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valhallafemme · 1 month ago

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heating up in here

hotchniss alaska au

warnings: smut, case talk, the usual

a/n: this got looooong oops ! for the sake of the story we’re pretending they weren’t matchy matchy and that she is in fact wearing his sweater

(gifs by @aaronwhorechner )

“i’m not sleeping with reid.”

emily stifled a laugh, watching as penelope instantly claimed dibs on sharing with morgan.

“come on, spence, we can share.” jj spoke, placing an arm around the young agent to turn him towards the stairs. and then there were three.

rossi wordlessly looked between emily and aaron before sticking his hand out for a key. 4 rooms, 7 people; the math wasn’t hard, there was one single room. and dave knew he had it to himself.

“guess it’s you and me tonight,” hotch said, picking up his bag and making his way towards the room. emily followed in tow, doing her best to keep up.

“you think they have heat?” she asked as she trailed behind, arms rubbing against herself as best she could to keep warm. emily was a cold woman. not emotionally, well, not anymore, but physically cold almost all of the time. needless to say, she was not doing too well in the alaskan weather.

“let’s hope,” hotch said, stopping at the hotel room door. he unlocked the lock, taking a little longer than emily pleased.

“what, did you forget how to open a door?” she teased.

“it’s an old hotel, prentiss,” hotch sighed, finally pushing the door open. “the lock probably hasn’t been changed in decades.” he walked in, flicking on the light and stopping in his tracks. which, naturally, caused emily to walk straight into his backside.

“ow, hotch!” emily yelped, her hand reaching for his shoulder to steady herself. she was about to ask why the hell he stopped walking two steps into the room when she noticed what caught his attention: the lone, king-sized bed in the middle of the room.

“you can have it,” hotch said, moving in further and digging clothes out of his go-bag. “you get cold.” emily rolled her eyes, grabbing her own pajamas from her bag.

“don’t be stupid, there’s no couch and you’ll kill your back laying on the floor every night.” she reasoned, watching him make his way to the bathroom. “we’re adults, we’ll be fine.”

“yeah,” she heard hotch call as he shut the door. emily dug through her go-bag, grabbing her pajamas and groaning. the case had been called in hours after they returned from their previous one, meaning she hadn’t had time to properly pack her bag. which meant she had no sweatshirt. sighing, she threw on her sweats and t-shirt and waited for hotch to be done in the bathroom.

he walked out moments later, breath catching in his throat when he caught sight of emily. his eyes flitted down to her chest, nipples visible through the fabric of her shirt. clearing his throat, he looked back up at her and spoke. “no sweatshirt?”

“forgot to pack one,” she mumbled, walking into the bathroom and closing the door. splashing water onto her face, emily sighed as she resigned herself to sharing a bed with her boss. her very attractive boss, no less.

stepping out, her eyes landed on hotch, sitting in bed looking over the case file. he looked up, eyes meeting hers momentarily before reaching behind him. “here,” he said, tossing his brown quarter-zip sweater towards her. “it’ll keep you warm tonight.”

emily smiled gratefully, pulling on the warm fabric and watching it pool around her arms. “thank you,” she mumbled softly, climbing into the bed next to him. “goodnight hotch.”

“goodnight prentiss,” hotch replied, taking a moment to look at her before shutting the light off. god, she looked so good in his sweater. he laid there for a moment, the darkness and silence of the room really putting into perspective his situation. he was sharing a bed with his subordinate, arguably his most attractive one, in the middle of alaska. truly not how hotch had expected his day to end.

emily, meanwhile, had the same thought about her boss looming in the back of her mind. however, she couldn’t bear to focus on that, instead channeling all of her energy into not shivering. as warm as hotch’s sweater was - and fuck, it was warm - she was still freezing. arms wrapped around herself, doing her best to not hog the covers, emily tried her hardest to keep warm and still.

it was no use though, hotch could feel her body twitching every so often. plus, her teeth were chattering so frequently that he thought they would chip. he debated for a moment whether he should sacrifice his own warmth and give her the blanket, or cross the line and give her his embrace. and as much as he wanted to just give her the blanket, he didn’t want to be cold either.

she felt the bed dip first, feeling hotch roll to his other side. then, she felt the warmth encapsulate her body as his arm wrapped against her. finally, she felt his body directly against her back as he pulled her flush to him. oh. she was definitely warm now. their close proximity meant that when he whispered to her, his words went straight to her ear, hot breath tickling her skin. “think you can sleep now?”

no. absolutely not. “yeah,” she whispered back, making a feeble attempt to relax her body and find a comfortable position. instead, however, she found her ass pressed directly against him. she was sure her skin was fucking boiling at this point, cursing herself internally for even moving half an inch. she felt hotch breathing heavily against her, and all she could do was pray he was asleep and close her eyes.

he was not asleep, instead focusing everything on trying not to get rock hard against emily’s ass. unfortunately for hotch, no amount of steady breathing could stop his dick from growing harder. feeling the sudden warmth on her ass, emily smirked to herself. “think you’ll be able to sleep now?” she whispered, stifling a giggle.

“emily,” hotch groaned, his tone somewhere between a moan and a warning. keeping her lower body in place, she turned her head around to meet hotch’s eyes. the smirk fell from her face when she was met with nothing but lust from the man in front of her. gasping, she felt hotch’s hand wrap around her waist, snaking its way up bottom of the sweater.

“aaron,” she whispered, a moan catching in her throat. her free arm wrapped around his neck, fingers tangling in his hair as she pulled him closer. she could feel his breath on her lips, inches away from making contact with her own.

and that’s when they heard a scream.

***

“his name’s craig ramey. fisherman.”

the team gathered around the latest victim, all clad in their pajamas and jackets. as the discussion about the unsub’s accelerated schedule picked up, emily’s attention only strayed further. she could practically feel hotch’s eyes boring into her cheek, and if she was still enough, she could almost feel his breath on her skin.

aaron was doing all he could to maintain his professional manner in this moment, but all thoughts led him back to emily. he forced his eyes on the victim in front, around the team, at the cops, but they always found their way back to her.

“it’s still late,” hotch spoke suddenly, clearing his voice. “i’m sure none of us got much sleep, why don’t we all take a couple hours to rest and get ready for the morning?” it wasn’t a question, and he knew there wouldn’t be any rest in his room.

the team trickled apart, each making their way back to their respective rooms. emily stopped at hers, waiting for aaron to make his way from back of the group. he opened the door, and when emily stepped inside it was only a matter of seconds before the door was locked and she was pressed against it.

“aaron,” she gasped, arms wrapping around his neck to stabilize herself. he looked into her eyes, pupils blow.

“what, sweetheart?” he asked, voice about a whisper.

“kiss me.”

and kiss her he did. lips against each other, breathy moans traveling from emily’s throat to aaron’s mouth. she could feel his stubble against her face, turning her on more than she already was. his hips pushed towards her, causing emily to gasp when she felt his cock press against her pulsing core. aaron pulled back, lips beginning to nip along her neck. one hand braced her hip against the wall, the other finding its way through her layers of clothing.

“look so fucking good in my sweater, baby,” he muttered, eliciting a moan from emily as he twisted her nipple. “gonna fuck you so good while you wear it.”

“aaron,” she whined, his name apparently being the only word her brain could form. she released one hand from his hair, bringing it down to fumble with his jeans. before she could even get them unbuttoned, however, he was pressing his hips forward, cock straining against her hand. “fuck,” she groaned. “need you so badly.”

“is that so?” he asked, emily practically feeling the smirk radiating off of him. “take me then.”

she didn’t need to be told twice. she had his pants and boxers dropped in seconds. eyes blowing wide at the size of his cock. emily sunk to her knees, taking her time to work him with her hand. “emily,” hotch moaned, almost as if it was a warning. it was then she wrapped her lips around him, moaning at the string of curses he muttered while she swirled her tongue around his tip. inch by inch, she took him in her mouth, jaw aching from the size of him. she bobbed back and forth, increasing speed ever so slowly and wrapping a hand around what couldn’t fit.

hotch looked down, pupils blown at the sight of emily beneath him. he let out a groan, even more turned on when he felt her gag around him. they locked eyes, emily watching his expressions as she moved back and forth. it became too much, then, hotch tapping her cheek twice as a sign to release.

“too good at that,” he murmured, thumb wiping away the stray tears that fell from her eyes. “would’ve cum if you kept going, and i’m saving that for when i’m inside you.”

it was emily’s turn to groan, which no sooner turned into a squeal as hotch swept her off her feet and placed her on the bed. true to his word, he removed all her clothing, save for his sweater. taking of the remnants of his clothes, aaron climbed on top of her and pressed two fingers to her lips. instinctively, she opened her mouth, sucking the digits nicely until he pulled back.

within seconds those same fingers delved into her wet, soaking cunt. emily moaned, to which aaron placed his free hand on top of her mouth. “can’t have you being too loud, can we?” she shook her head, mouth opening and closing against his palm as aaron’s pace picked up.

“aaron, oh my god,” emily whispered, nearly biting his palm to keep from screaming. he smiled, planing a kiss to her head as he added a third finger inside her. she groaned, head pushing away from his hand and dropping to his shoulder. “fuck, aaron, please,” she whined, feeling herself getting closer to the edge.

“come for me, baby,” he muttered in her ear, groaning softly as he felt her tip over the edge. “good girl, so good for me.” he fucked her through her orgasm until it was too much, emily removing his hand and panting into his chest.

“holy fuck,” she breathed, slowly catching her breath. she looked up at hotch, meeting his soft smile with one of her own.

“you okay?” he asked.

“yeah,” she said. “so okay.”

“good.” he didn’t waste a second before pushing her back onto the bed, spreading her legs as he followed and lined up inside her. she gasped, locking eyes with him.

“please,” she whispered, staring at his hard, leaking cock at the edge of her equally soaked cunt.

“oh god, emily,” he moaned, watching his dick disappear under his sweater and into her pussy. “so fucking tight, so fucking good.”

“aaron,” emily whine, relishing in how good the pain was as his dick stretched out her cunt. she didn’t even want time to adjust to his size, she needed him to fuck her. “move.”

he wasted no time, fucking her with a rapid pace. “oh, emily,” he moaned, a string of curses following under his breath. emily groaned at the sensation, his tip hitting her perfectly. aaron looked up and felt himself getting closer as he watched emily, her mouth agape as she bit back a whimper. “so good for me,” he said, leaning down to capture her lips in a kiss. “i’m so close.”

“inside,” she responded, no hesitation. “please.”

“of course,” he whispered, picking up the pace and moving impossibly faster. he felt emily’s orgasm before she did, her moans combined with the clenching around his cock pulling his own. he spilt into her, stilling as they came down from their high.

he pulled out, laying down next to emily and turning to look at her. she turned to him, a soft smile on her face that matched his. “what?” she asked.

“you’re beautiful,” he responded, pushing her grown-out bangs out of her face. “pretty girl.” she blushed as he planted a kiss to her cheek, pulling her into his arms.

“you’re not so bad yourself,” she spoke, her voice muffled against his chest. “can i keep the sweater?” she asked a moment later, feeling his chest vibrate with laughter.

“for the rest of the trip, sure.” he said. “i have others i can wear. but i want it back, that’s my favorite one.”

“yeah,” emily sighed. “me too.”

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valhallafemme · 1 month ago

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Quotes that reminded me of hotchniss [2/?]

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valhallafemme · 1 month ago

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Gold chain beneath your shirt — the shirt that you let me wear home

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valhallafemme · 1 month ago

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

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valhallafemme · 3 months ago

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I really love the "Emily overcompensates" as an analysis in the series, and I think it flares up sometimes, mostly when she is letting them in on details about her past.

When Rossi is new and she casually admits her mum paid for her apartment through college because she was a crap waitress. It comes almost out of nowhere and to a person she has just met. When she admits she "did a lot of stuff" as a teen, she always uses this tone of voice that is trying to be nonchalant but reads as if she's still a teenager trying so hard to get accepted.

To overcompensate is all she learned growing up. To not would be falling below the mark as Elizabeth Prentiss' daughter. Teenagers naturally overcompensate, but the need for it gets exacerbated when you can't stay anywhere long enough for people to get to know you to settle down.

At least as Lauren she was a different person. Emily Prentiss wasn't being judged, she could sink into a role and let the Emily part of her do only the tactical thinking. But it comes so naturally to her when she joins the BAU. The scared teenager bubbling up because she's here to stay and these people she works with are going to have to get to know her, because God forbid the daughter of Elizabeth Prentiss get written down as a social faux pas and seen as cold and aloof. It's normal for your colleagues to get to know you over time, but Emily always sounds like it doesn't come quite naturally to her. She is seamless as a stranger, held together so well in conversations, but long term she mumbles personal details like she's the next teenager in a firing line.

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valhallafemme · 3 months ago

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what parttime jobs do you think each of the cm characters (or just your favs) would have done to put themselves through college?

(is this too random? i am on break at work rn and it popped up in my head XD)

My favorite CM characters X their part time jobs (college)

Emily Prentiss: we know it’s canon that she used to be a waitress - (and I really need someone to write that into a fic somehow, thank you) - but I could also see her having some sort of translation gig on the side?? (like subtitling weird little indie movies in five different languages because #polyglot)

Jennifer Jareau: she definitely was the babysitter of at least three different kids, two dogs, and a cat at some point. but also things like working at a sports bar? summer camp girly? I’m not too sure actually!

Tara Lewis: barista!!! I don’t know why but I just know she’s one of those baristas that just... makes you smile & remembers your order after having seen you just once.

Luke Alvez: dog walker 10000% maybe even for a dog shelter?

Penelope Garcia: I could go for something obvious that has to do with computers but… she definitely worked at a roller rink. did occasionally entertain the kids at the birthday parties. (she actually disliked it because it smelled like way too sweet - even for her - lemonade, combined with a hint of funky socks in that place)

I actually loved this question so much!! I like random questions <3

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valhallafemme · 3 months ago

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There’s something quietly, heartbreakingly tragic about Emily Prentiss—about the way she’s been yearning to be loved for her entire life, and doing it so quietly, so subtly, that some people might not even notice.

It started young, with the coldness of Elizabeth Prentiss, all polished diplomacy and razor-sharp expectations, offering nothing soft for Emily to fall back on. No warmth. No trust. Just pressure and passports and places that never quite felt like home. She was always the new girl. Always trying to prove herself. Always chasing something that looked like belonging.

And then she was fifteen and pregnant - not because she was reckless, but because she was desperate. Desperate to be wanted. To be liked. To feel anything real in a world that felt so far away from her. She couldn’t even tell her mother. Not about the boy, not about the pain, not about the choice she had to make. That’s where the loss began. Quiet, unspoken, already buried under years of pretending everything was fine.

And then it just.. keeps going, doesn’t it? This pattern of aching. Of reaching. Of being the one who loves harder. Wanting to adopt Carrie not just out of duty, but because she needed to prove to herself that she could love. That she had love to give. That she was more than her job and her trauma and her silence. She wanted to believe she was capable of being someone’s person. But how do you believe that when no one ever chooses you?

Sure, she’s liked. Respected. Admired, even. But she’s never been the one anyone picks when the room is full. She’s the one people lean on, but never the one they stay for. And she carries it all with so much quiet grace you almost forget how much it must hurt. The guilt over Declan, even when she did everything right. The way she watches families from a distance, eyes soft and sad like she’s looking at a life that was never meant for her. The way she looks at JJ sometimes, wishing she had what she has. Maybe it’s just Paget’s quiet acting but it’s there.

Don’t even get me started on that damn moment in Season 15 - Emily staring at the baby stroller by that coffee cart like she’s mourning something she never even got the chance again to have. That one second of vulnerability, of wondering what if—and we move on like nothing happend.

I get it. I really do. The writers want her to be this… symbol of strength, the woman who married her job, who doesn’t need a partner or a family to be whole. And I guess that’s fine! some people really do find joy in that life. But if that’s the road you want to take her down, then at least make it look like she’s okay. Like she’s content. Like she’s not carrying all this silent grief behind her eyes. Because right now? She just looks tired. Dude they even took her freaking cat!

She deserved so much more. She still does.

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valhallafemme · 3 months ago

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Emily in Into The Woods

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valhallafemme · 5 months ago

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𝑵𝒐 𝑻𝒊𝒎𝒆 𝑻𝒐 𝑫𝒊𝒆

𝑾𝒂𝒔 𝑰 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒑𝒊𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖?

𝑾𝒂𝒔 𝑰 𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒌𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒉𝒆𝒍𝒑?

𝑾𝒂𝒔 𝒊𝒕 𝒐𝒃𝒗𝒊𝒐𝒖𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚𝒃𝒐𝒅𝒚 𝒆𝒍𝒔𝒆

𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑰'𝒅 𝒇𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒏 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒂 𝒍𝒊𝒆

𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒏𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒐�� 𝒎𝒚 𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆

𝑭𝒐𝒐𝒍 𝒎𝒆 𝒐𝒏𝒄𝒆, 𝒇𝒐𝒐𝒍 𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒘𝒊𝒄𝒆

𝑨𝒓𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉 𝒐𝒓 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒆?

𝑵𝒐𝒘 𝒚𝒐𝒖'𝒍𝒍 𝒏𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒔𝒆𝒆 𝒎𝒆 𝒄𝒓𝒚

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆'𝒔 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒏𝒐 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒅𝒊𝒆

Was I stupid to love you? Perhaps. But stupidity has nothing to do with the way darkness calls to darkness, how the hunter becomes the hunted, how revenge tastes like copper and starlight. In another life, perhaps we could have been each other's salvation. In this one, we're just beautiful destruction waiting to happen - your smile like broken glass, my heart a loaded gun. No time to die, but all the time in the world to burn together in this exquisite darkness we've created. After all, isn't that what monsters do? They find each other in the night and call it destiny.

There's a particular kind of devastation that comes with recognizing your own darkness in someone else's eyes. When vengeance meets redemption across a table, when shadows dance with more honesty than daylight ever could. They say the most dangerous game is the one where both players are willing to lose everything - but what if losing everything was always part of the dance?

Some people leave trace marks on your soul that feel like beautiful scars. The kind of wounds that remind you you're alive, that you once dared to walk the line between salvation and damnation. Between love and revenge. Between duty and desire.

Was it foolish to think we could play with fire without getting burned? Was I stupid to love you? Was I reckless to help? Maybe the real tragedy isn't in the dying - it's in all those moments we were achingly, devastatingly alive.

No time to die, but all the time in the world to haunt each other's shadows.

#ian doyle #paget brewster #lauren reynolds #criminal minds #emily prentiss #Spotify

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valhallafemme · 5 months ago

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𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑾𝒂𝒕𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑴𝒊𝒓𝒓𝒐𝒓

*Tuscany, 2004*

How many nights have I watched her, this doppelganger I've become? Watched as she surrenders to his touch, to the fire that consumes her whenever his skin meets hers? Watched as she loses herself in the altar of his flesh, forgetting for a moment the weight of her lies, the burden of her deception? Too many to count now.

The villa holds our secrets like a confessional. Its stone walls have witnessed every transformation - from Emily to Lauren, from target to lover, from spy to mother. Earlier today, those same hands that worship her body so reverently were teaching Declan about weapons, about survival. The same lips that trace fire across her skin had been singing our boy to sleep with Irish lullabies. The duality should shatter the spell, but somehow it only deepens it.

Sometimes Declan's footsteps in the hall bring us back to reality - the soft pad of small feet seeking comfort from nightmares. In those moments, we transform instantly from lovers to parents, and the seamlessness of this transition terrifies me more than any passion. The way Ian's eyes hold the same intensity whether he's claiming her body or protecting his son.

The true madness isn't just in their physical communion - it's in the morning after, when Declan crawls into our bed with nightmares, when we build blanket fortresses and sing about cats that always come back, when we become the family that neither Ian nor I ever thought we'd have. That's the real fever that consumes us both - Lauren and me, until we can't tell where one ends and the other begins.

My mind reels with images of them - the sweat-slicked dance of their bodies, the primal relentlessness of his thrusts, the rapture glazed over her face as she shatters around him again and again... I've become a voyeur to their passion, a silent witness to the erotic poem they write in purple and gunpowder.

Oh, I've felt her ecstasy as affirmation, her climax a benediction to their sinful communion. Heard her cries of rapture echo through the halls of this fortress, a siren song that stirred the very air, and stirred in me a loyterian envy for the frenzy she knew in his arms. The way her skin bloomed freesias under his ardent touch, as if the very blood beneath hurried to meet his caress.

In those moments, I am not the agent, the spy, the keeper of secrets. God help me, I am her. A woman undone, unmade, reborn again and again in the conflagration of their love. Taken, claimed, possessed. Owned.

I've watched them climb the heights of Eros, their coupling a symphony of damp, wanton flesh and guttural, husky whispers. The air heavy with the coital musk of their mating, the obscene slap of flesh against flesh ringing in my ears. I've been the silent audience to their erotic theater, to the candy-colored spills of his seed splattering her skin as if marking her, branding her his.

He was a virtuoso of vice, master of every tender sinew, each sensitive nerve ending that led to her unraveling. His every touch, every kiss, every whisper was a sculpture chip, hewing her to the shape of his desire. He made a temple of her flesh, an altar to his worship. And she stood rapt before him, eyes blazing with a fever of devotion as he plundered her, conquered her, possessed her so completely.

I should not have watched so hungrily, felt the prick of envy at her flesh-bound rapture, the twist of longing for the onslaught of his passion upon my own skin. But I did. Damn me, I did. I played the spymistress, the unspoken third in their erotic bloodshed, the silent witness to their licks and kisses, their bites and caresses.

And I burned with it, ached with it, yearned with it - for their love, their need, their all-encompassing, soul-crushing obsession with the flesh of the other.

It was a fever, a madness, an unholy euphoria that consumed them both, that ate them alive and left them reborn in a welter of sweat and satiated flesh. And I was the silent priest, the unseen celebrant to that communion, that carnal sacrament of lust and desire.

I have a confession to make. I did not mind it, I did not mind it at all... I minded it too well. For in watching their love, their passion, I was reminded of the truth I had long denied. That beneath this mask, beneath this persona, beneath the steel-edged woman I had forged myself into, I too was a creature of flesh and blood and bone.

I too craved to be touched, to be tasted, to be devoured. I too yearned to be held, to be conquered, to be possessed by a love as fierce and unyielding as Ian Doyle's lust. I too hungered to surrender to the flame, to be consumed in its fiery crucible and reforged into something wilder, something freer, something more... alive.

But that was a hunger I could not afford to satisfy. Not now. Not ever. For I was here to fulfill a purpose, to complete a mission, to raze this empire of violence and death to the ground. And to do that, I had to become the one thing that could tempt Ian Doyle to let down his guard, to place his trust in the tender hand of treachery. I had to become the woman in the moonlit window, the mother to his son, the lover who would one day become his Judas.

I am Emily Prentiss, and I cannot afford a heart. Not now. Not ever... But damn me, I do not mind it. I do not mind it at all... Even knowing the destruction to come. Even knowing how completely this love will shatter us all. Even knowing that every moment of passion, every family breakfast, every bedtime story brings us closer to the inevitable end.

Because some fires are worth the burning.

Some love is worth the destruction.

Some families are real even when built on lies.

The night air carries freesias from the garden where Declan plays, where I teach him goofy French words against his father's wishes, where we pretend at normal despite the weapons hidden in lilac bushes and the guards at every gate. In our bed, Ian stirs, reaching for me in sleep. Tomorrow I'll send another report to my handlers. Tomorrow I'll add another betrayal to my growing list. Tomorrow I'll remember my purpose.

But tonight, I watch Lauren love him.

Tonight, I let myself burn.

Tonight, I forget who's real and who's pretend.

Until the end comes.

Until truth claims its due.

Until duty destroys everything Lauren has built.

But not yet.

Not tonight.

Tonight, we burn.

Yours,

Until time comes for us.

Her.