raine

he/she GWENLENA 🔥🔥🔥 JEMILY 🔥🔥🔥

[nox-s-n]

✧.* Mumbo Jumbos photography *⁠.⁠✧

Base of Scar Times With Good!

photos

paintings

i needed to put them all im sorry

[watcherb1rd]

intro post!!! looking for mutuals 😛

i’m Avery (he/she) (19), i made this blog to post about mcyt (hermitcraft and the life series) and more specifically my life series infection au !!!

i wanted somewhere to post about it and eventually i want to post it either as fanfiction or a webcomic on here (and/or ao3)

my favs are grian, mumbo, cleo, etho, bdubs and bigb !!! but i love all of the block people

i also like smosh, criminal minds and tadc but probably won’t post about them here

despite being on this hellsite for 5 years i really have no clue what i’m doing so. pls be friends with me! 😭😭

[apolladay]

How frequently do you take over the counter pain relief (aspirin, ibuprofen, acetaminophen, etc.)?

* multiple times a day

* once per day

* once every few days

* once a week

* once every few weeks

* once a month

* once every few months

* once a year or longer

* I don’t take over the counter pain meds

* see results

How frequently do you take over the counter pain relief (aspirin, ibuprofen, acetaminophen, etc.)?

multiple times a day

once per day

once every few days

once a week

once every few weeks

once a month

once every few months

once a year or longer

I don’t take over the counter pain meds

see results

Voting ended onMar 22

[apolladay]

We are all transformed into grapes. Which one of these berries would YOU be:

1) The really tiny one that never fully developped

2) The really big fat one with all the sugars and vitamins

3) The weirdly shaped one

4) The already decaying one, half burst open

5) A COMPLETELY average one, the kind you'd find on a wikipedia example photo

We are all transformed into grapes. Which one of these berries would YOU be:

The really tiny one that never fully developped

The really big fat one with all the sugars and vitamins

The weirdly shaped one

The already decaying one, half burst open

A COMPLETELY average one, the kind you'd find on a wikipedia example photo

Voting ended onMar 22

[luthor-lexi]

RPF update from the man himself

[crimsonprose]

reblog if you’re a fanfic writer who does NOT fw AI but DOES fw em dashes. 🙋🏼‍♀️ I mean, seriously… I’m so sick of seeing those posts. em dashes are literally a necessary tool of the trade sometimes. stop it.

[pukicho]

It doesn’t matter if you’re gay, weird or stupid. You matter.

[weeping-willow-weeps]

what happens if im all 3?

[pukicho]

All three??

[pukicho]

Really?

[emilyprentisssluvr]

any oomfs going to the london tah show

[emilyprentisssluvr]

“pterodactyls are dinosaurs” WRONG! attacking you with my hammers

[whoswitchybabyanyway]

something wicked

pairing: emily prentiss x fem!reader

word count: 1.9k

summary: you thought Garcia’s Halloween party would be harmless fun—until Emily decided to make you her favorite secret game.

includes: no use of y/n, smut (MDNI), face-sitting, established relationship, remote-controlled vibrator, public teasing, edging, dom!emily, sub!reader, hair pulling, overstimulation, praise kink, Halloween setting, Garcia’s chaos energy

based on these requests: 1, 2

halloween 2025

Garcia’s Halloween parties are always chaotic, glitter-splattered affairs. You expected costumes, cocktails, music blaring loud enough to rattle the floorboards. You had not expected to start the night with Emily handing you a small black toy and a wicked grin.

“Don’t give me that look,” she teased, straightening her cat ears in the mirror. “You’ll survive.”

You blinked down at the vibrator in your palm, heat creeping up your cheeks. “Emily… Tonight?”

Her reflection caught yours in the mirror, dark eyes sparkling. “Yes, tonight. Especially tonight. Everyone will be too distracted by Garcia’s disco lights to notice you squirming.” She leaned close, brushing her lips over your ear. “And besides–you like it when I take control.”

Your throat went dry. She was right, of course, and she knew it. By the time you were dressed and ready to leave, the vibrator was snugly in place and Emily’s phone was tucked into her pocket, her weapon of choice for the evening.

Garcia squeals the moment she sees you in the doorway. “Oh my god, stop–you are the cutest witch I’ve ever seen. Like, Stevie Nicks but make it spooky. Adorable.” She pulls you in for a crushing hug, your wide-brimmed hat nearly toppling off your head in the process.

Emily had insisted earlier that you looked “dangerously tempting,” and the way her eyes skim over you now, quiet and assessing, makes heat crawl up your neck all over again.

“You–” Garcia whirls toward Emily, eyebrows arched dramatically. “And then there’s you. Jeans. Jacket. Cat ears. That’s it?”

Emily smirks, unfazed, slipping her hand to the small of your back. “Ears count.”

The party unfolds in a blur of glitter and laughter, music pulsing through Garcia’s apartment like a living thing. The living room is draped in fake cobwebs, orange string lights blinking lazily against walls covered in metallic bats and dangling disco balls. A cauldron of neon punch bubbles merrily on the kitchen counter.

You move from greeting to greeting–JJ in a cowgirl hat that somehow makes her look unfairly gorgeous, Rossi begrudgingly donning a Dracula cape, Derek and Spencer bickering good-naturedly over who pulled off their superhero duo better. Everyone’s in costume except Hotch, who wears his usual suit with a paper pumpkin pinned halfheartedly to his lapel.

You’re trying to act normal. You are acting normal. At least, you hope so. You laugh when Garcia insists on sprinkling you with more glitter. You sip at your drink. You make polite conversation. But the toy between your thighs is a low, constant hum, and every few minutes Emily brushes her thumb over her phone screen.

It’s maddening.

One second you’re nodding along to JJ’s story about Henry’s trick-or-treating, and the next your words stick in your throat as the vibrator jumps to a higher setting. You take a too-quick sip of punch to cover your sharp inhale.

Across the room, Emily leans casually against the wall, arms folded, her cat ears tilted just slightly. She catches your eye, and her smirk is subtle, predatory. She knows.

And she’s enjoying every second of this.

When no one’s looking, she drifts behind you, her hand grazing the curve of your hip, her breath brushing your ear. “Doing so well,” she murmurs, low enough that only you can hear. “Holding it together, keeping that sweet face. My perfect girl.”

You swallow hard, the praise making your pulse spike. You want to melt into the floor–or into her.

Garcia pulls you both into a group photo before you can gather yourself. Emily hooks her arm around your shoulders, smiling innocently for the camera while the vibrator buzzes mercilessly. Your smile looks normal enough, but your knees threaten to buckle.

The night stretches on in waves of torture. You dance with Penelope, pretending not to stumble when Emily flicks the setting higher. You nearly spill your drink when she dials it back down, the sudden absence just as unbearable. She whispers things in passing–little darts of heat that lodge under your skin:

“You look so pretty when you’re flustered.”

“Think they’d notice if I made you come right here?”

“You’re dripping, aren’t you? I can tell.”

By the time people start yawning, coats being gathered, the toy has become an extension of you, a secret pulse that keeps your body tuned to her frequency. You say goodbyes with shaky hands, avoiding Rossi’s sharp eyes and JJ’s perceptive smile.

Garcia hugs you again on the way out. “You two better not ghost me at Christmas,” she scolds, still sparkling under layers of glitter.

You manage a laugh, though your voice wavers. Emily kisses Garcia’s cheek, then guides you toward the door with a firm hand on your back.

In the hallway, as the door shuts behind you, the muffled thump of music fading, Emily slips her hand into yours. Her thumb strokes your palm once–gentle, grounding–before she presses the button again.

The toy kicks up. Your breath stutters.

Emily smirks, leading you toward the car. “Still standing,” she teases, opening the door for you. “Impressive.”

You bite down hard on your lip as you lower yourself into the seat, skirt bunching around your thighs. Emily closes the door and strolls around to the driver’s side with infuriating calm, like she hasn’t been driving you half-mad all night.

The engine rumbles to life. She pulls onto the street, one hand loose on the wheel, the other dropping casually onto your thigh. You gasp when she squeezes, fingers digging just enough to make your breath hitch.

“Emily…” your voice is a broken plea. “It’s too much. I can’t–”

Her hand slides higher, warm against trembling skin, and she doesn’t take her eyes off the road. “You can,” she says, voice even, steady. “You’ve taken every bit of it so far. You’re not giving up on me now.”

By the time she parks outside your apartment, you’re trembling so hard you can barely undo your seatbelt, and you clumsily follow Emily up the stairs.

The apartment door clicks shut, and you’re already sagging against it, breath shaky, thighs trembling.

“Em–please–” The plea rips out of you before you can stop it. “It’s too much. I can’t–”

Emily sets her keys down with deliberate calm, toeing off her boots. Then she turns, and the look in her eyes pins you harder than her hands ever could.

“You can,” she says simply, closing the distance. Her fingers trail down your arms before she grips your wrists, tugging you toward the couch. “And you will.”

You stumble after her, heart hammering. She pushes you down onto the cushions, climbing into your lap with effortless command.

“Look at you,” she purrs, brushing her thumb along your jaw. “Shaking, begging, all because of me. That’s my good girl.”

The toy buzzes harder, and you choke on a cry, hips twitching beneath her.

“Not yet.” Emily leans in, kissing you hard, stealing your breath. “You don’t get to come until I’m satisfied. Got it?”

You make a soft, broken noise in your throat–half‑whimper, half‑answer–and force yourself to nod. The movement is small, jerky, but Emily’s eyes catch it instantly. The corner of her mouth crooks, the kind of smile that’s both a warning and a reward.

“That’s it,” she murmurs, voice low and dark. “That’s my girl.”

She rises just enough to kick off her jeans, then slides her thumbs into the waistband of her underwear. The fabric drags slowly down the length of her thighs, a deliberate show for you. She drops them to the side, never breaking eye contact, and the heat rolling off her bare skin makes your mouth go dry.

Then she climbs back over you, knees bracketing your shoulders, the scent of her filling the small space between you. She reaches down, curls her fingers into your hair, and tilts your head back until your mouth is exactly where she wants it.

“That’s better,” she breathes, settling her weight over you. “Show me how bad you’ve been wanting this all night.”

You latch on instantly, tongue stroking, lips sealing around her, desperate to give her what she wants. Her moan is ragged, her hips jerking just slightly–but she doesn’t give up control.

Her fingers knot tight in your hair, tugging until your scalp tingles, forcing your mouth exactly where she wants it. “Right there,” she gasps, grinding against you. “Don’t stop.”

You groan into her, clinging to her thighs like they’re your only anchor, nails biting into soft skin. She tastes intoxicating, every sound she makes flooding you with heat.

“That’s it,” she pants, yanking your head closer. “My good girl–so eager, so fucking perfect.”

Your jaw aches, your face wet with her, but you don’t care–you’d stay here forever if she told you to. You work harder, savoring the way her thighs tense under your grip, the way her moans pitch higher.

“God, look at you,” she breathes, peering down at you through heavy lashes. “So desperate. So focused. You’d do anything I asked, wouldn’t you?”

You hum against her in answer–a low, pleading sound–and the vibration makes her gasp, her thighs tightening instinctively around your head. She rolls her hips again, this time slower, deliberately dragging herself over your mouth while you lap and suck greedily.

The toy inside you is still thrumming, and every wave of sensation that hits your core makes your body jolt beneath her. Your hips lift from the couch, chasing a climax you’re still not allowed to have. It’s maddening–the sweet ache building and building, the taste of her on your tongue, the steady pulse that refuses to let up.

When she finally shudders apart above you, thighs clamping tight around your head, you cling harder, drinking down every drop of her release, every ragged cry of your name.

She rides out the waves of her orgasm, words of praise muttering out in gentle purrs as she combs her fingers over your sore scalp. Then she’s lowering herself down your body, smiling–lazy, smug–as she looks down at you.

You’re wrecked beneath her. Your lips are swollen, your chest heaves with every breath, and the relentless pulse between your legs has you shaking. Emily brushes her thumb along your jaw, tilting your face up toward her, and the sight of you makes her smile—slow, satisfied, and still hungry.

“Now,” she whispers, leaning down until her mouth is right by your ear. “Now you get to fall apart for me.”

And you do. Your legs are trembling and your breath comes in ragged sobs. The edges of the world blur; the only things that exist are her voice, her hands, and the dizzying, overwhelming pleasure she’s coaxing out of you.

And when you finally collapse against the cushions, boneless and panting, Emily gathers you gently into her lap, stroking your hair back from your damp forehead. Her kisses soften, her touch gentles, and she holds you like something precious.

“You did so well,” she murmurs, voice rough from all the breathless sounds she’s made. “So good for me. You always are.”

The words settle through you like honey, heavy and warm. The adrenaline that had your muscles straining now leaves you boneless, and she can feel it. Emily chuckles softly, that quiet laugh that means she’s come down from the edge too.

“Hey,” she says, brushing her thumb under your chin until you look at her. “You with me?”

You manage a faint nod, and she smiles—small, real, full of affection. “That’s my girl,” she whispers.

[criminalmindswhore]

Devils Night

If there's one thing she can't stand, it's you doubting how hot you are. If there's a second thing she hates, it's men.

TW: smut, dick of a man, slut shaming

Thank fuck Emily had suggested going to this thing early, because the bar was already packed by the time you arrived at eight. Bodies pressed together in the dim lighting, music thumping through the speakers, the air thick with the smell of beer and artificial fog from someone's overenthusiastic fog machine. The team had claimed a corner booth near the back, and you could see Garcia's elaborate fairy wings catching the strobe lights from across the room.

Emily's hand found the small of your back as you navigated through the crowd, her touch warm even through the thin fabric of your costume. You'd spent weeks planning it, scouring thrift stores until you'd found exactly what you wanted. The white peasant blouse sat off your shoulders, the neckline low enough to be interesting without being obscene. The black corset cinched your waist, pushing everything up in ways that made you feel powerful. The skirt hit mid-thigh, paired with tall boots that made your legs look endless. A tricorn hat, a plastic cutlass, some smudged eyeliner, and you were done.

Simple. Classic. Sexy without trying too hard.

Emily had taken one look at you when she'd picked you up and gone completely still in your doorway.

"You're wearing that," she'd said, her voice coming out slightly strangled.

"I'm wearing this." You'd done a little spin, watching her eyes track the movement of the skirt. "Problem?"

"No." She'd swallowed hard, her gaze dragging up from your boots to meet your eyes. "No problem. No problem at all."

She'd been a perfect gentleman since then. Mostly. Her hand had wandered a few times in the car, fingers tracing the edge of your corset, thumb brushing the bare skin of your shoulder. But she'd behaved. Kept her hands to herself in public, maintained appropriate distance, played the role of supportive girlfriend attending a work function.

You could feel her restraint like a living thing between you.

"There they are!" Garcia's voice cut through the noise as you approached the booth. She was resplendent in purple and silver, wings that probably cost more than your rent sparkling under the lights. "Oh my god, you look amazing! Emily, doesn't she look amazing?"

"She does." Emily's voice was carefully neutral, but her hand tightened slightly on your back.

Reid was dressed as what appeared to be Sherlock Holmes, complete with deerstalker cap and pipe. Morgan had gone for something between a vampire and a general "sexy guy at a Halloween party" vibe, all tight black clothing and fake fangs. JJ was a witch, Rossi had declined to dress up entirely, and Hotch,

"Is that a ghost costume?" you asked, staring at your unit chief.

Hotch looked down at the white sheet draped over his shoulders. "Jack insisted."

"It's adorable," you said, sliding into the booth next to Emily. Her thigh pressed against yours immediately, the heat of her seeping through the thin fabric of your skirt.

The next hour passed in a blur of conversation and laughter. Garcia ordered a round of shots that tasted like candy corn and regret. Morgan tried to teach Reid how to talk to the cute bartender and failed spectacularly. JJ and Hotch got into a surprisingly heated debate about the best Halloween candy. You felt yourself relaxing into the evening, the tension of the past few weeks melting away under the influence of good company and decent alcohol.

Emily's hand found your thigh under the table.

You glanced at her, but she was looking at Reid, nodding along to something he was saying about the history of Halloween traditions. Her face was perfectly neutral, attentive, professional. Her hand, meanwhile, was tracing slow circles on your inner thigh, fingers occasionally dipping under the hem of your skirt.

You took a long drink of your beer.

"You okay?" Garcia leaned across the table, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "You look a little flushed."

"Fine," you managed. "Just warm in here."

Emily's fingers crept higher.

You shifted slightly, trying to create some distance, but she just followed the movement. Her expression never changed, still listening to Reid's explanation of Samhain rituals, occasionally nodding or making small sounds of agreement. But her hand was relentless, teasing, driving you slowly insane.

"I need another drink," you announced, standing abruptly. Emily's hand fell away, and you caught the flash of satisfaction in her eyes. "Anyone else?"

A chorus of orders followed you to the bar. You leaned against the polished wood, trying to catch the bartender's attention, trying to calm your racing heart. The costume had seemed like a good idea this morning. Sexy, fun, appropriate for a bar crawl with coworkers. Now you were wondering if you'd made a terrible mistake. Emily had been looking at you all night like she wanted to devour you, and you were rapidly losing the ability to care that you were surrounded by your team.

"Nice costume."

You turned to find a guy in a cheap vampire costume leaning against the bar next to you. He was probably in his mid-thirties, decent looking in a generic way, and clearly several drinks past sober.

"Thanks," you said politely, turning back to flag down the bartender.

"You here alone?"

"No, I'm with friends."

"Boyfriend?"

"Girlfriend, actually." You smiled sweetly. "And she's right over there."

You pointed toward the booth, where Emily was watching you with an intensity that should have set the bar on fire. Even from across the room, you could see the tension in her shoulders, the way her jaw was set. She looked like she was considering murder.

The guy followed your gaze and had the good sense to look embarrassed. "Oh, shit, sorry. My bad."

"No worries." You finally caught the bartender's attention and rattled off the team's drink orders.

The guy wandered off, and you thought that was the end of it. You were wrong.

"Fucking slut," you heard him mutter to his friend as he passed. "Dressing like that, what does she expect?"

The words hit you like a physical blow. Your hands stilled on the drinks the bartender was setting down, your throat suddenly tight. You'd heard worse, obviously. Years of existing as a woman in public had given you thick skin. But something about it tonight, in this costume that had made you feel powerful and sexy and confident, made the words sink in deeper than they should have.

You thought about the neckline of your blouse. The length of your skirt. The way the corset pushed everything up and out. Maybe it was too much. Maybe you'd misjudged. Maybe—

"Hey." Emily's voice was soft in your ear, her hand gentle on your waist. "I've got these. Come with me."

She'd appeared out of nowhere, materializing at your side like she'd teleported. Her face was carefully blank, but you could see the fury simmering beneath the surface. She handed the drinks off to a passing Morgan with a quick explanation, then guided you toward the back hallway where the bathrooms were.

The noise of the bar faded as she pulled you into a small alcove near the emergency exit. The music was muffled here, the lighting dim. She turned to face you, her hands coming up to cup your face.

"What did he say?"

"It's nothing." You tried to smile, but it felt wrong on your face. "Just some drunk asshole."

"What did he say?" Her voice was harder now, leaving no room for deflection.

You swallowed. "Called me a slut. For the costume."

Emily's jaw clenched so hard you heard her teeth click together. "I'm going to kill him."

"Em—"

"I'm going to walk back out there and kill him with my bare hands." She started to turn, but you caught her arm.

"Don't. It's not worth it. He's just—" You shrugged, trying to play it off. "Maybe the costume is a bit much."

Emily went very still. When she looked at you again, her eyes were blazing. "Say that again."

"I just mean—" You gestured vaguely at yourself. "It's pretty revealing. Maybe I should have—"

"Stop." She stepped closer, backing you against the wall. Her hands landed on either side of your head, caging you in. "Stop right there."

Your breath caught. She was close enough that you could smell her perfume, see the flecks of gold in her dark eyes. Close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off her body.

"You look incredible," she said, her voice low and intense. "You look so fucking hot that I've been losing my mind all night. Do you know how hard it's been to keep my hands off you? To sit there and make small talk with the team while all I can think about is getting you alone?"

"Emily—"

"That skirt." Her gaze dropped, dragging down your body with an almost physical weight. "These boots. This whole thing. You're killing me. You've been killing me since I picked you up."

Heat flooded through you, pooling low in your belly. "I didn't—"

"And that asshole?" Her eyes snapped back to yours, hard and fierce. "He's a fucking idiot who can't handle seeing a woman who knows she's hot. That's his problem, not yours. You understand me?"

You nodded, not trusting your voice.

"I need to hear you say it."

"It's his problem," you whispered. "Not mine."

"Damn right." She leaned in closer, her lips brushing your ear. "You're the sexiest woman in this entire bar. In this entire city. And you're mine."

The possessiveness in her voice sent a shiver down your spine. Her hands slid from the wall to your waist, fingers digging into the fabric of your corset.

"I've been watching you all night," she continued, her voice dropping even lower. "Watching other people look at you. Watching you laugh and smile and move in this costume. And all I've been able to think about is how lucky I am. How fucking lucky I am that you're with me. That I get to take you home tonight."

"Em." Your hands found her shoulders, gripping tight. "We're in public."

"I know." But she didn't move away. If anything, she pressed closer, her body flush against yours. "I know we are. And I'm trying to behave. I'm trying so hard to behave. But then some asshole says something like that, tries to make you feel bad about looking this good, and I just—"

She broke off, her jaw clenching again. You could feel the tension in her body, the barely restrained violence. Emily was the most controlled person you knew, calm and collected even in the worst situations. But right now, she looked like she was about to snap.

"I'm okay," you said softly, running your hands up to cup her face. "I promise. I'm okay."

She closed her eyes, leaning into your touch. "I hate that he made you doubt yourself. Even for a second."

"I know."

"You're perfect." Her eyes opened, locking onto yours. "This costume is perfect. You're so fucking beautiful I can barely think straight."

Your heart was pounding so hard you were sure she could feel it. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Her hands slid up your sides, thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts through the corset. "I've been thinking about taking this off you all night. Slowly. Piece by piece. The hat first, then the sword. Then these boots, one at a time. Then this skirt."

Her voice had taken on a rough, hungry quality that made your knees weak. You were suddenly very aware of how empty this hallway was, how the music from the bar covered any sound you might make.

"The corset would be last," she continued, her fingers tracing the laces. "I'd take my time with it. Make you wait. Make you beg."

"Emily." Your voice came out breathless, pleading.

"But we're in public." She smiled, slow and dangerous. "So I'm going to behave. We're going to go back out there, finish our drinks with the team, and act like responsible adults."

"Okay," you managed.

"And then I'm going to take you home." Her lips brushed your jaw, feather-light. "And I'm going to show you exactly what this costume has been doing to me all night. Sound good?"

You could only nod, your brain short-circuiting somewhere around "take you home."

She pulled back slightly, her eyes searching your face. "You feel better?"

"Much better."

"Good." She pressed a quick, hard kiss to your lips. "Because you're not changing. You're not covering up. You're going back out there in this sexy as hell costume, and you're going to have a good time. And if anyone else has a problem with it, they can take it up with me."

The fierce protectiveness in her voice made something warm bloom in your chest. "You're kind of hot when you're all protective."

"Kind of?" She raised an eyebrow.

"Really hot."

"Better." She stepped back, adjusting her own costume; she'd gone as a detective, complete with a vintage-style suit that fit her like a dream. "Come on. Before I change my mind about the whole 'behaving in public' thing."

You followed her back toward the booth, your hand in hers. The bar seemed brighter now, the music more energetic. You felt lighter, the weight of that asshole's words lifting off your shoulders. Emily's thumb traced circles on the back of your hand, a constant reminder of her presence, her support.

Morgan whistled as you approached. "There you are. We were about to send a search party."

"Sorry," Emily said smoothly, sliding back into the booth. "Needed some air."

You settled in next to her, and her hand immediately found your thigh again. But this time it felt different. Less teasing, more grounding. A reminder that she was there, that she had you, that you were safe.

Garcia launched into a story about a Halloween party gone wrong, and the conversation flowed around you. You found yourself relaxing again, laughing at Reid's terrible jokes, joining in Morgan's good-natured ribbing of Hotch's costume. Emily's presence beside you was a constant warmth, her hand on your leg a steady anchor.

Every so often, you'd catch her looking at you. Not the heated, hungry looks from earlier, but something softer. Proud. Possessive in the best way. Like she couldn't quite believe you were real.

You leaned into her slightly, and she shifted to accommodate you, her arm sliding around your shoulders. It was a casual gesture, one that wouldn't raise eyebrows from the team, but it felt significant. A public claim. A statement.

"You two are disgustingly cute," Garcia announced, pointing at you with her cocktail. "It's actually offensive how cute you are."

"We try," Emily said dryly.

"How long has it been now? Six months?"

"Seven," you corrected. "Seven months next week."

"Seven months of domestic bliss," Morgan teased. "When's the wedding?"

"Shut up," Emily said, but she was smiling. Her hand squeezed your shoulder gently.

The conversation moved on, but you stayed tucked against Emily's side, feeling the steady rise and fall of her breathing. The bar was still crowded, still loud, still full of people in various states of costume and intoxication. But in your little corner booth, surrounded by your team, pressed against your girlfriend, you felt completely at peace.

"Thank you," you murmured, quiet enough that only Emily could hear.

She looked down at you, her expression soft. "For what?"

"For earlier. For making me feel better."

"Always." She pressed a kiss to your temple. "That's my job. Making sure you know how incredible you are."

"Even when I'm being insecure about my costume?"

"Especially then." Her hand slid down to your waist, fingers tracing the edge of your corset. "Though for the record, this costume is going to live in my fantasies for a very long time."

Heat flooded through you again. "Yeah?"

"Oh yeah." Her voice dropped, meant only for you. "I'm going to be thinking about this for months. Years, probably. You in these boots, this skirt, this corset. It's going to ruin me."

"We should probably leave soon then," you said, your own voice going breathy. "Before you spontaneously combust."

She laughed, low and rough. "Probably a good idea."

But you stayed for another hour, finishing your drinks, soaking in the warmth of friendship and celebration. Garcia insisted on taking approximately seven hundred photos, most of which would probably end up on the team's shared drive. Reid tried to explain the physics of fog machines and got shouted down by Morgan. JJ and Hotch debated the merits of various Halloween movies. It was normal and comfortable and exactly what you needed.

Finally, around eleven, Emily leaned in close. "Ready to get out of here?"

"God, yes."

You said your goodbyes, enduring Garcia's knowing looks and Morgan's suggestive comments. Emily kept her hand on the small of your back as you navigated through the crowd, her body a solid presence behind you. You caught sight of the guy from earlier, still at the bar with his friends, and felt Emily tense.

"Don't," you said quietly. "He's not worth it."

"He's really not," she agreed. But her hand tightened on your back, possessive and protective.

The cool night air was a relief after the stuffiness of the bar. You breathed in deeply, tilting your head back to look at the stars. The parking lot was mostly empty, the sounds of the bar muffled by distance and closed doors.

Emily's car was parked in the back corner, away from the streetlights. She unlocked it with a click, but instead of opening your door, she pressed you back against it.

"Hi," she said, her hands finding your waist.

"Hi yourself."

"I've been wanting to do this all night." She leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that was nothing like the quick peck from earlier. This was deep and hungry and full of all the restraint she'd been showing for the past three hours. Her tongue swept into your mouth, and you moaned, your hands fisting in her jacket.

She kissed you like she was starving, like you were air and she'd been drowning. Her body pressed against yours, pinning you to the car, and you could feel the evidence of her desire in every line of her frame. One hand slid up to cup your breast through the corset, and you gasped into her mouth.

"Fuck," she breathed against your lips. "I need to get you home."

"Then get me home."

She pulled back, her eyes dark and wild in the dim light. "Get in the car."

You obeyed, sliding into the passenger seat on shaky legs. She rounded the car and got in, starting the engine with more force than necessary. Her hand found your thigh immediately, possessive and warm.

The drive to your apartment took fifteen minutes. It felt like hours. Emily's hand stayed on your leg the entire time, occasionally sliding higher, making your breath catch. You could see the tension in her jaw, the white-knuckle grip she had on the steering wheel with her other hand.

"You're going to get us pulled over," you said, watching the speedometer creep up.

"Worth it."

You laughed, breathless and giddy. "What happened to behaving?"

"We're not in public anymore." She glanced at you, her eyes hot. "All bets are off."

Your apartment building appeared like a mirage. Emily parked with less care than usual, and you were both out of the car in seconds. She caught your hand, pulling you toward the entrance. The elevator ride up to the third floor was torture. You could feel the tension radiating off her, see the way her chest rose and fell with each breath.

The doors opened, and she practically dragged you down the hallway. Your hands shook slightly as you unlocked the door, and then you were inside, the door slamming shut behind you.

She had you against the wall in seconds, her mouth on yours, her hands everywhere. You kissed her back desperately, your fingers tangling in her hair, knocking her detective hat to the floor. She tasted like beer and want, and you couldn't get enough.

"Bedroom," you gasped when she moved to your neck.

"Too far."

She walked you backward toward the couch, never breaking contact. Your legs hit the edge, and you fell back, Emily following you down. She settled between your thighs, her weight pressing you into the cushions, and you moaned at the contact.

"This costume," she breathed, her hands sliding up your sides. "Do you have any idea what you've been doing to me?"

"Tell me."

"I've been thinking about it since you opened your door." Her fingers found the laces of your corset, starting to work them loose. "Thinking about taking it off. Thinking about what's underneath. Thinking about making you come while you're still wearing these boots."

Your hips bucked involuntarily. "Emily."

"I've got you." She pulled the corset loose, tossing it aside, and groaned at the sight of the thin bralette underneath. "Fuck, look at you."

Her mouth found your breast through the fabric, hot and wet, and you arched into her. Your hands scrabbled at her back, trying to find purchase, trying to pull her closer. She sucked hard enough to leave a mark, and you cried out.

"That's it," she murmured, moving to the other breast. "Let me hear you."

Her hand slid under your skirt, fingers tracing the edge of your underwear. You were already soaking, had been since the bar, and she made a satisfied sound when she felt it.

"All this for me?"

"All for you," you confirmed, your voice shaking.

She pushed your underwear aside, her fingers sliding through your wetness. You moaned, your head falling back against the couch. She circled your clit slowly, teasingly, and you wanted to scream.

"Please," you gasped. "Emily, please."

"Please what?" Her voice was rough, commanding. "Tell me what you need."

"You. Inside. Please."

She pushed two fingers inside you in one smooth motion, and you saw stars. Your hands flew to her shoulders, gripping hard enough to bruise. She set a steady rhythm, her thumb finding your clit, and you were already embarrassingly close.

"Look at me," she commanded.

You forced your eyes open, meeting her gaze. She looked wrecked, her hair messed from your hands, her lips swollen from kissing. But her eyes were focused, intense, locked on your face.

"You're so beautiful," she said, her fingers curling inside you. "So fucking beautiful. And you're mine."

"Yours," you agreed, your voice breaking. "All yours."

"That's right." She increased her pace, her thumb pressing harder. "And I'm going to make sure you never forget it."

The orgasm hit you like a freight train, sudden and overwhelming. You cried out, your body arching off the couch, your inner walls clenching around her fingers. She worked you through it, her movements gentling as you came down, pressing soft kisses to your neck and jaw.

"Good girl," she murmured. "So good for me."

You were still catching your breath when she pulled her fingers out, bringing them to her mouth. She held your gaze as she sucked them clean, and you felt a fresh wave of arousal despite having just come.

"We're not done," she said, reading your expression. "Not even close."

She stood, pulling you up with her. Your legs were shaky, but she steadied you, her hands firm on your waist. She walked you backward toward the bedroom, pausing every few steps to kiss you, to touch you, to remind you that she was there.

The bedroom was dark, lit only by the streetlights filtering through the curtains. Emily turned on the bedside lamp, bathing the room in soft golden light. She stepped back, her eyes roaming over you.

"Take off the shirt," she said.

You pulled the peasant blouse over your head, dropping it to the floor. The bralette followed, leaving you in just the skirt and boots.

"Perfect." She circled you slowly, like a predator stalking prey. "Leave the rest on."

She guided you to the bed, pressing you down onto your back. Your legs hung off the edge, boots still firmly in place. She knelt between your thighs, her hands sliding up your legs, pushing the skirt up around your waist.

"I've been thinking about this all night," she said, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh. "Thinking about tasting you. Making you come on my tongue."

"Please," you breathed.

She pulled your underwear off slowly, tossing them aside. Then her mouth was on you, hot and wet and perfect. You cried out, your hands flying to her hair. She licked into you like she was starving, like you were the best thing she'd ever tasted.

Her tongue circled your clit, then flicked over it, then sucked it into her mouth. The sensations were overwhelming, too much and not enough all at once. You could feel another orgasm building, faster than the first, coiling tight in your belly.

"Em," you gasped. "I'm—"

She hummed against you, the vibration sending you over the edge. You came with a cry, your thighs clamping around her head, your body shaking. She didn't stop, working you through it until you were pushing at her head, oversensitive and overwhelmed.

She pulled back, her chin glistening, her eyes dark with satisfaction. "One more."

"I can't—"

"You can." She crawled up your body, settling between your legs. "One more, baby. For me."

She kissed you, and you could taste yourself on her tongue. Her hand slid between your bodies, fingers finding you again. You were so sensitive that even the lightest touch made you gasp, but she was relentless. She worked you slowly, carefully, building you back up with practiced ease.

"You're so perfect," she murmured against your lips. "So responsive. I love watching you come apart for me."

"Emily." Your hands clutched at her back, her shoulders, anywhere you could reach. "I love you."

"I love you too." She increased her pace, her thumb pressing against your clit. "So much. More than anything."

The third orgasm was slower, deeper, rolling through you in waves. You clung to her, burying your face in her neck, breathing in her scent. She held you through it, whispering soft words of praise and love.

When you finally came back to yourself, you were boneless and sated, sprawled across the bed in your skirt and boots. Emily was propped up on one elbow beside you, watching you with soft eyes.

"Hi," she said.

"Hi." Your voice was hoarse.

You reached up, cupping her face. "Your turn."

She smiled. "I'm good."

"Liar." You could see the tension still in her body, the flush on her cheeks. "Let me take care of you."

"You don't have to—"

"I want to." You pushed yourself up, ignoring your shaky limbs. "Lie back."

She obeyed, settling against the pillows. You straddled her hips, your hands going to the buttons of her shirt. She watched you with dark eyes as you undressed her slowly, reverently. When she was finally naked beneath you, you took a moment just to look.

"You're staring," she said, but she was smiling.

"You're beautiful." You leaned down, pressing a kiss to her sternum. "Let me show you."

You took your time, kissing your way down her body, learning every sound she made. When you finally settled between her legs, she was already wet, already ready. You licked into her slowly, savoring her taste, her reactions. Her hands found your hair, not pushing, just holding.

You brought her to the edge twice before finally letting her fall over. She came with your name on her lips, her body arching off the bed. You worked her through it gently, then crawled back up to hold her.

She pulled you close, tucking you against her side. Your head rested on her chest, and you could hear her heartbeat slowly returning to normal. Her fingers traced lazy patterns on your back.

"So," she said after a long moment. "About that costume."

You laughed. "What about it?"

"I think we should keep it." Her hand slid down to squeeze your ass. "For special occasions."

"Special occasions?"

"Mmhmm. Like Tuesday nights. And Thursday afternoons. And any time I've had a bad day at work."

"So basically all the time."

"Basically." She pressed a kiss to your forehead. "Is that a problem?"

"Not even a little bit."

You lay there in comfortable silence, your bodies tangled together, the costume pieces scattered across the floor like breadcrumbs. Outside, the city hummed with Halloween festivities. Inside, you were warm and safe and loved.

"Hey," Emily said softly.

"Yeah?"

"That guy at the bar was an idiot."

You smiled against her skin. "I know."

"You're perfect. Exactly as you are."

"I know that too." You tilted your head up to look at her. "Thanks to you."

She kissed you, slow and sweet. "Always."

You settled back against her chest, your eyes growing heavy. The last thing you remembered before sleep claimed you was Emily's hand in your hair, her voice soft in the darkness.

"Love you, pirate."

"Love you too, detective."

And in the morning, you'd wake up still wearing the boots, Emily's arms around you, and you'd laugh about it over coffee. But for now, you let yourself drift, safe and satisfied and completely, utterly loved.

[sherlockggrian]

i miss them already

[sherlockggrian]

i miss them already

[sherlockggrian]

i miss them already

[criminalmindswhore]

Gag Me

Your little slip of the tongue makes her mind start spinning. Something she's already wanted but now, you've asked for it.

Happy Kinktober my fellow queens and queers

The case files were stacked three deep on the conference table, and you'd been at this for hours. Emily was theorizing about the unsub's pattern—something about lunar cycles and victim selection that was making your head spin.

"So you're saying he picks victims based on the moon?" you asked, leaning back in your chair.

"I'm saying there's a correlation we should consider—"

"Oh gag me," you said, the words coming out more playful than dismissive as you rubbed your temples. "That's the most Reid thing you've ever said."

The room went quiet. You looked up to find Emily staring at you, something shifting in her expression—a flicker of heat quickly masked by professionalism. Alvez smirked from across the table.

"I mean—the theory. The theory is very Reid-like," you backpedaled, feeling your face flush.

Emily's lips curved slightly. "Noted." But her eyes held yours a beat too long before she turned back to the files.

Emily's eyes had an extra sparkle in them when she sat down for dinner, tossing her hair over her shoulder, hand delicately wrapped around her wine glass. You raised a brow but said nothing as you slid her plate in front of her.

Settling across from her, she thanked you for cooking and eyed you as you sat. Oh, so she's planning something. You knew Emily enough to know when she was up to something, when her wheels were turning.

She casually asked about your day as she reached for your hand, fingers gently intertwining with yours. She listened intently, nodding, responding with the same depth, as if she wasn't obviously distracted by an image in her own mind.

As she took the plates to the sink you followed, leaning against the counter and watching her, eyes tight with observation. "You're up to something." She chuckled and washed the dishes silently.

It wasn't until she closed the dishwasher that she answered, "I'm just thinking about something."

You chuckled softly, "Yeah I can tell, what's going on up there?"

She laid the towel on the counter and looked at you. "I wanna try something with you."

"And what might that be?"

Emily introducing something new in the bedroom wasn't a new concept, she wasn't ever shy about it. Casually mentioned during breakfast, while you brushed your teeth, even once in the produce section. So her quietness made you intrigued.

She looked at the floor. "Em I'm not gonna run away because you suggest something, you know this."

Her eyes found yours. "I've been thinking about it since your little incident earlier." She stepped closer. "When you told me to gag you in front of the entire team."

Your stomach flipped. "I didn't mean—"

"I know what you meant." Her voice dropped lower. "But it got me thinking about what it would be like if you actually meant it."

She stepped closer, hand finding your hip, thumb pressing against the bone there. "I've been thinking about it for weeks. The sounds you make when I'm inside you, when you're close." Her voice dropped lower, intimate. "I want to see what happens when you can't make them. When you have to feel everything without being able to tell me about it."

Your chest flushed, heat spreading up your neck. She noticed, of course she did, her free hand coming up to trace the path of color blooming across your skin. "You're thinking about it now."

"I'm always thinking about you," you managed, which pulled a real smile from her, the kind that crinkled the corners of her eyes.

"That's not an answer." She leaned in, lips brushing your ear. "Do you want me to gag you? Want me to take away that control you're always so careful about maintaining?"

Your fingers found the edge of the counter behind you, gripping hard enough that your knuckles went white. Emily's hand on your hip tightened, holding you in place, and you realized you'd been trying to shift away without meaning to. Not from fear, but from the intensity of wanting it, of wanting her to do exactly what she was describing.

"Yes." The word came out rougher than you intended.

She pulled back just enough to look at you properly, searching your face. "You're sure? We can talk about it more, establish—"

"Emily." You cut her off, reaching up to cup her face. "Yes. I want you to."

Something shifted in her expression, that profiler's mask dropping away to reveal pure want. She kissed you then, hard and claiming, tongue sliding against yours in a way that made your knees weak. When she pulled back you were breathing hard, lips already feeling swollen.

"Bedroom," she said, voice carrying that tone you'd learned meant she was done negotiating, done waiting. "Now."

You moved, her hand finding the small of your back as you walked down the hallway. Your mind was racing, imagining what she had planned, what it would feel like to give up that particular piece of control. Emily was always attentive, always watching your reactions, adjusting based on every sound you made. Without those sounds, she'd have to read your body in different ways. The thought made your thighs clench.

She guided you to sit on the edge of the bed, standing between your legs. Her fingers traced your jawline, tilted your chin up so you had to meet her eyes. "I need you to understand something first."

You nodded, trying to focus despite the way her proximity was making it hard to think.

"This is about trust. About you trusting me to read you, to know what you need even when you can't tell me." Her thumb brushed across your bottom lip. "If at any point you need to stop, you tap my arm three times. Hard enough that I'll feel it no matter what we're doing. Can you do that for me?"

"Three times," you confirmed, demonstrating against her forearm. Tap, tap, tap.

"Good girl." The praise made your stomach warm, made you want to earn more of it. She kissed you again, slower this time, thorough. Her hands moved to your shirt, fingers working the buttons with practiced ease. "I'm going to undress you first. Going to take my time with you."

She did exactly that, peeling away each layer of clothing with deliberate care, pressing kisses to newly exposed skin. By the time you were naked and she was still fully clothed, you were already trembling, already desperate for more contact. She pushed you back onto the bed, hands on your thighs spreading them apart.

"Stay just like this," she instructed, stepping back. You watched as she moved to the dresser, opening the drawer where you kept the toys you'd accumulated together. She pulled out something you didn't recognize, black fabric with a buckle. When had she bought that?

She caught your expression and smiled. "I may have done some shopping this week. Wanted to be prepared in case you said yes."

Emily returned to the bed, sitting beside you. She held up the gag, letting you see it properly. It was simple, elegant even, a wide band of soft fabric with a ball in the center. "This is going to go in your mouth. The ball isn't too big, but you'll feel it. You won't be able to talk around it, but you'll be able to breathe fine through your nose. If you need to stop, remember—"

"Three taps," you finished.

"That's right." She leaned down, kissing you once more before bringing the gag to your lips. "Open for me."

You did, letting her slide the ball into your mouth. It pressed against your tongue, foreign and strange, making you immediately aware of every sensation in your mouth. She fastened the buckle behind your head, checking that it wasn't too tight, that your hair wasn't caught. Her fingers lingered at the nape of your neck, gentle despite the dominance of the act.

"How does that feel?" she asked, and you made a sound that was supposed to be "good" but came out muffled and indistinct. The reality of not being able to speak properly hit you then, made your heart rate spike. Emily's hand immediately moved to your chest, palm flat over your racing heart. "Breathe, baby. You're okay. You're doing so well for me."

You focused on breathing through your nose, on the weight of her hand, on the way she was watching you with such intense focus. Gradually your heart rate slowed, and she smiled. "There you go. See? You're perfect."

She stood then, finally starting to undress herself. You watched hungrily as she revealed skin, the curves and planes of her body that you'd mapped with hands and mouth countless times. When she was naked she climbed onto the bed, straddling your hips. The heat of her against you made you moan, the sound strange and muted behind the gag.

"That's what I wanted to hear," she murmured, rolling her hips against you. "Those desperate little sounds you make, all trapped now. You have no idea how hot that is."

Her hands moved over your body, touching everywhere except where you needed her most. She traced your collarbones, palmed your breasts, thumbs circling your nipples until they were hard and aching. Every touch made you want to beg, to tell her what you needed, but all that came out were muffled whimpers and moans.

"You want to tell me something, don't you?" She pinched your nipple, just hard enough to make you arch. "Want to tell me to touch you properly, to stop teasing." Her hand slid down your stomach, fingers dancing along your hip bone. "But you can't. You just have to take what I give you."

Your hands fisted in the sheets, hips trying to lift toward her touch. She pressed you back down with her free hand, holding you in place. "Stay still. Let me explore you the way I want to."

It was torture, exquisite and maddening. She touched you everywhere, kissed a path down your neck to your breasts, sucked marks into your skin that would bloom purple by morning. And through it all you couldn't do anything but make those trapped, desperate sounds, couldn't beg or plead or tell her how much you needed more.

When her hand finally, finally slid between your legs, you nearly sobbed with relief. She groaned at what she found there. "God, you're so wet. Is this all from me teasing you? From not being able to talk?"

You nodded frantically, trying to press into her touch. She allowed it this time, fingers sliding through your wetness, circling your clit with just enough pressure to make you shake. Your hands came up to grip her shoulders, nails digging in.

"That's it," she encouraged, fingers moving in steady circles. "Show me what you need. Your body can tell me everything your mouth can't right now."

She worked you higher, reading every twitch and tremor, adjusting her touch based on how your hips moved, how your breathing changed. It was different like this, more intense somehow. Without the ability to speak you were more in your body, more aware of every sensation. And she was right—she could read you perfectly, knew exactly when to add more pressure, when to ease off.

When she finally slid two fingers inside you, you made a sound that was almost a scream, muffled and raw. She groaned in response, forehead pressing against yours. "You feel so good. So perfect around my fingers."

She fucked you slowly at first, thumb still working your clit, watching your face with that intense profiler focus. You were completely at her mercy, unable to ask for more or tell her to go faster, could only hold onto her and let her take you apart piece by piece.

"I can feel you getting close," she murmured, curling her fingers to hit that spot inside you that made your vision blur. "Can feel you tightening around me. You want to come, don't you? Want me to make you come while you can't even beg for it?"

You nodded desperately, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes from the intensity of it all. She kissed your temple, your cheek, her pace increasing. "Then come for me, baby. Let me feel it."

Her thumb pressed harder against your clit, fingers curling just right, and you shattered. The orgasm hit you like a wave, making your whole body arch and shake. The sounds you made behind the gag were raw and desperate, and Emily swallowed them with her mouth against your neck, working you through it until you were trembling and oversensitive.

She gentled her touch, slowly withdrawing her fingers. You whimpered at the loss, body still twitching with aftershocks. Her hands moved to the buckle of the gag, carefully unfastening it and easing it from your mouth. You worked your jaw, tongue feeling thick and clumsy.

"Hey," she said softly, her fingers gentle as she cupped your face, thumb brushing along your cheekbone. Her eyes searched yours with concern and tenderness. "You okay?"

"Yeah," you managed, your voice rough and breathless, still trying to gather yourself. Your heart was still pounding hard in your chest. "That was... fuck, Em."

She smiled, looking both pleased and a little smug, that satisfied glint in her eyes that you'd come to know so well. A strand of hair fell across her flushed face. "Good?"

"So good." You reached up and pulled her down into a kiss, deep and slow and grateful, pouring everything you couldn't quite put into words into the press of your lips against hers. Your fingers tangled in her hair as you held her close, not wanting to let go just yet.

She collapsed beside you, both of you breathing hard, skin flushed and damp with sweat. She pulled you close, pressing kisses to your forehead, your temple, anywhere she could reach.

"So," she said after a moment, voice lazy and satisfied. "We're definitely doing that again."

You laughed, the sound bright in the quiet room. "Yeah. Definitely."

She traced patterns on your shoulder, fingers light and soothing. "Thank you for trusting me with that. For letting me try it with you."

You turned to look at her, seeing the vulnerability beneath the confidence. "Always, Em. I'll always trust you."

She kissed you then, soft and sweet, and you settled into her arms, body still humming with satisfaction, mind already wondering what she might suggest next.

[apolladay]

Is a pterodactyl a dinosaur?

Yes

No

Idk man/results

Voting ended onOct 22, 2025

[appystruda]

doodled scar to try and kill some stress