weeklyhotchniss

[weeklyhotchniss]

First...day at school

Aaron, Emily and a number of firsts throughout their daughter's childhood.

-x-

Hi besties,

Thanks for the continued love for this version of them <3

As always, let me know what you think!

-x-

Words: 1.4k

A full list of warnings for the fic can be found on the Series Master List.

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

“Mommy, we’re going to be late.” 

Emily chuckles at the sound of her daughter’s voice travelling down the hall, and she checks the time on her watch before she calls back, “We have a few minutes before we need to leave, honey.” 

“It’s my first day,” Cora insists as she appears at the doorway of her younger sister's room, dressed in the outfit she’d spent hours picking the night before, “We can’t be late.” 

“And we won’t be,” Emily assures her, “Why don’t you go check Daddy and Jack are ready?” She says while helping the squirming toddler next to her get her arms through the holes in her sweater, “Mae and I will be out in a couple of minutes.” 

Cora nods and disappears from the doorway, already calling out for Aaron and Jack as she goes, and Emily returns her attention to her youngest. There were just under two years between Mae and Cora, but it was enough to make Emily realise how much her eldest daughter had grown up - especially in the last year or so. It made her ache, her heart swelling and breaking all at once as she tried to figure out where the last five years had gone, how her once tiny baby was now a little girl full of personality and sass. 

“I’ll make you a deal, baby,” she says to Mae, poking her nose when she looks up at her, smiling widely at the grin she gets in return from the 3-year-old, “If you promise to stop growing, you can have all the apple juice you could ever want, deal?” 

Mae nods and stands on the bed, launching herself at Emily, who wraps her arms around her as she stands up, “Juice!” 

Emily kisses her temple as she settles her onto her hip, “Deal,” she replies, blowing out a slow breath before she steps out of the room, all too aware that when she does so, she’ll no longer be able to deny that it was Cora’s first day of school. “I’ve been let down before, though,” she says, stepping out into the hallway, “Your sister promised the same thing for as much cupcake frosting as she wanted and look where that got me.” 

She walks downstairs and finds Cora standing by the door, watching intently like a drill sergeant as Jack and Aaron put on their shoes. She looks up at Emily as she makes it to the downstairs hallway, and she places her hands on her hips, her insistence clear. 

“Mommy.” 

“I’m ready,” she assures her, knowing that her excitement was fuelled by a nervousness she wouldn’t admit to until she had to, letting it thrum around in her little body until she was ready to burst with it. Emily smiles at Aaron as he opens the front door and lets Cora out onto the porch, and he presses the keys into Jack’s hand, “You and Jack go and get into the car, and we’ll be there in a second, okay?” 

Cora nods, “Okay,” she says, and she looks up at Jack, the first crack in her confident demeanour making an appearance as she locks eyes with her big brother, “You’re coming to school too, right?” 

“Right,” he replies, taking her backpack from her hands as he leads her out onto the porch, his promise to show her all of his old favourite spots back from when it was his school fading as they get further away. 

“She’s nervous,” Aaron says, and Emily hums, readjusting her hold on Mae, using her youngest as an anchor on a day she was finding just as nerve-racking as Cora was. 

“She is,” she replies, “And taking it out on everyone,” she adds, holding her hand up to stop her husband from saying anything, seeing the smile flick across his face out of the corner of her eye as she watches Jack help Cora into the car, “If you ever want to have s-e-x again, don’t say it.” 

He chuckles as he follows her out onto the porch, house keys in hand as he locks the front door, “I wouldn’t dream of it, sweetheart.” 

Cora’s excitement fades into nervousness as they get closer to the school. She’d been in daycare a few days a week since she was small, so she was used to being in an environment like that, but this was different. Emily had switched to part-time when she had Cora, determined to do something different for her children that her mother had been unable to do for her, so she’d never done more than two days in a row away from her before they had a day at home together. 

As she watches Cora’s shoulders tighten as they walk from their car to the front gate of the school, Emily wonders if, in her desire not to fail her children, she’d somehow let them down in a different way, a voice in the back of her head that sounded suspiciously like her own mother telling her she’d allowed her little girl to become too dependant on her. 

“You ready?” She asks, unsure if she’s talking to herself or Cora, but she waits for the little girl to nod and squeeze her hand. 

“Yeah,” she replies, her smile shaking as she tries to put on a brave face, “I’m ready.” 

She steps forward and feels Cora’s hand slip out of hers. She turns to look at her and sees the panic flash in her little girl's eyes, and it takes everything in her not to pick her up, take her to the car and drive home with the promise of trying again tomorrow. Emily looks over her shoulder at Aaron, and she doesn’t have to say anything; he simply nods and gives them some room, distracting Jack and Mae as he points out something in the school’s playground. As soon as they are alone, Emily kneels down so she’s at Cora’s level, and she reaches out to tuck her hair behind her ear, smiling when she leans into her touch.

“What’s wrong, baby?” She asks, not wanting to lead her, to cause anxiety where it might not exist, but she knows she’s right when Cora’s eyes well up, tears she rarely sheds these days making an appearance at her lashline. 

“I’m scared,” she says, sniffing as she looks past Emily to the school’s front door, “I want to go home.” 

Emily smiles at her, doing everything she can to be reassuring, not to let her own emotions, her own desire to take Cora home, win out, “It’s okay to be scared. It’s something new and that can be scary.” 

She furrows her brows, looking exactly like Aaron, like she always does when she frowns, something that their friends would tease him endlessly over, “You’re never scared. You’re brave.” 

“Oh, sweet girl, I’m scared all the time,” she says, smiling when Cora’s frown only gets deeper, “But that doesn’t make me any less brave,” she says, poking her little girl’s belly, her smile getting wider when she draws a giggle from her, “In fact, I think it makes me even braver, because I do the things that scare me anyway.”

Cora’s brow relaxes a little. “Does Daddy get scared?” 

Emily nods, “Yeah,” she replies, “Everyone does sometimes.” 

“What’s Daddy scared of?” She asks, confusion painted across her sweet face as she tries to figure it out, “Grandma?” 

It makes Emily laugh, a loud, joyful thing that escapes her because it makes her feel like she’s done something right, because her little girl thought that the only big bad in her father’s life was his mother-in-law, not a man who hid in the shadows of his and Jack’s dreams. She’d do anything to protect that innocence as long as she could, to keep Cora and Mae safe from the things that she, Aaron and Jack had been exposed to. 

“Yeah,” she replies, winking at her, “But that’s just between us,” she says, offering her hand out to her, “You ready to go in?” 

Cora blows out a slow breath, a habit she’d picked up from her, a tell of nervousness that had been passed down, and she nods, reaching out for Emily’s hand. 

“I’m ready.” 

[weeklyhotchniss]

we wander on, shoulder to shoulder (2/10 & 3/10)

Read on AO3!

A s18 married Hotchniss fix-it — one ficlet per episode — featuring Jack teaching Emily what 'taking Ls' actually means, a redo of the Mendoza conversation, Emily in glasses, and more.

He’s waiting for her when she comes home. If he knows her (and he does, better than anyone), she will have kept her tears at bay for JJ’s sake. She won’t have cried on her drive either, because the white noise of the highway will have lulled her into a temporary state of numbness. But now, as she crosses the threshold to the sight of him already standing, his arms already outstretched and reaching for her— She sobs. 

textual analysis below the cut, because you can take the girl out of a poetry workshop but you can't take the poetry workshop out of the girl.

imo, these lines from the poem this fic gets its name from perfectly capture how Hotch and Emily might feel after so many decades of close losses:

Let's step inside a church and watch baptisms, marriages, masses for the dead. Why are we different from the rest?

There's relief in that question of "why us?" but also deep guilt - a concession that they've gotten more time together than they ever expected they would, and a desperation for more.

"Why us," and it's to make peace.

"Why us," and it's so they might continue to be able to cheat death.

[weeklyhotchniss]

Make your tea and your toast (part 6)

A/N: A little mini-chapter to get back into the story! Thank you to anyone who has taken the time to read/comment! I appreciate y'all so much <3

Title: Make your tea and your toast

Summary: If he played his cards close to his chest, she never picked hers up. Emily's past slowly catches up to her and he realizes just how little he knows about her.

Word count: 1.4k

Ratings: Mature, eventually

Warnings: none!

Read below or on AO3

March 2007

Quantico, VA

In the weeks after they’d come home from New Orleans, color slowly seeped into the bullpen. Though he’d be the last to admit it, Hotch spent most days pleasantly disrupted by the noise below his office.

Reid was back. Not entirely, but he was doing much better. Hotch fought off the smirk that tugged at his face as he watched his agent test the pliability of his desk chair, bouncing slightly as he readjusted to some sense of his normal life. It was cautious optimism, but the eggshells they’d spent weeks walking around him on had been swept away. Reid looked younger now, if that was even possible. Perhaps it was just the light playing tricks on him. He let out a heavy sigh wrapped in a laugh.

Just as relieving, he found JJ smiling often, even going as far as to perch herself on Reid or Morgan’s desk as they all filed in each morning. Firing off inquiries about everyone’s weekends, skillfully deflecting any aimed back at her. Across the floor, Morgan teased Emily with an edge of hesitation, a surrogate for an apology he didn’t know how to give in words. The usual magnetic flirtation dulled like a cupid's arrow falling short of its target. It was strange seeing Morgan off his game, even if it went unnoticed to anyone who wasn’t paying much attention. And while the team worked to smooth each other over, Garcia plied them with enough sweets and sarcasm to keep them going.

Still, Hotch couldn’t shake the silence beneath it all.

Not for the first time, their team had been grounded for almost three weeks. A “well-deserved break,” as Strauss had advertised it. Consults, assisting with local cases, and lecture circuits were the only assignments doled out. Three weeks had been just long enough for them to settle into a pattern. Gideon and Reid took the university lectures, sometimes accompanied by JJ. Morgan led the assist in complex local cases. That left Hotch and Prentiss to close out reports and sift through the consult requests pouring in from across the country.

Three weeks of working in tandem with the mysterious woman who had appeared at his desk not even four months ago. A trained profiler. A woman he still knew almost nothing about, not that he could claim to be making much of an effort. Still, they worked well together. On this night in particular, it was no different. Prentiss sat across from him at the conference room table, separated by a sea of manila. Like most nights, he spent the first ten minutes reading her.

They kept the overhead lights off, opting for the table lamps to see instead. He didn’t fight her on it. He didn’t dare after catching the way the warmth pulled out the cherry tones in her dark brown hair. Tonight, it was tied back in a relaxed low bun, purely functional, flyaways abundant, just enough to reveal the sharp planes of her face. Her right knee pulled toward her chest in one of the rolling chairs, a navy blue blazer balanced across her shoulders. One arm outstretched, one of her fancy pens pinned between her fingers.

It puzzled him how she could make stacks of paperwork seem comfortable. She hadn’t taken her eyes off the file in front of her, yet her pen hadn't moved in minutes.

Outside, the rest of the team buzzed around in their ritual of emotional clean-up. JJ was walking Reid through something on a whiteboard. Gideon was holed up with Strauss in her office. Morgan had convinced Garcia to let him adjust the settings on her chair again—something about lumbar support and stubborn backs.

It’s only when he looks down at the case in front of him that Prentiss speaks. “I swear if I have to look at one more police report that looks like it was faxed over by a toddler, I’m going to die.”

Hotch glances back up to find her fully slouched in her chair.

“Well, we can’t have that,” he says, a hint of amusement seeping through. He doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the look on her face when their eyes meet, her smile beaming wide enough to pull him away from the paperwork.

He stands, stretching his back, mug in hand. Leaning across the table, he nods towards her, “Coffee?” She nods eagerly, sliding her cup forward.

“You’re actually letting me have some?”

He scoffs lightheartedly, “Try to suspend your disbelief, Prentiss. Get some air, I’ll meet you in the back courtyard in 10?” “Yes, sir.”

A to-go cup would have been smarter, he thinks as he exits the building. It’s warmer out than he expected, the kind that clings after sundown. Wisps of steam rise from the mug in his hand, curling against the stretch of neck above his shirt collar before vanishing into the night.

Hotch spots the cloud of smoke billowing above before he sees her. A glowing cigarette replacing the pen in her hand. Peace settles over her features as she exhales. It’s a kind of quiet he doesn’t get to witness often. He clears his throat to announce his arrival. She doesn’t startle, she probably knew he was there all along.

“Oh hey, thanks.” She takes the mug from his hands, her fingers brushing his briefly. “I think the others went home. Lightweights. Garcia didn’t even say goodnight.” She takes another drag and exhales. “You’re not having any?” she asks.

“It’s after dinnertime.”

She rolls her eyes at him, teasing. “Hotch, it’s 8:00 p.m. and you haven't had dinner yet. Besides, in most cultures, it’s traditional to serve coffee with dinner, even after dinner. It’s good for you.” He gives her a look. “I think I'd be a little more inclined to accept health advice from you if you weren’t out here smoking like a member of the old guard right now.” She smirks and holds the cigarette out to him. He only looks disappointed.

“I’m allowing you one vice,” he says dryly. “The least you could do is avoid any others for tonight.“

She takes a long sip of coffee, then another drag from the cigarette, an exhale, then drops it, twisting it into the ground with her heel. “There.”

“Feel any better?”

She nods, mug tucked close to her collarbone, shoulders curling inwards as if to contain the warmth against herself.

“You know,” he says, “I have a toddler, and I think he might be able to send a fax better than whatever that last one was.”

Prentiss lets out the tiniest huff of laughter. “I mean, it did come from Florida, so… you're probably not wrong.”

“Right,” he chuckles back.

“How is Jack?” she asks.

“He’s good. Getting big. Really starting to grow up, show interest in things.” His mouth softens as he speaks. “Now that he’s walking, it’s stressful. We have a lot of corners.” His eyes widened a little at the thought. She laughs, quick and unguarded. He glances up at her, brow raised. “Do you…?”

Her body shifts, no longer as light and open, well open for her. She fakes a cough to cover herself, and stretches it into a yawn, waving it off.

He lets her cold front slide. “It’s getting late. We should both head home before we try and decipher another one of those reports.”

“I concur.”

“Do you feel alright to drive?”

She shifts her weight, “I’m not drunk. I’m fine.“

“Whatever you say. I just don’t want to get a call from DC Metro saying one of my agents fell asleep at the wheel and got into a fiery crash.”

“If it would make you feel better, I can call Morgan and make sure he’s okay?” She smirks faintly, then shakes her head. “No, really, sir. I’ll be fine. I’ve been driving these roads my entire life.”

Hotch doesn’t argue further. He fishes his phone from his jacket pocket, slowly dialing. “Hi honey… Great. I’m leaving now. Did he go down okay?… If traffic is light, maybe thirty minutes, I was going to stop and pick up a pint of Cherry Garcia, we can watch that thing you… or that.” He pulls the phone briefly from his ear. “Goodnight, Prentiss.”

“Goodnight, sir,” she answers, her voice quiet.

He slips the phone back, already smiling faintly at whatever Hayley is saying. “Alright, I’m on my way. Love you too. See you soon.”

He walks out.

Prentiss watches him go, the echo of her own goodnight hanging in the empty courtyard.

[weeklyhotchniss]

Do you have any Hotchniss fic recs where Aaron and/or Emily are bisexual? This bi girl in a straight passing relationship thanks you 🏳️‍🌈

Oh, I love this ask - yes! 🩷💜💙

Last week I highlighted @caladeniablue's new series Hotch and all the others (M), which features bisexual Hotch in an established relationship with Emily, recounting past flings with male characters you may recognize from other crime procedurals like CSI and NCIS.

@ssaemilyhotchner has a gorgeous Hotchniss 5+1 fic titled wrapped around your finger (M) where one of the parts takes a look at bisexual teen Emily's love for Fiona Duncan (who later appears in s12 as Reid's defense attorney).

@sequinsmile-x has a tenderly done fic that was written during bi visibility week last year, The Past is Never Far (G), in which Emily comes out as bi to Aaron after they run into an ex of hers.

If you're looking for smut, there's there's things I wanna say to you but I'll just let you live by @marestomars (E; Hotch gets jealous after seeing Emily flirt with a woman) and To give to you by @cloudlessly-light (E; Emily usually prefers topping women "but then she joins the BAU and meets Aaron Hotchner and everything changes.")

And to round this list out with some more bi Hotch, a bottle of red, a bottle of white (T) by voodoochild is a Hotch/Emily/Rossi vignette that packs a lot of poly domestic happiness into fewer than 200 words.

This is by no means a comprehensive list of bi Hotchniss fics out there, so I encourage people to leave more recommendations in the comments! I hope this is a good starting point for you - and happy pride month!

[weeklyhotchniss]

💙 Fic Recs: August 17-31

Caelum (G) by @sequinsmile-x chapter 1/1 tags: emotional hurt/comfort, grief/mourning, ptsd

She tries to keep it to herself. She rebuffs Aaron’s attempts to check in on her, even though she knows he knows what day is coming up, insisting she’s fine every time he asks, as if he hadn’t once stood in front of a gravestone that had her name and March 7th etched onto it. She insists she’s fine every time he asks, smiles in a way she usually reserves for her mother, and she knows he can see through it. She’s grateful he doesn’t push her, that he knows her well enough not to, and she tells herself she just has to get past it, that by March 8th she’ll be okay again.  She should have known that was too good to be true, because it had never worked in the past. 

collapsing is what you're used to (E) by @leavemurph chapter 1/1 tags: inspired by the devil wears prada, praise kink, older woman/younger man

"An unfortunate delay. My schedule, as you know, is immovable." Her hands frame his face, thumbs against his jaw, tilting him just so. He's wearing the one-year subscription Sad Puppy look, but Emily's already halfway to canceling it. "I am already, against my better judgment, allotting you a few minutes of my valuable time." "Your valuable time," he repeats, rolling the words around just to taste them. Bites his lip, two seconds of staring at her lips before he closes the gap and kisses it. "Oh, I'm very thankful, ma'am," he adds. "You should be."

we wander on, shoulder to shoulder (T) by @ssaemilyhotchner chapter 2/10 tags: season 18 fix-it, married hotchniss, ficlet collection

He’s waiting for her when she comes home. If he knows her (and he does, better than anyone), she will have kept her tears at bay for JJ’s sake. She won’t have cried on her drive either, because the white noise of the highway will have lulled her into a temporary state of numbness. But now, as she crosses the threshold to the sight of him already standing, his arms already outstretched and reaching for her— She sobs. 

TRACKING #WEEKLYHOTCHNISS ❖ NEED A FIC REC?

[weeklyhotchniss]

First...night at home

Aaron, Emily and a number of firsts throughout their daughter's childhood.

-x-

Hi besties,

This idea has come from me wanting to write Aaron and Emily moving their teenager into their college dorm, so naturally this needed to be a multi-chapter fic of a series of their daughter's 'firsts.'

As always, let me know what you think <3

-x-

Words: 1.4k

A full list of warnings for the fic can be found on the Series Master List.

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

It was so late it was almost early, and even though she hadn’t slept yet, even though she was exhausted in a way she never had been before and sore in places she didn’t even know she had, Emily didn’t think she’d ever been happier. She hums around a yawn as she paces back and forth in the living room. She rests her cheek against the top of her newborn’s head as she pats her back, unsure if she’s trying to burp her or soothe her to sleep or both, but she carries on anyway, too antsy to put her down or try to sleep, an energy she didn’t understand thrumming in her veins despite her exhaustion. 

It was their first night home from the hospital. The first night of countless nights to come of not sleeping, night feeds and diaper changes.

Cora Hotchner was 36 hours old and the centre of her parents' and older brother’s world. Emily kept finding herself just staring at her, memorising the features she’d pictured since they’d started trying to have her as she tried to grapple with the fact that this was the baby she’d grown herself. The person who’d been kicking and punching her in her ribs and her bladder for months, who she’d sat up in bed and spoken to and read to so she’d know her voice. 

She’d wanted this for years, had told herself she’d never have it for almost just as long, and it was overwhelming now it was happening. Now she had a tiny baby with her cheek - a cheek she’d made - pressed against her chest, Emily kept thinking she’d just wake up to find out that this was all a dream. That she’d wake up and still be in Paris in an apartment with bare walls and a fake name on the lease, and everything she’d gained in the last few years would be gone in a flash, a dream she’d slowly forget despite her determination not to. 

But it was real. Achingly so, and not just because she was wearing a diaper herself or because she winced every time she sat down, but because she’d never been able to picture her daughter’s face with such clarity in her dreams. There had always been a haze to it, like it was out of focus no matter what she did. Cora was here and real and in her arms. She had her nose and Aaron’s lips and dimples they’d already argued over who she’d got them from, each one of them insisting it was the other. 

She yawns again and smiles when she hears familiar footsteps in the hallway, and she drops another kiss to the top of the baby’s head. 

“Daddy is coming to see us, Cora,” she says, the use of her daughter’s name still unfamiliar to her, light and sweet on her tongue every time she says it. They’d struggled with her name, had gone back and forth over dozens of names since they found out they were having a little girl. It was a big decision. A name she’d say every day for the rest of her life, one she’d write down on forms and on labels in backpacks, until she couldn’t remember how hard it had once been to come up with. 

Aaron smiles at them as he walks into the living room, his smile sleepy but happy as he rubs at one of his eyes, “There are my girls.” 

“Hi,” Emily says, tilting her head to look down at Cora, sighing in relief when she sees she’s asleep, “She needed feeding, and since that usually leads to both of us crying, I thought I’d come down here so we didn’t disturb you.” 

“You could have woken me up,” he says, “You know that.” 

“I know, but you were up with us a few hours ago,” she replies, continuing to pace, worried if she stopped Cora would wake up and she’d have to start all over again, “I just wanted to try. And we managed,” her smile falters for a second, “In the end.” 

A small, naive, part of her had hoped she and Cora would take to nursing easily. She’d read all the books, had spoken to a lactation consultant, but it was hard. Part of her had wanted to stay in the hospital another night so she’d have the nurses on hand, but the part of her that wanted to bring her girl home so they start to settle into their new life had won out. 

Aaron nods, knowing not to push, not to remind her that he was here for both of them because she knew that already. “Want me to take her?” 

She doesn’t understand the part of her that tightens her hold on Cora, a flash of something she can only call primal in her gut as she wants to keep her close. She’s grateful he doesn’t say anything when he notices, that all he does is smile at her as she unconsciously steps back from him. He was always endlessly patient with her, but ever since they found out she was pregnant, it had somehow increased the limit to his patience with her unending as she snapped and cried over the tiniest things. 

“Yeah,” she says, kissing Cora’s temple as she forces herself to relax, throwing him a smile as she hands the baby over, both of them using the same level of care as they would with an active bomb, “Thanks.” 

“She’s mine too,” he says as he holds Cora against his chest and sits on the couch. “You don’t have to thank me.” 

She stares at them for a moment, focused on how his hand was bigger than their daughter’s back, and she gets lost in it. Imagines him using his hands with his scarred knuckles to braid Cora’s hair when she was older, pictures him holding a tiny plastic cup and pretending to drink tea out of it as their little girl demanded he play with her. She shakes it off, desperate to make sure she lived in the moment, in each aching, long, moment instead of thinking too much about all they have to come, already aware that these are the days she’d one day look back on with rose-tinted nostalgia. 

She sits next to them, wincing before she gets comfortable, throwing him a smile and a raised eyebrow as something close to panic flashes in his eyes. 

“A whole ass person slowly tunnelled out of me a day and a half ago,” she says, her smile turning into a smirk as she settles close to them, her head on his shoulder as she puts her hand over his on Cora’s back, “I’m going to be sore for a little bit.” 

He turns his head and captures her lips in a kiss, smiling at her like he had on their first date - when she had curled her hair and was wearing make-up and a dress she’d bought with him in mind - a slight goofiness to it she hopes Cora will inherit just like Jack had. 

“You’re beautiful,” he says, unable to help himself as the compliment trips off his tongue, and she chuckles, looking down at herself in her sweatpants that looked bulky because of the diaper underneath, and the t-shirt that was once his had which had a milk stain on the hem. 

“I think you’re delirious with exhaustion, honey,” she says, and he shakes his head, his eyebrows furrowed, an edge of seriousness to his expression that was somewhat dulled by the tender way he was holding their baby girl. 

“Never,” he replies, kissing her again, “You’re always the most beautiful person in every room,” he pulls back and then looks down at Cora, “Although you and Cora might be tied for first place now.” 

She smiles, blushing as she sinks her teeth into her lower lip, and she kisses him before she rests her head on his shoulder and looks at Cora, studies the shadows her long lashes cast over her cheeks, and she sighs happily. 

“I think I can live with that."

[weeklyhotchniss]

we wander on, shoulder to shoulder (1/10)

Read on AO3!

A s18 married Hotchniss fix-it — one ficlet per episode — featuring Jack teaching Emily what 'taking Ls' actually means, a redo of the Mendoza conversation, Emily in glasses, and more.

More often than not these days, he rolls over to find the bed empty in the middle of night, and after a brief sting of panic, his breathing settles and he rises to search for her. Sometimes she’s in the kitchen with coffee (decaf, she claims, though he doesn’t believe her because the decaf grounds he picked up from their favorite neighborhood spot never seem to run out); other times it’s the living room couch, the TV on mute. It takes him a minute longer than usual, but he eventually finds her in their shared office, curled up on the window seat with a mug of something in her hands. Chamomile tea, he determines as he closes the distance between them. He’ll count that as a win. “Can I join you?” “Always.”

[weeklyhotchniss]

Stained Glass Windows - Chapter Eighty Six

Life was complicated, but they wouldn't have it any other way.

-x-

Hi besties,

I'm going to preface this by saying I love this fic, and I love this version of them, but the last couple of times I've posted a chapter I've got anon hate on here for posting it. It sucks some of the joy I have for writing in general, let alone for SGW, and that's why it's taken me a little bit to write this chapter.

I love writing, I love writing this version of them after doing so for almost 3 years now, but i HATE that I now feel anxious to post a chapter of this fic incase I get more hate than I do comments or kudos.

I'm doing my best to push through that, because I don't want to let the haters ruin his for me and for those of you who love SGW, but I just wanted to explain the silence on this fic sometimes.

Anyway, as always, let me know what you think <3

-x-

Words: 2k

A full list of warnings for the fic can be found on the Series Master List.

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

“Mama, hungry!”

She looks up at Lily from the snack she’s preparing for her, and smiles at the frown spread across the toddler's face. She’s sat in her high chair with her arms crossed over her chest, the very picture of impatience as she waits for her mother to chop up some vegetables for her. 

“I know, baby,” she says, taking another moment to take in her daughter’s adorable frown, how it makes her look exactly like Aaron.

“I not baby,” Lily replies, her frown somehow deepening, her lower lip stuck out in a pout as she points at Emily’s bump, “She baby.” 

Emily clears her throat to stop herself from laughing, and she nods, “You’re right, sorry, Lils.” 

She drops the knife in her hands onto the counter as a now all too familiar contraction starts to roll through her.  She bites back a groan, not wanting to scare her little girl, and her breath catches in her throat as her belly goes drum tight. It had been weeks of this now. Weeks of her body preparing for something it had already done once, and it was slowly driving her insane. It was making her irritable, and she knew she’d snapped at those around her more than once when they didn’t deserve it. There was still potentially another month of this, and whenever she thought about it, it made her want to cry, caught between wanting it to all be over and wanting her daughter to stay where she was as long as possible.

She leans against the kitchen counter and blows out a breath as the contraction passes, and she reaches for the knife to continue chopping up vegetables for Lily’s snack. She stops in place when she feels a trickle of liquid down her thigh, followed by a gush she hears before she feels. She tries to tell herself it isn’t her water that’s broken, a flash of denial that wanes before it can truly swell in her chest, gone the moment another contraction builds in her belly, forcing panic into her lungs. 

“Shit.” 

“‘hit,” Lily mirrors, and Emily can barely register the fact that her 20-month-old has just cursed for the first time because her water had broken on the kitchen floor when she was only 36 weeks pregnant, and her husband was on the other side of the country. 

“Okay,” she tells herself, careful not to slip on the wet patch on the floor as she grabs her phone where she’d left it on the counter, “Okay, this is fine,” she says even though she could feel the panic climbing up her throat, her chest getting tighter by the second because it was too soon. She smiles at Lily, desperate to make sure she doesn't pick up on the fact that something is wrong. “I just need to get to the hospital, and Daddy needs to get on a plane, and baby sister needs to stay where she is until he gets here.” She tries to ignore the onslaught of memories from her first labour, how things had gone wrong so quickly, and the thought of going through anything like that again without Aaron by her side makes her ache. "Everything will be fine." 

She dials Aaron’s number and sandwiches her phone between her ear and her shoulder, one of her hands on her bump as she uses the other to pass Lily her half-prepared snack. For a moment, she’s worried he won’t answer, checking the time on her watch and cursing under her breath when she realises the team were likely in the morning briefing with the locals. Just as the call is about to ring out, she sighs in relief when she hears his voice. 

“Hi sweetheart,” he says, and she can hear the bustle of the bullpen in th background, as well as the barely concealed concern in his voice. He knew as well as she did that she would never call during the day unless it were important, and she knew he was likely already going over worst-case scenarios in his head, and she hated that she was about to confirm one of them. “Is everything okay?” 

“I’m in labour,” she says bluntly, swallowing thickly as she says it outloud for the first time, panic filling her lungs and making it hard to breathe, “My water just broke all over the kitchen floor. And the contractions are only a few minutes apart.” 

“What?” He says, and she knows he’s stepping away from the bullpen, the background noise fading away as he gives them privacy, “You’re only 36 weeks.” 

“I know that,” she says, more bite to her voice than she means there to be, “I’ve been having contractions all morning, but I thought it was the stupid fake labour, so I didn’t think anything about it.” 

“I’m in Oregon,” he says, and she rolls her eyes, flicking her gaze to Lily to remind herself not to curse in front of her again. 

“I know that too,” she says through gritted teeth, “I need you to get it together, honey, okay? Because one of us needs to, and I’m the one in early labour, so it’s not going to be me.” 

He clears his throat, “Sorry,” he says, clearing it again, and if she closes her eyes, she can picture him straightening his shoulders, his eyes closed as he takes a deep breath, “Okay, this is what we’re going to do, you’re going to call the hospital to let them know you’re on the way, the bag is by the door already, right?” 

“Yeah,” she says, already feeling a little calmer, “Yeah, it is.” 

“I’ll call Garcia and ask her to come over and take you to the hospital, and she can keep an eye on Lily while you’re there,” he says, and he briefly gets quieter, his phone clearly no longer against his ear as he calls out for Dave, before his attention is back on her, “I’ll get on the next flight out of here and I’ll be with you as soon as I can.” 

She nods even though he can’t see her, and she wipes a single tear from her cheek, “Yeah, okay. Good plan,” she says, blowing out a slow breath that shudders in her chest, “She’s early.” 

“She’ll be okay, Em,” he says, and she isn’t sure if he’s trying to assure her or himself, “You both will.” 

“You’ll let me know when you’re on a flight?” She says, rubbing a hand on her bump as she feels another contraction start up. 

“I’ll let you know,” he promises, “I love you, sweetheart.”

She chokes on a sound between a sob and a laugh, finally giving in to the emotion building in her chest, panic and fear swirling in her gut along with everything else. 

“I love you too.” 

___

For a brief moment, he considers driving even though he knows it will take close to 40 hours. It’s stupid, he knows that, but the thought gives him a second of power in a situation he has no control over. 

It takes longer than he’d like to get a flight. Every passing second feels like a lifetime, panic clawing up his throat until he finally gets the last seat on a flight an hour after Emily called him. He leaves his bag at the hotel, presses his key into Dave’s hand as he asks him to bring it back to DC when the case is done, and he leaves for the airport with just his phone and his briefcase. 

He hopes that she’s somehow wrong, that she isn’t in labour, or that the doctors can stall it for a few days until she hits full term. He almost stumbles as he steps out of his cab and into the airport, the weight of all the memories of when Emily had Lily overwhelming, the fear he’d felt when he’d been left in a room all by himself, where their daughter was supposed to be born, after things went wrong so quickly. They’d planned for so many eventualities, but this - him being on the other side of the country - hadn’t been one of them 

He’s furious at himself for going on the case at all, for not fighting it when Strauss asked him to go on one more case before he grounded himself until Emily gave birth. He hates that he’s not by her side, that he isn’t with her to hold her hand because he knows she’ll be scared, that she won’t be showing it to Penelope or anyone other than him. 

As he settles onto the plane, not caring that he’s in the middle seat, he sends Emily a text, trying to ignore the shake to his hands as he types it out. 

On a flight, will let you know when I land. 

She calls him almost immediately, as if she’d been sitting there waiting for his text, and he answers just as quickly, unsure he’s ever felt further away from her. 

“Sweetheart, hi.” 

“Hi,” she chokes out, “I’m all checked in at the hospital,” she says, sounding slightly out of breath, “They put a monitor on and baby is looking good, but is definitely on the way.” 

He can hear Penelope in the background, her promise via text to him to not leave until he gets there, going strong as she softly talks to Lily to distract her. He knows it’s why Emily isn’t saying Poppy’s name, or calling her baby girl, because it was one last day of it being something just for the two of them before they shared their daughter with their friends and family. 

He closes his eyes, desperate to try and keep himself calm, all too aware that the almost 7-hour flight ahead of him would feel even longer if he didn’t,  “What else have they said?” 

“I’m about 4 cms dilated,” she says, and he can hear the shake she tries to hide in her voice, “They are going to do the epidural soon,” she sniffs, “You said you’d be here to hold my hand when they came at me with the giant needle.” 

“I’m sorry. I never should have-”

“No, I’m sorry,” she says, cutting him off, “That wasn’t fair. I was trying to be funny…sorry,” she says, “Maybe this is the universe trying to be funny.” 

He smiles, unable to stop himself at the slight chuckle in her voice, because he can picture her smile, the one she painted across her face whenever she tried to cheer up everyone around her. It never failed to work on him, even though he could see through it, as if she could somehow reach down into the darkest parts of him and bring them out into the light. 

“What do you mean, Em?”

“Well,” she says, clearing her throat to disguise the shake in it, “I missed Lily being born, and you might miss baby being born.” 

“I won’t miss it,” he says, sounding more sure than he feels, and it makes her laugh again, a desperate edge to it this time. 

“How can you know that?” 

“Because I promise I won’t.” 

They fall into silence again for a second, and he hears her suck in a breath, “Sorry, that was another poor attempt at a joke. Maybe I should steer clear of attempts at humour when I’m in labour.”

“I’ll remind you of that next time.” 

She laughs, her actual laugh this time, and it eases something in his gut, unfurls something tight and heavy, because he knew no matter what, they had each other.

“Let me at least have this one before you start thinking about the next,” she quips, and she turns serious, a slow breath he can practically feel skip across his cheek, goosebumps spreading across his skin from muscle memory alone, “You’re on your way?” 

“Can all passengers please turn off all personal devices as we are ready to start taxing.” 

“Yeah, I’m on my way,” he promises her as the announcement ends, and he smiles and nods at an air steward who indicates that he needs to put his phone away, “I’ve got to go, but I’ll let you know when I land.” 

“Okay,” she says, “I love you. Baby does too.” 

“I love you too,” he replies, “And I’ll be there as soon as I can.” 

As he switches off his phone, he knows it’s a promise he’ll make sure he keeps.

[weeklyhotchniss]

andante, andante

Read on AO3!

It’s opening night for Emily’s ballet, but she already has an encore performance in mind for Hotch.

A Young Hotchniss prequel to pas de deux.

“I’ll have to hear more of your thoughts later.” She drops her voice, though there’s no real need; Elizabeth is already several steps ahead, talking the driver’s ear off about her schedule for tomorrow. “Perhaps when your shift is over?” He goes completely still when she takes hold of his wrist, turning it to study his watchface. “Oh, look at that. We’ll be home just in time for the shift change. Good.”

[weeklyhotchniss]

💙 Fic Recs: August 10-17

andante, andante (M) by @ssaemilyhotchner chapter 1/1 tags: young hotchniss, smut, ballet

“I could feel you watching me,” she murmurs, the first drops of rain. “Oh? What did it feel like?” She considers the question for a while. “Like when you first step outside into the sunshine after being in the A/C all day. Or,” and her smile is languid but bright, a flash of lightning, “like the comedown from a great orgasm, when your skin’s still vibrating and warm. Like that.” There’s no hesitation when she turns. His mouth on hers is the sky opening up, positively electric, and she meets him just as fervently, rising on her tiptoes to press more of her body to his. 

five times jack calls emily “mom” and one time emily calls him her “son” (G) by @leavemurph chapter 1/1 tags: domestic fluff, momily, jack hotchner

"I don't think I can call my mom by her actual name," the boy admits after a pause. "I'm just Jack's—" Emily starts, slow, ready to cut the moment short with something harmless, until she catches Jack's face freezing on her. Eyes wide. Alarmed. Her throat clicks shut. Oh. It lands on her like a dropped piano. He told those boys she's his mother.

Worth It by @sequinsmile-x chapter 1/1 tags: love confessions, aaron hotchner whump, hurt/comfort

“When I lost Haley, I told myself I’d never put myself through it again, that I was happy for it to just be me and Jack,” he smiles at her, the crookedness of it exaggerated by his black eye and swollen cheek, “But then you happened. And I realised I’d go through it all over again just to be with you.”  She chokes on a sound she can’t name, the love she felt for him, but hadn’t been able to put into words yet, sharp as it presses against her lungs as she tries to breathe. It’s a short and sharp pain she knows she could survive a thousand times before the final blow.

TRACKING #WEEKLYHOTCHNISS ❖ NEED A FIC REC?

[weeklyhotchniss]

Hotch stuff

A/N: This is for the lovely @thamyprentiss who requested this after Thomas cameo video when he told us about Paget singing the song Hot Stuff, and well… here we are!

Title: Hotch stuff Summary: It had been an earworm, the song stuck in her head as she walks into work. It wasn’t supposed to be more than that. Luckily for her, the universe had other plans. Word count: 3,4k Rating: Explicit Warnings: Smut, shower sex, mirror sex, praise kink (minor), dirty talk, a (very bad) attempt at humor

It had started off as a mistake. She heard the song on the way to work that morning and it got stuck in her head, one of the most annoying earworms of her life.

“Looking for some hot stuff baby this evening.” She mumbles the words quietly as she sits by her desk and waits for her computer to start up. The song was already annoying her, something unimportant that was slowly driving her insane. Spencer and Derek both hear her, Derek laughing at her clear irritation with herself while Spencer having no idea what the song even was.

But the song was playing on a loop, like she couldn’t escape it even though she tried.

Not even ten minutes later Aaron is walking by, briefcase in hand as he heads out of the bullpen for a meeting a few floors up. Her eyes follow him as he walks by her giving the team a quick nod before disappearing through the glass door.

“Looking for some hot stuff baby this evening, I need some Hotch stuff baby tonight.” She isn’t even aware of the mumbled humming until she feels two pairs of eyes on her and she turns in her chair. “What?”

“You got something you wanna tell us, Princess?” Derek arches an eyebrow at her, twirling a pen between his fingers. When she only ends up looking at him mutely Spencer adds.

“You just said that you need some Hotch stuff this evening.”

She looks at them both and scoffs.

“I did no such thing, that’s ridiculous.” She balls up a piece of paper and throws it at Derek when he starts to laugh. “I didn’t!”

“Yeah, you did.” The two men says in unison.

So that’s how it starts, as an earworm turning into Emily singing about him. Her boss, a man she was sure didn’t even like her half of the time but she had found herself insanely attracted to from the start.

The stupid song seems to imprint on her brain and soon enough she finds herself humming it whenever they had some downtime and he was around. Like he triggered her brain into remembering it. Luckily she mostly hums but sometimes she starts to sing it without even noticing. The team all finds it hilarious, sometimes they even join in, but never when Aaron was within earshot of course.

Until that day.

“I need Hotch stuff, I want some Hotch stuff, I need Hotch stuff-” She’s pouring herself coffee in the kitchenette, singing quietly, feeling distracted from too much work and too little sleep. She wasn’t even aware that she was singing it until she turns around and Aaron is standing right behind her with an unreadable expression on his face.

“Prentiss,” He says after a few awkward, long seconds. When her eyes widen and mouth opens and closes a couple of times as her cheeks flush pink his lips turns into the most subtle of smiles. “were you just singing about me?”

“No!” The word is out too quickly, too loud, too much and when he looks at her with something close to amusement she feels herself beginning to sweat. “No, I wasn’t.” She says calmer but it’s too late. He had definitely heard it and as someone who usually prided herself in her ability to stay calm, she was failing. Miserably.

“No?” He moves around her to reach the coffee pot and when he does she gets a whiff of his cologne.

“Nope.” Her lips turn into a thin line, the blush on her cheeks creeping down her chest. When she looks up at him he definitely looks amused she decides, maybe even a little smug. Shit.

“Alright then.” He says as he puts the pot back in its place. “Morning meeting in five.”

“Yes sir.”

By the time he’s gone she thinks she’s going to throw up from embarrassment.

He doesn’t mention it again, he’s too respectful of her as a colleague because he had definitely noticed her mortification. And she’s pretty sure he was also a little embarrassed by the entire thing. But after that day it’s like something has changed, his usually calm and professional behavior subtly becoming a little less strict, sometimes even bordering on the edge of friendly. She got to see glances of Aaron, someone different from Hotch, a man with a dry sense of humor and a dimple in his cheek when he smiles.

And then they end up in bed.

It was a case that ended up in one of the worst ways possible, and in response to the horrors of the last few days, the team ends up in a bar to try and forget about the things they had been forced to witness. She drinks too much, so does he. And then the damn song comes on. Thinking back Emily was sure that JJ had told the DJ to play it and she ends up singing right along, alcohol not filtering her brain to shut up.

“Lookin' for some Hotch stuff, baby, this evenin', I need some Hotch stuff, baby, tonight, I want some Hotch stuff, baby, this evenin'. Gotta have some Hotch stuff. Gotta have some love tonight.” She’s half screaming, half singing and soon enough JJ and Penelope are joining her while Derek is filming the entire thing and Aaron is standing frozen as he looks at them with something close to regret.

Dave is laughing too, his hand heavy on Aaron’s shoulder as he watches their younger colleagues. When he joins in Aaron glares at him.

“Hey, she’s been singing it for a year, you don’t think we’ve all heard it?” Dave grins, his eyes gleaming like he knows a secret Aaron doesn’t and he can only shake his head.

A year. She’s been singing it for a year. His mind is made up right then and there.

He finds her after, his hand on her arm gentle and warm as he pulls her away from the dance floor. She doesn’t even get the chance to ask him what he’s doing before his lips are on hers, his kiss stuck somewhere between tentative and decisive. When he pulls away her eyes are dark and glazed over.

“I’ve wanted to do that since the first time I met you.” He admits quietly as he looks at her in a way that scares her, in a way that might mean something more.

So she takes him home and he spends the night bringing her the kind of pleasure she didn’t think was real. The day after it’s not awkward like she had imagined it would be, instead it’s… surprisingly easy.

They have their first official date the following week.

“So.” He says as he wipes his mouth and Emily immediately knows what he’s about to say. “The song.”

Just like the first time her cheeks tint pink from embarrassment.

“I know.” Her eyes close tightly as she grimaces “I’ve tried not to but it’s kind of…stuck.” When she looks back at him he’s smiling, almost shyly. “It’s inappropriate I know it is and I know I shouldn’t and I definitely didn’t mean for the team to hear it-”

“I don’t mind it.” He interrupts her and she feels her eyes going wide in surprise. “At least not when you sing it. The team on the other hand…” He trails off, his eyebrow arching as he stares her down.

“They won’t sing it, they won’t hear it again.” She promises, a hint of a smirk on her lips as she meets his eye. “Scouts honor.”

At that he laughs, and as he does she feels something warm in her chest.

She keeps her promise, somehow, and after a few not-so-subtle threats towards the team they also stop singing it. At least, she doesn’t sing it in the office anymore but that didn’t mean she didn’t still sing it while they were home.

“I want some Hotch stuff, baby, this evenin', Gotta have some Hotch stuff, Gonna have some love tonight.” The water is hot against her skin as she showers in the morning. Aaron is out on his morning jog, Jack was at Haleys’, and they were supposed to have a rare Sunday just the two of them. She’s so busy with her impromptu shower concert, the shampoo bottle doubling as a microphone, that she doesn’t realize that Aaron is back until he’s entering the shower and wraps his arms around her. The bottle in her hand falls to the floor as she jerks in surprise.

“Seriously?” He chuckled against her neck, his stubble rough against her skin as he pulls her flush against him.

“You did say I couldn’t sing it at the office.” She shrugs, it’s her usual response whenever he complains about her singing it. Even though he said he didn’t mind it, he wasn’t crazy about it either. His teeth dig into her shoulder teasingly, a wordless warning as his hands trace along her wet skin, teasing up her ribs and the sides of her breasts as he hums lowly. When her breathing hitches she feels his lips curl into a smirk against her neck.

“You’re always so responsive.” He murmurs, his voice already lower as he pushes his hips against behind and she feels him, hot and hard.

“I did say I want some Hotch stuff, didn’t I?” She tries to joke but it doesn’t have the same effect when her voice comes out breathy. One of his hands comes around to gently hold her jaw, pushing back until her head rests against his shoulder and his other hand cups one of her breasts.

“You want me, sweetheart?” The low growl in his voice makes goosebumps erupt on her skin despite the hot water cascading down around them. His rough fingers tweak her nipple and she lets out a soft gasp, her eyes drifting closed as he keeps his hold on her jaw.

“I always want you.” She whispers and he smiles as he kisses slowly down her neck, his tongue licking beads of water off her skin. It’s gentle and teasing and she can’t believe how absolutely insane he makes her within only a few minutes. When she reaches behind her to stroke his shaft he hisses at the sudden touch, his hips buckling into her hand.

“Not yet.” He whispers, the strain in his voice obvious even as he grabs her wrist to pull her hand away and then places both her hands against the shower wall. “Stay like this.” It’s not really an order but Emily still feels her clit pulse between her legs.

Once he’s sure she stays with her hands against the wall he nudges her legs apart with his foot, his hands firmly gripping her hips.

“Sing it.” His words land against the back of her neck and she sucks in a sharp breath.  

“What?” She almost laughs but his hands are moving from her hips back around her body, one hand finding her nipple again and the other teasingly trails between her legs, his finger hovering above her clit.

“Sing, and don’t stop.” He stands closer to him, letting her feel his warmth against her, the smear of his cock against the small of her back. “Or I’ll stop.”

“Sittin' here eatin' my heart out, waitin'. Waitin' for some lover to call.” She quickly starts to sing, the words mumbled and breathy and Aaron rewards her by moving his hand enough to slowly circle her clit. It shouldn’t be as exciting as it is, she thinks. It shouldn’t maker her thighs tense in anticipation but it does.

“Dialed about a thousand numbers lately. Almost rang the phone off the wall.” She continues and he growls in satisfaction when he feels how wet she his, one of his fingers dipping inside of her to drag more of her slick to her clit. Her head falls back with a moan, her hands clenching against the tiled wall as his lips graze her ear.

“Keep going.” His fingers pinches her nipple harder and she cries out at the painful pleasure.

“Lookin' for some Hotch stuff, baby, this evenin'. “I need some Hotch stuff, baby tonight.” Her back arches, her hips move against his hand, already needing more. His touch is deliberate, his fingers just enough to drive her crazy and she knows that if she turned around he would probably have a smug look on his face. He reveled in taking her apart, he had from the start.

“I want some Hotch stuff, baby, this evenin'. Gotta have some Hotch stuff. Gonna have some love tonight.” The words get stuck in her throat when he suddenly pushes two fingers inside of her, his palm firm against her clit. “Fuck!” She gasps and he pushes her harder against the wall, the cold tiles against her front a stark difference to his warm body against her back.

“I don’t think that’s how it goes.” He muses as his fingers curl and she automatically widens her legs for him. His palm rubs against her clit as he moves his fingers inside of her and his teeth bite down gently on the side of her neck, his tongue quickly soothing the mark. He’s everywhere and she’s going insane. “Sing.”

“I need Hotch stuff. I want some Hotch stuff. I need Hotch stuff.” The words come out rushed and needy and he snickers against her neck as his fingers move faster. “Lookin' for a lover who needs another. Don't want another night on my own…” She racks her brain trying to find the rest of the words but comes up blank. “I can’t think of the rest, please don’t stop.”

The hand that had been on her breast moves up to hold her throat, his large hand wrapping around it with the slightest bit of pleasure.

“I’ll stop if you don’t sing.” He warns lowly, his hips subtly grinding against her ass as she starts to clench around his fingers.

“Fuck…” She hisses as heat spreads through her body, her eyes rolling back as he keeps her pinned between his body and the wall. Just as he slows his movements, wordlessly threatening her she remembers the lyrics and quickly forces out. “W-wanna share my love with a warm-blooded lover. Wanna bring a wild man back home.”

“Good girl.” He hums, satisfaction dripping from the sound as he rubs her clit faster with his palm. “Come.”

Her body tenses as he brings her closer and closer, her hands fisting against the wall and her breathing labored and uneven. Then he curls his fingers hard and brushes his palm over her clit with more pressure and she comes with a breathless groan. When her slick walls contract around his fingers he quickly lets go of her neck to wrap his arm around her middle, keeping her steady as her knees buckle from pleasure as he whispers words of praise in her ear.

“That’s it, good girl. You feel so good when you come for me.”

It's not until she’s relaxing around his fingers and her breathing is slowing that he moves, a smirk playing on his lips when she turns around to face him.

“Don’t.” She tries to sound annoyed but the amusement is clear in her voice. Besides how could she really be annoyed when he just gave her an earth crashing orgasm?

“I’m not saying anything.” He cuts off whatever arguing from her by kissing her, his tongue quickly moving between her lips to taste her soft moan. As he gets lost in the feels and taste of her, Emily sneaks her hand between them to stroke him again. He groans against her lips, precum dripping from his tip and she rubs it into his shaft.

“Fuck me, honey.” She whispers, her pupils blown wide when they break apart and he’s sure she’s never been sexier. He also knew he’d never be able to deny her anything.

Without another word he drags her out of the shower, not caring that they’re making a mess on the floor as he pushes her up against the counter, facing away from him. His eyes stay on hers in their reflection as he rubs his cock through her folds. Her cheeks are flushed, the pink creeping down to her chest, her mouth is open as she pants softly.

She arches her back and pushes her hips out and he smiles at the way she wordlessly tries to get him inside of her.

“Impatient thing.” He rasps as he grabs her hip with one hand to keep her still before sinking into her with a slow push. The groan that leaves him is loud and graveled, her tight walls feeling incredible around him and he gives them both a moment before he starts to move.

“How do you always feel so fucking good?” She gasps as she grabs the counter tight enough for her knuckles to turn white. Her eyes are heavy-lidded as she looks at him in the mirror. His eyes are dark enough to look black, his large hands gripping her hips, his jaw tense as he fucks her with long strokes that makes her shudder and whimper. She moves back against him eagerly, their bodies creating a obscene slapping sound that mixes with heavy breaths and loud moans.

“You feel amazing, my perfect thing.” He growls, his hips moving faster, his hands leaving bruises on her skin. Emily only moans louder, the slight pain morphing into pleasure as she falls forward over the sink. He quickly grabs her wet hair and pulls slightly, just enough to keep her head up to keep watching their reflection. “Look how fucking perfect you are.” His words are forced out through clenched teeth, his eyes so intense with need that she whimpers.

Her eyes move from him to her own reflection, she sees the same raw need in her own eyes, feels herself clenching around his cock as she watches the both of them as they chase release in each other’s skin. She moves one hand down her body to rub her clit and Aaron groans appreciatively as his thrust becomes a little harsher, forcing her to cry out as her eyes roll back in her head.

“Don’t stop, Aaron I’m so close.” She whimpers as her fingers rub her clit in fast circles. The heat is building rapidly in the pit of her stomach, her thighs starting to clench and her hips buckle wildly.

“Come on my cock, come for me sweetheart.” He growls as he leans over her back to speak against her ear. Only a few moments later she’s crying out, her pussy gripping his shaft like a vice as she starts to tremble over the counter. His teeth sink into her shoulder at the sudden pleasure, her orgasm triggering his and he comes with a muffled groan, his hips twitching against hers as hot white pleasure rushes through him so fast he goes lightheaded.

They stay like that, breathing heavily, hands becoming gentle, lips turning loving until Aaron stands up and slips out of her with a soft hiss. He carefully pulls her up to face him and smiles at the blissed out look on her face.

“I love you so damn much.” He says as he kisses her softly, his hands cupping her cheeks. “But that song is getting tiresome.”

“How do you think I feel? I’ve had that song stuck in my head almost every day for almost two years!” She chuckles as she pulls him with her back into the shower to actually shower this time. When he pinches her side she squirms just as the water starts to pour down over them and she faces him with an arched eyebrow as he pulls her against him. She didn’t think she’d ever get used to how touchy he was when it was just them, always wanting to feel her in some way.

“Next time I’ll make you sing the whole goddamn thing.” He teases gently against her lips as he holds her close.

She hums into another kiss, a smile on her face as her arms wrap around his neck.

“Don’t you dare.”

[weeklyhotchniss]

Lovesick

She hated it. Hated that she wished someone were here and keeping her company, making sure she drank plenty of water as they brought her tea and meds. And she hated that she couldn’t have that.

AKA the one in which Emily is sick twice. Once when she's alone, and the other when she is not.

-x-

Hi besties,

Hope you are all okay <3

This was inspired by a really nasty sinus infection that I had last week that I've only really fully recovered from this week. I live alone and was feeling a little sorry for myself and the first section of this fic was born.

I then, of course, had to give Emily a happy ending, if only to annoy the anon on tumblr that is annoyed by me always writing happy endings <3

As always let me know what you think <3

-x-

Warnings: mentions of sickness/throwing up

Words: 2k

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

It had been a long time since Emily had wanted her mom when she was sick. 

It was a desire that had faded when she was young, a realisation she’d come to as a teenager, and one that made her all too aware that she would never be her mother’s priority, that any sickness was an inconvenience, something that would distract her mother from her important work. It was a hard learned lesson, one that finally sank in after one too many sighs and for goodness' sake, Emily’s as if she’d planned to get sick just to annoy her. 

Despite that, despite all the years of looking after herself, as Emily lies in her apartment in Paris, her skin burning up because of a nasty case of the flu, she thinks of her mom, and for a moment, she wishes she were here. She doesn’t know what Elizabeth was told, if she had the clearance to know she was alive, or if she thinks her only daughter was dead. A part of Emily that she isn’t proud of wonders if her mother has any regrets, if, in the depths of her grief, she tried to reach out to grasp onto fond memories of them, only to find there were none, her hands as empty as the house that had never really been home to either of them. 

She groans as she rolls over in bed, a balled-up tissue in her hand that she rubs against her sore nose, and she coughs again, and it takes everything in her not to burst into tears. 

She’s healed, she knows that, but her scar aches when she coughs anyway, a phantom pain chasing her as she tries to catch her breath just like the man who killed her had. It was a penance of sorts. A constant ache that reminds her of the decisions she’s made, every choice that has led her here. 

Usually, she was fine with it, could justify every single thing she’d done as she replayed it all over and over in her head when she couldn’t sleep at night. But now, her skin warm to the touch and her chest aching with a cough she couldn’t shift, she couldn’t help but wonder how she’d ended up so alone. She hated it. Hated that she wished someone were here and keeping her company, making sure she drank plenty of water, as they brought her tea and meds. And she hated that she couldn’t have that. 

She knew even if she was back in DC, if Ian hadn’t torn through her life for a second time, her mom wouldn’t be the first person she’d call if she needed something. 

The last time she was sick, a nasty sinus infection that had come out of nowhere, Penelope brought her freshly baked bread and enough decongestants to start a meth lab. JJ had sent her a video of Henry saying, ‘Get well soon, Aunt Emmy, ’ and sent Will over with some soup when the rest of the team had to go away on a case, and she was too sick to go. Spencer had inundated her with articles he’d read on the best way to clear up sinuses, every one of them annotated with notes on what he thought was nonsense, and what he thought might help. Derek sent her teasing texts and did all of her paperwork for her, all the while telling her to get better soon because the team wasn’t the same without her. 

And then Aaron had texted her, checking to see if he could come over to bring her some snacks - as if she wasn’t overwhelmed with all the food the others had brought her. But then he showed up with Jack in tow, and as the little boy sat with her on the couch, just as bossy as his father, as he told her to sit down and watch a movie with him, Aaron cleaned her entire apartment. Never complaining once about the number of balled-up tissues strewn across every surface, or the amount of empty blister packs of medication. He did it happily and unprompted, and smiled at her in a way that made her stomach flip. 

After her showdown with Ian, when she was dead to almost everyone she knew, Aaron came to see her in the hospital before she was moved to another. A name that wasn’t hers was on her notes, and dried soil on his pants from when he’d sprinkled it into a grave that had a name that was. She didn’t remember much about it, only the pain she knew she’d never forget and the soft touch of his hand against hers. He’d held a cup of water up for her, held the straw to her lips so she could take a sip, as he told her they’d have her home soon. 

She sniffs and rubs her nose again, sighing as the tissue feels rough against her bright red skin. She leans over and opens the drawer in her nightstand, and she digs through it, smiling sadly when she pulls a photo out of the back of a book. It was one of the whole team, a photo of them all smiling and laughing in a bar that was taken shortly before JJ was forced to leave the team. It was the last time everything felt normal, the last time she’d felt anything close to the feeling of home that she’d been chasing her whole life. 

She places the photo down on the bed next to her head and places her hand over it, hoping in some way she can draw comfort from it, as if she could reach into the past and steal just one moment from the person she used to be. 

___

“You just had to order from The Green Dragon,” she grumbles as she settles back against the wall next to the toilet, letting her head rest on his shoulder. She grimaces when he kisses her clammy forehead, but she wraps both of her arms around one of his anyway, hoping in some way just having him closer will calm her stomach. 

“I’ve ordered from here hundreds of times,” Aaron says, swallowing thickly against the turning of his own stomach, “I’ve never got sick before.” 

Emily pulls back to look at her boyfriend, narrowing her eyes at him, diminished by the playfulness that lingered in them even though they’d been throwing up for hours now, “Well,” she starts, pressing her fingers against her lips as she swallows thickly, “I don’t think we’ll ever be ordering from there again.” 

He chuckles and kisses her forehead before he encourages her back against his side, “Agreed,” he says, running his hand up and down her arm, “I’m sorry.” 

She turns her head and kisses his shoulder, “Unless you cooked those….” She swallows thickly again, her throat getting briefly tight as she thinks about the food, “Salmonella-ridden spring rolls, you have nothing to apologise for.” 

He hums against the top of her head, “Still, take out and a movie was my idea for date night,” he says, guilt rolling in his stomach along with everything else, “And we ended up sick.” 

She squeezes his arm and then links her hand through his, marvelling once again at the feel of his fingers between hers. “It was a nice date until we started throwing up.” 

They’d been together for two months. Two, amazing, incredible months that she thinks may have taught her more about love than she’d ever learnt before. He was kind and funny, and handsome, and there were moments when she was convinced that he knew her better than she knew herself. He’d helped her find herself when she came back from Paris, helped her rearrange all of the pieces of herself, finding new places for them as she glued herself back together. He never expected her to be the same as she was before, and he knew what it was to live in the after, and it drew them closer to each other, pulled them towards each other until they became this, something she was now sure was inevitable. 

In her more romantic moments, when she let herself get lost in the fantasy of them that didn’t feel much like a fantasy anymore but a reality, it felt pretty to think she’d always been walking towards this. Towards him. That their life together, something she knew they would have even only two months in, was her prize for everything she had endured. 

She covers her mouth again and groans, and she swallows it back, suddenly all too aware that she’d spent the last couple of hours throwing up in front of her new boyfriend. 

“I should head home,” she says, smiling at him as she pulls back, “I don’t want to be in your way while you’re sick.” 

He grabs her hand before she can get any further, his eyebrows furrowed as he tilts his head at her, “Why are you leaving?” 

She groans as she sits back on her heels, trying to get herself ready for how awful it’s going to feel when she stands up, “Because we’ve been together 8 weeks, honey,” she says, squeezing his hand, “It’s way too early for you to see me like this.” 

He smiles at her, the very same smile she’d fallen in love with much longer ago than she’d care to admit, and he encourages her closer, “We’ve both seen each other in much worse states than this, sweetheart.” 

She knows it’s true. He’d sat by her beside, and she’d sat by his. They’d seen each other torn apart and barely hanging on, and in comparison, this was nothing, this was normal. The kind of thing any couple could experience, and the ordinariness of it makes her stomach flip for an entirely different reason than the bad Chinese food they’d shared. 

“Really?” She asks, even though they both already know she’s going to stay, and he nods as he pulls her closer again.

“Really,” he confirms, stamping his lips against hers, “I want all of you. The good…” he smiles as he drifts off, “Well, I’d say and the bad and the ugly, but I don’t think it’s possible for you to be either of those things.”

She chokes on a laugh and shakes her head at him, her hand over her mouth as she presses her other hand on his shoulder, “Don’t make me laugh.” 

“Sorry,” he says, reaching out and tucking her hair behind her ear, “But it’s true,” he winks at her when she rolls her eyes, “Plus, I want to look after you. It’s part of the Aaron Hotchner boyfriend experience.” 

She shakes her head at him again and cups his cheek, running her thumb back and forth under his eye.

“I want to look after you, too,” she says, and could see it. A lifetime of them looking after each other in every way possible, and it makes her smile, makes her lean in to kiss him again and rest her forehead against his as she scrunches her nose up, “Your breath sucks, by the way.” 

“Yours isn’t exactly great either,” he says, before leaning in for another kiss, smiling when she furrows her brow at him, “Worth it.” 

She sinks against his side and groans, “I don’t know if I would have made it home anyway,” she grumbles, “Just the thought of getting up from the floor makes me want to throw up.” 

He kisses her temple, and she knows if love was enough to make her feel better, it would, that her nausea would disappear in a second, and his would too. “I’ll go get some water and the bedding in a minute,” he says, “We can stay here until we feel better.” 

She hums and pulls him closer, both of her arms wrapped around one of his again, “Not yet,” she mumbles, her cheek on his shoulder, “I need you right here to hold my hair when I inevitably throw up again.” 

His reply is a promise murmured against her hairline, and it’s one she knows he’ll keep for the rest of their lives. 

“I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart.”

[weeklyhotchniss]

💙 Fic Recs: August 3-10

that easy (G) by @leavemurph chapter 1/1 tags: retirement, jack hotchner, pining

"Look, you're gonna promise you won't literally kill me, okay?" Emily gives him a look so blank it could qualify as a cease-and-desist letter. She sips her coffee. "What's this about." He hesitates. Then dives straight into it. "My dad has this incurable crush on you, and—" She puts the coffee back down. Immediately touches her forehead. Yep. Headache. Incoming.

how to breathe underwater (M) by @ssaemilyhotchner chapter 1/1 tags: hurt/comfort, chronic pain, emotional sex

It’s always easy to get swept up in her current, but after the week they’ve had, he’s especially receptive to it. He has her flat on her back a second after she peels off her top and reveals that she’s gone braless; then it’s his turn, his fingers questing, tracing, teasing. His lips follow, sucking marks into the hill of one breast, the other. He surprises her with a graze of his teeth, too, but even that isn’t enough to distract her from what she wants—yes, finally, his hand pulling damp lace down her legs and relegating it to the floor.   There’s something sharp laced into her need. The haze in his head clears just enough to allow the thought before he returns to the warmth between her thighs, parting her with practised fingers and pressing in just so and— She stiffens involuntarily, her breath hitching.  There.

Take on this Whole World (G) by @sequinsmile-x chapter 1/1 tags: domestic fluff, emotional hurt/comfort, first day of school

It’s only when she’s in her car and halfway to Hazel’s school that she really registers what she’s doing, and she tells herself she’ll stay just for a little while to hopefully catch a glance of her little girl at recess.  She’s telling herself that she can never tell Aaron about this, something close to embarrassment thrumming in her veins as she approaches the school, when she spots a familiar figure standing by the gate. She rolls her eyes as she approaches and raises an eyebrow when their eyes meet.  “What happened to ‘she’s fine?’” She says, unable to stop herself from smiling when Aaron beams at her, handing one of the two takeout coffee cups that he’s holding to her.  “It took you a little longer than I thought it would,” he says, leaning in to kiss her, “I was worried I’d have to go and get you another coffee.” 

TRACKING #WEEKLYHOTCHNISS ❖ NEED A FIC REC?

[weeklyhotchniss]

💙 Fic Recs: July 27-August 3

Made With Love (G) by @sequinsmile-x chapter 1/1 tags: loss of a parent, emotional hurt/comfort, elizabeth prentiss

“Are you kidding? Do you think my mom ever cooked?” She shakes her head and looks back down, “I think I’ve eaten more home-cooked meals at Dave’s than she ever made for me…” She drifts off as she flicks to another page, and she sucks in a breath, the sharp edges of it poking at her ribs as she sees different handwriting to her grandmother’s in the margins, the ink a little less faded. Annotations in her mom’s handwriting framing the recipes her own mother had written down a long time ago.  Emily’s favourite. Tell Denise to cook for her birthday.  She flips the page again, sees another note from her mother.  Emily’s comfort meal, will ask for seconds after a hard day. 

kiss the cook (M) by @ssaemilyhotchner chapter 15/48 tags: reunions, unresolved romantic tension, idiots in love

She’s tried not to think about Aaron Hotchner these past few weeks. There’s no reason to, she tells herself; it’s highly unlikely that he still works for the BAU, though a different branch of the FBI isn’t out of the question. White Collar Crimes, maybe, since he’s almost certainly married by now, probably even has the family she knows he’d wanted. Yes, White Collar Crimes, with its safe and reasonable hours. She makes a mental note to find out what floor the unit is on and avoid it whenever possible.  Most days, though, keeping her mind from wandering to thoughts of Aaron is futile. All these years later and it’s still far too easy to conjure up memories of how well he’d loved her. She feels him everywhere: at every kitchen island, in every touch from others who simply can’t compare, in the weight of the necklace currently resting around the base of her throat.

jumped in feet first and I landed too hard (G) by @em-prentiss chapter 1/1 tags: insecurity, emotional hurt/comfort, idiots in love

“It shouldn’t be this hard.” She grits out. Each word forces itself through her clenched jaw, rough and dragging. She heaves in a breath, white-knuckling her arms. “It’s just a stupid wrap. I can take it off. I can wear a bikini.” Her voice is a strange mix of determined and pleading, steely with a soft, vulnerable underbelly. There’s no question mark on the tip of her tongue; it’s in the bottomless depths of her eyes, hidden under the shadows of her threaded lashes. Aaron feels it seize his chest, those bitten nails of hers squeezing until his pulse rises up his throat. “Of course you can.”

suddenly i see (T) by @leavemurph chapter 2/2 tags: inspired by the devil wears prada, didn't know they were dating, older woman/younger man

What does he know about fashion, really? Rhetorical question. Absolutely nothing is the answer. He's the human equivalent of a "before" photo. Sure, he's picked up a few things along the way, horizontal stripes are a no for him, color palettes exist, and apparently your undertone means something. He knows that much. He also knows that millions of girls would probably kill for his job. What he doesn't know, and this part is silly, is how no one, not him, not HR, not even the gods of background checks, noticed the job he took was basically designed for a woman. With a Vogue subscription. Or how Emily looked at his résumé and said yes. But then again, everything about Emily is smoke and mirrors.

TRACKING #WEEKLYHOTCHNISS ❖ NEED A FIC REC?

[weeklyhotchniss]

how to breathe underwater

Read on AO3!

There’s something sharp laced into her need. The haze in his head clears just enough to allow the thought before he returns to the warmth between her thighs, parting her with practised fingers and pressing in just so and— She stiffens involuntarily, her breath hitching. There. Or, Emily, Hotch, and finding pleasure in the face of chronic pain.

[weeklyhotchniss]

jumped in feet first and I landed too hard

----

She looks frazzled, one thread away from fraying, as if she were a month fresh from Paris and not about to join an innocuous, sun-soaked pool party. 

Aaron watches her throat jerk as she swallows. “It shouldn’t be this hard.” She grits out. Each word forces itself through her clenched jaw, rough and dragging. She heaves in a breath, white-knuckling her arms. “It’s just a stupid wrap. I can take it off. I can wear a bikini.”

Word count: 3k

----

The sun glares down at them with a viciousness unique to July. Crimped heat waves rise off the grill, distorting the image of the clear blue pool taking up the glittering majority of Rossi’s lawn. It’s a pretty picture, painted in vibrant green and cerulean water and the sun-drenched shades of everyone’s swimsuits.

Smoke sears Aaron’s eyes. Even half secluded under the shade, his shirt starts to cling. Damp heat trails down his neck, soaking his nape as he searches the poolside and finds his team scattered—Morgan lounging on a floatie, egging Reid on as JJ swims laps and Garcia lathers on pint-sized dollops of sunscreen on her arms. Rossi is stirring something cold and 90% alcoholic. Aaron, tending to an empty grill, notices that their count is missing one. He checks his watch.

It’s been upward of twenty minutes since Emily had gone in to change. He won’t pretend he hasn’t been keeping track, hasn’t had her as his sixth sense the moment Garcia begged for and Rossi approved a pool party. It was almost natural, the concern that wound its way through his skull and stayed there—practically second nature. It’s his own panic that used to flare at the merest whisper of a beach day, reshaped into a knot of anxiety with Emily’s name on it.

It’s a discredit to her, he knows. But between himself and no one else, he can’t stop himself from quietly fussing.

Aaron abandons his post and walks into the living room, blinking into the thick, shadowy dark that smothers it. A cool gust of air blows on the sweat on his neck. He rubs his eyes and half blindly makes a beeline for the closest bathroom. He knocks; silence answers. After a couple of seconds and a few more knocks, he twists the knob. The door eases open.

There’s more bathrooms than strictly necessary on Rossi’s ground floor. He goes through another two of them and starts feeling ridiculous, but persists far after the sweat on his skin has cooled. This time it’s a quick rap, his hand on the doorknob in case he’s left wanting for an answer.

“Emily?”

Silence. Her voice comes a few beats later, muffled behind the door. “Yeah?” 

“Everything okay? You’ve been in there for a while.”

More silence. The kind that stretches leisurely across a handful of seconds and makes the inside of his cheeks go sour. Aaron winces to himself, the sight of her deeply furrowed brows projected onto the backs of his eyelids. 

Why’d he even do this? Stupid, that’s what he is. Stupid, overbearing, unwanted, heavy-handed—

The door cracks open. Emily stands behind it, her neck craned around the edge, lips gnawed on by her teeth. Her eyes weigh a thousand tons on his face; she looks at him for a moment, thinking what he can only wish to know, before she drags the door back wider. 

Albeit confused, Aaron obliges and steps into the spacious bathroom. Warm lights, cold marble, Emily’s bag drooped on the counter and her clothes spilling out of it. She shuts the door with an exhaled breath, knuckles white around the knob, turning it until the lock clicks with a startling finality.

Hot, dry sand fills his mouth. He swallows it down, because it’s not the sight of Emily in a bikini that should steal his focus; it’s the pallid sheen of her skin, the uneven fluttering pulse that he can see in her neck. She’s composed of tight, tense lines—stiff shoulders, firmly set jaw, thinly pressed lips. When she crosses her arms, Aaron’s eyes drop to the protruding knot under her elbow. Her swim wrap is tied tightly under her left rib, the material stretching across her hips and thighs, tension drawing it smooth as glass. 

The worry is there, it’s ready, cresting and crashing into him like a ruthless wave.

“Emily.” He murmurs, a familiar pang in his chest. “You don’t…you don’t have to—”

“I want to.” Her eyes snap up to his, too shiny, sharp as shards of obsidian. She looks frazzled, one thread away from fraying, as if she were a month fresh from Paris and not about to join an innocuous, sun-soaked pool party. 

Aaron watches her throat jerk as she swallows. “It shouldn’t be this hard.” She grits out. Each word forces itself through her clenched jaw, rough and dragging. She heaves in a breath, white-knuckling her arms. “It’s just a stupid wrap. I can take it off. I can wear a bikini.”

Her voice is a strange mix of determined and pleading, steely with a soft, vulnerable underbelly. There’s no question mark on the tip of her tongue; it’s in the bottomless depths of her eyes, hidden under the shadows of her threaded lashes. Aaron feels it seize his chest, those bitten nails of hers squeezing until his pulse rises up his throat.

“Of course you can.” He breathes. “You can do anything, Emily. But you don’t want to and it’s—it’s okay, there’s no time limit for any of this.”

She staunchly shakes her head. “It’s been almost two years, Hotch.”

“So what if it has?” 

She shakes her head again. In the syrupy light of Rossi’s bathroom, her eyes gleam wetly. “I won’t let him take this from me too. I’m sick of the one-pieces and the coverups and the undershirts. I’m sick of them but I can’t—” Her eyes squeeze shut, her face contorting into trembling, downturned lines. 

Aaron swallows thickly. His fingers curl into fists, a weak attempt and holding himself back from touching her as she pinches the bridge of her nose, roughly massaging her eyeballs.

“Emily.” It’s as useless as his presence, this one word, a plea, in the letters of her name. He knows everything she’s going through, every unkind thought pulsing and traveling across neurons, embedding itself into her skull just as it embedded itself into his. He knows all of them. 

And yet. His throat clogs up, a lexicon of pain they share, written in both their blood, suddenly wiped clean. 

I know. You’re sick of it, but you can’t let go, can’t let anyone else in. You think you can do it, but your hands hesitate on the hem of a shirt; your fingers twist into the fabric to stop themselves from trembling. You say you don’t care, and for a while you could convince yourself, but you do. 

But his knowing could curl up and burst into flames for all the good it does.

She wilts before his eyes. Tar-black lashes peel open, and between them a pool of tears glistens. “No one cares.” Emily rasps. “Why do I?” The words crack, and with them, so does his resolve. He brings her into his chest, lips to her forehead and palm cradling her neck.

“Because it didn’t happen to them. They didn’t feel it.” He feels a sick sense of relief when she doesn’t push him back; his hug is weakly returned. “You did. And it’s okay if you’re not okay with that.”

“But I accepted it. I can look in the mirror—I can look, period.” Her bitter laugh beats off his chest. “I moisturize it every goddamn night. So why can’t I…?” Her fist curls in his shirt, trembling knuckles brushing against his navel. “Why can’t I do this?”

He hates hearing her voice so small. He hates feeling damp little spots of heat seep through his shirt, hates the way she curls further into his chest like Jack does after a nightmare. Aaron tightens his grip as much as he dares.

“Letting people see,” he clears his drying throat, his thoughts running down that smooth, worn down path in his brain he’d only just learned how to seal off, “it makes it real.” 

It brings back the vulnerability in fresh waves. Black, clinical words printed on doctor’s reports suddenly come to life. Everyone already knows, yes, it’s no secret, but they haven’t seen. Haven’t seen where they were torn into and stitched together, clinging on to their lives with the skin of their teeth. A scar is easily forgotten once it’s out of sight and a few months pass and you’re supposedly okay. People forget what happened. 

The moment they see again, they remember. 

Oh, right, this happened. So long ago—years past—but it did. I’d almost forgotten.

Emily stays still in his arms, the most stagnant he’s ever known her to be. He’s stiff with something he doesn’t care to explain, equally frozen in place, praying his breaths don’t echo too loud and shatter the fragility around them, one that had been the norm eight, nine, ten months ago.

Suddenly, she straightens. Aaron’s hands fall limp at his sides; Emily heaves in a breath and reaches for the knot of her wrap. 

Her eyes flick up to his. The steely determination is back, a heavy bob in her throat when she swallows.

“I’m doing it for me.” She says quietly, her fingers fumbling with the tie.

Aaron’s chin dips silently as she unwraps the fabric from her hips. She brings the corners together, starting to fold it, then abandons the task and balls it up midway, holding it in front of her stomach for a few beats before tossing it on the sink counter. In his greater periphery, he sees the starburst on her left side, large and mottled above her hip. 

A low, rickety breath. Her thumbnail meeting the skin of a cuticle. 

Partly because of her visible restlessness and partly because of his own desire, Aaron gently takes her face in both hands. He wipes under her eyes, thumbs erasing still-damp tear tracks gone cold. 

Emily stills again. Her bottom lip trembles imperceptibly, a short exhale warming his chin in tumultuous waves. Aaron’s whole being twists and aches and bruises.

“You’re beautiful, Emily. You’re more than what happened to you.”

A sound breaks out of her, fresh heat soaking his thumbs and dripping from her chin. Her eyes flick up to the ceiling, lashes fluttering as he dries her tears, gently wipes and wipes and wipes, their skin growing tacky from salt. Her fingers find the waistband of his swim shorts; the fabric rustles in her fist, whispering.

The only noise in the bathroom consists of his crinkling trunks and Emily’s sharp, uneven breaths through her nose. Aaron doesn’t say anything as he wipes her tears, her cheeks, her bitter resentment. It’s only his heart that speaks, screaming in his chest as Emily lets him. She lets him take a fluffy hand towel from the counter, wet it, and gently press it to her face when her tears run dry. She lets him massage away the dried salt from under her eyes. The apples of her cheeks. The tip of her chin. Emily closes her eyes and doesn’t protest when he drags the towel over her temple and shuttered lids, barely pressing for fear of scraping her skin. Five fingers gentle on her jaw, he traces the straight line of her nose, connects it to the flushed skin under her right eye, then sets the towel down. He doesn’t feel it when his mouth lands on her forehead.

It’s a small, absent kiss. Instinct, he tells himself, but the urge had been lying under his skin for too long for the lie to mean much. In the wake of it, his mouth stills against her brow, hands cupped on either side of Emily’s face.

She still doesn’t push him back. Her head nudges back, into his lips; Aaron presses another kiss above the tail of her brow. Her temple. The edge of her hairline. Below a short raven curl, between her eyebrows, catching the paper-thin edge of an eyelid. 

Emily exhales through her nose, steady heat skimming the base of his neck. Her fingers close around his wrist; she guides his hand to the warm dent of her waist, pressing his palm against thicker, raised skin. Her hand stays there, on top of his, her fingers parted around his wrist. 

Achingly slow, Aaron traces the edge of the scar with his thumb. Emily shivers against him. She squeezes his wrist; he doesn’t know if it’s supposed to encourage or dissuade him, so he stills, letting his hand be pinned down beneath hers. Her tongue darts across her bottom lip, a flash of teeth grazing down as their eyes meet.

“I can do it.” She says quietly.

Aaron traces the length of her jaw. “You can. I know you can. But it doesn’t have to be today.”

Her eyes fall closed, an open mouthed exhale betraying her frustration. The corner of her mouth quirks, a bitter impersonation of a laugh rising from her throat. “I didn’t even pack a one-piece. I told myself,” she swallows, “I told myself I wouldn’t need it today.”

“One day you won’t.” Aaron murmurs, pushing a stray hair back, trying to stop himself from kissing the skin it exposes. “Do you want my shirt?” He asks unthinkingly.

Emily huffs out something like a laugh, her eyes brightening for the first time since she let him in. “And have the whole team—”

They both jump at a knock on the door.

“Em.” Garcia calls out, still knocking as she speaks. “Are you okay, sweets? How long have you been in there?”

Emily crosses her arms over her chest, wetting her lip as she faces the door. “I’m okay Garcia. Coming in a sec.”

“Do you need anything?”

Her mouth lifts. “No, no, I’m good, Pen.”

“Okay then. Have you seen Hotch?”

A flush paints her face. “No.” She calls out. “Try the kitchen?”

Garcia mutters an affirmative and Emily turns back, grabbing her balled up wrap from the counter. “Sorry for keeping you.” She says. “And for dragging you in.” The material unfurls, and she gathers it over her scar.

“Emily.” He says firmly, grabbing the two ends of her wrap after her fingers fumble twice. “I came in to check on you in the first place.”

“Oh. Yeah.” She mumbles. Aaron deftly ties a knot up high under her rib. “Uh, why’d you do that, anyway? Was I taking that long?”

He pulls it tight. “I had a hunch. Good?” He nods at the wrap.

Emily nods. 

“Not too tight?”

“No, no, it’s good. Thank you.”

“Do you want me to get you a shirt? Did you pack one or—”

“God no, please, Hotch.” Her nose wrinkles as if he’s being entirely dramatic, as if she wasn’t a few seconds away from a breakdown when he walked in. “I think I’ll just keep this on for today. Dip my feet in.” She shrugs, toying with the knot. “I don’t know about swimming.”

Aaron nods. “Whatever you’re comfortable with.” 

He wants, desperately, to ask if she’s okay. But she’s already let him do so much, and the last thing he wants to do is make her feel like the kid gloves are on, so he just snaps his mouth shut and swallows the words. 

“I’ll, uh—” he points to the door. Emily’s head bobs a bit too strongly, her arms crossing again over her chest. Aaron unlocks the door, turns the knob, and shuffles out just in time to miss Garcia.

____

She loiters around the pool, languid and seemingly blithe. She sips Rossi’s concoction as JJ helps with the sunscreen on her back, then pulls out a sleek pair of sunglasses and a paperback and ignores Morgan’s goading to get her into the water. She does dip her feet in, though, sitting on the ledge and tilting her chin toward the sun, occasionally dodging sprays from Morgan and Reid’s flailing limbs. She laughs with an easiness that makes it nearly impossible to recall the last twenty minutes, her teeth flashing blinding white, her dimples constant grooves in her cheeks as she splashes Reid and nudges Garcia’s floatie away from the pool edge when she floats too close. Her coverup doesn’t come off but it does get damp, clinging to her legs in places, darkening to a deeper blue than her top.

He can’t stop himself from watching her. Every few seconds when he would turn his eyes away from the grill, taking reprieve from the smoke, they’d find her again, flitting about at the edges, spread out on a lounge chair or pouring drinks in long-stemmed glasses.

Moth to a flame. His gaze sticks, like the material of the wrap to her skin. Even when she turns to meet it, he can barely pull his eyes away. Which is why he can’t pretend to be surprised when she comes over to his perch at the grill, sunglasses pushed up her hair, a bottle of sunscreen in her hand.

“Did you reapply?”

He didn’t even apply so he can reapply.

Aaron flips a patty. “No.”

Emily tsks quietly. “UV’s ten. Look here.” She tilts his chin toward her, the slightest press of her fingertips against his jaw. Aaron’s relieved to find the easy slump of her reddened shoulders. He ducks his head down and she smears dollops of coconut-scented sunscreen on his face, swiping it on his cheeks and forehead. He doesn’t get the chance to spread it in before she does, massaging circles into his skin, amplifying the heat to the max.

“Your nose is getting red. If you don’t stay diligent,” Emily murmurs, her eyes two inches from his and wholly serious, “I’ll get you Garcia’s floppy hat.”

The one with the pink bow. And pearls.

“I’ll set a timer.” He says. Emily’s mouth quirks, the shadow of a dimple in her cheek.

“That’s a shame. You would’ve looked quite dashing.”

She tosses the bottle onto one of the tables and grabs a pair of tongs. He smiles quietly to himself, shuffling over to make room at the grill. Neither of them says anything more; they watch their friends splash, slowly wilt under the heat of the sun, and flip burgers together in silence.

[weeklyhotchniss]

Anticipation

Emily, Aaron, and their inability to have any alone time.

-x-

Hi besties,

Hope you are all doing okay <3

This is just a silly thing about these two struggling to find any alone time together. Is it also a reaction to several tweets/posts I've seen lately saying that fics without smut in aren't worth reading? Maybe.

Anyway, this is soft and is just these two being hopelessly in love with each other.

As always, let me know what you think!

-x-

Warnings: the slightest bit of spice in spots, so rated T as a precaution.

Words: 3.3k

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

Emily puts her book down the moment she hears Aaron walk in the front door. She slips the bookmark back into place, smiles as she runs her finger down the well-worn spine, before she sets it on the nightstand next to the e-reader he’d bought her for Christmas. She waits patiently as she hears Aaron’s footsteps on the stairs, listens as he checks in on each of the kids, a habit neither one of them had ever been able to break, even though they were that little bit older now. It was part of a routine, a reminder of what they had, of the life they’d built for their children that they needed after a tough case or a long day's work. 

Aaron had been away for almost a week, and she’d missed him. She knew the kids did too, even if Jack tried to hide it at the grand old age of 17, forever insistent that he was grown up now and pushing for his independence. Lucas and Ava were a little more open with it; the 9 and 6-year-olds would both insist on joining in on their FaceTimes with Aaron whenever Emily would call him - squished up against her on either side in a way she knew she’d one day miss to make sure all their faces were in frame. Jack, despite his attempts to play it cool, would always be there too, making sure he passed through the room to talk to his dad, even though Emily knew he was in almost constant contact with him via text.

She missed falling asleep next to him, missed waking up in his arms. She missed sighing against his neck as he expertly took her apart, doing so with practised ease after all these years. She had plans for him this evening, plans that would rely on them not being interrupted, so she’s pleased the kids are all already fast asleep. 

She smiles as the bedroom door opens, and she sits up in bed a little straighter, her cheeks already getting warm as he steps into the room, looking just as relieved to be home as she is to have him here.

“Hi, honey,” she says, stamping a kiss against his lips as he leans over the bed to greet her. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too, sweetheart,” he replies, kissing her again before he pulls back, sighing as he sits on the edge of the bed. She moves closer to him, drawn in just like she had been for years, wrapping her arms around his shoulders as she kneels behind him so she can kiss his cheek. 

“How was the conference?” She asks, nosing against his cheek, breathing him in, the scent of him still lingering beneath the smell of stale recycled air from the plane. She rubs her cheek against his, feels the scruff of his beard, and she has to hold back a shudder, still a little shy about how much he affected her even after all this time. 

He turns his head to capture her lips in a kiss, resting his forehead against hers as he reaches up to grab her wrist, running his thumb back and forth over her pulse point, letting the familiar beat of it draw him back into the comforting rhythm of home. “It was good. Informative,” he smiles before he kisses her again, “Long.” 

Retirement had never suited him. He’d left the FBI when Lucas was born, keen to make sure he made the right choices this time around, still completely in awe of the fact he had the chance to do it all again. Emily had offered to leave her job instead, but she was still new to Interpol at the time, still finding her feet in a job that had ultimately allowed her to go back to the FBI as Section Chief. He was endlessly proud of her for it, delighted in ways that he knew some people didn’t understand that his wife had managed to go further in her career than he ever had, and he knew his becoming a stay-at-home dad was the right decision for their family. 

Once Lucas and then Ava started school, he was at a loss, and seemingly endless days of waiting to pick them up started to get to him. Lecturing was Emily’s idea, a passing comment she made one evening about a new role being available in the academy at Quantico that he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about. He’d worried she’d hate him for it, that she’d think he was going back on their deal of how their family would work, but as soon as he mentioned it to her, she’d been nothing but encouraging and had made sacrifices where needed in her job so he could do his. It was a give-and-take that was one of the cornerstones of their marriage, one of the things that meant they were even stronger now than they had been back in the beginning. 

“Tell me about it,” she mumbles against his cheek, “This bed is very big and empty without you in it.” 

It’s something about the way she says it, the way she squeezes him to her a little tighter, that lets him know exactly what she’s talking about. He turns to look at her, pulls away enough that he can tuck some of her grey hair behind her ear, taking the opportunity to briefly wrap the white streak he was obsessed with around his finger, and he smiles at her. 

“Oh, really?” He asks, raising an eyebrow at her, and his smile gets wider when she tilts her head at him, her teeth sinking into her lips in a way that had affected him long before she was anywhere close to his.

She hums and nods, lets her eyes flick to his lips as she shifts impossibly closer, “Really,” she says, “Even if you do stink of recycled air and peanuts.” 

He chuckles as he kisses her, making a point of nipping at her lower lip before he pulls back, “Well, I was about to get in the shower…” 

She rolls her eyes at him, “Aaron, honey, love of my life, I think we’re both maybe 15 years too old for shower sex.”

He smirks at her, his cheeks aching with his smile and his love for her, and he shrugs, “Maybe a bath then?” 

She hums and kisses him, holding him close as she licks through his mouth, tasting the moan he lets out, “A bath sounds perfect.”

He’s about to stand up when their bedroom door bursts open to reveal a crying Ava with her favourite toy  - an old, threadbare bear called Teddy, squished against her chest. 

“Mommy, I had a bad…” she trails off when she realises Aaron is home, her nightmare forgotten in a second as she runs over to him, “Daddy, you’re home!”

“I am, princess,” he says, lifting her into a hug that ends with him placing her on the bed between him and Emily, “I missed you.” 

“I missed you too,” she says, furrowing her brow, looking exactly like Emily as she does so, “You were gone for so long.” 

He exchanges a look with his wife over their little girl’s head, both of them smiling in a way that could only mean later, and he cups Ava’s cheek, wiping away a stray tear as he stands up, “Why don’t you tell Mommy all about that dream, and I’ll shower quickly and then come join you two.” 

Ava nods and snuggles up against Emily, resting her head on her chest and holding her tightly as Emily shifts them so they are both lying down, “Can I sleep in here with you and Daddy?” 

Emily kisses the top of Ava’s head and runs her hand up and down her back, “Of course, baby,” she says, kissing the top of her head again, “Want to tell me about your dream?” 

Ava shrugs, “I don’t remember a lot now, only that you and Daddy were gone and I couldn’t find you.” 

It makes something deep inside of Emily ache, a pang in her gut that burns a hole through her chest as she pulls her little girl closer, tucking her as tightly as she can against her side, “We’re right here. We aren’t going anywhere.” 

“I know,” Ava replies, yawning as she tilts her head to look up at Emily, “I missed Daddy.” 

Emily sighs as she hears the shower start in the ensuite, and she nods, agreeing with her daughter as she brushes hair out of her face, “Yeah, I missed Daddy too.”

___

After that, it starts to feel like they might be cursed. 

All she wants is to have sex with her husband, but everything keeps getting in the way. Whether it was the kids, or work, or their schedules being just out of sync with each other enough that one or both of them were exhausted by bedtime, there was always something. She knows that the time that has passed since then has likely made her memory hazy, but she swore they had never gone this long without it, even back when Lucas and Ava were babies and their time together was really limited. 

She knew sex wasn’t everything; she loved just being with Aaron and snuggling up against him on the nights when they were too tired for anything else, but it had always been an important part of their relationship, a part of it that had grown with them. Shifting from the can’t keep my hands off you passion from the early days to what it has settled into now. A reaffirmation of their love for each other, a tender, loving thing that she couldn’t imagine her life without. 

It was starting to make her skin itch, making her irritable in a way she knows she’s taking out on others, and that’s why when she’s sitting on the jet on the way home from a case, her ribs a sore from a tumble down some stairs she’d taken at the hand of an unsub, she decides to try to hide the fact she’s injured from her husband. 

For once, she’s grateful that the kids are already in bed when she gets home, well aware that Lucas or Ava running at her to greet her, or one of Jack’s bear hugs, would have given her away immediately. She presses her hand against her side when she dumps her go-bag in the laundry room, and she blows out a steady breath, determined to go ahead with the night as planned. 

She finds Aaron in their room, the door separating their bedroom from their ensuite open and the smell of lavender and rose floating in the air. He’d text her to say he’d run a bath for them when she let him know she was on her way home, and she sighs contentedly - ignoring the pull in her ribs as she does so - when she steps into the bathroom and closes the door behind her.

“Hey, stranger,” she says, smiling when he turns to look at her. He looks nothing short of relaxed and domestic, and hers, in an old band shirt she knows Haley bought him years ago, the name of the band almost entirely worn off, and a pair of grey sweats.

“Hey,” he replies, stepping towards her to kiss her, his hands on her hips as he greets her, “You made good time.” 

“The DC traffic knew not to mess with me tonight,” she says, pressing her lips together to hide a groan as she sits on the closed toilet seat to take off her shoes, “I wasn’t above using the blue lights if I needed to.”

He laughs at that, loudly enough she knew if they weren’t in the ensuite and hidden behind two closed doors that he’d likely wake up one of the kids and stop her plans before they even really got started. 

“You need any help?” He asks, and she raises her eyebrow at him as she looks up from unzipping her shoes, smiling to hide the ache in her ribs as she bends over. 

“I know I always joke we’re getting old,” she says, pulling one of her boots off, “But I’m not that old.” 

She’s a little too proud of herself for getting her second boot off without making a sound, and she stands back up, clenching her jaw when the extension of her ribcage steals the breath from her lungs. 

“So,” she says, placing her hands on his waist as she steps closer to him, enjoying the height difference her bare feet gave them, “Is that bath for both of us?” 

He smiles at her, something shining in it that she can’t quite place, and he squeezes her hips, keeps his warm palms there as if they are anchored down. Usually, he’d run his hands up her sides, would spread them wide across her ribcage and make her feel safe and small in his hold, before he’d lean in for a kiss. But he’s purposely still, his thumbs stroking her hip bones, and she looks over to the bath and sees the Epsom salts out on the side as well as the oils he’d used that he knew were her favourites. She sighs and rolls her eyes as he looks back at him. 

“Dave told you, didn’t he?” she grumbles, and he nods and she shakes her head, “That narc,” she complains. Guilt replaces her irritation when she sees the concern in his eyes, and she wonders why she thought it was a good idea to try to keep it from him at all. “It’s not that bad, I promise.” 

“You’re hurt,” he says, his voice soft as he strokes her hip again, “Why did you try to hide it from me?” 

She hates that she can feel tears burning at the back of her eyes, brought on by frustration and pain, and it only makes her more upset, every nerve on edge as she blows out a shaky breath and clenches her jaw as a tear slips past her lashline. 

“I just really wanted to have sex tonight.” 

To his credit, Aaron really tries not to smile. He clears his throat and presses his lips together in an attempt to control it, “Sweetheart-”

“It’s been so long, and I miss you, and I can’t believe that because some two-bit, rat-faced asshole pushed me down some stairs we have to wait again,” she says, everything she’d kept locked up in her chest for weeks set free. 

“Em, I miss you too,” he says, cupping her cheek to make her look at him, “But I never want to do anything to hurt you. You’re the most important thing in the world to me.” 

It reminds her of another conversation they had when Lucas was a newborn and she’d been given the all clear by her doctor. She’d been so keen to have sex again, she hadn’t stopped to think if she was ready for it in any other way than medically. Aaron was the one who noticed, the one who knew her better than she thinks she’d ever really known herself, and she’d been grateful for it then, just like she knew she would be eventually about this. 

“Can you at least get in the bath with me?” She asks, and she feels her tears start up afresh when he shakes his head.

“You won’t get comfortable enough with me in there, too,” he says, kissing her forehead before he stands back to unbutton her blouse in an entirely different way than how she’d pictured it all day, “But I’ll stay in here with you and keep you company if you want?” 

She nods and leans forward to kiss him, ignoring the way he raises an eyebrow at her when the movement makes her wince, and she smiles as she pulls back, “I’d love that.” 

He kisses her again as he slips her blouse off her shoulders, and he kisses her cheek before he steps away, “I’ll go get your snacks.” 

___

They plan it perfectly. 

Her ribs have healed, she’s off work for the week, and so is he, and they ask Jack if he’d be willing to take his brother and sister somewhere for the afternoon. He takes them to the movies, a knowing edge to his smile that makes both his parents blush when he says he’ll take his siblings for burgers afterwards too if they pay. Aaron clears his throat as he hands their eldest a couple of $20 bills, and Emily avoids eye contact with Jack as he herds Lucas and Ava out of the house, both of them wide-eyed and slightly sad as they ask why they weren’t coming to the movies with them. 

“Well, that was embarrassing,” Emily mutters as the front door closes, resting her cheek against her husband’s shoulder.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he says, running his hand up and down her back, “We’ll have our turn to embarrass him when he takes Kacey to prom.” 

She laughs, and she wraps her arms around him, encourages him to turn and face her, and she kisses him, captures whatever else he was going to say with her tongue. He pulls her closer, his hands wide on her lower back as he holds her to him, and she sighs contentedly as she wraps her arms around his neck and rocks her hips against his. 

“Bedroom?” She asks, barely pulling back enough to speak as she nudges her nose against his, and he nods. 

“I’d carry you if I didn’t think I’d throw out my back.” 

“Last thing we need is another injury.” She chuckles and kisses him again before she pulls back, wrapping her hand around his as she leads him towards the stairs. As she says it, she almost trips over Ava’s favourite toy, she rarely went anywhere without it - only school - and Emily sighs, “Shit, Ava left Teddy behind.” 

She sinks her teeth into her lower lip as Aaron steadies her with his hands on her hips as she picks up the bear. She immediately feels any desire she’d been feeling wash away, and she sighs as she looks up at Aaron. She missed him, she wanted him, but she couldn’t remember the last time they’d done something like go to the movies as a family, and all of a sudden, as she thinks about the way Lucas and Ava had asked them to come along with them, nothing other than doing exactly that felt like a good use of her afternoon. Because no matter how much she wanted Aaron, he was still right next to her and always would be, even if it was just to hold her hand. 

“You know,” Aaron says, squeezing her hips, “If we left now, they’d still be in line to buy snacks when we get there.” 

She smiles at him, unsure whether she should be surprised or not that he’s all but read her mind, and holds Teddy against her chest, leaning down to smell Ava’s shampoo that was permanently imprinted in its fur. “You don’t mind?” 

He leans in to kiss her, a quick thing against her lips, “We have forever to have sex, sweetheart. I’d say we have five years left maximum before all our kids are too cool to hang out with us.” 

She raises an eyebrow at him, “Forever, huh?” She says, looking him up and down, “You’re pretty confident there, hotshot.” 

He winks at her, “I’ll take up stocks in viagra if I have to.” 

She laughs loudly, her chest almost aching with it as it peels out of her, and she shakes her head and kisses him, linking her hand through his as she tugs him towards the front door, “Come on, honey, if you’re lucky, I’ll even hold your hand during the movie.”