emberfrostreblogs

[emberfrostreblogs]

Haven't posted cosplay stuff in years, but thank you, Max, I really enjoyed making this costume.

WAIT you like Bucky? Here is me cosplaying the Winter Soldier from a few years ago!

This is a costume I am very proud of. I worked out for months to bulk up a bit.

I hope you're doing well tonight <3

OMG THATS ACTUSLLY SO FUCKING GOOD???????

i love that that's such a good cosplay (coming from someone who's never done a single cosplay in their life)

also yes bucky is my MAN i love him and i have for like 2/3 yrs actually!! it started when i was hyper fixating on mcu lol but he is HAWT oh my lord

i actually have a bucky poster on my wall from my grandma lmao

well actually now that i'm looking at it it's more like a captain america poster but the movie it's abt is mostly abt bucky lol so it counts!!

[emberfrostreblogs]

rebloging this because it gave me much joy in 2020 when the Destiel meme was a "new thing." Lord I'm so tired. Here are some things i think America should do to compensate us for the onslaught of politics happening rn.

Make JohnLock Cannon (w/ a kiss scene)

Merarther

Launch Ron Desantis into space (satire)

Give us a bonus preview of the next Helluva Boss episode (Stolas and Blitzo f*ck [again])

Thank you for coming to my tedtalk.

what a week huh?

[emberfrostreblogs]

Ugh, so c u t e. I'm dying

WARNING: loud floor creaking at beginning of video and incredibly cute cat squeaking

My old baby :,) she always yelled at me when she saw me, I miss her a lot.

Since I can’t send videos in dms 😭 @greg-montgomery

[emberfrostreblogs]

Saving so I have the right pills when I write this fic. I think I'm gonna title it Unsweetened Lemonade by Amélie Farren. Her lyrics are so Hotch-coded <3

hotch tells you he’s just gonna take his sleeping pill and you think it’s melatonin because he doesn’t strike as a medicine guy and then he just shows up dropping 2 zolpidem pills in one water mouthful like it’s nothing

[emberfrostreblogs]

TRUE TRUE TRUE

"But you already wrote that trope."

[emberfrostreblogs]

Just one shot.... I beg of you sir....

Moments Silence | Aaron Hotchner

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x gn reader

Summary: Hotch misses you and you’re not there to keep him company, so he takes matters into his own hands—literally.

Tags/warnings: smut; Hotch going solo so there's no sex, just him jerking himself off in the shower 🥰

Word count: 1.3k

Author's note: another repost! this one's just short and nasty and an ode to Hotch and his body tbh

MAIN MASTERLIST | HOTCH MASTERLIST

It was a habit for Aaron to make his shower a brief and efficient activity. He was often called into work out of the blue and had to be ready in less than five minutes – all clean and suited up; impeccable. Not even a lint in sight.

        Everything he did seemed to be on an autopilot he wasn’t able to turn off. This occasion was different, though. He’d just come back from a long case and he was so exhausted. His eyes stung from how much he needed to sleep and his body seemed to have doubled its weight overnight. Even stripping out of his suit seemed like a difficult task.

        He turned on the shower and as he let it warm up, he walked back to his room and started to undress. His slow fingers found the perfect knot of his tie, loosing it up and pulling it off his neck. The buttons of his smooth white shirt came undone one by one until his torso was fully exposed to room temperature. It wasn’t cold, but his body still reacted; small goosebumps pebbled his skin at the same time his arms hairs rose and his pink nipples stiffened.

        He toed off his shiny shoes at the same time he unbuckled his belt then stepped out of his pants and folded them messily, laying them over the bed. Then, after stripping out of his underwear, the only thing he was wearing was his Rolex.

        11:23 at night.

        A short sigh filled the room. How the hell did time go that fast?

        He left his watch over his nightstand and made his way back to the bathroom, finding the room all fogged up—too fogged up. But the steam instantly warmed him up, relaxing his muscles that begged for some other sort of physical contact that’d make him feel good.

        The mirror on the wall only caught a blur of his silhouette when he walked past it and with heavy legs, he stepped under the hot stream of showers. An instant satisfied groan got trapped in his throat as he closed his eyes, allowing the water to cascade through his face for a few moments until every inch of him was fully wet.

        Even then, his mind was at work.

        He tried to shake his thoughts away and rubbed his face, scooping the water out of his sight and reaching for the bottle of soap. He poured some on his palm and with both of his large hands he spread the gel over his chest, shoulders, armpits and down his stomach. He’d showered earlier that morning but chasing after criminals not only made him sweaty all over again, but also a strange layer of darkness always coated his skin. He reached for his loofah to gently scrub that feeling off then washed off all the soap.

        He rubbed his face once again and the way his two-day beard scraped his palms bothered him.

        Shaving blindly wasn’t the best idea, let alone when he was that tired. Still, he stuck his arm out of the shower and reached for his shaver and the shaving cream. He was more careful than usual, slowly dragging the blades over his skin and using his fingertips as a guide to see which spots he had missed. One last check and he was done.

        That was it. Like always, in less than five minutes he’d finished showering and in any normal work day, he would’ve shut down the shower and dry his body within seconds. But tonight, his hands found his groin on their own and lingered there, just touching his own body. He licked some water off his lips and couldn’t hold that faint smile on his lips. Instant images of your body showed up in his mind.

        That also seemed to be something he did as a habit—touch himself while thinking about you.

        It started with one gentle touch, grazing his shaft almost accidentally. He needed to feel good, something—anything—that’d get rid of his tiredness. At least for a few minutes.

        There was no hesitation when his hand wrapped around his soft cock and slowly began to stroke. The memories from the last time he felt your mouth around him were enough motivation to increase the speed of his wrist motions.

        It felt so damn good already, and you looked so damn pretty in his mind that his cock quickly began to swell under his own touch.

        The sound of your sweet moans around his cock was somewhere deep within him, too. The reminders of you. Your gags, your mascara tears, the spit glossing up your lips and hanging from your chin, the way you’d slap the head of his cock against you tongue to tease him.

        Fuck.

        Each pump he gave made his erection grow more and more to the point where his balls drew up—tight—and his thick cock stood by itself—hard. He laid one hand flat on the shower wall above his head and opened his eyes, staring down at himself. The effect you had on him even when you weren’t there fascinated him. He missed you like crazy. More so when you were nowhere near him to let his cum land.

        The water droplets fogging up his vision didn’t seem to bother him when his eyes closed again. And there were you, again.

        He kept the pace of his strokes. His chest rose and fell to that same rhythm. The rubbing of his palm against his sensitive skin was only pleasure; his hips slightly bucked against nothing, wishing to find the curves of your body somewhere.

        Right there, he missed you. With his other hand he started to touch and massage his chest pretending it was you—though nothing compared to your touch.

        The grip around himself tightened even more. The release was there, getting close. So, so close. But he wanted to last longer, so he forced himself to let go of his cock and stayed still, both hands flat on the wall.

        He could almost picture you kneeling in front of him, tracing every vein of his erection with the tip of your tongue. His cock jolted at that memory.

        So, so close.

        He took a few seconds to focus on the sound of the water running, until he couldn’t handle it anymore. He started to pump again hurriedly and different sounds of pleasures echoed around him. His shy groans and wet noises his palm made against his erection turned him on even more.

        His head tilted back on its own as the final wave of pleasure gradually took over him. His muscles tensed and more low grunts escaped from him.

        Thick drops of cum started to spurt fast from the head of his cock, running down his hand while some more landed on the wall in the shape of shiny pearls. All he could think of was how they’d look better adorning your chest like last time.

        His hand kept pumping and pumping long after the last drop of him washed out and his dick began to soften, going back to its normal size. He let go of his cock for good and cleared his throat, washing his body one last time and cleaning up the mess he’d made.

        He stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his waist and defogging the mirror with his hand. The under-eye bags were still the same but he felt so much better now—lighter.

        When he made it back to his room, his phone was buzzing against his nightstand. His smile lit up the room as he read your name on the screen.

        “Hey,” he answered eagerly.

        “Hey, are you home?” Your voice caressed his ear.

        “I am.” He smiled even bigger and walked up to his closet, pulling out a white shirt and a pair of boxers.

        “Good, because I’m right outside.”

        You hung up at the same time the doorbell rang.

        There was no need for him to put on any clothes on, after all.

[emberfrostreblogs]

Chapter 2! I am going to read this tonight!!!!

↪ DANIEL 12:1 ─ chapter two.

AN IN NOMINE PATRIS, ET FILII, ET SPIRITUS SANCTI INSTALLMENT

pairing: hotch x fem!consultant!reader. summary: murders committed using catholic symbology gets emily to convince hotch it's time to ask for an expert. luckily for you, you're the expert. content warnings: canon typical violence. religious themes. spoilers to season 4. mature themes. mentions of throwing up. word count: 1.2K

      At that time Michael, the great prince who protects your people, will arise. There will be a time of distress such as has not happened from the beginning of nations until then. But at that time your people—everyone whose name is found written in the book—will be delivered.

      He didn’t reply to your question, how could he? What type of person asks another if they believe in God after an hour of meeting each other? How could he answer a question he himself wasn’t sure if there was an answer to?

      Did he believe in God? What god? His mother’s, the one who allowed her to drink her feelings and spit it out in form of insults and violence towards her family? The one that allowed his father to die of cancer? The one that didn’t do anything to stop the sick men and women Hotch had to catch every week?

      He shakes his head, trying to get his thoughts back to the case presented now in the board of the DC precinct but his eyes land on you, the way your foot shakes, up and now, your legs crossed, your fingers tapping the table quickly and with a rhythm of their own, your bottom lip would bleed out if you kept chewing on them, but what he noticed most were your eyes, wide and focused on the board with all the pictures from the crimes, even the ones Emily hadn’t sent you.

      This was the reason bringing outside people was not a good idea. Not everyone is prepared to deal with death, horrific deaths at that, the way the BAU members were. You clearly weren’t. He might’ve asked you how you were once more, but as quick as he thought about it, you two weren’t alone anymore as the lead detective and Emily came into the room.

      “They were drugged but could feel everything.” The words ring inside your ears, loud and repetitive like a beating heart. Your heart. Your mouth waters in a way you know too well and you feel your palms clamming.

      You’re going to be sick.

      You give the room half a smile and a nod, quietly excusing yourself from the others while making the effort not to make a scene, but you’re barely able to see where you’re going as you try to reach the bathroom.

      Something tells you you’ve done a good job at being discreet, even if you weren’t able to conceal the awful sounds coming from your throat, the light breakfast you had suddenly not seeming very light. It’s probably the fact no one knows you, or maybe because everyone else is busy trying to solve a goddamn murder case.

      The thoughts in your head were quickly brushed over when you heard someone clear their throat, a light knock on the door of the stall you were kneeling at. Your body reacts fast, holding the door with your palms even though it was locked.

      “Sorry, occupied.” Your voice in rough from putting it through too much, but you stay polite regardless.

      “Are you alright?” There is genuine concern in his, it keeps any shame from creeping up on you.

      “Mr. Hotchner! I’m okay… I ate something bad, it’s alright.” The lie comes without a second thought, but it’s obvious he doesn’t buy it. You get up quickly, opening the door as an attempt to leave the situation behind along with the contents you just flushed down.

      “No one expects you to react to these like we do.” His eyes are piecing and you swallow dry, nodding in understanding and thankfulness, but unable to say much else. “I will leave you to it, we are going through the files again, if you need anything, you can text me.” Hotch hands you his card, realizing you don’t really have his number and stands to his word, leaving you alone.

      Truthfully, he’s not sure what made him follow you to the bathrooms, possibly the fact Emily didn’t seem to notice the way your lips had gotten devoid of color or maybe it was just in his nature to care for others, fascinating alike you or not.

      It doesn’t take you too long to go back to the conference room the team was set, only some minutes to wash your mouth and your face, a few deep breaths to control your heart rate.

      “So the motive isn’t religious?” You hear a police officer ask as soon as you get back.

      “It has religious elements but the message doesn’t seem religious.” You smile to yourself as Emily speaks, fascinated by her quickness to get into work mode, to get into the mind of who was doing all of that.

      “It‘s about punishment.” Hotch repeats your earlier insight, it makes you feel useful, and smart. You knew you were intelligent, brightly so, but having something you said be important in something so big as an investigation was… Different.

      “And how is that not religious?”

      “Punishment coming from a religious motive would probably include whipping and at the most extreme, burning. The use of the cross pose seems purposeful, it is a punishment, a shameful one, but also, there’s some… Status to it, because it was how Jesus was killed.” You can be heard by everyone, but your focus is again on the pictures, your finger quietly drawing invisible crosses along the table. “I guess it can be another way to allude to Catholicism, like Saint Michael, they are the religion with the biggest attachment to the image of Christ in the cross. But then again, it doesn’t have any other aspect of Christ’s crucifixion.”

      No one has the time to reply to your rambling, a loud ringtone interrupting the brainstorming, Hotch answers, promptly putting the call on speaker.

      “The widow was no help, she is shaken up and has no idea who would want to kill her husband.” Derek sounds defeated, “And Hotch, he wasn‘t religious.”

      “Mrs. Beckett said she tried to bring him to mass countless times during their marriage but he always vehemently refused to.” Spencer’s voice is higher in pitch but he sounds intrigued, deep in thought.

      “Alright, come back to the precinct, we are waiting for Rossi and JJ and beginning to create a geographical profile.”

      Your puzzled look doesn’t last long, as the team present begins pinning on a map the victim’s homes and where they were found.

      “No churches near the warehouses, but two near Monica Dawson’s place.” Emily comments first looking at the red pins.

      The phone rings again and you wonder if they don’t get headaches from that sound coming out of nowhere all day, but the sweetest and most cheerful voice you ever heard comes on speaker, Garcia, and you smile involuntarily.

      “Garcia, any leads?”

      “You know I do, my darling sweet boss—”

      “Don’t call me that.”

      “Fine, sweet sir, both warehouses are pretty much truly abandoned, but I sniffed around, and by that I mean I went far far back and found some documents I maybe shouldn’t be sniffing around—”

      “Garcia.” You hold in a laugh at the interaction and the supposedly threatening tone Hotch was using.

      “Both were used for military training, like… SEAL type of military.”

      There is a bit of an awkward silence before Hotch thanks and dismisses her, with the mission to find records of everyone who were apart of those trainings.

      “If we’re dealing with a Navy SEAL…” Emily’s voice is a whisper you’ve never heard before.

      “Things might get ugly. We need to be fast.” Hotch’s shows more confidence, but he is worried and as you realize seconds later when an officer barges in, he has every reason to.

      “There’s been another one.”

[emberfrostreblogs]

Please read Lari's amazing fic friends! This part one is setting up to so good, and part two just dropped as well.

↪ QUIS UT DEUS? ─ chapter one.

AN IN NOMINE PATRIS, ET FILII, ET SPIRITUS SANCTI INSTALLMENT

pairing: hotch x fem!consultant!reader. summary: murders committed using catholic symbology gets emily to convince hotch it's time to ask for an expert. luckily for you, you're the expert. content warnings: canon typical violence. religious themes. spoilers to season 4. mature themes. word count: 1.5K

    In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti…

    “Amen.” If you weren’t paying attention and side eyeing him at that exact moment, you might’ve lost the way his lips moved following the ritual, no word actually leaving his mouth. 

    The black haired man didn’t look too comfortable, but didn’t look out of place either, he knew the cues, he spoke the words on automatic it seemed. It amused you to observe people’s behavior on holy grounds, that was part of the reason you asked to meet in silver spring.

    “Catholic, Mr. Hotchner?” Your question is met with a low scoff, the type only those with a bad bad history with the church gave you. “That much, huh?”

    “My parents were.” The answer is simple and you think it might stop at that, but he shakes his head and scoffs again. “I was an altar boy for years before I left for boarding school.” You nod. 

    “Ah. I've met some of you in my research.” Some of you. Church babies, altar boys. Spoon fed the bible from birth while watching everyone around sin. Sin becoming a term to reflect on what they hated. 

    “And you? Catholic?” 

    “Oh no. Never been.” You don’t explain much, aware Emily probably told him of your time in Rome, where the two of you met. “Your UnSub is though. Either devoted to Saint Michael or knows enough about his roles to look like one.” You note, being reminded of the pictures Emily sent you, big stab wounds, a small scale tipped to one side, the words Hebrews 9:22 written in blood. 

    Hotchner doesn’t reply, making a mental reminder of the new information, he looks around the place as you both leave the church and it hits him, Silver Spring’s St. Michael the Archangel parish, the church you chose as a meeting place. 

    He wouldn’t usually accept consultation for cases, especially from outsiders. And to be fair, the BAU doesn’t usually need any, Reid alone has more knowledge than anyone Hotch has ever met, and despite the humbleness he tends to show, Hotch himself can take care of the general book knowledge if Reid doesn’t step up to it. But he trusted Emily, and Emily spoke more highly of you than of anyone. Honestly, he was also trying to make amends after not having her back during the Matthew case they had not long before. 

    “She's in town giving lectures, it’s an asset we have easy access to, so why not use it?” Were her final and most convincing words before Hotch nodded in agreement, watching Emily make the call that led to the meeting. 

    He thinks now, as he’s driving both of you to Quantico, that maybe Emily should’ve been the one here, his attempts to strike conversation falling flat as you don’t even remember the last time you had to make small talk with someone, it felt awkward all of a sudden, as if you were on a date. 

    “I'm so sorry, I'm not too good with… People.” You blurt out after a long minute of silence, your neck suddenly warm from embarrassment. 

    Hotch side eyes you, brows lifted in confusion. You seemed much less confident in the car now than what you showed him of you minutes before back at the church. He figures you felt confident talking about your area of expertise and that he could relate to easily. “Did you notice anything else by the pictures Emily sent you?” 

    The switch of topic makes you sigh loudly in relief and you mentally thank him for brushing your silliness off. “He’s using different pieces of catholic dogma and putting it together, but most of the symbology eludes to Michael, the stabbing looks like a sword, the tipped scale indicates judgment, the verse he chose doesn’t cite Michael but talks about sins being forgiven by the shedding of blood… He’s the judge and executioner of his victims.” You try not to sound excited as you ramble on, it’s a terrible thing to witness, the pictures were grotesque and would’ve made you sick on a normal day, but the cherry picking of symbols the murderer seemed to make fascinated you. 

    “So you believe it’s a man?” 

    “Oh! I–I don’t know? I just assumed… Is that misogynistic?” You mumble the last part more to yourself, but it’s loud enough to make him chuckle and you look at him quickly to make sure it’s not mean spirited. 

    It’s definitely not. But it is amusing from a profiler perspective, he’s so used to defining serials’ genders by their crimes he hasn’t thought about misogyny being a factor to those assumptions in a long time. 

    “Brutality suggests male. But posing looks remorseful, theatrical…” His grip on the wheel tightens, two victims by now, feet crossed, arms wide open. 

    “If there were more allusions to the crucifixion, yeah, but I–” You take your phone out to look at the pictures once more, an attempt to seem less abstract in what you’re about to say. “No crown, no nails, this isn’t about Christ, it’s about punishment–I mean, I think.” You’re not usually self conscious about your knowledge but inferring characteristics and desires to someone by looking at a crime scene was not your specialty. 

    “To further point they were judged and executed…” Hotch nods, understanding where your line of thought is going and completing it immediately, not leaving you much time to doubt yourself. 

    “A very shameful execution.” 

    You both spend the short ride from Silver Springs to Quantico going over the symbology present, you tried to help here and there with the associations of what you saw to who could’ve done it, even though that was not what you were called in for. Strangely enough—for him at least, Hotch didn’t seem to mind your guesses, they were educated ones.

    And it was interesting to hear someone speak with such passion about religious aspects without any of the fundamentalism. It was definitely something he wasn’t used to.

    “Mi amore!” Are the first words you hear as you enter the famous bullpen from Emily’s texts, her arms surrounding you in a tight warm hug you haven’t felt in years—it hits you then how long has it been. You weren’t able to come and mourn Matthew with her, his parents weren’t fond of you either (Lord almighty, you didn’t even go to church with them!) and you were busy with your lectures.

    “Hey troublemaker, how’s it going?” Your question is muffled in the hug, your hands clasping together behind her back.

    The reunion doesn’t last long, curious eyes set on you two and a rather impatient Hotch leading the way to what you learned was the conference room.

    The briefing room. The round table. Emily told you about it when she first got into the BAU.

    You end up sitting between Emily and who you would bet was Spencer—there’s this sweet kid working with us, he’s super smart, annoyingly smart, but so sweet, he reminds of Matty when we were teens—the lanky boy was the only one with what seemed like naivety enough in his eyes to be the one Emily mentioned back then. 

    Aaron sat in front of you almost, serious, stern, very different from the few chuckles you got from him in the car. This was unit chief Hotchner, the subtle difference was fascinating.

    “Alright, as we know, DC is in trouble, second murder in three weeks.” blonde and gorgeous, you believed that was JJ, there had been no time for introductions, all you could do was try to remember the e-mails and few phone calls you shared with Emily the past years. “Richard Beckett, married, no kids, 27. He works for his father's car dealership.” 

    Pictures show up on the screen, showing the man when he was alive. It’s a punch to your gut, just minutes before you were fascinated by the way this real person was murdered. You’re glad you had a light breakfast by the way your stomach turns.

    “Monica Dawson, divorced, no kids, 53. She’s a counselor at a local school.” The woman continues speaking, with more pictures on the screen. And then pictures of their deaths, side by side. The fascination is completely extinguished then. “Both were stabbed countless times with a large blade. Left in abandoned warehouses posed in a cross position, a tipped scale on their side. Both naked. Both were heavily drugged.”

    “They didn’t have kids, is that a coincidence?” You hear Emily speak up and suddenly you can see all their brains working.

    “Could that be the linking between them? The victimology is all over the place.” Derek. Oh. You’ve heard of Derek. You’ve seen pictures of Derek. He needs no introduction. 

    “Reid, Morgan, go talk to the first victim’s widow. Rossi, JJ, Ms. Dawson’s ex-husband can give us insight on her life. Emily and us—” He gives you a look and you understand he means you, nodding in reply. “Will head to the DC police precinct.” The way Hotch gives orders is effortless, not only his job but his vocation. 

    Everyone listens and agrees quickly, moving and leaving the table, even Emily is fast on her feet, even though she won’t leave without you and him. You stay still, stiff, eyes glued to the screen.

    “Are you alright?” His voice is soft, laced with worry, genuine worry. You didn’t even notice he had stayed behind, but you nod again at Hotch, a question burning at the tip of your tongue.

    “Do you still believe in God, Mr. Hotchner?”

[emberfrostreblogs]

Why fic no climb out of my head and lie down in paper? Why must I write fic? ☹

[emberfrostreblogs]

You know it! I love you blog so much!

i really hope y’all find comfort and feel safe on my blog. idk i just hope it’s able to give at least one person a bit of happiness every day

[emberfrostreblogs]

Agreeing with everything here! I'm going to quote my philosophy professor here because my words aren't good enough for this: "...The words from the past are too enormous. To use these words in the present is to imply that we would not know, instantly, if something historically awful were taking place right now. If something truly monstrous were happening, it would be unmissable. It would not be the sort of thing we could possibly choose not to think about. People would not be marrying and giving in marriage and going about their lives in the ordinary way.

No unique historical monstrosities come clearly labeled. When things happen that ought never to happen, the kind of thing you ought to stop, an alert comes to your phone, and your other plans are canceled. You are asked to be courageous" (Bob Fischer)

I can’t even count the amount of times I’ve cried in the last few days about the ongoing genocide in Palestine. The tent massacre was absolutely horrible. I’ve kept up with it the best I can since October and every single thing hurts more. And the amount of emotional pain I feel is absolutely nothing compared to the emotional, mental, and physical pain of the people in Gaza. Those who are still there, those who have been able to escape, and those who have died there. The children who have only known this genocide in their life. And the ones who only knew it because they were victims of this ethnic cleansing. How much more will this continue on for? This has been happening for so long, way before just October of last year. Reporters risking their lives in sharing this, these same reporters having grey hairs while still young. None of these people deserve it. Palestine will be free one day.

Here’s a GoFundMe for Abdelrahman. My friend has been in contact with him for a long time now, getting updates when possible. This Gofundme is to help him and his family to move out/during these times.

This link also helps, it only asks you to click. You can do it daily for free and it only takes seconds.

Not being able to donate is so understandable but use your privilege and your platform to spread the word on what’s happening. There are no excuses to not know what’s happening now. I’m sharing some posts that have really spoken out to me recently online.

[emberfrostreblogs]

TBR Hotch nsfw. I am excited to read this!

was so distracted today because i cannot stop thinking about getting home from a long day, aaron is sitting up in bed waiting for you and just sinking down on his cock. and you fit so perfectly together it takes your breath away. and so his hands cover your hips and help you because your legs have turned to jelly all while praising you and its exactly what you need and i am so totally fine RAHHHHHH

pleaseeeeee minors dni

you enter the room and from the look on your face he knows exactly what you need. aaron takes his time, is just oh so gentle and softly takes charge <3 he takes pleasure from your pleasure, so literally tonight is all about you, he's doing all the work 🥰 (especially since you turn to literal putty in seconds) he pulls you close, takes your clothes off himself, kisses following his words and hands: telling you how pretty you are and how good you are for him. the breath of relief that escapes both of you when you sink down <33333 you're perfect, he's perfect, perfect for each other <3333 his grip on your hips is a bit far from gentle though, and is sure to leave marks, but again it's what you need - it's yet another reminder he's there, and isn't going anywhere. he'll catch your breaths with his mouth, lil desperate moans of his own leaving the back of his throat as he kisses you 😩💓💞

and there's no rush to finish either, the two of you are just simply enjoying each other and being close, especially after a horribly long day. after, you lay in his arms, his hands are spanning your back and is massaging it gently. he'll press sooo many kisses to the top of your head, praising you again - "you did so good for me. you're perfect" 🥰 - before asking about your day in detail. he has already put the pieces together it wasn't too great, but he wants to hear it from you

[emberfrostreblogs]

Levi TBR. from the little bit i read this looks sooo good!

Irresistible

Concept: Forbidden sex. 

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner X virgin!fem!reader.

Content: Hotch being the hottest man alive; thigh riding; rubbing; innocence kink (I think?); Hotch being called Mr. Hotchner by reader (sorry not sorry); “loss” of virginity; penetrative unprotected sex (P in the V); guilt; feelings. 

Word count: 3.1k.

Written by @dudeitiskarev

      She shouldn’t be almost naked sitting on my lap. Straddling my thigh with only her small underwear keeping her away from me; rubbing herself against me and moaning softly onto the crook of my neck as I guided every short stroke back and forth by gripping her hips. 

     “Mr. Hotchner this is–”

     “I know.” I breathed into her chest, planting a gentle, wet kiss on her skin. “I know.”

     This was so wrong.

     All she had to do was clean my apartment, make it look as good as new and leave. 

     But it wasn’t the first time things had gotten heated – unprofessional. Neither of those many occasions I recalled how we exactly ended up here, so close to kiss each other. Though our lips haven’t touched before, we’ve done more than kissing – so much more. And that was what I craved the most. Her beautiful mouth. 

Continuar lendo

[emberfrostreblogs]

For my Spencer x male!reader readers please check out this amazing fic from my cool moot!

Hi!! Could you do a Spencer Reid x male reader where reader comes home upset about Strauss (or someone else at work) yelling at them about something so Spencer comforts reader as he breaks down? PLEASEEEEE

Home is with him[s.r]

Spencer comes home to find you struggling, and does his best to help

WARNINGS- angst, villainizes strauss, talks about being yelled at, crying

Spencer Reid x male!reader ][ hurt/comfort ][ masterlist!!

a/n- this was such a cute request!!! sry it took so long

1.65k

Your feet felt like lead blocks as you trudged up the too many stairs to Spencer's apartment.

The bag on your shoulder felt just as heavy as it weighed your shoulder down even more than your posture had already sagged. 

You felt like you didn't even have the mental energy to be annoyed when you couldn't get the key into the old jinky lock that was always hard to open.

But it felt particularly annoying today as you grimaced to yourself and flared your nostrils slightly while jimmying with the key

When the door finally jimmied itself open, it creaked with the age of the building through the empty corridor.

You were met with an equally empty apartment in front of you. 

Even though you knew he wasn’t there, there was some part of you deep down that still hoped to call out his name and hear a response from somewhere deeper in the apartment.

”spencerrr! i'm home! Are you in the bedroom?” you called out hopefully. The phrase was followed by a pang of disappointment when there was no response, just the quiet creaking of the old building settling. 

you had known that your boyfriend was on a case, and you knew that he rarely came home before 10 pm on cases. 

but a small part of you still hoped, maybe being the amazing genius of a boyfriend he is, he'd solved it in hours and flown back to take you right into his arms. 

you imagined Spencer encasing you in his embrace, the way he always does, and used it to give yourself the strength to put your things away. 

By the time your work bag and shoes had been left by the door along with your keys and your grimey work clothes had been shed there was a lump in your throat that you couldn't swallow down. 

You shoved the aforementioned work clothes at the bottom of your hamper, trying to push away the bad joojoo lingering on the pieces of cloth. 

It felt impossible to not keep recalling the harsh reprimanding and even harsher insults that Strauss had thrown at you. She had decided that today was the day to rip into you over something as simple as some paperwork. 

According to Strauss, she won't accept idiocracy or carelessness in her employees. Apparently, this ‘moronic’ mistake could've caused miscommunication, which could've caused a field agent to be injured or killed. 

her harsh words clawed at your thoughts as you leaned against the counter in the kitchen, lost in thought. 

when you finally forced yourself to make some dinner, you couldn't bring yourself to make an actual meal. So you opted instead to munch on a bag of trail mix. 

without the distraction of figuring out what to eat you felt the lump rise again in your throat, strauss’ words ringing in your thoughts.

the lump grew to a burning behind your eyes as you sunk down into the old leather couch that smelled like worn pages.

Spencer's whole apartment smells like old books, that was one of the things that you'd always loved about your boyfriend's apartment.

Usually the smell was a comfort, but today it only furthered to remind you of his absence. Everything reminded you of Spencer when he was gone. 

The apartment smelled like him, the kitchen had remnants of Spencer's rushed breakfast that you hadn't the will to clean. And of course every book littered on almost every surface.

You almost hoped the leather would open up and swallow you so you wouldn't have to think anymore. But when no matter how much you willed it to happen and it didn't, you instead opted for the tv. 

Friends almost immediately became static. And in this static you felt a warmth on your cheek. A tear. And then another one, and another. And another. 

Soon the floodgates were open and your lip wobbled. The only thing you could do was pull your knees up to your chest as you leaned to lay sideways with your head on the pillow, and hope that Spencer would come home soon.

Soon the mixing of the TV, the AC unit, and the dehumidifier all became one collective static noise to your ears. 

It felt like moments later when you blinked your eyes open from a sort of half sleep half trance. But then you realized what had woken you; the door unlocking and creaking open across the small mudroom area.

You could hear the faint sound of shoes sliding off, and a bag slumping on the floor as you tried your best to rub off the tear tracks and rub the redness from your eyes away as Spencer approached. 

When your boyfriend had arrived, the first thing he noticed as the door closed behind him was that most of the lights were turned off, and that friends was playing faintly on the tv. 

All this led Spencer to deduce that you had fallen asleep by the tv waiting for him. It was only 9 pm, but he assumed you'd had a long day at work. That was an understatement. 

As he rounded the couch, where he expected to find your sleeping frame, he instead found you, with eyes reddened from tears that had long since been shed. 

Spencer's face immediately twisted into a concerned frown, a knot between his brows forming as he took you in. 

You looked,, tired. Spencer could see the obvious rementants of tears on your reddened cheeks and in your tired, tired eyes. 

When you finally looked at Spencer, he cupped your face in his hand, using his thumb to softly brush away the tears. 

No words had been spoken yet, your lip only wobbled the tiniest bit. That was when Spencer finally spoke, “oh honey,”.

Spencer spoke so softly if he hadn't been inches away from you, you wouldn't have heard him. His voice was murmured and gentle.

The sound of Spencer's voice is what caused you to break. You're pretty sure your body was aware that it was finally safe, now that your boyfriend was here. With Spencer you were safe.

The wobbling lip turned to broken sob, and a new round of tears streaking your cheeks. Spencer could feel them hitting his fingers and wetting them. 

You needed to be held, and Spencer knew that. So he moved from standing in front of you, to sitting with you in his warm embrace finally.

With you in his arms, you could finally let out the tears comfortably. Their warmth wet Spencer's work shirt, the thin material becoming darker. 

You had immediately buried your face in his neck, allowing his scent to overtake you. He smelled like the worn pages of a book and coffee grounds. 

It filled your nostrils and made you breath in a deep sigh. Spencer had inadvertently helped to stop you from crying. 

He had that effect on you, bringing peace. “You wanna talk about it?” Spencer asked, again speaking with a murmured and ever so gentle tone. 

Spencer could feel you sigh into his neck, it was the only response you gave him. Spencer took this as you needed to talk about it, but refused to.

So he asked again- “darling you should at least tell me what happened- please?” Spencer spoke with the biggest puppy dog eyes you’d ever seen. 

The only reason you could see the puppy eyes Spencer was so good at was that he had forced you (gently guided your head with his hands) to look at him. 

But he was right in doing it, as the look on his face made you cave. You just couldn't not- it was Spencer after all. 

Spencer noticed this shift almost immediately. His face softened more than it already had if that was even possible. 

“Come on love,”

The furrow between his brows was so tight with worry for his boyfriend you thought they might become one conjoined eyebrow. This thought made you let out a little chuckle through the tears. 

With a final sigh, you begin, “well Strauss yelled at me today in front of everyone over a filing error, she said that- that idiotic mistakes like that get agents killed in the field..” you trailed off, not wanting to continue the story as your voice had cracked. 

Spencer could tell there was more, but he didn't pry. He just went into helpful boyfriend mode and started rubbing your back gently, allowing you to rest your head back into the crook of his neck.

“My darling I'm sorry-” His voice had a slight gravel to it from how low and soft he spoke. 

You watched the way his Adam's apple bobbed when he spoke, and the way the soft skin under his jaw moved in tandem. 

You tried to use this to distract yourself from the tears still making their way down your cheeks. It didn't work. 

Instead Spencer took your silence as a cue to keep talking. “Would you like some tea, I got a new one you might like at the shop the other day” Spencer said hopefully. 

You nodded pitifully, your shoulders still heavy. Spencer just pecked your temple as he stood up. 

Only minutes and the sound of a whistling tea kettle later Spencer came back with two mugs. They were a matching set that had Mr. on each, reminiscent of Mr. and Mrs. mugs. Penelope had gifted them as a half joking present a couple years ago.

He placed both on separate coasters on the worn coffee table before pulling you back into his lap. His lanky arms wrapped around you gently and brought you close to his chest. 

You relaxed back into him as he gently played with your hair. He spoke calm, soft, and reassuring words to you.

He also peppered small kisses against your hair and behind your ear and anywhere else he could find as you eventually fell asleep against him. 

The End

Taglist- @spencers1wifey | @mvndfvelds | @mindfullycriminal | @luce-reid I @ferrjulie | @khxna | @ilovebeingdelulu | @lover-of-books-and-tea I @jaden-reid | @eli-chris | @multifandomsimp69 | @Multiversejumper | @shadoesx| @luvkatryna | @gnrswife | @pleasantwitchgarden

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[emberfrostreblogs]

@cumulo-stratus and @egdropsoop re: this post. Might I recommend the book "Just Like Home" by Sarah Gailey. It deals with this topic in a very sensitive and sincere way. I ended up crying at the end of it (which is fairly rare for me). I legit would send you a copy if you wanted.

Sending all my love out to you both. You are both so special and cool and I'm lucky to have you in my life! <3

you ever feel like you were born with something rotten inside you and if people get close enough they’re gonna find out

[emberfrostreblogs]

yep yep yep. Needing my meds was one big reason I stopped drinking. Take your meds.

oh you don't need to take your meds because you feel fine? NEWSFLASH: YOU FEEL FINE BECAUSE OF THE MEDS. GO. TAKE THEM.

[emberfrostreblogs]

This is such a hot fic!!!! Please give this a read if you want some nsfw Hotch for your Tuesday

rough me up | a.h x fem!reader

ꨄ requested: anonymous

ꨄ genre: smut

ꨄ summary:  whilst in the middle of having sex with aaron you blurt out the one thing that's been on your mind for weeks: you want him to be rougher with you. though he doesn't know how to react because of all the things he's seen in his line of work.

"choke me."

those two words caused aaron's world to stop, his eyebrows furrowed as he sat up and stopped the movement of his hips. you opened your eyes to see him staring down at you. scared that you may have upset him, you quickly opened your mouth to speak but aaron beat you to it.

"why would you want that?" he questioned, reaching up and cupping your jaw. you realized that you and aaron hadn't yet had the discussion of kinks and things you liked in bed, you usually stuck with basic sex.

he knows you've seen what happens in his line of work, the pictures of the brutality against women, and he couldn't figure out why you would want him to do something like that to you.

"i- uhm- it's something i like but you don't have to. it's not everyone's thing." you looked to the side to avoid his gaze, you knew that aaron was a gentle man so you weren't sure how he would react. aaron turned your head back to face him.

aaron has always been about giving you pleasure in moments like this, he always wanted to do anything that would make you feel good. so, he let out a shaky breath and pushed all the bad thoughts he had about this to the back of his mind.

"if- if that's what you want." he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your lips, his gently pushed his hips forward and tentatively placed his hand around your throat.

it took a while for aaron to be confident in choking you but once he didn't, he figured out that not only was it enjoyable for you but it was enjoyable for him as well.

you would definitely be having that talk soon.