Morgan. Do you have music on your phone?”

You nodded but then frowned and shook your head. “I left it in the other room.”

“That’s okay.” He soothed, sitting next to you on the cushion. “I’ve got mine.”

He fiddled around in the pocket of his slacks and extracted his phone. Retrieving the end of the cord, he connected the headphones to his cellphone and started to search for the app he needed.

“Hotch, you don’t have to–” You started to protest, desperately trying to let him off the hook.

But he interrupted you with a gentle nudge of his shoulder against yours.

“I know.” He murmured, smiling at you kindly. “I want to.”

You were speechless. Breathless. Unable to comprehend the words he’d just said. Because why? Why did he want to sit here with you in this tiny little supply closet and comfort you through your juvenile fear of thunderstorms.

“Here. Put those on.” He instructed you gently.

You didn’t move, still flabbergasted at the improbability of Hotch sitting here, with you, just because he wanted to. He raised a brow at you expectantly but you couldn’t get your hands to reach up and put the headphones over your ears. So he did it for you. Gently taking your wrists in his hands and guiding your hands up to your head then situating the headphones so they rested comfortably over your ears. He let go of your wrists and you wrapped your arms around your knees again, pulling his suit jacket tighter around your body. You watched him carefully, still trying to find a reason for his kindness. His mouth turned up in a slightly amused smirk as he looked down at his phone again and tapped the screen once. Julie Andrews' voice flowed into your ears and you snorted a surprised laugh. “You think you’re hilarious right now, don’t you?”

You bumped him back with your shoulder, playfully, without thinking about it. The song was My Favorite Things from The Sound Of Music. The main character, Maria, sings it to the children she nannies during a thunderstorm to take their minds off the fear and the joke is not lost on you.

He laughed softly and looked over at you with a mischievous smile. “I’m honestly just impressed you got the joke. That’s an old movie.”

“I think I’m morally obligated to refer to you as Fraulein Hotchner from now on.” You joked, sniffling a little because your nose was still running and you’re sure you looked SO attractive, not. He laughed at your joke and bumped your leg with his, on purpose. Your stomach flipped, and he changed the song to something slightly more modern. You say slightly because it was late eighties rock and it was a song you’d never even heard before, but you weren’t going to tell him that. He had the volume high enough that you couldn’t hear the storm, but low enough that you could hear him perfectly. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.” He murmured, giving you a soft smile that lit you up inside.

“What are you afraid of?” You whispered, and immediately wished you could retract the question, rambling an explanation instead of letting him answer. “I mean– you said everyone is afraid of something… this fear I have of thunderstorms seems… ridiculous, juvenile even. But it's real and I can’t shake it. So I was wondering… If maybe you’re being so kind because you also have an irrational fear?”

The soft smile remained, and he opened his mouth to respond– but was interrupted by a brutal shockwave of thunder that shook the ground and everything else. You whimpered involuntarily, ducking your head and clutching your knees tighter to your chest. He put his arm around your shoulders—without hesitation— and tucked you tightly against his side. “You’re safe, I’ve got you.” He murmured into your hair and suddenly you forgot entirely about the storm. You nestled in closer, not really caring about the unprofessionalism of the entire situation. You felt safe tucked under his arm like this, so you rested your head on his shoulder and he let you.

“I hate, hate, hate thunderstorms.” You grumbled, huffing frustratedly. “Which sucks because I LOVE petrichor!”

“What’s petrichor?” He mumbles into your hair again, talking so softly to you that your stomach was having a literal butterfly rave or something.

“The smell of rain.” You sighed quietly. “I love it, but I can’t truly enjoy it because rain itself makes me anxious.”

His thumb was softly stroking your shoulder through the material of his suit jacket and he laughed softly. “Is that what it’s called?”

“Mm hmm.” You hummed back. “Why?”

“It’s my favorite smell, I didn’t know it had a name.” He murmured, his breath moving your hair so that it tickled your forehead. His phone started to ring, but he didn’t move to answer it.

Then you realized that he couldn’t hear it ringing because of the headphones. “Your phone is ringing.” You murmured sitting up straight.

He unplugged the headphones and answered it on speaker phone without ever looking at the caller ID. “Hotchner.”

“Hey, did you ever find her?” Spencer’s voice rang out in the quiet as you took off the headphones. Too quiet, you realized after a beat, you couldn’t hear the rain any longer.

“Yeah, I did. You’ve got us both, what is it?” Hotch asked him.

“Oh, good. We’re all going back upstairs, the storm is past us and the weather channel says it's over for the night.” Reid informed you.

“Thank God…” You muttered, relaxing fully into Hotch’s side. He squeezed your shoulder reassuringly and smiled at you.

“We’ll be right up.” Hotch said and started to hang up but Reid hurriedly interrupted him.

“Wait! I was also supposed to tell you that we think we have our unsub.” He rushed out.

“As in, we’ve got a strong suspect or we have him in custody?” You asked in confusion, glancing up at Hotch with your brows furrowed, only to find your expression completely mirrored his.

“Both… Kind of.” Reid answered. “We got a call about a man who was trying to break into a single woman’s house and was subsequently struck by lightning. He’s in the hospital, but they don’t think he’s gonna make it. Which isn’t surprising given that lightning is molten plasma that is generally around 30,000 degrees Kelvin.”

“Woah.” You muttered. Hotch’s face echoed your sentiment.

“Thanks Reid, we’ll be right there.” He said and ended the call. “Are you alright to go back upstairs?”

“Yeah, if the storm is over I’m good.” You replied. “Hey, if this is our guy, do we get to go home and get away from this horrendous weather?”

He chuckled softly. “Yes.”

“Oh good! Now I’ll have two things about thunderstorms to kind of— sort of— appreciate.” You joked, leaning forward to look back at him.

“Oh yeah?” He asked, smirking softly. “What would that be?”

You grinned at him cheekily before chirping. “Petrichor and Plasma.”