#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

[rightwhereyouleftprentiss]

I swear I'll give my first born child for someone who does a hotchniss fanfic that is in the new season PLEASEEEEE I beg y'all 🥹🥹

[forhappysake]

[em-prentiss]

drunk in love

----

Aaron’s lips messily trace her knuckles. “Do you need a ride?” His voice vibrates under her hand.

“Nope,” she shakes her head. “My husband’s pretty drunk so I’ll be driving us home tonight.”

“Husband?” Aaron frowns, letting go of her hand. “Who’s that?”

Oh, this should be good.

Or, Aaron is drunk. And really unable to contain his love for his wife.

Word count: 2k

----

She feels warm inside. It’s hard not to, after a delicious dinner and flowing conversations and good company. Dave’s living room seems to always provide her with all three. Emily feels the heat of a gaze burning her cheek and turns to find Aaron staring at her, a goofy smile on his lips. 

“Hi.”

His dimples are deeper than they usually are given present company, a distinct gleam in his eyes that immediately tells her the reason for it. Emily knows that shine all too well; it doesn’t come very often, but when it does she knows she’s in for a treat.

“Hi.” 

“You’re really pretty.” He informs her, a slur to his words that she never hears in times other than these.

Emily presses her lips together to hide a smile. She’s glad for Aaron’s low voice even while drunk, his flirtations kept just for her in a room of their friends.

“Thank you,” she says, briefly feeling ridiculous for the heat in her cheeks. “You don’t look too bad yourself.” Her hand moves to the collar of his button down of its own accord. Emily smooths it down needlessly, and when her fingers dip inside, Aaron holds her hand there.

“Where are you sleeping tonight?”

His slow pulse beats under her fingers. Emily smiles at him and feels it start to quicken; she bites her lip to hold back a laugh. “At home. Where are you sleeping tonight?”

“Anywhere with you.” He mumbles, curling his fingers around her wrist. Emily grins. Aaron’s lips messily trace her knuckles. “Do you need a ride?” His voice vibrates under her hand.

“Nope,” she shakes her head. “My husband’s pretty drunk so I’ll be driving us home tonight.”

“Husband?” Aaron frowns, letting go of her hand. “Who’s that?”

Oh, this should be good.

Emily can’t conceal her grin this time. “You.” She says, twisting her body to properly face him. His usual frown pulls his brows together, only it’s confused rather than displeased.

“Me?”

“Mhm.”

His pupils are blown wide. “Goddamn.”

Emily bursts out laughing. She claps her hand over her mouth too late, the voices of her friends already dwindling down at the sound of her bright—she hates to admit it—giggle.

An enamored smile spreads across Aaron’s lips. 

“What are you laughing at, princess?” Morgan tilts his head, his eyes jumping between her and Aaron.

“Nothing,” Emily clears her throat and stands up hastily, holding her hand out for Aaron to take. “We were just leaving, weren’t we, Aaron?”

Aaron nods solemnly as he takes her hand. “’d go anywhere with you.”

Emily’s cheeks heat as she tugs him up, his voice now carrying in the silence of Dave’s living room. While Aaron is never shy about his love for her, he is quiet; careful to keep it something between them, even in somewhere more casual like Dave’s. Only the walls of their home fully know the extent of his love, and Emily wants to keep it that way.

Tonight, her wish is far from fulfilled.

“Mm, you said that already,” she murmurs, hooking her arm around his waist because he looks like he’s about to topple—she doesn’t remember him drinking that much—and steadfastly ignoring the hot gazes of her friends.

“Is bossman drunk?” Penelope asks.  

Even without turning Emily can sense the giddy in her voice. She makes a face as she reaches for her purse, knowing Aaron wouldn’t like being exposed like this.

“He’s a fair bit intoxicated, yes, so we’re going home now.” Emily gives them a tight smile as she cranes her head to look at them, not really able to twist with Aaron leaning half his body weight against her side. She catches Dave and Morgan’s smug looks, JJ’s stifled amusement, and she squeezes his waist, “C’mon, hon, let’s go.”

“Can’t believe I’m goin’ home with you.” Aaron sighs into her neck. “’Cause you’re my wife. She’s my wife isn’t she?” His head pops up again, his eyes meeting Rossi’s. “Dave, she’s not lying to me is she?”

Dave chuckles and shakes his head, the gleam in his eyes making her irrationally irritated. “Nope.”

Emily’s heart pinches at the insecurity lining his voice. “I wouldn’t lie to you about something like this,” she says softly. Aaron turns to her and she only barely holds herself back from kissing him breathless, just to prove it to him. “I’ll show you some pictures in the car, hmm? Proof.” She gently pushes away the soft hair hanging over his forehead. 

Aaron smiles. “Y’have pictures?” He asks, looping his arm around her waist.

Before anyone else can say anything, Emily gets her feet to move, channeling all her strength and tugging Aaron with her. “I have lots of pictures. Night, everyone,” she tosses over her shoulder.

“Hey, let me help you with him.” Morgan says, quickly crossing the floor and reaching them.

“My wife’s all strong Morgan, she doesn’t need your help.” Aaron mumbles. 

“Yeah, back off, Morgan.” Emily reiterates, winking at him to soften her words.

“Alright, alright.” He steps back, holding his hands up in mock surrender. When she looks at him his gaze is less unabashedly amused, some genuine concern in his eyes as he hovers over her shit-faced husband.

Emily relaxes a little. “Thanks, though.” She smiles at him over Aaron’s head.

“Anytime.”

By the time they reach the car and Aaron is settled into the passenger seat, the ache in Emily’s shoulder is almost enough to make her regret rejecting Morgan’s offer.

“I just don’t get when you drank this much,” she mutters as she leans over the console and gently swats at Aaron’s unsteady hands, buckling his seatbelt instead. “You were right next to me.”

Aaron isn’t listening. He reaches out to touch a lock of her hair, gently curling it around his finger before he tucks it behind her ear. Even drunk, his movements clumsy, he’s gentle as he pins it back. Emily smiles at him, the heat back in her cheeks.

“Can we kiss?” He whispers.

A small laugh escapes, gentle and secret, trapped in the confines of the car as Emily stretches her body further to reach him. Her hand slides into his hair, gently cradling the back of his neck as she brings his lips to hers. 

He tastes like the multiple glasses of scotch he’d had at some point in time. Emily ignores that, relishing instead in the careful way he touches her; gently cupping her cheek, skimming his thumb over her jaw.

“I missed you.” Aaron says when she leans back.

“Yeah?” Emily murmurs. He nods and she kisses the corner of his mouth, “I did too, my love.”

Even in the dark, she sees his cheeks redden. Emily kisses one of them before settling back into her seat, a dull ache in her lower back. She buckles her seatbelt and drives off as Aaron’s head hits the headrest.

It doesn’t take long before he reaches for her hand.

Butterflies twirl in her stomach as he gently runs his thumb over the back of her hand, then her knuckles, then down the joints of her fingers. “Hey, you stopped biting your nails.” A small smile plays on his lips. He bends his head down, presses a kiss to her healed cuticles. 

“Yeah, a long time ago.” She says softly. “You helped.” Emily turns just in time to catch him beaming at her. 

“I did?”

She squeezes his fingers as they reach a stoplight. “You did. You made me wear nail polish and held my hand whenever I tried to bite them.”

Aaron kisses her fingers again. “Glad I could help, baby.” 

The rare nickname makes her breath hitch. Emily drives off when the light turns green, her heart unsteady as Aaron continues to carefully examine her hand. She feels it when he reaches her engagement ring, his thumb reverently smoothing over the band.

“That’s a pretty ring.” He murmurs, his voice hushed as he traces the diamonds on it.

Emily hums. “Isn’t it? You gave it to me.”

“I have good taste.” He says sagely.

She laughs softly, her heart suddenly feeling fuller than it did seconds ago. Aaron’s breathy laugh joins hers, echoing through the car as he sets their joint hands on the center console. Quietly, Emily hopes he’ll speak up again, but he stays silent, turning his head to look out the window at the passing cars. The sweeping of his thumb over the back of her hand remains continuous, though, and Emily stupidly longs for it in the few seconds she lets go to shift the gear.

He speaks up again when she turns the corner into their neighborhood.

“Mmm, ’mily?”

A surge of warmth rushes through her at the softness of her name on his drunken lips. She tightens her grip on his hand, chewing on her lip to hold back a smile.

“Yeah, honey?”

“Do we have any babies?” He asks.

Emily hums. “We have Jack-Jack. And Sergio.” She smiles wryly.

Aaron scoffs, “Sergio is not a baby.” He quiets then frowns a little, his voice going low. “And Jack isn’t a baby anymore.”

“Not technically, no. But he’ll always be your baby.” 

“He’s growing up.”

Chancing a glance at him, she finds a sad frown etched on his face. Emily grabs his hand off the console, sweeping her lips over his knuckles. “It’s what kids do, baby.”

Aaron huffs as she pulls into their driveway. “Wish they’d stop doing it so damn fast.” He grumbles.

She hums in agreement, letting go of his hand to put the car in park. Emily expects him to forget the topic and move on to something else, but he’s still frowning by the time they walk into their quiet living room.

It makes her sigh to herself, quietly letting go of a promise she’d made to herself a few hours ago. 

“Hey, Aaron,” she wraps her arms around his neck, gently trapping him against the front door. “I have a secret to tell you. I was gonna tell you later, but I don’t think you’ll remember if I told you now anyway.” The tips of her fingers slide into his hair.

“I’d never forget anything you told me.” He says solemnly.

“Cute,” Emily winks, “but I don’t think you’ll remember this one in your state.” She cups his face and gives him a smile, mentally shaking out the jitteriness in her body before she says, “You’re gonna have another baby soon.”

Aaron frowns.

Emily freezes.

“We’re not getting another cat, Emily,” he huffs, his scowl fit for an unsub. “One feline is more than enough, thank you—”

“I’m pregnant,” Emily interrupts, laughing at the way his jaw abruptly drops, “you idiot. Why would I call a cat a baby?” She asks incredulously, a grin spreading over her lips at his dumbfounded expression, the hazel of his eyes swirling with wonder.

“Pregnant?” Aaron whispers. Emily nods and he smiles dorkily, two dimples in his cheeks that she briefly imagines in a smaller, softer face. “My baby,” he breathes, slipping his hand under her shirt and poking her stomach, “in here?”

This time, Emily giggles unabashedly. “In here,” she covers his hand with hers, holding it tighter against her bare stomach. “Our baby.” She says softly, tears misting her eyes at the sound of it out loud.

Aaron’s eyes go glassy, too. “Fuck, I love you.” He pulls her into a bear hug, his arms tight around her back and the nape of her neck. She’s essentially trapped against him, enveloped in the scent of cologne and scotch.

“I love you too.” Emily laughs shakily, stepping on her tiptoes and kissing his jaw. “Now can we please go upstairs? My back is killing me.”

“Anythin’ you want, Emily.” His lips find her hair. Then her forehead, and her left cheekbone, and the tip of her nose. “Anything for you.”

She thinks she’ll be hearing that a lot over the next nine months.

taglist: @kllingdaddy @luhwithah @cheetobreath07 @dontemilyyyyme

[nicodemuslily]

Spooky Season Challenge

As I don't really have much time to write other texts for the Hotchniss Spooky Season Challenge organized by @fuckyeahhotchniss , I drew a little something for some of the other prompts.

So, we've got:

14/10 - Pumpkin carving (with Jack fascinated by his father carving skills)

13/10 - Costume hunting (Emily agreed for the t-shirt, not the hat)

23/10 - Witches brew (with Emily cooking for her family and Jack encouraging her)

19/10 - Movie night (with the three... the two of them watching Hocus Pocus)

01/11 - Midnight hour (at first, there was a "Vampire kiss" prompt and as Hotch is disguised in Count Dracula, it fits well. Now, it's an illustration of the "First Halloween" prompt I've written)

12/10 - Emily's birthday (and Jack decorated the cake all by himself (and Aaron restrained himself to fix the mistakes))

Halloween is a ton of fun for this reunited family! ^^

(Don't pay attention to the wrong proportions, please. ^^; )

[elleskate]

jennifer jareau

[leavemurph]

an alternate take on jj’s wedding, if you will. the version that plays out in my head at 2 a.m. and please i’m not saying emily left >because< of hotch, but i don’t pretend he didn’t factor into the equation.

it’s the unavailability that digs under emily’s skin. hotch treats her… differently now, softer somehow, like he’s easing into something, but not FOR her. the most unreachable reachable he’s ever been. shit like that gets to you. and for emily? after being DEAD for like a YEAR? hell yeah she’s having… thoughts. big ones. what-ifs, could-bes, why the hell nots.

hotch notices it, obviously. “wanna talk about it?”

she shakes her head in this version. not a no, just… a dodge. she wants to talk. won’t talk. dodging is very different beast from saying no. but this dodge is what could’ve been a pivot point.

he would’ve nudged.

“you don’t wanna talk about it, or you can’t?”

and maybe she’d say, “i’m choosing not to.”

hotch would’ve tilted his head: “and this thing you’re not talking about—it doesn’t rhyme with interpol, does it?”

she’d try to smile, but it’d come out all wrong, shaky as the bubbles from the champagne sitting in her stomach. she’s been nauseous for weeks. can’t eat. can’t sleep. she feels like she owes everyone something, something she can never repay.

but with hotch? oh, with hotch, she thought it’d be different. the way kids think mermaids are real, just, well fairytales.

“do you want me to go?” she’d blurt, and immediately regret it.

his face would’ve changed—colder. it’s agent hotchner for a moment, not hotch. not aaron.

“you mean career-wise?” he’d ask.

“no,” she’d insist. “do you care? if i go?”

he would’ve looked away, over at the path where morgan led beth and jack. more than avoiding eye contact. it’s hesitation. and hesitation stings.

“i want you to do what’s best for you,” he’d finally says.

“oh, please.” emily would rolls her eyes. “if you want me to stay, just say it. open your mouth and say it.”

“won’t do that.”

“then tell me to leave.”

“you can’t put that on me, emily.”

oh, she’d think, but i can. and his silence would be as close to a “i want you to stay” as she’d ever get.

“excuse me, sir.”

just so im not the only one thinking about it thank youu

[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.

[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

[barefoot-inthewildestwinter]

Make your tea and your toast (part 1)

A/N: This is my first fic ever and also I am new to Criminal Minds as well! I'll work on this story for awhile and I will update warnings at the beginning of each chapter :) I hope to maybe start writing one-shots based on something like taylor swift songs!

Title: Make your tea and your toast

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

Word count: 3.7k

Ratings: Mature, eventually

Warnings: Mentions of child abuse, SA, abortion, pregnancy and teen pregnancy, and violence.

January 2007

Nevada

He caught a glimpse of her in the rear-view mirror. Her chin was digging into the pale, bony wrist resting against the car door. She had rolled the window down, allowing rural air to fill the empty space. They were stopped at a light. She was staring straight ahead. Eyes fixed on the skyline and the moon glowing back onto them. Most of her hair was still tucked back in a distressed ponytail. Wild brown strands blew around her face, doing their best to cover her expressions. He spent a breath trying to decipher the faint wrinkles across her face. Her nose slightly scrunched, lips pressed together, brow unfurrowed. She didn’t appear sad, or mad, just… disappointed. A fair position to take, he would concede. They had let Frank go. They had handed him Jane. Maybe they would have found the school children on their own. Their safety had been used to justify his release, it had been the right call. He was sure of it, or at least he was sure enough. They had to let Frank go. He was certain she would challenge this if he brought it up. Not to argue that  it was the wrong call, but to question why it had been the right one, why it had to be the only choice. 

 It had been a silent drive, with Morgan tuned into the radio for updates on basketball games, occasionally commenting on the Bulls- a playful attempt to get a rise out of him. Prentiss had been nonverbal well before she climbed into the back seat. Passively nodding at the suggestion that the team head back to the hotel before venturing out for dinner. Sulking behind him closely and waiting for the side door to unlock, pulling the handle after every beep.  Though she was new to the team, she had always returned to her supportive, outgoing state fairly soon after a case, shelving the unfaltering, driven Agent Prentiss, FBI until the next call. It was unusual for her to not press them to pick a restaurant to meet at, or to not offer to buy them drinks at some bar, or to brush past Morgan and Reid to get into his SUV. He may have paid it more attention if her actions had been inconsistent with the group's energy. He didn’t see himself starting a conversation with either of them, and that was okay.

Morgan looked up from the console to paw at his phone. “Garcia, baby. Please tell me you are up to no good tonight.” On the other end, Garcia’s words were incoherent to him. Given the nature of their conversations in the office, he thinks that maybe he should count his blessings. “No, no. We’re almost back to the motel. We’re getting dinner later. Not my choice.” Staring at the road ahead, he catches snippets of Morgan’s conversation. “...Hotch and Prentiss. Reid went with Gideon in the other car. You know we couldn’t have Reid up in here killing the mood… Babygirl, you should just be glad that we are nowhere near Vegas.” He does hear Garcia comment on how lonely it is to never be there for the team dinners when they are away. “Alright, sugar, get to bed at a reasonable hour. Yeah, yeah, I’ll tell them. Goodnight, princess. I love you too.”

 Jack, he winced. When he got back to his room, he would have to call Jack and Haley. He eyed the clock. 7:48. It was past 9:30 for them. Jack would be asleep, and Haley may very well be too. That was probably for the best. He would leave another voicemail, a preemptive ‘Good morning,’ an apology for missing another ‘Goodnight,’ and a reminder to her to lock the doors before bed.  At least this way, the message would be uninterrupted by his wife’s frustration. Something he couldn’t fault her for, but he didn’t have the energy to apologize for tonight. 

He found trouble justifying his actions to Haley, particularly while trying to keep her and Jack far from this world. He did everything in his power to make sure that they would never have to see a frame of what he saw, and he prayed that they would never be pulled into a case. He hoped to rid the country of as much danger as possible so that they could live freely, without worry of things he could not help but picture any time they left the house. He also understood what his absence meant to Haley. How much she had to do on her own, not just with Jack. He had made sure to pick up the lion’s share of the work when he was home, cooking, cleaning, chores. He knew it wouldn’t always be enough. That’s why when she suggested that they have another baby, he was a little taken aback. He knows that he shouldn’t have been. Jack is over a year old now, Haley is 35, and he has loved her for almost two decades. Yet, he couldn’t help but feel strange about it. They surely couldn’t bring another child into their house and go back to fighting over his work. Her position wouldn’t change if they had two kids, and he’s not sure that he can give her what she needs. Not after this case. Besides, she had only brought it up twice since then, and it hadn’t taken them long to get pregnant with Jack. He tries to push the thought of Frank out of his mind, separating his home life from his current one.  

He finds his gaze drifting back to Prentiss in the mirror again. She’s still stuck on the same thought. This time he notices more of her. Her necklace, her eyelashes, her vest still on. That cannot be comfortable. He lets out a small smile. Her fingers lightly pressed a tune into the leather seat. As their SUV pulled into the hotel, Hotch found himself pleased by the trust that had been forged between Prentiss and himself since she had joined the team a few months ago. It wasn’t unusual, and it certainly wasn’t anything much, but it was progress. For a moment, he feels awful for his treatment of her during her first cases in the unit. He knows she caught tension from almost everyone on the team. Gideon fed off of his distrust, his claim that she had arrived in his office due to anything other than her merits. Morgan, suspicious of anyone joining the BAU, and Reid, following their example. Even JJ had feigned contempt for Prentiss for a week or so. Someone new, so soon after Elle’s departure, they had reason to take pause, but not to completely ice her out.  Really, he is grateful for her staying with the team after that. And she had been useful. More so than he expected her to be. She was fluent in over five languages. She was an excellent shot, a quick thinker, and her dedication to the case was unmatched. It was as if any personal hang ups or feelings were controlled by a switch that she could turn off in a blink. This didn’t stop her from being a constant source of support. She was always ready to  empathize with the team, the families, or the unsubs, like it was second nature to her. She was able to gain trust effortlessly. He’d like to believe that his trust took some effort. 

His amusement quickly shriveled when it met with the heaviness of the warm air. After separate car rides, Reid and Morgan immediately revived their bickering about dinner plans. By the time they finally compromise on a place, with encouragement from Hotch, the last shreds of comradery are taut.  Gideon will just go back to his room, he says, citing exhaustion. Hotch collects his takeout order while walking towards  the fire escape. Prentiss nods, “I’m just going to go back to my room, as well. Long day.” Reid frowns at this, but doesn’t say anything back. “Stay out of trouble boys.” She winks at him. It was at them really, but he feels it burn on his skin. 

He’s back in the driver’s seat when Morgan asks if there is something they can get to bring her back. Hotch catches her head shaking in the rear view mirror once more, watching her stumble off into the distance. He knows that she’s being withholding, but after the day they have had, he knows better than to probe that right now. 

Reid climbs into her empty seat in the back. “It smells weird in here.” He says, loudly taking deep breaths through his nose. Morgan turns to look at him, “It’s called perfume, Reid. If you ever got within six feet of a girl, you might know that, genius.” Morgan slides his thumb across his nose. Reid pouts in response, “Well, now I don’t want to go.” “Too late, you picked the restaurant, you don’t get to bail on us now.” They fight like children for miles. “I can still make both of you get out and walk.” That pacifies them for the rest of the ride.

Dinner was more pleasant than he predicted. It seemed that they all had needed some food in their system to treat hypoglycemic angst. Talking and laughing about nothing, teaching Reid to throw darts. Hotch couldn’t remember feeling so light after a case like this, even though it was momentary. On the way back, Morgan joins Reid in the back, allowing him to rest his head on his shoulder and doze off. Oh, god, he thought. I already have two kids. They brought Gideon’s meal and some extra boxes to offer Prentiss. He parks the car, grabbing the takeout in one arm. Morgan startles awake, distancing himself before hopping out. “Want me to carry you?” He extends his hand to Reid, who takes offense and climbs out of the other side door. “Hey Hotch, are you doing bed checks tonight?” His laugh is sincere. “No, but Gideon will do a head count at 1.” He lets them go on ahead, saying their goodnights before they split off. “Garcia loves you!” He hears Morgan call down the veranda. Gideon takes his food with a brief thank you and a goodnight. Hotch can see the files strewn in the background, all of the lamps giving the room an amber hue.  “For Prentiss?” he points to the remaining boxes. Hotch nods. “Did she say anything to you?” Gideon says no, she had taken the stairs and hadn’t left her room since they got back, to his knowledge, but he wasn’t tracking her. “Everything okay with her?” He just sighs. “Is anything ever okay with us?” Knowing that Gideon would be wanting to get back to his paperwork now, he leaves quickly.

He passes a few doors before stopping at hers. He can hear her on the other side, footsteps pacing the length of the room. Without thinking, he grabs the handle.  He raises his hand to knock, catching the time on his wrist. 11:18. He hears the footsteps stop instantly and she slowly moves closer to the door. Realizing what he has done, he clears his throat. “Prentiss, it’s Hotch.” There’s a deep, shaky breath, and then the chain slides off. 

“You’d think a supervisory federal agent would know how to knock on a door without acting like a creep.” She moves into the doorway. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t … uh, I wasn’t thinking.” He stumbles across his sentence, scanning her appearance. She’d traded the vest and slacks for a pair of black athletic shorts and a well loved Yale sweatshirt. “We brought you back some food. I know you said you weren’t hungry, but it’s been a long day and I don’t recall you joining us for breakfast.” She looks up at him. She’s shorter without heels on, he thinks. “It’s just a salad and some fries. Morgan seemed to think that would be okay.” She beams back at him. Her face is bare, and yet her wide eyes are still decorated with long, thick lashes. She is smiling big, which causes his lips to concede a smirk. “Oh, this is great. Thank you.” The light catches the wet black hair clinging to her neck, revealing wet marks at the top of her sweater. “I’m sorry, I’ll leave you be. Goodnight.” He goes to turn when he sees her shiver and fixate her gaze at his feet. He feels all of the concern he’s had for her all day rush to churn in his stomach. “Prentiss? I’m in the next room, if you need anything.” He pauses to make sure she detects the earnestness in his words. She looks back up at him, meeting his stare. “I know. Goodnight Hotch.” She closes the door behind him, leaving him alone in the cold air. When he falls back into his bed, it’s 11:30. This will definitely be a voicemail.

He keeps his message short and sweet. He’ll call them in the morning, before wheels up. It’s more of a pacifier for himself than a promise to them. The pacing continues in the distance, it becomes louder the more he concentrates on it. After a while, he finds it soothing enough to drift off to. 

Hotch is awake again when he hears the door slam. Someone outside scurries along the corridor until they reach his room. He sees her through the hole in the door. Her arms wrapped around herself, she bites a nail and then her lower lip. She’s trying to work up the strength to knock, to ask for him. 3:30. He sighs and  groggily throws his brown pullover on and opens the door to nothing but the chill. Confused, he shuts the door and tries to wander after her. 

“Prentiss. Prentiss?” It comes out as more of a hiss as he creeps along the walkway. “Prentiss?” He finds her sitting on the steps of the fire escape, her bare knees buried into her chest. He calls after her once more, making himself known. “Prentiss, it’s Hotch.” She looks up, nodding her nose to the empty space next to her. He understands and sits down. “Hey,” he offers. She doesn’t turn to face him. “We made the right call today. I know it doesn’t seem like it, but we didn’t have a choice.”

 “But how can you know that?” She shoots back, regret pouring in immediately. Her next words sound shaky. “I know we got the children back, I know that.” Her head lifts out of her hands. “But Jane is a person. She’s a victim. She’s his victim, we literally handed her to him and let them ride off into the sunset.” Her voice strained. “I know.” “Anything that happens to her, anything that Frank does to anyone, is on us.” His hand grazes her thigh as he readjusts his leg.

“When I was a prosecutor, one of the worst feelings was when really bad people walked free because they received more compassion and leniency  from the system than their victims. When we fail, we fail victims. We give them no closure, no justice, we tell them that all of their suffering is unimportant. We give them reason to doubt the people that are supposed to help them.” Emily asks how long he practiced as a prosecutor. He replies, a couple of years, after law school. Mostly criminal cases, sexual assault, homicide, child abuse. He never felt like he was doing enough, he was always too late, it nearly destroyed him.

“Why do we fail them though? Sure, sometimes it’s inevitable. But we fail too often.” He is a bit surprised by the raw emotion in her rambling. “We can’t protect everyone, sometimes we fail to uncover the truth until it's too late.” He searches her eyes for hints of what specifically is eating at her. “Do you think it’s a failure due to inability or inconvenience?” He ponders her question for a moment. “What do you mean?” She laughs once. “I mean, if we see the truth and we find it to be inconvenient. We don’t like the way it looks, what stops us from just ignoring it altogether?” He shoots her a look that says, ‘We aren’t the bad guys.’ “Maybe not. But we just as well could be.” She shifts her weight, sitting up straighter.

“Just look at what happened in Chicago. A man was allowed to abuse and murder little boys for decades and no one batted an eye because ‘He was a pillar of the community, an outstanding man.’ And as if that wasn’t enough, they went after Derek with almost no thought. They saw what they wanted to and ignored what they didn’t. It didn’t matter who got hurt.” He places his hand on the middle of her back. Thumb on her spine, his fingers stay just below her shoulder blade. An awkward attempt to comfort her. She exhales deeply but doesn’t jerk away. He thinks back to a few weeks ago, when he had caught her looking out for Morgan on the trip home from Chicago. Giving him space from a calculated distance, bringing him tea and a new book for the plane, offering to buy him a drink when they got home. He didn’t think much of it then. Just Prentiss being Prentiss, offering comfort and exuding resilience to the team after a particularly brutal case. Now, he wonders if there was meaning behind her actions deeper than a desire to be accepted by them.

She’s staring, fixated on his lips now. He spots a paper cup clutched in her left hand. “It’s just water,” she says. “Not that I couldn’t use a drink right about now.” Her wide eyes pout playfully at him, make me a drink. She lifts the cup, tilting it towards him, he declines. Prentiss cracks a smile, turning her head to face the neon motel sign. “It’s past 4:00, did you get any rest?” She bites her lower lip again. “Yeah, some.” It’s a lie, he can hear the exhaustion in her throat. He glares at her. “Fine, no, not really. I usually don’t though.” He frowns, “When do you sleep?” Her answer baffles him. She tells him that if she sleeps, it’s from 2:00 to 5:00 am, but that she naps often on the jet. He lets out a breath but it comes out as a shaky laugh. “If?” He’s looking at her with pity. His hand is resting on the step behind her back now. His words spill out softly, “Oh, Emily. That’s no good.” As soon as he says it, awkwardness fills the air. He rarely says her first name alone, he hasn’t felt close enough to her to use it. He holds his breath waiting for her to say something. Thankfully for him, she brushes right past it, setting her hand on his knee. “Oh, believe me, I’m aware.” He doesn’t move, his focus centered on her face, composed and unfazed. “Prentiss, do you ever get nightmares?” 

“Don’t we all?” She tucks a strand of loose hair behind her ear, revealing a pearl earring. “Occupational hazard.” In her periphery, she can see his face teem with concern. Through teeth, she forces her next words out. “All the time, sir. Sometimes even before I fall asleep.”

“Tonight?” he asks, lowering his voice to a whisper, she nods. “It’s okay to have them, you know. There’s nothing wrong with you. We see and think about things that no one should ever have to witness. We put ourselves in danger nearly every day. It would be concerning if it didn’t get to you.” Her grip on his knee tightens. “The important thing to know is that you’re not alone in this. You are safe tonight. I’m here, Morgan is here, Gideon and Reid are here.” She turns her face into her shoulder for a second and he swears he hears her sniffle. “I’m perfectly capable of defending myself, Hotch.” 

“I know that you are. I’m just saying that you don't have to be. Whether or not you believe me, you’re a member of this team, not a supporter.” The breeze splashes their skin. It feels nice, sobering them up. “I bet that you’re a really good dad, Hotch. That was nice. Are you going to read me a bedtime story now?” He fails to fend off the smirk from his face. “No, but I will walk you back to your room, wheels up in 90.” She groans as they rise, pulling the hood of her sweatshirt over her head. “This is a good look on you.” Her cheeks match the rosiness of her nose as she studies the lines on his face. “Well honestly, Hotch, I would have put money on you not owning a pair of sweats.”

She expects him to wait at the door, to make sure she hasn't locked herself out.  But to her surprise he comes in, watches as she slips her boots off and flings them across the room before falling onto the bed. When she's safely under a blanket, he turns out the light. He hears a muffled thank you followed by more tired ramblings as he’s drawn back to the moonlight. “Hotch?” His hand clutches the lock, “Yes?” “It’s okay if you call me Emily, anytime you want.”

Shutting the door, he smiles to himself. Talking to her had felt so easy, even so, he was still intrigued by her. Between his evening with Reid and Morgan and his twilight conversation with Prentiss, he found himself much lighter. Though they would all carry this loss with them until they crossed paths with Frank again, for now, he felt peace. Something he rarely let himself feel while at work. He really needed to go to bed. 

“Goodnight, Emily.”

[galaxysupreme17]

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.

[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.” 

[cloudlessly-light]

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.”

[forhappysake]

[em-prentiss]

got the music in you, baby (tell me why)

----

5 times Aaron wants to dance with Emily, and one time he does.

Music alone had never sparked in him the urge to dance. He’s seen it in many, the spark that would light up their eyes at a good beat, and he’d be envious of the way their bodies moved seemingly naturally to the music. Aware of his own awkwardness, Aaron never joined in, preferring instead to watch from a distance, an imperceptible sway to his shoulders that matched the tune of pounding music.

All this considered, when Aaron spots the ambassador’s daughter—Emily—in a sea of elegantly dressed politicians, her red dress calling out to him like a siren’s song, all he wants to do is twirl her away in time with the smooth jazz.

(Or, 5 times he doesn’t dance with Emily, and one time he does.)

Word count: 7.8k

----

1) a ballroom dance

Aaron has never been much of a dancer.

There were the occasions where he had to, of course; he’d danced with Haley at prom, but then it wasn’t really serious. They were laughing and exchanging kisses during the slow dances, doing nothing but rocking occasionally to the music, their arms wrapped around each other as if they were hugging. She’d tried to make him join her for the more upbeat songs but Aaron persisted, the blush on his cheeks concealed by the low lights of the gym as he dug his heels in the floor and convinced her to dance with her friends instead. She’s gone, now—left him with a sheepish smile and the echo of ‘wanting to see what’s out there.’

With her, she took any minimal urges of dancing he’d had nestled deep down.

There were times—when heavily intoxicated, that is—mostly in his college days, when he’d give in and let go, allowing himself to move to the beat of pounding music, too buzzed to be embarrassed at the way his body twisted and turned. He doesn’t like feeling stiff as he moves, awkwardly trying to find a rhythm from the beat, but alcohol more often than not turned his body to liquid, pliant and liable to follow the bass of whatever song was playing.

Music alone had never sparked in him the urge to dance. He’s seen it in many, the spark that would light up their eyes at a good beat, and he’d be envious of the way their bodies moved seemingly naturally to the music. Aware of his own awkwardness, Aaron never joined in, preferring instead to watch from a distance, an imperceptible sway to his shoulders that matched the tune of pounding music.

All this considered, when Aaron spots the ambassador’s daughter—Emily—in a sea of elegantly dressed politicians, her red dress calling out to him like a siren’s song, all he wants to do is twirl her away in time with the smooth jazz.

Her pale hand in his, the darkness of his ill-fitting suit against the perfectly tailored red of her dress. He wants to hear the click of her heels against the marble and her low voice above the music, shimmering with the same amusement that always lingers in her eyes. She’d be more graceful than him, he knows—infinitely so—but Aaron still wants to try twirling her around and bringing her back into his chest with steady fingers on her lower back, her expensive perfume dissolving in a cloud on his tongue.

It’s irrational, the twitch in his hand; he wants to fit it to the curve of her waist, lightly smooth his palm up and down her side to catch the silken material of her dress. It drapes elegantly over her form, cupping her curves with gentle reverence, and amongst the absurdity of his thoughts, it’s not out of place for Aaron to feel jealous of the silk.

Her hair is gathered in an artful twist, exposing the pale skin of her shoulders. She tilts her head and the curve of her throat is strangely enchanting as her eyes skip over the mingling guests, searching, searching, until they find him in the corner. 

Dark irises trap him in place and she’s heading in his direction, gliding across the marble with a newfound set to her jaw. Aaron can’t even look away, his coworkers’ chatter in his comms fading to a low buzz as people part to make way for her.

“Agent Hotchner.” Emily smiles when she reaches him. 

She’d discovered him about a week ago. A fling was being bothersome and Aaron threw him out while she stood on the staircase, bare feet curling around the ledge of the marble steps as she stared after them. Since then he’s been more or less the center of her attention, seemingly always posted wherever she’s lingering.

She’s certainly…entertaining.

“Miss Prentiss.” He replies with a nod. Up close it’s even harder to look away, his eyes drawn to the subtle shimmer kissing her skin. She glows, in a room of dull people, more brightly than she had before.

“Care to dance?” She asks, blissfully unaware of the turmoil in his head. 

You have no idea. 

Still, Aaron arches a brow.

Emily smiles ruefully. “Everyone here is either over the age of fifty or is going to leave me with desperately sore toes.” Her nose scrunches up and Aaron bites back a smile at the sulk on her lips, exaggerated but traced with some shred of genuity. It’s not uncommon for her to be complaining about something or the other, but as his eyes skip over the well-dressed guests—half of them indeed looking to be her father’s age—he thinks she can’t be faulted for griping about this.

Aaron clears his throat. “I’m afraid I’m no better than any of them,” he says, suddenly wishing his suit was more tailored, more formal, less visibly shabby. The gun on his hip is heavy and he wants it gone along with the wire curling around his neck. It’s laughable; his dancing skills have hardly evolved since his high school prom, but Aaron thinks he can learn to follow the curve of her body, let her lead him through a waltz with her fingers pressing into his arm. “Your toes wouldn’t thank me, and that’s me being generous.”

Emily’s eyes sparkle. “Ah, but at least you’re pretty to look at.”

Before the blush can spread to his ears, her mother is there, a tight smile on her lips as she grips Emily’s elbow.

“Emily.” The low hiss of her voice is audible in the small distance between them. Emily’s smile fades instantly; the ambassador doesn’t spare Aaron a second glance. He straightens and shuffles back further against the wall as Emily rolls her eyes, the pinch returning to her mouth as her mother continues whispering in her ear. Aaron feels her eyes slide to him, her gaze hot, but he fixes his on the crowd as Elizabeth lets go of her elbow and walks past them, apparently done with her reprimanding. 

Emily clears her throat. “I’ll save you a dance.” She smiles; polite, infinitely dimmer than her bright grin seconds ago.

It’s an empty promise, one he knows she can’t fulfill—at least not between these people, in this ballroom—and yet Aaron still holds out hope, despite all the rationings in his head.

“I look forward to it.”

2) a dance he shouldn’t want 

The Super bowl weekend comes and he’s nestled in a dark bar under strobing lights, his wife on one side and the still-puzzling enigma that is Emily on the other.

He’d been more than surprised to see her in his office with a box on her hip and a professionally painted smile on her lips, stiff and frozen as if he was one of the politicians at her mother’s parties. In hindsight, Aaron supposes it’s fair—they’d known each other for less than two weeks, with nothing but meaningless flirting weaving its way through their brief conversations. Maybe she hadn’t thought of him like he thought of her, in the dead of night and the mind numbing silence of a stakeout and the brief times his mind would wander to the increasingly distant past.

And now she’s here, with her arms bare and her hair tumbling in soft, obsidian curls that just brush her shoulders. 

And it doesn’t matter that she’s here, because he’s married. Because she’s no longer the same young woman who easily flirted at him whenever they spoke, and he’s no longer the freshly green security guard who’d flirt back when boredom was eating its way through his brain. 

At least that’s what he keeps telling himself.

Dimples curve in her cheeks as she hands him and Haley their drinks, the vibrant lights of the bar reflecting in her eyes when she looks at him with an easy smile. It’s enchanting, the way pinks and purples swirl into a backdrop of brown so dark it’s almost black, pupils entirely indistinguishable from irises. 

Aaron has to remind himself that he likes blue.

There’s a second where their fingers touch—a brush there and gone between one blink and the other. Aaron doesn’t get to linger on it before Emily pulls away, her pale hand wrapping around her own drink. She doesn’t look at him, doesn’t react as she turns to Penelope and says something to her, the waves of her hair contrasting with the pink-tinted skin of her arm.

His skin burns with something hot, the condensation on his glass doing nothing to cool it. A similar, uncomfortable heat flares in his stomach and Aaron swallows, nudging his thigh against Haley’s in an attempt to distinguish it. Haley nudges his thigh back and asks Emily something, but he isn’t listening as he brings his beer to his lips. 

Her perfume lingers on the rim of the glass. 

It tips into his mouth, threading through the beer in small, bitter traces, and Emily’s answer is static in his ears. Aaron swallows just quickly enough to narrowly avoid choking, a burn in his throat as he sets his glass down. He ducks his head and coughs into his elbow, stifling his curse in the wool of his quarter zip. The itch in his trachea makes his eyes water and he inhales, trying to soothe it with the cold air.

“Hey, are you okay?” Haley rubs between his shoulder blades.

“Fine.” Aaron rasps.

His eyes lift to the opposite end of the table, searching for Emily, but he doesn’t find her there.

She’s in Morgan’s arms. Her beer is discarded on the table; between one second and the next, he’s abandoned the crowd of women around him and pulled Emily into their midst.

Emily easily accommodates Morgan’s lecherous dancing. She rolls her hips, her mouth moving as she says something over the music. He’s bold, his hands reaching for her waist, and she’s eager, looping her arms around his neck. Emily tosses her head back, silken hair catching the lights, and her shirt rises up as she moves to the beat. Delicate skin is exposed, pale beneath startlingly dark ink that cups her hip in a way his hand itches to. 

Heat gathers above the collar of his fleece.

Between flashes of pearly teeth and grabbing hands and rolling hips, Aaron’s stomach starts to churn. This is a far cry from the elegant waltzes he’s seen her dance before, and he inexplicably wants to shove Morgan away and take his place, rest his own hand on her waist and dip his fingers in the back pocket of her jeans. He wants to dance with her like that even though it’s been years—a decade—since he’s been to a rave, but he’s sufficiently buzzed now, wants to feel the outline of her body between his arms.

Instead he grabs Haley’s hand, tangles his fingers with hers and speaks through the treacherous rasp in his throat. “They don’t seriously call that dancing, do they? C’mon Hales, let’s show them how it’s done.”

She’s delighted, of course, only too well remembering the times she’d had to drag him to the dance floor. The churning in Aaron’s stomach intensifies at Haley’s soft hand in his, their wedding bands clinking together just before she lets go and starts to dance, as easily as she always does whenever the music hits her.

He tries to move with her, he does—holding her closer than normal and feeling the heat of her body though her clothes—but then he tilts his chin above the blonde head right in front of him and he sees her, a complete opposite of the woman in his arms. Two of Morgan’s fingers are under her shirt now, hiding the ink, and he’s grateful when another couple comes into view and blocks them from his sight.

As Aaron catches Haley’s beaming smile between twirls, he feels in the pit of his stomach that he’s fucked. 

3) a dance in the rain

Sweeping his gaze over the bullpen is habitual whenever he leaves his office. The lights are on despite it only being noon; charcoal gray clouds have gathered thickly in the sky, hiding the sun behind them, and it doesn’t look like it’ll surface anytime soon. Morgan is diligently bent over his stack of paperwork and Reid is visible near the coffee machine—pouring a mountain of sugar in his mug—but a certain blonde-brunette pair is missing. 

They’re probably in Garcia’s office, Aaron tells himself as he heads to Dave’s door, trying to stop his eyes from wandering to the glass doors. He’s not nosy; at least he doesn’t think he is. 

Keeping tabs on his team at all times is habit, really.

Just as his hand wraps around Dave’s door handle, he spots a blonde crossing the conference room. JJ’s voice carries over the chaos of the storm and Aaron lets go of the handle, finding himself continuing forward instead. 

The file in his hand rustles with his pace, distantly reminding him that his destination was a few steps back. Thunder cracks, and as he gets closer, he hears her murmur to JJ, “I’d love to dance.”

Emily’s voice is wistful. 

Frowning, Aaron peeks into the conference room. She almost presses her nose against the glass, the soft puffs of her breath forming clouds on the window. The rain falls in thick sheets, turning Quantico into a gray blur outside; the way Emily looks at it makes it seem beautiful.

“In that?” JJ’s tone is incredulous, but it’s still soft as she leans next to her, peering into the downpour.

Aaron doesn’t judge her skepticism; he hardly sees the appeal of getting soaked to the bone and having to deal with the uncomfortable aftermath. But then he looks at Emily and he sees the shimmer to her eyes, a light that had been diminished these past few days courtesy of a brutal case in Texas, and while he still doesn’t get it he thinks if she went out in the storm he’d follow her. Offer his hand, let the rain soak it in the time she takes it and maybe links her fingers with his.

Thunder rumbles and it’s easy to imagine; feeling the water slip through their intertwined palms, hearing her laugh, joyful and free—because he’s heard that one before, he knows what it sounds like—drowned out by the downpour. She would undoubtedly slip on the pavement as she tried to spin, and he would catch her with hardly steadier hands. Maybe they would crash, backward on the floor, or maybe his oxfords would provide just enough grip and he’d hold them both upright.

Even through the walls, the rain is loud as it slams against the pavement. 

It’s not so harsh a soundtrack. More forgiving than the tune of a song, a gentle thumping that won’t judge his graceless movements. Aaron thinks he could easily move with her to the rhythmless patter of rain on the sidewalk, the roiling of thunder above. Flashes of lighting would reflect in her eyes and he’d feel the same electricity in his heart when she’d look at him with rain soaked lashes, water beading on the tips of them and falling to her cheeks when she blinks.

The wind screeches, Emily sticks herself closer to the window, and Aaron thinks he’s ready to go out into the downpour, let it soak his suit and drench her hair and make her bangs stick to her brows, let it swallow up the sound of his voice as he asked her to dance. It would hide the tremor in it, he thinks; the uncertainty that comes with trying to be casual with her outside of work.

There’s nothing stopping him now. Nothing except the fact that he’s her superior and the tan line around his ring finger that has just started to even out.

“Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.” Emily murmurs, snapping Aaron out of his rain-blurred fantasy. “It can be…” She trails off, draws her lip between her teeth, and he’s sure the file in his hand crumples, “Grounding. Oddly enough.” 

Emily crosses her arms as she thoughtfully looks out the window, her eyes tracing the droplets of rain. He should tell them to get back to work, but their forms are weary from the case they came back from last night, and if they can’t find respite in the brief minutes of their lunch break, Aaron thinks they won’t find it anywhere else.

“You still have thirty minutes,” he finds himself saying. 

Emily and JJ jump. 

Aaron bites his tongue too late.

They turn to him, startled, their eyes narrowing at him almost synchronously in confusion. Emily’s brow arches in question; before she can ask what the hell he’s doing here—spying on them—Aaron rattles off, “It’s your lunch break and your go bag’s here—I mean, it should be, seeing as we just came back from a case—” That’s besides the point, “Uh, anyway, as long as you’re back here by 1 to hand in your consults and you’re not dripping rainwater where you stand,” he shrugs, “I don’t see a problem with it.”

JJ is looking at him like he’s grown a second head. Emily’s shock is more subdued, but she still sounds skeptical as she hooks a finger through her necklace and asks, “You don’t think it’s unprofessional?”

It’s what you need.

Aaron fights the urge to shrug again. “I think it’s human.” He says.

It’s subtle, the way her expression shifts to surprise. Dark eyes just about swallow him whole; Aaron wonders if he’s just given himself away, wholly and undeniably. 

He needs to get out of there.

“Just don’t be late.” He can only pray his voice doesn’t sound as soft to their ears as it sounds to his.

He doesn’t think it’s the right answer, but he doesn’t linger enough to know. Aaron turns on his heel and steadfastly makes his way to Dave’s office—where he should’ve been in the first place. There’s the sharp clicks of heels on the floor behind him as JJ and Emily walk out of the conference room.

Their eyes are hot on the nape of his neck. Aaron fights the urge to walk faster, and when he reaches Dave’s door, he pushes it open without pausing to knock.

Twenty three minutes later he’s back in his office and Emily knocks on his open door, wearing a different shirt but the same blazer, her makeup flawless and her hair damp. Aaron very deliberately chooses not to notice the way this one hugs her body more tightly than her button down had, sliding his gaze away from the pale v of skin down her chest. He meets her eyes instead; they’re bright beneath her wavy bangs, the light he’d been waiting for turned on again. Something in him loosens.

Emily offers him a smile as she hands him her neatly written consult.

“You had seven more minutes.” Aaron says as he takes it.

She raises her shoulder in a delicate shrug. “Didn’t want to push it.”

Aaron has a sinking suspicion that even if she did, he’d have let it slide. He nods, grateful that she didn’t, and instead of simply leaving, Emily perches on the arm of the chair across from his desk. 

“You could’ve come with.” She says casually. Her tone is genuine and she’s smiling at him and he doesn’t know what it means, if she’s meaning it the way she does with everyone else or if it’s special, just for him. Because no one else does this—offers to dance with him in the rain, touches him as frequently as she does, cracks jokes to him even though she knows he won’t laugh.

Is it casual or not, normal or not, platonic or not. Is he too desperate for company—her company—or does she really see him as more than a friend, more than a boss.

He’s losing his mind trying to figure her out.

“I don’t like getting wet.” Is what he manages in the end, the dryness in the back of his throat forcing the words to come out clipped.

Emily doesn’t seem too bothered by it. She presses her lips together, dimples gathering in her cheeks. “That’s a shame.”

When she stands, she stirs up a soft whoosh of air smelling of summer rain. “Anything else you need?” She tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. It shifts from its place; Aaron spots the damp patch it left behind on her shirt.

“Just the case reports.”

Emily nods. She turns and walks away, and the words tumble from his mouth just as she reaches the door.

“If you catch a cold don’t come whining about it.”

She doesn’t pause, but her voice is distinctly indignant. “I never whine.” 

Aaron finds himself smiling at her retreating figure.

4) a dance to her own music

She’s kicked off her heels a long time ago, now sitting cross legged on the piano bench—because of course David Rossi owns a fucking grand piano. She’s been toying with the keys for a while now, a far away look in her eyes as she thumbs at the smooth ivory.

The strap of her satin blouse slips off one shoulder, and if Aaron didn’t already have confirmation that he’s falling, the gallop in his heart when she fixes it with one absent finger is all the answer he needs.

“Are you just gonna look pretty there all night or will you play us something, Prentiss?”

Her lips curl up as Morgan brings her back to the present.

“Aw, Morgan, you think I’m pretty?” Her voice lilts teasingly, the same wine-dark silk of her blouse.

“You’re easy on the eyes,” he jibes back, and as soft laughter rises around them, Aaron feels suddenly envious of their easy banter. He unlocks his jaw by bringing his glass to his lips and forcing himself to swallow, though he hardly needs to be more intoxicated with her in the room, looking like that.

It’s dangerous, the casualness of her posture and the softness of her hair. Her wine glass resting precariously on the glossy piano, his soft button down tracing his skin, the base of his throat exposed to the same air she’s breathing in and out. Lines blur, more than they have already, and Aaron’s not sure he can keep his composure for much longer.

“Have any sheet music?” Emily turns to Dave, her fingers absently trailing over the piano keys.

Dave gestures vaguely with his hand. “Make something up.”

A soft scoff escapes past her lips. “Of course you’d have a piano but not music. Show off. You don’t know how to play this thing at all, do you?” 

By some accident, her eyes meet Aaron’s. They’re dark as ever, glinting in the low lights with all too familiar amusement. Emily’s lips curve and something happens, too quick for him to fully catch—the flutter of her lashes against her cheek, wrinkled lines around her right eye.

It leaves him with a similar flutter in his chest.

Aaron catches her dimple as she turns away. Her teeth bite down on her bottom lip; Emily stares through the piano and Aaron doesn’t understand what just happened, only that something did.

He raises the glass to his lips again.

“It’s popular with the ladies.” Dave protests, but his voice is drowned out by the notes of the piano as Emily tests them out. 

She toys with it for a while, a small crease between her brows that Aaron wants to smooth out with his thumb. He grips his glass tighter and Emily’s frown clears, determination taking over as her fingers press down on the keys with surety.

He doesn’t know what she plays, if it’s a legitimate piece or something of her own. It’s slow and entirely unfit for dancing, he’s sure, and yet he still wants to take her hand and lift her up from the bench, thread his fingers through hers and dance to the melody of her own music. Aaron imagines her bare feet slipping on the plush threads of Dave’s Persian carpet, the richness of her surprised laugh as she tumbles into his chest. He would steady her with a confident hand on her waist and her arm would loop around his neck; maybe she’d slip the tips of her fingers into his hair, maybe their chests would press together and he’d feel her inhale.

He’s learned since he’d wanted to slow dance with her last. He’d danced at his wedding, gone to a few classes Haley had signed them up for on his free weekends. Aaron knows he’d wrap his hands around her waist with certainty, hold her fingers between his own and know when to twirl her, when to dip, even though the tune she’s playing is hardly fit for anything more than swaying.

If his calculations are right, her forehead would just brush his jaw. She’s shorter now that her heels are tossed away; it’s an unexpected difference but one that feels scarily intimate, like the knowledge that if they both surged forward and met in the middle, his lips would press against her temple.

It’s ridiculous how much he wants to do that.

Maybe he wants to press a kiss to her lips, too. They’re a faded red, lipstick softly smudged from repeatedly pressing her lips to the rim of her wine glass. Plush and inviting and—

“Beethoven,” Reid exclaims, his eyes lighting up. Aaron is firmly back on the couch, rooted to the cushions despite the urge in his gut to get up and move to the piano. 

“Moonlight sonata, first movement.” He says confidently. His voice pitches higher like it always does when he’s excited.

Emily nods. “Very good, handsome,” she drawls, briefly looking up to flash him a smile. Though Reid undoubtedly knew he was correct, her praise brightens his smile.

“I didn’t know you could play.” He says.

“I didn’t know you could identify classical pieces from just a few notes.” She replies, a proud glint in her eyes. “That’s impressive.”

“He listens to them before bed,” Morgan playfully knuckles his hair. Reid shoves him away as Garcia and JJ laugh. Aaron can’t get himself to join in, still hung up on the soft tenderness of handsome.

“They help me sleep,” he grumbles, fixing his hair before tucking it behind his ear. “Can you play Claire de Lune?” The words are clumsy as they fall from his lips, but Emily nods again.

“Yep,” she pops the p. “Only if you get me the sheet music, though. I’m more rusty on that one.”

“Do you know it also means—”

“Moonlight, yeah, so actually—”

“—there’s two moonlight sonatas.” They say in unison. Emily’s hands pause on the keys and her music fades as she laughs, one sweet melody falling down and the other picking up where it left off. Aaron’s lips twitch at the familiar sound.

“Even though technically Claire de Lune isn’t even a sonata, really, it’s the third movement of the Debussy’s Suite Bergamasque which has four—”

The words become static in his ears as Emily’s smile widens, her eyes bright as she nods along even though he’s sure Reid’s lost her. Something tightens in his chest and Aaron wonders if he’ll slowly grow to envy every person to ever make her smile. He closes his eyes and tips back what’s rest of his scotch, shoving down the urge to get up and ask her that one simple question that’s haunted him for years now.

He’s losing his goddamn mind.

5) a dance in the midst of the chaos

Jack’s birthday party is livelier than he would have dreamed of a year ago, when he was drowning in grief and trying to claw his way out. His head is still barely above the water, but things like this make it easier.

Since four o’clock his apartment has been turned upside down, and for the first time that Aaron can remember, he welcomes the chaos. Garcia comes with goodie bags and a merry playlist and face paints, Reid with magic tricks up his sleeves and down his pockets. Rossi and JJ show up with food, Emily and Morgan grace his doorstep with light jokes and easy banter.

And his boy is laughing. He’s laughing and running around with Henry and they’re almost tripping over the toys littering the living room, palpable love from his team crowding the already small space. JJ calls for them to slow down and Aaron smiles at the echo of voices and giggles, precious sounds he never held out hope for hearing in a place like this.

He thought he’d feel some lingering awkwardness at brining them into his house, but if it exists it’s quick to dissipate with the kids’ delight, with the adults’ desire to make it last. JJ and Emily crowd his kitchen, Garcia adds to his sparse and—in comparison—pathetic decorations, and as Rossi serenades the kids with some story he’s sure he doesn’t want to know the contents of, the apartment properly feels like home.

Throughout it all, Aaron feels overwhelmed with love. 

Nobody here has ever said it—at least not to him—but it spills from them and their actions and their laughter. The careful way Emily counts out six candles and the precision with which JJ pokes them into the cake. The way Garcia plops a paper crown on Jack’s head, the way they all sing happy birthday at the top of their lungs and cheer when Jack blows out the candles, his grin wide and toothy and everything Aaron thought he’d never be able to give him.

Maybe this counts as fulfilling his promise.

In the living room, Emily cuts Jack’s chocolate cake and hands thick slices to everyone on flimsy paper plates; Jack gets the first slice, the biggest and most chocolatey piece of cake that he immediately sinks his face into.

When the turn comes to him, Aaron tries to decline.

“I’m not a huge fan of chocolate,” he says quietly.

Emily presses the plate more insistently into his hand, the edges of it curling up against his chest. “Do it for the birthday boy,” she whispers. “One slice won’t kill you, Hotch.” Her free hand cups his around the edge of the plate, fingers curling around his wrist with a squeeze.

His skin burns, even though her hand is cold. 

“Okay.” Aaron manages with a croak, hoping she’d let go of him before she feels his racing pulse through his wrist. Emily smiles, small but triumphant as she lets him go. “Only if you take one, too.” He rasps, wondering if he’s imagining the cold that sinks into his hand.

“Oh, are you kidding?” She says as she turns back to the cake and grabs the chocolate covered knife. “I’m taking two.”

Seeing her with a plate of—two—cake slices balanced on her crossed legs, sitting on the threadbare rug in his living room and surrounded by the bright energy of his son, Aaron thinks she looks sickeningly in place. 

He’s in the kitchen, trying to clear the image from his mind when Jack’s laughter flows in. It’s been a common sound these past few hours, but Aaron still peers through the open plan kitchen and into the living room, his heart briefly stumbling at the scene in front of him.

Jack is in Emily’s arms, both of them laughing as she spins them around. Gift wrapping paper litters the floor, confetti is dug deep into the rug between Emily’s socked feet, and Jack’s paper crown slips down his forehead as she bounces him around, attempting a graceless dance. They hardly move at all, one single lump attached from hip to shoulder, but they’re a mess of giggles and pink cheeks.

An inelegant dance. A dance for the joy of closeness rather than moving to the beat of a song. It makes his breath catch, his hands pause on the counter.

They twirl to the melody of their own laugher and Aaron’s heart aches with the desire to join them. To wrap his arms around them both, share Jack’s weight across his shoulder and free Emily’s hip from his son’s heft. His arm would encircle each waist and the world would be held between his fingertips for a fleeting moment.

It would hardly be a dance—no more than a mess of elbows and two left feet aimlessly moving about—but the comfort of having them both close would be more than enough. Maybe he would catch Emily’s grin and feel her own arm slide around his waist, bringing him and Jack so close their bodies bump together; soft arches against his sharpened edges.

He can almost taste it, just across the kitchen counter.

“It’s not wrong,” Dave says, suddenly appearing next to his elbow and breaking him out of his wishful fantasy, “for you to want this.”

Aaron swallows down the hard lump in his throat. He looks down and focuses on wiping the chocolate from the countertop, ignoring the heat of Dave’s eyes on him. Emily’s laugh carries; his heart both aches and swells at the sound.

It’s not wrong. Could it be, when it’s something as pure as this?

By the time he actually realizes that, it’s much too late.

+1 (finally; a slow dance)

The opportunity presents itself. 

JJ’s wedding is the last thing he could’ve possibly expected after a fiasco like yesterday’s, but it’s here and Emily is here and it’s finally an acceptable setting in which it’d be weirder for him not to ask her to dance than if he did.

Aaron’s hands start to dampen with sweat; he wipes them on his slacks before approaching Emily. She’s standing quietly next to one of the buffet tables, toying with the stem of her champagne glass as she looks through the dancing couples. Only when she’s close enough to touch does she look up and give him a small smile, fairy lights reflecting in her eyes.

Now or never.

“Would you like to dance?” Aaron—finally—asks, his voice quiet as he holds out his hand. His eyes trace over her face, closely looking for signs of rejection, but she doesn’t give any.

Emily sets down her glass and wordlessly takes his hand. It’s soft, just like he’d imagined it would be, but he didn’t account for the rougher calluses on her fingertips. That alone cements the fact that this is real, not yet another one of his many daydreams.

They find their way to the dance floor and Aaron’s hand goes to her waist. His palm flattens around the soft curve hidden beneath her dress, the satin slipping under his skin with a low whisper.

Emily sways easily with him, following the lines of his body wherever he takes her. She’s quiet, withdrawn in that unusual way she’s been since she got back, and for the first time in ever, Aaron hates her silence. 

He promised himself. After the chaos of Jack’s party and the whirlwind that tore through Emily’s life, he promised himself that if he ever got to see her again he’d somehow ask her to dance. He wanted to promise himself to tell her something else, too. Something consisting of three tiny words and a buildup simmering for years.

But he could hardly make himself that promise knowing he’ll never keep it.

“You know…” Aaron begins, swallowing when Emily cocks her head to show she’s listening, “I’ve wanted to do this for years.”

The confession is soft; it echoes in the warm space between their bodies. Aaron wonders if she knows there’s a piece of his heart in these few words.

“Go to a wedding?” Emily murmurs.

He thinks she must be joking, but the absent look in her eyes says she’s not here with him. Panic sparks in his chest, ice cold water running through his veins. 

He’s losing her.

Aaron subconsciously tightens his grip on her hand. “Dance with you.” He says, the words tumbling out too quick and desperate.

That snaps her out of it.

“…Years?” Emily echoes. Her brows furrow, the fog in her eyes clearing. “How many years?” She whispers.

Heat travels up his collar. Aaron clears his throat, making a point of not shying away from her eyes when he says, “Embarrassingly many.” 

Emily tilts her head. “Care to give me a number?”

He laughs, soft and tasting bitter in the back of his throat. Emily’s hand twitches in his and he rubs his thumb over her knuckles, almost absently. 

She’s been in his life, some way or another, for over a decade. Always just out of reach, some persistent, invisible barrier keeping him from her. Or maybe it’s just his own cowardice.

“Mm, 15 years,” he murmurs, and her eyes widen. “Give or take.”

Suddenly she’s here with him, more present than she’s been in a long time. Aaron feels the heat of her attention, heavy and demanding.

“Why—” Her voice croaks and she falters, both her words and her steps. Her feet halt; Aaron gently nudges her lower back, the tips of his fingers reaching the pearls of her spine. Emily starts moving again. “Why didn’t you?”

His hand slides down her waist to wrap around her right hip. There’s ink here, he knows. Aaron rubs his thumb over it absently, almost trying to feel it through her dress.

“I was a coward.” He breathes out, looking away from Emily and focusing instead on the warmth of her body against his. She’s perfect, nothing less than what he’d imagined, and Aaron files away the feeling for later. A twist in his gut tells him he won’t get to do this again. “I still am. I mean…why would you ever want to dance with me?” Aaron shrugs; Emily’s fingers curl into his jacket. “At least here you were less likely to say no.”

Her nails dig into the back of his hand. The sting almost loosens something in his shoulders—at least this could last longer than she does. 

“I never would’ve said no,” Emily says, “if you would’ve asked.” 

Her eyes are hot, so hot on his skin. Piercing and sharp; he’s missed that intensity, spent seven months praying for it back, and not in vain. But maybe he’ll relive that cycle all over again, and this time she won’t be as quick to come back.

A lump forms in the back of his throat. Distantly, he’s aware of the song ending, but neither he nor Emily pay attention to it as they glide across the floor. He tries to focus on that—on the places where their bodies touch, the way her perfume floods his mouth when he spins her and it carries in the air—but all he’s thinking of is time lost, and chances taken too late.

Emily’s fingers slot between his. The hand on his back slips under his jacket and fuck, he’s always thought of touching her but never of her touching him. The weight of her gaze is almost a touch in itself, the way fire trails across his cheeks in the form of obsidian-dark eyes. 

Aaron clears his throat, his voice low when he says, “The last time I wanted to ask you to dance was just before I lost you. And…I feel like I’m about to lose you again.” He rasps, his tone pleading even to his ears as he squeezes her hand. “Am I, Emily?”

Panic flares in her eyes.

Emily tugs her hands away and Aaron’s heart sinks. The skin of his back is left cold, the inside of his palm achingly empty. “Please,” he whispers, but he doesn’t even know what he’s pleading for.

“I need some water,” she says shakily, the excuse more for their friends around them than for him—an explanation for why he’s suddenly standing alone as Emily walks back into the house, wrapping her shawl tighter around her body.

Aaron watches her go and his heart drops to the floor. Instantly his brain supplies him with memories he never wants to relive; Emily’s empty chair on the jet and her cleared out desk and her badge in his drawer, the laminated shine of her smile the only thing he had left of her. His heart remembers the ache, his eyes remember the burn of tears.

He’s moving after her before he can stop himself.

Aaron doesn’t feel Dave and Morgan’s stares as he disappears inside, long strides taking him to the kitchen. His thumb traces over his index finger in quick intervals, his heart picking up as if he’s afraid he’ll find empty space in the kitchen instead of the woman he’s been in love with for years.

But she’s there, leaning against the counter with her head in her hands.

“Emily.”

Her name escapes in a rush; quick and breathless. She looks up and he sees the rapid movement of her chest, fluttering like a bird’s.

His heart twists painfully.

“Would you still want to dance with me?” She asks, her lip trembling, her eyes shiny with more than the glint of the lights above. It takes his breath away, how everything she’s been hiding so quickly rises to the surface. “After everything?” Her voice shakes almost imperceptibly.

Aaron walks closer to her. When he’s close enough to see the frantic pulse in her throat, he tentatively cups her cheek. 

Emily doesn’t back away; he lets out a quiet breath. 

“Wake up, sweetheart.” He says softly, his thumb skimming her jaw. “I always want to dance with you. I would say I’ve been waiting for you for to say yes, but we both know—”

Her lips are on his.

Aaron inhales sharply and there it is, that plush bottom lip finally in between his own. He tastes lingering traces of champagne and desperation, the ash from yesterday still clinging to her mouth. It’s been building up for a while now, but that look in her eyes started taking form last night, when she was staring down at her desk with her clothes still stained in soot.

The hand that slides into his hair breaks him from his frozen state. Emily grips the strands and his arm wraps around her waist, holding her to his chest as he kisses her back. Her lips are shaky, her hands unsteady, but Aaron thinks his might be just the same.

“Emily,” he murmurs when the breath is sucked from their lungs. He’s just far enough away to know that her eyes are closed, her trembling breaths skipping over his mouth as she twirls his hair around her finger. Aaron squeezes her waist and her eyes flutter open, endless brown briefly stealing his breath away again.

“Hey. Don’t go.” He breathes. One of the hands on her waist travels up, between their bodies, to cup her cheek again. “Please.” God, how many times is he going to beg tonight?

Emily sucks in a breath. 

“How did you know I wanted to?” She asks, tugging on his hair. Aaron is too close to imagine the shine on her lashes.

“I know you, Emily.” He whispers. “You think no one does, but we do. I do. Some parts of you are hidden, yes, but for the most part…we know you.” His thumb roves over her soft cheek, feeling it when she inhales shakily. It travels to the corner of her mouth and he gives her a small smile. “And I think I know this particular habit of yours especially well.”

A sniffled laugh escapes past her lips. A thrill goes through him at the accomplishment, even when Emily hides her small smile in the crook of his neck. “You know I didn’t want to last time,” she croaks, her hand leaving his hair to loop around his shoulders.

“I know, sweetheart.” Aaron’s hand travels up her back, slowly rubbing circles between her shoulder blades. None of them acknowledge the nickname that slipped out twice in the span of five minutes. They just stay there, listening to the faint music trickling in as Aaron presses his lips to her hair, smelling honeysuckle at her temples.

“Will you stay?”

Emily doesn’t answer. She’s slow to disentangle herself from his arms, straightening and adjusting her shawl before she reaches for him again. “Dance with me.” She whispers as she takes his hand and guides it to her waist.

Aaron follows her lead. Emily leans forward and wraps her own arms around his waist, her fingers hooking through his belt loops as Aaron’s palm finds its home on her back. She fits her head under his chin and they start to sway with slow aimlessness.

The music doesn’t quite reach them here, but the symphony of their intertwined breaths is enough. 

“You know, I thought about it once.” Emily says. Her voice travels through his skin, a little muffled against his throat. “At mother’s gala.”

Aaron hums, his thumb skimming her hipbone. “That was the first time for me,” he says. He closes his eyes and it’s so far away now, an age since he first wanted to dance with a girl clad in a red dress.

Cold air hits his neck and Emily tilts her head back, a different shine to her eyes as she asks, “Care to tell me about all the other times?”

Her lips are inches away from his, and though Aaron isn’t entirely convinced she won’t bolt, he’s more at ease with her like this in his arms. “Bold of you to assume I remember all of them.” He arches a brow.

“Don’t you?”

He absolutely does.

Aaron smiles. Emily’s hand travels up his side, gently cupping the lines of his body. “I’ll tell you,” he murmurs, a slight hitch to his breath, “if you’ll go out with me.”

Emily smiles, too. “I’ll have you know, I only dine in Michelin Stars.” She says softly, shallow dimples forming in her cheeks.

“Well it’s a good thing I happen to know a few.”

She hides in his neck again and he feels the slight imprint of her smile against his skin. A ghost of curved lips, a small whisper of forever. 

They continue to rock to the faint music, Aaron’s cheek pressed to Emily’s hair. The movement of their bodies is slow and unhurried, nothing like he’d imagined and somehow infinitely better.

It’s their first dance. 

It’s not their last. 

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