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galaxysupreme17 · 7 months ago

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Graduation day

Emily Prentiss X Daughter!Reader

Emily Prentiss X Aaron Hotchner

The morning sun rose above the city, casting a golden hue over everything it touched. Emily stood at the kitchen counter, brewing a pot of coffee, her mind racing with thoughts of the day ahead. It was Y/n's high school graduation day—a milestone she eagerly anticipated and quietly dreaded.

Emily glanced at the clock, noting it was already time to wake Y/n. She made her way upstairs, her heart swelling with pride and nostalgia. Opening Y/n's bedroom door, she found her daughter still nestled under the covers, a peaceful look on her face.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," Emily said softly, sitting on the edge of the bed and gently shaking Y/n's shoulder.

Y/n stirred, opening her eyes slowly. "Is it graduation day?" she mumbled, rubbing her eyes.

Emily nodded, smiling. "Yes, it is. Time to get up and get ready. We have a big day ahead."

Y/n sat up, stretching and yawning. "I can't believe it's here already. It feels like just yesterday I was starting high school."

"I know," Emily replied, her voice tinged with emotion. "It feels like just yesterday you were starting kindergarten."

At that moment, Aaron Hotchner appeared in the doorway with a proud smile. "Good morning, ladies. Ready for the big day?" he asked, his eyes twinkling.

"Morning, Dad," Y/n said, giving her stepfather a warm smile. "I guess so. It's all a bit surreal."

Aaron kissed Emily on the cheek before ruffling Y/n's hair. "It's going to be a great day. Now, let's get you ready."

The football field stands were filled with excitement. Families and friends filled the seats, waiting for the ceremony to begin. Emily and Aaron found a spot near the front, their cameras ready to capture every moment. Jake, JJ, Penelope, Derek, Spencer, and Rossi sat beside them. Jake saw Y/n and was quick to point her out. They saw Y/n standing with her friends in her cap and gown, chatting and laughing.

The ceremony began, and the superintendent gave a speech, followed by the principal. Soon enough, the principal ended his speech and announced, "Now for our final evening speech from our valedictorian, Y/n Prentiss."

Y/n stands and walks forward, composing herself before she speaks. "Principal Jones, faculty members, fellow students, family, and friends, welcome. We never thought this day would come. We never thought we'd be standing in these gowns, hoods, and fabulous caps.

When I think about high school, I think about moments, and you all know which moments I'm talking about, such as first kisses, dances, and dates. It was the first time we got our hearts broken and the first time we broke someone else's heart. It was being a part of the speech and debate team here.

I never thought about it much before, but it turns out high school is one long test of our patience, dedication, and perseverance. A test of our ability to handle pressure, to put up with and push through adversity, to see if we can master that old trick of smiling through whatever the world throws at us. And now that we've passed that test, it's time to move on, move up, and move out. Time to take all the lessons we've learned and use them to get through whatever is coming next.

And for me, that's Yale. I'm ready. I think I am. I'm not entirely sure. But I know that if I wasn't ready, I wouldn't be here.

First, I would like to thank my family. From my aunts and uncles to my cousins. I have learned so much from you over the past couple of years. I want to thank my younger brother Jack for showing me what it was like to have that annoying little brother who threatened your boyfriend. I want to thank my dad, who, even though he hasn't been in my life long, has been the greatest and one of my biggest supporters. If it wasn't for the support of my family, the amazing teachers here, and, of course lastly, my mom.

My mom never told me I couldn't do whatever I wanted or be whomever I wanted. She filled our house with love, fun, books, and music, unflagging in her efforts to give me role models from Jane Austen to Elton John to Princess Diana. As she guided me through these incredible eighteen years, I don't know if she ever realized that the person I most wanted to be was her.

Thank you, Mom. You are my guidepost for everything."

Finally it came time for the graduate to stand and their names to be called one by one. Emily's heart pounded with anticipation as the list of names drew closer to Y/n's. Finally, the moment arrived.

"Y/n Prentiss-Hotchner," the principal announced.

Emily and Aaron stood up, their cameras focused on Y/n as she walked across the stage. They captured the moment Y/n received her diploma, her face beaming with pride. Tears welled up in Emily's eyes as she watched her daughter shake hands with the principal and turn to face the audience.

As Y/n returned to her seat, she caught her parents' eyes and gave them a small, triumphant smile. Emily and Aaron smiled back, feeling overwhelming pride and love.

After the ceremony, the crowd spilled out onto the school lawn. Jack was the first out and found his sister running over to her and being the first to hug her. Emily and Aaron found Y/n and Jack standing with her boyfriend Peter and his aunt amidst a sea of graduates and embraced her tightly.

"I'm so proud of you, Chérie," Emily whispered, her voice choked with emotion.

"Thank you, Mommy," Y/n replied, holding onto her mother. "I couldn't have done it without you."

Aaron stepped forward and wrapped his arms around both of them. "We're both incredibly proud of you, Y/n. You've worked so hard for this."

Y/n pulled back, wiping away tears. Emily handed her a small, wrapped box. "I have something for you," she said.

Y/n opened the box to find a delicate silver bracelet engraved with the words "To new beginnings."

"It's beautiful, Mom. Thank you," Y/n said, slipping the bracelet onto her wrist.

"It's to remind you that no matter where life takes you, you're always in our hearts," Aaron said, his voice soft and reassuring.

Y/n hugged her parents again, feeling the weight of the moment. "I love you both so much."

"We love you too, Y/n," Emily and Aaron said in unison, their hearts full.

Later that evening, they returned home for a small family celebration. The living room was decorated with balloons and a "Congratulations" banner. Penelope, Morgan, Rossi, and the rest of the BAU team were there, each offering their own words of wisdom and encouragement.

As the night wore on, Emily, Aaron, Jack, and Y/n sat together on the porch, laughter and conversation drifting from inside.

"Can you believe it's over?" Y/n asked, looking up at the stars.

"It's not over, Chérie. It's just the beginning," Emily replied, taking her daughter's hand.

"And we'll be here, cheering you on every step of the way," Aaron added, squeezing Y/n's other hand.

Y/n smiled, feeling a sense of peace and excitement about the future. "I'm ready for whatever comes next."

Emily and Aaron shared a knowing glance, both feeling the bittersweet mix of emotions from watching their daughter grow up. They sat in comfortable silence, knowing that while one chapter of their lives was closing, another was beginning. And no matter what the future held, they would face it together, their bond unbreakable and their hearts full of love.

#x reader #emily prentiss x daughter reader #hotchniss fanfic #bau x reader #bau #criminal minds

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em-prentiss · 12 days ago

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no proof, not much (but you saw enough)

----

The SUV hums beneath the hands of someone new. These ones are softer, more at ease, more than often one casual hand on the wheel rather than two. It’s a blissful break from the perpetual ten and two, and as the Unit Chief grows increasingly drowsy in the passenger seat, the SUV carries them further into the sunset.

Or, how Aaron and Emily fall, through the perspective of multiple settings: the jet, his office, the SUV.

Word count: 3.5k

----

It happens slowly.

Harsh exteriors are worn down, distrust morphs into mutual respect. Slowly, yes, excruciatingly so, but it happens. Sir’s and Agent’s lose their pointed edges, mellowing on lips that start out reluctant, end up blazing with warmth.

The office is the first one to note it. It’s a cold place, despite the minimal personal touches littering the Unit Chief’s desk. There are scarcely happy memories here, between the lifeless beige walls and the polished oak carrying pounds upon pounds of bloody files, their contents heavier than the sheets of paper they’re printed on. There is no room for light, though the sun streams through the windows in gossamer curtains—the Unit Chief knows this, he knows it well.

And yet a ray of light walks hesitantly in and hands him a peace offering, though peace has for a while been settled in a still sheet above their heads. She’s no longer new to the disjointed family they call a team, but where she’s starting to loosen with the others, she’s still stiff with him. Even the office knows it, from its omniscient view over the bullpen. Her voice mingles with the others’ in a laugh, the pale shape of her hand curls around the media liaison’s shoulder in a lighthearted squeeze.

Both the office and its occupier are well aware that this is something new. They’re good friends; it sees him more than his family does. He keeps it company on dark nights, the lamp at his elbow the only source of warm light across the whole floor, burning steady amber. The office knows the man at the desk more than the agent tentatively crossing it, and yet they both catch the way his brows tick up in surprise when he spots the sweet treat in her hand.

His mouth curls around her name. The tail end of it sounds like a question; she greets it with a bashful smile the office guesses doesn’t often cross her features.

Emily reaches the edge of his desk, says so and so about a sale at the bakery—and quickly clarifies that she bought for the rest of their coworkers too, don’t worry. She thrusts out her hand, he takes the chocolate croissant, murmurs a quiet but genuine thank you.

Nodding, she takes her leave, chewing on the corner of her lip as she slips past the open door. Her retreating form is traced by his eyes, curious, lingering, before they drop to the pastry held in his hand. The office watches as he picks it apart, takes a bite—two, three—even though it’s a well known fact (to the office, anyway) that the team leader has no stomach for a sweet tooth.

Still, he eats the croissant. Lets crumbs tumble messily on top of his desk, sweeps them away neatly with a tissue. His eyes travel to the window; both he and the office watch as the rest of his team tear into their own pastries. The generous supplier perches on her desk, satisfaction in her eyes and a small smile on her lips. She looks up, as if sensing his gaze, and he flicks his eyes back to the file in front of him.

That is the tentative start.

From there it’s a smooth, sloping hill—impossible to determine when trust had deepened to a professional relationship between coworkers, when that had formed into camaraderie. When butterflies began to flap their wings and flutter, when eyes started to linger and touches ached to do the same.

___

The jet rarely flows with heat. Its frequent occupants know that, and more than often they’re well prepared with blankets and warm beverages, no matter the weather outside.

For the most part, the newest addition to the team also knows this. She’s bundled in professional blazers and soft cardigans most of the time, but the Florida heat doesn’t allow for anything heavier than the barest of tank tops. Her skin is faintly glistening when she plops into one of the lone chairs, shoulders stiff as she holds herself away from the leather of the seat.

The Unit Chief sits with her, evidence of the sticky heat shown in his loosened tie. Their eyes meet and they share a look, unanimously miserable but unwilling to voice it.

It’s something new, these shared looks between them. The jet notes them with interest, tries to pinpoint when exactly they’d started. The farthest it gets is Milwaukee.

But looks are all they share. No words are exchanged, no pleasantries swapped as she digs out a book and he opens up a file, his pen in his hand even before they’re in the sky. The jet hums around them, providing white noise that makes some of the team curl up and sleep as it takes them home. It rises above the clouds, stabilizes at over a thousand feet, absorbs the subzero temperature outside and allows it to leak through the walls.

The woman shuffles back comfortably against the seat, cooled enough to let it touch her bare skin. But it doesn’t take long before she’s shifting again, leaning away, tucking her arms into her body. Covering her elbows with her palms, surreptitiously kneading her skin with her thumbs. She does all this quietly, but being the boss means being ever aware.

Without fuss, the Unit Chief gets up. He walks over to the table next to the couch, pops it open and reaches into the hidden cavity there. Everyone eventually learns about it; it’s stocked with soft, downy blankets that are mostly unused because everyone has learned to carry their own.

Still, every once in a while, the compartment is cracked open.

Hotch picks up a blanket and carries it back to the shivering agent. She looks up, glances at it, then at him, and immediately refuses, so fast it must be reflex. The jet ponders this, as does the Unit Chief, his brows pinched in a gentler version of his usual frown.

Emily, he says softly, the rumble of his voice running parallel to the hum of the jet. Of all things, it’s what makes her pause.

The sound of her given name seems to take her by surprise, even more so than the offered blanket. Eyes rounded, brows momentarily raised, as if caught off guard. She quickly composes herself, smooths out the surprise in her features as she shakes her head, refusing again.

One too many take it’s and I’m good, thank you’s later, the blanket is resignedly wrapped around her shoulders. But she stops shivering, her muscles finally easing back into the seat. Her head is turned decidedly away, facing the window, but when her eyes flit to him they catch his gaze.

One more exchanged look, a hidden smile in his eyes that doesn’t show on his lips. She looks away.

___

The SUV doesn’t see much, compared to the other places they’ve been. Its mission is always brief, and yet it’s well acquainted with the man at the wheel. Seldom does someone else steer it, so long as he’s there.

This time is no different.

It’s not that the woman doesn’t try—she does, valiantly, to push him to the passenger seat—but the fact that she’s here is already too much. The SUV knows this from the way the man grips the wheel. He’s never gentle with it, always firm, always alert. Ever aware of the lives in his hands, be it in the face of a Glock or under the wheels of a Suburban.

But a plate of brownies is placed carefully on the console between them and his grip loosens. She offers him one, around a chocolatey mouthful, and the way the corner of his mouth tilts upward is seen only in the side view mirror, a secret tucked between him and the road.

He declines, she grumbles, and then a warm hand is taken entirely off the wheel. The SUV doesn’t lament the loss. Hotch’s careful eyes no longer pierce the windshield with a heat more acute than the sun overhead; he turns, eyes falling to her, and the SUV finds itself without attention.

This is a first. But the open road ahead of them is forgiving, and so the SUV is, too. It watches, listens above the crunch of gravel, as he protests—it’s all sugar, won’t do any good—and she wraps a tissue around a brownie and places it in his hand.

You haven’t eaten anything all day, she refutes stubbornly, though she’s already won. When she brings up the medication Hotch bites the brownie between his teeth without further complaint. It’s the reason they’re driving past the airstrip and toward the long road, after all.

Slowly, Emily forces another brownie into him. And then his medication. And, when the sun dips lower down the sky, she’s somehow able to kick him out of the driver’s seat altogether.

___

The bullpen witnesses his first laugh—at least, the first one she’s pulled from him. The coffee machine separating them, the handles of their mugs almost touching as they wait for the coffee to brew, she makes an offhand comment about diesel fuel, the government praying for their demise, and a Nespresso machine. Her tone is bone dry, a halfhearted grumble that’s more for her than for him. It’s not even meant to be a joke, but the sleep deprivation is getting to them.

Hotch laughs, stoicism cracking under the soft curve of his lips, and Emily stares. The bullpen—the kitchenette, rather—watches a light dusting of pink spread across her ivory cheeks. It witnesses her wide eyes in return, before lightly dissolving into the same laughter.

These precious sounds are contained within the kitchenette’s walls. Nobody hears them, save for the two living souls pouring their coffee and the lifeless entity surrounding them. Lifeless, yet still swelling with the same surprise that etches across the woman’s features, long after they’ve both dissolved into silence and her face is downturned to the bitter depths of her coffee.

It’s so very interesting, the brightness in the Unit Chief’s eyes as he similarly looks down at his own coffee, lips thinned back to their original shape. So very interesting how the brown of his irises warms, suffused with light even though he’s yet to take a sip of his coffee.

So very interesting how he lingers after he’s done—because he does nothing to prepare his coffee but pour it, and she dumps boatloads of sugars and creamers until the swirl of her coffee lightens to the color of his eyes—and observes her for a fleeting second.

His mouth parts, then softly joins again, bottom lip slotting against top. Picking up his mug, he turns away and out of the kitchenette, shoulders slackening beneath his jacket. He goes, and her eyes follow.

___

The room is not fully dark. The thin curtains let in street lights; they stream in and carve long golden rectangles on the threadbare rug, illuminate hastily packed bags and files stacked neatly atop a desk.

Rooms like this often get visitors like this—fleeting, temporary. The man and the woman have been here for two days, but they only occupy the room to sleep. It knows they won’t be here for long, though it ponders their business. They carry badges and firearms, heave around files and gory pictures. At night, the two hardly speak to each other, except for unnecessary pleasantries—would you like the bathroom first? No, thank you, you go ahead—that speak to their upbringing.

The inky dark of midnight wraps around the gaps between the street lights. The motel room sits, quiet, observing the two sleeping figures bundled in separate beds, until one starts to thrash. The other one stirs, groggy, while the other still fights demons.

A ragged cry shatters the silence. Even coated with layers of sleep and terror, the room can tell it’s the woman. Her companion blinks sleep from his eyes and tosses the thin comforter from his body, slipping from his bed and to the edge of hers with surprising speed.

Eyes impossibly alert, brows slipping into concern, he stands some distance away and calls out her name.

Emily.

It’s a hoarse whisper, then urgent. She still thrashes, so he places a hand on her shoulder and shakes, fingers gripped into the flesh of her shoulder. Louder this time, more insistent, desperation curling around the letters of her name.

She wakes up. Opens her eyes with a gasp, the damp patches on her pillow explained by the tears pooling under her lashes.

The man lets out a similar sound, only lower. You’re okay, he whispers gently, his hand still on her shoulder. You were dreaming.

They’re typical comforts in a situation like this.

What’s not typical is the way she launches into his arms instead of away. A pained sound tumbles from her lips; she curls into him, folding over herself, and the arm he wraps around her back keeps her secured to his chest.

A whimper of his name, a breath of hers. Whispered shhh’s that the room suspects he’s had plenty of practice at. His hands rove over her back, fingers smoothing the sweaty fabric of her shirt. She clings to him so tightly he has no choice but to perch on the edge of the bed, half holding her, half slipping out.

It’s hard to tell whether she’s crying or breathing. The man encourages her to breathe anyway, the low timbre of his voice carrying a bit of firmness that she bends beneath. Minutes stack up on the other side of midnight, a new day starting as the woman’s chest begins to slow beneath the man’s—Hotch’s—instruction.

His lips nudge against her forehead. It’s not yet a kiss, but the gesture is loving, and well practiced. Soon after it’s his hand on the nape of her neck, his fingers threading through the tangled mess of hair he finds there.

The woman doesn’t relax for a while. Not until he situates her back against the pillow, her arms still clutched around him. Neither of them say anything further; it seems an unspoken deal that he’ll lay back with her, run his palm between her shoulder blades until her breath evens out.

Eventually, it happens. The man’s eyes blink through the semi-dark as the woman sleeps on, still wound around him. He waits—and the room does, too—until a half-circle is traced by the clock’s arm, before carefully untangling their limbs.

He’d been sleeping on the opposite side before he woke. His back to her bed, almost hiding. But now he slides again beneath the sheets and turns to face her, the target of his eyesight clear to the room, even half shrouded in darkness.

___

In the office it starts, and in the office it comes full circle.

Only his shoulders are stiff with tension. The office guesses that it has something to do with the lumpy gauze under her sleeve, the butterfly bandages along her left cheekbone. She’s not as upset as he is, and not for the same reason. Lips pursed, brows furrowed, she still tries to fight back even though she’s in the wrong.

“You would’ve taken ages to come, Anna didn’t have that much—”

“The unsub was armed—”

“And I was, too—”

“That’s not protocol!” He shouts.

Emily sucks in a breath, the office takes a pause. Not because of his raised voice, no. It happens—rarely, but it happens. What doesn’t happen is his voice cracking, breaking in half. Fading into silence.

The air thickens. Hotch swallows, the solid lines of his body turning to liquid. “Jesus, Emily, you know better.” His voice is weary, wilting.

She’s silent. Stricken, lips parted, eyes searching. Emily has intelligent eyes, the office thinks. They see practically everything, absorbing the world with a desperate hunger drawn in the circular outline of her pupils. So it makes sense that when the office glimpses a shine in its Unit Chief’s eyes, she does too.

“Why…why are you…?” She steps closer to him, boldly swipes under his eye with her thumb. He jerks away, a shuddered breath heaving his lungs when her finger comes away wet.

Her mouth still hasn’t snapped shut yet. Emily takes another step, understanding dawning on her features.

About time.

“Hotch—”

“I can’t,” he breathes, shaking his head.

“Can’t what?” She murmurs. There’s hardly distance between them; her hand molds around his cheek, hesitant. The lines of her shoulders are stiff, as if she’s waiting for him to pull away.

The office knows he won’t. He’ll say he will, but as long as she’s giving in first, he’ll have no choice but to follow.

Fingers twitching at his side, he blows out an exhale.

“I can’t.” His hand finds her waist; the office swells with satisfaction. She bends into the touch, her grip tightening on his cheek. “We can’t, Emily. It’s not…”

But he’s bowing into her. Their heads almost touch, his bending down, hers looking up. The glossy darkness of their hair glints almost identically beneath the lights, raven on raven.

“Do you want to?”

The office holds its breath. Its owner is good at denying himself of what he wants.

Thick, suffocating silence. A string pulling taut. And then another shake of a weary head. “We can’t.” He repeats; a broken record, a mantra.

Pale fingers curl around his ear. A thumb with bitten nails swipes under his eye, smears the wetness on his skin until it dries. “That’s not a no,” she says quietly. “I’m waiting for a no, Hotch.”

He doesn’t give one.

Silence rings. For a beat, two, three. Then she’s tilting his head further down, rising on her tiptoes even though she’s in boots, and pressing their lips together. His silhouette shakes, shoulders trembling. Three sticky heartbeats later and he skates tentative hands up her sides, squeezing and shakily exhaling into her mouth. She’s slow with him, patient, and when they’ve broken free they haven’t broken free at all, because his forehead is on hers, an inch between their noses.

“You can’t do that again.” He rasps.

Emily hums, lips turning up. She tilts her head, catches his mouth again with unusual slowness. “We’ll talk about it later, boss.”

When they leave the office, there’s hardly space between their bodies.

___

The park is one of many in DC. It’s not anything special—yes, there’s benches and tall trees and a gravel pathway, but nothing that could tempt a restless pair of lovers. Today it’s doubly cold, a frigid crunch to the grass that scares away everyone but the two figures strolling around under the watery sun.

There’s soft murmurs between them, passed occasionally like the steaming paper cup they share. The woman holds it for longer, sometimes to drink, sometimes to squeeze around in her bare, pale hands. The man notices, and brings them to a stop, quietly chiding as he covers both her hands with his. He doesn’t wear any gloves but she sighs, shifting to hide her hands entirely beneath his own. The corners of her mouth tip up, as does her head, her eyes searching for her companion’s.

They meet and the park almost blazes with heat. Her smile, somehow both sly and bashful, curls around an excuse, her shoulders shrugging helplessly.

The man shakes his head. It seems a practiced move, exasperated and fond. His thumbs are restless on the back of her hands, kneading fervent circles into her skin.

She tolerates it for a minute before dragging her hands from his grip to get him walking again, passing him the cup and instead hooking her free arm through his. They stay for longer than the weather allows, some identical tension melting from their shoulders, a heavy weight in their eyes fading as pink bites their cheeks. Talk isn’t frequent, but touches are—his lips to the top of her head, her fingers sinking into his coat, her chest against his arm.

When the cup is drained—he lets her have the last sip—the woman tosses it and curls her fingers into her palm, the pad of her thumb skimming under her nails as if it’s habit. She nudges him off the path, onto the grass. Their shadows follow: long, starkly black companions that trail after them, turning a party of two into four.

They lean into each other. Hard lines fade, blur. Two silhouettes become one, joint from shoulders to feet.

A right hand reaches for a left; fingers interlock, forming a weave of soft skin and calluses. The shadow of them is cool above the grass, and when he gently cradles her cheek in his free hand, tilting her face upward until their lips join in a kiss, the silhouette warps. It merges into a single, fluid shape, formless and inelegant.

Even when they break apart, they’re still joined.

#emily prentiss #aaron hotchner #hotchniss #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #hotchniss fanfiction #aaron hotchner fanfiction #emily prentiss fanfiction #hotchniss fic #hotchniss fics #hotchniss drabble #hotchniss blurb #hotchniss fanfic #criminal minds fanfic

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sequinsmile-x · 2 months ago

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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.”

#hotch x prentiss #vic speaks #emily prentiss fanfic #hotchniss fanfics #aaron hotchner fan fiction

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cloudlessly-light · 1 year ago

Note

Hi. I don’t know if it’s your thing but can you consider writing about Emily being Aarons freeuse girl. Like it’s his birthday and her gift for him is unlimited sex for whole day. But we all know that Hotch is too sweet so he uses this access to give her a lot of pleasure. Thanks 😊

Title: No need to take it slow Summary: Aaron hates getting gifts, so each year when his birthday comes around Emily gives him the gift of herself Word Count: 3,6k Rating: Explicit Warnings: Smut, freeuse, power dynamics, oral, anal, multiple orgasms, overstimulation mentions of sex toys, mentions of abuse

Aaron had never really liked celebrating his birthday, disliked receiving gifts even more. It had started when he was still a child. Birthdays and holidays usually overlooked because of his father’s drunken antics or loud fights as his mother placed herself between himself and his father’s fist. When he got older he was the one who took the beatings, protected his mother and Shawn from the anger of his dad.

So Aaron didn’t like celebrating his birthday.

Emily however, loved birthdays, loved to celebrate the people she loved and to shower them in gifts. It was an adjustment when they first got together, Emily taking him out to a fancy restaurant and handing him a wrapped gift with a smile. She could see his unease almost instantly, even though he loved the watch she had bought, wore it every day, there was a tension in his jaw that was rarely there when they were together.

The same thing happens the year after that, but this time Emily can’t keep her mouth shut.

“What’s wrong?” She asked as he stroked over the expensive silk of the tie he had just unwrapped. “You don’t like it?”

“No I do.” He assured her, his hand quickly taking hers and giving it a squeeze. “I’m just… Not used to gifts.” He lies and he can see that she doesn’t believe him, one of her eyebrows arching high on her forehead.

“Honey,” She sits a little closer to him on the couch. “don’t lie to me please.”

He sighs, eyes fitting over her face. It shouldn’t be a big deal, but for some reason he felt like he was letting her down.

“I love the tie, I really do.” He kisses her softly. “But I don’t like getting gifts, I never have.” The way her shoulders slump slightly makes him want to take it back.

“Oh.” She says, her cheeks tinting pink in embarrassment because she didn’t know and she should have known. She thinks back on what he’s told her about his childhood, flashes of him ignoring questions about his birthday at work, how he never really allowed anybody to buy him anything, didn’t really accept any kind of gift except something handmade from Jack. “I’m sorry.”

“Please don’t apologize.” He brushes his thumb over her cheek.

“I feel like an idiot.” She chuckles dryly, the sound catching in her throat.

“Stop, no.” This time his voice is a little firmer, his hand squeezing hers again. “I should have told you last year.”

Emily shakes her head and then offers him a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“You told me now.” She stood up from the couch and dragged him with her. “But don’t think you’re getting out of birthday sex.” This time the smile on her face is genuine, any awkwardness gone as quickly as it came.

“Now that, I’ll never say no to.” He grins and pulls her into a kiss. “We’re okay right?”

“Honey, it’ll take more than you not liking gifts for you to get rid of me.” She teases against his lips, her arms looping around his neck to keep him close.

The year after she doesn’t buy him anything, but instead spends the day screwing him until he literally couldn’t anymore.

“Now that is how I’d like to spend every birthday.” He joked through harsh breaths and she smiled brightly. They were sweaty and exhausted and Emily could see that the tension that had been there previous years, was now nowhere to be found.

And she got an idea.

“Have you ever heard of freeuse?” She asked and she saw his eyebrow arch and a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Like… the sexual term?” He asked and she nodded. “Doesn’t that mean that you pretty much get free reign to do whatever you want to your partner even if their partner isn’t up to it?”

“Yeah, within set limits.” She grinned even wider and moved so she straddled him. “What do you say, that every year for your birthday, I’d be your freeuse girl, 24 hours of my sole purpose being there for every sexual need you have?”

Aaron looked up at his fiancé, naked on top of him, and he thought that he should be awarded for even managing to listen to what she was saying. But he couldn’t deny that the idea was intriguing, more than intriguing if he was being completely honest.

“What do you say honey?” She rolled her hips and felt him react against her.

“There will be set rules, boundaries, we need to talk more about it.” His hands fell to her hips and she nodded in agreement. Then she leaned down, let her hair curtain around them as she kissed him.

“Talk later.” She mumbles against his lips. “Right now I want to ride you.”

Really, how was Aaron supposed to argue with that?

So they talked, set firm limits of what they refused to do, tried a couple of test days to see if Aaron could be comfortable using Emily in that way and to see that Emily felt comfortable being used. It turned out they both loved it and it became something they both looked forward to every year as his birthday approached.

Emily woke up to something nudging at her lips and she stirred.

“Open up.” Aaron’s voice cut through the silence and she opened her eyes to find him kneeling beside her on the bed, cock in hand. Her eyes flittered to the clock behind him on the nightstand, it read 12:00 am, it was officially his birthday.

She rearranged her body on the bed, turned slightly and leaned on one elbow so he could fuck her face easer. Her mouth opened and she stuck her tongue out and he immediately pushed forward. His low groan made her own body feel heated as his shaft moved over her tongue, quickly poking at the back of her throat.

Her hand wrapped around his base, her wrist twisting as she continued to suck him eagerly. His fingers wrapped in her hair, moved her head in time with his thrusting hips as he continued to groan above her. His dark eyes didn’t leave her face, even as they were glazed over with arousal as he watched his wife dutifully do what she was made to do.

“That’s it.” He encouraged her as she swallowed around him, tears starting to fall from her eyes as she gagged repeatedly on him. “That’s it, sweetheart.” When he pulled back she gasped for air, took a couple of breaths before he was back in her mouth, precum leaking from his tip.

Emily moved her hand from his base to gently cup his balls, let one nail softly drag over them and he shivered, hips stuttering.

“Fuck, Em.” His hand tightened in her hair, hips rutting against her face as she choked on him. He pulled back only for her to swirl her tongue around his tip and then took him all the way down her throat again with a low moan. She pulled lightly on his sack, moaned again just because she knew he loved the vibrations against him.

She was proven right when he all but growled her name, hips jerking as his balls tightened. Her wide eyes were trained on him, on how he swallowed hard, his jaw clenching and unclenching, abs tensing, the hand not in her hair gripping the headboard so hard she was amazed that it didn’t break. When he came it was with a sound that made her clit throb, the low groans turning louder as he spurted salty cum on her waiting tongue. She pulled back enough to make sure that she swallowed all he had, her lips wrapped around his tip as she jerked his shaft, her saliva aiding her movements until he let go of her and fell back against the bed with a breathless chuckle.

“Happy birthday, honey.” She whispered against his ear as she pressed against his side.

“Happy birthday to me.” He kissed her, tasted himself on her lips with a sound of contentment. “Good night.”

“Good night.”

She wakes up before him, which was rare. Quietly she dresses in the red lingerie he had decided on, the lace and silk soft against her body and then she sneaks downstairs and puts on the coffee and fixes them both some breakfast. She puts on some music, hums along to the songs as she pours coffee into his favorite mug. When she turns Aaron is standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed as he watches her.

“Morning.” His voice was raspy, like always in the morning.

“Good morning, breakfast is almost done.” She turned back to the counter, ready to flip the French toast in the pan when she feels him behind her, hands on her waist.

“Good, I’m hungry.” His lips are soft against her skin, tongue licking over her neck as his hands roam over her body. “Don’t burn it.” He mutters as Emily leans into his touch, momentarily forgetting the task at hand.

Her hand was shaking when she flipped one of the French toasts, Aaron’s hand moving from her waist and into her panties. His fingers were rough as he circled her clit with lips tugged into a grin at feeling how wet she was. He kept an eye on her, made sure she didn’t burn herself when she flipped the second toast and then pushed two fingers inside of her, making her moan softly.

His fingers moved through her, flexing and pressing against the spots he knew made her knees weak as she tried to focus on not burning their food. She just barely managed to get the toast onto plates before she completely gave up on everything that wasn’t him. His stubble scratched against her skin, the hand that wasn’t between her legs were on her chest, pulling down her bra enough to tug on her nipples.

When she came she was gripping the counter so hard her knuckles were white, her head falling back against his shoulder as her legs gave out. She knew that if it weren’t for Aaron she would have fallen to the floor, the pleasure making her entire body shake in his hold.

She had barely regained control over her limbs when he pulled his hands away from her and his fingers pressed between her parted lips.

“Clean me up.”

She sucked herself from his fingers, mind hazy when she looked back at him. Once he was satisfied he nodded and stepped back from her. He grabbed the plates and carried them to the table, gave Emily a moment to gather herself before she grabbed the mugs of coffee and placed them on the table too.

They made it through breakfast before Aaron was on her again, simply bending her over the table as she was getting ready to clean it off. His cock was always a stretch, and she gasped in surprise when he pushed inside of her. He rubbed her clit with one hand while the other pressed against the small of her back, keeping her in place as he fucked her hard and deep.

“Such a good plaything for me to use, always so ready.” He groaned behind her and Emily whimpered in response. There was no doubt that she always enjoyed this, probably more than he did to an extent.

“Oh fuck…” She grunted as he picked up his pace, the table jolting with his forceful thrusts. She knew she’d be bruised from the how the edge of the table dug into her, knew that she’d press against them with nothing but a fond smile in the next couple of days. “Don’t stop, please don’t stop.”

“Not gonna stop until you’re all filled up sweetheart.” He rutted against her, forced her to feel all of him and she hissed. “You take me so well.”

It wasn’t long before she was coming with a loud cry of pleasure, her body spasming as he fucked her through it, fingers turning gentle against her clit. She slumped on the table, loud moans turning into softer whimpers as he continued to move behind her.

She knew that as much as they used this day for Aaron’s pleasure, he would take the day to make her fall apart as many times as possible, her pleasure an ego boost to him. It didn’t surprise her that he made her come one more time, fingers insistent on her swollen clit and hips strong as he thrust against the spot only he had been able to find before he gave in to his own pleasure.

He groaned loudly as he came inside of her, spilling his release as deep inside of her as he could, hands gripping her hips hard enough to bruise pale skin.

“Fuck, I love filling you up, sweetheart.” He mumbled, lips soft against her spine as he pressed a couple of kisses against her sweaty skin.

“Me too.” She sighed happily, then moaned as he slipped out of her and made sure her panties covered her again.

“I’m going to shower, why don’t you join me?” He took her hand and she nodded into a kiss.

“Let me just put the dishes in the washer, I’ll be quick.”

He made her two more times in the shower, his tongue buried inside of her as water cascaded down around them. Once she could stand again he continued to run his hands all over her body, teasing nipples and pressing against bruises, new and old as she washed them both off.

After the shower she put on the new lingerie set that he had laid out, a pink set that he knew she’d never wear unless he told her too. The cups were tiny, her breasts spilling over the fabric and the matching panties were crotchless. It helped with the fantasy for both of them and Emily smiled at her own reflection. He would love it.

Aaron had gone to the store, buying groceries for dinner and she took advantage of having a little while alone. She knew that he’d want her every way he could, so she prepared herself with an anal plug, lubed it up and put it inside of her to be ready for when he inevitably wanted her ass.

She was proven right when he came home and immediately sought her out after putting the food away, finding her in their bedroom reading. He quickly rid himself of his clothes and climbed on top of her, throwing her book onto the floor.

“Spread your legs.” He muttered between kisses and she easily spread her thighs wide apart, the metal end of the plug revealed to him. He grinned and pulled it out and then reached for the lube on the nightstand. When he pushed inside her ass it wasn’t slow or careful and Emily hissed in pain but a look between them let him know that it was okay.

He started to fuck her with long strokes, his eyes fastened on the way she stretched open for him. Emily’s sounds of slight discomfort quickly changed to moans of pleasure, her slick shining on her skin between her legs. Aaron sat back slightly on his heels and pushed two fingers inside of her, making her cry out loudly.

“You love being filled up like this, don’t you?” He whispered as he moved his hips and fingers in tandem.

“Yes!” She arched, eyelids drifting closed as Aaron wrenched pleasure from her body. “Baby, please…”

Aaron chuckled, the sound breathless and low as he watched her fall over the edge in record time. He groaned as she squeezed around his fingers and cock, her body trembling, clearly already exhausted and it wasn’t even noon yet. When she relaxed he pulled out and flipped her around, fucking her harder as she continued to moan and gasp into the bed.

He came with a punched-out groan, his own release hard and heavy as he doubled over her body. When he felt like he could move he fell beside her on the bed and quickly pulled Emily into his arms.

“Guess we’re going to have to shower again.” She mumbled into his neck and he nodded.

“In a minute baby.” He kissed her forehead and then stamped a kiss to her lips.

By the time they were having dinner, Emily had lost track of how many orgasms she’d had, her entire body aching in the most delicious way. Her body was littered with bruises, hickeys and bitemarks, so was his, she realized as she looked at him across from her.

“What?” He asked with a teasing grin in between bites of his steak.

“Nothing, just thinking that you’re going to have to be careful tomorrow when Jack is home and on Monday at the office, especially with the scratch marks on your arms.” She smirked right back, eyes lingering on a mark on his arm.

There was something in the darkness of her eyes, something in the flush on her cheeks and Aaron felt the familiar feeling of want stir low in his abdomen.

“On your knees under the table.” He said and Emily immediately put her utensils down and crawled under the table. She helped him out of his slacks and then wrapped her lips around his half hard cock as Aaron continued to eat his dinner. He closed his eyes and let himself enjoy her warm mouth around him.

“Ride me.” He told her later that night, the movie they had decided to watch had barely started before his hand was between her thighs.

Emily could feel every muscle in her body protesting but she quickly straddled his lap anyway, eager to please him. She sunk down on him with a whimper, her center swollen and aching as she started to move above him.

“Good girl.” He muttered, he could see the discomfort on her face, but they had been through this before and as long as Emily didn’t use her safeword he knew she was good to continue, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t want to make sure.

“I’m okay.” She said before he even had the chance to ask her and he relaxed. He leaned into the backrest of the couch, his head falling back as he watched her through hooded eyes as she rode him.

He let her set the pace, only pushing up to meet her hips once she found a rhythm. He planted his feet on the floor, fucked up into her as she rocked her hips against his with breathy moans falling from her lips. After a few minutes his hand moved to grip her hips and he started to thrust harder into her, a satisfied grunt sounding in his chest as Emily’s entire body jerked with the motion.

“Take it, that’s right take it.” He mumbled as he chased his release.

Emily let him use her body to get off, felt his movements get more and more uncoordinated as he groaned filth in her face. When he came she whimpered, the heat of him intense in her swollen skin. She stayed still until his hands turned softer on her body and his eyes opened to look at her. Once he nodded she moved back to her original place on the couch beside him, a soft sigh leaving her when his heavy hand found its way to her thigh again.

Emily was brushing her teeth when he came up behind her and she was honestly amazed that he could still get hard. He didn’t say anything as he pushed his already lubed cock against her ass, a deep growl sounding in his throat when he popped into her ass for the second time that day. She took him easier this time, her toothbrush falling into the sink as he started to fuck her with lazy pumps of his hips.

His eyes were on hers in the mirror, one hand moving to hold her jaw to keep her eyes on him and the other moved between her legs to rub her clit. She whined at the stimulation, her thighs squeezing shut and he gave her a warning look in the mirror. It was another second before she relaxed, let him drag gentle circled over her sensitive clit.

“Jesus Christ…” She mumbled, toothpaste still at the corner of her mouth as he kept her pinned against the counter.

“Just stand there and take it baby.” He whispered against her ear. He continued to move with slow strokes, the day finally taking its toll on him. It didn’t surprise him that he felt his orgasm build quickly, his body oversensitive too. He smirked when he somehow dragged another orgasm from her, the sound in her throat sounding more pained than pleasured as her eyes closed tightly, the flush on her skin that never really seemed to disappear only enhancing as she trembled.

The additional squeezing of her around him caused him to orgasm too and he grunted quietly against her neck, his teeth digging into soft skin. He didn’t move from her until he was slack, wordlessly turning the shower on again and then helped Emily inside as she stood on unsteady legs.

They showered quickly, sated and tired as they finished getting ready for bed. By the time they were climbing under the covers it was almost midnight, Aaron’s birthday officially coming to an end.

“Happy birthday, honey.” She mumbled, the words the same as they had been 24 hours earlier and he smiled into her neck. He had always hated his birthday, but Emily had most certainly changed that.

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

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