Hi! I love your one shots soooo much they are super cool! Could you do one with a gender fluid unsub around 14 who is hotchs child and like has been killing since hailey died and they go on cases and always kill wherever their cases are? I probably phrased this horribly but to bad! (:
Aaron Hotchner X Unsub Teen Reader
Request: Hi! I love your one shots soooo much they are super cool! Could you do one with a gender fluid unsub around 14 who is hotchs child and like has been killing since hailey died and they go on cases and always kill wherever their cases are? I probably phrased this horribly but to bad! (:
Third person pov...
The rain pounded against the windows of the BAU, mixing with the tension that hung thick in the air.
A team of elite profilers, once accustomed to solving the most heinous crimes, had been uncharacteristically stumped lately. Even their veteran leader, Aaron Hotchner, was feeling the pressure to crack this case.
“Another body found in Phoenix,” Garcia’s voice chimed through the conference room.
“Same MO as the last three we tracked. And it’s almost as if whoever is behind this is toying with us. The victims were all found in different locations, and there’s no connection beyond the way they were killed.”
Hotch stood at the head of the table, his jaw set as he processed the information. What remained unspoken hung like a thick veil in the room—his child.
Y/N had been accompanying the team for the past few months. They were brilliant and keen, yet something darker stirred within them—something rooted in a tragedy that had left its mark on the family.
It was one year since Hailey’s shocking death, and in that time, Y/N had transformed. Once a bright, cheerful teenager who wore their heart on their sleeve, they were now a whirlwind of secrecy and shadows.
The pain of losing their mother had morphed their grief into a need for retribution. They had been the one to inform Hotch about their first kill, a desperate declaration of their struggle with the chaos swirling inside.
“I want to help,” they had said, their eyes sparkling, yet haunted. “I never want anyone to feel how I felt when Mom died.”
Hotch’s heart ached at the memory. He was helpless to contain the darkness blossoming within Y/N, and what he feared most was that they might one day become the very thing they sought to destroy.
As the team piled into the jet, Hotch’s gaze fell on Y/N, sitting silently, headphones in their ears, lost in their own world.
Their style had evolved into a blend of what-they-wanted-to-be and what-they-resented; garments tailored not to gender expectations, but rather an expression of their multifaceted self—a mixture of floral patterns contrasted with edgy leather, layers lending complexity to an already intricate persona.
“Are you alright?” Hotch asked softly, leaning closer, though they didn’t quite meet his eyes.
“I’m fine,” Y/N replied, the words almost rehearsed, a barrier against the turmoil that awaited exploration. “I want to help, to make a difference.”
The words hung in the air, and beneath them was something deeper, more menacing. Hotch couldn’t shake the feeling that Y/N was seeking not just to help, but to find solace through something darker—not just shaping justice, but perhaps defining it through blood.
When they landed in Phoenix, the tempo of the city pulsed around them; sirens sang through the streets, and chaos bubbled beneath the surface.
The BAU team wasted no time regarding the case. Teaming up with local law enforcement, they reviewed the crime scenes, learning the patterns that unfolded with each new victim.
Y/N observed with an intensity that fascinated and terrified Hotch.
As they pieced together the clues, he struggled to decipher whether they were contributing to the investigation or secretly plotting their next move.
Days blended into nights as the team worked relentlessly. Each day they’d visit the scenes of the grisly murders, with Y/N becoming more withdrawn and brooding.
They had become an expert at slipping away unnoticed, coming and going like a phantom that haunted the edges of their father’s life.
During one evening, Hotch found them beneath a flickering streetlight, sketching something in a weathered notebook. “What are you drawing?” he asked softly, trying to bridge the vast emotional gulf that had formed between them.
“My thoughts,” Y/N murmured, not raising their eyes from the page. “Of Mom. Of… everything.”
Hotch’s heart tightened. “You don’t have to carry this alone, you know. I’m here.”
“Maybe I don’t want to just be here,” Y/N admitted, their voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe I want to be something else. Something that means something.”
“You are so much more than you realize. Your mother would have wanted—”
“Mom’s dead,” Y/N interrupted, the sadness transforming into an uncharacteristic ferocity. “Do you think I haven’t thought about it every day, every single moment?”
Hotch swallowed hard, trying to suppress the rising tide of frustration and fear. “You have the chance to make a difference in the right way. Let us help you—”
“Sure, help me by stopping the bad guys,” they shot back, standing abruptly, their emotions boiling over. “You mean help me keep the things I want to do in check? Help me pretend I’m not hurting? I don’t need that. I need something much more… satisfying.”
The confrontation felt like a turning point. In that moment, Hotch truly understood the internal war raging within his child. It wasn’t just about grief; it was about an urge to exert control in a world that felt chaotic and lost.
Understanding this collided with the haunting realization of their possible actions. As each day passed, bodies continued to pile up in unspeakably horrific ways. Their killer—a shadowy figure playing mind games with the authorities—remained elusive, and as clues began to mount, a nagging sense of familiarity clawed at Hotch’s memory.
Finally, everything clicked into place when a witness emerged with descriptions of the killer’s attire. Everything fit perfectly with Y/N’s style.
Hotch’s pulse raced as anxiety gripped him; he had to find Y/N before they reached a point of no return. A frantic search of bars and alleys began while Garcia worked on tracing their phone virtually everywhere.
When he finally found them—a confrontation under the same streetlight, with the echo of sirens blaring in the distance—there was a blood-stained knife clutched in Y/N’s hand. Their expression flickered between triumph and despair.
“I did it, Dad. I stopped them,” they whispered, trembling as they gazed into his eyes.
“You’re not a monster,” Hotch pleaded, his heart racing. “But this isn’t justice. This will only destroy you from the inside out.”
Silence hung between them for an agonizing breath, before Y/N dropped the knife, the clatter breaking a spell. “But I killed for you,” they sobbed. “For us.”
Hotch stepped forward, carefully reaching for them. “We can find a better way, together. This—this isn’t the path your mother would want for you.”
As Y/N fell into his embrace, the darkness quelling its hold, the rain began to pour once more, washing away every trace—a promise for a better tomorrow: healing, understanding, and love forged through pain. They stood together under the flickering streetlight.
The end!
Hope you liked this one shot, sorry for any spelling or grammar mistakes.
Request are open!
Word count: 1207