lili🌻

25 she/her

[jemilysversion]

Google, what would "quizzically hot" look like?

Google:

[berryblondd]

her and these bougie ass sunglasses

[hqtchniss]

where do we go now? emily prentiss x f!reader

tags: momily, light angst, london!emily, hazel and olivia, fluff, hurt/comfort, we'll be okay y'all, suggestive moment, mentions of scratch arc (eww), no use of yn

summary: emily gets called back to DC.

word count: 2.5k

hazel and olivia join my taglist masterlist

a/n: im obsessed with them so whatever TAKE IT

It comes as a curveball. The call from Virginia pulling Emily away from dinner to take it in her office. You don't say anything, but you feel in your bones that something is about to change.

She comes back with that frown between her eyebrows, the one that you find cute but despise when it brings her such stress. She still laughs at Hazel's dramatic reenactment of something that happened at school, she still coos when Olivia attempts to mush peas with her fingertips, but you know her mind is halfway somewhere else.

Much later, after the girls are in bed and you've been waiting for her to be done getting ready for bed, you're trying to read a book but mostly just staring at it. Something is wrong, or at least out of place, and you can't relax before you know what it is.

You smell her before you see her. The jasmine of her body wash and the light coconut of her moisturizer. Emily comes out of the bathroom in her silk sleep set, leaving a cloud of steam behind that you catch a glimpse of before she closes the door to the ensuite softly.

She sits next to you under the covers, leaving her hair brush on the nightstand next to her reading glasses. You close your book, place it on your own nightstand and turn to her. Waiting.

“Rossi called.”

You hum, “Dave usually calls.”

Emily sighs, “something's happened with Hotch.”

Your heart rate picks up. You've known Emily's BAU team for years, you've watched Jack grow up like you did Henry. The decision to leave for London when Hazel was on her way to three was not an easy one, but you both decided it'd be best after what happened with Doyle.

It hurt both of you to leave your family behind.

Of course, Emily worked with them everyday, Emily was closer to Dave and Hotch than you. But you know them, you know their kids, and you worry for them just as much.

You ask Emily what happened, she gives you a rushed summary of what Dave told her. He doesn't even know much himself.

“How's Jack?”

“In danger,” she says, “Hotch's thinking of going into witness protection.”

You look at her for a beat, seeing something in her eyes that tells you she's holding back. “What are you not telling me?”

Emily leans back against her pillows, looking at the ceiling. “Dave asked if I could come in.”

You turn to look at the side of her face, your shoulders tensing without prompting.

“Just for a few weeks,” she looks at you. “To support them during Hotch's absence. Help catch Peter Lewis.”

“Into the lion's den, then,” you murmur, turning back to look straight ahead.

Emily touches your arm, you don't turn to her, but lift your hand to hold her own. “I'll be fine.”

“You don't know that,” you say, defeated. “We moved here so you could be safe. For the girls.”

You feel the tip of her nose touching your cheek. It's surprisingly warm. Turning to her, you give her a look as she nudges your own nose with hers. She gives you a quick kiss. “I'll be back before you know it.”

You sigh, pulling away slightly to see her face in its entirety. Damn Emily Prentiss, her perfect face and her huge doe eyes. “How long is a few weeks, anyway? A month, two?”

“I'll come back every weekend.”

Scoffing, you smile ironically at her, “are you trying to kill yourself? It's an eight hour flight.”

“I’d do it.”

You touch her cheek, “I know you would.” Sighing, “I don’t want you to. We’ll be fine.”

Emily frowns, “that’s it? No argument?”

“What’s the point?” You ask, but not unkindly. “I know this is something you have to do.” Shaking your head, you kiss her cheek. “I’m worried about Hotch, too. I wouldn’t want to keep you from helping him and Jack.”

“You know I’d ask you to come with me if it weren't for the girls,” she murmurs, kissing your hand that’s still on her face.

“I know.” You pull her closer, snuggling up so you can soak up whatever time you have before she leaves. “We’ll be fine,” you repeat, even if you don’t know if that’s the case.

You’d never resent Emily, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy.

She calls every day. Sometimes more than once. She never misses a day, never goes more than twenty-four hours without talking to you or the girls. Even though she's busy, even though you can see the job taking its toll.

Hazel understands, mostly. Sometimes she's subdued, but a call with her mom manages to cheer her up. You let her have chicken nuggets on more days than you'd like, and you don't even say anything when she insists she's going to school in a tutu.

Olivia is too young to understand. She calls for her mama, she tries to touch the phone screen when Emily facetimes, even though sometimes she turns it off by accident. She whines at dinner and you know it's because Emily is the best at getting her to eat. At least she falls asleep pretty easily, you're not going to take that for granted.

And you, of course you understand. Yet you hate it. You hate sleeping in an empty bed, you hate making your tea in the mornings without Emily next to you. You hate reading in absolute silence before going to sleep because the shower isn't running and Emily isn't going to come out of the ensuite any second warm and soft from her bath.

You tell her you're fine, you tell her about the girls and what you did during the day. But you don't tell her about tossing and turning because she's not there, you don't tell her about Hazel's meltdown because Emily wasn't there to take her to ballet. You keep it in, and you know you shouldn't, you should tell your wife about how you're really feeling with her away, but you don't want to burden her with it. She tells you Scratch seems to have slipped through the cracks, so you don't want to add to her stress.

And you can't shake off the feeling that there's something she's not saying. You look at her though a phone screen and you still know her better than anyone. But you don't ask and you trust she'll tell you when she's ready, though you're hoping she can do it in person because you're getting really, really tired of waiting.

Hazel is playing quietly in the living room as you're making dinner. She's been quieter than usual this last week, refused to attend any of her extracurricular activities and even declined a sleepover at her friend's house. It's been a little over a month and you honestly have no idea what to do to cheer her up anymore. Sometimes, even the phone calls with Emily leave her sad afterwards, the tiny image of her mom on screen not being enough to settle the ache in her heart.

Olivia has been clingier, so of course she's in your arms as you try to cook one-handed. At least she doesn't wriggle too much on your hip like Hazel used to, or having her this close to the stove wouldn't be an option. If looking at the bright side, you're getting pretty good at doing things with a baby wrapped around your back or while having to keep two little girls in check outside of the house, making sure nothing happens to either of them and that they don't wander away when you're just trying to lock the car.

You're so focused on the food that you don't hear any movement in the entryway, only being alerted to something being different when Hazel yells “mommy!” at the top of her lungs. Startling, you only manage to turn the burner off before running to her, guessing she might've hurt herself, but the sight that finds you is nothing like that.

Hazel's dangling from around Emily's neck, her little legs kicking as she tries to climb her mother's arms. Emily's smiling brightly, but there's tiredness in her eyes, a weight to her that you haven't seen in a long time. When she manages to hoist up your daughter, she makes an exaggerated oof! that makes Haze giggle loudly — you haven't heard that sound in a couple of days.

You smile back unconsciously, letting Olivia down after she starts wriggling and whining. She toddles over to Emily, who meets her halfway, still with Hazel on her hip. On a normal day, you'd chastise her for picking Hazel up, the girl already too heavy and putting a strain on her back, but today is not that day.

Emily gives her daughters kisses all over their faces, squeezing them to her heart's content, telling them how much she missed them. You're happy to just watch for now, there'll be time for hugs later, at the moment you're just pleased to have all of your girls underneath the same roof.

“Hi,” Emily calls from her spot in the middle of the living room.

“Hi,” you answer, giving her a delighted grin. “Haze, let your mom breathe, please.” You say softly, then watch as your daughter loosens her grip ever so slightly from around Emily's neck.

She moves to the couch, sitting down and keeping both girls sitting in her lap. Hazel finally agrees to let go of her death grip on Emily, settling for holding the fabric of her shirt in one of her little hands. Olivia doesn't take her eyes off her mother, touching her cheek and babbling whenever she gets Emily to look down at her.

After a while, Hazel decides there are three new toys she absolutely needs to show Emily — and if you bought her all of those to soothe Emily's absence, then that's just for you to know —, so she runs into her room in search of them. Emily looks at her retreating form with a wistful grin, finally sighing exhaustedly. She stands up with Olivia in her arms and makes her way towards you.

“Hi,” she says again.

“Hi,” you say back.

When Emily kisses you, you decide you're never going to let her leave again, no matter what it takes.

“I missed you,” she murmurs into your lips.

You open your eyes, taking note of the dark shadows under hers, the redness derived from sleeping poorly. “You have no idea,” you say, because, really, what else is there?

Emily smiles apologetically, kissing you again. “Sorry I stopped replying to your texts, I wanted this to be a surprise.”

Shaking your head, you squeeze her free hand, “consider me surprised. And I just figured you were busy. What time was your flight?”

“1pm local time,” she says, bouncing Liv slightly. “It was the earliest I could get.”

Hazel comes running back, her arms full of toys, so you give Emily a look that says later.

Later actually means much later. After dinner, baths, bedtime. After Emily was the one singing Olivia to sleep. After she read three books to Hazel before her little eyes finally drooped closed.

Later means Emily almost falling asleep during your shared shower, means you holding her up by the waist as she rinses because if she closes her eyes for more than two seconds she might not open them for a few hours.

You let her off the hook. There's so much to talk about, of course, but it's nine pm and she's so exhausted her words are slurring just the tiniest bit. It worries as much as it endears you.

You open your arms and she falls into them, tucking her face into your neck and immediately falling asleep to the feeling of you softly scratching her back.

In the morning, she doesn't wanna talk. At least, not at first.

In the morning, she straddles your hips and pulls her shirt off, she kisses you with intent, with everything that she's missed in the last weeks. She doesn't have to say anything, you understand.

Only after, with no clothes on and comfortable in your bed, the bed you couldn't wait to see taken up by her again, does she talk.

Emily caresses your arm softly, her blunt nails eliciting shivers from your skin.

“You're holding something back,” you murmur, shifting closer. She sighs loudly, caught.

“Maybe you should do this for a living,” she retorts, lifting an eyebrow.

“Funny.” You say dryly. “You know I'm no behavioralist.”

She hums, smiling softly at you. After a beat, she turns serious again. “He got away,” she states heavily, as if this is somehow all on her. You squeeze her hand. “They went into witsec, I have no idea if we're gonna be able to get them out or when.”

Emily looks up at the ceiling, but her hand stays in yours.

“Before Hotch left for good, he…” She shakes her head. then chuckles humourlessly. “He asked me to replace him as Unit Chief.” Rolling her eyes, Emily scoffs. “He actually said that. He said his final request was for me to replace him, run his team.”

You stay very still. The truth is, you don't like the idea. The entire reason you left everything behind and moved to London was to get away, so Emily could have a steadier job, away from all the heaviness of the BAU, the ghost of Doyle haunting you all in Boston, DC, wherever. You made plans, you said you could finally have another kid, and you did, Olivia came along and she's a true Londoner now. Even Hazel is picking up the accent.

But besides everything, you don't hate the idea because it means going back to DC. You hate it because it means putting Emily in danger again, putting her in the spotlight as Unit Chief, a position she didn't ask for nor considered before all of this happened.

Still, you stay quiet, you let her work through what she needs because, above all, Emily's your wife and you love her, and if she feels like she needs to do this, well, she's not doing it alone.

“Aren't you gonna say anything?” She asks, looking at you with those big eyes that tell you she actually has no idea what to do.

“Not right now,” you answer, leaning your head on her shoulder. “How long do you have to decide?”

“I asked for a week,” she says, then winces, “I know that's ambitious, they'll probably call before that.”

“Okay, so not in the next twenty-four hours, then, right?”

“No,” she murmurs into your hair, leaving a kiss where she can reach.

“So, now, we're going to stay here. I'm going to enjoy my wife's company that I missed very much. We're gonna wait for a cry or for Hazel to come pounding on the door demanding food, and we'll deal with that later. Okay?”

You feel Emily sigh deeply from underneath you, her shoulders losing their stiffness for the moment. “Okay.”

taglist: @emilyprentissmylove @zeyz444 @shygirl1645 @probablydoingyourmom1 @criminally-chill @whittakermultiverse @italianaidiota @emilys-bangs @decadentcatcrusade @midnightprentiss @cmmndr-widw @sevi-kas01 @mimzamo @red1culous @wlwoceaneyes @berryblondd ⭐︎

[hotchology]

[ashlinxloves]

—Light A Flame—

Pairing: Emily Prentiss x fem!reader

Warnings/tags: 18+ MDNI, smut, softdom!Emily, praise kink, younger subordinate!reader, rookie!reader, late s2–early s3 Emily, oral sex, fingerfucking, Emily is an open lesbian but reader is a bit dense to her flirting.

A/N: I'm finally writing for my wife. I've been watching Criminal Minds way too much again and I couldn't help myself lmfao. I am very much gay for both Emily and JJ.

Dividers from @chrisssiren

Title from Light a Flame by Seventeen

You've drunk a bit tonight. Not a lot to consider yourself fully drunk, but you were tipsy.

It was a celebratory party for you, being a new member of the BAU after months of hard work. You were close friends with Spencer, him having recommended the BAU to you in the first place.

The celebratory party had to be held back due to the workload you all had in the bureau, but you finally managed to find a quick break, Morgan bringing some wine to the office after work.

"Woah, sweetheart, a little too much red wine, don't you think?" One of Spencer's colleagues—Derek, you think—takes the glass from you. A hum left you, letting him take the glass away.

You'd been situated in the BAU for about three months now, but you were still learning all of their names. But the one you got the hang of was Emily's and JJ's—aside from Spencer of course.

From Spencer's observations, you'd gotten a lot closer to Emily, following her around and always pairing up with her during cases. Not that he minded, but what was stranger was that you hadn't noticed the lingering gazes the woman sent you or the subtle flirty remarks.

Emily was interested in you. She wasn't that much older, and you were a sweet thing and a fresh face. She liked it when you came to her to ask her opinion on certain things or just the case you were working on. It was nice to feel needed, to be the one guiding you.

"I'll take it from here, Morgan," she called out softly from behind you, earning a delighted noise from you to see your second favourite agent.

"Emilyyy," you drawled out, smiling as the wine worked through your veins.

Definitely tipsy.

"Hi, beautiful.. no more wine for you tonight, okay? Come, I'll get you some water." She led you towards the break room, grabbing you a glass of water. "Here, drink up."

You thanked her, her expression forming into something gentle as she tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

"I had a lot of fun tonight..." You murmured against your glass before placing it down, the cool water helping your head to clear up a bit. "You're all so nice. Especially you."

"Mm, yeah? Well, I want you to feel included and stationed properly, sweetheart." Emily hesitantly caressed your cheek, knowing she shouldn't really make a move on you. Not with your state of mind.

"No, no, it's not just that.. you're sweet, you always listen to me rant when Spence can't, and, and you're so pretty, and smell so nice."

Your babble made Emily smile, realising you were truly thankful for her kindness and her prescence. God, you were so cute.

"You're pretty too." She rubbed her thumb along the apple of your cheek, her eyes softening when you leaned into her touch. "Oh, you sweet thing."

She cupped your face with both hands now, glancing at your lips, enough for you to notice just this once.

"Emily.." you found yourself holding onto her arms, latching onto her gently as she closed in.

"Is this okay?" She asked, her lips grazing against yours. Emily knew it was against protocol.

But fuck protocol.

When you nodded albeit slowly, she pressed her lips against yours almost immediately. Emily's kiss was gentle yet full of urgency, like she'd been holding back for a while.

You kissed back as eagerly, your hands moving from her arms to the back of her head, deepening the kiss further before realising what you were doing and pulling away.

"This— this is against the rule book.. we–we can't—" you mumbled but couldn't move away from her. You didn't want to deep down, and she was so warm and smelled so good—

"Baby, do you really care about protocol right now?" She rubbed her thumb along your lower lip, convincing you that it wasn't that important.

"But– but someone might walk in on us.." you added, glancing at the door to the break room which was ajar, making her hum in consideration.

"I'm taking her home-!" Emily called out towards the group while having an arm slung over you shoulder, catching their attention—mostly Spencer's.

"Oh, great, we can go together, I don't live far from her—hey, ow-!" Spencer hissed at Derek who had just smacked him. "JJ, he smacked me—"

"Take a hint, Reid."

Your best friend glanced at Morgan before looking back at you and Emily before realising. "Oh. Oh. Yeah, okay, you can take her home, she's probably drunk a little too much."

Spencer grimaced but gave you a thumbs up, and a chuckle left Derek.

"It's a bit of a mess, sorry—" you apologised for your apartment as you took your shoes and coat off. Emily shrugged, smiling softly as she let you get rid of your outer layers before gently moving behind you.

"So.." she murmured, stroking your shoulder gently. "I suppose we can continue what we started?"

A shiver went through your body, nodding slowly at her words. You were a bit more sobered up, your head clear enough to decide that you wanted this.

You wanted her as much as she wanted you.

Emily moved your hair aside, pressing kisses along the back of your neck, and her hands moved towards your waist, squeezing gently.

"You don't know how much I've been wanting to have you like this, sweetheart." She tugged you close, skillfully unbuttoning the buttons of your dress shirt from the bottom up.

You could feel your abdomen knotting, heat pooling between your thighs as you whined for her.

"Where's your bedroom, baby? I gotta make sure I spoil you properly."

Pointing at the direction of your room, Prentiss led you there before sitting you down onto your bed.

You leaned against the headboard and your plush pillows, watching her crawl over towards you, settling between your thighs. Instinctively spreading your legs, you gave her more space to work with, hearing a soft groan coming from her.

"Fuck, baby, you're so beautiful from this angle."

Your cheeks flush, turning your head away from her. She tutted softly, "Hey, pretty girl, don't look away, I want you to fully watch me as I ruin this pretty pussy better than any man you've been with, hm?"

Looking back at Emily, she smiles before diving in, flattening her tongue against your folds, the warm muscle making your thighs twitch.

She moaned at the taste of you, your scent driving her almost insane. "I'm going to get addicted to you if you don't mind."

Slurping and licking, Emily did her damned best to turn you into a small, whimpering mess for her. Your fingers were threading through her hair, tugging and guiding where it felt good for you.

She skilfully moved her fingers inside you, finding that spongy spot that made you squeeze your thighs around her head.

"E–Emily—" you mumbled out, a hum leaving the woman's lips which sent the vibrations straight to your pudgy clit. "Gonna— gonna come.."

With that, she continued her movements, not changing the pace, making sure your orgasm built up slowly but surely.

Feeling your stomach knot and heat up, Emily noticed the signs and got more relentless with fucking you with her fingers, and suckling your clit harder.

You came hard, toes curling as you let go and let your orgasm flow out of you.

"Can you go again?" She asked after letting you rest for a bit to recover from your intense orgasm. When you nodded weakly, Emily kissed your inner thigh with a smile.

Likes and reblogs are appreciated˙⋆✮

[criminalmindswhore]

Sunlight and Sensitivity

Short little smut fic: A regular thing Emily does during foreplay hits different one Saturday morning, every single one of your nerves alight.

TW: smut, nipple stimulation, nipple stimulation induced orgasm, mentions of nipple clamps

The Saturday morning sun filtered through the sheer curtains of Emily's apartment, casting golden stripes across the hardwood floor and the plush couch where you found yourself. The city outside was just beginning to stir, but inside, time seemed to move differently—slower, more deliberate, weighted with anticipation.

Emily's hands were everywhere, it seemed. Tracing the curve of your spine, skimming along your ribs, mapping territory she'd explored countless times before but somehow always found new again. You were settled in her lap, straddling her thighs, your fingers tangled in her silver hair as you kissed her with the kind of lazy intensity that only Saturday mornings allowed.

There was no rush. No case to get to, no phone calls interrupting, no world demanding either of your attention. Just this, just her hands on your skin, her lips moving from your mouth to your jaw to that sensitive spot just below your ear that made you shiver.

"You're beautiful," she murmured against your neck, her voice still rough with sleep and want. Her hands slid beneath the hem of your shirt, well, technically her shirt that you'd stolen to sleep in, her fingertips cool against your warm skin.

You arched into her touch, a soft sound escaping your lips as she explored the planes of your stomach, the curve of your waist. Everything felt heightened somehow, every nerve ending singing under her attention.

Emily's hands moved higher, pushing the fabric up slowly, reverently, until she pulled the shirt over your head entirely and tossed it somewhere behind the couch. The morning air kissed your bare skin, raising goosebumps that had nothing to do with temperature and everything to do with the way she was looking at you: dark eyes blown wide with desire, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

"Hi," you breathed, suddenly feeling exposed in the best possible way.

"Hi yourself," she replied, her hands settling on your hips, thumbs tracing small circles against your skin.

You leaned in to kiss her again, slower this time, savoring the taste of coffee and something uniquely Emily. Her hands began to wander again, sliding up your sides, and you felt your breath catch in anticipation of where they might go next.

When her palms finally cupped your breasts, you gasped into her mouth, your hips rolling involuntarily against her. She smiled against your lips, you could feel it, clearly pleased with your reaction. Her thumbs began to trace lazy patterns, circling closer and closer to where you were becoming increasingly sensitive.

"Emily," you breathed, breaking the kiss to rest your forehead against hers.

"Mmm?" She was focused, attentive, reading every micro-expression on your face, every hitch in your breathing.

And then her thumb grazed over your nipple—just the lightest touch, barely there—and the sound that tore from your throat was louder than either of you expected. Your whole body tensed, pleasure shooting through you like electricity, concentrated and intense and almost overwhelming.

"Em," you gasped, your fingers tightening in her hair. "If you do that again, I can't—"

You couldn't even finish the sentence, too caught up in the sensation still reverberating through your body. When you finally managed to focus on her face, you found her staring at you with an expression of absolute fascination, her eyes wide with realization.

"Wait," she said slowly, her voice dropping an octave. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

You felt heat flood your cheeks, suddenly self-conscious despite everything. "I don't... it's just really sensitive right now, and—"

"You could come from this?" The wonder in her voice was unmistakable, mixed with something darker, more intent. "Just from me touching you here?"

Her thumb circled your nipple again, deliberately this time, and you whimpered, your hips jerking forward involuntarily. The pleasure was almost too much, too concentrated, building in a way that felt both familiar and entirely different.

"Emily, I—" You tried to form words, but she chose that moment to roll your nipple gently between her thumb and forefinger, and coherent thought became impossible.

"That's incredible," she murmured, her scientific mind clearly engaged even as desire darkened her features. "I want to see it. Can I? Will you let me?"

There was something in her voice, part question, part plea, entirely Emily in her genuine curiosity mixed with obvious arousal. You nodded, not trusting your voice, and felt her smile against your collarbone where she'd begun pressing kisses.

"Use your words, sweetheart," she prompted gently, even as her hands continued their torturous exploration. "I need to hear you say it."

"Yes," you managed, your voice breathy and desperate. "Yes, please, Em—"

"Good girl," she praised, and the words alone nearly undid you.

The Saturday sun continued its slow journey across the room as Emily devoted herself entirely to your pleasure. Her mouth found your other breast, her tongue circling and flicking while her fingers continued their work on the first. The dual sensation was overwhelming, pleasure building in waves that seemed to originate from those two points of contact and radiate outward through your entire body.

You were dimly aware that you were making sounds, gasps and whimpers and broken syllables of her name, but you couldn't bring yourself to care. Not when she was looking up at you like that, her eyes locked on your face, cataloging every expression, every reaction. Like you experiencing this pleasure was the most interesting thing she’d ever witnessed.

"That's it," she encouraged, her voice muffled against your skin. "I've got you. Let go for me."

Your hands scrambled for purchase, one gripping the back of the couch, the other still tangled in her hair. Your hips were moving of their own accord now, seeking friction, seeking more, seeking something to ground you as the pleasure built higher and higher.

Emily seemed to sense how close you were. She increased the pressure slightly, her teeth grazing gently, and that was all it took. The orgasm hit you like a wave, unexpected in its intensity, radiating out from your chest through your entire body. You cried out, your back arching, your whole body trembling as pleasure washed over you in pulses that seemed to go on and on.

Through it all, Emily held you steady, her hands gentling their touch but never leaving you, grounding you as you rode out the waves of sensation. She pressed soft kisses to your sternum, your collarbone, anywhere she could reach, murmuring praise and endearments that you could barely process through the haze of pleasure.

When you finally came back to yourself, you found yourself slumped against her, your face buried in the crook of her neck, your body still trembling with aftershocks. Her arms were wrapped around you, holding you close, one hand stroking soothingly up and down your spine.

"Holy shit," you finally managed, your voice muffled against her skin.

You felt her laugh, the vibration traveling through both your bodies. "That was..." She pulled back slightly, encouraging you to look at her. When you did, her expression was soft, awed, thoroughly pleased with herself. "That was the hottest thing I've ever witnessed."

You felt yourself blush again, hiding your face against her shoulder. "I can't believe that just happened."

"I can't believe you've been keeping that information from me," she teased, her fingers tracing idle patterns on your back. "How long have you known?"

"I didn't, really," you admitted. "I mean, I knew it felt good, but I've never actually... not like that."

"Never?" Her voice pitched up slightly with surprise and something that sounded like pride.

You shook your head. "Never."

"Well then," Emily said, and you could hear the smile in her voice. "I'm honored to be the first." She paused, then added with a hint of mischief, "And I'm definitely going to need to explore this discovery further. You know, for science."

You laughed, finally lifting your head to look at her properly. Her hair was mussed from your hands, her lips swollen from kissing, her eyes bright with affection and lingering desire. She was beautiful, and she was yours, and the Saturday sun painted her in gold.

"For science?" you echoed, raising an eyebrow.

"Absolutely," she confirmed, her expression serious even as her eyes danced with amusement. "I need to establish whether this is a repeatable phenomenon. Multiple trials will be necessary."

"Multiple trials," you repeated, shaking your head fondly. "You're ridiculous."

"You love it," she countered, pulling you in for a soft, sweet kiss that tasted like promise and possibility.

"I love you," you corrected, and felt her smile against your lips.

"I love you too," she murmured. "Now, how do you feel about breakfast? Because I'm thinking we might need to keep our energy up. You know, for all that scientific research."

You laughed, swatting her shoulder playfully, but you couldn't deny the flutter of anticipation in your stomach at the suggestion. The Saturday stretched out before you, full of sunlight and possibility and Emily's hands on your skin.

"Breakfast sounds good," you agreed. "But maybe in a little while?"

Her eyes darkened again, that familiar heat returning. "Oh? What did you have in mind?"

Instead of answering directly, you bit your lip, suddenly feeling bold. "I was thinking... maybe we could look into nipple clamps? Just to see what's out there."

Emily's attempt at casual composure was immediate and utterly transparent. "Oh. Yeah. Sure. We could—we could do that." She cleared her throat, reaching for her phone on the coffee table with studied nonchalance. "Just, you know, browsing. Research."

But as she pulled up her browser, you watched her eyes lose focus, her thumb hovering motionless over the screen. Her breathing had changed, become shallower, and a flush was creeping up her neck.

"Em?" you prompted gently, amused.

"Sorry, I just—" She blinked, trying to refocus on the phone, but you could see her pupils dilating as her mind clearly wandered elsewhere. "I'm just thinking about... about earlier. About doing that again, but with..." She trailed off, swallowing hard.

You leaned in closer, your lips brushing her ear. "Having trouble concentrating?"

"Completely," she admitted, her voice rough. The phone slipped from her fingers onto the floor, forgotten. "God, just thinking about it..."

It was, you thought as Emily's hands found your skin again with renewed urgency, definitely the perfect way to spend a Saturday.

[criminalmindswhore]

Match My Frequency

Demi Lovato's new album is living rent-free in my head. Here's a fic based on one of the songs.

Emily wanted to settle down, but no one ready to settle could keep up with her. Until she has dinner with you, someone willing to let her take control, and mean it.

tags: smut, dom(em)/sub(read), BDSM, restraints, rope use, bondage

The wine bar Emily had chosen was intimate without being cliché—exposed brick, low lighting, and a jazz quartet playing softly in the corner. You'd been on plenty of first dates, but none that had taken this particular turn.

"So you're telling me," Emily said, swirling her second glass of Malbec with an amused smile playing at her lips, "that you actually brought rope to a third date?"

You laughed, feeling the warmth of the wine and her attention. "In my defense, she'd been dropping hints for weeks. I was just... prepared."

"Prepared." Emily's dark eyes glinted with something that made your stomach flip. "I like that."

The conversation had started innocently enough: work, travel, the usual getting-to-know-you territory. But somewhere between the appetizers and entrees, Emily had mentioned a case involving BDSM clubs, and you'd made an offhand comment about the community being more safety-conscious than people realized. That had opened a door neither of you seemed interested in closing.

"Most people get weird when I'm honest about what I'm into," you admitted, meeting her gaze. "They either fetishize it or run for the hills."

Emily leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. "And what exactly are you into?"

The directness should have caught you off guard, but instead, it sent a thrill down your spine. "Power exchange. Restraint. Sensation play. The psychological aspect more than anything. That space where you're completely present with someone, reading every reaction."

"Trust," Emily said softly.

"Exactly."

She was quiet for a moment, studying you with an intensity that felt like being catalogued, analyzed. You'd learned she was a profiler for the BAU, and you could practically see her mind working.

"I spent years hiding that part of myself," Emily finally said. "The job, the expectations, the image I was supposed to maintain. I'd have these perfectly vanilla relationships with perfectly nice people, and the whole time I'd be thinking about—" She stopped herself, lips curving into a self-deprecating smile. "Well. Other things."

"What changed?"

"I stopped apologizing for what I want." She took a slow sip of wine, her eyes never leaving yours. "Life's too short to pretend you're satisfied with missionary and the lights off."

You nearly choked on your drink, and Emily's laugh was low and genuine.

"Sorry, was that too much?"

"No," you said quickly. "No, it's refreshing. I'm just not used to someone being so..."

"Honest?"

"Confident."

Something shifted in Emily's expression, a sharpening of focus that made you acutely aware of the space between you. "I've learned that confidence is attractive. Knowing what you want and being unafraid to pursue it."

The way she said "pursue" made it clear you weren't just talking about philosophy anymore.

"And what do you want?" you asked, surprised by the steadiness of your own voice.

Emily tilted her head, considering. "Someone who can keep up. Someone who understands that submission isn't weakness and dominance isn't cruelty. Someone who knows the difference between playing a role and being authentic." She paused. "Someone who looks at me the way you're looking at me right now."

Your breath caught. "How am I looking at you?"

"Like you're already imagining what I'd look like with my hand wrapped around your throat."

The restaurant suddenly felt very warm.

"I—" You swallowed hard. "That's a fairly accurate assessment."

Emily's smile was slow, predatory. "I know."

The rest of dinner passed in a haze of charged conversation. Emily told you about her time in London, carefully editing out classified details but painting a picture of someone who'd lived a dozen different lives. You shared your own stories, and found yourself being more honest than you'd been with anyone in months. Maybe years.

But underneath the words was a current of anticipation, a building tension that had you hyperaware of every movement Emily made. The way her fingers traced the stem of her wine glass. The flash of her tongue when she licked a drop of wine from her lower lip. The casual brush of her foot against your ankle under the table that was definitely not accidental.

"I should probably confess something," Emily said as the waiter cleared your plates.

"Oh?"

"I've been planning this since you made that comment about safety protocols in rope bondage."

Your heart hammered. "Planning what, exactly?"

"How I'd get you back to my apartment." Emily's voice was casual, but her eyes were dark with intent. "Whether you'd be the type to play coy or if you'd be honest about wanting it. What you'd sound like if I kissed you against my front door. How long I'd make you wait before I touched you properly."

The air between you felt electric.

"That's quite a lot of planning," you managed.

"I'm thorough." Emily signaled for the check. "It's part of the job description."

"And what conclusion did you reach? About whether I'd play coy?"

She leaned in close enough that you could smell her perfume—something dark and expensive. "I think you're going to look up at me when we get outside, and I'm going to see exactly how much you want this. And then I'm going to invite you home, and you're going to say yes."

Your mouth went dry. "You seem very certain."

"I'm an excellent profiler." Emily's hand found yours on the table, her thumb brushing across your knuckles in a touch that was both innocent and loaded with promise. "Am I wrong?"

"No," you admitted. "You're not wrong."

Emily paid the check despite your protests, and then you were standing, her hand on the small of your back as she guided you through the restaurant. The October air was crisp when you stepped outside, and you turned to face her on the sidewalk.

This was the moment she'd predicted, and you were helpless to do anything but fulfill her prophecy. You looked up at her—Emily was taller than you'd realized, or maybe you'd unconsciously shifted closer—and let her see everything. The want. The anticipation. The willingness to follow wherever she led. The slight part of your lips.

Emily's expression shifted, something hungry and satisfied crossing her features.

"Come home with me," she said. Not a question.

"Yes."

The ride to her apartment was an exercise in restraint. Emily's hand rested on your thigh in the back of the Uber, her fingers tracing absent patterns that were driving you slowly insane. Every time you glanced at her, she was watching you with that same focused intensity, like you were a puzzle she was taking apart piece by piece.

"You're thinking very loudly," Emily murmured.

"I'm thinking about what happens when we get to your place."

"And?"

"And I'm trying to figure out if you're the type to take your time or if you'll have me against the door like you mentioned."

Emily's fingers pressed slightly harder against your thigh. "What do you want?"

The question felt like a test. "Both. Eventually."

"Good answer."

Her building was in a nice part of the city, the kind of place that suggested a government salary went further than you'd expected. The elevator ride up was silent, tension coiling tighter with each floor. Emily's hand found yours, her fingers interlacing with yours in a gesture that was almost sweet. Almost.

Then you were at her door, and Emily was unlocking it with one hand while the other stayed clasped in yours, and you were stepping into a space that was so quintessentially Emily it made you smile. Books everywhere, art that looked collected rather than decorated, a leather couch that had clearly been chosen for comfort rather than aesthetics.

The door clicked shut behind you.

"So," Emily said, turning to face you. "I have a question."

"Okay."

"We've established that we're both interested. That we're both experienced. That we want similar things." She stepped closer, and you found yourself backed against the door. "But I need to know, are you interested in playing tonight, or would you rather take things slower?"

The fact that she was asking, that even in this moment she was checking in, made you want her even more.

"Tonight," you said. "Definitely tonight."

Emily's smile was sharp. "Then we should talk about boundaries."

And that was how you found yourself on Emily's couch, discussing limits and safe words with the same directness you'd brought to dinner. It should have been clinical, but instead it was incredibly hot: the acknowledgment of what you were about to do, the care being taken to ensure you both felt safe.

"Hard limits?" Emily asked.

You listed them, and she nodded, filing the information away.

"And you?" you asked.

Emily's list was short, and you found yourself noting the things she didn't mention, the vast territory of possibility that lay between you.

"Safe word?"

"Red for stop, yellow for slow down or check in," you suggested.

"Standard. I like it." Emily shifted closer, her hand coming up to cup your jaw. "And just so we're clear, I'm going to be in control tonight. I'm going to tell you what to do, and you're going to do it. But this only works if you're honest with me. If something doesn't feel right, if you need to slow down, if you want to stop, you tell me. Understood?"

"Yes."

"Yes, what?"

Your breath hitched. "Yes, ma'am."

Emily's eyes darkened. "Oh, I like that." Her thumb brushed across your lower lip. "You can also call me Emily. But ma'am works very well."

Then she was kissing you, and it was nothing like the tentative first kisses you'd experienced on other dates. This was claiming, demanding. Emily's hand slid into your hair and angled your head exactly where she wanted it. Your mouth fell open for her immediately, and her tongue swept into your mouth with a confidence that made your knees weak.

When she pulled back, you were breathless.

"Bedroom," Emily said. "Now."

You followed her down a hallway, your heart racing. Emily's bedroom was neat but lived-in, dominated by a large bed with a sturdy-looking headboard. She turned to face you, and the transformation was complete—this was Emily in her element, commanding and sure.

"Strip," she said. "Slowly."

Your hands trembled slightly as you reached for the hem of your shirt, but you forced yourself to move deliberately. Emily watched every movement, her gaze tracking the reveal of skin like she was memorizing it. When you hesitated at your bra, she raised an eyebrow.

"Did I say to stop?"

"No, ma'am."

"Then keep going."

By the time you were standing naked in front of her, you were already wet, already aching. Emily was still fully dressed, and the power imbalance was intoxicating.

"Beautiful," Emily murmured, circling you slowly. Her fingers trailed across your shoulders, down your spine, making you shiver. "And so responsive already. Tell me, how long have you been thinking about this?"

"Since we left the restaurant," you admitted.

"Liar." Emily's hand came down on your ass in a sharp slap that made you gasp. "Try again."

"Since—" You swallowed hard. "Since you mentioned the BDSM case. The way you talked about it, like you understood it from the inside."

"Better." Emily's hand soothed over the spot she'd struck. "Honesty is important. I need to know what's happening in that pretty head of yours."

She guided you to the bed, positioning you on your back with your arms above your head. From her nightstand, she produced a length of black rope, professional quality. You nodded with approval.

"I'm going to tie your wrists," Emily said. "You're going to keep them exactly where I put them. If you move them, I stop. Understood?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Emily's hands were skilled, the rope wrapping around your wrists in a pattern that was secure but not cutting off circulation. She tested the bonds, then secured them to the headboard, leaving you spread out and vulnerable beneath her.

"Color?" she asked.

"Green. Very green."

Emily smiled. "Good."

She took her time undressing, and you realized it was deliberate: making you watch, making you wait. When she finally climbed onto the bed, still in her bra and underwear, you couldn't help the small sound that escaped you.

"Impatient?" Emily asked, straddling your hips, her weight delicious on top of you.

"Yes."

"That's not how we address me."

"Yes, ma'am. I'm sorry."

"Better." Her hands skimmed up your sides, deliberately avoiding where you wanted her most. "I'm going to touch you now. I'm going to learn exactly what makes you fall apart. And you're going to lie there and take it, and thank me for it. Understood?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Emily's touch was maddening, light enough to tease, firm enough to promise more. She mapped your body with her hands and mouth, finding every sensitive spot and exploiting it ruthlessly. When her mouth finally closed around your nipple, you arched off the bed with a moan.

"That's it," Emily murmured against your skin. "Let me hear you."

Her hand slid between your thighs, and she groaned at what she found there.

"So wet already. Is this all for me?"

"Yes, ma'am. Please—"

"Please what?"

"Please touch me."

Emily's fingers circled your clit with agonizing lightness. "I am touching you."

"Please, I need—"

"I know what you need." Her voice was dark with promise. "But you don't get to come until I say so. Understood?"

You whimpered, but nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

Her fingers pressed harder against your clit, her lips wrapping back around your nipple, humming against your skin.

"Fuck, thank you, ma'am."

She nearly growled against you, teeth grazing the flesh.

What followed was the most exquisite torture you'd ever experienced. Emily brought you to the edge again and again, reading your body with the same skill she probably used to read suspects. Every time you got close, she'd pull back, leaving you gasping and desperate.

"Ma'am, please," you finally begged, past the point of pride.

"Please what?"

"Please let me come. Please, I need it, I need you, please—"

Emily's fingers pressed inside you, and her thumb found your clit with perfect pressure. Her free hand wrapped around your neck, squeezing enough to claim. "Come for me," she commanded. "Now."

You shattered, crying out her name as pleasure crashed through you in waves. Emily worked you through it, her fingers never stopping, and before you'd fully come down she was building you up again.

"Again," she said. "Give me another one."

You came twice more before Emily finally relented, untying your wrists and pulling you against her chest. You were shaking, overwhelmed, and she held you through it with surprising gentleness.

"Breathe," she murmured, pressing kisses to your temple. "You did so well. So perfect for me."

When you'd finally caught your breath, you looked up at her. "That was—"

"Intense?"

"Incredible." You shifted, suddenly aware that Emily was still partially dressed, still untouched. "But I want—"

"What do you want?"

"To touch you. To make you feel good."

Emily's smile was soft. "Later. Right now, I want to take care of you."

She did exactly that, bringing you water and a warm washcloth, checking the marks on your wrists, holding you close. It was aftercare at its finest, and you found yourself falling a little bit in love with this woman who could be commanding and cruel one moment, tender and careful the next.

"Stay," Emily said eventually. "Tonight. If you want."

"I want," you confirmed.

You finally convinced Emily to let you reciprocate a few minutes later, the silence turning into tension. Your hands grew courageous, sliding across her waist gently until she found your eyes.

With a silent nod, you had permission, lips finding her jawline and hands sliding across her chest.

You found home between her legs, tongue lapping at her like you had been starved of this your whole life. She gripped your hair, eyes locked on you.

"Fuck, such a good girl." Slipped from her lips before she came apart on your tongue, your hands digging into the flesh of her thighs.

You kissed her thighs and then her chest, before lying beside her. She let out a breath and wrapped an arm around you, tugging you against her side.

"You are something else." Her voice was rough with lingering desire and amusement.

"So," you said. "Second date?"

Emily laughed. "I think we might have skipped a few steps."

"Maybe. But I'd still like to take you to dinner. Somewhere nice. Where we can talk about normal things."

"Normal things," Emily repeated, amused.

"Well. Normal for us."

She kissed you, slow and sweet. "I'd like that."

Outside, the city hummed with late-night energy. But in Emily's bedroom, wrapped in her arms, you felt like you'd found something rare. Someone who matched your energy, who understood the parts of yourself you usually kept hidden, who could be both fierce and gentle in the same breath.

"Hey," Emily said softly.

"Yeah?"

"I'm really glad you swiped right."

You grinned. "Me too."

And when you finally fell asleep, it was with Emily's hand in yours and the promise of more nights like this—more exploration, more trust, more of this perfect understanding you'd found with someone who was exactly as kinky as you were. Thank fuck.

[hoe4hotchner]

Ghostface | [E.P]

Pairing: Emily Prentiss x fem!Reader

WC: 3.5k 

Warnings: MDNI!!! 18+, Smut, CNC, Mask kink, roleplay, dom/sub dynamics, strapon, lingerie, fake stage knife, spanking, hair pulling, rough handling, oral, orgasm control/denial, dirty talk, degradation, stop light system, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, established relationship, pet names.

Summary: Emily finds out that you have a mask kink and takes entirely too much pleasure in that knowledge.

A/N: I couldn't hold myself back in the end, I just had to write it!!!! I'm not gonna lie, I got incredibly horny while writing this.

Based on this thought

The glow of the TV flickered across Emily’s living room as the opening credits of Scream rolled over the screen.

It was one of those rare nights off for the BAU, paperwork done, no unsubs lurking in the immediate future, and you’d both collapsed onto her couch with takeout containers the second you'd entered her apartment.

Emily had picked the movie, claiming it was “research” for profiling masked killers. You’d rolled your eyes but secretly loved how her mind never fully clocked out.

You were curled against her side, her arm draped casually over your shoulders, fingers tracing lazy patterns on your arm. The popcorn bowl sat half-empty between you, forgotten as the iconic phone call scene played out. One of the female characters were screaming, and then he appeared.

Ghostface.

Black robe swirling, that stark white mask with its elongated scream frozen in plastic.

Emily felt it before she saw it, the subtle shift in your breathing, the way your body tensed, not in fear, but in something deeper, more frustrating. Your thigh pressed a fraction closer to hers, and when the camera lingered on the mask as Ghostface tilted his head in that predatory way, your fingers tightened on her knee.

She glanced down at you, brow arching. “You okay there, babe?”

You blinked, tearing your eyes from the screen. “Yeah, why?”

A smirk tugged at her lips. “Just checking. You look... invested.”

The movie continued, but Emily’s attention was split. Every time Ghostface stalked into frame, your pulse jumped; she could feel it where your wrist brushed her side.

Your cheeks flushed, and you shifted, crossing and uncrossing your legs like you were suddenly aware of every inch of denim against your skin.

By the time the killer cornered Sidney in the bathroom, Emily hit pause. The room fell into sudden quiet, the frozen image of the mask glaring from the screen.

You frowned. “Hey, I was watching that.”

“Were you?” Emily turned to face you fully, eyes gleaming with that profiler’s glint she got when she was piecing together a puzzle. “Because it seemed like you were watching him.”

Heat crept up your neck. “It’s a good movie.”

“Uh-huh.” She leaned in, voice dropping to that low, teasing register that always made your stomach flip. “You know, most people get scared during the mask scenes. Heart rate spikes, fight-or-flight. But yours...” She tapped your wrist lightly, right over the vein that was still racing. “Different kind of spike.”

You swallowed. “Emily—”

“Let’s see.” She tilted her head, mimicking the Ghostface pose unconsciously. “Subject exhibits dilated pupils, elevated body temperature, and increased physical proximity to partner. Avoidant eye contact when questioned.” Her grin widened. “Classic signs of arousal, and NOT anxiety.”

“Stop profiling me,” you muttered, but there was no heat in it. Your face was burning now.

“Can’t help it. It’s what we do best.” She cupped your chin, forcing you to meet her gaze. “Come on. We’ve been together six months. You can tell me.”

You bit your lip. The mask still loomed on the screen behind her, and god, the way the light caught the hollow eyes...

“It’s the mask,” you admitted in a rush, voice barely above a whisper. “Okay? Happy now?”

Emily’s laugh was soft, delighted. “The mask? As in... you have a thing for Ghostface?”

“Not Ghostface,” you protested, slightly embarrassed. “Just... the anonymity. The way it hides everything but the voice, the tilt of the head. It’s... hot.”

She studied you for a long moment, then reached for the remote. Instead of resuming the movie, she navigated to the menu and selected the iconic mask close-up, letting it fill the screen. You squirmed.

“Emily!”

“What?” She was openly grinning now, shifting to straddle your lap in one fluid motion. “I’m just gathering more data. Subject becomes flustered when presented with visual stimulus. Noted.”

You groaned, dropping your head back against the couch. “You’re the worst.”

“Am I?” Her hands slid up your sides, thumbs brushing just under your shirt. “Or am I about to be the best girlfriend ever?”

Your breath hitched as she leaned in, lips grazing your ear. “Because I’m thinking... next team bonding night, I'll borrow Rossi’s theater room. Dim the lights. Just you, me, and a certain Halloween mask I happen to have in my handbag.”

“You do not.”

“Oh, I do.” Her teeth nipped your earlobe. “Purely for undercover work, of course. But I’m flexible.”

The movie stayed paused, forgotten, as Emily kissed you slowly and deeply, silently profiling every shiver she drew out of you with expert precision. By the time she pulled back, you were breathless, clinging to her shirt.

“Admit it,” she murmured against your lips. “You’ve been thinking about this since the first chase scene.”

“Shut up and kiss me, Prentiss.”

She did. And somewhere in the background, Ghostface watched.

A few weeks had passed since the movie night on Emily's couch. You'd denied your kink ever since, of course, but Emily was a profiler through and through. She'd teased you mercilessly since then, whispering in your ear about how your pupils dilate, how your breath hitched just a little too obviously every time she'd surprised you with a photo of Ghostface hidden at work, your home, everywhere.

Now, it was a rare quiet Friday evening. You'd crashed early in your apartment after another solved case, one of those that had left you bone-tired and craving nothing more than your bed and complete and utter silence.

Emily had texted earlier saying she was buried in paperwork and might be late, nothing unusual for two agents dating in secret at the Bureau. You didn't think twice about it, slipping into a simple tank top and panties before face-planting into the pillows.

Sleep came heavy and fast, the world fading to black the second your head hit the pillow.

Emily, however, had other plans.

She let herself in with the spare key you'd given around midnight. The door clicked shut softly behind her, and she moved like a shadow through your dimly lit living room. Years of fieldwork came in clutch, making her footsteps silent on the hardwood. She shrugged off her jacket, then her blouse, peeling away layers until she stood in nothing but her skin.

From her oversized bag, she pulled out the set of lingerie she'd prepared just for this: black lace that hugged her curves like a second skin, intricate garters clipping to thigh-high stockings. But the most important part was the harness already fitted with the sleek silicone strapon you'd both picked out on a whim during a weekend getaway after entering a sex shop purely for shits and giggles.

It was realistic, veined, and just the right size to make you beg, and had quickly become both of your favorite toys.

Last came the mask, the white Ghostface she'd ordered online, anonymous delivery at the post office, and all. She slipped it over her head, the plastic cool against her face.

In her bag's side pocket lay a stage knife, dull-edged and safe, but oh-so-convincing in the low light. She tested the weight in her hand, a thrill running through her.

This was going to be so much fun.

Tiptoeing to your bedroom door, she pushed it open inch by inch. You were out cold, sprawled on your back under the sheets, one arm flung over your head, chest rising and falling in deep, even breaths.

The room smelled like you, and Emily's pulse quickened at the sight. She crawled onto the bed slowly, the mattress dipping just enough to make you stir faintly, but not enough to wake. Slipping under the sheets like a predator in the night, she settled between your legs, the mask's edge brushing your thigh.

With careful fingers, she hooked your panties to the side, exposing you to the slightly cool air in your bedroom. You shifted in your sleep, a soft sigh escaping your lips, but still didn't wake.

Emily lifted the bottom of the mask just enough to free her mouth, her breath warm against your skin. Then she leaned in, tongue flat and slow as she licked a stripe up your folds, tasting the faint sweetness that was already there even in sleep.

You moaned, hips twitching involuntarily. Emily smiled against you, hidden by the mask, and dove deeper. Her tongue circled your clit with expert precision, knowing exactly what made you fall apart. She sucked gently, then firmer, alternating flicks and laps as your body responded on instinct.

Your moans grew louder, breathier, thighs tensing around her head. "Mmm... Emily..." you murmured in your sleep, lost in some hazy dream.

The build was slow at first, but relentless. Emily's hands gripped your hips, holding you steady as she worked you higher, tongue delving inside before returning to your sensitive clit.

Your arousal coated her chin, the wet sounds muffled under the sheets. When your moans turned into whimpers, your body arched off the bed, your orgasm coiling tight in your core.

That was when your eyes snapped open.

Confusion hit first, disoriented from waking from deep sleep, the pleasure crashing over you like a wave. You gasped, hands flying to the blanket as you ripped it off in one frantic yank.

The sight below you stole your breath: Ghostface, mask stark white in the moonlight filtering through the curtains, mouth glistening as "he" looked up at you with those black, empty eyes. But then recognition flickered as you saw the curve of oh so familiar shoulders, the dark hair peeking from under the mask's edge.

Emily.

"What the—oh fuck," you breathed, heart pounding, but the fear melted into pure, throbbing heat. Your pussy clenched around nothing now that her tongue had paused, aching for more. Wanting more.

You were soaked, horny beyond reason, the kink she'd profiled out of you weeks ago now staring you in the face... literally.

Emily's hand emerged from under the sheet, the stage knife gleaming dully. She flipped it so the blunt back pressed cold against your stomach, dragging it slowly upward in a teasing trail. You shivered violently, goosebumps racing across your skin, a whine escaping your throat.

"Shh," she murmured, voice muffled but unmistakably hers, laced with amusement. "You wanted this, didn't you? Every time he showed up on screen... your little secret."

You nodded frantically, too turned on to form words, hips bucking toward her mouth. She chuckled low, resuming her assault, tongue ruthless now, sucking your clit hard while the knife's back traced lazy circles over your stomach, dipping toward your navel. The contrast, the chill of the metal, the heat of her mouth, it pushed you right to the brink again, thighs quaking.

But just as the edge loomed, Emily pulled back, denying you. You cried out in frustration, glaring down at the mask. "Please—Emily, don't stop—"

"Not yet," she said, voice commanding through the distortion. She sat up on her knees, the strapon jutting out proudly from the harness. "Open up, baby. Get it wet for me."

Helpless and desperate, you scrambled to obey, pushing up on your elbows as she guided the tip to your lips. You took it in eagerly, sucking the silicone like it was real, tongue swirling around the head, hollowing your cheeks. Emily groaned, hand fisting in your hair, thrusting shallowly into your mouth. "That's it... good girl. Imagine it's him fucking your throat." The mask tilted as if watching you, intensifying the fantasy, your arousal dripping onto the sheets.

When she was satisfied, dildo glistening with your saliva, she pulled out with a pop, flipping you onto your back again. She maneuvered you: legs spread wide, knees hooked over her elbows, pinning you open and exposed. You could see her fully now, the mask's hollow eyes boring into yours, the lingerie-clad body poised above you, the strapon aligned with your slick entrance.

But you were helpless, folded nearly in half, every thrust destined to hit deep.

Emily’s hips snapped forward, burying the silicone to the hilt in one brutal thrust that punched the air from your lungs. You cried out, fingers scrabbling at the sheets, but she only laughed, low, dark, muffled by the mask.

“Uh-uh. Eyes on me, sweetheart.” She pinned your wrists above your head with one hand, the other sliding the dull back of the knife up the center of your chest, slow enough to make you feel every inch of cold metal. “You don’t get to hide. I want to watch that pretty face remember who owns this pussy.”

Your thighs shook around her waist; she answered by grinding deeper, rolling her hips in a cruel circle that dragged the head of the strapon right across your G-spot. “Feel that? That’s me ruining you exactly how you begged for in your sleep.”

You whimpered, trying to arch up, but she pressed the knife’s spine flat between your breasts, forcing you back down. “Begged?” you managed, voice cracking.

“Oh, baby.” She leaned in, mask inches from your lips, voice dripping venom and honey. “You were dripping before I even touched you. Moaning my name like a little slut dreaming of this exact mask.”

She pulled out to the tip, agonizingly slow, then slammed back in so hard the headboard cracked against the wall. “Say it. Tell me what you are.”

“Yours,” you gasped. “I’m yours—”

“Louder.” Another punishing thrust. “And whose filthy cock is stuffed inside you right now?”

“Ghostface—fuck—yours, Emily, please—”

She released your wrists only to fist your hair, yanking your head back until your throat was bared to the mask’s hollow scream. “Please, what? Use your words, agent. Or do I need to profile the desperation right out of you?”

“Please let me come,” you sobbed, clenching helplessly around the silicone.

Emily dragged the knife down your stomach, stopping just above where you were joined. “Not yet. You come when I say. And right now?” She pulled out entirely, leaving you empty and aching, then slapped the slick length of the strapon against your clit, once, twice, three times until you were writhing, before moving closer to your face. “Right now you’re going to open that smart mouth and thank me for breaking you in like the depraved little thing you are.”

You obeyed instantly, tongue darting out to lick the toy clean of your own arousal. “Thank you,” you whispered between desperate sucks. “Thank you for using me—”

“Pathetic,” she purred, shoving two fingers alongside the strapon to stretch you wider, scissoring mercilessly. “But so fucking gorgeous when you’re desperate. Look at you—Quantico's finest, reduced to a whimpering mess for a masked cock.” She curled her fingers, hitting the spot that made your back bow off the bed. “Hold it. If you come without permission, I will stop. And you’ll wake up tomorrow for work, still empty, still aching, still begging. How long do you think you can go before the team notices how flustered you are? Hm?”

You bit down on a scream, every muscle locked, tears pricking your eyes. Emily’s rhythm never faltered. The mask tilted as if studying you. “Color?” she murmured, the single word a lifeline through the dominance.

“Green,” you choked out. “So fucking green—”

“Good girl.” She rewarded you with a brutal pace, the harness grinding against her own clit with every thrust until her own breath hitched behind the mask. “Now come. Scream for me. Let the neighbors know who’s fucking you senseless.”

The command detonated inside you. Your orgasm hit like a tidal wave, walls clamping down, back arching so violently your spine left the mattress.

You screamed her name, the sound ripping out of you in a shredded wail that echoed off the walls. Emily didn’t slow; she rode you through it, hips snapping, fingers digging bruises into your thighs as she chased her own peak. The mask tilted, drinking in every twitch and tear.

“Fuck—yes—look at you,” she rasped, voice ragged. “Coming apart on a stranger’s cock. My perfect little slut.”

Your climax rolled into a second wave before the first even crested, the overstimulation so sharp it bordered on pain.

Emily felt it; she always did, and laughed, dark and delighted, taking on the character perfectly well. She pulled out abruptly, leaving you clenching around nothing, then flipped you onto your stomach in one fluid motion. Your knees barely hit the mattress before she yanked your hips up, ass in the air, face shoved into the pillow.

“Stay.” A hand cracked across your ass. leaving a blooming sting. “Color?”

“Green,” you sobbed into the fabric, pushing back shamelessly. “Please—”

“Please, what?” Another slap, harder, the heat spreading like wildfire. “Use full sentences, agent. I want to hear how bad you need this masked psycho to wreck you.”

“Please fuck me again,” you begged, voice muffled. “Need you inside—need you to ruin me—”

“That’s it.” She lined up and drove back in, one ruthless thrust that buried her to the hilt. Your moan was guttural, swallowed by the pillow as she set a punishing pace, hips slapping against your ass, the strapon hitting so deep you saw stars.

One hand fisted your hair, wrenching your head to the side so you could gasp for air; the other snaked beneath you, fingers finding your clit and rubbing tight, relentless circles.

“Can’t even count how many times I’m gonna make you come tonight,” she taunted, breath hot through the mask’s mouth slit. “Three? Four? Until you’re so fucked-out you forget your own name and only remember mine when I let you scream it. Maybe until you pass out?”

You lost track at the third orgasm. It crashed over you mid-thrust, your entire body locking up, pussy fluttering wildly around the silicone. Emily growled, hips stuttering as the harness ground against her clit again. She slammed in deep and held, coming with a muffled snarl that sounded inhuman through the mask. Her fingers never stopped on your clit, dragging the pleasure out until you were shaking, tears soaking the pillowcase.

But she wasn’t finished.

She pulled out slowly, deliberately, letting you feel every inch drag against your oversensitive walls. You whimpered at the emptiness, then gasped as she flipped you onto your back again, spreading your legs wide and hooking them over her shoulders. The strapon glistening with your release.

“Eyes open,” she ordered, voice smooth and steel at the same time. “Watch me take what’s mine.”

She sank back in, slower this time, savoring the way you stretched around her. Your hands flew to her forearms, nails digging in as she started a deep, grinding roll, less frantic, more possessive.

Every thrust nudged your G-spot; every withdrawal left you aching for more. The knife lay forgotten on the nightstand, but she didn’t need it. The dominance was in her voice, her grip, the way she damn near controlled every breath you took.

“Tell me,” she murmured, leaning down until the mask brushed your lips. “Tell me who owns this cunt.”

“You,” you whispered, then louder when she pinched your nipple hard. “You! Em—fuck, you own me—”

“Louder.”

“You own me!” you shouted, the words tearing free as another climax coiled tight in your belly. “Only you, please—”

She rewarded you by speeding up, hips pistoning, the harness slapping wetly against her clit. Sweat beaded on her collarbones, visible where the lingerie had slipped askew. You could see the flush climbing her chest, the way her thighs trembled. She was close again, riding the edge with you.

“Come with me,” she commanded, voice breaking. “Now! Fuck, come on my cock while I fill you up—”

The orgasm shattered you both. You came with a silent scream, mouth open, eyes locked on the mask as your body convulsed. Emily buried herself deep, hips jerking erratically, a long, guttural moan muffled by plastic as she pulsed against the harness. The room spun, sound fading to a dull roar in your ears.

She stayed inside you, breathing hard, until the aftershocks subsided. Then she eased out gently, silencing your whine with a gloved finger to your lips.

“Shh. We’re not done.”

She disappeared for a moment, mask still on, and returned with a warm cloth from the bathroom.

The care was tender, utterly at odds with the way she’d been treating you minutes ago. She cleaned you both, peeled off the harness, then finally lifted the mask.

Emily’s face was flushed, hair wild, eyes soft but still gleaming with that spark that had fuelled her tonight. She tossed the mask aside and crawled up the bed, pulling you into her arms. Your legs tangled, slick with sweat and cum, hearts hammering in sync.

“Still with me?” she murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple.

You nodded, boneless. “Think you broke me. In the best way.”

She chuckled, low and satisfied. “Good. Because next time I’m bringing the voice changer. And handcuffs. And you’re gonna beg in ways you've never begged before.”

You shivered, anticipation simmering inside of you, before you burrowed closer. “Promise?”

“Oh, baby,” she whispered, nipping your earlobe. “That’s a guarantee.”

[criminalmindswhore]

Second Chances

She fled London, the weight of goodbye too heavy to carry, but Emily's been carrying it for seven years. Until you move to D.C. and spot her in a bar, seven years of want crashing into you.

2-3k words me thinks!

tags: smut, oral (e recieving), forced orgasm if you squint, reader is big mad

The bar was dimly lit, all exposed brick and Edison bulbs, the kind of place that had sprouted up in this DC neighborhood after gentrification had worked its magic. Emily Prentiss sat at the bar nursing a whiskey, neat, letting the familiar burn ground her after a particularly exhausting case. Leading the BAU was rewarding, but some days the weight of it settled heavy on her shoulders.

She was contemplating ordering another when she saw you.

Time seemed to slow, the way it does in those moments when your past collides unexpectedly with your present. You were at a high-top table near the windows, laughing at something your companion said, and Emily felt her breath catch. Seven years. It had been seven years since London, since those stolen months when you'd been everything to each other, since she'd left without saying goodbye because Interpol had called and Emily had always been better at running than staying.

You looked different—your hair was styled differently, and there was a confidence in the way you carried yourself that hadn't been there before. But your laugh was the same, that genuine, full-bodied sound that had always made Emily's chest tighten.

She should look away. She should pay her tab and leave before you noticed her. But Emily had never been good at doing what she should.

As if sensing her gaze, you glanced toward the bar. Your eyes met hers, and Emily watched recognition dawn across your face—surprise, then something more complicated. Something that made her pulse quicken.

You said something to your friend, then stood. Emily's fingers tightened around her glass as you crossed the bar toward her, weaving between tables with that same graceful determination she remembered.

"Emily Prentiss," you said, and your voice was exactly as she remembered it: warm, with that slight rasp that had always undone her. "I thought that was you." Your eyes traveled over her face, lingering on her hair. "Silver suits you."

"Hi," Emily managed, hyper-aware of how inadequate the word was. Seven years of silence, and all she could offer was 'hi.'

"Mind if I sit?" You gestured to the empty stool beside her.

"Please." Emily watched as you settled onto the stool, close enough that she could smell your perfume. Different from what you'd worn in London, something warmer, spicier.

"So," you said, signaling the bartender. "Seven years."

"Seven years," Emily echoed. "I—"

"You left," you said simply, not accusatory, just stating a fact. "I woke up and you were gone. No note, no explanation. Just... gone."

Emily felt the guilt she'd carried for years settle heavier. "I got called to a case. Interpol needed me in Prague immediately, and I—" She stopped, shook her head. "No. That's not fair. I could have left a note. I could have called. I didn't because I'm a coward."

You studied her for a long moment, then accepted your drink from the bartender, whiskey, same as Emily's. Some things hadn't changed. "You're not a coward, Emily. You're just someone who runs when things get real."

The observation was too accurate to argue with. "I'm sorry," Emily said quietly. "For what it's worth, I thought about you. A lot."

"Yeah?" Something flickered in your eyes. "I thought about you too. Mostly I thought about all the things I should have said to you, all the ways I should have told you to go to hell for leaving like that."

"You'd have been justified."

"Maybe." You took a sip of your whiskey. "But I also thought about the good parts. The way you'd make me coffee in the morning, exactly how I liked it. The way you'd read to me in French when you thought I was asleep. The way you'd look at me like I was the only person in the world who mattered."

Emily's throat felt tight. "You were," she said. "You did matter. You still—" She stopped herself, but not quickly enough.

"I still what?" Your voice had dropped lower, and you'd shifted closer. Emily could feel the heat of you, the magnetic pull that had always existed between you.

"You still matter," Emily finished, meeting your eyes. "I never stopped thinking about London. About us."

"There was an 'us'?" you asked. "Because you left before we could figure out what we were."

"I know." Emily set down her glass, turned to face you fully. "I was scared. What we had—it was intense, and I'd just come out of something complicated, and I didn't know how to handle feeling that much for someone. So I ran. It's what I do."

"Is it still what you do?" The question hung between you, loaded with possibility.

Emily thought about the person she'd been seven years ago. Always running, always keeping people at arm's length, terrified of vulnerability. She thought about the person she'd become—still guarded, still complicated, but trying. Learning.

"I'm trying to be better at staying," she said honestly.

You studied her face, and Emily forced herself not to look away, to let you see the truth of what she was saying. Finally, you smiled, small, tentative, but real.

"I live here now," you said. "In DC. I moved here three years ago for work."

"Three years," Emily repeated, something like wonder in her voice. "We've been in the same city for three years."

"Apparently." You traced the rim of your glass with one finger, a gesture Emily remembered, one that meant you were thinking, deciding something. "My friend is going to wonder where I went."

"Right," Emily said, trying to hide her disappointment. "Of course."

"But," you continued, and your eyes met hers with an intensity that made Emily's breath catch, "I could tell her I'm leaving. If you wanted to get out of here. Go somewhere we could actually talk."

Emily's heart was racing. "Talk?"

"Among other things." Your smile turned knowing, edged with heat. "Unless you're planning to run again?"

"No," Emily said, surprising herself with how certain she sounded. "No running. Not this time."

"Good." You stood, pulling out your phone to text your friend. "Because I have seven years' worth of things to say to you, Emily Prentiss. And some of them can't be said in a crowded bar."

Emily threw cash on the bar to cover both their drinks, then stood. "My place is close," she offered.

"Lead the way."

The walk to Emily's apartment was charged with tension, the good kind, the kind that made Emily hyperaware of every accidental brush of your hand against hers, every sidelong glance you gave her. You made small talk. You told her about your job, something in consulting that had brought you to DC, and Emily told you about leading the BAU, carefully editing out the parts she couldn't share.

But beneath the surface conversation was something else, something that had been building since the moment your eyes met across the bar.

Emily's apartment was in a renovated building in Georgetown, all hardwood floors and high ceilings. She unlocked the door with hands that weren't quite steady, hyperaware of you behind her, close enough that she could feel your presence like heat against her back.

"Nice place," you said as you stepped inside, but you weren't looking at the apartment. You were looking at her.

"Thanks, I—" Emily started, but then you were kissing her, backing her against the closed door with an urgency that stole her breath.

Emily made a sound of surprise that turned into a moan as your hands found her waist, as your body pressed against hers. You kissed like you were trying to make up for seven years of lost time, deep and demanding, and Emily surrendered to it, her hands coming up to tangle in your hair.

"Seven years," you murmured against her lips. "Seven years I've thought about this."

"Me too," Emily gasped as your mouth moved to her neck, finding that spot just below her ear that had always undone her. "God, me too."

There was something almost angry in the way you kissed her, something desperate and frustrated, like you were trying to punish her and claim her all at once. Your teeth grazed her pulse point and Emily's knees went weak.

"Bedroom," you said, not a question this time.

"Down the hall," Emily managed. "Last door on the right."

You took her hand and pulled her through the apartment, and Emily stumbled after you, her heart pounding so hard she thought it might break through her ribs. This was happening. This was really happening.

Her bedroom was dimly lit by the streetlights outside, casting everything in soft shadow. You turned to face her, and for a moment you just looked at each other, the weight of seven years and all the things left unsaid hanging between you.

"I missed you," Emily said quietly. "I know I don't have the right to say that, but I did. I missed you so much."

"Then show me," you said, stepping closer, your voice rough with emotion. "Show me what you couldn't say seven years ago."

Emily cupped your face in her hands, kissed you slowly this time, trying to pour everything she felt into it—the regret, the longing, the hope. You responded in kind, your hands sliding under her blazer, pushing it off her shoulders. It fell to the floor with a soft thud.

Your fingers found the buttons of her blouse, working them open with an urgency that made Emily's breath catch. She reached for the hem of your dress, pulling it up and over your head, revealing black lace underneath that made her mouth go dry.

"You're so beautiful," Emily breathed, her hands skimming over your sides, relearning the curve of your waist, the softness of your skin.

"Don't," you said, and there was an edge to your voice. "Don't sweet-talk me. Not yet. I'm still angry with you."

"I know," Emily said. "I know you are."

"Seven years, Emily." Your hands were on her belt now, yanking it free with more force than necessary. "Seven years I've been angry. Seven years I've wanted this and hated myself for wanting it."

You pushed her back onto the bed and Emily went willingly, watching as you unhooked your bra and let it fall. Your breasts were fuller than she remembered, your body changed in small ways by time, and Emily wanted to map every difference with her mouth.

"I'm sorry," Emily said, reaching for you. "I'm so sorry."

"I don't want your apologies right now," you said, climbing onto the bed, straddling her hips. "I want you to make me forget why I should hate you."

You leaned down and kissed her hard, your hands working at the clasp of her bra, freeing her breasts. Your thumbs brushed over her nipples and Emily arched into the touch, gasping. You were being rougher than you used to be, less gentle, and Emily understood it. This was seven years of hurt and longing and frustration finding its outlet.

"Touch me," you demanded, taking Emily's hands and placing them on your breasts. "Like you used to."

Emily did, her thumbs circling your nipples until they hardened under her touch, until you were breathing hard above her. She sat up enough to take one into her mouth, sucking and teasing with her tongue, and you made a sound that was half moan, half sob.

"I hate that I still want you this much," you said, your fingers threading through Emily's hair, holding her against your breast. "I hate it."

"I know," Emily murmured against your skin. "I hate what I did to you."

You pushed her back down, your hands moving to the button of her pants. "These need to come off. Now."

Emily lifted her hips and you pulled her pants and underwear down in one motion, leaving her bare beneath you. You were still wearing your panties, black lace that was already damp, and Emily could see the evidence of your arousal, could smell it.

"You're so wet," Emily said, her hand moving between your legs, cupping you through the lace.

"Shut up," you said, but your hips rocked against her hand. "Just—shut up and touch me."

Emily hooked her fingers in the waistband of your panties and pulled them down. You kicked them off impatiently, and then you were naked above her, your thighs spread over her hips, and Emily could see everything. The glistening evidence of how much you wanted this, wanted her.

She slid two fingers through your folds, finding you slick and hot and ready. You gasped, your hands bracing on Emily's shoulders.

"Inside," you demanded. "I need you inside."

Emily obliged, sliding two fingers into you, and you were so tight, so wet, that she groaned at the feeling. You started moving immediately, riding her fingers with an urgency that bordered on desperate, your head thrown back, your breasts bouncing with each movement.

"More," you gasped. "Give me more."

Emily added a third finger, stretching you, filling you, and you cried out. She could feel you clenching around her fingers, could feel how close you already were. Her thumb found your clit and you jerked at the contact.

"Fuck," you breathed. "Fuck, Emily, don't stop."

"Never," Emily promised, working her fingers deeper, harder, her thumb circling your clit in the rhythm she remembered you loved. "I'm never stopping again."

You were riding her hand now, chasing your pleasure with single-minded focus, and Emily watched you, transfixed. You were so beautiful like this, lost in sensation, your face flushed, your lips parted. She'd dreamed about this for seven years, had touched herself to the memory of you like this, and now you were here, real and warm and alive above her.

"I'm close," you gasped. "I'm so close, Emily, please—"

"Come for me," Emily said, curling her fingers to hit that spot inside you that she knew would undo you. "Let me feel you."

You came with a cry, your whole body tensing, your inner walls clamping down on Emily's fingers so hard it almost hurt. Emily worked you through it, her fingers gentling but not stopping, drawing out every last wave of pleasure until you collapsed forward onto her chest, breathing hard.

For a moment you just lay there, Emily's fingers still inside you, both of you catching your breath. Then you lifted your head and looked at her, and there were tears in your eyes.

"I missed you so much," you said, your voice breaking. "I missed you and I hated you and I never stopped wanting you."

"I know," Emily said softly, carefully withdrawing her fingers. "I know, baby. I'm here now. I'm here."

You kissed her then, slow and deep, and this time there was less anger in it, more tenderness. Your hand slid down Emily's body, between her legs, and she was so wet that your fingers slid easily through her folds.

"My turn," you murmured against her lips. "I want to make you fall apart."

You moved down her body, kissing and licking as you went: her neck, her breasts, her stomach. Emily's hands fisted in the sheets as you settled between her thighs, your breath hot against her most sensitive skin.

"Please," Emily breathed, and then your mouth was on her and she stopped thinking altogether.

You licked her slowly at first, long strokes of your tongue that made Emily's hips lift off the bed. Then you focused on her clit, circling it, sucking it, while your fingers teased at her entrance. Emily's hands found your hair, holding you against her, and you hummed in approval, the vibration sending shockwaves through her.

When you finally pushed two fingers inside her, Emily cried out. You filled her perfectly, your fingers curling to hit exactly the right spot while your tongue worked her clit. It was too much and not enough all at once, and Emily could feel her orgasm building, coiling tight in her belly.

"Don't stop," she gasped. "Please don't stop."

You didn't. You worked her with your mouth and fingers, relentless and skilled, and when you added a third finger, stretching her, Emily came with a shout, her whole body arching off the bed. The orgasm rolled through her in waves, intense and overwhelming, and you didn't let up, drawing it out until Emily was shaking, oversensitive, pulling you up by your hair.

You crawled up her body and kissed her, and Emily could taste herself on your lips. It should have been obscene but instead it felt intimate, right.

"Again," you said, your hand already moving between Emily's legs. "I want you to come again."

"I can't," Emily protested weakly, but her body was already responding to your touch, her hips lifting to meet your fingers.

"You can," you said, and there was something fierce in your voice. "You owe me seven years, Emily. I'm collecting."

You worked her with your fingers, fast and hard, and Emily was so sensitive that it bordered on painful, but then the pain transformed into pleasure and she was climbing again, impossibly, her second orgasm building even faster than the first.

"That's it," you encouraged, your fingers pumping into her. "Come for me again. Show me you're mine."

"Yours," Emily gasped. "Always yours."

She came again, harder this time, her vision whiting out, her whole body convulsing. You held her through it, your fingers gentling, your free hand stroking her hair.

When Emily finally came back to herself, you were lying beside her, propped up on one elbow, watching her with an expression that was equal parts satisfied and sad.

Emily let you look, let you have this moment. She'd understood what you needed. To reclaim her, to make her yours again after seven years of absence. She'd surrendered to it willingly, let you take control, let you collect what she owed. But now, as her breathing steadied and her mind cleared, she felt the familiar power settling back into her bones.

She reached up and cupped your face, her thumb brushing across your cheekbone. "Hi," she said softly, her voice still hoarse but steady now, grounding.

"Hi," you managed, and there was something vulnerable in your eyes that hadn't been there moments ago.

Emily traced her fingers down your jaw, your throat, watching you shiver under her touch. "That was..." she began, then pulled you down into a slow, deep kiss that made it clear who was steering this ship again. The kind of kiss you've yearned for the whole seven years. When she pulled back, she finished, "...exactly what you needed."

"Yeah," you agreed, your breath catching.

You were quiet for a long moment, your finger still tracing idle patterns on Emily's skin. Then you said, "What happens now?"

It was the question Emily had been avoiding, the one that made her want to retreat into old patterns. But she'd promised no running, and she meant it.

"I'd like to see you again," she said. "If you want that. I'd like to do this right this time, take you to dinner, learn about your life now, let you learn about mine. I'd like to not mess this up."

"You really hurt me, you know," you said quietly. "When you left."

"I know. And I'm sorry. I can't change what I did, but I can promise to be better now. If you'll let me."

You were quiet for a long moment, studying her face. Then you leaned down and kissed her, soft and sweet. "Dinner sounds good," you said. "But Emily? If you run again, that's it. I'm not doing this a third time."

"I won't run," Emily promised. "Not from this. Not from you."

"Good." You settled back against her, your head on her shoulder. "Because I'm not twenty-five anymore. I'm too old for games."

Emily laughed, pressing a kiss to your hair. "Me too."

You lay in comfortable silence for a while, and Emily felt something settle in her chest, something that felt like peace. She'd spent so many years running from connection, from vulnerability, from the possibility of being hurt. But lying here with you, she realized that some things were worth the risk.

"Stay," she said quietly. "Tonight. Stay."

"I'm not going anywhere," you promised, and Emily believed you.

Outside, DC hummed with its usual nighttime energy, but inside Emily's bedroom, everything was still. For the first time in seven years, Emily Prentiss let herself hope that maybe, just maybe, she'd finally stopped running.

And maybe, this time, she'd found something worth staying for.

Morning light filtered through the curtains, soft and golden. Emily woke slowly, her body warm and heavy with sleep. For a moment, she didn't remember. Then she felt the weight of you beside her, your breathing deep and even, and everything came rushing back.

She turned her head carefully, not wanting to wake you. Your face was peaceful in sleep, hair messy against her pillow, one hand curled near your cheek. Seven years, and you were still the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen.

Emily slipped out of bed as quietly as she could, pulling on a t-shirt and sleep shorts. In the kitchen, she started the coffee maker, the familiar ritual grounding her. This was real. You were here. She hadn't dreamed it.

Her hands moved on autopilot, reaching for two mugs. And then she paused, remembering. Two sugars, cream until it was the color of sand, never too hot. You never waited for it to cool, impatient, blowing on it between sips. You'd drink it while it was still hot and burn your tongue anyway.

She was stirring in the second sugar when she heard soft footsteps behind her.

"You remembered," you said quietly.

Emily turned. You were standing in the doorway wearing her FBI Academy shirt, looking rumpled and soft and impossibly dear. "Of course I remembered," she said.

You crossed the kitchen and took the mug from her hands, your fingers brushing hers. You took a sip, closed your eyes. "Perfect," you murmured. "It's perfect."

"I remember everything about you," Emily said. "I never forgot. Not once."

You set the mug down and kissed her, slow and sweet, tasting like coffee and promise. "Good," you whispered against her lips. "Don't start now."

[https-prettycunt]

𓇻 BLOOD OATH ⭑.ᐟ

headcanons ⭑ bodyguard!emily ⭑ princess!reader ⭑ slow burn obsession ⭑ age gap ⭑ unspoken tension ⭑ possessive protection ⭑ public formality vs private control ⭑ dom!emily ⭑ strap-on use ⭑ corruption kink ⭑ praise kink ⭑ switch dynamic ⭑ strap-free intimacy ⭑ thigh riding ⭑ 3k

emily who is assigned to protect you when you're just twenty-one, bratty and bored and furious about palace lockdowns, your mouth always too quick, your skirts always too short. she watches you like a hawk from the moment she steps into the estate, all tailored black suits and dark eyes, her tone clipped and cool even when you test her limits. you're amused at first, charmed by her silence, her calm, the way she never flinches even when you speak to her with venom or flirt with foreign guests at dinner. but something in you changes the first time she pulls you out of a crowded ballroom by the wrist, dragging you into a private corridor, her voice low and hard when she tells you to behave. she doesn’t yell, doesn’t threaten — just looks at you like she sees straight through your titles and tantrums. from then on, your game shifts. she starts standing closer, and you start leaning in. and everything between you burns quieter, heavier, deeper.

she always calls you “your highness” when anyone’s around, her hands respectfully folded, her stance military precise — but when you're alone, she only says your name. it slips from her lips like a secret every time she leans in close, her breath catching in your hair as she helps you into the back of the car, her palm hovering just behind your waist. the way she says it makes your spine straighten, your thighs clench, your crown feel like a leash. she never touches you unless she has to, but every time she does, your body reacts like it’s been waiting for her. a hand on your elbow, the brush of her fingers on your shoulder, the pressure of her thigh when she stands beside you during long speeches. it builds, day by day, year by year, until formality feels like foreplay. and the way she holds herself still around you makes you ache to see what she'd be like if she ever let go.

you sneak out one night — dressed in plain clothes, hood up, laughing in the village market with commoners who don’t recognize you — and she finds you within thirty minutes, livid and silent. she says nothing at first, just grabs your arm, her fingers bruising around your bicep as she leads you back through dark alleys with her jaw clenched tight. when you ask if she’s going to report you, she doesn’t answer. she waits until you’re back in your room with the door locked, then pins you against it with one hand and tells you if you ever disappear on her like that again, she’ll break protocol to keep you on a leash. your breath hitches and she hears it. her eyes drop to your mouth. and for one terrifying second, you think she’s going to kiss you — but she doesn’t. she just lets go, steps back, and says, “do not test me again.”

emily who watches you at galas from across the room, her hands behind her back, her face unreadable as you flirt with foreign princes, laugh too loud, pretend you don’t feel her gaze. but you always do — it hits like a pulse, a hum down your spine, a magnetic ache that pulls your eyes back to hers no matter who you’re dancing with. she never intervenes, never gives herself away, but she doesn’t need to. her silence is punishment. her stillness is power. and when you return to your chambers that night and find her already inside, standing at your window with the curtains drawn, your heart skips. she says nothing, just turns and nods once, and the tension between you stretches tight enough to snap. you never tell anyone how wet you were the whole carriage ride home.

she trains with you twice a week in private — close quarters combat, self-defense drills, hand-to-hand sparring that leaves your skin marked and your lungs heaving. you pretend you hate it. you pretend you’re annoyed at how often she flips you, how she always pins you without breaking a sweat, how her breath never stutters even when you’re straddling her waist on the mat. but she notices the way you whimper when her knee parts your thighs for leverage, the way your breath catches when she calls you “focus.” her touch is never inappropriate. but it is thorough. and when she helps you up off the floor, her grip on your wrist always lingers two seconds too long. it’s the closest thing to foreplay you’ve ever known.

emily who finally snaps the night you kiss her first — in your chambers, hours after a ball, your perfume still clinging to your neck, your mouth sticky with wine and want. you say her name like a confession, your voice small and desperate, and when she finally closes the space between you, her mouth crushes yours with years of restraint breaking loose all at once. she backs you against the mirror, her hands fisting in the fabric of your gown, her teeth dragging against your bottom lip. “do you even understand what you’re doing to me?” she growls, voice cracked, hips pressing into yours until you feel the outline of the harness beneath her suit. you nod like a girl giving herself up to war. her hand cups your jaw, then slides down your throat, her grip firm enough to make your breath hitch. she whispers, “kneel for me.” and you do — silk pooling at your knees.

she fucks your mouth like she’s been imagining it every night since the moment you turned eighteen, her hand tangled in your hair, her voice nothing but praise and filthy prayer. you choke on the silicone at first, eyes watering, throat fluttering as she rocks her hips in slow, punishing thrusts, making you drool around the strap. “there’s my good girl,” she purrs, her other hand stroking your cheek, watching your lips stretch and your mascara run. you gag, but you don’t stop, your fingers digging into her thighs as she mutters filth about how good you look on your knees in a royal bedroom. your pussy aches, dripping down the inside of your thighs, soaking the edge of the carpet, but she doesn’t let you touch yourself. not yet. “you’ll cum when I say,” she hisses, pulling your head forward, forcing your nose to the base. “and not a fucking second sooner.”

when she pulls you onto the bed, she doesn’t let you undress — she pushes up your gown instead, bunches it around your hips, and spreads your legs with her palm against your knee. you’re soaked, trembling, cunt flushed and glistening under the sheer lace of your panties, and she coos like she’s impressed. “look at you,” she murmurs, pressing the toy between your folds, dragging it up and down your slit. “dripping for your bodyguard.” you nod helplessly and she slaps your pussy once, light but sharp, enough to make your hips jerk. “use your words,” she commands. “tell me whose it is.” your voice breaks when you say, “yours.” she growls when you say it again.

she pushes in slow, inch by inch, the strap thick and perfect and curved just enough to punch the breath out of you as your body struggles to take it. you’re gasping, cunt fluttering tight around her as she fills you, and she stills halfway to let you feel the stretch, the pressure, the weight of her inside you. “so fucking tight,” she whispers, leaning down, her lips brushing your ear. “I should’ve ruined you years ago.” your back arches when she bottoms out, hips flush to yours, and the friction against your clit already makes your legs shake. “don’t you dare close them,” she snaps, pressing your thighs wide again. “I want to see this pussy open.” and then she starts to fuck you.

she takes her time at first — long, deep strokes that have you crying into her shoulder, whispering her name over and over like a prayer. every thrust punches moans out of you, the strap dragging against every nerve inside you, and her hips stay steady even when your body bucks. “you hear that?” she growls. “that’s what a royal cunt sounds like when it’s being used.” you’re soaked, sticky, the wet slap of her hips against yours loud in the still room, louder than the whimpering gasps you try to stifle. “don’t hold back,” she warns. “I want the whole palace to know who makes you cum.” her hand slides under your ass, lifting your hips just enough to angle deeper. “come on, baby. make a mess.”

you cum so hard you scream her name, legs locking around her waist, nails clawing into her back as your cunt pulses around the strap in frantic waves. she fucks you through it, faster now, chasing the way you writhe and beg and twitch under her body. “that’s it,” she gasps, her hair damp with sweat, her voice wrecked. “such a pretty little princess — all ruined now.” you sob as your body spasms, your thighs slick with slick, your pussy clenched so tight she can barely move. she grits her teeth and keeps thrusting until you cry out again, broken and wet and overwhelmed. “you’re not done,” she hisses. “not until I say.” and you nod, barely able to breathe, begging her to keep going.

she flips you onto your stomach, ass in the air, legs spread wide as she pushes back into your sloppy cunt without a single word. you’re raw now, wet everywhere, pussy swollen and glistening, and she grabs your hips like handles, pulling you back onto the strap so hard your knees slide on the sheets. “so greedy,” she spits, fucking into you rough now, animal and messy and deep. your mouth is open, tongue out, drooling on the pillows as you mewl and rock and whimper. “every time you bat those lashes at another man in court, you’re gonna remember this.” the sound of your cunt is obscene now — squelching, soaked, loud and slick as the strap pounds into you over and over. “mine.” another slap to your ass. “say it.”

she makes you cum a second time with her fingers rubbing tight circles around your clit while she holds the strap deep, unmoving, buried inside your pulsing cunt. your orgasm crashes through you like fire, hips stuttering, breath caught, tears slipping from your eyes as your pussy gushes down the toy. “there we go,” she murmurs, kissing your spine, licking sweat from your back. “you always cum for me when I tell you to.” you nod, crying softly now, limp under her hands, your body boneless from how hard she’s taken you. “good girl,” she whispers. “my perfect little mess.” her fingers stay between your legs even after, tracing lazy, wet circles that make you twitch and gasp and moan.

when she finally pulls out, your pussy is wrecked — swollen, open, twitching, still dripping like it’s begging to be filled again. she spreads you with two fingers and just watches for a moment, her expression dazed and possessive. “you should see yourself,” she mutters, dragging the tip of the strap through your slick folds again, teasing your entrance. “look what I did to you.” your thighs twitch and she laughs softly. “and you’re still clenching.” she slips one finger in and hums. “so fucking greedy.”

she makes you clean the strap with your mouth afterward, sitting back on her heels as you kneel between her thighs, the taste of yourself sticky and hot on your tongue. “take it all,” she commands, hand on the back of your head, guiding you slow, letting you lick the toy like it’s her cock. you moan around it, eyes fluttering, tongue dragging up the length, tasting your own cum. “filthy,” she whispers, but her voice is proud. “so well trained.” her thighs twitch when your tongue flicks under the base, and you swear you feel her pulse. she strokes your hair back gently, her other hand resting over your chest. “you were made for this.”

your body is still trembling when you roll over, skin flushed and glistening with sweat, your thighs sticky and your cunt aching, but your mouth finds emily’s jaw with something greedy and raw. she’s still catching her breath, strap-on discarded beside you, blouse wrinkled, the top few buttons open from where you clawed at her in the heat of it. you press your mouth to her collarbone and bite gently, her body jerking in response, her hand tightening in your hair. “lie back,” you whisper, and your voice is hoarse but sure. her brows lift, surprised, but she does as told. you push her blazer off her shoulders slowly, reverently, watching it slide down her arms like silk. “my turn,” you murmur, and kneel between her thighs.

you make her watch as you unbutton her shirt one clasp at a time, your hands slow and steady, your eyes never leaving hers. she’s flushed, pupils blown wide, chest rising and falling in shallow gasps as you drag your fingers down her torso. her bra is black lace and sheer, stretched across the swell of her breasts, and you mouth over the fabric first, teasing her nipples with your tongue until her back arches. “so sensitive,” you murmur, dragging your teeth over the curve of her tit. her hand curls in your hair, but she doesn’t push — doesn’t pull. she just breathes your name and lets you take. you suck her nipple into your mouth and she moans like it’s the first time anyone’s ever touched her with real hunger.

her trousers are undone next, your fingers slipping past the waistband, dragging the fabric down her hips until her thighs are bare, strong, pale, already slick between them. her panties are damp, the cotton soaked through and clinging to her lips, her scent thick and warm, already making your mouth water. “fuck,” you whisper, pressing your nose between her legs, inhaling deep as she lets out a shuddering breath. you kiss over the fabric slowly, tongue flicking where her clit is most swollen, your fingers digging into her thighs to hold her steady. “you smell so good,” you murmur, eyes fluttering shut. “I’ve been thinking about this since the day you were assigned to me.” her thighs twitch at that, her hips grinding into your face. and then you hook your fingers under the fabric and drag it down.

her pussy is glistening — flushed, puffy, soaked, lips parted slightly with how wet she is already, her clit swollen and throbbing against the air. you groan when you see it, actually groan, like it breaks something inside you to finally have her like this. “emily,” you whisper, mouth already open as you lower your face to hers. your tongue finds her slit first, dragging slow and flat from her entrance up to her clit, tasting everything. her hips buck at the first contact and you hold her tighter, moaning into her. “you taste like sin,” you murmur, before sucking her clit gently into your mouth. her head hits the pillow with a sharp breath, her fingers twisting in the sheets. “don’t stop,” she chokes.

you don’t — you bury your face between her legs and eat like it’s holy, like it’s punishment and reward all at once. your tongue flicks over her clit in quick, tight circles, then drags down to her entrance, licking into her, tasting slick and heat and her deep, guttural moans. her thighs close around your head, and you let them — you want to drown there. “fuck, baby,” she gasps, hips grinding into your mouth, “just like that.” her cunt is twitching already, your tongue teasing her opening as you suck on her clit again, pulling a sob out of her chest. you’re soaked again just from the sound, your own pussy dripping onto the sheets beneath you. she moans your name and it makes you whimper. “gonna cum,” she pants, voice ragged, “gonna cum on your fucking mouth.”

she does — her body jerking, cunt spasming, slick gushing against your tongue as she cums hard, loud, her thighs shaking around your ears. you don’t stop. you ride the wave with her, licking her through it, your tongue soft and slow against her clit until she’s twitching and cursing, begging you for a break. “too much,” she gasps, but her hips never leave your face. her hand stays in your hair, anchoring you there as you press open-mouthed kisses to her inner thighs. “one more,” you murmur. “I want to feel you break.” she groans like it hurts and pulls you closer.

you slide two fingers inside her without warning, curling them just right as your mouth returns to her clit, tongue flicking fast and cruel now. her moan rips through the room, half-growl, half-cry, her hips slamming into your face with every thrust. her pussy clenches around your fingers hard, wet and fluttering, already close again from how overstimulated she is. “you’re mine,” you whisper, barely audible with your mouth full of her. “every part of you.” she cries out again and throws her head back, jaw slack, one hand covering her mouth to muffle the sobs. you drag your tongue in firm circles and press up into her g-spot. and she cums again — even harder.

this time, her legs give out completely, thighs quivering as she goes limp, her cunt pulsing and dripping onto your hand and chin. you slow down only slightly, easing your fingers out, kissing her gently now, sucking her clit softly as she breathes through the aftermath. “you’re perfect,” you whisper, your voice wrecked. “so fucking perfect like this.” she opens her eyes and stares down at you, dazed, ruined, glowing with sweat. “come here,” she whispers. and when you crawl up her body, she kisses you with everything she has, tasting herself on your lips.

she wraps an arm around your back and rolls you both onto your sides, holding your face in her palm as she kisses your forehead, your cheeks, your throat. “you didn’t have to do that,” she whispers, breath still shaky. “I wanted to,” you whisper back. “I needed to.” she hums and pulls you close, her cunt still throbbing against your stomach. “I won’t forget how you made me feel,” she murmurs. “I’ll never let anyone else touch me like that.” and you know she means it.

[prentissmultiverse]

for the 100 prompt challenge:

number 23, please :)

if possible evolution emily prentiss x fem!reader

and pre-relationship with a happy end

"I can’t be the reason you put yourself in danger."

(Prompt 23: Emily Prentiss x fem!reader)

For a moment, the world is nothing but sound. A high ringing, sharp and metallic like the echo of the pipe that struck you still vibrating inside your skull.

Then it fades, leaving behind the distant throb of sirens and the low hum of voices. Boots scuff against pavement. Radios crackle. Someone’s breathless laugh cuts through the air...Luke, relieved. JJ speaks into her earpiece. Tara walks past with her gloves half-off, muttering something to Rossi about the warrant being unnecessary after all.

But your world narrows to the cool edge of the ambulance bumper beneath you and the warm, sticky line of blood crawling down the side of your face.

And Emily.

Emily Prentiss stands in front of you like a storm no one warned you about. Her shoulders are squared, jaw locked, her striking grey hair catching bits of streetlight like threads of silver fire.

Her voice comes first, sharp as the sting waiting in your wounds.

"What the hell were you thinking?"

You blink up at her, vision fuzzy around the edges. "I...he was behind you. I just-"

"No," she snaps, holding up a finger. "No excuses. You do not lunge at an unsub with a metal pipe! Especially when you’re injured, especially when you don’t have backup, and especially not..." her voice cracks almost imperceptibly, "...not like that, for god's sake."

Passing agents slow their steps. They glance. Then look away quickly. The kind of look people give when the storm isn’t theirs.

Emily doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. She’s already pulling open one of the medical kits on the ambulance wall, jerking items out with clipped, furious movements. Her anger isn’t loud. It’s quiet, simmering, a heat behind her eyes that feels almost worse than shouting.

"You’re not even being treated yet" she mutters, grabbing gauze, a saline bottle, antiseptic wipes. "Of course not. Why would you be? That would require logical behavior."

You try to give her a half-smile. It’s weak. "Are you… scolding me?"

Emily’s eyes snap to yours. God, she’s beautiful when she’s furious.

"I am lecturing you," she says. "And believe me, you’re getting the extended version, sweetheart."

Before you can respond, she crouches in front of you and takes your arm gently...but also not gently enough to spare you the sting of contact. You hiss a sharp breath.

"Good," Emily says tightly. "Maybe you’ll remember that feeling next time you think about using your body as a fucking shield."

Your chest tightens. Not from pain.

She wets a gauze pad with saline and presses it to the raw skin of your arm. It burns. You grit your teeth.

"You deserve it," she murmurs. "...after being so fucking stupid."

Her words land hard, but underneath them; beneath the anger, beneath the frustration; you hear it. The tremble of fear. The echo of don’t do that again, I can’t handle losing you.

"Emily…" you start.

"Don't." She doesn’t look at you. She focuses on your arm like it’s the most important case file she’s ever handled. "Don’t justify what you did."

"You would’ve been hit," you say softly.

Her hand stills, just for a fraction of a second.

"I reacted."

"You reacted recklessly."

"I reacted because it was you."

There it is. The truth out in the open, trembling between you and the darkened street.

Emily swallows hard. When she speaks next, her voice is softer; still rough, but no longer sharp.

"I can’t…." She exhales shakily. "I can’t be the reason you put yourself in danger."

Your breath catches.

She finally looks up. Her eyes...God, her eyes look tired, worried, and achingly tender. The kind of look she doesn’t give people. The kind of look she only gives you when nobody else is watching.

"I’m the Unit Chief," she says. "I send all of you into danger every day. If something happened because of one of my decisions, I...I could live with the guilt. I’ve lived with worse."

She reaches up, brushing a strand of hair away from your face with a gentleness that contradicts every angry word she’s spoken. Her eyes trace your head wound, assessing it.

"But if something happened to you because you were trying to protect me?" Her voice breaks. Just a little. "I wouldn’t survive that."

Silence. Thick and warm and full of everything she’s never been able to say. Your heart beats so hard it hurts.

"Emily," you breathe, "I… I didn’t think. I just saw him and-"

"I know." She sets down the gauze, her hand lingering against your wrist. Her thumb rests exactly where your pulse races. "And that terrifies me. Because you’d do it again."

You hold her gaze. "You know I would."

She closes her eyes, exhaling like that answer is both the knife and the antidote. When she opens them again, the storm has softened.

"You have to be more careful,," she whispers. "You have to let me protect you too."

Your heart stutters. One of her hands is still around your wrist, warm and steady. You turn yours just enough to lace your fingers with hers. She doesn’t pull away. Instead, she lets her thumb slide slowly over the back of your hand. An absent, gentle stroke that says more than any words.

"Let me help you up," she murmurs.

She rises and pulls you to your feet with surprising care, her other hand coming up to support your back. Her touch lingers. Her eyes linger.

The air between you changes, softens, until the whole world feels like it’s holding its breath.

"You scared me," Emily says, voice low, barely above a whisper. "Don’t do that again."

You smile small, tired, but real. "I’ll try not to."

"You’d better." But the words aren’t harsh anymore. They’re fond. Warm. A promise disguised as a warning.

Emily’s fingers squeeze yours once more before she lets go, but the ghost of her touch stays on your skin, radiating all the way to your chest.

"Come on," she says softly. "Let’s get you properly checked out. And after that…" She hesitates, then gives you a look you’ve never seen from her before; something shy, hopeful, painfully careful. "We can… talk."

Your breath catches. "Yeah," you say. "I’d like that."

Emily’s lips curve not into a smile exactly, but something more private. Something meant only for you. She walks beside you toward the medic, her hand brushing yours as if she’s deciding whether to reach for it again.

Maybe she will. Maybe she won’t. Not yet.

But the possibility is there, bright and warm and undeniable.

A beginning.

[nineatnight]

Emily Prentiss Masterlist

And When I Call You Come Home – E. Prentiss

Back of The Rig – E. Prentiss

Bruising – E. Prentiss

Bringing Home to You – E. Prentiss

Dermatophagia – E. Prentiss

Honey, She’s Teething – E. Prentiss

Ours, Not His – E. Prentiss

Way To My Heart – E. Prentiss

Wow, Homemade Cookies? – E. Prentiss

[prentissmultiverse]

heyyy<3

could you write about the number 85 please?<3

emilyxreader cm evolution <3

not in a relationship yet, flirting but hiding it to others <3

"I shouldn't want you this badly."

(Prompt 85: Emily Prentiss x fem!reader)

The thing about Emily Prentiss was that she never touched you or spoke to you in ways anyone could call inappropriate.

Never in public. Never where it could be seen or overheard. Never in a way that could be proven or questioned or written up in some quiet report. Around others, she was careful; measured, professional, exactly what everyone expected from her. Her voice never softened too much. Her gaze never lingered too long. She never crossed lines that could be named out loud.

But she bent them.

She stood just a little too close when she spoke to you, close enough that you could feel the warmth of her body even in crowded rooms. Her hand would settle briefly at the small of your back when she guided you through doorways or past desks, lingering for half a second longer than necessary before withdrawing like nothing had happened. It was subtle. It was nothing. It was everything. You felt it every single time.

Her eyes followed you across rooms, not openly, not in a way anyone else would notice, but with a focus that made your pulse stutter when you caught it. Brief glances that lasted a beat too long. A quiet awareness of where you were at all times. Even when her face remained perfectly neutral, there was something in her gaze that felt like being seen, truly seen in a way that left you off-balance.

And when she smiled at you…just you, it always felt like a secret being passed silently between you. A curve of her lips that never made it to her eyes when anyone else was watching, but softened when your gazes met. It was the kind of smile that said I know without ever explaining what that meant.

It threaded itself into your life in small, impossible-to-explain ways.

In the bullpen, she would pause at your desk under the pretense of a question, leaning in close enough that her sleeve brushed your arm, her voice low and intimate even when she was talking about case details. In meetings, her attention always seemed to find you, her gaze flicking to you first when she needed confirmation, when she wanted reassurance, when she wanted you. On cases, she always checked in on you quietly, efficiently, but with a concern that lingered just beneath the surface.

At home, it followed you.

You caught yourself replaying moments that shouldn’t matter, the way her hand had steadied you during a briefing, the way she’d said your name, the way her eyes had held yours for a fraction too long before she looked away. You wondered if you were imagining it. You told yourself you were projecting, overthinking, seeing things that weren’t there.

But then she would walk into a room and your breath would hitch anyway.

You learned the rhythm of it: the restraint, the tension, the unspoken understanding that hovered between you like static in the air. It never tipped into anything overt. It never had to. The charge was always there, humming quietly beneath the surface, waiting.

And you were very good at pretending not to notice.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

The bar was loud in that comfortable, end-of-the-week way: crowded, warm with bodies pressed close and laughter spilling over the music. Glasses clinked, someone shouted for another round, the bass from the speakers thrummed faintly through the floor. The BAU had claimed a corner booth like they belonged there, jackets slung over seats, weapons safely forgotten for a night. Rossi was halfway through a story, gesturing animatedly with his drink, JJ and Tara laughing a little too hard at the punchline, Penelope and Luke already pink-cheeked and glowing, their second drink nearly gone.

It was casual. Normal. Exactly the kind of evening that was supposed to remind you all that you were people, not just titles and cases.

And then there was Emily.

Emily sat along the long side of the table, you at the end of it, the corner between you left conspicuously empty. One leg of her’s was crossed over the other, posture relaxed in a way she rarely allowed herself at work. Her jacket hung over the back of her chair, sleeves pushed up just enough to expose her wrists, the veins there faint beneath her skin. The white threaded through her grey hair caught the low amber light, softening her features, making her look almost unreal. She nursed her drink slowly, eyes half-lidded, listening more than she spoke…and watching you.

Every time your eyes met, something charged passed between you; sharp, electric, unspoken. Not a look anyone else would clock as meaningful, just a flicker of attention, a slight tilt of her head, a quiet awareness that made your pulse stutter. You took a sip of your drink just to give your hands something to do, the ice clinking too loudly in the glass.

“You’re quiet tonight,” she said at one point, voice smooth and low, just loud enough for you to hear over the noise.

“Am I?” you asked lightly.

She hummed, a sound that felt far too intimate for the space between you. “Mhm.”

You didn’t trust yourself to say anything else, so you smiled and looked away, pretending to be fascinated by whatever story Rossi had moved on to. You could feel Emily’s gaze linger another beat before she looked away too, composure snapping back into place.

The evening unwound slowly after that.

Rounds came and went. The music shifted to something louder, livelier. Someone bumped into your table and apologized profusely. Emily laughed once, soft and genuine, and the sound went straight through you. At some point, she leaned closer to say something to you, her knee brushing yours beneath the table. It could have been an accident. You both pretended it was.

You found yourself loosening, the alcohol warming your veins, dulling the constant vigilance you kept around her. The room felt smaller, the air thicker, her presence heavier. Every time she shifted, you noticed. Every time she said your name, it landed differently.

Eventually, you realized you were a little too aware of everything…of her, of yourself, of the way the tension between you felt wound tight enough to snap.

“I’m gonna use the restroom,” you said, standing a little too quickly.

Emily looked up at you, something unreadable flickering across her face. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you lied easily. “Just…be right back.” You slipped out of the booth and into the hallway, the noise of the bar fading behind you. The air was cooler there, quieter, and you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding.

You stepped into the restroom and were immediately grateful for the quiet. The hum of the lights overhead was soft, distant, a stark contrast to the laughter and music you’d just left behind. The space smelled faintly of soap and disinfectant, cool tile beneath your palms as you leaned forward over the sink. You turned the faucet and let cold water rush over your hands, grounding, sharp enough to cut through the haze in your head.

You told yourself to breathe, to get it together. To stop thinking about the way Emily’s knee had been angled toward yours all night, or how her eyes had tracked you every time you moved, or how close she’d leaned when she spoke, her voice pitched just for you.

You lifted your head and froze.

Emily stood behind you in the mirror, the restroom door swinging shut with a soft but final click. For a split second, neither of you moved. The overhead lights caught the silver in her hair, the sharp line of her jaw, the intensity in her eyes as they locked onto yours through the glass.

Then her hand reached back. The lock slid into place with a quiet, decisive sound.

Your pulse jumped, loud in your ears, heat flaring low in your stomach. “Emily,” you said, her name coming out softer than you meant it to.

She didn’t answer right away. She took a few slow steps forward instead, closing the distance until she was standing just behind you, close enough that you could feel the warmth of her body at your back, the subtle brush of her hand againts your arm. The mirror framed the two of you together; your flushed face, her controlled composure stretched thin at the edges.

“You ran,” she said quietly, voice low, almost rough. Not accusing. Observant.

“I needed air,” you replied, fingers gripping the edge of the sink a little tighter.

Her eyes flicked to your hands, then back to your face. “You’ve been needing a lot of air tonight.”

You swallowed. “You followed me.”

“Yes,” she said simply, and that was somehow worse than any justification.

The silence that followed was thick, charged, pressing in from all sides. Emily shifted closer, just enough that you could feel her breath at the side of your neck when she spoke again.

“You do this thing,” she murmured, “where you pretend you don’t feel it. And I do this thing where I let you pretend.” Her jaw tightened, restraint written into every line of her posture. “But tonight…” She trailed off, eyes dropping briefly to your mouth in the mirror before snapping back up, as if catching herself.

Your heart was racing now, heat blooming under your skin. “Emily,” you whispered again, warning and invitation tangled together.

Emily reached out, her fingers brushing lightly against your shoulder, firm but gentle. With a subtle, practiced motion, she guided you, turning you halfway around until your back pressed against the cold, smooth tiles of the restroom wall. The chill bit through your shirt, but the heat radiating from her standing just in front of you made it almost unbearable in the best way.

She loomed there, close enough that you could feel every measured breath, her presence surrounding you, overwhelming and undeniable. Her eyes locked on yours, intense and unflinching, and her voice dropped, low and rough with barely contained emotion.

“I shouldn’t want you this badly.”

Her words lingered, echoing in the small space, sharp and intimate. You could feel the faint vibration of her breath against your cheek, smell the faint trace of her perfume, warm and grounding, while the cold tile pressed against your spine. Her hand still rested lightly on your shoulder, grounding you, but it wasn’t restraining, it was claiming.

You swallowed, heart hammering, and tried to force yourself to step back, to remind yourself this was impossible, inappropriate, too dangerous. But the pull between you was magnetic, impossible to deny. Every careful, professional layer she wore all day, the Unit Chief, the composed agent fell away here, leaving just Emily, just desire, just fire.

“You know…” you murmured, words shaky but deliberate, “you make it really hard to focus.”

Her eyes darkened, a low hum of a laugh…or maybe a growl…vibrating in her chest. “You have no idea,” she said softly, voice tight, restrained, teasing, and somehow dripping with everything she wasn’t supposed to say.

Your lips parted slightly, and the warmth in your chest grew until it burned. Every nerve ending hummed. You could feel her shifting slightly, her body leaning in, drawn closer by the same invisible force that had been charging the air betweeen you for months.

“I–” you began, your voice low, trembling with urgency and restraint. You tried to stop, to force yourself back into logic, into reason. But the space between you was so small, the tension so thick, it was unbearable. “I–”

Her hand flexed at your shoulder, a subtle reminder that she was there, waiting, holding you in place without any need for force. Her eyes flicked to your lips for the briefest second, and the breath you didn’t know you’d been holding hitched sharply in your throat.

And that was it.

Impulse, desire, restraint, all tangled together and screaming, snapped. You leaned forward, lips pressing against hers in a kiss that was sudden, fierce, and full of everything that had been simmering between you for months. Her eyes widened briefly in surprise, and then; heat, fire, longing, all of it washed over you as she responded instantly, tilting her head, pressing closer, her hands sliding from your shoulder to frame your face.

The cold tiles behind you were forgotten. The restroom, the bar, the noise outside, all of it vanished. There was only her, and you, and the heat building into something undeniable. Every careful tease, every lingering look, every brush of skin across skin that had been restrained for so long found release in that single, searing kiss.

Her hands tangled in your hair, and you could feel her breath hitch against yours. You moaned softly into the kiss, your body pressing flush against hers, the cold gone, replaced entirely by the fire of Emily, by the raw, aching need that had always existed beneath the surface, now finally out in the open.

When you finally broke apart, just enough to breathe, her forehead rested against yours, eyes half-lidded, lips still slightly parted, her voice a rough whisper that made your chest ache.

“Let me take you home tonight”, she murmured, voice rough, low, almost a growl that made your chest tighten. Her hand slid down from your shoulder to your side, brushing along the curve of your waist, just light enough to tease, just heavy enough to stake a claim.

You swallowed, heart hamering, heat pooling low in your stomach. “Emily… I–”

“Shh.” She pressed a finger gently to your lips, silencing you, her gaze boring into yours with a fire that left you weak. “I want you to feel this. Don’t say anything. Just…” Her hand moved again, gliding over your side, up your rib, tracing along the fabric of the shirt in a way that was teasing, testing, deliberate. “…feel me.”

And you did. Every nerve ending flaring, every breath shallow and urgent. She leaned in again, lips brushing yours first, soft at first, slow, and then with intent. Her hand roamed lower now, tracing over your hip, nudging you closer until there was no space left between your bodies. You could feel the strength in her, the deliberate pressure, the quiet dominance that was all hers, but tempered by heat, by want, by the unspoken promise that she was yours here, in this hidden space.

[daddy-heather-dunbar]

Specter

Emily Prentiss x reader Warnings: bad maternal relationship, angst Authors Note: Emily is back! I want to write more one shots for our wee baby. I'm forever trying to figure her out and the things that made her--her. Also I listened to Specter by Bad Omens and this story came out of it. Why doesn't Emily feel loved? How does it affect her relationships? What are her fears? I could go on and on.

The ballroom of the French Embassy glowed under crystal chandeliers, the air thick with perfume, champagne, and polite laughter. Black-tie diplomats moved in calculated orbits, clinking glasses and trading veiled negotiations. Emily stood near the edge of the room in a sleek black gown that skimmed her frame like armor, her dark hair swept up to reveal the long line of her neck. You stood close beside her, your hand resting lightly at the small of her back, the only anchor in a sea of performance.

She had dreaded this night for weeks. “One night,” she had told you in the car on the way over. “Smile, nod, and we leave before dessert.” But her mother’s presence had turned the evening into something sharper.

Elizabeth Prentiss approached like a queen inspecting her court—brown hair perfectly coiffed, emerald gown catching the light, the ambassadorial smile locked in place. “Emily,” she said, voice smooth as cut glass. “I see you managed to make time in your… schedule.”

Emily’s spine straightened almost imperceptibly. “Mother.”

Elizabeth’s eyes flicked to you, appraising. “And this is your… companion?”

You offered a polite smile and your name, extending a hand. Elizabeth shook it with the briefest contact, as if touching something faintly distasteful.

“Charming,” Elizabeth said, turning back to Emily. “I was just speaking with Ambassador Moreau. He was surprised you chose the FBI over the Foreign Service. Such a waste of your languages and connections, don’t you think? All those years of the best education, and you spend your days chasing criminals in the shadows.”

Emily’s jaw tightened. Her fingers flexed once at her side before she folded them behind her back—classic profiler composure masking the storm underneath. “My work saves lives, Mother. It’s not a hobby.”

Elizabeth’s laugh was light, practiced. “Of course. But one does wonder if you’re punishing yourself. Or perhaps punishing me. Always so dramatic, even as a child. Remember Geneva? You refused to speak at the reception because you weren’t allowed to bring that stray cat inside. You stood in the corner like a ghost for three hours.”

The words landed like small, precise blades. Emily didn’t flinch outwardly, but you felt the tremor through your hand still resting on her back—her muscles locked, breathing shallow.

You stepped in gently. “Emily’s one of the best at what she does. The BAU is lucky to have her.”

Elizabeth’s gaze slid over you again, cool and assessing. “How sweet. Loyalty is admirable.” She turned to Emily. “We should have lunch while I’m in town. There are people you should meet. Opportunities you’re letting slip away.”

“I’ll check my calendar,” Emily replied, tone perfectly neutral. The lie sat heavy between them.

Elizabeth gave a final, elegant nod. “Do try to enjoy yourself tonight, darling. You always did have a talent for looking like you belong while being somewhere else entirely.” With that, she drifted back into the crowd, leaving the scent of expensive perfume and old wounds.

Emily stood frozen for several seconds. The chatter around you blurred into white noise. When she finally spoke, her voice was low and tight. “Let’s go.”

The ride home was nearly silent. Rain had started again, streaking the windows of the town car. You kept your hand on her knee; she didn’t pull away but didn’t lean in either.

Back in your apartment, Emily kicked off her heels and immediately poured two glasses of whiskey. She didn’t drink it—just held the glass while she stared out the window.

You came up behind her, wrapping your arms around her waist. “Talk to me.”

She set the glass down untouched. “She’s always done that. Made me feel… insubstantial. Like I’m only real when I’m performing what she wants. Growing up, I was never enough. Too quiet or too loud, too independent or not independent enough. The house was full of staff but empty of warmth. She’d come home from postings and look at me like I was a report card she had to sign. ‘Excellent grades, Emily. Now try harder to be likable.’”

Emily turned in your arms, eyes glassy. “I learned to be useful. To disappear when I wasn’t needed. That’s what I am to her—a specter. Something you see in the corner of your eye but never quite touch. And now I’m terrified that’s what I’ll be to you. That one day you’ll look at me and realize the empty space inside me is too big. That I don’t know how to let myself be loved without waiting for the moment it gets taken away.”

You cupped her face, thumbs brushing away the single tear that had escaped. “Em, you’re not a ghost to me. You’re the woman who fights for people who’ve been forgotten. You’re the one who makes me feel safe even when the world is falling apart. I see the cold she left in you. I see how hard you try to fill it. And I’m still here—choosing you, every single day.”

Emily’s breath hitched. She pressed her forehead to yours. “I’m scared I’ll ruin us.”

“Then we’ll ruin it together and rebuild it better,” you whispered. “You’re not alone in that empty space anymore. Let me sit there with you.”

She exhaled shakily, then kissed you—desperate, tasting of rain and relief. When she pulled back, her voice was barely audible. “I love you. Even the parts of me that feel like they’re not really there.”

“I love every part,” you answered. “The visible and the invisible.”

Outside, the rain kept falling. Inside, for the first time that night, the cold began to thaw.

[prentolomaea]

desperate | emily prentiss

tags: fem!reader, smut, thigh riding, pussy licking, tramp stamp, top!reader, fingering, oral sex, switch!emily, finger sucking,

summary: you've had a crush on emily for a while now and after a while, you couldn't hold your front as well as you thought. especially not with emily's teasing eyes and a sliver of ink peeking out from her lower back.

word count: 2.5k

(i dont usually write smut so bear with me...i do apologize if anything is weird im not used to posting on tumblr)

────────

You’ve had a crush on Emily for a few months. The type of crush that completely takes over, leaving you looking for her in every space, thinking of her whenever she’s not around, and your mind wandering to her every chance it gets. It became increasingly difficult to focus on your paperwork without your eyes wandering to Emily’s rough hands, her strong arms and soft cheek. It took everything in you not to reach out. Sometimes, you’d catch her staring. A moment where your eyes met and you swore you saw the same heat that pooled within you, reflected in her eyes. Maybe you’re just going crazy, Maybe you just need sleep. Or maybe you desperately need to get laid. 

The case is in Montana. The thick desert heat settled over the air like fog, the humidity absolutely mind numbing. You’re speaking with an officer when you see her. Emily climbs out of the SUV, her hands hanging on her hips as she stood. She wore tan cargo pants with boots that made you dizzy, her hair pulled back in a low ponytail. Her gun rested easy on her hip, something that absolutely should not drive you as insane as it did. You cursed under your breath; you weren’t getting anything done today. 

The hours came and went, piecing together pieces of the case. You and Emily went back to the initial crime scene to get a better look with a fresh perspective. Emily crouched down to pick something up and you saw it; a flash of ink on skin that had you holding your breath. Black ink drew across her lower back, now exposed as her shirt rode up. You weren’t listening to a damn thing she was saying, your eyes locked in on the tattoo, mouth dry. It was torture. Emily seemed to catch on, looking up at you with eyes that were so far from professional. She stood up slowly, almost teasing, fixing her shirt with a small smile on her face. 

“You okay? You’re quieter than usual.” her eyes dipped over your figure, something that didn’t go unnoticed.

“I’m good. Just thinking…” you wiped sweat from your forehead. whether it was from the heat, or Emily, you didn’t know.

“About what?” she answered quickly, a spark in her eyes.

“Nothing important.” you said, but she didn’t seem convinced. 

-

That night, she called you a little drunk from her hotel room. 

“Hey,” her voice is so smooth and full of need. “You should come over. We can go over the case and…discuss.”

“Discuss?”

“Among other things…” Emily quipped back and you could hear the smirk in her voice. “I have wine too, if you’re up for it.”

You didn’t waste a second, practically sprinting to Emily’s room. She opened the door without a care in the world, dressed in a tank top and cargos. Her eyes roamed over your body and you sucked in a breath. The two of you pretended to worry about the case, opting for an easy distraction from the heat bubbling. The wine went quickly, and with it, so did rationality. 

“I saw you staring today.” Emily said, her voice thick with want. “…You know what I’m talking about. I didn’t mind, before you start apologizing or saying something ridiculously sweet.”

“I…I didnt want to make you uncomfortable.” you told her.

“Like that. But, seriously…” she inched herself closer, the bed creaking with the weight. “God, can I just…”

You kissed her before she could ask, Emily immediately melting into it. Her hands slid through your hair, gently tugging. When you pulled away, she chased your lips eagerly, almost disappointed when you stopped. She tugged on your waist and you climbed into her lap, almost gasping when her hands started wandering. You pressed your lips to her neck, biting and sucking in a way that had Emily breathless. 

“F-fuck..That’s—that’s not fair…Shit…” her voice came out breathy, breaking into tiny whimpers that had you dizzy. Without warning, she hooked her leg and flipped you over, climbing on top of you. 

“So much for discussing the case,” you point out and Emily nipped your jaw at that. 

“Shut up.” she laughed and kissed your pulse point. You pulled her back in for a slow, filthy kiss. The kind where you can’t get enough and desperately need more. Your hands are all over Emily; running down her back, palming her ass, smoothing over the dip in her lower back. Your fingertips graze beneath the hem of her pants, your breath catching when you feel the raised skin. Emily bit your lip gently, her tongue slipping through your lips. She pulled away to smile, sitting up straight. She climbed off you to yank your arm, pulling you back into her. 

Your mind went blank, zeroing in on the feel of Emily. Of her hands gently squeezing and lips trailing across your skin. Of her teeth nipping and nails digging into you. It drove you insane. Emily kissed you hungrily, like a woman starved for something only you can satiate. She tugged your bottom lip with her teeth before sucking it gently, slipping her tongue into your mouth. You kissed her back with just as much fervor, your hands tugging on her hair to pull her in closer, if that was even possible. When Emily pulled away to breathe, she looked absolutely wrecked. Her hair was mussed up and her lips were a little swollen and puffy, little red marks painted across her neck. There was a deep hunger in her eyes as they hung low, settled over you. She looked at you with so much pent up want, it made you dizzy. There was a softness to her, despite the haze of need. A slow, guarded kind that came up when she rubbed your arm or kissed you like she meant it. 

“Don’t…don’t look at me like that.” you said softly, running a hand across her cheek.

“God…I want you so bad, I can’t think straight.” Emily muttered, leaning into your touch and taking your thumb into her mouth. Your brain short circuited at the sight of her sucking on your thumb, her eyes half lidded in pure need. “Please…”

You let your hands wander to the hem of her shirt, tease at the waistband of her pants in a way that had her hips shifting instinctively. She pulled off her shirt, desperate for more contact. Your hands ran over her chest, her stomach, smoothing over the expanse of skin below her belly button. You undid the button of her pants, pulling down the zipper slowly as Emily pulled them down, a needy urgency in her pace. You gripped her ass, knee slipping between her thighs. Emily groaned and tugged at your shirt, desperately pulling it up and over, tossing it somewhere on the floor. 

You turned her around with a force that made her gasp. The tattoo hung just below her lower back, your fingers running over the ink. Emily shivered beneath your touch, bending over a little to give you more view. 

“I knew you wanted to look. You’re not as subtle as you think, baby.” her voice was low and rough, sending jolts of heat through your body. she rubbed her core against your thigh, still with her back towards you just to get some relief. Her upper body rested on the side of the bed as she used your thigh, her breath coming out in short whimpers. Without warning, you removed your thigh and she groaned, sitting up to face you. She reached out to kiss you. 

“You’re so needy, Emily.” you mumbled against her mouth and she bit your bottom lip gently. 

“I can’t help it. Please…I need you so bad, baby, please.” Emily’s tone had you desperate for her. You kissed from her mouth to her neck, trailing to her collarbone, to the valley between her breasts. You took a nipple in your mouth, sucking and licking on it while your hand came up and massaged her breast. Emily gasped sharply, her hands fisting the sheets. You kissed down her stomach and abdomen, pressing soft kisses against the insides of her thighs.

“You’re so wet…” you tell her, kissing the skin above her underwear before gently pulling the fabric down her legs. “Like…really wet.” you tease her, kissing her inner thigh when she scoffs.

“Don’t.” she snapped, rolling her eyes as you smirked up at her. You ran a finger through her folds, groaning at the wetness that coated your finger. You slipped a second finger into her, marveling at the sounds that fell from Emily’s lips. Your fingers kept a steady pace as your tongue swirled around her clit. Emily’s chest rose and fell quicker and quicker, her eyes rolling as she focused on how good you feel. Soft moans slipped from her lips, a sound that you couldn’t get enough of. You shifted your fingers to find the spot that had her bucking her hips against your hand, desperate for relief. You quickened your pace and soon, Emily let out a gasp. 

“Ffffuck…I’m gonna come, I’m so close. Please…Fuck.” she breathed out. You pulled out of her without warning, earning a desperate groan from Emily. “Wha...what the fuck? Seriously?” 

“Relax, just turn around for me, okay?” you told her, shifting to kneel on the bed. You gently spread her legs and pressed your knee between her thighs, pulling her hips up so her core is just above your thigh. Emily starts dragging her clit up and down the skin of your thigh. You run your hands over her ass, massaging it slightly before resting a hand to her lower back. You held her hip as she rocked against your thigh, your thumb brushing over the tattoo on her lower back. You slipped two fingers into her from behind, earning a deep gasp from Emily. You kept a slow and filthy rhythm, pushing into her as she fisted the sheets. The sounds that came from her were absolutely obscene, it almost made you want to drag it out even longer just to hear more of how pretty she sounds. 

“That’s so good…so fucking good, please. Please, I’m close, I’m so close.” her voice was muffled by the pillow but it didn’t hide the sheer need that laced her tone.

“I’ve got you,” you mumbled, leaning a bit to press a kiss to her shoulder as her hips rocked into your fingers. Her legs shook a little as she came, fisting the sheets in white knuckle grip as her eyes rolled back in a bliss of ecstasy. When it washed over her, she slumped, shifting to press a soft kiss to your shoulder. She was completely and utterly spent, her breathing still ragged as she came down from her high. You pulled her into an embrace, gently stroking her hair. 

“Holy fucking shit…” Emily said, her voice completely wrecked. You laughed into her hair, brushing some strands away from her face. Her hands wandered across your body, gently touching and teasing. Her fingertips brushed against your underwear before trailing back up to your shoulder. Without warning, her teeth grazed your neck. 

“Hey?! What was that for?” you nudge her and she just nuzzles into your neck.

“For teasing me, obviously.” Emily pressed a kiss to your jaw. 

“You’re acting like I left you hanging. So dramatic.” you shook your head and she pulled back to gasp. 

“Excuse you! I am not dramatic, I just get a little needy. Nothing wrong with that, right?” 

“A little?” you said and she nudged your shoulder playfully.

“Shut up,” her voice is light and teasing, pinching your hip. 

“Make me.” you challenged, immediately cringing at yourself as Emily laughed. You buried your face in her neck, shaking your head. 

“I cannot believe you just said that,” she giggled and kissed you softly. 

“Don’t even…just keep kissing me. Distract me.” your cheeks flushed red in playful embarrassment. Emily settled for kissing your neck, pressing slow and teasing kisses along the sides of your neck. You let out a breathy sigh as you tilted your head to give her more room, something that earned you a nip at your pulse point.

“Em…fuck,” you muttered, the air between you suddenly turning heated. You tugged on her hair, dragging her mouth to yours in a searing kiss. Emily shifted and settled on top of you, her fingers brushing your jaw. She pulled away to catch her breath, her thumb tracing your bottom lip. You opened your lips slightly and she pushed her thumb into your mouth. Emily bit her lip as you sucked on her thumb, her eyes fixated on you. She removed her thumb with an audible pop, pulling you into a filthy kiss. 

“I wanna make you feel good,” she murmured against your mouth, her voice low and needy. 

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I don’t want you to think you need to do it. I’m fine, more than fine.” you let her know, earning an eye roll from her. Emily pressed her forehead to yours.

“You’re infuriatingly sweet, it makes me sick.” she shook her head and kissed you softly. “But, I want to. Let me take care of you, okay? Lie back, can you do that for me?” 

You nodded, pulling her down for a kiss as you laid on your back. Your hands wandered over her back, nails digging at her skin when her teeth grazed a particularly sensitive spot on your neck. Her lips trailed low, pressing kisses against the skin of your stomach. She kissed the inside of your thigh before gently pulling down your underwear. 

“All this for me?” Emily teased when she saw how soaked you were, smiling as you rolled your eyes. She licked a line from your entrance to your clit, almost moaning at the taste. You shivered under her careful licks, gasping when she sucked on your clit. Her hands massaged your thighs as her head stayed buried between your legs. The sensation of Emily mouth on your clit, her fingers slipping into you every now and then had you arching up off the bed. You desperately rocked yourself into Emily’s mouth, your hand coming to run through her hair. 

“God, Emily. You’re so…Oh, oh, Jesus fuck.” you cursed, her fingers curling at just the right angle. Pleasure coiled deep in your stomach, on the verge of crashing over. “Emily, I’m gonna come. I’m gonna…”

Emily didn’t say anything but intensified her pace, her tongue circling on your clit as her fingers pushed faster. It was too much, and so, so good. You came with her name on your lips, a sharp cry as your legs shook around her head. Emily pressed a kiss to your inner thigh before bringing her fingers to her mouth and sucking them clean. The sight had you losing your mind a little. She flopped next to you, tracing shapes on your arm as she pulled you close. 

“Do you wanna go to dinner sometime?” was the first thing she said after a minute or two of comfortable silence. You blinked, a bit surprised. 

“Dinner? Are you seriously asking me out?” a smile crept up on your face and a tint of red flushed Emily’s cheeks.

“I mean, yeah, if you want. I just... I don’t want to pretend like nothing never happened, you know? I wanna take you out.” Emily said quietly, her voice softer than you’ve ever heard it. 

“I’d love to go to dinner with you.” you grinned and kissed her. 

_

[section-chief-prentiss]

my love, my life (Part 1/?)

Summary: You get the news you and your wife, Emily, have been long waiting for—you’re pregnant. But before you can tell her, she’s taken hostage on a case.

Word Count: 1,733

TWs: kidnapping, violence, pregnancy

Ao3

PART TWO | PART THREE | PART FOUR | PART FIVE

Chapter One: Your POV

You hadn’t slept well in days.

You waited until Emily fell asleep at your side before grabbing your phone and staring at it until your eyes couldn’t stay open, willing it to ring, even in the late hours of the night.

After a lot of discussion, you and your wife, Emily, had decided you were ready for children.

Once the decision was made, your lives became a whirlwind of doctors’ appointments, learning your options and who would be the best option to carry (you’d volunteered and the doctor’s tests validated that choice), deciding on IUI, and finding a sperm donor.

The first two cycles had ended in heartbreak. You knew it was unlikely that you’d become pregnant on the first try, but when you received the call from the doctor with the negative result, and your period followed, you were heartbroken. Emily took a few days off after both results to comfort you.

You were nervous going into your third cycle; you were scared of the heartbreak that was becoming too familiar, but you wanted a baby of your own. You wanted to be a mom. And you wanted to see Emily become a mom.

So you’d gone through with it again, and now were waiting to get the call from the doctor.

Any time you woke up, you lurched for your phone, worried that you’d missed the call. But still—nothing.

Next to you, Emily rolled over and wrapped an arm around your torso as the sun peeked through the curtains.

“They’ll call,” she murmured, planting a kiss on your neck. “And you need to be rested for when they do.”

“I want it so bad,” you whispered, still staring at your phone.

“I do too,” Emily said, placing her hand on your stomach. “And it will happen. Just be patient.”

You scowled. Patience wasn’t your specialty—a fact Emily was well aware of. But still, you let yourself settle into your wife’s warm embrace, daring to let your eyes close.

A shrill ringtone had your heart pounding and eyes opening within seconds. But when you glanced at the device in your hand, the screen was still dark.

Behind you, Emily shifted, reaching for her phone and holding it to her ear. “Morning, Pen.”

You moaned and rolled over, burying your face in your wife’s chest. You knew it was only a matter of time until a case called her away, but you hoped you would have news one way or another before then. The idea of finding out on your own made your stomach roll.

You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t notice Emily hang up.

“Where’s the case?” you asked.

“Some small town in Pennsylvania,” she said. “But I can consult from here, with you.”

You were already shaking your head before she could finish speaking. “No, Em. Your team needs you, and it’s not far. You should go.”

“Y/N,” Emily said, “Say the word, and I’ll stay. I mean it.”

You sat up to kiss your wife. “I know you do, and that’s why I love you. Now go.”

With one last kiss, Emily sprang into action, changing into a button-down and slacks, grabbing her go-bag, and disappearing out the door with a quick, “I love you!”

Now that you were alone, you couldn’t sit still. You jumped out of bed and padded into the bathroom. You opened the top cabinet drawer to grab your hairbrush and paused when your eye caught on a box of pregnancy tests you’d bought but not used yet.

You knew the doctor would call with your results, but you wanted to know now.

Taking the test out of the box, you stared at it, Emily’s voice echoing through your head, “Just be patient.”

If you were going to take a test at home, you wanted Emily to be with you. So, you slid the test back into its box and grabbed your hairbrush, wincing as the bristles tangled in a knot. You swiped at the knot with the brush, cursing under your breath, when ringing from the next room froze you in your tracks.

This time, it had to be your phone.

The hairbrush clattered in the sink as you threw yourself into the bedroom to pick up the call. You didn’t even glance at the caller ID before answering.

“Hello?”

“Mrs. Prentiss?” A light voice chirped.

“This is she,” you said, unable to stop the shaking in your voice.

“Good morning! I’m calling from Dr. Winger’s office with your latest test results.”

You could recite the next part from memory: I’m so sorry, but the test is negative.

You exhaled a slow breath and sat on the floor. “It’s okay; I’m ready.”

“YOU’RE PREGNANT!” A chorus of voices screamed.

You nearly dropped your phone. Your free hand fluttered to your stomach. “Are—are you sure?”

“Blood tests don’t lie,” the receptionist said with a smile you could hear. “We’re going to set up your first ultrasound for about 3 weeks from now.”

Your head spun as you set up the appointment, your mind a million miles away. You barely made out a faint “Congratulations!” before the call ended, and you were sitting on the floor, alone with your thoughts.

You set the phone down at your side and pressed both of your hands into your stomach.

“I love you so much,” you said, voice thick. “We can’t wait to meet you.”

Emily, you thought with a start. You reached for your phone but stopped yourself halfway. Telling your wife you were pregnant over the phone? You could do better than that. This was something you’d both been waiting for, and you wanted the announcement to be special.

When she got home tonight, you’d have something amazing planned.

***

Standing in the baby aisle at Target, you quickly realized how in over your head you were. How did people do this? You’d seen viral TikToks of mothers giving their oldest child a “best big brother” or “best big sister” shirt, but how did it work with your first? You could get a tiny shirt for Sergio, but the black cat tolerated you at best, and you didn’t want to risk becoming a scratching post in your attempt to dress him.

Brushing off that idea, you made your way over to the onesie section, running your fingers over the different soft fabrics. You couldn’t help but picture you and Emily holding a baby that fit in one of these by the end of the year. A thrill ran through you at the thought.

Past the onesies were the baby shoes, and you couldn’t fight the smile off your face at the sight of how tiny they were.

A miniature pair of sandals brought back a memory from last summer, when you were at the beach with Emily.

A young couple slathered sunscreen on their toddler, who was wearing the tiniest green Crocs you’d ever seen.

“Oh my god,” you’d whispered, grabbing Emily’s hand. “Look at those little shoes.”

“That may be the cutest thing I’ve ever seen,” Emily sighed, sliding her sunglasses onto the top of her head. “I guess we’ll have to get our baby Crocs.”

Snapping out of the memory, you practically sprinted to the next aisle over, where baby Crocs in various colors were waiting. The yellow pair caught your eye, so you scooped them up in the smallest size they sold.

A quick stop in the gift aisle had you leaving with a gift box and tissue paper that you’d wrap the shoes in later.

Now was the hardest part—going home and waiting.

***

The rest of the day passed in a blur—wrapping the shoes, cleaning the house, even going grocery shopping and throwing dinner in the crock pot to distract yourself.

Throughout it all, you couldn’t believe it was real. You needed to know for yourself—<i>see</i> the proof with your own eyes.

After you finished flitting around the house, you found yourself back in the bathroom, pregnancy test in hand. For two minutes, you paced back and forth in the small space, waiting for the lines to appear.

When the phone timer dinged, you lurched toward where the test rested on the counter—two vibrant lines reading clear as day. A laugh bubbled up in your throat, and for just a moment, you let the joy consume you and pushed aside the rising anxieties and realities that this test represented. You had months to think about those—for now, you wanted to enjoy this.

You cleaned the test off before delicately placing it in the gift box above the Crocs. Outside, the sun was setting, the blue sky melting into purples and reds. As you admired the blending colors, you realized you had no idea what time it was.

Your phone reported that it was after 7, which was odd. Emily never went a whole day like this without checking in.

Your stomach twisted.

You’re overreacting, you chastised yourself. She’s just busy. If you call, she’ll answer.

With shaking hands, you tapped on Emily’s contact, heart racing a bit faster with each ring.

“You’ve reached Supervisory Special Agent Emily Prentiss—”

You hung up before you could hear the voicemail that you had memorized.

Your next call was JJ. Mercifully, she picked up on the second ring, and relief flooded through you.

“Jayje,” you breathed. “Thank God. I haven’t heard from Emily yet today, and I was getting worried. But I’m sure I’m overreacting. She’s fine, right?”

Your stomach lurched again, and you padded into the bathroom, just in case your lunch decided to make a reappearance.

But she’s fine, you told yourself, sitting on the floor in front of the toilet. She’s completely fine.

JJ’s sharp breath made your heart stop. “She is okay,” though her tone had you not quite believing her. “But she can’t, um, come to the phone right now.”

“Why not?”

There were whispers on the other side of the phone as JJ argued with whoever she was with—your best guess said it was either Hotch or Rossi.

“JJ?” you whispered.

“I’m telling her,” JJ hissed. Her tone was gentle as she turned her attention back to you. “She went to apprehend our UnSub and was taken hostage.”

You dropped the phone, feeling it bounce off your knee before landing on the floor, gripped the edge of the toilet, and hurled the contents of your stomach into it.

Tag List:

@yena-reyna, @propertyofemilyprentiss, @chaekhan, @obsessedwjill, @mrs-prentiss, @i-lovefandom, @tireddeadgirl, @lez-talk1, @emilyprentiss-ily, @ssablackbird, @sxekhaos, @Confidant._.Thoughts, @probablydoingyourmom1, @shygirl1645, @asylummint, @Inlovewithjemily

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[to-thelakes]

wet cat vibe

pairing; emily prentiss x fem!reader

summary; you get rained on on the way to emily's apartment.

warnings; fluff, pure fluff, slightly suggestive towards the end, reader in a summer dress

notes; okay, so this was a little one-shot that i wrote a few weeks ago after i saw a prompt and my friend suggested that emily would be perfect for it! i've never actually published anything like wlw but i thought i might as well bite the bullet and show emily some gay love because her being straight-ified by the show is a crime to me and me personally. she is my bisexual queen. thank u. so, please enjoy this little fluff

masterlist

When you agreed to go over to Emily’s after you were finished with work, it hadn’t been raining. In fact, it had been a beautiful sunny day and you were walking around in your flowy summer dress. It had been warm, idyllic and you hadn’t even realised that anything had changed. That was until you stepped out of work and it was raining. And not just normal rain, it was a fucking torrential downpour. You didn’t know what to do.

You had assumed that it would stay nice all day but no, of course not. You internally cursed yourself as you stared out at the rain. Why did you never check the goddamn weather app? Were you really that stupid?

Everyone had already left the office which left you alone to try and get to Emily’s without looking completely ridiculous. You crossed your arms over your chest, staring across the street as the rain bounced off the pavements.

Her apartment was only a few streets over and so you scouted out the area in front of you. There were quite a few buildings that overhung which meant that you could at least get some shelter. It would be fine. You just had to be strategic.

So, you waited for the traffic to clear up before you ran across the road. You looked like a madwoman, in a flowy dress while it poured with rain around you but you had definitely looked more insane before so this was nothing.

By the time you reached Emily’s apartment and despite your best attempts, you were still drenched right through. Your dress was becoming transparent thanks to the rain which Emily would love but currently, anyone could see which wasn’t exactly what you intended.

When you pressed the buzzer, Emily let you in with no question and you rode the elevator up. She was waiting for you at the apartment door, hip rested against the door frame as she looked you up and day. You tried not to laugh, a smile spreading across your face.

“Have you not heard of an umbrella? Jesus,” Emily said and you looked down at yourself. You were literally dripping water across the carpet, your hair (that was down over your shoulders) was dripping droplets of water across the fabric of your dress. You looked a mess.

“I’m going for the wet cat vibe. How do I look?” You asked as you reached her apartment door. Emily chuckled softly at you and you did a little twirl for her before facing her again. Emily shook her head in disbelief.

“Pathetic. Come on, you’re dripping everywhere,” Emily said as she urged you inside. You followed her and she closed the door. Her back rested against it as she took you in. She could very clearly see the lingerie that you had picked out just for her. Though, you had completely forgotten how see-through your dress was so you wandered over to the kitchen for a tea towel to wipe your face without a care in the world.

“You know, I think this is a good look,” You stated as you turned around to face Emily. She was leaning against the counter now, obviously checking you out.

“I think what’s underneath is better,” She responded and you chuckled softly, remembering exactly what she was looking at. You wiped off your face and your neck with the towel. Your hair was probably a lost cause for now so instead, you dropped it down and reached out for her hands and tugged her a little closer.

“I wore it just for you,” You teased. Emily hummed out in response, moving her hand to rest against your cheek, “Thought you’d like it but the whole building saw it before you did,” You muttered. Emily tilted your chin up a little.

“I don’t mind,” She responded, her lips inches away from yours, “As long as they know who you’re coming home to.” You couldn’t help the bashful smile that spread across your lips, the wetness between your legs. Emily had this subtle possessiveness to her that made you completely weak at the knees. It was ridiculous.

“Why don’t we show them?” You suggested. Emily grinned and tugged you towards the bedroom. It was going to be a long night.