break down these walls and come on in
emily prentiss x f!reader
tags: fluff, established relationship, attempt at humor, amelia prentiss, fiancées!!!, teenage relationships, momily, sweeeeet emily, down bad!emily
warnings: mentions of emily's arc in demonology (abortion and related themes) very briefly, mentions of underage sex (discussed only)
summary: amelia has a boyfriend. emily is not pleased.
word count: 3.6k
request: from @its--a--lonely--road -> I have an Amelia request / Amelia and Emily have a fight (probably Emily being over protective) and Amelia asks Reader's input as she's kind of a parental figure in her life now. (...)
more amelia
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a/n: ohhh boy this one is FUN! i hope you like it as much as i did, and that you have fun reading it. i tried to make it a little funny, don't know if i succeeded lol
Amelia has a boyfriend. Which is, you know, fine. Normal, even, for a seventeen year old.
Except when that seventeen year old is the daughter of one Emily Prentiss.
Emily doesn't like the idea. Hadn't, even when Amelia was 13 and had a “relationship” in middle school. Of course, you hadn't been there for that, but Amelia used it as an argument in many discussions with her mother, especially when annoyed about Emily's overprotection.
Alright, you remember what being a teenage girl was like. Your parents were constantly out to get you, even if they weren't, even if they really were worried about drugs, predators or something worse. You know that Amy will see it soon, she'll understand Emily's view on it when she's older, when she's not infatuated. You're sure of it.
That doesn't mean she understands it now.
In the living room, you've been witness to a few arguments. From the day Amelia sat Emily down and said she had a boyfriend, until today, when she sat her mom down, again, to ask if said boyfriend can sleep over.
“Absolutely not,” Emily says, once again.
“Why?!” Amelia exclaims, her face indignant, just like Emily's. “What difference does it make if he sleeps over or not?”
Her mother sighs. You stay very, very quiet.
“The difference is I don't want him to.”
“Oh, great argument, mom.” Amelia scoffs, “very convincing.”
Emily stands up, moving away from the couch to pace away her stress. “I'm your mother, I don't need to convince you of anything.”
Amy presses her lips together for a second. Then, in an honestly shocking action, calls your name. You look up at her, confused.
“Tell her she's being unreasonable.”
Widening your eyes, you notice Emily is also looking at you and waiting for an answer. Her eyebrow raised in a challenge.
“Oh,” you chuckle forcedly, “I'm not getting in the middle of that.”
“Why not?!” Amelia asks, waving her arms around indignantly. “You're getting married,” she gestures at the ring on your left hand, still recent and shocking to you when you look down at it. “You're like, practically, my mom too, right? You should have a say in this.”
Lips parted in surprise, you look over at Emily, whose shoulders have dropped ever so slightly. She nods, “tell us what you think.”
Clearing your throat, you look between them for a moment. God, it's annoying how much they can't see that they're exactly the same.
“Um, I don't see much of a difference if he's coming over, anyway,” you say, finally, and Amelia looks at you triumphantly. She points, making a face at her mother that says see?
In a second, you lift up a hand to stop her. “But, you said you'd just be sleeping, right? So, no harm in keeping the door open through the night.”
Amy scoffs, “that's ridiculous.”
Well, you don't really believe that. You're trying to be diplomatic, whatever, sue you. Of course, it doesn't make a difference if the door is open or not. If Amelia wants to have sex, she'll find a way to do it, at home or somewhere else. You'd much rather it be at home, safely, and you just want some time to discuss it, properly, with Emily before she has a stress induced stroke.
You look at Amy, begging her to understand that you need time to help Emily get used to the idea. She seems to get the hint.
“He can come over for dinner, and then he can stay over. Door open, that's it.”
You both look at Emily, bracing for her reaction. She keeps her arms crossed, lips pursed, but relents. “Fine. No closing the door and for one night. I need to meet him.”
Amelia looks at you gratefully, then thanks her mom, quickly darting away to her room with the excuse of telling Nick the good news. You take a deep breath, turning to Emily, who's still fuming, by the looks of it.
You walk towards her slowly, then softly uncross her arms for her, wrapping them around yourself. Resting your hands on her shoulders, you lock eyes, waiting. Emily sighs, again, like she has the weight of the world on her back.
“Compromises,” you say, trying to get her to understand.
“I guess,” she shrugs. Her lips are still in the cutest pout, though you'd never tell her that.
“Wouldn't you rather they sleep here instead of somewhere you don't know?”
“I'd rather they not sleep together at all,” she says indignantly.
You bite your lip to contain a smile, knowing it'll just add to her distress. “She'll be fine, she's a smart girl. Besides, if she wants to do something more, she'll find the time, even if it is in the middle of the day,” you say carefully. “You remember what being a teenager was like.”
Emily nods, “that's what worries me.”
In the end, dinner comes and goes easily. Nick sleeps over, they keep the door open, and Emily doesn't end up having a stroke. She even likes him, as much as she can. He seems like a good kid, and after dinner they even studied together in the den, so you're guessing this is as good as it'll get when considering 17 year olds.
Emily was touched that Amelia asked for your opinion. She'd smiled about it and kissed your cheek, and you told her she was allowed to say I told you so if she wanted to. She did tell you Amy would come around, and she had, a while ago as well. Now, though, after you got engaged, it seemed she was even more welcoming of your place in her life.
After a half day of work, your boss ends up letting you go home to finish everything remotely. It's a slow day, so there’s no need for you to be at the office, and you'll take any opportunity you can to work from home. As you drive, you call Emily to let her know about your change in plans and ask what she wants for dinner, figuring you'll whip something up in case she gets home late.
At the house, which you, sometimes, still can't believe you can call yours, you finally sigh after getting in, tired from the drive back. It's eerily quiet, which is to be expected. In the middle of the day, on a Friday, Emily at work and Amelia at school, you hope the silence doesn't lull you to sleep over your laptop and you actually manage to get some work done. Deciding you'll grab a coffee to keep you company, you leave your stuff in Emily's office, since you're both still working on redecorating the spare room as an office for you, and start towards the kitchen. You greet Leo in the hallway, scratching between his ears and letting him go when he quickly skips away.
On the way there, though, you hear a noise from the second floor. Immediately startled, you try to rationalize that it must be the wind, or one of the windows moving with the force of it. A beat later, though, you hear it again.
Reaching the second floor, you realize the sounds are coming from Amelia's room. The door is closed, so you guess she must've forgotten the window open, as usual, and there's a branch or something hitting the glass. Hoping there isn't actually an intruder, and praying to whoever is listening that if there is one, they haven't been able to get into Emily's gun safe, or you're about to be in big trouble.
Telling yourself you're being paranoid, you slowly open the door to Amelia's room, bracing yourself for someone to come swinging or pointing a gun at your face.
What greets you isn't that, but something much worse.
Sure, that's really dramatic, though the thought of explaining this to Emily brings immediate nausea, and your eyes widen in shock as you take in the scene.
Amelia yelps, hiding herself under the comforter, as you finally get control of your body back, slamming the door and walking quickly down the stairs. Defeated, you already know you won't be getting any work done today.
Because Amelia is home when she should've been at school. And Emily hadn't said anything, which indicated she was skipping class, a whole other can of worms that you don't want to unpack right now. And Amelia is home with her boyfriend, door closed, when they both should've been at school.
If you’re trying to grasp at silver linings, at least they were both clothed.
Although they were, most definitely, making out on Amy's bed. With the door closed. Skipping school. While Emily was at work, completely oblivious.
And, shit, you're going to have to tell Emily about this.
No matter what Amelia sees you as, no matter that you're finally growing into a proper role in her life. Emily has to know. And, fuck, you were the one who encouraged her to be fine with this relationship, you said Amelia was smart, you said she knew what she was doing,
And now Amelia is skipping school to make out or do God knows what with her boyfriend.
Oh, Emily's never gonna let you make a decision about this ever again.
It takes a few minutes for Amy to come find you, but she does, eventually.
You're sat at the dining table, staring at your laptop screen, pretending to work and not managing to convince even yourself. You see her in the reflection before she makes herself known.
Amelia clears her throat. As you turn, you notice her flushed cheeks, the way she's wringing her fingers together like her mother does when she's uncomfortable. You wait.
“I'm guessing there's no hope in asking you to keep this quiet?” She asks, yet she's already dejected, a self deprecating little smile on her lips.
You stay silent, raising your eyebrows.
“We weren't even doing anything,” she tries. “We were studying and got distracted.”
“Okay…” You nod, willing to hear her out. “And why aren't you at school?”
Amy shifts from one foot to the other, looking down at the floor. “We had a free period, then only an English class after, but there's this test next week and I was worried, so Nick was helping me study-”
At the perfect moment, of course, Nick comes down the stairs, his backpack in hand and looking redder than a tomato. It's an admittedly amusing sight, though you keep your laughter in. Leo skips down the stairs right behind him, probably infatuated with his new friend.
“Hi, Nicholas,” you say, enjoying the way he folds in on himself — it's funny, okay? You're still human, after all. “I think you should go home.”
He nods, quickly kisses Amy's cheek and makes his way out. She doesn't even look up at him, but you're guessing they're okay from her little wave.
“Amy,” you stand up, closing your laptop and walking around the island, moving to grab a glass of water just to have something to do with your hands. “I'm hoping you're going to be responsible enough to tell Emily about this yourself.”
Amelia opens her mouth to protest, but you silence her with a look.
“I'm not going to berate you for having a boyfriend, or wanting to spend time with him. I know your mom gets a little protective sometimes-” You ignore her scoff, taking a sip of your water before setting the glass down. “But she's still your mom, and she has rules for a reason. You skipped school, sneaked in here and did exactly what Emily was afraid you'd do.”
She sits heavily on the couch, keeping her eyes down, biting her lip in an effort to keep her emotions in check. It's cute to see how much she and Emily have in common, even in a situation like this.
“When you tell her about it, you should ask her why she’s so against you having a boyfriend. I'm sure she'll explain it to you.”
Crossing her arms, Amy looks up, “she's trying to ruin my social life.”
You smile despite yourself at her stubbornness, “ask her and you'll understand.”
She stays quiet, most definitely thinking about how her parents are the worst. Well, we've all been there.
“I thought you'd be the cool mom,” she rolls her eyes, leaving the den swiftly, and still slamming her door for good measure.
After a beat, she yells out Sorry! I didn't mean to slam it.
At least there's that.
Emily arrives silently, like always. She takes off her boots by the door, leaves her coat hanging, drops her bag on the couch.
She finds you in the kitchen, after following the smell of dinner, which is waiting for her on the stove. She grins.
God, you’re about to ruin her day.
Emily greets you in that low, raspy voice after an entire day of using it. Her tone would normally have your knees buckling. This time, your shoulders tense. She notices, of course, yet doesn't say anything.
She kisses your cheek, the side of your mouth, taking note of the two glasses of wine on the island. Wraps her arms around you from behind, then murmurs, “you okay?”
You hum in response, pushing the glass towards her softly. Tilting your head, you wordlessly ask for a kiss, to which she complies happily. Sighing into her mouth, you pull back slightly. “I have to tell you something.”
Emily nods, waiting. Before you can say anything, though, you both hear Amelia's footsteps behind you. Turning, Emily smiles at her, heart warming at the sight of her daughter, wearing pajamas with her dark hair in a braid.
“Hey, Hon.” She calls, hand still resting on your shoulder, like she's making sure you won't leave. There's nowhere else you'd want to go.
“Hi, mom,” she says, looking at you and nodding. You nod back, proud she's seemed to take your advice.
“Maybe we should move to the couch,” you suggest, causing Emily to frown immediately and look at the two of you, one at a time, cataloguing expressions and narrowing her eyes, trying to catch whatever it is by reading the faces of the two most important women in her life.
She doesn't say anything, again, and you know that's just her own style of profiling. Quietly assessing before she can get to a conclusion. Still, she lets herself be guided to the living room, sits down without prompting and accepts the glass you bring her. Amelia stands near the couch, shifting on her feet, as usual.
Emily frowns, and, finally, Amy starts talking.
If you weren't so tense, you'd laugh at the rollercoaster of emotions on Emily's face. Confusion, anger, then a shock so genuine you could kiss her, declare how much you love her and how adorable she looks when she's just, absolutely, lost. You don't do any of that, naturally, falling back into your role of spectator and waiting to see if you might need to be the extinguisher for Emily's fire.
For a moment, everything stills. Emily doesn't say a word.
For all her fame at the FBI, for how intimidating she looks, you know she's nothing like that in her personal life. At work, she needs to put up that front to earn people's respect, which is upsetting, but not unreal. At home, she's a loving, caring, understanding mother, even when Amelia tests her patience, even when the cat breaks one of her favorite picture frames.
At home, she prioritizes conversations instead of hard glares, she squeezes your hip when you look upset but won't tell her why, she plays with Amelia's hair when she needs comfort but won't ask for it.
The Emily you know is warm and sweet, truly comparable to marshmallow on the inside when it comes to you or Amelia. The Emily you know looks nothing like the woman next to you right now, who you're pretty sure just gained another gray hair in a span of thirty seconds.
“You did what?” She asks in an almost whisper, her jaw locked, eyes boring into Amelia's own, a mirror to hers.
Amy presses her lips together, then drops herself on the wooden coffee table, immediately placing her hands on her mother's thighs. “I'm sorry, okay? I am. And I won't do it again.”
“Of course you won't,” Emily says, way too calmly for you to trust it. “You're not going to see Nick again.”
Amelia jumps up, “mom! That's so ridiculous.”
Emily sits up, moving to the edge of the couch. Your hand on her thigh keeps her from standing up. “No… What's ridiculous is you making terrible decisions after starting to date this boy.”
“You said she'd understand!” She almost yells, looking at you. A fire behind her eyes that you've only seen before in Emily's.
Lifting a hand to placate her, and keep Emily from saying whatever it is you can see from the corner of your eye that she's about to. “I said you had to ask her, and that she'd explain it to you,” you say it slowly, not wanting to oxygenate the flame even further.
Amy takes a deep breath, sitting on the loveseat this time, a little further away from you both. “Why you hate that I have a boyfriend.”
Your fiancée scoffs, “haven’t you given me enough reason? You skipped school, Amy! You defied a rule I specifically set.”
She shakes her head, “you never liked it, even before that.”
“I told you, I don't have to explain anything to you, Amelia. I'm your mother.” Emily grabs her wine glass, taking a long sip. “Fuck, now you've made me sound like my mother.”
You touch her arm, earning her attention. You find it sweet how her eyes immediately soften. “I think she might understand it better if you tell her about when you were a teenager.” Watching as realization dawns in her eyes, you quickly squeeze her hand. “Only if you want to.”
Emily thinks about it for a moment. Amelia taps her foot impatiently. You figure she's glad the attention is not on her for a brief moment.
Seeming to make a decision, Emily turns to her daughter, leaving her glass on the coffee table, but her other hand still in yours. Then, she tells her.
Emily tells her about Rome, and John, and Matthew. She tells her about the priest, the clinic, like it's a story she only heard of. Her voice never wavers, her resolve never falters, though her hand squeezes yours when she says the word ‘abortion’.
“I've always done everything I can to ensure this didn't happen to you,” she explains. “Not because I don't trust you, or because I wouldn't help you do whatever you wanted in that situation because, believe me, Amelia, I would.” Emily reaches a hand in front of her, waiting for Amy to hold it. She does, of course, not even taking time to think about it. “I would move heaven and earth to make it your decision, and I always wanted to be a mother to whom you could come to if anything like that ever happened, unlike the one I had.”
Amy shakes her head incredulously, “you are.”
Emily smiles at her, “something like that changes you, Amy. I know I did what was right for me at the time, and I don't regret it, but it's something that weighs on you. I didn't want you to have to make that decision.” She wipes away a single tear that had escaped, “which is why I always worry when you mention a boy, and why I gave you the talk when you had your first period, even if your grandmother judged it way too early.” She sighs, “I know you're a smart girl. But this decision you made was very stupid.”
Amelia bites her lip, embarrassed. She looks down at her hand that's still clasped with her mother's.
“I want you to date, to have fun. But I don't want you making stupid decisions, Amy, you’re my daughter and you know better than that.”
She nods, her eyes moving to you for a second, then back to Emily. “I'm sorry. And I'm sorry, too,” she looks back at you, “that I said you weren't the cool mom. You definitely are.”
You let out a surprised laugh. Amy smiles back and even Emily, with her tense shoulders, shakes her head with a small grin.
“I'm gonna pretend I didn't hear that so you don't get an extra week without your phone.”
Amelia opens her mouth to protest, but is silenced with a single brow raise. She deflates, leaning against the cushions, defeated. Looking up shyly, “can I still see Nick? Mom, I swear we never did anything more, I would've told you, I promise.”
Emily looks at you with an indignant look, “that's what she's worried about?”
You shrug, “she's in loove,” you sing-song, delighting in Amy's blush.
“Fine, you can see him.” Before Amelia jumps up, Emily continues, “only at school, or here, with supervision. It'll be a while before he can go up to your room again.”
Amy nods, smiling softly. “Thanks, moms.” She hugs you both quickly, leaving her phone on the coffee table and swiftly leaving the room, her footsteps fast on the stairs.
“She called you her mom,” Emily beams, kissing your chin.
“Huh,” you jokingly consider, “I thought having a teenager would be harder.”
Emily stares at you, attempting a glare, “I almost had a stroke!”
“You should've seen my face when I caught them,” you shake your head, sipping on what's left of your wine. “Or Nick's.”
She, finally, guffaws, finding humor in the situation. “Fuck, honey, I'm gonna need a lot more wine to get through the night.”
You nod, grabbing her empty glass and starting towards the kitchen. “Whatever my lady wishes,” you call back with a chuckle.
she doesn't know i'd let her ruin all my days
emily prentiss x f!reader
tags: developing relationship, insecurities, hurt/comfort, body worship(?), smut, bottom!emily, top!reader, age gap not specified, smut with feelings, no use of yn
warnings: explicit content, minors please dni <3
summary: you don't understand why emily won't touch you.
word count: 4.5k
request: hiii, so for a fic request i was thinking something along the lines of unit chief emily and younger reader and they’ve been going out or dating for a little bit (...) and they haven’t done anything more than makeout because Emily’s a little insecure about being older (...)
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a/n: um im such a liar i said this would take a few days but i couldnt stop writing it so here it is ! ty for requesting <3 i had so much fun !!! hope u like it
Emily is obsessed with touching you any chance she gets.
It's surprising, really, the way she starts clinging to you when she finally feels like she's allowed to. When you're at hers, she keeps a hand on your hip while you cook dinner, she likes laying on the couch with you on top of her as you watch some random reality show. Emily keeps her face pressed into your neck, breathing you in, whenever she can.
And it's good. God, it's great. You want it all the time, you love how much she enjoys it, how close she keeps you. There's only one problem.
You want her. Constantly. And it seems like every time you try to move on to something more, she retreats. She kisses your cheek, your forehead, ending the makeout session as soon as it starts.
You don't push, you haven't been going out that long, anyway, and maybe she's still uncomfortable. Maybe you thought she’d be fine with it earlier because you were friends before, yet that might be the reason she's still uncertain, you're not sure. Although trying not to take it to heart is hard, especially when it seems like she doesn't want you as much as you want her, and you don't know if that's because she doesn't see you as her equal.
Being younger than her never really mattered to you. Ever since you started at the BAU you thought she was beautiful, attractive, sure, but she treated you like a colleague worthy of respect, even as her subordinate. Emily never made you feel like you were less than her or your teammates, which is why you never really thought about her age or yours as anything of a problem.
Perhaps you were wrong and she sees yours as a problem.
But there are moments in which you can't believe these conclusions. There are moments, when you're having dinner or just talking on a rare free night, that she looks at you and you can swear she wants you, too. At this point, anything could be true. You enjoy spending time with her, you care about her, and this one thing won't put you off a relationship that you believe can be really good, for the both of you. But this liminal stage ends up confusing you anyway.
Sometimes, your frustration gets the best of you.
You're on her couch, after dinner on a night when you're mercifully still in town. Emily never kisses like she doesn't mean it. She grips your hair and holds your jaw with her other hand, she tilts your chin slightly lower so she can get her tongue into your mouth. Emily sucks on your bottom lip like she's starved for it, then dives back in, leisurely feeling as you open up for her.
Scratching the back of your neck, she lets out a surprised sound when you pull her closer by the cheeks. When you get a leg thrown over her lap, though, she lays a hand on it softly, touching your thigh as if she's afraid you might break. Emily slows the kiss, kisses your chin, then your cheek, and still, with her lips swollen and cheeks red from effort, she smiles like nothing's happened.
“We should watch a movie,” she says, reaching over for the remote. You grip her arm, not letting her get away that easily.
“You're kidding me, right?”
Emily frowns, seemingly genuinely confused — if you weren't so frustrated you might've even found it cute. “I don't know what you mean.”
You chuckle humorlessly, resigned. This is fine. It's just something you'll have to get over. “Never mind,” you say, bringing your leg back from where it still rested over her, almost managing to stand up before she touches your hand.
“What's happening?” She asks, so lost that you actually feel bad. Seriously, what is she doing to you? “Did I do something?”
“No,” you sigh, “it's me. Pick a movie, I'll be right back.”
Emily's still frowning, but you get up, turning away from those sorry eyes. You can't help but feel bad that you put that look on her face when she hasn't done anything to earn it.
In the bathroom, you throw some water on your face. Chuckling ironically at yourself because the feel of the lace lingerie you have on is starting to annoy you. Lately, you've been choosing aesthetics over practicality with your underwear, just in case. Apparently, it was futile.
Reaching under your shirt, you remove your bra, tired of the uncomfortableness it brings. In a t-shirt of Emily's, you can barely tell you're not wearing it, anyway. Since you came straight from work, all you have is your laptop bag, not even pajamas in it, so she's lended you some. You figured you'd keep the lingerie on, again, just in case. Deciding it doesn't really matter, now, you get out of the bathroom and throw it in your bag, cursing the fact that you can't do the same with the bottom piece currently digging into your hips.
Back in the living room, Emily is sitting in silence. She's got a silk set on, some button-up shirt and pants that feel as soft as they look. You like seeing her this casual, comfortable at home, with you. Knowing you should focus on that, you smile at her when you sit back on the couch, your arms touching so she knows you're not upset.
“I couldn't choose,” she says in a low voice, sounding oh-so-dejected, pointing at the television.
Okay, does she have to make it this hard?
“I’m sorry, Em, I was just… upset about something else.” You try, touching her shoulder, letting her silver hair slip through your fingers. “I didn't mean to take it out on you.”
Emily shakes her head, a soft, yet genuine, smile on her face. “Don't worry about it.”
Biting your lip, you nod, still unsure but deciding to take her word for it. “There's a new thriller I thought you might like,” you change the subject, taking the remote from her hand and delighting in the fact that she snuggles up against you, her head on your shoulder, one of her arms around yours.
This is fine. This can be enough.
In bed, Emily has a terrible habit of scrolling through her work e-mails before you turn the lights off.
It usually ends in her getting annoyed at something or someone. She sighs, mutters about how she needs to stop looking at her phone before bed, then does it again then next night.
Tonight's no different. The only different thing is you're sitting next to her, leaning back against the headboard and reading a book, one you've read a thousand times. More passing your eyes over the words than actually absorbing them.
Emily huffs, takes off her glasses, places her phone on the nightstand, screen turned down. She turns on her side, still half propped up by pillows, and scoots closer. Her arm finds your waist, her head leaves the pillow to rest on your shoulder.
“Read it out loud?” She asks, her voice muffled against your skin.
You don't add anything, only start reading to her from the top of the page. You know she's not asking to know the story, she just wants to hear your voice.
“As the king made no answer, the little prince hesitated a moment. Then, with a sigh, he took his leave. // ‘I make you my Ambassador,’ the king called out, hastily. // He had a magnificent air of authority…”
The cold tip of Emily's nose touches your skin where your shirt’s moved a little. She presses it closer, breathes you in. Leaves a featherlight kiss on your shoulder.
You close the book harshly in the middle of a sentence.
“You must be tired,” you say, placing Le Petit Prince on the nightstand. “We should get some sleep.”
Emily frowns, “you're acting weird.”
You look away to turn off the lamp. She catches your hand.
“Talk to me.” She asks, her voice so syrupy as it usually is this time of night. “Please?”
Taking a deep breath, you buy some time. Not nearly enough.
“Did I do something?” She asks again, crestfallen now. Your chest physically hurts.
“No, you didn't do anything.” Taking her hand, you lace your fingers together. “I mean it, Emily. This is my issue, I'll get over it soon.”
Frowning, “I’d like to help.”
You shake your head, kiss her cheek. “I think,” you whisper, “no, I know, you're the best thing that's happened to me in a long time.”
Emily only looks at you, eyes big and searching. Her profiler skills working at full speed and, still, she can't figure you out.
“I don't want to ruin it,” you finish. Squeeze her hand for good measure, to let her know you're there.
“I'm so confused,” Emily says, sitting up properly. “Why won't you tell me what's wrong?!”
“Why won't you have sex with me?!”
Alright, blurting it out was not how you wanted to do this.
You close your eyes, cheeks flaming. “Forget I just said that.”
When you look up, Emily looks… stunned. Her lips are softly parted and her eyes are wider than usual. Too bad you really want to kiss her.
“Let's go to sleep.” Imploring now, you try to pull your hand away. She doesn't let you.
“I'm sorry-” She starts, but you interrupt her.
“No! I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say it like that, I was-”
Emily shuts you up with a kiss. Pressing your lips together, she holds your face in place as she kisses you. She doesn't deepen it, but she lingers, then softens.
“Stop talking,” she murmurs against your lips. “Please.”
You nod, pressing your lips together.
“I'm sorry. I didn't realize this was weighing on you.” Her voice is collected, like she sounds in the conference room. You want to shake her, tell her to yell or show that this is affecting her, too. “I never wanted to make you feel unwanted.”
“I don't-” You interrupt yourself before she can because, really, what can you say to that?
“I do want to have sex with you,” she says, calmly, but there's a light rubor to her cheeks, like it's hard for her to say it.
“Then- Why? Do you think it's too early? We've known each other for over a year.”
Emily nods, moving the hands that were resting on your shoulders to grip your own hands. “I don't think it's too early, I…” She shakes her head. “I don't know how to explain it.”
“Emily,” you say, finding that you really want to get that disheartened look off her face more than you want an explanation. Trying to convey in your tone what you feel about her. “You don't have to explain anything. We’ll do it when you're ready. If you're never ready, we'll never do it.”
“Simple as that?” She asks, slightly incredulously.
You shrug, “simple as that. I just wanted to know why, but that doesn't matter.”
Emily smiles, a small thing that you might've missed if you weren't paying attention. “You're so young,” she starts, confusing you again. It must show on your face because she quickly continues. “I'm not. And I don't look like I did at thirty anymore, or even forty. And maybe you should be with someone like that.”
Scoffing, you can't believe what she's saying. “You think I want to be with anyone else? I've been crawling up the walls because you won't touch me!”
Emily shakes her head negatively, “I believe you. When you say you want me, I can trust it. But I don't think you should.”
You cross your arms, dislodging her hands from yours. “That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard.”
She opens her mouth to protest, but nothing really comes out.
“I don't care that you don't look like a wax figure. Do you care that my stomach isn't perfectly toned? Or that I have acne scars on my back? Cellulite?!”
“Of course not, but-”
“Emily!” You interrupt her. “I love you. God, why is that so hard for you to understand?”
She blinks. Silence engulfs the room.
“I was gonna wait, because we've only been together a month or whatever… But we've been friends for so long, and fuck it, it's out there now.” Holding her face between your hands, you bring it close to yours. “I love you. And I want you like I've never wanted anyone in my life.”
“I love you,” she whispers back. But you don't have time to react before Emily kisses you, holding you in place by the shoulders, forcefully pressing your lips together like a woman starved.
Moving a hand over her side, she grips it before you can leave it there, holding it in her lap and pulling back from the kiss. Emily touches her forehead to yours, breathing hard with her eyes closed.
“Sorry, I-” She gasps out. “I didn't think it'd be this hard.”
You nod, placing a comforting kiss to the side of her mouth. Pushing her softly against the pillows, you lean over her a little, but not enough to completely cover her body. Trying your best not to be overwhelming, you look all over her face, taking note of her breath coming in hard pants and her hands clenched in the fabric of your shirt.
“Emily.”
She opens her eyes, not realizing she'd even closed them in the first place. They're wide, searching your expression.
“Take a deep breath,” you suggest, touching your cheek to hers when she does so. “Again.” Matching her breaths, you keep her under you for a moment, hoping she can finally relax. “I'm going to tell you exactly what I'm going to do, and if you need me to stop, tell me, alright?”
Lifting your head, you lock eyes. Emily nods, pressing her lips together and managing to keep her breathing normally paced.
“I'm going to kiss you, now.”
And you do exactly that.
At least this is familiar territory. Emily quickly melts into you, her mouth welcoming your tongue in a practised move. You don't touch her anywhere else, only keep one of her hands in yours, the other resting by her head on the mattress. She lets out a small sound of approval, her neck lifting to get closer, head tilting for the best fit.
When she comes up for air, you lower your face into her neck. “Here,” you whisper. “Okay?”
Emily hums a consent. You kiss below her ear, slow and wet, enjoying the taste of her skin in the way she hadn't let you before. You've been dreaming about this for weeks, months, and the reality of it is better than you expected.
Placing kisses down her neck, you reach the base of it, right where it meets the skin of her shoulder. A particularly hard kiss there leaves a slightly red flush in the shape of your mouth. Emily gasps above you, her free hand moving to grip your shoulder. You let her hold onto you, let her feel the assurance of your body over hers.
You take your time exploring her skin. The exposed area of her chest glistens and flushes where you've kept your lips on it, enjoying the taste and the way she shudders, her back unclenching, lowering back onto her soft sheets.
“Can I take your shirt off?”
Not even having dared to undo a button, you wait for her approval. Emily looks up at you, an ethereal vision with her cheeks red and her lip swollen where she bit it to contain her own whimpers. She doesn't say anything, so you move your hands to your (her) own shirt, slowly lifting it off yourself. For a second, you'd forgotten you'd taken your bra off in the bathroom, but the chill in the room quickly reminds you of it.
Emily looks at you intently, her eyes mapping every bit of exposed skin. She licks her lips, placing her hands on your waist and squeezing softly. You nod at her encouragingly.
Dragging her hands up, she keeps her palms under your chest, not going further. You feel your skin heat up at the attention, but don't move to cover yourself, letting her look as much as she wants to.
Emily looks into your eyes again, "take it off.”
You don't waste any time. Swiftly opening the buttons on her silk shirt, you lower your head to breathe in every amount of skin that is gradually shown. When it's completely open, you kiss her sternum, the valley between her breasts, her stomach, but you don't move to push it off her body. Slowly, you taste every bit that's uncovered, feeling as Emily's hips move on their own accord, lifting up from the bed ever so slightly, a sight that you'll soon learn means she's aroused.
Getting your arms under her back, you pull her up, touching your uncovered chest to hers. “I'm going to take it off, now.”
Everything is said in your lowest tone, as if you're trying not to spook a scared stray. When Emily nods, you finally rid her of her shirt, throwing it somewhere on the floor and not caring to look. There is a much more interesting view right in front of you.
She lies back down, her eyes locked on yours, her hands gripping you at the height of your ribs. You move down with her, trying to stifle a smile but losing the battle, kissing her chest so she can't feel embarrassed.
“You're perfect,” you murmur against her skin, causing her to shiver at the warmth in your voice. Keeping your promise, you continue, “I'm going to taste you, now.”
Taking a nipple into your mouth, you smile around it when she whines. Sucking slightly, the sounds she lets out spur you on. This is so, so much better than you could've imagined. Emily moans when you move to her other breast, the cool air causing even stronger shivers on her wet skin.
After a while, when Emily's breathing is labored for an entirely different reason, you bring your face up to meet hers. You can never get enough of the way she kisses, so you ask for it again. A thumb on her chin, pressing it down to guide her jaw, loving the way she relinquishes her body to yours. Your tongues meet heatedly, and you moan at how she tastes, yet again. She groans in the back of her throat, gripping your hair strands and keeping you exactly where she wants you.
You touch her chest, taking care of it with your hands this time as she kisses you oh-so-sweetly, in that way only she can.
Coming up for air, you smile at the expression on her face, dazed and relaxed, at last. Surprisingly, Emily smiles back, a small tilt of her lips but a smile nonetheless.
“Can I take your pants off?”
She nods, running fingers through your hair to move it away from your face. Twisting it onto a low ponytail to keep it there, she runs her hands down your bare back, then your chest, mapping your body with her fingertips as best as she can reach.
You remove her pajama pants, leaving her underwear on for now. Closing your eyes, you try to center yourself. She's everything and she really has no idea.
“I really didn't plan for this,” Emily murmurs, pulling you back to the moment. She's gesturing at her underwear, you notice, a simple, black cotton pair.
“It's perfect.”
Standing up, you take off your, also borrowed, sleep shorts. Emily lifts her eyebrows at the sight of your lace bottoms.
You smile, “just in case.”
Emily, mercifully, laughs. A loud, free thing that settles your worry.
“You can stop narrating now,” she says, pulling on your hand so you straddle her hips.
“You sure?”
She nods, pulling on the back of your neck to kiss you.
As you kiss, you feel her hips bucking up into yours. Your hands find her body again, relearning every curve that you, for a while, thought you'd never get to see. Finding the edge of her underwear, you only look at her, waiting for a sign of discouragement. Emily only nods.
“Fucking hell,” you whisper unconsciously after finally, finally, getting her naked. “I've been wanting to do this for months.”
Emily lifts an eyebrow, “months?”
You hum in agreement, growing more speechless by the second. Kneeling between her thighs, you stare at her unabashedly, earning an impatient look from Emily, who clears her throat. “Sorry,” you grin up at her, delicately lifting one of her legs onto your shoulder. Emily closes her eyes as her cheeks heat up.
“You're perfect.” It feels like you can't say anything else. You desperately want her to understand that you've never meant anything more than this. “Fuck, Emily, you're stunning.”
She opens her eyes, looking away quickly when she notes the flame in yours, her face turned to the ceiling. You let her have it, not wanting her to be uncomfortable, and start kissing the inside of her thigh where it's resting near your face.
Her skin erupts in goosebumps. You can smell her so strongly from where you lay, your mouth starts salivating almost immediately.
In the end, you don't know if you taste her more for her pleasure or yours. Every minute that passes with your head between Emily's thighs, you feel yourself get more and more aroused. You know you're just about to become addicted to her, you'll want to do this every hour or every day and it's gonna be so hard to not jump her every morning in the office.
The sounds she lets out are a spectacle apart. Her throat raw from moaning, the whimpers and gasps that she produces every time you find just the right spot. Every time that deliciously raspy voice hits your ears it spurs you on, when she calls please! into the ceiling, when she keens as you slip a finger into her.
Two fingers pulling forward, your mouth sucking precisely on her clit — you learn that's the perfect recipe. Emily cries out, telling you not to stop, telling you it's exactly right, and just like that, don't stop, fuck.
There's barely a breathy, broken, “baby, I'm so close” before she comes into your mouth. Her thighs shake and her hips try shooting up as you hold her down, keeping her close and still with your tongue on her, tasting as she comes down. Her back arches in the most stunning arch and you want to do it all over again, keep doing it, all night, all week, if she'll let you.
When she pulls your face away, gripping your hair strands and trying to stop you, you whine at the separation.
Once you're face to face again, you pout jokingly at her. “I was enjoying that.”
Emily smiles, “yes, well, I need a minute.”
She brings you in for a kiss, groaning as she tastes herself on your tongue. You feel the wetness on your chin passing onto her face, your kiss messy in the best way possible. Emily nips on your bottom lip, then beams at you.
“I don't know why I was so worried.”
You shrug, “I don't know, either.” But your eyes soften in understanding. A kiss on her cheek to tell her you've got her.
“Your turn?” She asks, grabbing your hips with her hands already under the waistband of the lace. Emily keeps them there, giving you the same time you gave her. It's sweet, even if you've told her you were crawling up the walls, and that she can probably feel the damp spot on her thigh from where you straddle her.
“I'm not done yet.”
Getting up again, you remove your underwear, then sit down next to her and pat your lap playfully. Emily rolls her eyes, but complies, straddling your own legs this time.
Gently moving her legs where you want them, you get one thigh over hers, the other under, and she swiftly adjusts herself when she gets your intention. She keeps herself lifted, not resting her weight onto you yet, leaning down to touch her forehead to yours, more easily as you're slightly propped up against the headboard.
You hold her hips firmly, guiding her down to bring your centers together. Emily closes her eyes, shivering.
Kissing below her ear, you whisper, “ride me?”
Emily sighs next to your face, hiding hers in your neck. “I'm not twenty anymore.”
“That doesn't mean anything,” you say, taking her earlobe between your teeth and enjoying the way she shudders. “I'll guide you, hm?”
She doesn't say anything, but she nods, and her hips give a slight, barely there, thrust forward. You both moan in unison.
Keeping a tight grip on her hips, you encourage her to move.
It's dramatic, sure, but you feel like you've died and gone to heaven in the span of a few seconds.
Murmuring in her ear about how good she looks, how well she rides you, you delight in her needy whimpers. Emily lets out these enticing little gasps where she hides her face in your neck.
Still guiding her movements with a hand, you take another to touch her back softly, caressing the skin and feeling as beads of sweat start to form from the exertion. You don't stop praising her out loud, the vibration of your voice emboldening the undulation of her hips, and Emily grips the hand that's resting right there, a bruising hold that keeps you anchored.
It takes a little trial and error, but you find the perfect rhythm together. She lifts her head when she's getting close. Her neck strains as she approaches orgasm, you've noticed, her entire body tensing in expectation.
As her breathing gets more labored, her brows furrowing from the effort, you think you've never seen someone this beautiful, and you tell her just so. Her cheeks flame, still so unused to praise, but it still spurs her own, her thighs burning now from the merciless pace she sets. With a particular twist of her hips, she slightly moves off where you need her the most, but she looks so ruined, so gorgeous, almost reaching her peak, that you don't say anything. You have time. Now, you only grip her harder, letting her take what she needs from you.
Telling her how good she rides you, how perfect she looks above you, you watch in ecstasy as her back arches and she comes again, an almost sob of relief leaving her lips.
When she falls forward, spent, you wrap your arms around her and kiss her temple, then wherever you can reach. You whisper that you love her, she answers with a squeeze of your arm, still catching her breath.
“You've ruined me,” she says when she finally finds her voice again.
“I did no such thing.”
Turning her face to look at you, your noses brush together. “You probably fixed me.”
“Don't be silly,” you joke, nipping at her nose. “There was nothing to fix.”
“Huh,” she considers, pressing your lips together sweetly, like she can't get enough. “Somehow, I almost believe that.”
— 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐘
quarterback!cassie x cheer captain!reader
⠀— 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 ◈ afterparty
. after a huge football win , cassie mckay and you, the team’s lead cheerleader head to an afterparty where teasing quickly turns into jealousy . neither of them can admit what they really are to each other , but when cassie pushes things too far trying to make you jealous back , the night ends with both of you more hurt than either expected . 8.8k
⠀— 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ◈ afterparty
. friends with benefits dynamics . jealousy . possessiveness . toxic relationship themes . emotional manipulation . making each other jealous . kissing other people out of spite . suggestive sexual content . football player!cassie mckay . cheerleader!reader . angst . hurt feelings . party setting . alcohol consumption . complicated feelings . no established relationship labels . emotionally messy cassie mckay .
The music from the house was already loud enough to shake the pavement by the time you and Cassie stepped out of her truck, bass echoing down the quiet suburban street while warm yellow lights spilled from every window of the massive two story house one of her football teammates owned, the entire front yard crowded with expensive cars, drunk college students, and players still wearing their jerseys from the win earlier that night.
Cassie slammed the driver’s side door shut before immediately looking over at you, her eyes dragging slowly from the white sneakers on your feet all the way up your body like she physically could not stop herself, and honestly, you couldn’t blame her because she looked unfair tonight, freshly showered after carrying half the game on her back as the team’s star player, damp dark hair pushed messily away from her forehead while the sharp scent of expensive cologne and soap clung to her skin.
Her white shirt was lazily buttoned low enough to expose the smooth skin of her chest and the toned muscle beneath it, sleeves rolled carelessly to her elbows while her varsity jacket hung over her broad shoulders instead of being worn properly, making her somehow look even cockier than usual, and the second she noticed the way you were staring, one corner of her mouth lifted slowly in amusement.
“You gonna keep looking at me like that all night?” she asked quietly, voice rough after screaming across the field for almost three hours straight, stepping closer until the cold metal of the truck pressed against your lower back.
Your stomach flipped embarrassingly fast because Cassie always knew exactly what she was doing to you, and tonight was somehow worse because the adrenaline from the game still clung to her skin, making her seem bigger, warmer, meaner in the most addictive way possible, especially when everybody on campus already knew the two of you had been tangled up in the world’s messiest friends with benefits situation for months now.
Nobody had ever officially called you girlfriends, not even once, but that didn’t stop the football team from teasing Cassie every single time she walked into practice with lipstick stains on her neck or stop the cheer squad from noticing the way you always ended up sitting in Cassie’s lap at parties by the end of the night.
“Maybe,” you teased softly, trying to sound unaffected even though your entire body felt hot under the intensity of her gaze, “depends if you keep looking like you walked out of some stupid fantasy.”
Cassie huffed out a laugh through her nose before her eyes dropped toward your cheer uniform again, and the amusement on her face disappeared almost instantly because the tiny skirt, fitted top, and glitter still dusted across your skin had apparently pushed something possessive deep inside her completely over the edge.
You were the lead cheerleader for the team which meant all eyes had been on you during halftime, and judging by the dangerous tension suddenly settling into Cassie’s shoulders, she had spent most of the game noticing that way more than she should have for somebody who kept insisting this thing between you was “casual.”
You blinked up at her for a second before laughing softly, completely unable to help yourself because Cassie being jealous had quickly become one of your favourite versions of her, especially when she didn’t even realise how obvious she was being yet, her large hand still resting possessively against your waist like she needed physical proof you were still standing beside her.
“Cassie,” you said carefully, reaching up to smooth your fingers against the collar of her shirt, “it’s literally my uniform.” She stared at you silently for a second too long before leaning down just enough for her face to hover close to yours, her expression unreadable except for the tension in her shoulders and the way her thumb slowly dragged back and forth against your hip beneath the thin material.
“Yeah,” she murmured, eyes flicking briefly toward the crowded house before returning straight back to you, “that’s kinda the problem.”
Your breath caught embarrassingly fast because her voice had dropped lower again, quieter now, like she didn’t want anybody else hearing this version of her, and you suddenly became hyper aware of the fact there were people everywhere around you while Cassie looked seconds away from dragging you right back into her truck instead of taking you inside.
She noticed your expression immediately because of course she did, her eyes narrowing slightly while the corner of her mouth twitched upward in satisfaction, and you knew right then she liked seeing you affected by her just as much as you liked seeing her lose control over you.
“You know how many people stared at you during halftime?” she asked suddenly, voice calm despite the jealousy practically radiating off her body, “I almost started a fight with Whittaker because he wouldn’t stop looking at your legs.”
Your eyebrows lifted in disbelief before another laugh escaped you, softer this time, because the image of Cassie getting territorial over somebody simply glancing at you was both ridiculous and painfully attractive considering the two of you technically weren’t even together.
That was the dangerous thing about whatever this was between you and Cassie, because she always acted like she didn’t do relationships while simultaneously touching you like she owned you, staring at anyone who got too close, and showing up at every single cheer practice despite claiming she “just happened to be nearby.”
“You’re insane,” you whispered, but your hands had already slid up beneath the open front of her shirt, fingertips brushing warm skin and toned muscle while her entire body tensed beneath your touch.
Cassie inhaled sharply before grabbing your wrist gently but firmly, pulling your hand back down as her eyes darkened almost instantly, and the look she gave you made your pulse jump because it carried one very clear message — if you kept touching her like that out here, neither of you were making it into that party anytime soon.
You could practically see Cassie trying to hold herself together in real time, jaw tight while her fingers remained locked around your wrist like the only thing stopping her from snapping was the fact there were still people scattered across the driveway only a few feet away, and honestly, the restraint looked painfully good on her.
Her chest rose slowly beneath your fingertips as she stared down at you, dark eyes heavy with the exact kind of frustration you loved pulling out of her, because teasing Cassie had become a dangerous little habit over the past few months, one she always pretended to hate right before she ended up dragging you somewhere private to punish you for it later.
“You’re playing a risky game right now,” she warned quietly, voice rough enough to send heat straight between your thighs, but the second she said it your lips curled into a smile because neither of you were actually trying to stop this.
“Am I?” you whispered sweetly, tilting your head just enough for your mouth to brush the shell of her ear, and the shiver that rolled through her body the second your breath hit her skin nearly made you laugh out loud.
Cassie’s grip tightened instantly against your waist while her eyes flicked toward the crowded front lawn again, clearly checking if anybody was watching before leaning closer to you like she physically couldn’t help herself.
You let your hands wander slowly beneath the open front of her shirt again, fingertips tracing over warm toned muscle while her breathing noticeably deepened beneath your touch, and the way her body reacted to even the smallest bit of attention from you always made something smug curl inside your chest.
“You know,” you murmured softly against her ear, voice dripping with fake innocence, “it was really hard focusing during the game when you looked like that in those tight football pants.” Cassie let out a quiet, strained laugh under her breath before muttering, “Jesus fucking christ,” like she genuinely needed a second to recover from the image you’d just shoved into her head.
The satisfaction that flooded through you was immediate because Cassie McKay, cocky, arrogant, untouchable Cassie McKay, completely folded whenever you whispered filthy things to her in that sweet innocent voice, and judging by the dangerous look settling deeper into her expression, she was getting dangerously close to losing the little self control she had left.
Your nails dragged lightly down her stomach beneath the shirt, slow enough to make her tense while your other hand slid up along the sleeve of her varsity jacket before settling against the back of her neck, fingers brushing damp strands of hair there.
“I kept thinking about your hands,” you admitted quietly, lips barely grazing her jaw now, “about how good they feel gripping my thighs when you eat me out after games.”
Cassie’s head dropped for a second like she physically needed to collect herself, one large hand suddenly planting against the truck beside your head while the other squeezed your hip hard enough to make you gasp softly. “You need to stop talking,” she muttered, but her voice sounded wrecked now, low and uneven and completely betrayed by the way her eyes dragged hungrily over your body again.
You smiled innocently despite the heat pooling low in your stomach before leaning even closer, letting your lips brush directly against her ear this time. “Or what?” you whispered. “You gonna bend me over the hood of your truck before we even make it inside?”
The effect was immediate because Cassie inhaled sharply through her nose before her fingers dug into your waist hard enough to pull your body flush against hers, and for one dangerous second you genuinely thought she might actually do it, might completely forget where you were and kiss you until you couldn’t breathe.
Instead she just stared at you, dark eyes burning while her jaw flexed beneath the faint glow of the streetlights, and the possessiveness sitting there almost made your knees weak because it looked way too intense for two people who supposedly weren’t dating.
“You’re such a fucking brat,” she said quietly, voice thick with frustration and want, and the way she said it sounded less like an insult and more like a confession.
You only grinned wider at that, completely addicted to the way Cassie unraveled whenever you pushed her buttons long enough, because underneath all her cockiness she always became so reactive with you, so easy to work up despite pretending she was the one in control.
Your hands slid slowly down her body, palms smoothing over the hard muscle of her stomach and chest before slipping lower to the waistband of her pants just enough to feel the way her entire body tensed beneath your touch, and the sharp look she gave you instantly made excitement spark through your chest.
“Poor Cass,” you teased softly, lips brushing the corner of her mouth now, “all worked up before the party’s even started.” Cassie stared at you for a second like she was debating between kissing you senseless or throwing you over her shoulder and taking you home immediately, and honestly, you weren’t sure which option you wanted more.
The tension between you had become almost unbearable at this point, thick and heavy and familiar in a way that made your stomach flutter because this was exactly what the two of you always did, push and pull until one of you finally snapped.
“You have no idea what you do to me,” Cassie admitted suddenly, quieter this time, and the honesty in her voice caught you off guard just enough for your expression to soften for half a second. But then somebody near the front door shouted Cassie’s name loudly from across the yard, instantly breaking the moment, and you watched irritation flash across her face immediately.
Before she could say anything else, you stepped back with the sweetest smile you could manage, smoothing down your tiny cheer skirt while keeping your eyes locked on hers the entire time.
“Try not to get jealous tonight, quarterback,” you teased, voice light and playful despite the heat between your legs, before turning around and walking toward the party entrance without another word.
And judging by the way the entire atmosphere behind you suddenly went silent, Cassie was absolutely staring at your ass in that cheer skirt while mentally deciding whether she wanted to strangle you or fuck you first.
Cassie stayed leaning against the side of her truck for a few seconds after you walked away, jaw tight while she watched the tiny skirt of your cheer uniform disappear through the crowded front door, and honestly, she already knew you’d done that shit on purpose.
You always knew exactly how to get under her skin, exactly how to leave her standing there frustrated and hard and completely obsessed with you while you walked off looking all sweet and innocent, and the worst part was that it worked every single fucking time.
She exhaled slowly through her nose before shoving a hand through her damp hair, trying to calm herself down enough to actually act normal before heading inside, but the feeling of your hands roaming over her body and the filthy little things you’d whispered in her ear were still looping through her head nonstop.
“Get it together,” she muttered under her breath before finally pushing herself away from the truck and heading toward the house, varsity jacket still hanging loosely over her shoulders while the bass from the music practically vibrated through her chest.
The second Cassie stepped through the front door people immediately started shouting her name, football players smacking her shoulders in celebration while drunk classmates shoved drinks into her hands, but she barely acknowledged any of it because her eyes were already searching for you through the packed crowd.
She spotted you almost instantly across the living room because of course she did, glitter catching the colored lights while your laugh carried over the music in a way Cassie swore she could pick out anywhere, and for a brief second her chest loosened just from seeing you. Then she noticed who you were standing with. And suddenly all that possessive irritation from outside came roaring right back.
Whittaker had you cornered near the kitchen island with the biggest fucking grin Cassie had ever seen on his face, leaning down close while you tilted your head up at him pretending to listen so sweetly that Cassie immediately knew you were playing a game.
Whittaker was one of the linebackers on the team, big enough that most people found him intimidating, but right now he looked completely pathetic standing there hanging onto every word coming out of your mouth like you’d personally blessed him with attention.
Cassie’s jaw flexed the second she saw his hands settle against your waist, fingers spreading possessively over the exact same spot Cassie had been touching outside barely five minutes ago, and the sight made something ugly twist low in her stomach instantly. You didn’t move away from him either.
If anything, you leaned in closer with this soft little smile that Cassie knew was fake only because she’d spent months learning every version of your expressions, but Whittaker clearly wasn’t smart enough to notice because the guy was practically drooling over the fact the lead cheerleader was giving him attention at all.
Cassie could tell from across the room that he was eating this up, puffing his chest out slightly while his eyes dragged openly over your body, hands tightening against your waist every time you laughed at something he said.
The worst part was the way you kept glancing across the room toward Cassie between sentences, your eyes meeting hers for half a second before you looked away again like you weren’t fully aware she was watching the entire thing unfold. You little fucking tease.
Cassie gripped the red cup in her hand hard enough to nearly crack the plastic because there was absolutely no way this wasn’t intentional, especially after the way you’d whispered all that filthy shit in her ear outside before disappearing into the party with that smug smile on your face.
And judging by the way your lips twitched every time your gaze found her again, you were enjoying every second of this.
Cassie barely heard whatever one of her teammates was saying beside her because all her focus stayed locked on you and Whittaker across the room, dark eyes narrowing every single time his hands slid lower against your waist or his mouth drifted too close to your ear while you laughed.
Rationally, she knew she had absolutely no right to feel like this because the two of you weren’t together, not officially anyway, but logic completely disappeared the second another person started touching you.
Her entire body felt tense now, shoulders tight beneath the varsity jacket while jealousy crawled hot beneath her skin in a way that made her almost angry with herself, because this whole friends with benefits arrangement was supposed to be simple.
Casual. Easy.
Except there was absolutely nothing casual about the way Cassie’s stomach twisted every time Whittaker looked at you like he wanted to take you upstairs, and there was definitely nothing casual about the violent little thought in Cassie’s head telling her to drag his hands off your body immediately.
She watched your fingers smooth over the front of Whittaker’s football jersey teasingly while he grinned down at you like the luckiest asshole alive, and Cassie nearly laughed at how obvious he was being because the guy looked seconds away from begging for your number despite fully knowing everybody on campus already associated you with Cassie.
People knew about you. Maybe not officially, maybe there were no labels attached to whatever this was, but everybody knew Cassie McKay always left parties with you hanging off her arm and lipstick smeared across her throat.
Which made Whittaker touching you like that feel almost disrespectful somehow, like he was testing boundaries he absolutely should’ve known existed.
Cassie took a slow sip from her drink without breaking eye contact with you once, and when your gaze slid toward her again she tilted her head slightly in challenge, silently daring you to keep going.
The tiny smile that spread across your lips after that told her everything she needed to know. You wanted a reaction out of her. And unfortunately for both of you, Cassie was dangerously close to giving you one.
You could feel Cassie staring at you from the second Whittaker’s hands settled against your waist, the intensity of it practically burning into the side of your face even through the packed crowd and flashing lights, and honestly, that was exactly the point.
The music was loud enough to make the kitchen counters vibrate while drunk bodies pressed shoulder to shoulder around you, but none of it distracted you from the fact Cassie’s attention had been completely locked onto you since the moment she walked through the front door.
You took a slow sip from the drink in your hand while pretending to listen to whatever story Whittaker was rambling on about, nodding every few seconds with just enough interest to keep him talking, though most of your focus stayed somewhere across the room where Cassie stood watching with narrowed dark eyes and a clenched jaw.
“You were incredible out there tonight,” Whittaker said for probably the third time, his large hands tightening slightly against your waist as though he thought complimenting you enough might actually get him somewhere, and you almost laughed because the poor guy genuinely had no idea he was being used as part of your little game.
“Yeah?” you asked sweetly, tilting your head while your fingers brushed teasingly against the front of his jersey, “you liked the halftime routine that much?” Whittaker practically lit up at the attention immediately, grin widening while his eyes dropped lower for a second too long before snapping back up to your face.
Across the room, you saw Cassie’s shoulders tense beneath her varsity jacket. That alone nearly made this worth it. You knew Cassie better than she realised, knew exactly how possessive she got despite insisting the two of you were “just having fun,” and there was something dangerously addictive about watching the star quarterback completely lose her composure over you while pretending she wasn’t affected.
“Liked it?” Whittaker laughed loudly over the music, leaning down closer until you could smell alcohol on his breath. “Pretty sure every guy in the stadium was losing their minds watching you.”
The second those words left his mouth you saw Cassie shift from across the room, jaw flexing hard enough that even from here you noticed it, and you had to bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from smiling too obviously.
You hummed softly like you were considering his words before letting your hands smooth casually up his chest for a second, feeling the way he immediately straightened beneath your touch, and honestly, men became embarrassingly easy to control when you gave them even the smallest amount of attention.
“You think Cassie liked it too?” you asked innocently. Whittaker blinked at that question before glancing across the room toward her, his expression shifting into something almost nervous because everybody knew about you and Cassie, even if nobody fully understood what the hell the two of you actually were.
“I mean…” he started awkwardly, hands still fixed on your waist, “McKay looks like she wants to kill me right now.” You finally laughed at that, soft and genuine this time, before slowly turning your head enough to properly look at Cassie for the first time since you walked into the house.
The second your eyes met hers, heat curled low in your stomach because she looked furious. Not annoyed. Not mildly jealous. Furious. Her dark stare stayed glued to the way Whittaker was touching you while one hand gripped her drink so tightly it looked like the cup might split open any second, and the possessiveness radiating off her from across the room was so intense it almost felt physical. You should’ve felt bad for pushing her this far. Instead, you just felt turned on.
Whittaker was still talking but you barely heard him anymore because your attention stayed entirely on Cassie now, on the dangerous look sitting behind her eyes and the way her entire body seemed coiled tight like she was seconds away from snapping.
God, she looked good jealous. Freshly showered after the game with her shirt still unbuttoned low enough to expose toned skin and muscle beneath it, varsity jacket hanging from her broad shoulders while she stared at you like she wanted to drag you out of this party by your throat.
You shifted slightly closer to Whittaker on purpose, feeling his fingers flex against your waist immediately, and that finally did it because Cassie pushed herself away from the wall she’d been leaning against so suddenly that the teammate talking beside her stopped mid sentence in confusion. Your pulse jumped instantly.
She started walking toward you without breaking eye contact once. Every person in her path moved automatically because Cassie carried herself with that natural athlete confidence that made people instinctively step aside, and right now there was something darker mixed into it, something possessive and territorial and dangerously focused entirely on you.
Whittaker noticed too because his voice trailed off awkwardly while Cassie approached, his hands slowly dropping away from your waist like survival instincts were finally kicking in. By the time she reached you, the tension between all three of you felt so thick it was almost embarrassing.
Cassie looked at Whittaker first, expression calm in a way that somehow felt more threatening than if she’d been yelling. “Coach wants you in the living room,” she said simply. Whittaker frowned slightly. “Coach isn’t even—”
“Now,” Cassie interrupted, dark eyes hard enough to shut him up instantly. And because Whittaker clearly valued his life, he mumbled something awkward before disappearing into the crowd almost immediately, leaving you standing there alone with Cassie while the music pounded around you and heat practically crackled between your bodies.
You couldn’t help the soft giggle that escaped you the second Whittaker disappeared into the crowd because the entire interaction had been so painfully obvious, so ridiculously territorial on Cassie’s part, and the dark look she immediately sent you afterward only made it harder to stop smiling.
“Coach wants you in the living room?” you repeated innocently, looking up at her through your lashes while amusement practically dripped from your voice. “Really creative, McKay.”
Cassie stepped closer without hesitation, broad body crowding yours against the kitchen island while one hand landed beside your hip hard enough to make the plastic cups stacked there rattle slightly, and despite the loud party surrounding you, it suddenly felt like the room had narrowed down to just the two of you again.
“You think you’re funny?” she asked quietly, dark eyes fixed on your face now instead of the crowd around you, though the tension in her jaw still betrayed how worked up she was.
You bit your lip to stop another smile before shrugging one shoulder casually, your fingers absentmindedly smoothing over the front of her open shirt where you could feel the warmth of her skin underneath.
“A little,” you admitted sweetly. Cassie stared at you for a second too long before letting out a sharp breath through her nose, clearly trying to regain some kind of composure while your fingertips continued tracing lazy patterns against her chest.
“You were doing that shit on purpose,” she muttered finally, voice low enough that only you could hear it over the music. The accusation should’ve sounded irritated. Instead it sounded almost wounded. And that made the flutter in your stomach worse.
“Doing what?” you asked softly, even though both of you knew exactly what she meant. Cassie’s eyes narrowed instantly because she hated when you played innocent after deliberately pushing every single one of her buttons, but the way her hand suddenly settled possessively against your waist anyway told you she was already losing this fight.
“You know exactly what,” she murmured, leaning down slightly until her face hovered close enough for you to feel her breath against your cheek, and the intensity in her expression nearly made your knees weak right there in the middle of the kitchen.
“Laughing at everything he said. Letting him touch you.” Her fingers flexed tighter against your waist while she spoke, thumb brushing slowly beneath the hem of your cheer top like she needed reminding that you were standing here with her now instead of across the room with somebody else.
“Cassie,” you giggled again softly, completely unable to stop yourself because seeing the star quarterback this jealous over you was becoming one of your favourite things in the entire world, “you looked like you were about to tackle him.”
That finally pulled a reluctant smile from her for half a second, though it disappeared almost immediately when your hands slid lower against her stomach beneath the open shirt, nails dragging lightly over toned skin.
“Don’t start,” she warned quietly. You tilted your head innocently. “Or what?”
The second those words left your mouth, Cassie’s hand suddenly moved from your waist to the back of your thigh, fingers gripping firmly beneath your skirt while she tugged you a step closer against her body, and the sharp inhale you let out made satisfaction flicker briefly across her face.
“Or I’m taking you somewhere private,” she said bluntly, voice rough now, “because you’ve been acting like a fucking menace since we got here.”
Heat flooded straight through your body because there was nothing casual about the way Cassie looked at you right now, absolutely nothing friendly about the possessive grip she had on your thigh while her chest pressed against yours.
And judging by the dangerous look settling deeper into her expression every time your lips twitched with another smile, she knew that too.
“Maybe I just wanted your attention,” you admitted quietly, fingertips smoothing up along the side of her neck now, brushing damp hair at the nape there.
Cassie’s entire expression softened for the briefest second before she laughed softly under her breath, almost disbelieving. “You already had it,” she murmured. “You always fucking have it.”
That should not have affected you the way it did. The words settled heavily in your chest while you stared up at her, suddenly hyper aware of how close your bodies were and how little space existed between whatever this thing was and something dangerously real.
Cassie noticed the shift in your expression immediately because she always noticed everything when it came to you, her dark eyes flicking over your face carefully while her grip against your thigh loosened slightly. For a second neither of you spoke.
The music still thundered around you, people still shoved past through the crowded kitchen laughing and yelling drunkenly, but it all felt strangely distant while Cassie looked at you like that, like she’d forgotten anybody else existed.
Then someone from the football team shouted her name from the living room, instantly breaking the moment, and annoyance flashed across her face so fast it almost made you laugh again. “Ignore them,” you whispered teasingly, though your voice had softened now, less playful than before.
Cassie’s eyes stayed locked on yours for another long second before she leaned down suddenly, lips brushing just beside your ear while her hand tightened against your thigh again. “Keep acting like this,” she murmured quietly, “and I swear to god I’m leaving this party with you over my shoulder.”
Your stomach flipped so hard it was embarrassing. She pulled back just enough to look at your reaction, clearly pleased by the heat rising into your face now, and that cocky little smirk finally returned to her lips again.
“There she is,” Cassie teased softly, thumb brushing slow circles against your skin beneath the skirt. “Knew I could still make you blush.” You rolled your eyes even though your pulse was racing uncontrollably, trying to hide how badly she affected you despite months of this exact push and pull between the two of you.
But then Cassie’s gaze dropped briefly to your mouth before lifting back to your eyes again, dark and heavy and wanting, and suddenly it became very hard to remember why you’d started teasing her in the first place instead of just dragging her upstairs already.
Cassie watched the disappointment flicker across your face the second she stepped back from you, and judging by the slow smirk that spread across her lips afterward, she absolutely noticed the way your body instinctively leaned toward hers like you were about to follow.
Her hand slid from beneath your skirt painfully slowly, fingertips dragging against your thigh one last time before pulling away completely, and the sudden loss of her touch left your skin feeling cold in a way that was honestly ridiculous.
“Cassie,” you started softly, almost sounding confused by the fact she was moving away instead of dragging you somewhere upstairs like she usually would after you pushed her this far. She only tilted her head slightly at the sound of your voice, dark eyes glittering with amusement now instead of frustration.
“What?” she asked innocently. Oh, she knew exactly what. You stared at her for a second while the loud music pulsed around you, trying not to let the frustration show on your face because this was not how this was supposed to go.
You were the one teasing her. You were the one making her jealous and possessive and desperate for your attention. Somehow, somewhere between Whittaker’s hands on your waist and Cassie cornering you against the kitchen island, she’d flipped the entire thing around on you without you even realising it was happening.
“You’re leaving?” you asked before you could stop yourself, and the second the words came out Cassie’s smile widened in immediate satisfaction because there it was, exactly what she’d been waiting for all night. Neediness.
Cassie let out a quiet laugh beneath her breath before taking another deliberate step backward, broad shoulders brushing against people moving through the kitchen while her eyes stayed completely locked on yours the entire time.
“You seemed pretty busy earlier,” she said casually, straightening the sleeves of her varsity jacket. “Thought I’d let you enjoy the party.” Your stomach dropped instantly because the smugness in her expression made it painfully obvious she was getting revenge now, every ounce of jealousy you’d dragged out of her earlier suddenly being redirected straight back at you.
“Cass,” you muttered softly, trying to sound annoyed instead of affected, but your voice betrayed you a little too much because her eyes darkened in immediate recognition. God, she was enjoying this.
“Aw,” she teased quietly, stepping close just long enough to brush her fingers beneath your chin for a second, “don’t tell me the lead cheerleader’s upset I’m not following her around anymore.”
Heat flooded your face instantly because that was exactly what you were upset about, even if you refused to admit it out loud. You’d spent the entire night pulling Cassie’s attention toward you on purpose, teasing her until she looked seconds away from snapping, and now that she was suddenly pulling away it felt wrong, like the entire atmosphere around you had shifted too fast for your brain to catch up.
Cassie noticed every second of your internal spiral too because of course she did, her expression softening just slightly before the cockiness slipped right back into place again. “Behave yourself for five minutes,” she murmured, leaning close enough for her lips to brush your ear briefly, “and maybe I’ll give you attention later.”
Your thighs pressed together involuntarily at the low promise hidden beneath her words, and judging by the smug little look Cassie gave you afterward, she noticed that too. Then, before you could say anything else, she stepped away completely and disappeared into the crowd toward her teammates. Leaving you standing there stunned.
You actually almost whimpered. The sound caught embarrassingly in the back of your throat as you watched Cassie walk off toward the living room where the football team was gathered around the television replaying highlights from the game, her confident stride and broad shoulders somehow looking even more attractive now that she was deliberately ignoring you.
What the fuck. You hated how quickly your body reacted to the shift in attention, hated the sudden ache low in your stomach the second Cassie stopped touching you after spending the last twenty minutes practically wrapped around your body.
Across the room, one of her teammates immediately threw an arm around her shoulders while yelling drunkenly about the winning touchdown, and Cassie laughed easily this time, finally relaxing into the party instead of obsessively watching you.
Or at least pretending to. Because every few seconds, you still caught her glancing toward you from across the crowded room before looking away again like she didn’t care.
Asshole.
You grabbed your drink from the counter with slightly shaky fingers while trying to ignore the embarrassing little sting in your chest, but it only got worse when another girl slid into the empty space beside Cassie on the couch and started talking close to her ear while laughing at something she said.
Cassie leaned back casually with one arm stretched along the couch behind the girl, looking completely relaxed and unfairly gorgeous while she talked to her teammates, and suddenly you understood exactly how she must’ve felt watching you flirt with Whittaker earlier.
The realization hit hard enough to make your stomach twist. Because now you were the one standing across the room feeling jealous and possessive and desperate for her attention while Cassie acted completely unaffected.
She’d beaten you at your own damn game. And judging by the way her eyes briefly met yours from across the room before she smirked into her drink, she knew it too.
You huffed quietly under your breath while gripping the tequila shot your friend had shoved into your hand a little too tightly, eyes still fixed across the crowded living room where Cassie sat sprawled lazily across the couch like she didn’t have a single care in the world anymore.
The music felt louder now, more irritating than fun, bass pounding through your chest while people screamed drunkenly around you and somebody nearly bumped into your shoulder hard enough to spill your drink.
“You okay?” your friend asked cautiously beside you, already noticing the shift in your mood, but you only forced a quick smile before tossing the shot back in one burning swallow because the last thing you wanted right now was to explain whatever the hell this thing between you and Cassie actually was.
The tequila burned down your throat while heat crawled unpleasantly beneath your skin, but it didn’t distract you nearly enough from the sight across the room because Cassie was still looking over here every few seconds, still watching you through lowered lashes over the rim of her cup like she was waiting for something.
Waiting for you to react. Your jaw tightened slightly because you knew her too well by now, knew Cassie always needed to win once somebody challenged her, and suddenly you realised she wasn’t going to stop at simply ignoring you for a while.
No. Cassie McKay always took things too far. Always pushed harder. Always made sure she came out on top.
And the second the girl sitting beside her laughed loudly and slid closer against her side, you felt your stomach drop because you already knew exactly where this was headed before it even happened.
At first, Cassie only looked at the girl while she talked, expression relaxed and cocky again like she hadn’t spent half the night nearly losing her mind over Whittaker touching your waist, but then her gaze shifted slowly across the room toward you. Your breath caught instantly the second your eyes met hers.
Because there it was again. That challenge. That dangerous little spark in her dark eyes that silently said watch this.
The girl beside her whispered something in Cassie’s ear before laughing again, and then suddenly Cassie’s hand landed on the girl’s waist before pulling her directly into her lap like it was nothing. Your entire body went cold.
The people around them immediately cheered drunkenly because of course they fucking did, football players yelling and laughing while Cassie leaned back against the couch cushions with one hand gripping the girl’s hip casually like she belonged there. Like it meant nothing. Like you meant nothing.
The girl grinned down at Cassie before leaning closer, and for one stupid second you genuinely thought Cassie would stop there, thought maybe she’d just wanted a reaction out of you the same way you’d wanted one out of her earlier. But then Cassie looked straight at you from across the room while her hand slid up the girl’s thigh. And kissed her anyway.
Your chest tightened painfully fast. The room suddenly felt too loud, too hot, too crowded while you stood frozen there watching Cassie kiss somebody else like she was trying to prove a point, and maybe she was because technically neither of you had any right to be upset about this, not after months of pretending this whole thing between you was casual and uncomplicated.
But that didn’t stop the sting behind your eyes. Didn’t stop the horrible twisting ache low in your chest while Cassie’s fingers tangled into the girl’s hair and the people around them hollered louder. You swallowed hard before looking away quickly, blinking rapidly because there was absolutely no way you were crying over Cassie fucking McKay in the middle of a frat party.
Your friend immediately noticed the shift in your expression. “Hey,” she said softly, touching your arm carefully, “what happened?” You shook your head before forcing out a quiet laugh that sounded nothing like you, staring down at the empty shot glass still clenutched in your hand because looking back toward the couch felt impossible right now. God, you hated this.
You hated that Cassie always did this whenever feelings started creeping too close to the surface, always turned everything into some stupid power game until somebody ended up hurt, and somehow it was almost always you.
Maybe you’d started it tonight by flirting with Whittaker. Maybe you’d pushed her first. But Cassie always escalated things until they became unbearable. You could still feel her eyes on you from across the room even after you looked away, almost like she was waiting to see if you’d react publicly, if you’d come storming over jealous the same way she had earlier.
Instead, you just suddenly felt exhausted. “I’m gonna go outside,” you muttered quietly to your friend before setting the empty glass down and pushing your way through the crowded party without another word.
Nobody stopped you as you slipped through the front door and out into the cold night air, though the muffled bass still throbbed through the walls behind you while laughter spilled out from the open windows above.
Your chest felt painfully tight now that you were alone with your thoughts, tears finally slipping free despite how hard you tried to blink them away, and you immediately wiped at them angrily because this was ridiculous.
Cassie wasn’t your girlfriend. She never promised you anything. But that somehow made it worse because if this thing between you had no labels, then technically Cassie hadn’t done anything wrong at all. The realization burned.
You crossed your arms tightly over your chest before walking down the driveway toward Cassie’s truck parked beneath one of the dim streetlights, the familiar black vehicle suddenly feeling like the only thing tonight that still felt safe.
After a second, you leaned back against the cold metal of the passenger door and stared blankly up at the dark sky, trying desperately to ignore the fact your heart was hurting way more than it should’ve been.
You kept your arms folded tightly over your chest while leaning against Cassie’s truck, the cold night air biting against your bare legs beneath the tiny cheer skirt while muffled music and drunken laughter continued spilling from the house behind you.
Every few seconds the front door opened and closed again, groups of people stumbling out onto the lawn before disappearing back inside, but your eyes kept lifting toward the entrance anyway because some stupid part of you still expected Cassie to come after you. She always did.
No matter how heated things got between the two of you, no matter how badly you pushed each other, Cassie always followed eventually with that frustrated expression and those soft touches that silently admitted she cared more than she wanted to.
That was the problem. Cassie had spent months conditioning you into expecting her attention, her jealousy, her possessiveness, until it started feeling natural to assume she’d always come back for you no matter what happened.
But five minutes passed. Then ten. And the front door still never opened with Cassie stepping through it. Your chest tightened harder with every second that dragged by because now all you could picture was her still inside with that random girl on her lap, laughing while everybody around them cheered her on like she was the hottest thing on campus.
Maybe she’d forgotten you were even out here. The thought burned enough to finally make something in you snap. With shaky fingers, you pulled your phone from your pocket and opened the Uber app without letting yourself think too hard about it, quickly typing in your apartment address while your throat tightened painfully around emotions you refused to fully acknowledge.
The app searched for drivers for a few seconds before finally confirming one was on the way. Twelve minutes. You swallowed hard before locking your phone again and staring blankly down the empty street, trying not to feel pathetic for waiting out here in the first place.
Inside the party, Cassie absolutely noticed the second you disappeared. Even through the haze of loud music, alcohol, and people constantly crowding around her after the win, she still instinctively tracked where you were in every room without even trying anymore, so the moment she looked back toward the kitchen and realised you were gone, something uncomfortable twisted low in her chest immediately.
The girl still sitting in her lap was talking animatedly about something Cassie wasn’t really listening to, fingers absentmindedly tracing along the collar of Cassie’s shirt while people around them continued laughing and shouting over the game highlights replaying on television screens nearby.
Normally, Cassie would’ve already gone after you by now. She knew that. She knew you well enough to picture exactly how hurt your expression must’ve looked when you walked out after seeing her kiss somebody else, and for a brief second guilt flickered uncomfortably beneath her ribs because despite how jealous she’d been earlier, she hadn’t actually meant to upset you that badly.
At least not really. But then one of her teammates shoved another drink into her hand while yelling about the winning touchdown again, the girl in her lap laughed while pressing closer against her chest, and suddenly the entire room erupted around Cassie all over again with attention and praise and adrenaline.
Everybody wanted her tonight. Everybody wanted to touch her, talk to her, congratulate her, flirt with her. And if she was being honest with herself, that feeling was hard to walk away from. Especially after spending most of the night completely consumed by you.
“You good, McKay?” one of her teammates asked after noticing the way her eyes briefly drifted toward the front door again. Cassie only shrugged casually before leaning back further into the couch cushions, forcing herself to relax while the girl on her lap smiled up at her expectantly. “Yeah,” she answered simply before taking another sip of her drink. “She’ll get over herself.”
The words sounded harsher out loud than they had in Cassie’s head, but she ignored the uncomfortable feeling that followed immediately afterward because some stubborn part of her still felt justified. You’d started this tonight.
You’d spent the entire evening teasing her, flirting with Whittaker right in front of her face, making her feel jealous and possessive and stupidly obsessed while pretending it was all harmless fun. Cassie had just evened the score.
That’s all this was supposed to be. A game. Casual. No feelings involved. Except the longer she sat there pretending to enjoy herself, the more distracted she became by the image of you walking out looking genuinely hurt instead of playfully annoyed like usual. The random girl noticed too because eventually she tilted her head slightly while looking up at Cassie.
“You keep staring at the door,” she pointed out with a small laugh. Cassie blinked before forcing a crooked smile onto her face, fingers automatically settling against the girl’s waist again despite the strange guilt crawling beneath her skin now.
“Just tired,” she lied easily. The girl hummed before leaning in closer like she wanted another kiss, and for a second Cassie considered pulling away. Instead, she kissed her again anyway. Not because she particularly wanted to.
Mostly because people were watching. Because her teammates immediately started yelling and cheering again, because the attention drowned out the uncomfortable feeling in her chest for another few seconds, because it was easier to act unaffected than admit she’d probably crossed a line tonight.
Deep down, Cassie genuinely believed you’d cool off eventually. You always did. The two of you fought, got jealous, pushed each other too far, and then somehow ended up tangled together again by the end of the night anyway.
So she stayed exactly where she was on that couch, laughing halfheartedly at conversations she barely followed while the party continued around her, completely unaware that outside in the cold, you were already waiting for a ride home instead of waiting for her.
By the time Cassie finally stumbled out of the party nearly an hour later, you were long gone. Your Uber had arrived twenty minutes after you ordered it, and after one final humiliating glance toward the front door hoping Cassie would suddenly appear chasing after you like she usually did, you’d climbed into the backseat without another word and gone home instead.
The ride had been painfully quiet, your cheer uniform suddenly feeling stupid and childish while mascara dried stiff beneath your eyes from tears you’d angrily wiped away before the driver could notice.
Somewhere between staring blankly out the car window and hearing your phone buzz twice with meaningless group chat notifications that weren’t from Cassie, something inside you had finally hardened slightly. You were tired. Tired of the games. Tired of Cassie always pushing things too far just to prove she cared less first.
By the time you reached your apartment, your chest still hurt, but the sharp desperate ache had dulled into something colder and quieter instead. You hadn’t texted her. Hadn’t called.
Hadn’t even checked your phone again after collapsing onto your bed still half dressed in your uniform because some stubborn part of you refused to be the one chasing after her this time.
So when Cassie finally came outside later that night, drunk and laughing with another girl hanging off her arm, there was nobody waiting by her truck anymore.
Cassie barely noticed at first. The alcohol buzzing warmly through her system had softened most of the guilt she’d been feeling earlier, especially after hours of people pulling her into conversations, taking shots with her, praising her for the win, and feeding directly into the cocky attention loving side of her personality she usually tried to pretend didn’t exist.
The random girl from the couch was still attached to her side now, fingers hooked lazily through the front of Cassie’s shirt while they stumbled down the driveway together laughing at something one of Cassie’s teammates had shouted from the porch behind them.
Cassie leaned down automatically when the girl grabbed her face and kissed her again, hands settling against her waist easily while the people behind them whistled and hollered drunkenly. It felt good in the moment. Easy. Mindless. No complicated feelings hiding beneath it the way there always were with you.
The girl giggled against Cassie’s mouth before pressing another quick kiss beneath her jaw, and Cassie smirked lazily while guiding her toward the truck parked beneath the streetlight.
She fully expected to see you there. Leaning against the passenger side looking irritated and jealous and dramatic after storming out earlier, ready to glare at her before eventually climbing into the truck beside her anyway like you always did.
That was your pattern. Fight. Push. Jealousy. Then inevitably finding your way back to each other before the night ended.
Cassie had convinced herself all evening that this time wouldn’t be any different. Which was exactly why she didn’t register anything was wrong at first when her eyes lifted toward the truck.
It took her a second too long to realise the passenger side was empty. Her smile faded slightly. The cold night air suddenly felt sharper against her skin while her gaze instinctively scanned the dark street around the truck like maybe you’d just wandered off for a minute, maybe you were sitting on the curb nearby scrolling through your phone or hiding around the side of the house still waiting for her attention. But there was nothing.
No glittery cheer uniform. No annoyed expression. No crossed arms and watery eyes pretending you hadn’t been crying earlier. Just an empty driveway and silence underneath the distant bass still thumping from inside the house.
Something uncomfortable twisted low in Cassie’s stomach immediately, strong enough to cut through part of the alcohol haze surrounding her brain.
“You okay?” the girl beside her asked softly after noticing the shift in Cassie’s expression, but Cassie barely heard her because she was still staring at the empty space beside the truck where you should’ve been.
The realization hit slowly. You actually left. For real this time. Her jaw tightened almost instinctively while she pulled her phone from her pocket, thumb hovering briefly over your contact before stopping. Pride flared up just as fast as the guilt did.
Because why the hell should she be the one chasing after you when you’d spent the entire night making her jealous first? You weren’t dating. Neither of you owed the other anything. Cassie swallowed hard before shoving her phone back into her pocket again like the impulse had never happened at all.
“Yeah,” she answered finally, voice rougher now while forcing a crooked smile back onto her face for the girl beside her. “She probably just went home.” Like it didn’t matter. Like the empty space beside her truck didn’t suddenly feel way too noticeable.
no thoughts today except that mean!cassie would 100% bully you for every desperate face and pathetic noise you make while she’s balls-deep inside you.
꒰ྀི mean!cassie who watches your face like it’s her favourite show. who slows her hips to a lazy grind right when you’re about to cum, just to watch your eyes go glassy and your mouth fall open in a broken whimper. thumb shoved deep in your mouth, stretching your lips while she tilts your head back and coos, “look at you… getting fucked stupid and you can’t even hide it. so fucking embarrassing.” ꒱
꒰ྀི mean!cassie who hears every single wet sound—every choked gasp, every slutty little whine you try to bite back, every time your cunt squelches loudly around her cock when she thrusts hard. the second she catches you getting shy about it, she gets crueler. she leans in close, mocking your noises right against your ear in that breathy, mocking voice: “ah—! fuck—! that’s really what you sound like when i’m splitting you open? jesus christ, you’re pathetic.” ꒱
꒰ྀི mean!cassie who keeps her hand wrapped tight around your jaw, fingers digging in so you can’t look away. who laughs softly every time your eyes try to roll back anyway. “no, no, baby. don’t you dare. keep those pretty eyes on me while i fuck that greedy cunt. i wanna see the exact moment you lose it.” ꒱
꒰ྀི and the worst part is she never sounds actually angry. she sounds so entertained, almost sweet, like she’s genuinely obsessed with how easily you fall apart. like she’s addicted to the way your pussy flutters and drips around her every time she mocks you, the way your thighs shake and your face twists up in that desperate, cock-drunk expression no matter how hard you try to stay quiet. she could fuck you for hours just to keep pulling those noises and faces out of you. ꒱
i have no idea if anyone already did this but i jus cant stop thinking about it also english it’s not my first language sorry
needysubtopbutch!cassie who begs to eat you out all the time. “baby please i promise i’ll be quick” “cassie we’re at the park” “we can get behind that tree cmon please”
needysubtopbutch!cassie who wears the strap 24/7 and will casually press herself against your ass while kissing your neck and whimpering little pleas. doesn’t matter if you’re in your kitchen or out grocery shopping.
seriously needysubtopbutch!cassie who’s a slut for public sex but not really cause she doesnt like the idea of anyone seeing you but loves the thrill of potentially getting caught
needysubtopbutch!cassie who probably moans and whimpers more than you when she’s fucking you. i swear it’s like she can feel the strap and how you’re so tight around it. she’s rutting into you, mind blank, fingers circling your clit begging you to cum cause she wants to feel you squeeze her ^^
needysubtopbutch!cassie who will 100% kneel in front of you and press her face onto your covered pussy. sometimes she’s not even trying to eat you out (that’s what she says at least but yk its a lie), she just loves your scent so much.
you dont even pay attention to her anymore, just scrolling through tiktok or reading a book while she’s drooling down there. and fuck she begs a lot, it’s so pathetic. that big strong butch who could easily overpower you looking up at you with teary eyes. if you feel really pity for her you’ll let her take your panties off.
needysubtopbutch!cassie who cant help but shove her hand down her boxers while she’s eating you out. she gets so so wet and so horny just by looking at you, imagine when she’s eating your pussy im telling you she’s pathetic rlly.
now needybottombutch!cassie who’s just a mess. she wakes you up in the middle of the night asking for help, wanting you to finger her or at least rub her clit cause she’s so so needy. and if you say no, oh god prepare yourself she acts like a puppy who’s been denied treats. she begs so much you eventually give in. i mean, kinda. you only allow her to hump your thigh.
needybottombutch!cassie who will never admit (dont get me wrong she loves loves her strap and fucking you with it) but sometimes wants you to fuck her.
needybottombutch!cassie who eventually asks you to buy another strap. cause she wants you to fuck her while she’s wearing hers.
Warnings: age gap (i imagine reader to be like late 20s-early 30s but it's really up to you) insecure emily, it gets a little suggestive at some point but that's really it.
Summary:emily's insecurities about the age gap in your relationship cone to a head in her office and you reasure her.
Word count: 3.0k
Emily Prentiss had a habit of straightening her blazer sleeves exactly three times before walking into a room. You’d counted. It wasn’t nerves—at least, not the kind people expected from a Section Chief with her reputation. It was precision, a ritual, like the way she always tapped her pen twice against her notebook before speaking in meetings. You’d noticed these things long before you ever admitted why you were noticing them.
The bullpen was quiet for once, most of the team out on assignments or buried in paperwork. Emily’s office door was cracked open, the warm glow of her desk lamp spilling onto the carpet. You hovered near the threshold, watching the way her fingers skimmed the edge of a case file,deliberate, unhurried. She hadn’t seen you yet. That was fine. You liked these stolen moments, the unguarded way she chewed her lower lip when she was deep in thought.
Then she glanced up, and her expression shifted—something softer, private. “Hey,” she said, voice low. No title, no formality. Just your name, barely above a whisper.
You stepped inside, nudging the door shut with your hip. The click of the latch sounded louder than it should have. Emily’s gaze flickered to the handle, then back to you. “Everything okay?” she asked, but her fingers had stilled on the file.You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you leaned against the edge of her desk, close enough that your knee brushed against hers. Emily inhaled sharply, and you pretended not to notice. “Just wanted to see you,” you said, casual, like it wasn’t a confession.
Emily’s fingers twitched against the file,not closing it, not pushing it away, just hovering there as if she couldn’t decide whether to anchor herself to work or to you. The air between you felt charged, the kind of tension that made the back of your neck prickle. You knew that look. The one where she was calculating the distance between professionalism and what you both wanted, the one where her jaw tightened just enough to be noticeable if you were looking for it. And you always were.
The silence stretched, but not uncomfortably. Emily exhaled through her nose, her shoulders dropping a fraction as she leaned back in her chair. “You know,” she started, voice still quiet, like the walls might repeat her, “Bailey asked me yesterday if I was mentoring you.” Her thumb traced the edge of the file folder, back and forth. A nervous tic. “He said it was good to see you getting guidance from someone with experience.” The words hung there, weightier than they should’ve been. You knew where this was going. You’d seen the way Strauss had glanced between you two in the elevator last week, the way Garcia had bitten back a grin when you’d reached for Emily’s coffee cup without asking.
You shifted just enough to press your knee more firmly against hers, a silent rebuttal. Emily’s breath hitched, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she turned her hand palm-up on the desk, an invitation. You slid your fingers into hers without hesitation, feeling the calluses along her knuckles. “I don’t need guidance,” you said, deliberately light. “Unless you’re offering to teach me something specific.”
Emily’s laugh was soft, almost rueful. “That’s the problem.” Her thumb brushed over your knuckles, slow, like she was mapping them. “They see what they want to see. Mentor and protégé. Boss and subordinate.” Her grip tightened, just for a second. “Not this.”
You leaned in, close enough to catch the faint scent of her shampoo,something clean, uncomplicated. “Then let them see,” you murmured. Emily’s eyes darkened, her free hand coming up to cradle your jaw, her touch firmer now, less hesitant. You could feel her pulse where your fingers curled around her wrist, faster than it had been a moment ago. The file folder slipped to the floor, forgotten.
The folder hit the carpet with a muffled thump, but neither of you moved to pick it up. Emily’s fingers tightened against your jaw, her thumb brushing the curve of your cheekbone like she was committing the shape of you to memory. You could see the hesitation in her eyes,not reluctance, but the weight of a hundred unspoken fears. The kind that came with being her, with the way the world had taught her to second-guess every good thing that dared to get close.
You turned your head just enough to press a kiss to the inside of her wrist, where her pulse jumped beneath your lips. Emily made a quiet, wounded noise in the back of her throat, her other hand still tangled with yours on the desk. "They don't get to define this," you murmured against her skin, feeling the way her breath stuttered at the words.
Emily’s grip shifted, her fingers sliding into your hair as she pulled you closer, until your foreheads touched. Her eyes were shut tight, her lashes dark against her cheeks. "I'm too old for this," she whispered, but the way she said it—like a confession, like she was waiting for you to disagree—made your chest ache.
You laughed, soft and deliberate, your free hand skimming up her forearm to trace the line of her collarbone through her blouse. "You're not old," you said, thumbing open the top button of her shirt just to watch her breath catch. "You're just used to being in control." Emily’s eyes flew open at that, her gaze sharpening in a way that sent heat curling low in your stomach.
The knock on the office door was abrupt, three sharp raps that had Emily jerking back like she’d been burned. Her hand dropped from your hair, her expression shifting so quickly into something neutral it was almost jarring. "Come in," she called, her voice steady in a way that belied the flush still high on her cheeks.
The door swung open to reveal JJ, her blond hair slightly tousled from the afternoon wind, a stack of folders balanced precariously in her arms. Her gaze flicked between the two of you—Emily, now sitting ramrod straight behind her desk, and you, still leaning against it with what you hoped was casual indifference. JJ’s eyebrows lifted just a fraction, but all she said was, "Sorry to interrupt. Garcia’s got the prelims on the Denver case." She set the folders down on the edge of Emily’s desk, her eyes lingering on the abandoned file on the floor.
Emily cleared her throat, reaching for the folders with practiced ease. "Thanks, JJ. We’ll take a look." Her voice was smooth, professional, but you caught the way her fingers trembled slightly as they brushed against the paperwork. JJ nodded, hesitating for half a second before turning to leave. You could practically see the questions forming behind her eyes, but the door clicked shut behind her without another word.
The silence that followed was thick, charged with everything left unsaid. Emily exhaled sharply, her shoulders slumping just enough to betray the tension she’d been holding. You reached out, catching her wrist before she could retreat further, your thumb tracing the delicate bones there. "You’re overthinking," you murmured. Emily’s laugh was quiet, brittle. "I’m always overthinking," she admitted, her gaze dropping to where your fingers curled around hers.
You tugged her closer, until her knees bumped against yours again. "Then stop," you said, simple and direct, because you knew she needed that,needed someone to cut through the layers of doubt with something firm and uncomplicated. Emily’s breath hitched, her free hand lifting to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Her touch was hesitant, like she wasn’t entirely sure she was allowed. "It’s not that easy," she whispered, but the way her fingers lingered against your skin said otherwise.
The desk phone rang, shrill and insistent, shattering the moment. Emily flinched, her hand dropping away as she reached for the receiver. "Prentiss," she answered, her voice steady despite the way her eyes stayed locked on yours. You could hear Garcia’s cheerful chatter bleeding through the line, but Emily’s responses were clipped, distracted. You leaned back, giving her space, but you didn’t look away—didn’t let her pretend this wasn’t happening.
Emily hung up the phone with a quiet click, her fingers lingering on the receiver a moment too long. The silence that settled between you was different now,heavier, like the air before a storm. She didn’t meet your eyes, instead focusing on straightening the folders JJ had brought in, her movements precise to the point of obsession. You watched the way her jaw tightened, the way she worried her lower lip between her teeth. It was a tell you’d come to recognize, the way she braced herself before saying something she didn’t want to say.
"You should go," she murmured finally, her voice low but firm. "Denver case is heating up. Garcia’s sending the jet coordinates." The words were professional, distant, but her hands betrayed her, fumbling slightly as she shuffled papers. You didn’t move. Instead, you reached out, catching her wrist mid-motion, feeling the rapid flutter of her pulse beneath your fingertips. Emily froze, her breath hitching audibly. "Emily," you said, softer now, thumb brushing over the delicate skin of her inner wrist. "Look at me."
For a moment, you thought she might refuse. Then, slowly, she lifted her gaze, and the raw vulnerability in her eyes hit you like a physical blow. There was no mask now, no Section Chief poise—just Emily, stripped bare by her own doubts. "You don’t want me to go," you said, not a question. Emily’s throat worked as she swallowed hard, her free hand gripping the edge of the desk like she needed the anchor. "No," she admitted, the word barely audible. "But that’s not the point."
You leaned in, close enough to see the faint lines at the corners of her eyes, the silver threads woven through her dark hair. "Then what is?" Emily’s laugh was brittle, self-deprecating. "You’re—" She gestured vaguely at you, her hand trembling slightly. "You’re you. And I’m…" She trailed off, but you knew what she meant. The years between you, the promotions, the weight of her position—all of it suddenly insurmountable in her mind.
You tightened your grip on her wrist, pulling her closer until your knees knocked together again. "You’re Emily," you said, deliberate. "That’s all I care about." Her breath hitched, but you pressed on before she could retreat further. "You think I haven’t noticed the way you check your reflection in the elevator? The way you tense up every time someone mentions our ‘age gap’ like it’s a fucking scandal?" Emily’s eyes widened slightly, her lips parting in surprise. You hadn’t meant to say it so bluntly, but the words spilled out now, sharp with frustration. "I don’t care if you’re ten years older or twenty. I care that you’re here, with me, right now."
Emily’s fingers went still against the paperwork, her breath catching in a way that wasn’t quite surprise,more like resignation, as if she’d been waiting for you to peel back this particular layer of her armor. The overhead light caught the faint lines at the corners of her eyes, the ones she’d started smoothing out with expensive creams you’d pretended not to notice in her bathroom. “It’s not just the years,” she said finally, her thumb brushing over your knuckles in absent circles. “It’s the… the shape of them.”
You tilted your head, waiting. Emily exhaled through her nose, her gaze flickering to the framed photos on her desk,one with the team at Dave’s retirement party, another from Quantico years ago, her face younger but already sharp with responsibility. “You were in high school when I arrested my first serial killer,” she murmured, and the words landed like stones between you. “I had crow’s feet before you ever held a badge.”
It wasn’t the math that bothered her, you realized. It was the milestones,the way her life had already been carved into before-and-afters by the time yours was just starting. You could see it in the way she hesitated before ordering dessert, like indulgence was a luxury she’d talked herself out of long ago. In the careful way she avoided mentioning music or movies from your childhood, as if embarrassed by the gap.
Your grip on her wrist tightened. “You think I care that you remember dial-up internet?” Emily huffed a laugh, but her shoulders stayed tense. “I care that they care,” she admitted, nodding toward the bullpen. “That every time Garcia makes a fucking Millennial joke, I feel—” She cut herself off, pressing her lips together.
You knew what she meant. The way people’s gazes lingered whenever you leaned too close in briefings. The knowing looks when Emily’s hand lingered on your shoulder a second too long. The unspoken assumption that she was something temporary for you,a phase, a conquest, a notch on some imagined bedpost.
Emily’s fingers trembled slightly as she traced the edge of the photograph on her desk,the one from Quantico, her younger self staring back with a confidence that now felt foreign. The silence between you stretched, heavy with the weight of her unspoken fears. “You don’t understand,” she said finally, her voice fraying at the edges. “It’s not just the numbers. It’s the—” She gestured vaguely at her body, her blazer suddenly seeming too stiff, too old. “I wake up and there’s another gray hair. I find myself Googling fucking retinol at 2 a.m. like some—” She cut herself off, pressing her palms flat against the desk as if to steady herself.
You’d seen the receipts crumpled in her trash can, the expensive serums hidden behind her toothpaste. The way she’d started turning her face slightly away from the bathroom light when she brushed her teeth, as if the shadows might soften the lines. It hit you then, like a punch to the gut—this wasn’t vanity. It was terror. The kind that came from realizing the world had already decided she was past her expiration date.
You reached out, catching her hand mid-gesture, turning it over to press a kiss to the delicate skin of her wrist. Emily made a wounded noise, her fingers twitching against yours. “You’re beautiful,” you said, deliberate, your thumb brushing the faint age spots on her knuckles—the ones she’d once tried to hide with foundation. “Every part of you. Even the ones you think are flaws.”
Emily’s laugh was raw, uneven. “Easy for you to say,” she murmured, but her grip on your hand tightened. “You’re not the one who—” She hesitated, her throat working as she swallowed hard. “They talk, you know. The new recruits. They call me a Cougar behind my back.” The word landed like a slap, her voice brittle with the effort of admitting it. You could picture it—the smirks in the break room, the way their eyes would flick between the two of you whenever you walked past.
You leaned in, close enough that your breath ghosted over her cheek. “Let them talk,” you said, your voice low and fierce. “They’re just pissed they’ll never be half the woman you are.” Emily’s breath hitched, her free hand coming up to clutch at your sleeve like she was afraid you might vanish. “You don’t have to believe me yet,” you continued, pressing another kiss to her jaw, just below the pulse point. “But you will.”
Emily's office smelled like bergamot and argon oil—the lingering traces of her morning tea and afternoon range session. The scent wrapped around you both like a shared secret as you pressed closer, your fingers tightening around hers. Outside, the bullpen hummed with muted activity, phones ringing and keyboards clacking, but in this stolen moment, the world narrowed to the space between your bodies. Emily exhaled sharply when your lips brushed the shell of her ear, her pulse rabbit-quick beneath your touch. "They don't get a say in this," you murmured, and felt her shiver.
Her grip on your sleeve tightened, fabric bunching under her fingers as she pulled you flush against her. The edge of the desk dug into your thighs, but you barely registered the discomfort—not when Emily was looking at you like that, her dark eyes wide and unguarded. "Say it again," she whispered, her voice rough with something between plea and command. You grinned, nipping at her jaw just to feel her gasp. "You're beautiful," you repeated, slower now, savoring the way her breath hitched. "And you're mine."
The words hung between you, thick with promise. Emily made a wounded noise low in her throat, her hands sliding up to cradle your face. Her thumbs traced the arches of your cheekbones, reverent, as if memorizing the planes of your face. "Christ," she breathed, her forehead dropping to rest against yours. "When did you get so damn good at this?" You laughed, soft and warm, your fingers threading through the hair at her nape. "Had a good teacher," you teased, and Emily groaned, but the tension in her shoulders eased just a fraction.
The intercom buzzed abruptly, Garcia's cheerful voice slicing through the moment like a knife. "Chief? Wheels up in twenty—Denver's waiting!" Emily stiffened, her hands freezing against your skin. You watched the mask slip back into place,the straightening of her spine, the careful smoothing of her expression,but this time, you didn't let her retreat. Instead, you caught her wrist as she pulled away, pressing a kiss to the frantic flutter of her pulse. "Tonight," you said, firm. "Your place. No excuses." Emily's lips parted in protest, but you shook your head, cutting her off before she could speak. "I'll bring the takeout. You bring the case files. We'll argue about jurisdiction over egg rolls."
A startled laugh escaped her, bright and unexpected in the dim office. "That's not—" she started, but you were already stepping back, straightening your shirt with deliberate nonchalance. Emily's eyes narrowed, her lips twitching despite herself. "You're insufferable," she muttered, but the words lacked their usual bite. You grinned, tossing her blazer at her from where it hung on the back of her chair. "And yet," you said, pausing at the door to shoot her a look over your shoulder, "you love me anyway." Emily rolled her eyes, but the flush creeping up her neck betrayed her.
i'll take off mine too, when you take off all your cool
emily prentiss x f!reader
tags: developing relationship, fluff, silliness, loser! emily, r comes to the rescue, sleeping together (literal), bau!reader, no spiders were harmed in the making of this story (sorry to the fictional one though)
warnings: talk of spiders
summary: there's a spider in emily's hotel room. that's a big, big problem.
word count: 1.1k
masterlist
a/n: i JUST started evolution and thought it was funny when emily said she hates spiders, im sorry if this has been done before!
It's late when she calls.
And weird, too. You had agreed on some distance, especially after the exhausting nature of your current case.
You're at a dingy hotel, sort of in the middle of nowhere and, finally, in your own room after a day of walking around nonstop following leads. It's not the nicest, definitely not the most comfortable, but it's enough. Your body is so tired you were practically falling asleep while taking off your makeup, and the ring of your phone is a shrill sound in the middle of the silence.
“Hey,” Emily says on the other side, her voice clipped and strangely panicky. It’s not a tone that you hear often. “Were you sleeping?”
“Just about to,” you say, sitting on the thin mattress. “Everything okay?”
“Not really.”
You get up immediately, grabbing a sweatshirt to throw over your thin strap cami. Worried, you barely remember to get your shoes back on before walking out the door. “I'm coming over.”
You had kissed once. Twice. Well, on two occasions, to be precise, but way more than two times. It'd been incredible, months of pent up tension finally exploding in a heated encounter, but it hadn't gone any further. Emily was worried about consequences, about how draining work was and, mostly, the fact that you're her subordinate. You were worried too, for her, mainly, but you really, really didn't want to stop whatever was happening. So you had agreed on some time.
It wasn't a break, there wasn't even anything to break up, but it was… taking it slow. Sometimes, you'd talk on the phone for hours, other times, you'd stay the night with her in her office as she worked and you finished paperwork. It was simple, gentle, but it was yours and you didn't want to give it up.
Walking quickly towards her hotel room, not too far from yours, you worry about what has her in such a panic. Emily Prentiss is not a woman to get desperate, or at least not show it so easily, so you speed up your walk, nervous about what you may find.
What you find is her door slightly open, as if waiting for you, and when you come in, she runs to your side, practically gluing her back to the door and closing it. You whip around to face her, a frown on your face and mouth open to ask, as you're suddenly faced with a wide eyed Emily, dressed in a black, silk, pajama set.
"What is happening?" You ask, now very alarmed, and closing the distance between you.
Emily grips one of your arms, "there's a... uhm-" she stops herself, clearing her throat. "Spider, in the bathroom."
Your face smooths in realization. Emily is not nervous, Emily is terrified.
"Really ugly one, too," she whispers, eyes darting all around as if checking if the monster will jump out at any time.
You could've found it funny, really. Here's this woman, intimidating to say the least, the one who stares down psychopaths and has seen the worst of what humanity has to offer, and yet she's pale, scared of a spider.
You could've found it funny, but you don't. Not really.
Suddenly, you're struck by the need to protect her. She's very afraid, you realize, still gripping your arm and waiting for you to do something, and you can't help but oblige.
"Where was it?"
"Near the toilet," she murmurs. "Please get rid of it."
"I'll be right back," you reassure her, going into the bathroom and closing the door behind you.
There it is, still near the toilet and looking quite smaller than you imagined. That doesn't matter, though, it is ugly and it is bothering Emily so, as much as you feel for it, and you're sure Penelope would give you a stern lecture for it, you decide it has to encounter its demise.
You could just take it and leave it outside, but you can't guarantee it won't come back, and Emily has been very clear. Get rid of it. She's your boss, after all.
You manage to grab it with some toilet paper, quickly throwing it in the toilet and flushing it, looking back to make sure it's gone. You wash your hands and take a breath before opening the door, all heroic and feeling yourself.
The sight that greets you makes your chest almost hurt.
Emily is sitting on the lone desk chair in the room, her feet up and knees close to her chest. Her eyes are still looking all around, searching, but they lock on yours after a beat. She waits.
"It's gone," you declare, as if it's an UnSub after a takedown.
Her shoulders slump, a deep, relieved sigh is let out and she finally lets her feet hit the carpet. "Thank you," she says sincerely.
"Anytime." You smile, lingering but not sure for what.
Emily walks closer, "I mean it. I hate spiders," she adds, her voice small and unsure.
You hum, "hate them, hm?"
She shakes her head, "I might be a little scared."
You bite your lip to contain a grin. Now that she's relaxed, you kind of find it cute how embarrassed she is. You'd never judge her for a fear, or a phobia, whatever it is, but her face is getting redder and the sight is lovely.
"That's okay," you say. "I'm afraid of heights at my big age."
Emily closes the distance, pulling you into a hug. Surprised, you take a second to hug back, but when you do, there's nothing but her warmth. Her clothes are expensively soft under your hands, her scent so addicting you breathe in just a little deeper.
"No need to thank me," you whisper, giving her a light squeeze.
"Would you..." she starts, interrupting herself and gazing back at you. "Stay?"
"Emily," you say, trying to object but already knowing you'll cave.
"I'm afraid there might be more."
Her face is a mask of fake innocence, causing you to chuckle at her. She smiles back, raising her eyebrows expectantly.
"If I didn't know any better I'd say this was a ploy to get me into bed."
Emily's grin widens as she pulls on your hand, directing you to the bed. "No funny business, I promise."
"Even if we wanted to, not a chance on this mattress," you state, pushing on it to test the thickness and quickly finding the wood underneath.
"Is that a yes on my king bed?" She asks with a smirk, already getting under the covers.
You roll your eyes, placing a kiss on her cheek, "we'll see."
helloooo i have reread this like a million times and have finally come to request mean dom!cassie and controversially young gf!reader pls🥹 need her like i need the air i breathe istg
✉️ I'm slowly becoming more & more infatuated with Cassie because the edits I've seen of her recently... wow, why was I not on this earlier? thank u for the request nonie <3 love u
demure! age gap (reader early 20's, Cassie 42), reader pretends to be wasted but she is SOBER!, teasing in public, mentions of reader embarrassing Cassie, strap usage (r!receiving), pussy inspection if you squint, rough sex, no prep, spanking, like one pussy slap, not proofread wc 1.6k 18+ MEN & MDNI
Cassie had never been embarrassed to be with you. She never would be embarrassed. The thought of feeling like that was almost implausible to her, because she loved you. You were a crucial part of her life, and when she wasn’t with you, part of her heart was gone as well. You supported her, got on with Harrison almost as well as he did with his biological parents, brought a kind of lightness to her life she’d been missing for a very long time, so why should she even entertain the idea of embarrassment?
Maybe because it was moments like these where she had to be reminded that your prefrontal cortex was, in fact, not fully developed yet.
One drink in, but you could’ve fooled everyone into thinking that you had blacked out with the way you continued to drape yourself over Cassie’s lap. Flopping your arms over her shoulders and twisting your head back over your shoulder to continue whatever conversation you’d tangled yourself in as you practically pushed your chest into her face. Hands scrunching in the silky, black blouse she was wearing as the dress you’d selected in a matching color that could’ve passed as a napkin, rides up your thighs. Words slurred and voice loud. Giggling at anything she says. Hair out of place and mussed in a way that seems like an aesthetic choice rather than a result of your erratic movements. Thighs squeezed around one of hers as you press your cheek against her forehead and Cassie can smell the few sips of that Dirty Shirley you’d had earlier.
Embarrassed, is the word that she considers for a split second, because you’re a mess.
Her sweet, delicate girlfriend that the entire staff adored, spreading out over her with a flushed face and strung together words of that date you went on a few weeks ago, where Cassie’s card had declined (problem with the reader and the beat-up piece of plastic), so you’d had to pay in cash. One hand on her shoulder had fumbled down to her thigh and brushed up just enough to have her shifting beneath you, lips pressing together and eyes blinking harshly. But she hadn’t stopped you, just given Mel and Samira a tight-lipped smile from across the table.
Even as Mel’s eyes remain wide and on every surface except for the one your ass was a few inches away from being perched on. Cassie would probably wager that if you kept rotating yourself around, your dress was going to slide enough to show your panties. Halfheartedly, she pats a hand on your lower back to try and get you to settle, which has Samira letting out a scoff of a laugh into her own glass.
Embarrassed, because you’re exaggerating stories that make her sound like a bad girlfriend as you try to press your hand between her legs under the white, cloth-covered table, and practically flash two of her co-workers. And it was because of a few sips of alcohol. Or, because you wanted something.
“You’re not being fair,” you whine, messy hair now sprawled out over the navy of Cassie’s bedding, that stupid dress pushed up over your hips and tugged down enough to free your tits as you hold your panties to the side. Soaked through, naturally, from the way you’d straddled her half an hour ago. Pushed your cunt against her as you provoked her in the middle of a work event. Well, not the middle of the charity, more towards the end where people were only lingering to try and get whatever leftovers of dinner remained. But still, in public, where other people could see what only Cassie got to see.
What she was looking at now as her pointer finger and thumb spread your lower lips apart to gauge how wet you really are for her. Very, apparently, with the way your hole drips and strings of your wetness gather when she holds you open. Clit throbbing, cunt clenching– Needy.
Her needy, embarrassing girlfriend who couldn’t simply ask to be fucked in the way she wanted.
“How am I being unfair, hm?” she asks, kneeling between your spread legs, top still on and pants only off so her strap could take their place. Your thighs are pinned against the sheets, kitten heels still on your feet as you give her a pout. At that, Cassie reaches to grip the roots of your hair, lifting your tilted head back up to make eye contact with her while she keeps you spread. “How?”
Your full, spit-slick lips just remain in that mopey expression as you arch your lower back, a weak attempt to get her fingers to nudge up or in or something. She says your name firmly, which has you rolling your eyes softly.
“Because.”
A huff leaves her as the corners of her mouth tilt up. A hiss leaves you as she tugs on your hair again. Harder, pulling you back onto the bed. “What does that mean?”
You whine, still trying to press closer to her to get much-needed friction as you feel your wetness slide down, down, down.
The sharp sting of her palm landing on your pussy makes your thighs draw together before Cassie wrestles them back apart, still keeping you down with her fingers tangled in the roots of your hair. “What does that mean.”
“Want you to fuck me.”
Another breath of a laugh as she finally lets go of your hair. “Yeah, you always want me to fuck you.”
And she wasn’t wrong, but you were impatient.
Your hands leave your underwear to try and reach for her wrists, to pull her back where you need her most. Cassie’s surprisingly faster, though, or maybe you let her catch you, wrangling your limbs into one hand as she roughly tugs you up and down. Your face pressed uncomfortably into the sheets, breathing in the scent of lavender, coffee, and something musky as her free hand meets your ass this time.
“And I do it a lot, so what’s your deal?” she mumbles as her upper body curls over yours. You can feel the thickness of the strap pressing against your pussy. Friction. Pressure against your weeping cunt that has slick sounds resounding from the way you push back against her. “Trying t’see if I just give you whatever you want?”
You swallow thickly, getting lost in the feeling of trying to fuck back against her. She’s given you nothing tonight. Barely touched your tits when she forced your dress down. Hadn’t kissed you. Didn’t let you touch her. No words of encouragement in that gentle tone she’d used to compliment how pretty you looked when you left earlier.
“Like it when you’re mad,” you finally admit in a small voice.
And she laughs.
The heat of embarrassment curls through you as the warmth of her front pressed against your back retreats. A minute. Two. You try to straighten, try to look back at her, only for her to roughly shove your face back into the mattress at the same time her hips push forward, the strap breaching your entrance with one brutal thrust that has you squealing.
No prep. Just the thickness stretching you and her hand forcing you down as your back arches. You make an effort to look at her again. Just pushing yourself up onto your hands with shaky elbows before her hand finds the space between your ass and upper thigh again, spanking you pitilessly enough to have you collapsing back down.
“No hands or elbows. You want me to be rough, then you’ll need the sheets to hold onto.”
Cassie doesn’t move for a moment, the ravelled grip loosening enough for her to soothingly brush your hair off your heated skin where perspiration is beginning to build. “Everything okay?” she checks. You can hardly think, let alone speak, considering the way you’re fluttering around the silicone at the stinging sensation of taking her all at once with only your wetness to offer.
Your clit throbs, neglected, as you manage a small: “Yeah–” before the strap slides out and back in with the same force that has you drooling and yelping against the fabric. Finally, her hands are on you, gripping your hips to hold you still as she fucks you, but it’s enough contact to have you moaning in relief. Relief at being filled by her. Touched by her in the way you wanted.
The rolls of her hips are fast considering how deep she’s reaching inside of you, the strap being one of the few you own, but you can tell from each drag along your walls and each of the spots it bullies inside of you, that it’s her favorite one. Your thighs were going to be sore tomorrow with the way they slap back against her, that stinging feeling in your cunt from being forced to take all of her so abruptly transferring to your legs, whose muscles immediately feel limp. So thank goodness for her hands, her nails digging into your hips to leave little marks for later as she grinds into you, letting the tip of the dildo press right up against the spot that had you sounding almost pornographic as her right hand meets your ass again. And again. Again. Until you were trembling against the comforter.
“This enough for you?” she asks as her palm opts to grasp your side again. A sound you couldn’t describe if your life depended on it is pulled from your throat, muffled by threads of linen. “You’re young, you should be able to hold on for longer than that. ‘Specially if you want to make up for embarrassing me tonight.”
Because you’re probably three thrusts away from cumming around her. Partly from the build-up of the night, but mostly because of how she was handling you.
“Don’t–” Cassie starts, voice a little strained and breathless from the own friction on her pussy as she pushes back into you. “–do that again.”
summary: interning at pmtc for the last few months has been a wonderful experience. you've made friends, advanced in your career, and found yourself a work crush. cassie mckay. you've fallen into a familiar routine with her of bantering and pretending it doesn’t mean anything— even as it slowly becomes the part of your day you look forward to most. but you both know it will never be anything more than that. it can't be.
warnings: slow burn, age gap (reader is 26, cassie is 42), flirting, angst, mutual pining, brief mention of domestic abuse (a patient they treated), bestie trinity santos, reader is a pittling, use of y/n (i HATE using it so i try my best to limit it)
word count: 1.9k
a/n: sorry that this is super short! it's the first part of a series that will end happily. as of right now, i don't know how long it will be. the second chapter might be smau, we'll see. as the story progresses, feel free to send any suggestions to my inbox. my brain is swirling with ideas, i'm excited to write this!♡
“l/n, McKay, you're on chairs."
"Good morning to you too", you say to Dana as you approach her.
Cassie's on your right, walking in sync with you. This morning, like almost every morning, you guys arrived at the same time. Usually as one of you is parking, the other is stepping out of their car, so you end up just walking in together.
"It'll be a good morning once the waiting room isn't overflowing."
"You know that's never going to happen", Cassie teases, a coy smile tugging on the corners of her mouth.
You stifle a laugh. "Um... in other words you want us to get on it?"
Dana looks up from the clipboard she's holding, her glasses on the tip of her nose. "If you two are able to keep from laughing and flirting." A smirk grows on her face. "But that's probably never going to happen."
"We don't—"
"That's not—"
Dana puts a hand up, cutting you both off. "I don't want to hear it. We got people to take care of."
Playfully, you roll your eyes. "Got it, D."
Cassie looks down at the ground, smiling and shaking her head with her arms crossed. You grab her forearm and nod towards chairs.
You and Cassie walk away, one of her hands hovers behind your lower back. "Have fun, lovebirds", Dana calls out. Without looking back, Cassie flips Dana off which makes you burst out in laughter.
"Let's be grateful we haven't been separated yet", Cassie murmurs to you with a chuckle.
It's 6:03pm as you stare up at the patient board, deciding which patient to pick up next. It's been a very, very long shift.
"Hey", you turn to your left and see Cassie walking towards you.
"Hey", you reply before turning back to the board. You let out an exhausted breath. "I'm trying to see which patient will be the easiest."
"Uh, huh", Cassie murmurs beside you.
"What's that 'uh-huh' mean?"
"Nothing. I'm just not surprised you're already done for the day", Cassie says with a teasing smile.
You look at her, playfully annoyed, and narrow your eyes. "Are you saying I'm lazy, McKay?"
"No, I'm just saying I know when you get worn-out." Cassie's voice softens, her tone getting more serious. "After that dick of a man who we had to treat because his girlfriend shot him out of self-defense, and then having to watch the cops arrest her with a broken nose that douchebag gave her, I knew your energy was going to drain real quick."
For a few moments, you just look at Cassie without saying anything. Something about the way she's looking at you right now puts you at ease. It’s warm. Comforting.
"Yeah", you whisper before turning back to the board.
Cassie follows your gaze and clears her throat. "How about the 10 year old with a sore throat and fever? I bet it's strep. Everyone at Harrison's school is getting sick right now."
"Sounds good", you say before turning around and heading over to the patient, Cassie following you. "I really hope you and Harrison don't get whatever's going around. Being sick is so shitty." For a brief moment, you look at Cassie. "Besides, you would leave me here at work all by myself." You nudge your shoulder against hers.
Cassie chuckles lowly. "You wouldn't be alone, you— you would have you know", she gestures behind you two to where some of the other staff is gathered. "Your friends. Santos, Javadi, Samira, Whitaker."
"Mm not the same."
"Why's that?"
"Because it's you."
Before Cassie even gets a chance to respond, you open the curtain where the kid and his mom are.
"Hi", you greet them with a smile. You introduce yourself and Cassie to them, and then start asking questions.
But Cassie just stands there. Looking at you. Your words stuck in her head. Because it's you.
You were off the clock 20 minutes ago, but you're finishing up on charting and still working on passing patients to the night shift. The pen in your hand taps the desk where you're sitting while your right leg bounces up and down anxiously. Your stomach grumbles and you yawn quietly. Oh, how you couldn't wait to get out of here.
"This day has fucking sucked."
Instantly, you recognize your friend Trinity's voice. Without look away from the computer in front of you, you suck in a breath. "That's an understatement. I'm just glad it's Friday, and we have the weekend off. This week has been exhausting."
"Yup", she replies and rubs her eyes.
"Do you have any fun plans?" You turn to look at Trinity, trying to hold back a smile. "Maybe with a certain surgeon?"
Trinity lets out a half scoff, half laugh. "Nope, she's uh... I actually don't know what the fuck she's doing, but she's not hanging out with me."
"Oh. Sorry."
"It's whatever. Whitaker and I were planning on going out to this gay bar that's opening tomorrow night. Do you want to come? Maybe we can rope Crash in too."
"I definitely need a night out, but I'm not sure. I'll let you know tomorrow how I'm feeling."
Trinity leans in closer to you, her voice quiet and gentle. "If the reason you're hesitant to say no is because of McKay, she's made it clear that you guys can only ever be just friends. I fear you’re going to be stuck being work friends forever.” She shakes her head and snickers. “For fuck's sake she doesn't even trust herself to hang out with you outside of work."
"That's—", you exclaim before pausing, thinking for a moment. "That's not true", you say, your voice lower. "We don't see each other outside of work because we're coworkers. That's it. Work friends."
Trinity scoffs and tries her best to hold back a laugh. "Dude, we're literally coworkers and we hang out all the time. You do the same with Javadi and Samira. And Whitaker when he's with me."
"Yeah, but that's different."
"Sure", Trinity draws out sarcastically.
You hit her arm. "I'm serious! She's my superior. There's boundaries"
"And that's all?"
"Yeah", you mutter before pulling your lips together in a tight smile.
"And you're not hopelessly in love with her?"
"Shut up", you groan as you drop your head to the desk.
With an amused smile on Trinity's face, she rubs your back for a second. "You're so totally fucked."
You raise your head and swat a hand at her. "Go away", you grumble. "I gotta finish charting. You're distracting me."
"Okay, okay, I'll leave you alone only because you're pussy whipped."
You slowly turn your head towards Trinity, an irritated look plastered across your weary face. "I'm not."
"Then come out with me and Whitaker."
You sigh. "I told you, if I don't go it's because I'm physically tired— not because of Cassie."
And that’s the truth. For the most part.
Trinity knows she can't fight you on this, and even if she could, she doesn't have the energy to. "Okay. Just let me know."
"I will. Thanks, Trin."
She nods and walks away, leaving you to finish charting.
As you finish typing up your final chart, you hear someone approaching.
Cassie. You know her footsteps.
"I can't wait to go home and take a nice, long hot shower", she tells you, leaning against the desk you're at.
"That sounds so nice."
"I’m also really looking forward to the leftover pizza that’s been sitting in my fridge for the last few days."
Chuckling, you turn in your chair towards her. "I was actually thinking about stopping at Chipotle after this... do you wanna come? I was planning on just doing pick-up, but it might be nice to eat with someone."
Cassie freezes. "As friends?"
"Um, yes? No? I don't know."
She closes her eyes for a moment. Then, she draws in a sharp breath and looks at you. "If I go with you it's just going to confuse things."
"Getting dinner after a long ass shift will 'confuse things?'" you ask, arching an eyebrow.
Cassie steps closer to you, her arms crossed with one hand gesturing as she speaks. "Yes." She lowers her voice, "it's basically a date."
Bewildered, you look up at her. "So you would go on a date at a fast food place right after work wearing your scrubs?"
"With you? Yeah."
Your breath hitches as you look up at Cassie, blinking a few times in disbelief. Should you be offended that, that's what she would consider a date with you? Or should you take it as she feels comfortable enough with you to count that as a date?
Cassie sighs and says your name in a way that makes your heart ache. "You know we can't."
"Yeah." You look down at your feet and cross your arms. "Yeah. Sorry, it was stupid of me to ask."
"We're co-workers, I have Harrison, and... I'm so much older than you."
Her words hit you like a knife through your heart.
"I'll always be here for you, but as a friend."
You finally look up, your eyes finding Cassie's right away. "I know", you reply with a sad smile. "But friends who can't hang out outside of work, right?"
Cassie tilts her head at you with a pained look sketched onto her face. "Baby, we aren't capable of just hanging out as friends. We both know that will com—"
"Complicate things, yeah, yeah, I know."
Her brows furrow as she tries to figure out what you're thinking. "You're so young, you don't even know what you want yet."
You look up at the ceiling for a moment, anger coursing through you as Cassie talks to you like you're a naive child. In hopes to console you, she reaches forward to touch your arm, but you instinctively pull back.
It feels like someone just punched Cassie in her stomach as she watches you physically pull away.
With a tight-lipped smile, you stand and look at Cassie before asking, "anything else?"
"Oh, um... no." She tucks her hands in her jacket pockets. "That's all", Cassie says with a sympathetic smile.
"Okay, let's get back to work", you tell her. To the best of your ability, you push down everything you’re feeling right now. You were almost out of here.
You walk past Cassie, your shoulders brushing briefly. You head towards the other end of the nurse's station. Cassie trails behind you like a hurt puppy.
Dana sees you two coming her way. "l/n, McKay, just the ladies I need." She slides off her glasses and nods to the doctors chatting behind her. "y/n, brief Ellis about your patients, she's gonna be taking over. McKay, catch up Dr. Shen on yours. I don't want to stay longer than I have to."
"Mkay", you murmur.
You walk over to Ellis who's chatting with Santos. Gently, as to not alarm her, you place a hand on Ellis’s shoulder. "Hey, can we do rounds right now?"
Ellis turns around, a sly smile on her face. You could've sworn her gaze dropped down to your body for a split second. "Show me what you got."
The faintest blush creeps up on your face. "This way", you tell Ellis with a tiny grin as you make your way out of the nurse's station— away from Cassie.
Cassie’s talking to Shen, but her eyes flicker to yours as you pass her. It's like she's trying to tell you she's sorry. God, Cassie's blue eyes were irresistible.
You look away and turn towards Ellis. But Cassie keeps looking at you, staring as you make your way over to the first patient you're going to hand-off to Ellis.
You saw the pity in her eyes, but not the anguish she felt knowing she couldn't be with you. Not the jealousy as you smiled at and touched Ellis. Not the pain of knowing she hurt you, and not the pain of knowing there was nothing she could do to fix it.
- first & foremost, praise kink. she loves being a good girl & she loves when you’re a good girl to her. it goes both ways.
- mommy kink! this also goes both ways, whether you’re calling her mommy or she’s calling you mommy, it gets her going .
- spit kink, duuuuuuuh! she LOOOOOOOOOVES the drool & spit between you both after a messy makeout session.
- “spit on your tits & rub it in for me like a good girl”
- or “get mommy’s cock nice & wet” while she sits with her legs spread & has you sucking her strap to get it ready for you.
- size kink! but in the sense that she loves making you take bigger straps, “shhh, you can take it, baby, i know you can,” while she stretches out your cunt!
- she is obsessed with watching it move in & out of your hole. she loves how you take her so well.
- tits sucking. she loves a pair of titties, she doesn’t care if they’re big or small, she wants them in her mouth. she wants hers in your mouth. even just after a long day, she’ll just suck your tits, not even to start anything, just cause she likes it.
- spanking, obviously. ( this would be more later seasons Emily) bending you over her lap, ass & cunt exposed & slapping your ass, seeing how wet you get from it. “dirty girl, is the pain turning you on? look at this dripping pussy”
- she loves seeing your hole flutter from the spankings
- & if you’re a good girl, she might even slap your pussy ;)
- dirty talk. does this count as a kink? she loves hearing how good you feel & she loves hearing what you want her to do to you or what you would like to do to her. she especially loves when you’re crass & use the dirtiest language. it gets her so hot & bothered !
Alpha!Dana Evans save me. Save me alpha!Dana Evans. (f!reader) (as requested)
“Kid, you’re driving me up a wall right now.”
“Oh, sorry.” You stop your incessant pacing. “Wandering... a bad habit, right?"
Dana purses her lips, while your pacing was annoying her, it’s your scent, thick and acrid with your stress, that’s been clouding Dana’s mind. The alpha may be old, but that’s not to say that her instincts are dormant.
You’re an omega, a fact that drives Dana mad almost every day. Since your arrival, your scent has very quickly become the highlight of her every shift. However, as much as she wants to tuck you underneath her and mark you with her claim, Dana has drawn a very clear line in the sand for herself. You’re a coworker. No matter how badly she may be drawn to you, she had to keep her distance.
“Not that,” Dana says. “Your scent.”
Your face falls from the strained smile you’ve been keeping up. “Oh shit.” Your hands fly to the sides of your neck. “I’m wearing patches, but it must’ve bled through…” You reach behind the hub to grab a fresh pair of patches from the open box sitting there. “Sorry.”
Dana chews the inside of her cheek. It’s clear you’ve been stressed over the last week or so. Everyone’s taken notice, especially when it’s made you so checked out at work. Nearly the entire department has been trying to get to the bottom of it. If not for your sake, but for the sake of the patients. Now, though, it seems that with your worsening scent, the efforts to placate you have become a lot more selfish than before.
“I didn’t realize it was bad.” You duck your head, scratching at the gland on your wrist. “I guess I’ve been a little stressed lately.”
That’s putting it lightly. Dana wants to snort. Instead, she puts a hand on your shoulder, squeezing lightly. If she makes sure her wrist is just above your scent gland, scenting you lightly, neither of you comment on it. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s nothing,” you shake your head, looking away.
Dana chews the inside of her cheek. Her hand twitches on your shoulder, practically begging to hold your chin in her hand. She settles on a single thumb, pushing your chin up so you have to look at her. “It’s not nothing if it’s bothering you, kid.”
It takes you a while to muster up the courage to answer. Dana waits. The ED moves around you two, but neither of you seem to notice. Not when you’re lost in your head, and Dana’s trying to get in your head.
Eventually, you utter a soft, “It’s my instincts. They've been driving me crazy. Really sensitive and stuff."
“Ah.” Dana nods. She repeats slowly, “Your instincts.” Your expression drops, and Dana panics. She scrambles for an answer, rushing out, “Can I help?”
Your face lights up.
“Actually, maybe.” You shift, considering your next words carefully, “It’s been a while since I, um… since I kneeled for someone.”
“Kneeled?” Something jolts down Dana’s spine. So much for keeping her distance. She tries not to let any of her raging emotions show on her face as she asks, “You want to kneel for me?”
“If you’d let me.” There’s something so vulnerable about the way you’re looking at Dana. “If not, that’s fine! I’ve been talking to an alpha on Hinge who offered to help me.”
A dating app alpha? Like fucking hell you will. The mere thought of you getting on your knees for some strange alpha, the thought of you being vulnerable and them possibly taking advantage of that, makes Dana’s mind and heart race.
“No. I mean yes.” Dana shuts her eyes, recollecting herself, “Yes, Let’s do it.”
Four hours later, Dana is sitting on your cheap, uncomfortable couch, watching as you gingerly set a pillow by her feet. You asked if it could happen at your place, saying that you would be able to fully relax surrounded by your own scents. Dana was too shocked by the fact that you were asking to kneel for her to say no, even if now her back is screaming at her for it.
“Um, I’m gonna…” You motion to the pillow. When Dana nods, you slowly lower yourself so you’re kneeling in front of her. Looking at her empty lap, you whisper, “May I?”
“Mhm,” Dana smiles as sweetly as she can. Her hand snakes itself up to your head, where she gently guides your head down into her lap. You’re tense there for a moment, then Dana begins to gently massage your scalp. “Honey, is this alright?”
You hum softly, then sigh, but don’t speak. The hand in your hair stays there, occasionally scratching your scalp. No more than two minutes have gone by, but already your scent has grown less bitter. Dana can only imagine what you’re feeling right now. Something like pure and utter relief, if she had to guess. Whatever it is, Dana feels the warmth of pride take over her at the thought that she’s the one to make you feel that way.
But that isn’t something she needs to think about right now. Because tonight is about you and only you.
*****
“Where’s your shadow?” Robby asks. Dana wants to slap the dumb grin off of his face.
You’ve been following her around for the last three days. Robby’s been calling you a lost pup. Dana’s elected not to speak on it, lest she hurt your feelings and send you back to the stress that had been dimming your light. She figures that a little hovering is worth it.
“Doing her job for once, I hope,” she grumbles. “Can’t get her off my back.”
“Yeah,” Robby furrows his brows. “What’s with that?”
Dana shrugs, “Beats me. Won’t stop following me after she kneeled the other day.”
Robby pauses. He blinks down at the tablet in his hand once, twice, before looking back at Dana. “She kneeled for you?”
Dana rolls her eyes, “Yes, she did. You’re welcome for that, by the way. Why do you think she stopped stinking up the ED with her nerves.”
Dana fell asleep on your couch that night, so did you. After kneeling, you crawled up on the cushions to lay down, your head in her lap just as it was when you knelt. It was hell on her neck, but Dana found it worth it when you woke up all smiley and with a pleasant sweetness to your scent.
Robby throws his head back and barks out a singular, powerful laugh. He shakes his head, and somehow his smile has grown even wider, “Oh, that’s gold. That truly, truly is golden.”
“Robby, what the hell are you sayin’?”
Robby clicks his tongue, not even trying to act unamused by Dana’s woes. “Dana,” he says, “She thinks you’re courting her.”
Dana blinks. Suddenly, it feels as though she has the worst migraine of her life. To make matters worse, it looks like Robby is having the best day of his life.
dana teaches the “not gay” resident how to eat pussy (f!reader)
(a requested continuation of this)
*****
“Was I good?” You ask the moment the door closes.
If you can finish the shift without killing her, I'll let you prove to me why you’re so much better than her.
Dana shouldn’t be surprised. From the moment she promised you could finally have your way with her cunt, you were a goddamn angel. It was as though Emma didn’t exist to you. Every time the girl would laugh too hard at one of Dana’s jokes or offer too enthusiastically her help, you didn’t react one bit.
In all honesty, there was nothing for you to worry about. Emma’s not gay. Not like you’re “not gay”. The girl couldn’t be less interested in women, using any breath she didn’t spend trying to appease Dana on talking about her boyfriend. Though, Dana would never tell you this. She much prefers you like this, all huffy and jealous.
She also prefers this, getting to finally indulge you. No more of this dancing around that you two have been doing. As much as Dana loves to see you on your knees or sucking her thumb, it’s about time that you two fuck.
“Yeah, kid,” she says. Dana leans in, and your lips instinctually part, ready to kiss her. Unlike the night at the bar, Dana doesn’t give you permission, so you don’t, merely staring at her lips like a dog does a bone. “You were a real good girl for me today.”
Then, she turns on her heels.
Dana doesn’t have to tell you to follow, you just do. In the bedroom, she wastes no time stripping her scrubs off, then her panties before sitting on the edge of the bed. You, like a fucking angel, cover your eyes and look away.
“Uh, D-Dana, I- I’m still here,” you stumble over your words. “Sorry! Shit, I’m not looking.”
“Kid,” she sighs, spreading her legs. “How are you gonna get to my pussy with my clothes on?”
You freeze, slowly lowering the hand over your wide eyes. Your bottom lip is trapped in your teeth. At her nod of approval, you take a step closer, then another until you’re standing between her legs. Your eyes slide down her body until they finally land on her cunt.
“Wow,” you breathe.
“Go on,” Dana tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”
You stop staring at her cunt to look at Dana. “Yes! Yeah! I… I just…” You bite your lip frowning. “What do I do?”
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.
Dana deserves a goddamn prize for the way she keeps her face still and doesn’t let you see how both amused and frustrated she is by your comment. She knew you were inexperienced, especially with women, but Dana didn’t know it was this bad.
“You don’t know how to eat pussy?”
You shake your head. “Dana, I’m not—“
“Not gay, I know.” Dana runs a hand down her face, sighing. “You’ve never had your pussy ate?”
You shrug, “I guess.”
“It’s a yes or no question, hon.”
“I think.”
“Dear lord,” Dana mutters as though her pussy isn’t throbbing in spite of the inconvenience. Hell, she’d be lying to say that nothing about the way you’re staring at her with wide, innocent eyes makes her cunt ache. “Okay, how about I... I teach you."
Your eyes light up, and you nod, "Yeah, I- I can do that!"
Dana hums, "Good hon. Now, kneel down. Face-to-pussy.”
“Okay,” you nod enthusiastically, immediately dropping into position. Your breath is heavy, as it fans over her sensitive cunt, Dana has to resist the urge to buck into your mouth. “I’m here.”
“I can tell, honey,” Dana deadpans. “See my clit?”
“I think.”
“Suck it.”
You latch onto her clit without a second thought, licking and sucking it. You're clumsy, licking it perhaps more tentatively than you should. While it could be enough stimulation for another night, right now Dana doesn't want to wait an hour for you to tease her orgasm out of her, so she pushes you away.
Your pupils are blown, tongue sitting on your bottom lip as you stare at her. "Wha's wrong?" You slur.
"Kid, did I say lick it or suck it?"
"Oh," you pout, "I'm sorry."
"You didn't answer my question."
"Suck it. You said suck it." And, because apparently Dana doesn't feel dirty enough for fucking you, you add, "Ma'am."
You go back in, this time only sucking on her clit, none of that kitten lick shit you were trying before. A moan punches out of her, and Dana's hips buck, chasing the pleasure from your lips.
"F-Finger me," she says breathlessly. You put one single finger in her slit, and Dana grunts, "Two!"
A second finger quickly joins the first. Thankfully, on the fingering front, you don't need much help. Your fingers seem to know what they're doing as they curl in her cunt. Dana gasps as you find that sweet spot, thrusting your fingers slightly in tandem with your work on her clit.
Heat pools in Dana's gut quicker than she expected it too. What sends her over the edge, however, is the sweet way you begin to moan while you suck her clit. From the corner of her eyes, she spots your own hand between your leg, rubbing your mound frantically though your scrub pants.
"Come on, kid," Dana pants, "I- oh fuck, I-"
Dana's words melt into moans as her orgasm takes over. Her legs shake at the intensity, and for a second Dana thinks you're going to slow down or stop entirely. Thankfully, you keep going, but eventually, as her orgasm wanes, it becomes too much.
Dana's hips twitch, and she gasps. Unfortunately, you don't take the hint. Pleasure is starting to give way to discomfort, and as sweet as you look, so enthusiastically eating her out, Dana has to put a stop to this.
"Stop, stop, kid!" Dana yells, pulling you away from her pussy by the hair before you can overstimulate her.
You stare at her with wide eyes. “Was that good?” You ask nervously. “Did you, uh, come?”
Dana laughs, but quickly stops herself upon seeing how your face falls. Now, she could tell the truth, tell you how good you did for her, but as you stare up at her with that innocent gaze, a second orgasm in rapid succession doesn't sound too bad anymore.
“No baby, not yet,” Dana says, biting the inside of her cheek. “Why don’t you go back down there and try again?”
begging for cassie to strap you but the only strap she has is MASSIVE
Having a one night stand with your coworker after going through a break up. Your ex cheated on you and you were upset about it of course, but you were also already mentally out of the relationship the more you realized their flaws and got closer to Cassie. She brought you home that night and kissed down your body passionately, a grin on her face as she basked in the fact that she finally got to be with you after so long of pining. She slowly unbuttoned your pants before dragging her tongue through your folds, suckling softly on your clit as you ran your fingers through her hair, a silent moan leaving you. She brought you to the edge before guiding you to her bed, shushing your whine. She opened one of her drawers that she kept a lock on so her son would never get curious when she wasn’t home and find something he didn’t need to see. Your eyes were hooded and your breath was heavy, when you slowly began to register what was between her thighs, your eyes widened. It was huge, nothing you were used to. You gulped before looking up at her face, her hand guiding yours to stroke the faux penis.
“I- I can’t…that won’t fit, Cass-“
“Shh, I can make it fix, baby.” She said with her lips on your neck, her bangs tickling your skin. “What, have you never had a dick this big?”
You sighed shakily with embarrassment, shaking your head no, making her chuckle. Your cheeks tinted red at her teasing, and she slowly ran the tip over your wet folds.
“God, that bitch really was useless. You’re better off with me, I’ll make sure you get that release you’ve been needing.”
And when she fucked you, she placed a soft hand over your stomach, grinning as she felt the bulge she was creating. You looked down, gasping in pleasure as you saw the bump, and she leaned over you, a bruising hold on your hip.
“You feel that? Yeah, you do, look at that blush. God, you’re so fucking hot, can’t wait to put a baby in this sweet tummy.”
She would be panting and whimpering at the feeling of you around her, telling you how good and tight you are, assuring you on how well you’re doing. She would’ve convinced you earlier to let her try it without a condom, and you eventually agreed as long as she pulled out. But as her face is right against yours and you two are kissing messily, she begs you to let her cum inside, promising it’d feel amazing and blaming you for how good you feel
OH MY GODHH I forgot about this already i love you anon you're seeing my vision thank you thank you
the two of you should be cuddled comfortable in her bed, but the truth is... you were never making it past the couch.
she's tired after a long shift, obviously. she has every right to be. every right to want to destress. she's had years of practice, she can be out of her scrubs in seconds, and today, she seems to be going for a new personal record as you already feel the tip of her dick pressing against you.
It's no surprise, it never is. not fully.
you help her slip on a condom and soon enough moans fall from her lips as her hips push seamlessly against yours, fitting perfectly against you in the same way the last puzzle piece is pressed into place.
her dick is thick, throbbing inside your core as the sound of her skin slapping against yours fills the room.
her breath is hot on your neck and it makes you dizzy the way she coos in your ear. moaning on and on about how she really needed this and how well behaved you are for her. the feeling of her exposed tip against you makes you squirm and you could practically cry at the thought of her cumming anywhere else.
she needed you and you loved that.
and to think this all started by "accident"
that you both agreed on "just the tip" not too long ago. but God, "I can't help myself," and "you feel so good hun, look what you're doing to me," and suddenly her tongues down your throat and you're soaking wet unable to resist her.
