Kinqslcys - Vicky ❀

Ichor

Words: 2.4k

Warnings: Canon typical violence/injury, frequent mentions of blood, hospitals

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

She hears the gunshot.

It’s the first sign of trouble since they entered the abandoned building, intel telling them this is where their unsub would be.

“What the hell was that?” Derek asks, his voice coming down over the earpiece, the same panic in his voice that Emily felt in her chest.

“I’m just down the hall, I’ll go check,” she replies, “Is everyone ok?”

She hears responses, Aaron’s noticeably absent, and she feels her heart beat faster in her chest.

“Does anyone have eyes on Hotch?” She asks desperately, turning the corner into the room she’d heard the shot come from, her answer laid right out in front of her.

The unsub was on the floor, a bullet hole in his chest, and Aaron was slumped against the wall, his hands pressing into his abdomen as blood poured out from beneath his fingers.

“Aaron’s hurt,” she chokes out, any pretence of being professional immediately out of the window, his first name slipping free like they were at home, curled up on the couch they had argued over in the furniture store when they purchased it, “we need an ambulance.”

She hears Derek curse over her earpiece, shouting orders about needing a medic, but all of her attention is on Aaron. She lands on her knees by his side, one hand over his on his abdomen, the other cupping his cheek to make him look at her.

“Hey,” she says, her voice shaky to her own ears, the pain in his eyes ramping her fear up even further, “you’re ok, we’ll get you out of here.”

“He stabbed me.” He grits out his teeth, and she looks behind him and sees the knife next to the dead unsub. “He got the jump on me.”

“That's ok,” she says, “everything will be fine.” She feels the blood under their hands and looks down, knowing they needed to do something before the ambulance arrived, far too much blood was already around them for her liking. “We need to get your vest off, so I can put pressure on it properly.” He shakes his head, ready to protest but she cuts him off, “we need to ok, you’re losing too much blood.”

Aaron stares at her for a long second before he nods, and she kisses him quickly before she undoes the buckles of his vest, good enough to protect him from bullets, but not from the knife laying a few feet away from them. He shouts out in pain as she removes it, and she shushes him, her forehead against his.

“I know baby, I know, I’m so sorry.” Her eyes widen as she pulls back, the sight of the blood against his white shirt making her heart clench in her chest. He groans beneath her as she presses her hands hard into his abdomen, the feel of his blood pouring out beneath her fingers enough to make her stomach twist, a stain she was sure she’d never be rid of.

“I love you,” he chokes out, his voice strained as his hand reaches out to cup her cheek, his fingers sticky with what she was sure was blood, “so much.”

“I love you too,” she replies, her throat tight, panic taking residence in her chest, “but we’re not doing that, we’re not saying goodbye,” she looks around the room, selfishly grateful for a second that it is still just the two of them, “where the fuck is that ambulance?” She all but shouts into her mic.

“Morgan is meeting them out front so he can bring them right here,” Dave says, his voice so calm she thinks she’d strangle him if he was in front of her, his ability to keep it together when the man she loved could be dying in her arms too much to take.

She looks back at Aaron, ready to try and assure him that help was on the way, when she sees his eyes drifting shut.

“No, no, no, Aaron,” she says, shaking him slightly, “sweetheart, I need you to stay awake,” his eyes meet hers, a faint smile appearing before his eyes drift closed.

When the medics arrive moments later, Derek in tow, she has to be pulled off of him.

___

“Em?”

Emily looks up from where her gaze had been fixed on the ground, repeatedly counting tiles to keep her mind occupied, a fruitless attempt to stop the anxiety in her throat from choking her. Her eyes meet JJ’s, a kind smile on her friend's face as she lifts the strap of a bag into Emily’s eye line.

“I got your go-bag from the hotel,” JJ says, placing it in front of her, “I thought you’d want to change.”

“I’ve got to stay here,” Emily replies, looking back down at the floor, her view of the tiles now blocked by the go-bag Aaron had packed for her, her clothes neatly folded in a way she could never quite achieve herself, “for when the doctor gets back.”

“Em,” JJ sighs, crouching so Emily had no choice but to look at her, “the doctors said it would be a few hours, your clothes are covered in blood,” Emily can’t help but flinch at that, her eyes darting to the sleeves of her shirt, cursing her earlier self for wearing a light enough colour for it to show on, “I’ll come with you, and the guys will be here. If the doctor comes by, they won’t let him leave until you’re back.”

Emily looks past JJ to Derek and Dave, who both nod in agreement, and then she looks back at JJ.

“Ok.” She says, clearing her throat as she stands, her eyes meeting Dave’s “I’ll only be a few minutes.”

JJ carries her bag for her, and Emily doesn’t reject what she would usually consider coddling, walking alongside her friend in silence as she guides her to the bathroom, her arms tight around herself. Holding herself together until she knew Aaron was ok, until he could do it for her again.

“I’ll wait out here, ok?” JJ says, handing her the bag as they get to the bathroom. Emily just nods in response and hopes that the smile she offers up is thankful.

She immediately walks into a stall, locking the door behind her as she sits down on the toilet, opening the go-bag with shaky hands. She doesn’t look at the t-shirt that once belonged to him, can’t bring herself to as the scent of it hits her nose, and she digs past to her own change of clothes. She changes quickly, grimacing at the slight tint to her skin where her shirt had stuck to her, glued down by his blood. She could still see it on her hands too, the skin bright red from where she’d scrubbed him in a mirrorless bathroom seconds after they arrived.

She leaves the stall, her bag over her shoulder, and makes a beeline for the trashcan, throwing away clothes she knew she’d never get the stain out of, clothes she could never look at again even if it was possible. The grim pattern of Aaron’s life force forever splattered across it, a memory she would never be able to shake off.

She washes her hands, and catches sight of herself in the mirror for the first time since they’d arrived at the hospital. She looked ragged, bags under her eyes caused by the stress, her skin pale, fear stripping anything else away. What catches her eye, what stands out against her pallid skin, is a thumbprint on her cheek, painted in Aaron’s blood. She can almost feel his desperate touch as she was trying to keep him awake, as if he was trying to press everything into her skin. A lifetime of love and happiness that might just be stolen from them, washed away like the blood down the drain.

It burns her, a shadow of how it felt to have his skin pressed up against hers, his warmth ever-present in their home, in their bed. She wonders if when she wipes it off there will be a permanent mark left behind.

For a moment she’s furious the others didn’t mention it, that they let her sit there with the blood of the man she loves tattooed against her skin, but it’s gone as quickly as it came. Recognition that it was an impossible thing to say, to tell her that what could be the last time he’d touched her was something she’d have to wipe away. She touches her hand to it, shaky fingers over the ghost of his touch, and she knows if she closes her eyes, she’d be able to still feel him there, his affection as familiar to her as breathing.

She blows out a breath, and comes as close as she has to crying since she found him slumped against the wall. She shakes it off, doesn’t allow the preemptive grief to take over, and she starts the faucet again, washing her face with more force than necessary.

___

It felt like it had been hours since the doctor had come to tell them Aaron had made it through surgery, and asked if anyone would like to see him.

She’d sent the others back to the hotel, promising that she’d call when there was any news, and stopping any suggestions that she should go with them in its tracks with a stern look. She sits in the chair next to his bed, her back aching from the discomfort of it, her hand firmly gripping his.

It reminded her too much of a similar situation years ago. The sight of him in a hospital bed, recovering from what Foyet had done to him, the very thing that had made her realise what she felt for him was more than it should have been. Love that she had semi-successfully tampered down for years after that, sure that he could never feel the same way.

Back then he hadn’t been hers. She couldn’t comfort or help him beyond what she had done, the practical ways he would allow. It’s why she’d driven him everywhere. Taken him to and from work and hospital appointments, forcing him to eat the snacks she’d brought specifically, a white lie on her tongue as she told him they just happened to be in her car.

He was hers now, and she was his. And it made this worse because she now knew exactly what she would lose if she lost him. It was no longer a fantasy, or hypotheticals she would allow herself in the darkness of her bedroom, it was absolutes. He’d taken up parts of her that she hadn’t known existed, showing her love that she had long ago convinced herself wasn’t real, or at least wasn’t on the cards for her. It was beautiful, raw and real, and she knew one day it would tear her apart. The price for loving someone so completely the grief that had left her guarded for so many years, afraid to feel anything so sharply.

He was worth it though, what they had built together in the ashes of their old lives was worth it, and if she lost him today, or 30 years from now, she could never regret it.

“Em?”

She looks up at him, her name accompanied by a slight squeeze of her hand, the usual strength behind it lacking. She feels relief the moment his eyes meet hers, the tears she had been forcing back all evening welling in her eyes.

“Hey you,” she says, offering him a shaky smile as she stands, sitting down on the edge of the bed, lifting his hand so it was clasped between the two of hers, “how are you feeling?”

“Terrible.”

She nods at him, sniffing as she moves one of her hands, her knuckles running down his cheek.

“You lost close to half your blood volume, so I think that's to be expected.”

He hums, squeezing her hand again. “Are you ok?”

She chuckles dryly, shaking her head. “Physically, yes. Emotionally? Not at all. But I’ll be ok.” She leans forward and presses her lips to his, a quick thing just as a final reassurance to herself that he was ok, that he’d recover. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Em.” He smiles at her, his gaze slightly hazy due to the medication in his system. “What did the doctors say?”

“Well,” she says, shifting to look at him a bit better, needlessly rearranging the blanket over him, “the knife knicked your liver, and you lost a hell of a lot of blood, but they said you’ll be fine. It’s a long recovery though.”

“Nothing I haven’t done before,” he says, his thumb tracing over her hand. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Did you call me sweetheart earlier?” He asks, a curious smile on his face, “I’m sure I heard you say it.”

She tries to hide her smile by biting her lower lip, but she fails to hold it back. “Yeah, I did.”

“You’ve never called me that before. Usually, it’s honey, or big-”

“I was panicking,” she says, cutting him off, aware that the nurse sitting at the desk just outside his room could probably hear everything. She narrows her eyes at him slightly, aware that he was just trying to cheer her up, to bring the usual playfulness they had when they were alone, “and…I don’t know. I like it when you call me sweetheart, it just kind of slipped out.”

“It’s not a criticism, I like it,” he says, his eyes drifting shut, “I like being your sweetheart.”

She laughs, shaking her head at him. “You’re lucky I love you, otherwise I’d tell Dave you said that.” She presses a kiss against his forehead and settles back into the chair next to his bed. “Get some sleep, I’ll be right here.”

“Love you.”

“You too.”

“You too…”

He drifts off and it takes her a moment to realise what he’s getting at, rolling her eyes despite the fact he can’t see her, his eyes already closed.

“You too, sweetheart.”

-x-

Tag list:

@ssa-sparks, @lukeclvez, @lyds102, @glockleveledatyourcrotch, @hotchnissenthusiast, @danadeservesadrink, @ssamorganhotchner, @emilyprentissisgod, @freesiasandfics, @emilyshotchniss, @thecharmingart, @paulitalblond, @hancydrewfan, @camille093, @whitecrossgirl, @moonlight-2-6, @rawr-jess, @florenceremingtonthethird, @jareauswife, @ms-black-a, @sneetchestoo, @aubreyprc, @zipzapboingg, @psychopath-at-heart, @criminalmindsgonewrong, @fionaloover, @kinqslcys

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59 notes View Post

kinqslcys

2 years ago

Jack + Aaron Hotchner

3K notes View Post

kinqslcys

2 years ago

I’ll meet you there

Hotchniss requested by anon - thank you for request! <3

333 notes View Post

kinqslcys

2 years ago

AHHH!! Happy early birthday my friend!! I am so thankful to know you and I throughly enjoy our friendship. Your writing never ceases to amaze me!!

I love you so much. Can I request prompt 5 and 13 from list 1 please? 💕

Ahhh thank you friend!! <3 I love you too, and really enjoy our friendship (and that you'll just accept that I send you tiktoks that call us both out!)

The prompts for this one are:

“Did you call me sweetheart?”/ “Sorry for borrowing your clothes.” “Don’t be, you look great in them.”

Couldn't tell you why, but this immediately screamed Demonology to me, and I know you love some hurt/comfort - so here you go <3

-x-

Tranquility

Words: 2.6k

Warnings: Discussion of abortion

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

Aaron wants to call her, wants to drive over to her apartment to make sure she’s safe, that she's doing as ok as she can be after the last few days. But he doesn’t think she wants to hear from him, the text he had sent remained unanswered, not even an acknowledgement sent back in his direction.

It had been the first real test of the separation of their personal and their work lives, the first time since they’d started dating after Colorado. The almost physical pain he felt at hearing her getting hurt and not being able to do anything about it made him re-evaluate his feelings for his now girlfriend. It had taken him longer to work up the courage to ask her out than he would have liked, a smile on her face and a “took you long enough” on her lips after he finally cracked after the Viper case. The sight of her in that dress was too much for him to bear.

Aaron couldn’t help but feel that he had failed the test, at least in her eyes. He was by the book, she knew that, that had already bent the rules a little for her anyway, letting her chase a lead over Matthew’s death that he was sure was nothing at first. The sight of her distressed and wet from the rain was hard to take, her usually carefully constructed persona she wore at work like a mask cracked, a bit of the Emily he got to see outside of the office peeking through. He hadn’t been able to reach for her, to hold her like he wanted to, all too aware of their surroundings, no one but the team aware of the shift in their relationship, so he’d done what he could. He had to draw the line somewhere, even for her, even though he’d tear his heart out of his chest if she asked him to.

It was hers to do as she wished with anyway.

He keeps himself busy, doing unnecessary chores around his apartment, his phone in his pocket in case she contacts him. He isn’t sure how long he has been home when there’s a tentative knock on the door. He frowns, wondering who it could be at this late hour, and when he sees it's her through the peephole he almost rips the door off its hinges to let her in.

The sight of her makes his chest ache, she’s upset, clearly not trying to cover it from him. Devastation splashed across her face like a morose painting. She’s clearly soaked to the bone, melting snowflakes in her hair and on her shoulders, a shiver passing through her that he doubts she’s noticed.

What catches his attention the most is the blood just below her nose, dried to her skin, as brightly coloured as her grief.

“Em,” he breathes out, ushering her into his apartment, wincing at the cool, wet, feel of her coat, “you could have used your key.”

He isn’t sure why it’s his first thought, why that is the first thing he says to her, but it makes one corner of her lips twitch in a smile.

“I don’t have anything with me.” She chokes out, and her voice cracks. “I didn’t…I didn’t want to be alone.”

“You can always come here.” He says, undoing her coat buttons and easing it off of her, quickly hooking it up with his, “now, let's warm you up.”

He leads her over to the couch, grabbing the blanket he kept over the back of it as he goes. He remembers the last time she’d been here, only days ago, sat next to him and wrapped up in the same blanket, complaining that just because he was always warm didn’t mean he had to keep his apartment cold. The touch of the fleecy material against his skin brings the memory back to life, like she was permeated in everything in his life, not just on his very being. He sits her down and wraps it around her, making sure it was tight around her shoulders, determined she didn’t lose any more body heat.

“I’ll get the blanket all wet,” she says, her teeth chattering slightly, the cold really settling in now she was indoors, “it will get ruined.”

“I don’t care about that,” he replies, barely taking his eyes off of her as he grabs a paper towel from the kitchen, wetting it under the sink as he joins her again, sitting on the coffee table in front of her, “all I care about is you.”

He half expects a retort, a comment that he had a funny way of showing it, but he knows it won't come. That despite her earlier anger at him she understood the position he was in, that he truly had done all he could for her and more.

He knows Strauss will have something to say when she finds out he’d called the Vatican.

He’s gentle as he reaches out for her, his hand cupping her chin as he reaches out and wipes the blood away from her face.

“Want to talk about it?” He asks, disposing of the paper towel next to him on the table.

“Yes.” She replies, pulling the blanket tighter around herself.

“Ok, we can do that,” his hand slips to cup her cheek, this thumb delicate against her skin, stroking where dimples would show when she smiled at him, “do you want to eat?” She shakes her head in response to that. He nods and he stands up, pressing a kiss to her forehead as he does, taking her hands and encouraging her to stand too. “You go have a shower, ok? I’ll make you some tea, meet you in bed.”

She smiles tightly at him in response, and she leans up to kiss his cheek, her lips cold against his skin, and she moves away towards his bedroom.

Aaron releases a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding as he watches her walk away. He checks the door is locked before he heads to bed for the evening, and brushes past her still soaked coat as he does. He knows it won’t be dry by morning, that despite a number of her belongings making it over to his apartment this was the only outerwear she had here, so he decides to put it in the dryer.

He checks the pockets on the short walk to the laundry room, a habit he had picked up due to Jack often leaving small toys in his pants, and he freezes when he pulls out a folded-up photograph. He unfolds it and is greeted by a picture of a young Emily, a boy on each side of her that he would put money on being Matthew and John. Aaron sighs as he puts the coat in the dryer and turns it on, the photo still in his hand.

His mind whirls with what could have happened, what had made the three happy teenagers in the picture fall apart into whatever mess this last case had been. He sets it aside, making a mental note to wipe the dried blood off of it in the morning, and heads to the kitchen to make her the tea.

He might not be able to stop a teenage Emily from going through whatever clearly had happened, but he would do his best to make sure his Emily, the one currently in his shower, felt better. ___

Despite the hot shower, Emily swears she doesn’t feel any warmer as she steps out of it, immediately folding herself into one of the fluffy towels Aaron kept in the bathroom. She looks at herself in the mirror, wiping away some of the steam to see her own reflection properly, how tired she looked coming across even in the slightly distorted image. She sighs, drying herself off quickly and pulling on a pair of Aaron’s sweatpants and one of his sweatshirts. She had her own clothes her, her own toiletries in his shower, but she needed the extra comfort, the feeling of him wrapping around her.

It’s why she’d used his body wash instead of her own, as if she thought the scent of him on her very skin could undo years of heartache.

She didn’t have to tell him. She knew that. That as her boss he didn’t need to know what had pushed her over the edge with this case, what had driven her usual professionalism away.

But she wanted to tell her boyfriend.

Wanted him to know this deeply guarded part of herself that now the only other person alive who knew it existed was John.

She just hoped he didn’t judge her for it, although Aaron had never given her any belief that he truly would.

She walks out of the bathroom to find him already in bed, on the side designated as his, and he smiles reassuringly at her, his eyebrow raised when he takes in her appearance.

“Sorry for borrowing your clothes,” she says, knowing he liked it. That she could convince him of just about anything sat on one of their kitchen counters wearing nothing but one of his button-downs.

“Don’t be,” he says, pulling the covers down for her to climb in next to him, “you look great in them.”

She gets into bed, immediately snuggling up to his side, the warmth she’d been craving immediately starting to seep from him into her. They silently settle further into the bed, and she ends up with her face pressing into his chest, her arm and leg slung over him as she tries to get as close as possible. He wraps her up in his arms, one slipping under her, both of them on his side of the bed, and the other cupping the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her still wet hair.

“I want to tell you,” she says, her cheek against the thin material of his t-shirt, his heartbeat underneath soothing her, “but I’m worried it might change how you think of me.”

“Nothing could ever do that, Em,” he says, kissing her forehead, “nothing.”

She smiles sadly, not knowing if that was strictly true. Having to physically shake her head to get rid of thoughts of the smell of smoke and danger, both interchangeable to her now, and a pair of ice-blue eyes that haunted nightmares she occasionally had to lie to Aaron about.

This, however, she was sure he was right about.

“When I was…” she starts, having to blow out a shaky breath, closing her eyes briefly to steady herself before she begins again, “when I was 15 my mother got stationed in Rome. That's where I met Matthew and John. I didn’t make friends that easily and with them, it felt different,” she swallows thickly, and focuses on the feeling of his hand in her hair, his fingers delicate against her scalp, “and I so badly wanted to keep what I found that I, well I was 15 so I did just about anything.” She half expects him to interrupt her, to cut her off like Dave had earlier, but he doesn’t. He’s figured it out if the way he tightens his hold on her is anything to go by, but he remains silent, lets her go at her pace. “And I got pregnant.”

Even now she could still remember the choking fear she’d felt when the tests came back positive, the way she’d had to press her hand over her mouth to stop herself from crying too loudly. It felt like it was yesterday, not half her life ago.

“I got an abortion.” She says simply, waiting for a reaction that doesn’t come before she carries on. “Matthew helped me,” she says her fingers playing with a loose thread on Aaron’s shirt, “he found the clinic and everything. Held my hand,” she chuckles mirthlessly, “He saved me and I couldn’t do the same for him. I let him down.”

“Sweetheart,” he says, finally interrupting her, and he kisses her forehead again, “that’s not true. You got justice for him, that’s what matters.”

She nods against him, not sure if she agrees, but she can’t bring herself to look at him yet, not sure what she’ll find in his eyes.

“Was Matthew…”

“The father? No. It was John. He freaked out when I told him. Yelled at me. Said it was my fault.” She feels his arms tighten around her, and she doesn’t have to look up to know he’s scowling. Anger directed toward the man whose life they had just saved. “I stopped being angry about that a long time ago. He was a kid too.”

“He got to walk away though,” Aaron says, his lips against her forehead. He’d walked away then, and he’d do it this time too. As sure a sign as any that Emily needed to know the universe wasn’t fair.

“Yeah,” she breathes out, “he did.”

They lapse into silence again for a moment before he speaks again, a tone she recognises from countless interrogations in his voice.

“I wish you’d told me before,” he says, his hand trailing through her hair, “I would have given Father Silvano five more minutes with him.”

She laughs, the first joy she’d felt in days flooding through her chest, releasing the first knot caused by the news of Matthew’s death. She pulls back and looks up at him, their eyes meeting, and she feels relief. Nothing in his eyes except the love she always saw, the love neither of them had said out loud yet but knew was there. She reaches up to cup his cheek.

“No, you wouldn’t have, because you’re a good man,” she says, her thumb running back and forth over his stubble, the scratch against her skin grounding, “it’s one of the many, many reasons I keep you around.”

He kisses her properly then, his lips warm against hers, and she shifts so they can look at each other properly.

“Thank you for not…well for not judging me.” She says, more of a shake to her voice than she would like. “No one knows except for Matthew and John,” she frowns slightly, “just John now.”

“Your mother?”

She shakes her head. “God no, she would have locked me up in a convent somewhere. I would have been made to give the baby away.” She smiles sadly at him. “It’s not what I wanted.”

He nods in understanding and cups her cheek, making sure she’s looking at him before he speaks.

“You’re the bravest person I know, sweetheart,” he says, stroking her jawline, “even back then. You were 15 years old and you did the only thing she could.”

She smiles shakily at him, and breathes out, the sound catching on a sob, “I’m sorry I made the last few days so difficult.”

He shakes his head at her before leaning his forehead against hers. “Don’t worry about it, I’m just glad you’re ok.”

“You’re here,” she says, her hand reaching out for him, landing at his neck, “of course I am.”

He kisses her, and she wonders if it’s so he doesn’t tell her that he loves her, a pointed effort that she wouldn’t remember it being linked to this. She’s grateful for it, wants it to be something just for them.

They wordlessly settle into their usual sleeping positions, his chest against her back, and she feels the most content she has in days. She replays the conversation over in her head again, his acceptance of her and her past another cornerstone of their relationship that they had built. She furrows her brow slightly, something occurring to her that she had missed before. Another step in the direction she hoped they’d never stop walking, a nickname slipping free from him in a way she didn’t think even he had noticed.

“Aaron?” She asks quietly, wanting to bring some of their usual playfulness back, something she wasn’t sure how she ever lived without.

“Yes, Em?”

“Did you call me sweetheart?”

-x-

Tag list:

@ssa-sparks, @lukeclvez, @lyds102, @glockleveledatyourcrotch, @hotchnissenthusiast, @danadeservesadrink, @ssamorganhotchner, @emilyprentissisgod, @notagentprentiss, @freesiasandfics, @emilyshotchniss, @thecharmingart, @paulitalblond, @hancydrewfan, @camille093, @whitecrossgirl, @moonlight-2-6, @rawr-jess, @florenceremingtonthethird, @jareauswife, @ms-black-a, @sneetchestoo, @aubreyprc, @zipzapboingg, @psychopath-at-heart, @criminalmindsgonewrong, @fionaloover, @kinqslcys

Join my tag list here!

34 notes View Post

kinqslcys

3 years ago

m's hotchniss masterlist

current hotchniss works :) pls check cw/tw before you read and perhaps maybe you're welcome to request something (i can't promise i'll write it but i'll definitely see it and Think Thoughts)

click here to fill out a form to join my taglist!

fics

doomed | hurt/comfort // healthy communication hotchniss aka emily and aaron have a Talk

twice, three times | angst // hotch mourns losing the second love of his life after losing the first one too

home again | angsty hurt/comfort // emily’s alone in paris missing what she was forced to leave behind

see you later | angsty // emily’s back and hotch leaves for witness protection

not like this | fluff // hotch and emily go undercover as a couple

blurbs

'another nightmare?' | hurt/comfort // emily has a nightmare and hotch is there to help her

‘i still find myself falling asleep with you on my mind’ | angst-ish? // drunk emily calls hotch but they’re exes and hotch is with beth

wips (slash ones i just keep talking about)

illcit affairs // inspired by the song by taylor swift. not finished yet but catch up on the snippets/details here and feel free to send any ideas/feedback!

also sticking this here bc i don’t have another home for it yet…

web weaves

hotchniss + illicit affairs

50 notes View Post

kinqslcys

1 year ago

Hi! Sorry if this is a weird question, but you've mentioned in your fics that Emily is rich. I know that is canon, and I think she is even richer than Rossi, but can you specify how rich you think Emily is? Like how much did she receive from her trust fund? It's funny how you write that Hotch is uncomfortable with her wealth 🤣

Hiiii

Not a weird question!!

I always leave it a little vague on purpose because I never want to put a figure to it that seems ludicrous. However, I do believe she’s absolutely a multimillionaire and has a trust fund that would send Aaron into shock 🤣

I like to think she’s rich enough personally that she actually doesn’t have to work at all. Which makes the fact she does work, and that her job usually comes at great personal cost, all the more meaningful.

54 notes View Post

kinqslcys

1 year ago

safe to say that I'll never recover from charlie lastra

577 notes View Post

kinqslcys

2 years ago

List 1 - #19.

And at this point it’s your birthday but we’re getting preseeeents. I love it.

❤️❤️❤️

Bestie, this ended up getting really soft. Like hella soft. Which I know you love 😉

The prompt is: "You're breathtaking."

-x-

Golden

Words: 1.7k

Warnings: mentions of pregnancy, but mostly just absurdly fluffy.

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

She never thought she’d have this.

It’s all she can think as she sits on a sun lounger, purposely staying in the shade, so prone to sunburn she didn’t want to risk it. She smiles at the scene in front of her, the beach stretched out in front of her, her family standing just in the water, ankle-deep on her husband. Jack and Aaron each firmly hold the hands of the little girl between them, the toddler screaming in delight as they swing her over each wave.

It felt like the stuff of movies, so achingly normal it seemed far-fetched. A vacation with her family, the one she’d found and cultivated in the most unlikely of places, something she treasured.

She never thought she’d have this.

She sneaks a photo of the three of them, knowing this was something she’d want to revisit, to remember when the days of balancing work and being a mother felt endless. Guilt from feeling like she was failing at both weighing her down, only made lighter by her husband’s reassurances, or a hug from her children. She sends it to the group chat she has with Penelope and JJ, unsurprised when she almost immediately gets a response from both.

Pen: Wow boss-man really does hide a lot under those suits doesn’t he? ;)

Pen: Please don’t tell him I said that.

JJ: Oh look at them, I bet you’re so pleased you went!

Emily smiles as she replies, letting Penelope know she absolutely planned on telling Aaron what she had said, and she sets her phone next to her on the sun lounger. She feels a kick in her stomach and smiles as she looks down, rubbing her hand over her swimsuit covered bump.

“When we come next year you’ll be here with us, sweet boy,” she says softly, her smile widening as she feels another sharp kick, as if he was responding.

A third child had never been part of the plan. It had taken her a long time to fall pregnant with Evelyn, their little Evie. Then the pregnancy itself, and the labour, had been difficult, leaving Emily swearing she’d never do it again, that their family was perfect as it was.

When her period stopped, she was convinced it was the menopause, that it was the end of that part of her life, and she’d felt a certain melancholy she hadn’t expected. Pregnancy hadn’t even crossed her mind when she went to see her doctor to ask about what she should do next. She still remembered the absolute shock she felt when she was told she was pregnant, quickly followed by a rush of happiness, so strong she was almost dizzy with it.

Aaron’s reaction had been similar, smiling at her as he wrapped her up in a hug so tight he lifted her off of the ground.

She looks back up at the sound of her daughter squealing, Evie now wrapped up in her father's arms, her hands grasping at the wet material of the t-shirt Aaron was wearing. She frowns as she notices how Evie is all but clambering higher up her father’s side, as if she was trying to crawl under his skin.

Emily watches as Aaron walks over to her, throwing a comment to Jack at the shoreline, clearly telling him to stay where he was. When he gets closer she can hear him over the commotion of the people around them, the waves crashing against the sand, as he whispers words of comfort to their little girl, Evie’s face screwed up as if she was on the edge of tears.

“Someone wants Mommy,” he says as he makes it to her side, and she sits up, reaching out to gather her daughter into her arms.

“What’s wrong, baby?” Emily asks, holding Evie as close as she can, kissing the top of her head, tasting the salt of the sea air.

“She saw a fish in the sea and it spooked her,” Aaron explains, sitting on the sun lounger next to them, careful not to overbalance it. They exchange a smile over the top of their daughter’s head as she buries her face in her mother’s neck.

Evie liked to pretend she wasn’t scared of anything, that nothing got to her, but underneath her bravado, she was a sensitive little girl. In tune with her emotions and those of everyone around her, always trying to be brave even when there was no need to be.

Aaron often commented he knew exactly where she got it from, and Emily would glare at him, a flush to her cheeks that he would always ignore.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Emily says, turning her attention to Evie, encouraging her to look at her, cupping her cheek to wipe away the tears, “you’re ok, and the fish is meant to be there, it’s where it lives.”

“I don’t like it.” She replies, looking back over at the sea suspiciously.

“Well, why don’t you stay here with me for a bit? I was thinking of having a nap, and Daddy and Jack can carry on having fun in the water.”

Evie considers it for barely a second before she nods, settling back into her mother's side.

“Stay with Momma.”

Emily smiles and looks back at Aaron, briefly looking past him to check Jack was still where he should be, pleased to see him just out of the water, playing with wet sand in a way only a young boy would.

“That settles that then.” She says to her husband, winking at him. She looks him up and down, and notices the wet material of his shirt sticking to his skin, the way he plucked it away from his chest, only for it to immediately re-settle where it had been. He was uncomfortable, and it encourages her to ask the question she’d been thinking about since they arrived just a few days before. “Why don’t you take your t-shirt off, love? You’re clearly warm.”

He stops his movement with his hand and looks at her, a half smile on his face. “It’s fine.”

“Aaron,” She says, readjusting Evie against her, the little girl already falling asleep in her arms, “as much as I personally love watching you parade around the beach in a wet shirt, you’re obviously uncomfortable.”

He smiles at her, “I thought you’d be pleased I’m wearing it, stop all the other women on the beach from trying it on.”

She laughs, “Well, if they do try they’ll have your pregnant and incredibly uncomfortable wife to deal with.”

He chuckles once, void of humour, before he sobers, sighing before he speaks again.

“It’s just the scars, Em,” He admits, shrugging slightly as if he was embarrassed to say it out loud, “people stare sometimes and…”

He drifts off, not even sure what he wants to say and she sighs. She unhooks one of her arms from around Evie and reaches for Aaron’s hand, grateful when he links her fingers with his.

“Honey, they are nothing to be ashamed of.” She says gently, squeezing his hand in hers.

It was something they had comforted each other about countless times over the years. She hadn’t known him without them, and he hadn’t known her without hers. Both of them left with physical marks from their past before they started their lives together. Their history as much a part of them as their future, as the life they had now.

“I know,” he replies, smiling sadly at her, “I just wish I didn’t have to think about it, about him, when I’m at the beach with my family.”

“He’s not part of this Aaron, it’s just you, me and the kids,” she pulls him towards her, pressing her lips against his, “and,” she whispers to him, even though Evie is now fast asleep, “there is no way I’m having sex with you if you have tan lines in the shape of a t-shirt.”

He laughs as he kisses her again before he pulls back shaking his head at her before he removes his hand from hers, already ready to pull his shirt over his head.

“Wait a minute,” he starts, raising an eyebrow at her, “you’ve got your scars covered.”

“Yes,” she replies, settling back down so her back was against the sun lounger, taking Evie with her, “but I am also 6 months pregnant, and my boobs are massive. The only bikinis I have are the ones I took on our honeymoon, and I think if I wore one here you’d have to arrest me for public indecency.”

“You’re breathtaking.”

She hums, trying to fight a smile. “Nice save.” She admires him as he takes his shirt off, placing it amongst their other things, strewn all around her. “Now go play with Jack, he’s dying to get back in the water.”

They both look over at him and see him staring at them, clearly attempting to maintain his usual patience, but a combination of the sun and the fun he was having was getting the better of him.

“You’ll be fine here?” Aaron asks, looking back at her and Evie cuddled up together, the little girl’s face pressed into her mother’s neck.

“We’re fine,” she says, smiling into the kiss he presses against her lips as he stands, “love you.”

“Love you too.”

She watches as he runs back towards Jack, the boy almost bouncing with joy that he was able to get back into the water as his father makes it to his side.

She feels Evie shift next to her, one of her hands coming to rest on her bump as she snuggled in deeper, her mother’s embrace always one of her favourite places to be.

“Baby.” Evie mumbles, her tiny palm tracing over Emily’s swimsuit covered skin.

“Yes, sweet girl,” Emily replies, kissing the top of her head, “your baby brother is in there.”

Evie hums as she falls back asleep, although Emily wasn’t quite sure if she was ever awake. The feel of her daughter pressed up against her, the roll of her son under her skin, and the sound of Jack and Aaron laughing together, an ease to their lives she never thought possible, starts to lull her to sleep herself.

She never thought she’d have this, them, but she was grateful every day that she did.

-x-

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