Hotch, Sighing: I Should Warn You, I'm Not Good At Keepint Secrets From Emily. She's Been Known To Use

I’ll meet you there 

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

thomas: “hello my dear🥰”

the way I would die on the spot if he said that to me

i live for hotchniss on instagram😭🫶🏼

Stained Glass Windows Instagram - Volume Three

Volume One -x- Volume Two

Hotchniss Instagram posts based on my fic Stained Glass Windows

Some spoilers for the story so far, but these will make sense without reading the fic. Please see the master list for any appropriate tags/warnings.

-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, @beebeelank, @aubreyprc, @zipzapboingg, @psychopath-at-heart, @criminalmindsgonewrong, @fionaloover, @kinqslcys, @prentissinred, @ccmattis-22, @denvivale317, @thrindis, @hotchsguccitie, @cmfouatslota77, @alexblakegf, @aliensaurusrex, @prentissxhotch, @emobabeyy, @victoiregranger, @stormyweatherth, @wanderingdreamer009, @ssablackbird, @luhwithah, @lex13cm, @prentiss-theorem, @dont-emily-me, @mrs-ssa-hotch, @jocyycreation, @itsmytimetoodream, @hotchnissgroupie, @controversialpooh, @capsshinyshield, @canuck-eh

Join my tag list here!

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!

bestieeeee i need more hotchniss insta content PLEASE i am begging youuuu 😵‍💫😵‍💫

i have delivered 🤲🏻🤲🏻

i hope you enjoy 💋

hotchniss instagram posts - part 7

taglist 🏷️:

@prentissesredtanktop @fanof051 @luhwithah @Dj-bynum3718 @hopedoesntknow @momily @kenseverything @psychopath-at-heart @jjareau-cm @anotherblackreader @Multifandomlesbianic @dontemilyyyyme @quickslvxrr @justyourusalash @SirTerrific @mrsmorganprentiss

be added to the tag list here

Garcia: TODAY IS SPEAK NOW TAYLOR’S VERSION DAY!!

Reid: OH MY GOD YOU’RE RIGHT!

Emily: I’m more of a reputation girl.

Morgan: Same.

Rossi: I personally prefer Fearless.

Hotch, singing quietly: Loverrrr.

The rest of the team:

Hotch: Okay, let’s continue debriefing.

LOL: Last one laughing -  Staffel 2

“Dieser scheiß Waschbär.”

A compilation of Thomas’s comments about Hotchniss/Paget.

Source: Cameo.com

the way i love them with all my heart 🫶🏼

Adjustment

Emily can't stop crying after the birth of their son, and Aaron is just trying his best to make it better.

-x-

This is just pure, ridiculous, unadulterated family/domestic fluff. My brain has melted due to the heat, and this is what it came up with. Based off of this photo, and the following prompt I got from an anon for my birthday prompts:

“Not to be drastic, but I would jump off a cliff for you.”

Also, consider this a mini celebration for me hitting 400 followers. Actual celebration fic to follow soon. I love you all very much, and I am constantly blown away by the fact this many of you care enough about my work to follow me. Forever thankful!! <3

-x-

Words: 2.3k

Warnings: non-descriptive mentions of pregnancy/birth, very hormonal postpartum Emily. Very descriptive mentions of Aaron's arms.

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut!

“He’s so small.” 

Aaron looks up from zipping up the duffel bag on his wife's hospital bed, the last of her and their newborn’s things packed away so he could take them home. He smiles at the sight of them together, their son tiny in her arms, her eyes fixed on him. He sits on the edge of the bed and places his hand on Emily’s thigh, smiling when their eyes briefly meet before she looks back down at the infant.

“He’s smaller than Mia was,” Aaron says, thinking of their little girl at home, the almost 3-year-old eagerly looking forward to seeing her mother, her reaction to her little brother somewhat underwhelming, “and I didn’t think that was possible.” 

He looks up from his son to his wife when he hears her sniffle, and isn’t surprised when he sees unshed tears in her eyes, something that had been present almost permanently since the baby had been born. Noah came 5 weeks early, a drawn-out labour in comparison to his sisters, an emergency c-section that had led to him and Emily staying in hospital for a few days. 

She was emotional when Mia was born, but this was different. She cried at almost anything, something the doctors assured them was perfectly normal but that didn’t stop Emily from being frustrated at herself, her anger and her tears an almost constant cycle since Noah’s birth three days prior. 

“Damn it,” Emily says, shifting one hand from under the baby in her arms to wipe at her cheeks, she sniffs again, her lower lip trembling, “I think I’ve cried more in the last few days than I have my entire life.” 

Aaron smiles at her and stands up, kissing her forehead before he gently takes Noah from her arms. He smiles down at his son and kisses his head before he turns to lower him into the car seat, the baby already half asleep. 

“There you go, buddy, you excited to go home?” He asks, checking the straps securing his son into the seat. “Your brother and sister are excited to see you.” 

That, Aaron knew, was half true. Jack was very excited to be a big brother again, a role he took very seriously. Mia, on the other hand, was definitely jealous. It was something that had started to become evident during Emily’s last trimester, the little girl suddenly incredibly clingy with her mother, her somewhat limited understanding of the big change about to come into their lives settling in. When Jessica had brought Jack and Mia to the hospital the day Noah was born she’d shown very little interest in her baby brother, simply laying up against Emily instead, snuggling into her mother’s arms. 

Last night she’d asked Aaron when they were taking Noah back to where they’d got him from. He hadn’t told Emily yet, worried that the very normal sibling jealousy would upset her, deciding it was something he’d tell her when her hormones had settled down a bit more, and were no longer wreaking havoc on her usual ability to control her emotions. 

He lifts the car seat gently, keen to ensure Noah stays asleep, and looks at Emily, sighing softly when he sees the tears on her cheeks again. 

“Sweetheart,” he says gently, “what’s wrong?” 

“You’re such a good dad.” She replies, wiping at her cheeks furiously. 

It was going to be a long few days.

___

Emily considers it a win when she only cries once on the 20 minute car journey from the hospital to their house, the sight of Noah fast asleep in his car seat making her heart twist in her chest. He was so small, impossibly tiny in the newborn sizes onesie Penelope had bought him. The material almost engulfed him, loose around his tiny frame, the tiny bears printed onto it almost mocking Emily as she needlessly rearranged the straps holding her son in place. 

She doesn’t think she’s ever loved Aaron more when he doesn’t say anything about it, his obvious concern limited to his frequent checks on her through the rearview mirror, a small smile on his face whenever he caught sight of her looking at their little boy. 

She’s just about able to keep it together when they get into the house. She feels nothing but relief at the usual sense of comfort settling over her like a warm blanket as she walks through the doors, glad to be home for the first time since she went into early labour. 

“Momma!” 

Emily can’t help but smile at the sight of her daughter running towards her, Jack and Jessica several paces behind her. 

“Hi, sweet girl!” Emily says, grunting slightly when Mia hits her legs at full force, the jolt to her abdomen, pain from her c-section incision briefly pulsing throughout her body. 

“Mia, we talked about this,” Aaron says from behind her, closing the door with one hand, Noah still fast asleep in his car seat in the other, “be careful with Mommy, ok?” 

Emily spots the slight frown on the little girl's face, so much like Aaron when she was upset, and she puts her hand on her daughter's head, internally cursing herself when the feel of her soft hair is enough to make tears press at the back of her eyes. 

She was losing her mind, she was sure of it. 

She looks over her shoulder and at her husband, shaking her head slightly, letting him know he’d deal with it. Jack and Jessica both greet her as they go past, immediately going over to say hi to Noah again, like they both hadn’t held him in the hospital every day since he was born. 

“Don’t worry baby,” Emily says, looking down at Mia, “why don’t we go sit on the couch, huh? We can snuggle there.” 

Mia smiles at her and nods, grabbing her hand and gently tugging her towards the couch. Emily sits down carefully, hyper-aware of the pain in her belly. Mia is next to her immediately, already cuddling into her side. 

“Missed you, Momma.” She says, burrowing herself into Emily as if it had been weeks since she’d seen her, not the matter of hours it had actually been since her visit to the hospital yesterday. 

Emily feels her throat clog up, the emotion that had been overpowering her for days choking her. She leans down and kisses the top of her daughter's head. “I missed you too, so much.”

The others join them in the living room, Jessica having clearly left. Noah was now contently laying in Jack’s arms, the preteen looking ecstatic to hold his baby brother. Aaron sits next to Emily and puts his arm around her, his lips pressed into her temple.

“How are my girls doing?” 

She knew she’d never be able to explain it, why his innocent question immediately makes the tears she’d been attempting to hold back finally fall, but it does. She groans and wipes at her cheeks again.

“We’re fine,” she replies, her shaky voice contradicting her words, “aren’t we Mia?” She looks down at the toddler and the concern she sees in her daughter’s eyes and it makes her chest hurt, adding to the familiar ache in her breasts, a sure sign Noah would need feeding soon.

“Momma sad?” She asks, her tiny hand reaching out for her cheek, the press of her warm skin against her own, combined with the crinkle in her brow that makes her look exactly like Aaron, is enough to tip Emily over the edge.

Her tears immediately turn into sobs, and she turns so her face is turned into Aaron’s shoulder, barely catching the look of shock on her daughter’s face, and the concern on Jack’s. 

“Mommy is fine,” Aaron says, running his hand up and down her arm, “she’s tired after having Noah, that’s all.” 

Emily’s about to interrupt him, to say that she’s sure this is just who she is now. Cursed to cry forever, or until she died of dehydration, when a squalling cry comes from Noah, and she looks up, sniffing and wiping at her face as she does so, to see a concerned look on Jack’s face.

“I didn’t do anything, I swear.” He says, looking down at the infant in horror. 

“Don’t worry, buddy,” Aaron says, standing up, raising an eyebrow at Emily when she tries to, and he eases his youngest out of his eldest’s arms, “he’s probably just hungry.” 

Emily is grateful when she has her son back in her arms, her frayed emotions feeling the tiniest bit placated by it, gently shushing him as he cries, readjusting her clothing so she can start to feed him.

“You’re ok, sweet boy,” she says as she smiles down at him. She feels Mia’s tiny hands grasp onto her shirt, pulling herself up to stand on the couch, her head peering over Emily’s shoulder to look at her brother. Emily meets her daughter’s eyes, “you excited that your brother’s home?” 

Mia scrunches up her nose and shakes her head, “my momma.”

Emily feels Mia’s grip tighten on her, one of her fists shifting into her hair, grasping at it like she hadn’t since she was a baby. 

“I’m his mommy too,” she says, desperately trying to remember what all the books she’d read about parenting had said about jealousy, the memory lost somewhere amongst the exhaustion of having a newborn and the pain of having major surgery, “I love you both, and Jack, very much.” 

Mia looks like she’s considering it before she looks past Emily to Aaron. “We take him back now?” 

___

“She hates him.” 

Aaron stops his pacing to look at her, Noah in his arms, freshly changed and fed, ready to sleep in the bassinet in their room for the first time. 

“Sweetheart,” he says, his voice soft, understanding in the way he reserved for her and their children, “she’s 2. She doesn’t hate him, she’s just adjusting.” 

“She kept saying she wants to take him back,” Emily exclaims, wiping at the tears on her cheeks. 

“Em, love, it’s completely normal. You’re her favourite person in the world, she’s just going to have to get used to sharing you with someone else.” 

She knows he’s right, that everything he’s saying makes sense, but she’s just so tired. Every part of her sore in a way she’d forgotten about since having Mia, nature's way of tricking you into having more children. 

She looks up at him and is taken aback by the sight of him. His sleeves rolled up, Noah held securely against him, the size of Aaron’s watch in comparison to their son almost ridiculous. Noah’s dark eyes were open, Aaron’s attempts to get him to sleep failing so far, his fist tight around the material of his father’s shirt. 

It was enough to make her start crying again. Primal love for the two of them, for their whole family, making her so happy there is no option for it to spill out of her, the now familiar tears flowing down her cheeks.

“You have got to stop.” She says, more annoyance in her voice than she intended, clearly startling Aaron, his brows furrowing as he tilts his head up at her.

“Em-”

“You’re just…I don’t,” she doesn’t know how to put it into words, wiping at her cheeks again, sure that her skin was going to go raw from it, “look at you.” She finally exclaims, waving her hand in his general direction. “He’s just so small, and you look so good holding him,” she sniffs, her voice cracking, “and you’re such a good dad, and a great husband and you have got to stop.” 

“You want me to…stop being a good husband and dad?”

“No.” She says, sighing. “Of course not. I…” she drifts off, growling in frustration at herself, “I want to stop crying. It’s driving me crazy.” 

He does his best to suppress his smile, she’ll give him that, and he walks over, sitting next to her, adjusting their son so he was against his shoulder. She reaches out and offers Noah her finger, smiling when he grasps her, his little fist tight. 

“Sweetheart,” he says, and she looks at him, finding nothing but love and adoration for her in his eyes, “you’ve got to be easier on yourself. You had a baby 3 days ago. Earlier than you should have, and you had major surgery.” He uses the hand not securing their newborn to his chest, his palm almost covering the entirety of his back, to wipe a tear from under her eye. “And you’re still being a fantastic mother to our other children. You’re doing great.” 

She smiles at him, aware of how it trembles, and she nods. “Thank you, you’re the best.” She leans in and kisses him, stamping her lips against his twice in quick succession. “I love you very much.” 

“I love you too,” he replies, smiling at her as he pulls back. “Not to be drastic, but I would jump off a cliff for you.” He says, smiling at her so both dimples are on show, his eyebrow raised to let her know he’s trying to make her smile. 

It usually worked, something he learnt early on in their relationship. That she’d scrunch her nose up and fight a smile when he said something cliche, her cheeks warm as she pretended she hated it. But she stares at him as she feels the now familiar wave of emotion wash over her, her throat tightening with it. A sob escapes her and she covers her mouth in a pointless attempt to muffle it. 

“For fucks sake, Aaron,” she exclaims, watching as his face falls, the smile slipping away, “I only just stopped crying.” 

-x-

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jack: it’s old person day at school

hotch: what does that mean?

jack: i dressed up as rossi

hotch: oh i love this