First, you overslept (horrifying), which meant skipping your morning makeup routine (soul-crushing). Then, the demon printer decided to sabotage you, jamming right when you needed to print Aaron’s meeting notes. And if all that wasn’t bad enough, some pointless, stupid, boring admin thing had you running around like a crazy person all week, like bureaucracy had personally conspired to keep you from your boyfriend.

After days of missing him, you were finally here, finally close… and he wasn’t even looking at you.

You propped your chin on your hand, eyes glued to him like he was the sun and you were some poor little flower desperate for light.

He was always fascinating — the most beautiful thing in any room, any world even. But clearly, he had other priorities.

“Aaron,” you purred, practically dripping his name in honey. “Are you mad at me?”

No response. No flick of an eye. You pouted, nose wrinkling in disbelief. That move had a 100% success rate, until now.

“Did you know stress ages you? You should really take a break before you get all wrinkly.”

A noncommittal hum. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you confirmed, undeterred. “Stress literally destroys collagen. And collagen is really important, because it keeps everything tight and smooth. And did you know that working too much is the number one cause of frown lines?” You squinted. “Like, look at you right now — totally frowning.”

Nothing.

You sighed dramatically, rising from the couch, bare feet padding across the floor as you came to stand over him, arms crossing beneath your chest.

“You know,” you mused, tapping a finger against your chin, “I should start taking my theories to someone who appreciates them. Like Derek. He listens. Actually engages. And —” A pause. “ — he always says I have the prettiest skin. “

Aaron’s fingers paused. “Don’t even think about it.”

You clambered onto the coffee table, settling in right across from him, close enough that he had to look at you.

“I mean, if you’re too busy, I should explore my options, right? Maybe find a guy who —”

“I’m not ignoring you for fun,” he interrupted, rubbing his jaw. “I’m busy because I have to be. You know that.”

Your playful smile wavered, wilting under a sudden frost. He wasn’t just distracted. He wasn’t just busy. His brow was tight with strain, his jaw set in a profound way that told you this wasn’t about focus but stress. Exhaustion. He was drowning and you were whining about being left on the shore.

I’m not ignoring you for fun.

Right. No, this wasn’t a game. It wasn’t a ploy. He wasn’t looking past you to be cruel, he was looking past you because there were things more important than your vanity, deeper than your hunger for his attention. His burdens were real, the life-or-death kind, and here you were, pouting over the trivial. Over collagen. Over the absurd notion that Derek Morgan could actually take him from you.

Ugh. Guilt. The worst emotion. It was sticky and persistent, like mascara smudges that refused to budge no matter how hard you scrubbed. You swallowed, hands skating over your thighs as if you could rub it out, erase it, pretend you weren’t feeling it at all.

“Right,” you mumbled, forcing a small smile, even though it felt a little wobbly. “Sorry, baby. I know.”

His lips parted, but you didn’t allow him to turn this into something serious.

You leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before resting your hand against his jaw. His skin was warm, a little rough from the day’s stubble.

“You’re still, like, so handsome,” you murmured, thumb brushing over his cheekbone. “And I love you, obviously.” A breath. A softer smile. “So it’s not like I’d leave you for a younger man or anything.”

You meant for it to sound teasing. Light. But even you could hear the truth beneath it like a half-hidden bruise, the unspoken  I know I’m difficult, I know I’m exhausting, but please still love me anyway.

Then you hopped off the coffee table, cheeks toasty, heart fluttering in a way that didn’t feel entirely good. You took a step back, suddenly unsure of what to do with yourself.

You don’t even remember leaving.

One moment, you were in Aaron’s living room, pressing a kiss to his cheek, and the next, you were unlocking your home door, feeling too much and not enough all at once, like you’d been yanked out of a dream before it could end adequately.

It was fine. You were fine. 

You just needed to do your skincare routine — because skincare always made things better. It was science. The universal laws of serums and self-care. You’d scrub away the bad feelings, tone down the overthinking (literally — with toner), and slather on a fresh start in the form of overpriced moisturizer.

Because if you just focused on the cleaners, on the circular motions, on fixing something, maybe you wouldn’t feel so much like you needed him to come along and fix you.

You were being dramatic.

But still, you stared at yourself in the mirror, fingertips smoothing combinations into your skin, your thoughts hyper-focused on him.

His face, his worry lines, the little creases at his temples that did not exist before you came waltzing into his life in a cloud of perfume and poor decision-making. And the gray hairs. He didn’t have those before either.

You were like stress in human form, a walking, talking wrinkle-generator. And wasn’t that a fun little realization — that your presence was something his body wore, that your love had a terrible side effect.

And okay, yes, you loved the way he looked. He was the hottest man you’d ever seen, full stop, end of discussion. He wore stress the other way men wore tailored suits. But that didn’t mean you wanted to be the reason for it. Weren’t you supposed to make his life better? Less stressful? More fun?

You sniffled, trying — really trying — to push the thought away, to shove it into some quiet little corner of your mind where it couldn’t hurt.

The knock at your door made you jump, a startled squeak slipping out. The serum bottle slipped from your fingers, clattering into the sink before rolling to a shaky stop.

Oh. Oh, no.

This was it. You knew this was going to happen eventually. Of course you were going to be a victim of some random, senseless crime, because you were too pretty to be left unattended. They always went for the pretty ones first. Statistically. Probably.

Grabbing the closest thing you could maybe pass as a weapon — your hairbrush, heavy-ish, but hardly lethal — you crept toward the door. 

You pressed up on your toes to check the peephole — Aaron had very sternly instructed you never to open the door without looking first — and oh. It was him. You let out a massive breath, forehead knocking lightly against the door as you deflated.

You unlocked it quickly, yanking it open.

“Oh my gosh, Aaron, do you want to give me a heart attack?” you gasped, shoving the hairbrush into his chest with all the righteous indignation of someone personally victimized by his existence. “I was about to murder you.”

He caught it without effort, blinking down at the would-be weapon. “With this?”

You wrinkled your nose. “Okay, yes, I panicked. But let’s not pretend I wouldn’t have landed at least one good hit.”

He smiled like he almost agreed, but then it faded, replaced by something quieter. He shoved his hands into his pockets.

“Can I come in, sweetheart?”

“Oh! Yes, duh, sorry.” You spun on your heel, nearly tripping over your fuzzy slippers as you ushered him inside. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

His frowned. “Did you not see my texts?”

“My phone is charging.”

“So you just… disappeared, ignored your phone, and then nearly assaulted me with a hairbrush?”

You shut the door behind him. “Aren’t you so glad you’re dating me?”

“Immensely.”

His tone was dry, but the way he reached for you was anything but. He hooked his fingers into the belt loops of your robe, reeling you in, and suddenly you were pressed against him, chest to chest. 

“I seriously am glad I’m dating you.”-

Your stomach squeezed so tight it was borderline uncomfortable.

So you did what any reasonable person would do. You avoided it entirely.

“Well, obviously, I am a delight.”

Aaron’s finger brushed against your cheek, tucking a stray strand behind your ear with an almost cautious tenderness, like you were made of glass and one wrong move would have you slipping through his fingers.

Because he knew you. Knew how easily you could float away, lost in your own world, distracted by the new beautiful, fleeting thing. And he knew, just as easily, how you ran when something felt too real.

So he was careful. Always careful.

“You are a delight,” he murmured, sure as ever. 

You blinked up at him, lips parting before you scoffed, shaking your head. “Ugh, boring. Teasing isn’t fun when you just agree with me.”

“I’m not teasing,” he said, lips twitching. Then, softer, sneaking the words past your defenses, “I need you to understand how much I love you. You are the single most important thing in my life.”

Flattening your hands over his chest, you let out a totally normal, not at all panicked giggle. “Gosh, you’re so sincere,” you blurted. “Do you… practice this?”

His brow arched. “Do you practice avoiding serious conversations?”

“Why do we have to have a serious conversation right now? Can’t we just, like, make out instead?”

His eyes track downward, to your lips. You see the moment he hesitates, a war playing out in the slight twitch of his fingers, the way his throat bobs when he swallows. For a moment, you think he might actually do it — lean in, forget whatever moral battle he’s fighting, and take you up on the offer. But then, his jaw tightens, and with a slow exhale, he shakes his head.

“Because I was an ass earlier,” he mutters, raking a hand through his hair like he’s punishing himself for even considering otherwise.

“I knew you were going to say that.”

“Well,” he murmured, “if you knew it, then maybe you should let me say it properly.”

You loop your arms around his neck, pulling him just a little closer, brushing your nose against his like it’s instinct.

“You weren’t being an ass, Aaron. You were just being a responsible, busy adult, unlike me who was apparently having a full-blow crisis over not being the center of your universe for two whole hours.”

Aaron signs, thumb stroking a slow line against your back.

“You might’ve been a little dramatic about it,” he concedes with a teasing smile, “but I also knew you had a rough week.” His lips press into a thin line, self-reproach creeping into his voice. “You never complain, so I didn’t expect you to say anything. But I should’ve seen it. I did see it — I just got caught up.” His voice lowers. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to beg me to look at you.”

“Still doesn’t excuse me being, like, a giant problem to your blood pressure. I mean, I basically force you to love me, and I’m sure that’s exhausting.” You flash him a bright, overcompensating grin, but his brow furrows, unimpressed.

Aaron’s hands slip from your waist to cup your face, tilting your chin up so you can’t look anywhere but him.

“Do you honestly think you’re making this difficult for me?” he asks, incredulous. “Loving you isn’t something I have to convince myself to do.”

His lips press together again. “I love you because I couldn’t stop if I tried. Because it’s the easiest, most natural thing I’ve ever done.” A small breath of laughter leaves him. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Loving you isn’t exhausting, honey — it’s the only thing that isn’t.”

Your eyes burn, emotion bubbling up faster than you can stop, and you let out a watery laugh. 

You wish you could take it as easily as he gives it. You wish you could believe it the way he does. But Aaron, steady and certain, loves you like it's gravity instead of a fragile thing that could slip through your fingers if you hold it wrong.

You love him. You love him with something wild, something you could never fully put into words, no matter how many times you said the three words to him.

And maybe that's okay. Maybe you don't need words, because he's already looking at you like he knows. He's felt your love in every touch, every breath, every time you make his life louder and messier.

Maybe that's why your fingers are trembling again.

Because this, this love, this life, this man, is the closest thing to real magic you've ever known.

“That might be the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” you whisper, tracing your nails over his neck.

Aaron tilts his head, brow furrowing slightly like he hates the thought that this is some grand declaration instead of something you should have always known.

"Then let me say it more often."

Your lips smush together, trying so hard not to smile, not to let him know how much that gets to you.

And, well. You can't have him knowing he's winning, so you tilt your head, pursing your lips, pretending to consider something much more important than the way your heart is currently spiraling out of control.

"Well, if you really love me that much..." You tap your chin, faux-thoughtful. "I feel like the next logical step would be a truly earth-shattering makeout session."

Aaron groans — part exasperation, part fondness — but then grabs you, kissing you hard enough that you laugh into his mouth.

caption our hr fit goes hard

derek_morgan responded to your story!

derek_morgan Oooooo, someone's in trouble.

lilprivyn after this meeting, meet me out back derek_morgan Fraternising with the boss and then threatening a co-worker? Tsk tsk (Y/L/N), you're about to have a rap sheet. lilprivyn >:(

s_riley responded to your story!

s_riley How do you always manage to be on a first name basis with HR, no matter where you're working?

lilprivyn i just have that aura, si lilprivyn it's not my fault hr loves me <3 s_riley I don't think they love you, birdie. lilprivyn boooo, i'm about to puke my guts out and ur bullying me s_riley Lol. lilprivyn 🧍🏻‍♀️

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*you've set your profile to private!*

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a.hotchner has posted a story!

caption Celebratory dinner.

derek_morgan, s_riley, haley_lane, jj.jareau, prentiss.here, spence_reid and 6 others liked your story!

yourgirlgarcia liked your story!

yourgirlgarcia responded to your story!

yourgirlgarcia You got the all clear?!

a.hotchner Yes, Garcia, we did. yourgirlgarcia Yippee!! I'm so happy, I knew it! We're going to throw you guys a celebratory dinner too! a.hotchner That's lovely, Garcia, but you don't need to. yourgirlgarcia Sir, we want to. This has been a long time coming and we're both so happy for the two of you. a.hotchner You're all very kind. I've shown this message to (Y/N) and she's currently crying. a.hotchner Though, a part of me is inclined to believe that you also want to grill the two of us. yourgirlgarcia 🤫

david_s_rossi liked your story!

david_s_rossi responded to your story!

david_s_rossi I'm surprised that she wasn't the one posting anything.

a.hotchner She still has the heebie jeebies from HR. She's not fond of them. david_s_rossi Heebie jeebies? david_s_rossi And who doesn't? a.hotchner She gets anxious talking to them. a.hotchner And I don't. david_s_rossi Because you're weird, Aaron. a.hotchner That's what (Y/N) said. david_s_rossi Because she's right. david_s_rossi Aaron, truly, I am happy for the two of you. I wish you both well. I cannot think of two souls that fit more than the two of you. david_s_rossi Is there a reason why (Y/N) just called me crying? a.hotchner I think she may have accidentally called you. She's been crying happily for the past few minutes - particularly because of you and Garcia.

liked by lilprivyn, jj.jareau, prentiss.here, david_s_rossi, derek_morgan, spence_reid, yourgirlgarcia and 12 others

a.hotchner You have all of my tomorrows.

tagged lilprivyn

song all my tomorrows - frank sinatra

lilprivyn i'm crying

lilprivyn ur making me cry

lilprivyn you're the love of my life

lilprivyn i love you so much a.hotchner I didn't realise that I could love someone this much before. You're my only. I love you dearly.

spence_reid Hotch, you might have to double check on (Y/N) because she may throw up from crying again.

lilprivyn THAT HAPPENED ONCE a.hotchner I can assure everyone that she's okay. Just a little bit teary, but she's okay. comment liked by spence_reid

derek_morgan Didn't realise that (Y/N) had a fanpage.

a.hotchner I'm the founder. lilprivyn and the only member that i want <3 comment liked by a.hotchner

prentiss.here God, I really want to hate this and make fun of the two of you but this is actually so fucking cute.

lilprivyn seal of approval from one ms prentiss? prentiss.here As if the two of you didn't have it already. a.hotchner I think that's the nicest thing you've said to me, Prentiss. Thank you. prentiss.here You're welcome. It's never going to happen again 😃

sjbooth I do have to admit, that is very cute. I'm happy for the two of you. You have my approval, Hotch.

lilprivyn was going to continue to date aaron regardless of your approval seeley lmao sjbooth So, I don't matter, pipsqueak? That's what you're saying. lilprivyn noooooo, of course not, nooooo

liked by a.hotchner, s_riley, seba_doss, haley_lane, derek_morgan, prentiss.here, jj.jareau and 178 others

lilprivyn the fine details of a FINE man (mine)

song so easy (to fall in love) - olivia dean

prentiss.here Is your feed just going to be just you and Hotch?

derek_morgan Is her page somehow different from before they were dating? jj.jareau It was like a shrine to Hotch and her thirst traps. lilprivyn weeellllll, i'm so sorry for having such a hot and loving boyfriend comment liked by a.hotchner lilprivyn actually, lol i'm not :,) comment liked by a.hotchner

spence_reid Usually, people who often post photos of themselves and their partners online are usually compensating for something, but somehow I don't think that's the case here.

lilprivyn thanks spence (: spence_reid I'm only saying this because you guys were doing this before you were dating, so I'd say it's more the two of you are obsessed with each other. It's almost like you're both publicly marking each other. lilprivyn thanks spence??? spence_reid It's very cute. drtemperancebrennan It's also very interesting to observe. lilprivyn i don't think i appreciate my relationship being treated like a science experiment guys

seba_doss #powercouple #girlboss

lilprivyn 🍅🍅🍅

yourgirlgarcia OMG that second photo is the cutest!!!

a.hotchner (Y/N) has decided that she wants to collect these little creatures. lilprivyn they're cute babe and you said you wanted one derek_morgan Wait, don't tell me that you guys have matching Sylvanian Families? lilprivyn how do you know about sylvanian families 🤨 prentiss.here He has some. lilprivyn lmaoo 🫵🏼 derek_morgan That is not true.

haley_lane I love it when you're happy!!!

lilprivyn and i just love you <3

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liked by lilprivyn, haley_lane, derek_morgan, prentiss.here, s_riley, yourgirlgarcia and 12 others

a.hotchner My favourite girl.

song i will - the beatles

tagged lilprivyn

lilprivyn #winning

comment liked by a.hotchner

lilprivyn i love you very very very much

comment liked by a.hotchner

lilprivyn pls come back from your stupid office and get into bed >,<

comment liked by a.hotchner

prentiss.here There's this really cool thing called text messages. jj.jareau Em, don't. How else are we going to get info about Hotch? prentiss.here Smart lady. lilprivyn and now kiss 👩🏻‍❤️‍💋‍👩🏼 comment liked by a.hotchner and yourgirlgarcia

seba_doss OH MEIN GOTT we get it. the two of you are together

lilprivyn why are you following my boyfriend?? lilprivyn leave, gremlin 👊🏼 🔫 seba_doss i'm sorry that i'm making sure that my best friend is being treated well lilprivyn we're not best friends seba_doss </3

liked by a.hotchner, yourgirlgarcia, derek_morgan, jj.jareau, david_s_rossi, spence_reid, prentiss.here, s_riley and 102 others

lilprivyn i love you but i love you in your suits just a little bit more

tagged a.hotchner

song say yes to heaven - lana del rey

prentiss.here Why do I feel like these aren't the photos that you wanted to pose?

lilprivyn hotch won't let me :( lilprivyn for my eyes only apparently a.hotchner Honey. lilprivyn whaaaat? ur so pretty hotch, i want everyone to see it (well most of it) prentiss.here Please keep them to yourself. derek_morgan We already have a hard time trying not to listen to the two of you. jj.jareau You guys are loud. spence_reid Extremely. I've had to buy some noice cancelling headphones. prentiss.here I'm about to open an OF for the two of you. Might as well earn some money from the moaning. a.hotchner That's a crime. prentiss.here What's a crime is hearing the bed banging against the wall every night. Do the two of you not rest?! I mean Hotch you're old, I thought your refractory period, you know, would be longer. lilprivyn oh trust, aaron doesn't behave like an old man a.hotchner Baby. lilprivyn i'm defending your honour ✋🏼🤚🏼 yourgirlgarcia I'm missing EVERYTHING! jj.jareau Trust me, Pen. You want to miss this. Unless you want to know that they can go at it all night long. spence_reid Although, you can occasionally learn something new. Just the last time I didn't realise that (Y/N) liked being choked. derek_morgan Or the fact that Hotch can be loud. lilprivyn 🧍🏻‍♀️ lilprivyn i am SHOCKED. shocked i tell you. this is very new news to me a.hotchner I feel that this is quite inappropriate to be putting online. david_s_rossi I mean, we weren't the ones that had a HR seminar about inappropriate misconduct in the workplace. lilprivyn so now you chime in??? david_s_rossi Sorry, kid, but we weren't the ones caught making out in someone's office. spence_reid I somehow think that Hotch is not dealing with this well. lilprivyn don't worry, i'll make it up to him :) comment liked by a.hotchner sjbooth Pipsqueak. Phone now. drtemperancebrennan I don't understand why you're mad, Booth. They're both adults and it's completely healthy to be sexually active. You should be happy that your sister has a healthy and fulfilling sex life. sjbooth I am not talking about my sisters sex life here, Bones. sjbooth I'm serious. Pick up your phone. lilprivyn i've actually lost my phone sjbooth Tell Hotch to pick his up then. lilprivyn he actually told me that his phone has also been lost :(

lilprivyn i would just like to clarify that i am a virgin and have never done anything like that whatsoever, and all of my co-workers are BIG FAT LIARS

seba_doss lying is a sin lilprivyn and so are your tattoos comment liked by kon_igs, s_riley, n1kt0_00 and pricejohn

lilprivyn but seriously, let's all take a moment to appreciate aaron in his suits 🤤

jj.jareau I thought you were more fond of the charcoal grey suits. lilprivyn i am. a very, very big fan. comment liked by a.hotchner derek_morgan Do not. lilprivyn whaaat? i'm stating a fact prentiss.here Dear god. The two of you are disgusting and insatiable. lilprivyn 🥀 spence_reid I mean this is almost the same when (Y/L/N) wears her dark grey skirt and purple shirt. a.hotchner I thought I was more discreet. derek_morgan Hotch, man, we can see the drool all the way from the bullpen. jj.jareau I think everyone knows when (Y/L/N) is wearing that set because Hotch gets nicer. lilprivyn is that why you're always like that when we get home??? david_s_rossi It's a bad day to have eyes.

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part twelve

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taglist

@kneelforloki | @imtotallylexie | @aaronhotchnerisbae

"Okay, we can cross out this county," Spencer says, interrupting your thoughts and reaching across you to mark through a small section. Eyes flicking across the paper, you furrow your brows, confused by the choice.

"Why?" You ask, hand moving to stop his pen strokes before you double-think and let it hit the tabletop.

"Because it's too easy for him to hit if he wanted to. It's been too long, he must have no interest in the area."

"It's low income, exactly his MO. He might hit it later, once he realizes..."

"No," Spencer says, shaking his head before you can finish your sentence. He finishes blacking out the area with his Sharpie and caps the pen, not looking over at you. "That wouldn't make any sense."

Tounge caught by your nerves, you slowly nod your head instead, deciding to give the topic up for now. The next wall the team hits, though, you're determined to readdress the area.

Deciding you need a moment to yourself, you excuse yourself quietly and stand to move to the back of the jet. You stretch your arms above your head, rolling your head back to feel the stretch in your shoulders.

"What county?" Hotch asks, reaching a hand out to intercept your path as you pass him.

"Sorry?" You ask, breath catching on the word as his hand brushes your arm and loops loosely around your wrist. Next to him, JJ has fallen asleep against the window. You feel bad for her for a moment, remembering her talking about Henry's recent sleep regression.

"The county you mentioned to Reid - which one was it?"

"Morris," you say instinctively, still hyper-focused on his hand. His thumb swipes against your wrist bone twice before he lets you go, motioning for you to continue walking.

You think he's let it go and quickly move down the aisle to one of the couches at the back of the jet. When you settle down, though, intent on opening your own map, Hotch sits next to you and tilts his head so you can hear each other if you were to talk softly.

"What was your original thought about it?"

You're struggling to think, distracted by his proximity and low voice. The soft tones reach your belly, causing it to flip, The feeling is pleasant, even if it's entirely inappropriate.

"Sorry?" You say again, meeting his eye before quickly looking away to fumble with the map. Hands shaking, you manage to open it to the right state.

"There's no need to be sorry," Hotch says, voice firm but gentle. He reaches out and you think he's going to grab your wrist again but he instead taps a finger once against Morris County. "Your idea about the county - what was your original thought before Reid shot you down?"

"Oh. It's okay, Reid already said it doesn't make sense." You notice that Hotch opens his mouth to interject before you can finish and your sentence falters at the end. Still, his eyes watch you to make sure you're finished before he answers.

"I still want to hear what you had to say."

You explain your theory to him, then, talking quickly at first, stumbling over your words, before slowing down once you realize he's going to listen to everything you have to say. He nods, agreeing with your theory.

"I'll keep it in mind and give the information to Garcia. Thank you," he says, sincere, eyes locked on yours.

"You're welcome." You wait for him to get up now that you have nothing new to say about the case. While you were talking, you mentioned a few thoughts you had about the preliminary profile the team started on that you couldn't seem to find the space to add during the group conversation.

Instead, he settles further into the seat next to you, reading the map over your shoulder.

Something about his casual posture and the lack of his suit jacket fills you with enough confidence to ask, "Why haven't you invited anyone else to the barbeque place?"

He watches you for a minute, not replying as his eyes scan your face and posture. You've never been the best at body language when it comes to people you know, always a little too nervous to scan them the same way you might an unsub, but you know that Hotch is taking in any and all clues your body can give him before he answers. He seems to roll the words on his tongue, testing them out, before he answers.

You've never been the best at reading the body language of the people you know personally, but you still are considered an expert at it in interrogations, often requested to watch from behind the glass. That's all to say, Hotch seems nervous as he says, "I was hoping it could be us two unless you would prefer the others to be there."

The air leaves your chest and you feel unsteady and unbalanced even though you're sitting. Before you can overthink it, you're shaking your head no.

Hotch's face falls, a slight thing you would certainly notice if your eyes weren't glued to his face to ensure this wasn't some kind of sick joke.

"No, I want it to be just us," you say, quick before he can get the wrong impression.

The usual confidence Hotch carries reinflates in him quickly. He smiles, a slight tug at the corner of his lip that you again only catch because you're watching him so closely.

"Good," he says.

You two sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes after that, first just watching each other, and then, when you get embarrassed, comparing your case files and small map.

"To be clear," he says when Rossi and Spencer have started up a quiet conversation about chess - when his soft tones would be nearly impossible to be understood by anyone but yourself - "I mean as a date. If you would like."

What else could you have said? That you wanted Aaron? That you had spent months convincing yourself he had wanted you, too? That, in the end, he had rejected it— no, he had denied you— not even with words, but with distance?

You knew you deserved better. You deserved someone who would be proud to love you. Someone who wasn’t scared of the possibility of a relationship.

So, you moved on.

———

Then came Baltimore. 

Michael Keating was confident, charismatic, and older. He was the Chief of the Baltimore Division, respected and soft-spoken. He carried himself with ease, joked about the growing silver streak in his hair, and greeted everyone by name. He made people laugh and asked about their day.

And he noticed you. 

It started small. A compliment on your profiling. Deferring to you when asked about the unsub. 

You hadn’t meant to encourage it. But then again— why refuse yourself? You had spent too long pining for something that wasn’t meant to happen. You were single, and you wanted a change. And Michael was perfect.

Keating was different. He was direct in a way Hotch never was. He didn’t hesitate to place a hand on your lower back as he showed you around the precinct. He leaned in when he spoke to you, close enough that you could smell his cologne. He smelled like the ocean— sea salt and sandalwood.

But there was something about Michael that reminded you of Aaron. The little things. The way his voice softened when he said your name. The way he listened— giving you his rapt attention, something Hotch always did, but only ever with you.

Nevertheless, Keating wasn’t Hotch. And you weren’t going to let yourself draw baseless comparisons. So you let him flirt with you. It felt good to be seen. When he brought you your morning coffee, you accepted gratefully, smiling up at him. When he leaned in and said something low and teasing, you laughed.

That was when you felt it.

A prickle at the back of your neck. Someone watching.

You didn’t deign to turn, but you knew. 

Aaron.

For a second you felt suffocated. But the feeling was gone as swiftly as it had come. When you finally joined your team, Hotch was talking with García, and he didn’t even spare you a glance.

For the rest of the day, you pretended that it hadn’t affected you as much as it did. You maintained your professional façade, breaking only once when Michael slid you a sticky note with a silly doodle on it. Everything went well. Or so you thought.

Hotch brushed past you with nothing more than a curt “Excuse me” as he entered the meeting room. His voice held a subtle undercurrent of knowing, but you brushed it off. It just wasn’t your problem any longer.

But when Keating pulled out your chair for you, you felt it again— the prickling.

Hotch walked out of the room.

Emily noticed. 

“Whatever it is,” she muttered as you watched Hotch’s back disappear down the hallway, “you two need to sort it out before it affects the case.”

You know she’s right. But you can’t bring yourself to answer. What was there to say?

Aaron had no right to feel this way. He had his chance. If he wanted you, he should have said so. But he didn’t, instead, he turned tail and ran.

And you weren’t going to sit around waiting for him to come to.

————

The bar had emptied, the rest of the team long since in their rooms. You had stayed a bit longer, letting the bite of your drink settle into your bones. You needed it after the week you’d had. Michael had apologised profusely when you’d invited him; he had to meet with the prosecutor. After the initial sting of disappointment, you were glad that he wasn’t here. You needed some space from it all. You let your mind disconnect from the world, letting the faint hum of the music take over.

Which is why you weren’t prepared when Aaron cornered you. 

“Keating?” His tone was level as if asking you about the weather. But the way his hands were clenched tight told you a different story. “That’s who you want?”

Your stomach twisted, almost painfully.

Not this. Not this conversation, not after months of silent torture, months of being ignored, months of being treated like nothing.

“What does it matter to you?” You retorted, rolling your eyes. Fatigue seeped into your voice that had nothing to do with the case. “You don’t get to ask me that, Aaron.”

Something flickered in his eyes when you said his name. Maybe it reminded him of how you used to say it with warmth.

He exhaled sharply through his nose, dragging a hand down his face. “Didn’t think he was your type.”

A short, humourless laugh escaped you. “My type?” You shook your head vigorously. “I didn’t realise I needed your opinion on that. You’ve barely acknowledged my existence this month.”

Hotch’s shoulders tensed. “That’s not—”

“Not what? Not fair?” Your eyes burned, “You pushed me away. You didn’t even ask how I felt. You chose for both of us and now you’re— what? Upset I’ve moved on?”

“That’s not what this is.”

“Enlighten me, then,” you snap, anger hiding the fact that you were begging for an answer, one you knew he’d never give.

Nothing. As expected. The silence between you stretched on. You didn’t know what you had been expecting, but it certainly wasn’t this. All of a sudden, the atmosphere of the bar became a little too much. The stench of stale beer overpowered your nose and the tinny audio from the jukebox irked you. You slid off the barstool and threw a couple of crumpled bills on the counter.

Then, barely above a whisper, you heard him rasp, “I thought I was the only one.”

A punch to your chest might have hurt less. 

Your breath stuttered, heart aching at the confession that settled in the space between you. He was falling apart, and you could see it—the way his brows drew together, the way his throat bobbed as he tried to force out something he wasn’t ready to say.

And for the first time, you saw the truth for what it was.

Aaron Hotchner was a man who carried too much. Who loved too hard and too quietly. Who convinced himself that his feelings were a burden he couldn’t afford, even when he was faced with the enormity of it.

But he wanted.

God, he wanted.

And it terrified him.

A bitter laugh escaped you. How could he? No, how dare he expect you to hold on to the idea that you were his when he kept you at a distance further than the rest of the team? That no one else could want you the way he did?

“You could have been, Aaron,” you responded, the weight of the world suddenly crushing you. “But you were the one who made sure you weren’t.”

Something in him shattered. You could tell. The way he flexed his hand, the way his posture stiffened like he was dealing with a blow he wasn’t ready to receive.

“Why are you doing this, to me?” Hotch’s voice was hoarse, thick with emotion— anger, regret, longing and want all tangled together.

“I’m doing this to you?” Your voice wavered, and you hated yourself for it, “Hotch, do you even hear yourself right now?”

He stepped closer, crowding your space, eyes dark with something desperate. “I tried—” He dragged a shaky hand through his hair, “ I tried to stay away. I thought it was the right thing.”

“Right thing for who? It sure as hell wasn’t right for me,” you jabbed an accusatory finger into his chest, ignoring the slight tremble, “You shut me out. You acted like nothing was there, like I had imagined everything.” Your voice cracked, “And now I get to deal with you being jealous because Michael actually sees me? Because he’s not afraid to show me wants me?”

A muscle in Aaron’s jaw fluttered as he repeated, “I told you, it’s not about that.”

“Oh, wasn’t it?” you cried, anger building, “You wanted me to wait for you? To exile myself in the dark and hope that maybe one day you’d stop being afraid of us? That’s not fair, Aaron. I can’t do that to myself. I deserve better.”

“I know.” His voice cracked on the words, and for the first time, you saw the raw emotion on his face— all of it. The weight of it, the struggle in his eyes, the way his fingers twitched like he wanted to reach for you but didn’t know if he had the right.

The anger ebbs out of you, replaced with something numb.

“Then why? Why didn’t you—”

Aaron moved then. He reached for you before he could stop himself, finger ghosting over your wrist before settling there, gripping gently. The heat of his fingers burned, like something he had been starving for but denied himself for too long.

“Because… I wanted you. Too much,” he admitted, voice grating like it pained him. His grip tightened on your wrist, thumb tracing the delicate skin. “I was afraid that if I let myself have this— you— I wouldn’t know how to stop.”

It was cruel, really. How he could unravel you with his words, make you forget about the months of pain and anger and hurt you’d endured. Even the way he looked at you like you were someone he couldn’t bear to lose.

“Aaron—”

Whatever you were about to say was swallowed up by his lips on yours. 

It wasn’t anything like the countless times you’d imagined it. You had always figured he’d be gentle, taking his time.

But this wasn’t soft, nor was it careful. This was desperate.

Like he was a man at his breaking point, like someone who had wasted time denying everything, only to give in all at once. His hands cupped your face, thumbs brushing across your cheeks as he tilted your head, deepening the kiss. He was pressed flush against you, sandwiching you between the barstool and his body like he was afraid you’d slip through his fingers like sand. In the back of your mind, you faintly registered the whir of the jukebox as it changed the track.

You gasped against Aaron, and that tiny sound undid him. He groaned softly, tilting his head to chase you, to taste more, to lose himself in a way he had always wanted but never permitted.

You breathed in his scent, bourbon and coffee, fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt. You were anchoring yourself because this was everything you had been waiting for. 

The kiss lingered, months of tension evaporating between you, the space that had existed suddenly gone, replaced by something breathless and real. You pushed back against him, ready to get your heart’s desire. Aaron didn’t stop; he was kissing you as if it was the last thing he would ever do. He tasted heavenly, much better than you’d ever imagined. Every thought eddied out of your mind as you let the feeling of his lips against yours wash over you. Even before the moment was over, you knew that this memory would be branded into your soul. 

When Aaron finally pulled away, he didn’t go too far. You sucked in a ragged breath and squeezed your eyes closed as he rested his forehead against yours. His breathing was uneven too, and you could feel the warmth of it against your lips. Then, slowly, his hands dropped from your face. He took a step back— reluctantly— just enough to reach up and loosen his tie. 

His fingers scrabbled at the knot for a moment before he wrenched it down forcefully. He then ran his hands through his hair again, mussing it in a way you’d never seen before, and let out a breathless laugh. For a split second, memories of the night when he had held you close flashed before your eyes. He had loosened his tie then, too, before enveloping you in his embrace. 

“I don’t want to be the one who let you get away,” Aaron whispered, his voice bringing you back to the present. 

The pain in your chest throbbed. At how broken and hopeful he sounded, all at once.

“Aaron,” you murmured, letting his name rest on your tongue for a moment too long.

“I—” he stopped, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe himself. This wasn’t where he had thought the night would go. You watched Aaron carefully, his chest still rising and falling too quickly. You reached for his hand, squeezing it once. 

“Aaron,” you uttered his name again, tone firmer, hoping to bring him back to you.

He looked at you then, chocolate brown eyes hardening with resolve. He started, “This… us…”

You cut him off, then. 

“Aaron,” you repeat, brushing your fingers over his jaw, “You need to choose. Me, us. Everything. You have to choose to stay.”

He glanced off to the side somewhere. Then, a slow exhale. A quiet moment of realisation.

He met your gaze again, almost bashfully this time, “If you’ll still have me.”

You laughed then, disbelieving because, of course, Aaron would say that, as if your heart hadn’t been his since the first time you saw him.

Neither of you spoke then. The past, the hurt, the hesitation— but also the possibility— swam through the charged atmosphere.

The choice.

“Okay,” you said simply.

When Aaron pulled you into his chest, you let him.

Thank you for reading! I appreciate any likes/comments/reblogs/follows. Constructive criticism is welcome. Do not plagiarise my content and/or post it anywhere without crediting me.

Dividers by @/cafekitsune

You aren’t in your clothes. And you only realize it because of the scent wafting up your nose. Sea Salt Breeze - the cologne you’d gotten him for Christmas last year - emanates from the t-shirt that envelopes your upper half. You dip your chin for another whiff, breathing him in deeply. You want the smell inscribed into your brain.

You feel the bed dip and creak and you instinctively shut your eyes, playing possum as Aaron pads into the bathroom. The door whines as he shuts it most of the way, not totally closing it because he thinks you’re still asleep and that the sound of the door shutting will wake you.

Each of your senses turns on one at a time, like your brain waves run on dial-up Internet. You open your eyes and the room is mostly dark, save for the sliver of light creeping in through the outline of the curtains. You run the palm of your hand along Aaron’s sheets and marvel over how soft they are - Egyptian cotton, he’d told you once before.

Your head hurts, but only mildly. You’d certainly been drunker before, but last night was still up there. Penelope made her mojitos strong.

You slowly sit up in the bed as Aaron opens the door, flicking the bathroom light off in the same motion. Your eyes meet his and he cracks a small smile. “Thought you’d still be asleep,” he muses. You love his pale blue boxers and seeing the hair on his legs. His calves are crazy defined - he’s a runner, after all, but still. You rarely see him in anything but a suit and tie, so it’s always a treat. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

You shake your head, wincing slightly at the movement. Maybe you’re a little more hungover than you thought. “I was already awake,” you mumble, running a hand over your face. “Did you put me in your own clothes last night? I have pajamas in my drawer,” you point out, gesturing to the second drawer of Aaron’s dresser, the one that contains your set of pajamas, a few spare pairs of underwear, and a couple of emergency outfits, just in case you end up sleeping over at his place.

It happens more often than not, so you keep the drawer decently stocked at all times.

“You insisted,” Aaron climbs into the bed, reaching for you. He tugs you to him and you roll over onto your side, and then halfway onto your tummy so that your leg drapes over his and your palm rests flat on his chest.

You can hear his heart beating. It’s like a metronome, steady and guiding and calm. You feel his pointed chin nuzzle into your hair and then, his lips, quick yet effective, against your forehead.

Flashes of last night run through your head. You, Emily and JJ, over at Penelope’s apartment. A symphony of girlish giggles, talking about Emily and JJ’s upcoming wedding date, drinking at least three pitchers of mojitos among the four of you. Watching Dirty Dancing and gabbing the entire time, realizing it’d be a bad idea to drive yourself home, and calling Aaron to come get you.

When he arrived, you called him Hotch and apologized for him having to come get you, and he reminded you that he was Aaron and he was your boyfriend and he would pick you up anytime you needed it. You were determined to play the Dirty Dancing soundtrack on the ride home, fumbling with his phone until you found it.

You belted out (I’ve Had) The Time of My Life and demanded Aaron sing along. He admitted that he didn’t know all the words and you gave him a stern lecture until you started laughing so hard that you were in tears. Traffic lights reflected Christmas ornament colors in Aaron’s brown eyes as he drove, occasionally glancing over at you.

You swore you saw the corners of his mouth twitch into a smile as you berated him for not knowing the words to such a classic song.

And then, once you were back at his place, you sat on the edge of the bed and stared at your shoes dumbly until Aaron offered to help you take them off. “Laces too hard,” you mumbled, and Aaron just hummed in agreement before kneeling down to help you.

And then he helped you out of your clothes. He went for your drawer, and you threw a pillow at him. “The college t-shirt,” you demanded with these Bambi-esque eyes.

“Arms up, baby,” Aaron said as he slid his law school t-shirt onto your upper half. He saved that specific term of endearment for times like these, when he was taking care of you, when he himself was exhausted. You could tell he was, too, not only because he kept yawning, but because of that glazed-over look in his chestnut eyes.

You glance down at the words George Washington University, printed over your chest.

Aaron’s arms around you tighten for just a moment as he embraces you, and you dig your face a little further into his chest. “No Jack today?” You ask, your voice coming out croaky.

“At his grandparents’,” Aaron murmurs, and you yawn. He strokes your hair. “How’s your head?”

“I haven’t had any complaints so far.”

Aaron’s hand freezes in your hair, and you lift your head, smirking at him. His mouth has formed a straight line, but you snicker and you can tell he’s trying not to smile at your dirty joke. “Degenerate,” he calls you.

“Prude,” you tease back, inching closer to kiss his jaw briefly before laying your head back down. “It hurts,” you answer his question. “But not as bad as it could.”

“That’s good,” Aaron comments, his hand running through your hair again, gently, the world’s most relaxing and least effective hairbrush. It feels nice, but his hands are so big that his fingers snag on the tangles, accomplishing nothing but making you feel warm and fuzzy inside.

Nothing wrong with that, though.

“Do you want some Tylenol for your headache?” Aaron asks, and you just curl up into him even more. He’s so warm, and sturdy, and it’s so rare that you get mornings like this. Either you’re both working or Jack has a soccer game or there’s something else going on. It’s nice just to lay around with him, to be mildly hungover and pretend like that’s the only thing going on in either of your lives.

“That would require getting out of bed,” you protest, and feel Aaron’s arms tighten around you. He’s a very doting boa constrictor.

“How about I get it for you, then?” He offers, and you shake your head and shift all your weight onto him. He chuckles, a deep, throaty noise you know you’re only privy to for about twenty minutes right after he’s woken up. “So that’s a no.”

“That’s a no,” you confirm, settling back in to your original position.

You lay like that with him, in comfortable silence, for a few minutes. Until it feels like you’ve melded into one being. Then Aaron finally shifts under you. “Honey, my arm’s asleep,” he whispers, as though he’s afraid to disturb you.

You slither off of him, then clamber out of bed with no amount of grace, going so far as to trip over the corner post of the bed. As Aaron sits up, you exclaim, “I’m okay!” and hold your hands out to steady yourself.

Aaron stifles a laugh and you watch him stand from the bed and he walks towards you, steadying you with one of those gargantuan hands on your shoulder. He then lifts that hand to tip your chin up. You step forward in a silent dance, wrapping your arms around his neck and standing on your toes to kiss him. “Oh, shit,” you murmur. “I bet I have really awful morning breath.”

...

You’d always known Aaron Hotchner was a man of few words.

Not unkind or cold—just careful.

Measured. Intentional.

So when he left you a yellow sticky note on the bathroom mirror three weeks into living together, it caught you completely off guard.

“You hum in your sleep. It’s cute. I love you.”

—A.H.

You had stared at it, toothbrush in hand, heart fluttering. And from there, the sticky notes had become your love language.

They weren’t always confessions of love. Sometimes it was just:

“Fed the cat. Left you the last blueberry muffin. I expect praise.”

Or:

“Reminder: You’re brilliant. Knock ‘em dead today.”

Some were downright cheeky:

“If you’re reading this, I already miss you. (But also check the fridge. Surprise inside.)”

(Spoiler: it was your favorite cheesecake.)

And some were so simple they made your chest ache:

“I sleep better with you beside me.”

It had become a habit now. You wrote them for him too—tucked into his go bag, slipped inside files, stuck to the dashboard of his car.

He kept every one, you’d learned. Hidden inside a folder marked “Misc. (Keep)” in his desk drawer.

But today was different.

You knew it the moment you stepped out of the shower and found the first note stuck to the bathroom mirror.

“Follow me.”

The handwriting was unmistakable—firm strokes, slightly slanted, written with the blue pen he kept in the kitchen drawer.

You raised an eyebrow but smiled, wrapping yourself in a towel.

Outside the bathroom, another note was taped to the hallway wall:

“You make even Monday mornings worth waking up for.”

You laughed softly to yourself and padded forward, dripping water and good mood.

Note #3 was at the top of the stairs.

“Don’t forget: I fell for you the first time you yelled at me for skipping breakfast.”

You remembered that day. A whirlwind morning, him halfway to the elevator with only black coffee in his hand. You’d caught him and made him eat a banana. He grumbled the entire time. Later, he kissed you like he was starved. Said you were right.

A little trail of sticky notes led you downstairs, one taped to the bannister:

“I watched you dance in the kitchen last night. No music. Just you and your ridiculous socks. I never wanted anything more.”

You reached the bottom step and turned into the living room.

The sunlight was spilling through the windows. The faint smell of fresh coffee wafted in from the kitchen.

A small pile of sticky notes waited on the arm of the couch—stacked like a tiny paper tower.

You walked over, heart thudding a little faster.

“This is my favorite view: You, sleepy and soft, sunlight in your hair.”

“Sometimes I wake up early just to watch you breathe.”

“I was fine before I met you. But now I can’t imagine going back to that.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, already smiling so hard your cheeks hurt.

God, this man. This stoic, grumpy, secretly soft man. He didn’t need grand speeches or elaborate gifts.

Just a sticky note. And a heart full of quiet devotion.

Another note was tucked under the TV remote:

“You’re getting close. Don’t stop now.”

You followed the trail into the kitchen, where he’d arranged another trio of notes across the fridge like magnets.

“Today marks one year since you said ‘I love you’ first.”

“It took me a week to believe you meant it.”

“I’ve never stopped thanking the universe that you did.”

You pressed your hand over your mouth, blinking quickly.

The anniversary.

You’d forgotten in the rush of life and laundry and late-night case updates.

But Aaron hadn’t.

Of course he hadn’t.

The final note was on the coffee pot, freshly brewed and still steaming.

“Turn around.”

You did—and found him standing in the doorway, tie loosened, sleeves rolled, barefoot and soft-eyed in the morning light.

“Aaron…” you started, overwhelmed and already a little teary, “You did all this just for—?”

He crossed the room in two quiet steps, hands gently cupping your face. “I love you,” he said simply. “I know I say it every day. But I wanted to show it. In the way you’ve taught me to.”

You leaned into him, laughing against his chest. “You hopeless, romantic sap.”

“I’m learning from the best.”

He kissed you then—slow and smiling and home. The kind of kiss that tasted like promises and coffee and the comfort of forever.

When he pulled back, he slipped something into your hand.

Another sticky note.

“P.S. Check the pantry.”

Your eyebrows lifted. “Oh? Another surprise?”

“Go look.”

You padded over to the pantry and opened the door.

There, resting on a shelf between the cereal boxes and oatmeal canisters, was a small white gift box.

You turned to raise an eyebrow at him. He just leaned on the counter, arms crossed, watching you with that warm, unreadable half-smile.

Inside the box was a key.

You frowned slightly, confused. “This… looks like our front door key.”

He nodded. “It is.”

“But I already live here.”

He stepped forward and pulled you close, brushing your damp hair behind your ear.

“It’s symbolic,” he murmured. “You moved in. You made this house a home. And I just… I wanted to make sure you knew it’s yours in every way. You belong here. With me. Always.”

You stared at him, eyes glassy, breath caught. “Aaron…”

“I love you,” he repeated. “Every day. In every quiet way I can.”

You threw your arms around his neck, burying your face in his shoulder. He held you tightly, one hand stroking down your back, the other wrapped around your waist like he never planned to let go.

You stayed like that for a long while, wrapped in warmth and sunlight and everything unspoken.

Eventually, when you pulled back, you looked up with a mischievous grin. “Okay, but now I have to top this.”

He chuckled. “You don’t.”

“I do. You’ve set the bar ridiculously high. I might need, like… glitter. Or a marching band.”

“Please don’t bring glitter into this house,” he deadpanned, but his smile betrayed him.

You kissed him again—soft, slow, sweet.

Then you whispered against his lips:

“Stick with me, Hotchner.”

And he whispered back,

The cold steel of the prison gates clanged behind you, a sound that should have echoed like freedom but didn’t. You had been inside too long, locked away for something you didn’t do. Set up, betrayed, cast aside. The day they sentenced you was a blur of confusion and disbelief. You remembered how the team—the very people you considered family—had looked at you, some with pity, others with doubt. But not Aaron Hotchner.

You stepped out into the sunlight, blinking as the brightness stung your eyes. It didn’t feel real. How could it, after the nightmare you’d lived through? The trial, the accusations, the months spent behind bars, waiting for someone to realize the truth. The only thing that had kept you going was the thought of him. Aaron. You knew he had never given up on you. He had promised he’d fix this, and he did. But it took too long.

Now, “pretty baby, I’m running back to you,” you thought to yourself, your heart pounding as you reached into your pocket for your phone. Your first call,it could only be him. There was no one else you wanted, no one else who could understand what this moment meant.

The phone rang once, twice, then his voice came through, steady and familiar, the anchor you’d needed for months. “Sweetheart?"

You could hear the tension in his voice, the concern he couldn’t hide, but also relief. He knew it was you, and in that second, it felt like the world shifted back into place.

“I’m out,” you whispered, barely able to keep your voice from shaking. “Aaron, I’m free.”

There was a pause, a beat of silence where everything hung in the balance. You imagined him standing in his office, hand gripping the phone, trying to keep it together. “Where are you?”

“I don’t know… just outside the gates,” you admitted, looking around at the empty parking lot, feeling lost in the real world for the first time in what felt like forever. “I didn’t know who else to call.”

“I’m coming to get you,” he said, his voice firm, like there was no other option. “Stay where you are.”

You let out a shaky breath and nodded, even though he couldn’t see it. The weight of the last few months lifted just a little, knowing he was on his way. He’d always been the one person you could count on, the one person who saw through the lies and believed in you when no one else did. And now, he was the first one to pull you back into the world, the first one to remind you who you really were.

---

It didn’t take long for him to arrive. The black SUV pulled up, and you saw him step out, his expression unreadable at first,his usual stoic Hotchner mask firmly in place. But when his eyes met yours, something softened. Without a word, he crossed the distance between you, his arms wrapping around you in an embrace that was both grounding and overwhelming.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered against your hair, his grip tightening like he was afraid you might slip away again.

You buried your face in his chest, the familiar scent of him grounding you in a way you hadn’t felt since before everything went wrong. “I missed you,” you confessed, your voice muffled by the fabric of his suit.

He pulled back slightly, just enough to look into your eyes. “I missed you too.”

For a moment, the world fell away. It was just the two of you, standing in the middle of an empty parking lot, holding onto each other like you’d both been drowning for months. You had been waiting for this moment—dreaming of it, imagining how it would feel to be free and back in his arms. And now that it was real, it felt like you could breathe again.

But the reality of everything still lingered, just on the edge of this perfect moment.

“They set me up,” you said softly, your voice trembling with the weight of the truth you had been forced to live with. “They wanted me out of the way, and it worked.”

Hotch’s jaw clenched, a flash of anger crossing his face. “We’ll make sure they pay for it.”

You knew he meant it. If there was one thing you could trust, it was Aaron’s dedication to justice. But right now, all you cared about was being with him, feeling like yourself again after months of being stripped of your identity, your freedom.

“I don’t care about that,” you said, shaking your head. “Not right now. I just want to be with you.”

His hand came up to cup your face, his thumb brushing gently across your cheek. “You don’t have to worry about anything anymore. You’re with me now.”

You leaned into his touch, closing your eyes for a moment, letting yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, things could be okay again. Being with him, you felt like you had found your way back to the person you were before all of this, a person who was loved, believed in, and strong.

“I never doubted you,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “Not for a second.”

You opened your eyes, meeting his gaze. There was so much you wanted to say, but words felt inadequate. Instead, you leaned up and kissed him, pouring every emotion,every moment of pain, fear, and hope into that kiss.

When you finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, his breath coming in shallow bursts. “You’re safe now.”