#hotchniss fanfics

[emilycm]

guys this is so so random but pls tell me someone knows the fics i’m thinking of because i’ve been trying to find them for the longest time!!!

one where emily and hotch (they’re not dating) were godparents to jj’s second kid and then something happens to jj and will and they have to take in both kids

emily was raising declan, declan and jack became friends and it brought em and hotch closer together

both are get together fics and i seriously think abt them all the time but i can’t find the links so pls lmk if you know of them!!!!

[sequinsmile-x]

I was just wondering, do you ever run out of ideas for fics :0

uhhh not really?! Sometimes I sit here and I'm like "I don't know what to write" but thats when I look through my asks for inspo!

My brain is constantly whirling ALL the time haha

[forhappysake]

[leavemurph]

they’re just so cute thank god they’ll never find out the things i make their characters do like two horny barbie dolls <3

[ssaemilyhotchner]

there is so much i have said over the past decade about hotch and emily dancing at the end of 7x24, and yet still so much more i could possibly say.

i frequently come back to how it felt to watch this scene for the first time when the ep first aired - the euphoria, the grief, the claws around my heart.

it was, for me and so many others who were online at the time, the perfect embodiment of what shipping can be for people. the scene in question was, for all intents and purposes, the last time we thought we would ever see the character of emily prentiss again. and so if you really wanted to view it uncharitably, you could have seen that scene as the ultimate dashing of hopes that our ship would ever become canon. but by and large, that's just not how we saw it in real time.

instead, there was this sense of true joy, a perfect culmination, closure, bittersweet and blissful. closure to have gotten them acknowledging each other's tells. smiles, tenderness, attention. it's a date.

and then.

then we got hotch pulling emily to him. we got the juxtaposition of how he looks dancing with beth compared to how he looks dancing with emily - gone is the levity and in its stead is a deep intimacy, understanding, and gentleness that undergirds so many of their interactions throughout the series. (and again, you have to realize, this is before we knew what we know now - that emily would not just return but take up the mantle of unit chief at his request, that she would risk death for him and his son. we couldn't have imagined that then and it was still this clarion moment of yes, this is what we have been seeing all along represented in technicolor on the screen.)

i will always be silly about hotch and emily, but i will also always be so deeply serious about their pairing. i just love them.

[nicodemuslily]

Lazy mornings

Still not what I am supposed to work on, but here are some little sketches to start the year. /o/

The first one is an illustration of the last fanfic I wrote in 2024 (not translated yet). And the perspective is atrocious. ^^;

The others are just them, when one of them (or the two of them) doesn't want to wake up and get away from the warmth of their loved one.

___

And happy new year 2025 to all of you! /o/

[em-prentiss]

love to keep me warm

----

“I’m in my pajamas,” Emily mumbles, teary-eyed.

Aaron looks up. His mouth opens, no doubt to console, but Jack beats him to it.

“It’s okay, Mom.” Emily looks up to find his eyes wide and earnest. “Me and Dad are in our pj’s too. We won’t change, right?”

She never imagined she’d cry before even stepping foot in the damn hospital.

Or, Emily goes into labor on Christmas Eve.

Word count: 3.6k

For @leavemurph <3 because she's the best <3

----

“Is it a Nintendo?” Jack interrupts through Home Alone 2.

Emily is watching the movie with blank eyes, the fist she has clutched in her pajama pants doing nothing to help her through her contractions. They’ve become more frequent in the past few weeks, unexpectedly rolling through her as her due date looms closer; January 9th seems far to her, but apparently her body thinks it’s tomorrow. Her back has already been aching for a week, and the increasingly intense contractions aren’t helping any. They went from uncomfortable cramps to sharp pain just over the course of this afternoon, fiery stabs suddenly attacking her abdomen. Still, Emily waves them away. A nagging voice whispers in her ear, but she ignores it. Because it couldn’t be. Not yet.

She’s breathing through the pain, lips parted, when Jack touches her shoulder.

“Mom.”

Emily jolts.

“Sorry, honey.” She sucks in a breath, blinking the haziness from her eyes and turning to look at him. “Were you saying something?”

“My present,” he catches her up, hazel eyes bright, “is it a Nintendo? The 3DS—”

A small laugh worms its way out of her chest. “You’ll know tomorrow.” Fondness seeps through her words, drenching them until they’re dripping saccharine. “It’s just a few hours away, Jack. Wouldn’t it be better if it stayed a surprise?”

Jack’s pout is half hearted. “Will you tell if I get you another cookie?” He bribes. It seems a dangerous skill for a ten-year-old.

“Not even if you got me all the cookies in the world.” Emily ruffles his hair, earning a grumble. Speaking of cookies—“Can you help me up, please?”

He’s up and in front of her in seconds. Emily smiles as she takes his hands, both of them a little cold despite the steady fire burning in the hearth. The moment she stands the pressure returns on her hips, Lucy weighing on her bones as she wriggles around restlessly. 

“Thank you, honey,” Emily presses a kiss to Jack’s brow.

He hums, eyes already back on the TV. “Y’welcome. Tell Dad he’s missing the good parts.”

Emily manages a small laugh.

Her short walk to the kitchen is, in fact, a waddle, each shuffle of her feet sending pain down her pelvis. She makes a face and ignores it, placing a hand on her bump as if she can physically stop her daughter from dropping lower. A small flutter greets her hand; Emily smiles despite herself as she walks into the kitchen, her mission accomplished when she breathes in the warm scent of the cinnamon sugar cookies Aaron is taking out of the oven.

“Your daughter’s abusing me,” she grumbles, shuffling over to the piping hot cookie tray. Heat radiates from it in waves. Emily grabs a cooled one from the previous batch and pops it whole into her mouth.

“I’ll have a talk with her,” Aaron says, wiping a crumb from the corner of her mouth. Emily hums at the taste of cinnamon on her tongue, the cookie warm and sweet, crumbling easily beneath her teeth. But she can’t even enjoy it; mid-swallow, the pain rushes through her again, making her groan into her closed mouth. 

“What?” Concern knits Aaron’s brows, “What do you feel?” 

Somehow, Emily manages to swallow the cookie. 

“Contractions,” she croaks. They’re not anything new, but, “They hurt like a bitch.” She all but whines, tears misting her eyes as Aaron’s hand wraps around her elbow.

“How long have you been having them?” He’s nudging her into a stool. Emily sits, her fingers clutched in his shirt as he helps her down. 

“I don’t know.” Her voice shakes. Sweat slicks her skin. “Uhh…since lunch? Before—before we started the movie. Way before.” Her lip is suddenly between her teeth. “I’ve been—fuck,” she hisses, her nails sinking into Aaron’s flesh. Pain flares in her abdomen, shoots up her back. She whimpers.

“You’re in labor.”

Emily clutches at the counter. She can’t be. It’s Christmas tomorrow, almost two weeks from her due date. Two.

She was supposed to have more time.

“N-No,” she’s shaking her head, cool air slapping her cheeks from the vigorous movement, “I can’t be. I’m not ready.”

“You are,” Aaron soothes, so calm it makes her want to break something. “Honey, we have to—”

“It’s early.” She chokes out. “She’s not supposed to be here until January, Aaron, it’s still—it’s still early.” Her voice wavers again, but not from the pain. “How can you be so sure, anyway, they could just be—”

“Have they been getting closer? Lasting longer?” At her silence he cups her cheek, gentle but firm. “She’s coming now. You gotta let her, Em.”

Emily closes her eyes, her whimper stifled into her bitten lip. She’s shaking her head as Aaron holds her up, carrying her weight against his chest. There’s a quick press of his lips to her hair, a murmured, I know that pushes tears to her eyes.

She’s having her baby tonight.

The contraction is still rolling through her when Aaron calls for Jack. She feels the vibration of his voice through his chest, the pattering of footsteps on the floor static in her ears, muffled as if she’s underwater. Emily twists her fingers in Aaron’s shirt. He palms the back of her neck.

“—shoes on and come here when you’re done, stay with Mom while I get the baby’s things, okay? I’ll stay with her till you come back.”

She doesn’t need anyone to stay with her. Emily opens her mouth, about to say it, when another contraction hits. It sends pain across her abdomen, burying the feeling of Lucy shifting around. She closes her eyes and gnaws on her lip.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“She’s having the baby now?”

“Yeah. Let’s go, we have to get to the hospital.”

“But isn’t it too ear—?”

“Jack,” Aaron says tightly, feeling the way Emily tenses, “buddy, it’s okay, it happens. Babies are rarely born on their due dates. Can you do what I asked?”—a soft, breathless yeah—“Quick, bud, c’mon.”

A swish of air. A hand skating up the length of her arm, the warmth of Aaron’s fingers cupping her cheeks. Emily opens her eyes, finding his blurry outline crouched in front of her.

“Hey,” he says quietly. “How are you holding on?”

She shakes her head. Her tongue is heavy, her jaw tightly clenched against the pain.

Aaron’s eyes are pinched with poorly concealed concern. He stands up and rubs her arm, mouthing some reassurances she can’t hear into her hairline. They vibrate through her skin until Jack’s sneakers come into view, from the corner of her eyes. He’s holding a pair of her shoes—the only pair that fit her anymore—which Aaron takes in hand and kneels down to fit on her feet.

He slips her right, already sock-covered, foot into her shoe, deftly tying the laces together in a double knot. When he’s done he moves on to her left, and through the haze of pain she can only think of one thing.

“I’m in my pajamas,” Emily mumbles, teary-eyed.

Aaron looks up. His mouth opens, no doubt to console, but Jack beats him to it.

“It’s okay, Mom.” Emily looks up to find his eyes wide and earnest. “Me and Dad are in our pj’s too. We won’t change, right?”

She never imagined she’d cry before even stepping foot in the damn hospital.

****

Forty eight minutes later she’s shivering in a hospital gown, numbed from the waist down from her epidural. Six centimeters dilated and the clock inches closer and closer to 9.

It’s there, under the annoyingly bright fluorescent lights of her hospital room, that it hits.

She’s having her baby on Christmas.

Emily’s vision is blurry before she knows it, hot tears rolling down her cheeks with all the ease of a hot knife slicing through butter. Her control on her emotions hung on a thread that has long since snapped, pregnancy a pair of scissors that rendered her a puppeteer with no control over her puppets. From the first few weeks she started crumbling, compartmentalization blown to pieces before she even started to show. It’s something she despises, even more than the aches and pains almost continually rolling through her body. Tears drop at wrong delivery orders and itchy clothes, unsatisfactory baby names and ugly shades of paint for the nursery. And now her daughter is going to share her birthday with a major holiday for the rest of her life.

The sob doesn’t build long in her chest before it breaks free. 

Aaron straightens from where he’s sitting next to her bed. “Emily,” he perches on the edge of his chair, leaning against the handle separating them, “what is it, sweetheart? Are you still in pain?”

Emily’s lip wobbles. “Our daughter is gonna be born on Christmas. Do you know how much it sucks to be born on Christmas?” Her voice breaks on the last word, thick with the taste of her tears.

Aaron blows out a slow breath. The sound irritates her, a flash of annoyance sparking under her skin. But then he takes her hand and rubs his thumb into the tight skin stretched over her knuckles, replacing the bone-deep cold with his warmth.

“It would suck,” he agrees quietly. Emily chews on a sob and turns away, the confirmation in his voice too much for her to take. Aaron brings her back with warm fingers under her chin, gently forcing her eyes on his. “It would suck,” he says again, “if we weren’t her parents. We’ll make it special for her, Emily, you know we will.”

The distant feeling of a contraction ripples through her body. Emily clutches his hand, blinking back superfluous tears until it passes. “How?” She croaks.

His brows tick the slightest bit upwards. Aaron idly brings her hand up to his lips, muffling his thoughtful hum into her knuckles. “Well…we could split the day. Merry Christmas in the morning and happy birthday in the afternoon.” He murmurs. A few more ice-cold breaths and the corner of his mouth ticks up. “Gingerbread pancakes for breakfast and a cake after lunch?”

“...Gingerbread pancakes?” Emily frowns tearily. “Do those even exist?”

“We’ll make them exist. We’ll make up a new tradition for her—for us. It’ll be ours.” Aaron reassures, squeezing her hand. It warms in his grip. “We’ll make it work, Em. It’s hardly the hardest thing we’ve had to do.”

Truthfully, he almost convinces her. It’s hard not to; his eyes are warm, his hand warmer still and his voice bucketfuls of cloud-like softness to calm her down. Emily sniffles, seeing gingerbread pancakes, and almost starts to smile.

Until a thought unfurls in her head and more tears spill down her cheeks. 

“J-Jack’s not gonna have a normal Christmas anymore.” She hiccups, eyes burning. “Neither of them will. And”—she aggressively wipes the hot tears on her face—“I think I traumatized him. Fuck, he saw me crying—”

“Emily—”

“We should tell him we got him the Nintendo.” She sniffles, “He’s probably upset. God, what kid wouldn’t be upset that their sibling is being born on Christmas—”

“Honey, you’ve got to save your strength.” Aaron says gently. He wipes her tears, uselessly, because more spill down her cheeks. “Jack isn’t upset, okay? Jess just texted that he can’t sleep, he’s so excited.” 

Emily blinks damp lashes at him. “She did?”

Aaron’s smile is endlessly patient. “Yeah, she did. Come on now, let’s think of the good stuff.” He slips the hem of his sweater over his heel and gently dabs under her eye. “In a couple of hours, we’ll have our baby. And, just think about it—we’ll have more time with her than we thought we would. Fifteen more days than we thought we’d have. Isn’t that—” Aaron swallows, his hand faltering as a faint shine gleams in his eyes. “Isn’t that good, Emily?” 

Fifteen days. Fifteen more days to know her baby, to get to speak out her name and run her finger down the length of her cheek. 

More tears pool on her lashes. God, she’s sick of them. “Yeah.” Emily croaks, half laughing, half sobbing. “Yeah, it’s good. Fifteen days.” She wipes under her eye.

Aaron smiles softly. “She just couldn’t wait,” he lays his palm on the curve of her stomach, “must’ve heard about all the fun we’ll be having and got jealous. Did you, Lucy?” Impossibly, his voice softens further. “You just wanted to be part of it, huh?”

Emily smiles blurrily as she dries her face with the heel of her hand, watching Aaron lean over the handle to talk to her bump. That in itself isn’t unusual, but:

“You’re talking so much,” the thought slips past her lips before she can catch it, half delirious already from the pain and her epidural. Her hand finds his face, the pad of her thumb dipping under his jaw. “You never talk this much.”

She must really be on the ledge.

“Well, you’re freaking out. I have to do something.” Aaron murmurs. “What, should I stop?” The teasing lilt to his voice makes her cringe.

“No. Sorry, I didn’t mean to say that.” Emily mumbles, apologetic even though the brown of his eyes is warm. “S’mean.”

Aaron’s hand covers hers. Their fingers lock together, the metal of their rings notching with a tiny click. “You’re in labor, Emily. I think you saying a few mean things is warranted.”

“So you do think it’s mean?” Her eyes brim up with tears again. Great, she traumatized Jack and is bullying his father—

“No, baby.” He smothers a sigh into her knuckles. “I think you should stop worrying about my feelings and focus more on getting this little princess out,” his other hand drops to her stomach, knuckles gently tracing over the scratchy material of her hospital gown. Lucy stirs, but she doesn’t jab an elbow into Emily’s gut in response. “She’s not kicking anymore,” he notes.

“Mmm,” Emily sniffs, stealing her hand from his grip to place it on the palm lying on her stomach. It’s a bit of a useless exchange. “S’weird. She’s, like…rolling. Shifting.” Her brows furrow, even as Aaron smiles. “Can’t really explain it.”

A contraction makes her lace their fingers together, squeezing his hand though it doesn’t hurt, not really. When it passes he grabs a water bottle off her beside table and pushes it into her free hand, murmuring something about restoring all the water she’d lost. Emily glares at him weakly but takes it, her throat drier than she’d like from what seems like hours of crying. Neither of them are surprised when she drains the whole bottle in one go.

Emily’s eyes restlessly flit to the clock again; she groans when she finds it’s not even 9:30 yet, the clock’s long hand hovering between 4 and 5. The exhaustion is heavy in her bones, though it seems she’s hardly done anything but cry. Aaron makes her down yet another bottle of water at that, and when she’s done he wordlessly conjures a wet wipe and wipes the dried tears from her face.

She’s about to scold him for opening up their unborn daughter’s pack of wipes when a knock sounds and the door opens. The nurse comes in, cheerily announcing that it’s time for another checkup.

“How are we doing, Mrs. Hotchner?” She asks as she pokes and prods, pressing the transducer to Emily’s stomach. Lucy’s heartbeat comes through, and both Aaron and Emily exhale.

But the relief quickly disintegrates.

“Tired.” Emily grumbles.

Izzy smiles sympathetically. “You’re still at six centimeters. You could take a nap, if you’d like. It’ll probably still be a while.”

“It’s a good idea,” Aaron says when she’s gone. “Today was busy.”

It was busy. They’d been up since the morning, wrapping presents and hiding them—Jack’s—in their closet. Aaron had gone to the mall for some last minute gifts that slipped through the cracks, and she’d stayed home with Jack, hanging stockings while stepping through mountains of wrapping paper, half of them shredded to streamers from Sergio’s claws. But it was a good kind of busy, a good kind of ache that lingered alongside Lucy’s constant presence. It’s a kind of busyness she never thought she’d get to have, fated to celebrate holidays surrounded by friends but ultimately on her own. Now warmth flows from a home she can call her own, a family that makes her count lucky stars she never even believed in.

“Yeah,” Emily hums, abruptly closing her eyes at the feeling of another contraction. She lays her hand on her bump, thumb drawing circles as she tries to imagine meeting the little girl beneath her skin, finally getting to hold her, place a face to the name. She’d already imagined Aaron’s eyes, their dark hair—and hopefully those Hotchner dimples that she wouldn’t stand a chance against. The vision makes her breath hitch.

“Does it hurt?”

“Mm, no,” Emily mumbles, trying to open her eyes. She does it with some difficulty—forehead scrunched, squinting into the same alert pools she just saw beneath her closed lids. He is a little blurry again, but she blinks forcefully. “I fucking love drugs.”

Aaron laughs lightly and leans over the handle of her bed, kissing her temple. “I think that’s your cue for that nap. Close your eyes,” as soft as his voice, he adjusts the blanket up to her chest, “it’ll probably be the last good sleep you’ll have in a while.”

Emily snorts weakly. “If you can call having the whole bottom half of your body numb good…” 

But she can’t complain too much. Except—

“I’m cold.”

Aaron reaches for the hem of his sweatshirt. The pajama shirt he’s wearing underneath rides up his stomach as he pulls it off, exposing a sliver. Emily chews on a smile, trying to hide it as his pajamas come into view. Jack had insisted on them—she kind of had, too—and Aaron stood no chance in refusing the bright red pajamas. He tried, but not very convincingly; Emily thinks she—impossibly—loves him all the more for it.

Aaron fishes his arm through the neckline and folds the sweatshirt back the right way. Softened strands of hair wilt into his face, shaken loose in raven threads above his eyes.

“Here,” he kisses the skin between her brows before gently stretching the neckline of his sweatshirt and guiding it over her head. Her hair gets trapped under it; Aaron pulls it out as she clumsily shoves her arms into the sleeves. Warmth settles over her, stretching over half her belly, though the blanket over her legs doesn’t do much.

Hospital beds always leave her with a distinct chill. The ones for her checkups were different, but beds like these remind her of the crushing fear she’d been left with last time, the loneliness and pain knowing her friends thought her to be gone. Now the extra space is heavy with the cold, even though she’s not anymore. 

Emily stretches her hand over the handle. Aaron takes it, pressing his lips to her knuckles before encasing them between both of his warm hands.

“You’re in your pj’s,” she mumbles, a half smile getting squished into her pillow. Christmas pj’s, no less.

A faint smile curves his lips. Dimples. “Mm, solidarity and all that,” he says. “Go to sleep.”

“Bet the nurses had a good laugh,” her words start to slur.

“Bet they did,” his teeth show, a small laugh escaping as pink colors his cheeks. “Now close your eyes.”

“Y’know, I’m starting to think you just don’t like me.”

“I love you,” he murmurs, dipping his head down to catch her lips. They’re warm; she tingles all over. “I just want you to rest up, okay?”

“I guess.” Emily whispers. Her eyes flick up to his. “Just don’t let go of my hand.”

Aaron threads their fingers together. 

“I won’t.”

****

Emily is in awe.

She’s sticky, she’s sweaty and numb, her legs useless, but she’s in awe. Her arms are full of her baby, the downy pink of her blanket rubbing softly against her arm. Lucy’s eyes are closed as she sleeps, quiet as the stillness of the room, and Emily can’t stop tracing the soft, miniature curve of her nose—her own nose, in a different face. 

“I did such a good fucking job,” she mumbles tearily.

Aaron’s lips press together, dimples blooming in his cheeks. “You did.” He nods.

“And you did, too.” Emily sniffs. She takes his hand and squeezes. “Thanks for my baby, Aaron.”

This time he does let himself laugh. “It was my pleasure, sweetheart.” He tucks stray bangs back behind her ear, escaping from the braid he’d put her hair in. “Believe me.”

Emily bites her lip between her teeth, a poor effort to conceal the bubbly giggle in her chest. It’s strange; she’s distantly aware of bone deep exhaustion, a heaviness lining her eyelids, but she looks down and feels floaty. Christmas miracle, Aaron had called her when she was placed into Emily’s arms, red and screaming.

She has to agree.

When Jack sits on the edge of her bed and holds his sister, Aaron’s hands supporting his, he looks up at her with wide eyes.

“She’s way cooler than a Nintendo.”

[elleskate]

jennifer jareau

[galaxysupreme17]

First Break UP

Hotchniss

Y/n Hotchner sat on her bed, staring blankly at the wall. Her room, once a sanctuary filled with memories of laughter and shared secrets, now felt hollow and cold. The past few days' events replayed in her mind like a cruel loop she couldn't escape.

Jake, her boyfriend of two years, had cheated on her. Not just with anyone but with her best friend, Sarah. The betrayal cut deep, shattering her trust in the two people she thought she could rely on the most.

Her phone buzzed beside her, but Y/n ignored it. She had been avoiding everyone lately—her friends, her dad, even Emily Prentiss, her dad's fiancée, whom she had grown close to over the past year. The pain of betrayal was too raw, too consuming.

Emily and Aaron were standing down the hallway, talking in hushed voices. They discussed what to do when Aaron suggested that Emily try talking to Y/n.

Footsteps approached her door, and a gentle knock echoed through the room. Y/n didn't respond, hoping whoever it was would take the hint and leave her alone. The door creaked open anyway, and Emily stepped inside, expressing concern and empathy.

"Y/n," Emily began softly, her voice filled with compassion. "Can we talk?"

Y/n looked up, her eyes red-rimmed from crying. She didn't say anything, but the look on her face spoke volumes.

Emily approached slowly, sitting down beside Y/n on the bed. "I know you're hurting, sweetheart. And I can't pretend to understand what you're going through, but I want to be here for you."

Y/n's resolve crumbled at Emily's words. She had been pushing everyone away, but Emily's sincerity touched her heart. "He cheated on me, Em," Y/n finally whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. "With Sarah."

Emily's heart broke for Y/n. She reached out and pulled her into a comforting embrace, letting Y/n bury her face in her shoulder as tears streamed down her cheeks. "I'm so sorry, Y/n. You deserve so much better."

For a long time, they sat there in silence, the only sound the quiet sobs of a broken heart slowly trying to mend.

Days turned into weeks, and Y/n slowly began to heal. Emily was there every step of the way, offering a listening ear, words of wisdom, and sometimes just silent companionship. They spent evenings curled up on the couch, watching movies or reading books.

One evening, after Emily had returned home from a horrific case and exhaustion finally caught up with Y/n, she nestled closer to Emily on the couch, her eyes drooping with weariness. Emily gently stroked her hair, the gesture soothing and maternal.

"You should get some rest, sweetheart," Emily murmured as Aaron walked in and smiled at them.

Y/n nodded faintly, feeling safe and cared for in Emily's presence. "Mom," she whispered sleepily, the word slipping out almost unconsciously.

Emily's heart skipped a beat at the unexpected endearment. She looked down at Y/n, her eyes brimming with tears of joy. "Yes, honey?"

Y/n stirred slightly, her voice barely audible as sleep claimed her. "Love you, Mom," she murmured before drifting into a peaceful slumber.

Emily held Y/n close, tears of happiness trailing down her cheeks. It was a moment she had dreamed of but never dared to expect. As Y/n slept peacefully, Emily whispered back, "I love you too, sweetheart," knowing that their bond had deepened beautifully and healingly.

In the quiet of the evening, Emily Prentiss and Y/n Hotchner found solace in each other's presence, their hearts entwined in a journey of healing, forgiveness, and the unbreakable bond of family.

[justagirl-purplejellosg1]

Holy crap I just had an idea for a Hotchniss take on an X-Files episode (well, the last scene of an ep) and I want it so bad but don’t know if I could do it justice by writing it.

[criminalmindsgonewrong]

someone to watch me die.

chapter four: December 1993

You are cordially invited to the Prentiss' annual Christmas party. There may be fireworks.

Read on AO3

warnings: domestic violence (against women and children), substance abuse, addiction.

[sequinsmile-x]

On a scale of 1-10…how much would it surprise y’all if I said this is looking like it’s going to be a three parter instead of two 🤣😬

Hide Beside Me

Emily shares her oldest secret with Aaron. A few years later, that secret resurfaces.

Part 1/2

-x-

Hi besties,

This is based on an anon I got a little while ago that kind of set my brain on fire. I've been thinking of how to write this in a way that is respectful to Emily's character and the very real people who go through/have gone through things like this. I hope I've achieved that, but please note the tags/warnings if you need to <3

As always, I got a little lost in the details, and what was meant to be a one shot is now a two parter.

Please let me know what you think <3

-x-

Warnings: pregnancy, teen pregnancy, abortion, adoption, forced adoption

Words: 4.2k

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

She hesitates before she knocks on the door of their home office, her hand frozen in midair as her confidence drains from her, the warmth of it pooling in her lower limbs, sending a shiver down her spine. She blows out a slow breath and rests her forehead against the hardwood of the door, giving herself one last moment before she carries on. She finally knocks, ignoring the voice in the back of her head that sounds entirely too much like her mother, that’s saying that this will change things between them. That it will change how he looks at her. 

“Come in,” he calls out and she opens the door, popping her head around it and forcing a smile as their eyes meet. He smiles at her, his eyes soft and full of love and she savours it, lets herself enjoy it as she steps into the room, “Hi sweetheart.”

“Hi,” she replies, her hands tight together in front of her, her right hand immediately seeking out her engagement ring to twist it around, a nervous habit that had replaced her old one of picking at her cuticles the moment Aaron had slipped it onto her finger, “Can I…can I talk to you?” 

“Always,” he says, immediately placing his pen down, abandoning his paperwork so she has all of his attention. He starts to roll his chair back to get up but she stops him, stepping towards his desk.

“Here’s okay,” she says, desperate to not have this conversation in the living room, to not think about it every time she looks at the walls they’d decorated together when they moved in, or the carefully placed photos of the two of them and Jack that they’d hung up as soon as the paint was dry. She didn’t want it to seep into their foundations, to change any more than it needed to, and she clears her throat, pointing at his lap, ignoring his concern that is becoming more obvious by the second, “Can I…?”

Aaron nods and rolls back just a little more to give her more room and she rounds the desk to climb into his lap, her side pressed against his chest as he wraps an arm around her. She reaches for his hand and links their fingers together, focuses on the feel of his skin against hers, not the deeply held secret in her gut, the chains she’d wrapped it in uncurling, her stomach rolling with each shake as the lid starts to slip. 

“Sweetheart,” he says, cupping her cheek after the silence between them goes on a beat longer than is comfortable. He strokes his thumb back and forth over her skin, “Is everything okay?” 

She chokes on a laugh that borders on hysterical and she shrugs, “I don’t know,” she says, squeezing his hand, “There’s something I need to tell you,” she frowns and shakes her head at herself, “Well, I don’t need to but I want to. But…”

She drifts off, and the worry thrumming beneath his skin only gets worse, threatening to burn him from the inside out the more nervous and unlike herself Emily becomes. He leans forward and kisses her temple, pressing his love and unwavering support against her skin, “You can tell me anything, you know that,” he says, kissing her again before he pulls back, “There is nothing you can tell me that would change how I feel about you.” 

She laughs again, the sound wet and painful as it catches on a sob she knows is working its way up her throat, and she shakes her head, “I’d say it’s like you can read my mind,” her chin trembles, “But if you were able to I wouldn’t have this problem,” she pauses and takes a deep breath, “I’ve never told anyone all of it before, so I don’t really know where to start.” 

He squeezes her hand, “Wherever feels right, Em,” he says, “And we’ll go from there together.” 

She nods and closes her eyes, “Remember that case with my friends Matthew and John?” She asks, looking at him and waiting for him to nod.

“The case with the exorcisms.”

She shivers, the thought of how Matthew had died, and what John had narrowly escaped, hard to take even now, “Yeah,” she confirms, her lips pressed together for a moment as she tries to gather herself, “We were all in Rome together. Our parents were all assigned there and we went to an international school with fees that would make your eyes water,” she chuckles and wipes her cheek, pushing away a tear she knows won’t be the last, “We were friends. And…I didn’t have many of those back then. I moved around a lot, I was a bit of a loner and when I made friends I was just so desperate to keep them,” she swallows thickly, “And I would have done anything to do so. And I ended up getting pregnant.” 

He holds her tighter. It’s a momentary reaction, his love for her and distress for a younger her tattooed against her waist in the shape of his fingertips, “I’m sorry, Emily. That’s…you must have been-”

“15,” she finishes for him, grateful that she doesn’t see judgement in his eyes, at least not yet, “I was 15 and fucking terrified. I told Matthew and he said he’d help me figure out what to do. I couldn’t have a baby, I was a kid myself so I decided to have an abortion,” she says, her eyes fixed on his, something in her chest unfurling further when he doesn’t flinch, when he still looks at her like she’d hung the stars themselves, “I had an appointment and everything, but then my mother found out.” 

His eyes drift closed, an empathetic sigh skipping across her face as he feels sorrow for her flood his chest, “Oh, sweetheart.”

“I still don’t know what she was more disappointed in me for, the fact I was pregnant or the fact I was going to have an abortion,” she blows out a breath and her chest shudders with it, “But after that, I had very little choice in what happened to me.” 

He knows where this is going, has filled in the blanks for himself, but he knows it’s important for her to say it herself, “What happened?” 

“I was sent back here without any warning. I was just put on a flight. There were homes everywhere for ‘a girl in trouble’ then,” she scoffs, “It wasn’t even that long ago really. I stayed there until I had the baby,” a ghost of a smile flicks across her face, “A little girl.” 

She only realises she’s not looking at him when he hooks a finger under her chin and encourages her to look up, his eyes filled with love and adoration that feels misplaced, a strange addition to the shame she’d felt for decades. 

“You had a little girl?” He asks and she nods, memories of her daughter’s face, the only thing of her she really had, flickering through her mind. She thought it would fade over the years but it never had. She still remembered her dark hair, the nose they shared. The love that had been painful as it overwhelmed her when she was allowed to hold her for just a few minutes, a precursor to the heartbreak she’d never been able to outrun. 

“I only had a few minutes with her. They said it would hurt less if we didn’t bond,” she laughs bitterly, “As if the 9 months I’d been pregnant hadn’t already done that. One of the other girls there, she was a couple of years older than me, she told me I could name her,” she breaks eye contact, sure her delicate hold on her emotions would disappear entirely if he kept on looking at her with as much love and understanding as he was, “It was only ever for me really. It wasn’t written down anywhere, and I only said it out loud once. But I named her.” 

He runs his hand up and down her back, “What did you call her?” He asks before he can think about it, and she tenses against him, “Sorry, Em. You don’t have to-”

“I want to,” she says, drawing idle patterns on his scarred knuckles with her fingertips, as desperate to undo any of his pain as he was to undo hers, “I called her Sophia,” she says, smiling sadly, her eyes fixed on their joint hands, “The uh…the home had a TV but we were only allowed to watch The Golden Girls,” she laughs but it sounds hollow, and it breaks his heart for both versions of her - the woman he loved now and the girl who’d been given no choice in what happened to her, “And I didn’t think Blanche or Dorothy worked for such a tiny baby. I liked the name Rose but…” she drifts off again because she can’t put it into words. Can’t begin to explain how she always hoped one day she’d be able to use that name for a baby girl she’d be allowed to keep, give her a connection to the sister she’d likely never know, “Anyway, I called her Sophia. I know her name was changed when she was adopted,” she finally looks up at him, her eyes shining, tears barely hanging on to her lashline, “I don’t know what they changed it to, but in here,” she places her hand over her heart, “She’s always been Sophia.” 

He doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know how to respond. He knows he can’t fix it, no matter how much he wants to, and he also knows she won’t want to hear what she’d consider platitudes right now. That if he told her she was the bravest person he’d ever met, something he’d already thought before he knew this but that she’d just confirmed, she wouldn’t believe him. In the end, he settles on lifting their joint hands and kissing her knuckles, letting his lips linger there for a second before he speaks. 

“Thank you for telling me about her.” 

She sobs, the sound finally breaking free as she leans forward and presses her forehead against his neck, her grip on him bordering on painful as she seeks out the comfort he always willingly gave her, “I’m sorry.” 

He frowns and kisses the top of her head, “What are you sorry for?”

She sniffs as she pulls back, leaning into his palm when he wipes tears from her cheeks, “For never telling you before now.” 

“Oh, sweetheart,” he says, tucking some hair behind her ear, “You have nothing to apologise for. Nothing at all,” he catches another tear, “What made you decide to tell me now?” 

“We’re trying for a baby,” she replies, unable to stop the happiness flaring in her chest even if she’d wanted to. The hope was painful sometimes, the thought of having a baby with the man she loves a happy one that tore fresh skin from old wounds, “If it works I’ll be asked about previous pregnancies and I didn’t want you to find out that way. And also I just…I realised I wanted you to know. I didn’t want it to be something I was keeping from you anymore.” 

He pulls her close again and cups the back of her head, holding her in place as he turns to kiss her temple before he rests his cheek on the top of her head, “You said no one else knows?” 

“Not the whole truth,” she says, looking up at him, “Dave figured out something was wrong when Matthew died but I told him I had an abortion. It was easier than the truth. No one other than my mom knows that I had the baby. After…after Sophia was taken away my mom sent someone to pick me up. I was put on a plane and flown to Russia where she was stationed. We’ve never spoken about it.” 

“Was Matthew…” he drifts off partway through the question, yet again unsure if he should ask, and she shakes her head. 

“No it was John. I told him first, but he just called me a whore and said the baby could be anyone's,” she says matter of factly, smiling when he holds her even tighter, his brow furrowed in anger at the way she was treated well over 20 years ago, “He was a teenager too, honey,” she says, running her fingers through his hair, “He was scared.” 

“But he got to walk away.” 

She nods, her smile turning sad, “Yes. He did,” she swallows thickly, “I don’t know anything about her.” 

“The home didn’t keep records?” 

She shakes her head, “They closed down shortly afterwards. Destroyed a lot of records when people started asking hard questions. I knew her parent’s names, and at first, I wrote letters but I found out my mom was having them intercepted so they never went anywhere. And then it was time to go to college and I didn’t want to be the person this had happened to,” she wipes away tears as they slip down her cheeks and she clears her throat, “So I pretended I wasn’t. And then I got very good at pretending to be someone I wasn’t.” 

He sighs, his heart clenching in his chest, his grief for what the woman he loved had gone through forming a fist around it, “Sweetheart, I’m so sorry that happened to you.” 

She nods, her smile shaking when he wipes away another tear, “Me too.” 

“I love you very much,” he says, rubbing his thumb back and forth over her cheek, letting her feel the callouses there, divots and curves she thinks might just be his love for her carved into his very skin, “And I hope you know nothing will ever change that.” 

It’s the assurance she needed, and they both know it. She rests her forehead against his and breathes him in, somehow feeling lighter and heavier than she had in years all at once, “I love you too.”

___

She sighs as she settles on the couch, her hand on her bump as she chases the feeling of her baby rolling under her skin. She chuckles as she feels a particularly hard kick, “I can already tell you’re going to be trouble, sweet girl.” 

They’d found out the baby was a girl that afternoon, Aaron’s hand wrapped tightly around hers as the doctor told them. Another daughter. Another little girl growing beneath her skin, but this time she was hers. Hers and Aaron’s, the future in front of her as bright and clear as it had ever been. 

She was happy. Almost deliriously so, but she was sad too. Memories of the last time she’d done this, the comparisons between her two pregnancies even with close to 30 years between them, unavoidable. It wasn’t lost on her that her age was a factor in both of them. When she was taken to the doctor when she was 15, when the attendant from the home who took her and the nurse would talk about the intended parents of her baby like she wasn’t there, she was judged for how young she was. Now, at every appointment, she was reminded of her age and the complications it could cause. The term ‘geriatric pregnancy’ one that made her as angry as it did anything else. 

There were also differences. She wasn’t a terrified child herself, abandoned by a mother who let shame get in the way of even visiting her daughter in the months she was hidden away. She had her husband by her side, the man who loved her as unconditionally as she loved him. She was allowed to be happy. She was allowed to have this. She could plan and think about what her child would look like, what she’d enjoy and what her laugh would sound like. 

“Are you okay, sweetheart?”

She looks up at him and smiles, “I’m okay. Just processing.” 

She’d cried when they were told they were having a girl, an edge to the reaction beyond the happiness the doctor assumed that only Emily and Aaron knew about. He’d given her space since they’d got home, had said he needed to look over some paperwork and left her in the living room with a kiss to her forehead and then her bump.

“Do you want me to leave you alone?” He offers, and she shakes her head fiercely, offering him a smile as she holds her hand out to him, encouraging him to join her on the couch.

“Never,” she says, wrapping her hand around his when he sits next to her. She smiles when he places his hand on her bump and she directs him to where she can feel movement, even though they were yet to feel anything from the outside, “I am happy,” she says, feeling the need to clarify, “It’s just…” 

He kisses her as she drifts off, “I know,” he says, kissing her again before he repeats himself, wanting to make sure she knew he understood, “I know.” 

She smiles gratefully and places her hand on his cheek, drawing him in for a kiss, “We’ll have to start thinking about names.” 

He nods and blows out a slow breath, nerves he’d been feeling since they found out the baby was a girl returning in full force. He was unsure if his idea was a good one, or if he’d upset her when that was the last thing he wanted, “I have an idea.” 

Her smile gets wider, “Yeah? What is it?” 

He clears his throat, “I thought we could call her Rose,” he says, watching as her eyes go wide, her brows furrowing ever so slightly, “If you’d like.” 

“Rose?” She repeats back at him, her throat tight as tears press at the back of her eyes. 

“When you told me about Sophia, you said you liked the name Rose. I thought, if you want to, we could call her that,” he says, rubbing a circle on her belly. 

“You remember that?” She asks, her lungs stuffed so full of love for him that she struggles to breathe for a moment. 

He nods, “I remember everything about you.” 

“And you don’t mind?” She asks, her voice full of wonder and her eyes full of unshed tears. He shakes his head, reaching out to catch a tear as it escapes past her lashline.

“I think names should mean something, and this does. And it’s a beautiful name, which is fitting because she’s going to be beautiful - just like her mother.” 

“I love you so fucking much,” she says, wrapping her arms around him, taking the chance to kiss his cheek.

“I love you too,” he replies, “So, we’re calling her Rose?”

“Yeah,” she says, choking on a breathless laugh, “We’re calling her Rose.” 

He smiles widely and clears his throat, “I also had an idea for a middle name.” 

She chuckles, “You’re full of ideas today,” she says, reaching out and tangling their fingers together, running her thumb over the heel of his hand, “What is it?” 

“I thought that, if you’d like to, it could be Sophia,” he says, watching her carefully for a reaction, doubting himself when she sucks in a breath, “But only if you want to.” 

She presses her lips together and then swallows thickly, “What…” she clears her throat, emotions she can’t name making her stomach flip in a way that has nothing to do with the baby, “What made you think of doing that?” 

“This way, you can have part of her to hang on to,” he says, reaching out to lay his hand on her chest over her heart, “And you won’t have to keep all of her in here,” he waits for her to say something, but she simply stares ahead, looking through him, “We don’t have to-”

“No,” she says, shaking her head as she looks at him, “I’d love that. That’s…” she blows out a breath and leans forward, pressing her forehead against his, “You really might be the perfect man.” 

He chuckles, overwhelmed with emotion himself as he kisses her, “I’ll remind you that you said that next time you complain about how I stack the dishwasher.” 

___

Emily groans as she checks the time. They were running late. 

It was her turn to do the school and daycare run. She and Aaron took turns doing it. They’d drop the kids off and then go to work - him at the BAU, and her at Interpol’s DC office, a job she’d practically snatched Clyde’s hand off for when he’d offered it during her pregnancy with Rose. It offered her more time with her children and meant that she could be home every night, something that she hadn’t realised was as important to her as it was until she went back to work after maternity leave. 

Being away from Jack for work had always been part of her relationship with him. It was woven into the fabric of her role as a parent right up until she had to leave Rose for the first time. She’d been unable to bear it, the thought alone in the lead-up to the end of her maternity leave leading to nightmares that her baby would be taken from her - the people who took Sophia standing at the end of her bed, their faces blurred with the time that had passed as she couldn’t move, helpless to save her daughter from the same fate as her first. 

It hadn’t been any easier when Issac came along either, the now 6-month-old the final piece to their family. After speaking to Aaron, and to Clyde, she’d made the decision to not go back to work full-time after she had Issac. They didn’t need the money, but she did need this. Normal moments with her kids that she knew she’d one day miss. Mornings when everyone refused to put on their shoes or eat their toast unless it was cut in a certain way that she’d look back on fondly when they were all old enough to not need her anymore. 

“Jack,” she calls up the stairs, “Are you almost ready? You’ll be late for school.” 

“Coming, Mom,” he calls back down, making her smile as she turns back towards the living room, her focus on the baby on her hip, making a point of bouncing the little boy to draw his giggle out of him, “One down, one to go, huh Zaccy?” She says, kissing his temple “Let’s go see how your sister is doing with her shoes.” She walks into the living room and smiles at her little girl, unsurprised to find that she has her shoes on, but the velcro fastenings are still undone, her focus instead on her favourite cartoon, “Rosie,” she admonishes lightly, crouching down and keeping an expert hold on Issac as she finishes putting her daughter’s shoes on her, taking the time to ensure the velcro on the tiny shoes was secure enough, “How did the TV get turned on?” 

“I turn it on,” the two-year-old replies, her smile wide, an edge of mischievousness to it that Aaron always said was all her. 

Emily hums and is distracted when the doorbell rings. She stands up straight and leans in to kiss Rose’s forehead, tugging gently at one of her braids, her hair just long enough now that they no longer stuck out in horizontal lines from her head, and smiling when the little girl looks up at her. 

“5 minutes,” she says, raising her eyebrow as she adjusts Isasac on her hip, “Then we’re going, okay?” 

“Okay, Mama.” 

She can’t help but chuckle as she walks out into the hallway. It’s only when she checks the time on her watch that she thinks about how early it is for someone to be ringing the bell, and she furrows her brow curiously when it rings again.

“I wonder who that is,” she says to herself and she looks through the peephole, her confusion only heightened when she sees a woman she doesn’t recognise standing on the porch. She pulls the door open and smiles at the stranger, “Hi, can I help you?” 

The woman falters for a moment, her gaze fixed on Issac, how the little boy clings to Emily, his tiny fist wrapped up in the hemline of her sweater. Emily clears her throat and the woman looks at her, seemingly remembering where she is, “Sorry. You’re Emily Prentiss aren’t you?”

Emily frowns and holds Issac tighter, stepping back to the gap in the open door behind her in an unconscious attempt to protect Rose and Jack, “Yes. Who are you?” 

The moment she asks she knows. The breath is stolen from her lungs as recognition kicks in, her hold on Issac, the feel of his breath skipping across her skin, the only things keeping her grounded. She suddenly notices her own eyes looking back at her. Her nose. Blonde hair with roots that let her know it used to be much darker. 

John’s smile. 

“My name is Rebecca Mount,” she says, clearing her throat, her smile nervous as she carries on, “I’m your daughter.” 

[forhappysake]

[leavemurph]

come back home tg

[shay-j-scribbles]

A Risk Worth Taking

Part 6: Family Night at Rossi's leads to lots and lots of kissing against his front door

Rating E (very much) | Hotch x Prentiss

Read on Ao3

[nicodemuslily]

A tour in London (AU)

Mark: Emily, there's someone for you at the reception.

Emily: Someone? Who?

Mark: Don't know. He said that he know you and that you know him.

Emily: Did you see him?

Mark: Yes. Quickly.

Emily: How does he look like?

Mark: It's a tall guy with a grumpy face.

Emily: Dark brown hair, brown eyes, ears with attached lobes?

Mark: Uh... yeah.

Mark: Emily! The meeting!

Emily: Hotch.

___

Finally found the time to draw the introduction of one of my many Hotchniss AU. In this one, Aaron takes a flight for London just after his break up with Beth to confess his feelings to Emily.

The anatomy is terrible, but I really like that scene. Emily is so happy to see him again, no matter why he's here. :D