As of right now, I have works out for Lady Lesso, Emily prentiss, and Natasha Romanov. I’m open to multi-fandom and/or their actresses.
My current works posted to Tumblr!
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I will write canon fics but my works are mainly noncanon where I’m just using the character.
I do take requests! requests may take some time, so please be patient with me :)
Feel free to message me, I love to make new friends!
I probably won’t write for a character I’m unfamiliar with just so I don’t misrepresent the character, but I’d be open to watching whichever show/movie they come from.
Basically, just ask and I might write for them!
I won’t write for male characters or write for male reader, mainly because I am not male or interested in men so it would be difficult for me to write. (Though I might try my hand at g!p fics)
I won’t write: Pregnancy fics, non platonic minor work (I will write minors but ONLY PLATONIC), non-con, or incest.
I won’t write Agere fics, simply because I’m not apart of the community and therefore I know nothing about it and I want to be respectful. (@littledollll and @v3nusxsky are some amazing blogs that do write for agere)
I will write from a long list of kinks, you name it and I probably will or have already wrote with it.
I will write angst, hurt and comfort, smut and pretty much everything else in between.
But I also have every right to turn down parts of or all of your request for any reason I see fit.
I look forward to seeing what all you guys come up with and I hope I can do your requests justice!
Summary: Emily finds out you’ve been keeping a secret from her and rectifies the situation.
Word count: 3.3k
Tags: bau!reader, established relationship, season 5/6ish Emily, JJ and Garcia non sexual appearance.
A/N: I’m not gonna lie this is gratuitous as hell.
Inspired by *some* true events. Enjoy!
Warnings: PWP, slight degradation, mommy kink, fingering (r receiving), cunnilingus (r receiving), facesitting, mutual masturbation, top!Emily, bottom!reader, multiple orgasms, MDNI, 18+, Men (why would you even be here).
You hadn’t had a proper girls night in weeks. From cases bringing the team to California to Wyoming to Florida, anywhere except home. You were all exhausted and in need of some relaxation. Penelope was usually the one to host but Emily insisted that you christen the new place. It had been almost a year of you and Emily being together. Two months of you both living together. At first you thought it would change the dynamic of the team. That Derek would start to be weird around you now that he couldn’t openly flirt, that Spencer wouldn’t know how to register it in his big beautiful brain, that Hotch would purposefully and constantly separate the two of you. To your surprise no one cared. Just like Emily knew they wouldn’t.
“What do you think we’re the first two agents to ever date?” You remembered her saying this to you over your lunch hour downtown. While you were both still figuring out what things were between the two of you.
When you filed the paperwork with Strauss and Hotch you thought for sure it would ruin the team. That in a couple of months you’d have to switch departments. It all stayed the same. Except of course for some minor teasing. Derek couldn’t help himself when he saw the both of you come into the office together now every morning. Dubbing you and Emily as The Lovebirds.
Girls nights were no different. You, JJ, Penelope, and Emily would get together and share bottles of wine, food, gossip, and laughter. Tonight however, Penelope begged to play a few rounds of never have I ever.
“Okay okay okay guys let me go first,” Penelope waved her arms around the room to shush the groans of protest both JJ and Emily gave her.
“Never have I ever gotten a drunken tattoo,” Penelope excitedly put a finger down.
“Isn’t the point of this game to have as many fingers up as possible?” JJ asked with all ten fingers in the air.
“The point of this game is to bond. Don’t you want to know how and why and where I got this tattoo?” Penelope quipped.
“Pen, I know everything about you. If we bond any further we’re going to fuse together,” JJ replied.
“Fine then Jennifer, since we’re so close why don’t you go,” Penelope faked annoyance.
“Ladies, ladies come on please no fighting tonight,” Emily started, “I’ll go. I have a good one,”
You laughed to yourself watching JJ and Penelope taunt one another like sisters. Emily looked over at you before she took her turn.
“Never have I ever had sex at work,” Emily put a finger down and nudged your side for you to follow suit.
“No!” Penelope drew out the word. You rolled your eyes.
“I thought we said we wouldn’t tell anyone about that!” You covered your face in embarrassment.
“When did this even happen? Where? Is the better question actually. Start there, where?” JJ questioned both of you.
“it was when we first started dating. In the filing room,” you couldn’t get yourself to look at Emily but you could feel the smile radiating off of her.
“How- guys, come on ew! It’s so dusty in there,” Penelope faked disgust.
“Trust me Penelope we were not worried about dust,” Emily beamed.
“JJ, come on, it’s your turn,” you desperately wanted to move on to something more tame.
“Ok. Oh!! Never have I ever faked an orgasm,” JJ pointedly kept her hands raised without a finger down. Both you and Penelope put a finger down.
“You guys are such liars. Never?” You asked.
“I don’t have the time to fake it, you’re either doing the job or you’re not,” JJ said nonchalantly.
“Wow I wish I had your confidence in my early twenties, I thought orgasms were a myth until I was 26,” Penelope joked. You, JJ, and Emily, all laughed with Penelope who turned to you.
“I can’t imagine you not being up front about anything,”
“I get nervous sometimes. Like if I’m taking longer than I expect to, or if I’m tired,”
“Honey, you’re speaking in present tense,” Emily chuckled.
You look away from Emily. Not wanting to embarrass her in front of your friends and coworkers. Penelope picks up her glass of wine from the coffee table averting her eyes to take a long sip. There’s a stretch of silence that you all uncomfortably sit in until you try to muster up the words.
“I-“ you don’t know what to say to Emily, how to calm the storm that you’re sure has already started within her.
“When?” She asks fully turning her back on the company you presently have in your house.
“Em…” you motion with your eyes that you still do in fact have company over.
“Last night?” She asks in shock.
“Emily…” you plead.
“This morning????” Her voice raises by an octave or two.
“Emily!” You groan closing your eyes and rubbing at your temples to lessen the mortification.
JJ tries to jump in, changing the topic, “I absolutely love this rug! Where did you guys get it again?”
Penelope rests her free hand on JJ’s shoulder, “this night just got so much more interesting, please do not ruin it with interior design questions,”
You break eye contact for a moment from the scorching brown looking back at you.
“Anyone want more wine?” you ask meekly.
Penelope and JJ look between themselves and you and Emily. Before they can reply you’re already up on your feet and to the kitchen. Before you can return you hear JJ’s voice politely make an excuse to leave. Something about it getting late and getting back to the boys. JJ who has to practically drag Penelope out, waves goodbye to you as she mouths sorry as she passes the kitchen to the front door.
You pull a glass down from the cabinet and grab some water from the sink. Wanting to extinguish the growing fire of embarrassment inside of you as you see Emily picking up empty glasses and dirty plates to bring them over to the kitchen.
“My angel…” she hugs you from behind after she sets whatever she has down in her hands.
“Why didn’t you just tell me?” She asks. You turn to face her and you can’t help the pit of anxiety that’s started to form in your stomach.
“I’m sorry Em… I just.. I didn’t want… I don’t know. I thought everyone faked it sometimes,” you couldn’t make eye contact with her. She was holding your face in her hands, caressing the sides of your cheeks.
“Sometimes?” Emily asked hopefully.
“Most times,” you conceded. She kissed the top of your forehead before she started to kneel in front of you.
“Em? What are you doing?” You asked as she rubbed the sides of your thighs up and down. She leaned forward off of her heels to unbutton the jeans you were wearing.
“I’m going to take my time. And make you cum as many times as I can,” she kissed just below your belly button and you could feel the prickle of goosebumps starting to form.
“Emily, come on, it’s okay really, I take way too long, it’s not you,” you lean down slightly trying to get her to get up.
“Baby, I don’t care if I have to go down on you for two hours, I want you to feel good, and I want you to be able to tell me that you do, I should know your body,” she pins your arms to your sides and all you can do is gulp at the thought of her head between your thighs for as long as you’d like.
“Let me make up for all the other times my love, please,” the tone of her voice sends you into a spiral. Emily pouts as she looks up at you and you almost lose it. With your hands caressing her face, petting her hair, you nod imperceptibly and she’s slowly dragging the denim down your legs. leaving kisses in the wake of exposed skin. Your fingers clutch onto the counter behind you as you close your eyes and let yourself get lost in the sensation of the intimacy with Emily. When she sees the small damp spot in your underwear she groans into your clothed pussy. You let out a soft moan and she looks up at you with those beautiful long lashes that frame her doe eyes.
“Baby,” Emily’s voice is breathy, and she can’t stop herself from touching you, rubbing the backs of your calves and running her hands up to your thighs. You lick your lips and anticipation but suddenly she’s up on her feet again, kissing you.
“Let’s go to our room Angel, I want you to be comfortable,” she says against your lips. She takes your hands and pulls you down the hallway. She kisses you against the wall of the room, her hands sliding beneath your thin t-shirt, “is this what you want?” Your breath hitches as her fingers trace the underside of your bare chest. You go to nod your head and her other hand tangles in your hair pulling your head back as she leaves a trail of kisses up and down your neck. “Tonight. You’re going to use your words baby. So I know exactly what you want.”
You can only muster up a weak “ok,”
“Then answer me. Say, ‘Yes Mommy, this is what I want,’” her hand dips below your underwear. Staying above where you desperately want her. You repeat the words back to her and she moves her fingers to collect your wetness. She starts to play with your pussy.
“You’re dripping my love,” she laughs into the crook of your neck and you feel yourself tighten around nothing, “I’m going to make you cum on my fingers first, and then my mouth, and then I want to watch you cum on your fingers. Okay?” You can feel yourself get wetter as she talks to you. You know she can feel it too because she picks up the speed on your clit making you moan out. You shake your head yes as you say “okay,”
“And you better not fucking fake it,” she kisses you deeply as she finally plunges her pointer and middle finger into you. Your body arches off the wall as your head is thrown back. You’re practically riding Emily’s fingers as she raises your shirt over your tits to take a nipple in her mouth.
“Fuckk, Em, I’m close,” you can feel a knot building in the pit of your stomach as she pumps her fingers in and out of you. You’re close to climax when she pulls her fingers out. You open your eyes to a smug Emily sucking your juices off her fingers. Your eyebrows furrow when you’re about to ask her why she stopped, she takes your shirt fully off and turns you around so you’re facing the wall before you can even get the words out.
“I’m sorry baby, I know you were close. I have to make you work for it a little bit, spread your legs for me my love,” she taps on either side of your thighs to get your legs open. Her fingers dip from your opening to your clit as she kisses your left shoulder blade. She slides back with ease and you let yourself fall against the wall a bit. Emily finds the perfect rhythm and you can hear your wetness echoing in the room between both of your grunts. She leans over you to take one of your boobs in her free hand and she toys with your nipple. Emily’s fingers start moving slower but harder and your eyes roll to the back of your head as you chant, “fuck, fuck, fuck,” she slams her perfect slender fingers into you again and again.
“Let me hear you baby, does that feel good?” She checks in which only makes your pussy wetter.
You let out a shaky reply, “fuck, yes, Em, I’m going to cum,”
Emily pounds into you, “you better. I want you to make a mess on my fingers baby. Go ahead, take your time angel, cum when you’re ready,” she squeezes your nipple and you can feel your orgasm hurdling towards you. You push back on her fingers and hear the lewd noises your pussy makes every time she pushes deeper into you. Emily leans down to bite your shoulder and you see stars with how hard you come on her fingers.
“I’m cumming, em, fuck, I’m cumming,” she slows her movements letting you ride out the wave of your orgasm. Your body jerks when she fully pulls her fingers out. You turn yourself around shakily,
“Mmm that was perfect,” you lean against the wall boneless as Emily towers over you with one hand supporting her, her other hands comes up to her mouth, you see her two fingers covered in a milky sheen before she pulls them between her perfect lips. She closes her eyes as to savor the taste and you feel a warmth growing low in your belly. You bite your lip to hold back a moan that still somehow escapes. Emily’s fingers leave her mouth and she licks her lips, she leans in closer to you, “get on the bed. Now.” You do as you’re told and sit perched on the bed as you watch Emily saunter over to you taking off items of clothing one by one. Yours eyes don’t know where to focus when her bra comes off revealing her perfect tits. The long expanse of her toned thighs makes your mouth water. When she finally gets to the bed she’s naked and you’re wetter than you were before. She’s on top of you in an instant kissing you slowly as you trace your fingers tips against her back, dipping down just above her back dimples. She pulls you closer by guiding your legs on either side of her waist and you whimper against her mouth. You take a fingers and trace up and down her spine, feeling each vertebrae. You know the sensation drives her crazy and it does. She repositions both of you so that you’re now on top of her. Grinding against her, you hear her moan between kisses, her tongue entering your mouth slowly. You let yourself melt into her touch, into her mouth into the moment. She takes your bottom lip between her teeth and yanks, causing you to grind harder into her.
“Sit on my face” Emily sounds desperate for you to follow her instructions. You follow them without hesitation. You move above Emily, trying to find the perfect position as you feel her hands forcibly yank at your hips. “Sit baby,” you feel your stomach tighten at the possessiveness. You hold onto the headboard as you feel Emily’s tongue flat against your opening, making its way to your clit as she moans into you. You let out a low moan yourself as you lightly rock your hips against her mouth. “Fuck baby, go ahead ride my face, use me,” she says with her mouth full. You can feel yourself practically dripping onto her chin. Emily sticks out her tongue as you rock your hips back and forth. You drop a hand down to find the top of her head. Her perfect silky hair between your fist as you literally fuck yourself against her mouth. Emily places a hand over one of your boobs finding your nipple and pinching as she begins to rub her nose against your clit, making your hips falter in movement as you get closer to your second orgasm of the night.
“Emily- fuck,” you screw your eyes shut as she repositions her hands on either side of your hips to move you up and down so her tongue can enter your dripping opening. You hear a muffled “mmm,” the vibration bringing you over the edge. Your hips jerk before you dismount from Emily’s face.
You lay on your back with a smile plastered on your face. Emily who’s looking up at you with nothing but love in her eyes, sits up slightly, “you okay?” She asks.
“Yes, baby, I’m perfect. I believe I owe you one more orgasm, don’t I?” You ask innocently as your hands wander your own body. You smile at an idea that comes to you. “Can I ask you…” you look over to Emily. She’s on her side closer to you so that she’s looking down into your eyes, tracing patterns into your bare shoulder.
“Yes angel, anything you want,” her voice is above a whisper.
“Can you to touch yourself while I touch myself,” you pull the corner of your lip into your mouth as the request comes out.
“I didn’t think I’d be able to stop myself while I watched you,” Emily leans down to kiss you.
You move yourself against the headboard as she sits opposite you, propped up on an elbow. She licks her bottom lip as she watches you move your fingers to your mouth coating them before they move to your clit in slow and precise circles.
“Fuckk look at you. Playing with your perfect pussy for mommy?” Emily puts a hand between her thighs as she watches you fuck yourself. When you see her middle and ring fingers plunge into her opening you moan as you begin to rub your clit a bit faster. You bring your free hand up to fondle your tit.
“Yes, mommy fuck,” you keep your eyes locked on your girlfriend’s fingers disappearing inside of her, listening to her squelching pussy as you start for your entrance.
“I want to see you come on your fingers for me,” her eyes flutter close for a second as she curls her fingers, finding the perfect spot. You nod with your mouth agape a croaked moan escaping. You can’t believe your eyes, looking over at a naked Emily Prentiss splayed out on your bed knuckles deep in her pussy. you feel yourself flutter around your fingers at the thought of cumming at the same times as her.
“Mommy I’m so close,” you can barely get the words out as you work yourself towards bliss, “come with me? Please?”
Emily breathing is ragged as she nods her head furiously, relentlessly pounding into herself as you watch her bring her fingers almost completely out and plunging back in. “Mhm, yes, fuckkk,” she lets her elbow rest, laying completely on her back with her legs wide as you watch her with heavy eyes. Your fingertips touch the ridges of your g-spot bringing you closer to your third and final orgasm. Looking over you see Emily’s thighs begin to shake.
“Baby, I’m going to cum, cum with me,” she says breathlessly.
Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you feel your stomach drop like you’re on a rollercoaster.
“I’m cumming, fuck, fuck,” you slow your movements as Emily comes at the same time. You feel your orgasm move through the tips of your toes to the top of your head. You pull your fingers out and crawl over to Emily who pulls you into her side bonelessly.
“That was..” Emily starts to say but you finish for her, “fucking amazing,”
“See what can happen when you’re open and honest with me?” She chuckles, ushering for you to rest your head against her chest.
“If this was the consequence of my actions maybe I should keep it up,” you joke.
“If you think you weren’t cumming before, wait until I edge you for months on end,” she rebuts.
“You don’t have it in you,” you challenge looking up at her.
“Want to find out?” She looks down at you with an eyebrow raised.
Warning(s): smut, face sitting, cunnilingus, age gap, brief obsessive ideologies, topics of financial instability
Now Playing: WAP (Feat. Megan Thee Stallion)
It started like a normal date night: wine—the expensive kind—and seemingly never-ending conversations about your personal lives. Normal. The only thing out of the ordinary was the relationship you shared. Unethical, some might say. Convenient, you and Emily would argue.
The steak you ordered was delicious. Not $70 delicious, but delicious nonetheless. Almost as much as the woman sitting across from you, salt and pepper curls sitting below her neckline and makeup done flawlessly, dressed so nicely it's almost surprising what she does for work. FBI, Emily once told you over the phone before meeting in person.
You're quick to notice the bags under her eyes, signifying her exhaustion. Long weeks full of death and stress do that to a person. Or it could be age, which she wears elegantly.
But now, that didn't matter. What mattered to both of you was the company you kept. No more lonely nights, restless sleep, empty pantries, silence unbroken. No more of that.
Just smooth sailing.
After the plates of too-expensive food are taken and Emily waits for the bill, you continue to talk. The conversation carries on for what feels like hours—words flowing together delightfully, making you wish you'd met this woman earlier than you had.
All you wanted to do all night was keep talking with Emily—to learn about her. Her favorite color, where she grew up, her favorite ice cream flavor, her—
"Alright, ladies, before I hand over the bill, are we ordering any dessert?" The waiter says with a kind and innocent smile. Emily looks at you for a moment, the sparkle in her eye silently telling a story that has you adjusting in your seat.
Emily shakes her head, her expression purposefully unreadable. "Not tonight," she looks at you from across the table again, "I have something very sweet waiting at home for me."
Emily pays; however, each word hangs in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning, leaving a bittersweet ache in the following silence.
── .✦
"Fuuuck, holy shit!" a moan rips through your throat, loud enough to embarrass you if not for the arousal pumping in your bloodstream. The same arousal that makes equally disgusting sounds while being slurped up by the woman below you.
The whole act is intoxicating. Never before have you met a woman who made you scream this loud, who made you infatuated with her the second you met, who wanted to please you as much as you wanted to please her.
"Shit, ride my nose like that, baby," your hips circle around the tip of it, cutting off her air supply. Clearly, she could care less. "Yeahhh, just like that...good girl." Emily's tongue slides in and out of you, moans of her own following.
"Oh god, Emily, I'm gonna come!" Your hips grind down and buck into Emily's face, earning you a dark chuckle and a suck on your clit that makes you gasp louder. Her hands guide your hips over her face, nose hitting the same spot deliciously.
Between the grinding and pressure, you come undone on Emily's face, soaking her skin with your juices and tainting her for anyone else. Both of you gasp and moan in unison, and your knees nearly give out. Thankfully, the latch between your thighs is broken, and you crash onto the mattress face-first.
Despite your shared exhaustion, the question hangs in the air, warm and as sticky as your thighs and Emily's face. She looks at you with that same dangerous smirk.
summary: having your boss, emily prentiss, almost see you naked was the worst of it right? wrong, for the profiler in her made you admit words you’d never thought you’d say. / where the reader unintentionally confesses to emily
content warnings: body dysmorphia, sh scars, panic attack, anxiety, no use of y/n
word count: 6k
//
you couldn’t breathe. you hate your body. it won’t ever change.
the mirror has never been kind to you, much less the current one in the hotel bathroom with shitty lighting. poking and prodding and watching your skin deform instead of getting in the shower. the figure- your figure- the flab hanging off and oh god, it feels like an icy tentacle writhing into your chest and squeezing around your heart. you just wanted to smash the stupid mirror.
the case had been horrible, and you didn’t even know where to start. it had been horrific, flaring up memories you had deliberately forgotten, and did you already mention triggering? during times like these, flashbacks of just the sheer iniquity and immorality of the perpetrator curdle the blood running in your veins. to share the same genetic structure as something that rots the very idea of humanity, that becomes a writhing thing filled with vice, a vengeful devil or sin given shape?
to make matters worse, you hadn’t even caught the guy. you were going home whether you liked it or not. decidedly not because the unsub was still out there. you were here. stuck in this stupidly small hotel room whose walls felt increasingly like they were closing in on you. heightening your sense of claustrophobia.
your jaw ached, you’d been clenching it so long you hadn’t noticed. the bathroom was quiet, time having lost its concept. how long had you been staring into the hollow figure in the mirror? with a litany of scars mapped across, disfiguring your skin. some self inflicted.
you were on the verge of a panic attack. it was obvious now. you had been, the entire day. maybe that was why you were so stupid to leave the door unlocked.
and that was how emily prentiss, your boss, who you were sharing a room with caught you in the bathroom. naked in front of the shower, quickly raising the towel trying to hide your body, the scars on your skin, and just everything.
this definitely wasn’t helping your panic either.
fuck.
the panic begins to wrap its arms around you like a shadow. every thought dissolving before it could form, nothing holding still long enough to be coherent. the kind of drowning where you forget how to breathe. cold creeping up on you as little shivers wrack your body, clutching onto the towel haphazardly wrapped around you like a lifeline.
a beat passed.
“h-hi em?”
you could hear your own heart pounding in your ears. emily's voice softens, her eyes glancing away for a second, respecting your space, not pushing. she kept her tone steady but gentle.
"hey... it's okay. i'm just grabbing my toothbrush." she nods toward the door like she might leave if you wanted her to. "cold in here, huh? you need anything?"
surprisingly, there were no demands. no lingering on the scars or the towel clutched too tight. she’s behaving… well surprisingly regular, the sense of normalcy slowly grounding you back to earth if not for what looks like a foolish situation. embarrassing too, what would she think of your naked body?
“n-no, could you please knock next time?”
"of course. sorry." it's a sincere apology, not defensive in any way, just an acknowledgement of your request. with that, she grabbed her toothbrush, gave you a respectful nod, and started to head out.
again, you notice that even her eyes never linger. they meet yours, and then look away, giving you space. a small gesture that says a lot.
what does she think of you now? is she disgusted by how your near naked anatomy looks. or, would she ever like it? the thought creeps in silently, an imposter to the self consciousness burning brightly. embarrassingly red, like poppies in the springtime.
you’re conscious as emily pauses at the doorway, her grip tightening slightly on the doorknob. she doesn’t turn back, still giving you space, but her voice is firm.
"hey."
there’s a beat of silence.
"you're not getting out of this case that easy. i need you sharp tomorrow."
there’s no pity in it, just a demand from your superior. but there's something underneath too, an unspoken "i'm not letting go until i know you're okay."
it’s nice to know she cares. congratulations, you’re not a failure with no one to love you after all. you give her an easy grin, the smile not reaching your eyes.
“yeah, i’m never escaping your evil clutches prentiss.” bau for life, apparently. you either work long enough to retire or die in action. maybe you should’ve gone for an easier department.
an unexpected laugh slips through her professional exterior and the corner of her mouth twitches.
"damn right, you're not. and you're stuck with me." she glances back one more time, this time with the hint of a smirk before fully disappearing, shutting the door behind her.
you flush slightly, was it wrong to think of how absurdly hot she just was?
you don’t get in the shower for another few minutes. you aren’t sure why. it felt a little different now, though you couldn't name why. maybe all you needed to get out of the cycle of self loathing was a dose of emily prentiss. a familiar cure-all.
eventually, you stepped in, letting the warm water trickle around you. comfort seeping into your bones, the exhaustion of the day- all the stress and panic drifting away at the shore.
/
meanwhile, emily continues with her nighttime routine, changing into her sleepwear, the whole time trying to push away her concern for you. she knows you need your space, and she's been here long enough to know pushing before you're ready is... counterproductive.
she settles cross-legged on the bed, reading through some case files but her mind isn't there, not completely. her gaze drifts to the closed bathroom door now and then.
you finish showering and emerge in pyjamas, a long sleeve top and pants. she knows now, why you always wear long sleeves even in the sweltering heat of summer. to cover up the scars.
emily looks up as you exit, her gaze flickering over you, noting the choice of long sleeves but there’s no judgement, just observation. her fingers skim idly over the pages of her case file, the words blending together.
her voice, when she speaks, is gentle, but not coddling. she knows you're not one for pity. never one for pity.
"feeling better?"
“yeah.”
emily nods at that, the worry still etched in her eyes but hidden well underneath her professional facade.
"good." she sets the file aside, leaning back on the bed, arms crossed. there's a pause, a moment where she seems torn, like she's debating saying something else. you know the look, that calculated silence where she's weighing her words.
you finish drying your hair and get onto your side of the bed. emily watches as you settle into your side of the bed, her gaze flickering over you again for a moment. it's subtle, but she's studying your movements, your expression, checking in without making it obvious, like she always does. it's her way of caring, her way of being protective without overstepping.
she picks up the case file again, skimming over the pages, even though her attention isn't really there. a few moments of silence pass before she speaks again, voice low.
"you know, if you need to talk…”
“emily. i'm fine” you gave her a short and curt response.
emily glances up, eyes locking with yours, her expression a mixture of disbelief and a hint of frustration behind it.
"bullshit," she mutters, the curse more a sigh than an actual expletive. "you're not fine. don't feed me that crap."
she sets the file aside, focusing all her attention on you, leaning forward, the concern in her eyes unmistakable.
"i know how you are. i know your body language. hell, i know you."
guess who decided to play profiler after hours? apparently your favourite boss.
“just stressed about the case that's all.”
emily studies your facade, the slight tightening of her jaw the only indication of her internal debate. she's clearly torn between respect for your boundaries and her instinct to push until you drop the act. the latter wins in the end. she sighs, moving closer, sitting closer to you.
"you're a bad liar. always have been."
totally not true. you just happen to be placed in the midst of top profilers who can smell the hint of a lie a mile away. ravenous hounds chasing after meat. she crosses her arms again, a habit when she's thinking, a physical barrier.
"stressed my ass. something more's going on."
you sigh, “i hate profilers.”
the irony of you being one. still, it isn’t a pleasant experience being on the receiving end of the interview.
that gets a huff from emily, somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. she's not surprised by your reaction, she knows you hate being read, being scrutinized. it's the same way she is.
but right now, she's the profiler, and she's profiling the hell out of you. she shifts closer, not invading your space, but definitely narrowing the gap between you two.
"tough. i'm too goddamn good at my job to not notice when one of my best agents is struggling."
you looked up at her with a little surprise, no longer avoiding her gaze, “i'm your best?”
emily smirks at that, the corner of her mouth turning up in a half-smile. she raises an eyebrow, a mix of sarcasm and seriousness in her tone.
"damn right you are."
she doesn't hesitate, not when her confidence in your skills is unyielding, unshakeable.
"you've always been a natural. sharp as a goddamn knife and smart enough to give me a run for my money."
emily's smirk fades slightly as she studies your silence. she tilts her head, a flicker of something unreadable in her expression. maybe frustration, maybe concern.
"hey." her voice is firm but not sharp. "don't do that thing where you shut down on me. if i crossed a line, say it."
she leans back just enough to give you space but keeps her gaze locked on yours, challenging without being aggressive. the line was crossed ages ago, back when she nearly saw you naked in the bathroom. still you say nothing, do nothing. for this is emily we’re talking about. sweet angel emily, the one who always looks out for you. she could order you to jump and you'd do so in a heartbeat.
you sigh softly and reassure her, “you didn't, you could never emily.”
emily exhales through her nose, part frustration, part something softer. she rubs a hand over her face before dropping it to the mattress between you. she recognises that tone.
"i don't want to be your superior right now." her voice is low, edged with an intensity that isn't quite anger. "not when you're sitting there looking at me like i just kicked your puppy."
a beat of silence stretches as she searches for the right words, then: "just tell me what's wrong. for real this time."
you look at her with a little surprise. honesty, is such a simple yet precious thing. emily holds your gaze, her expression open and sincere. she's dropped all pretense now, no more boss, no more agent prentiss. it's just her, looking at you with oceans of concern that can't be hidden.
her hand twitches near yours on the bed but she doesn't quite reach out. letting you decide how close you want her right now.
"please." the simple word hangs heavily between you, pleading and firm all at once. she wants to help.
you pause, and tease lightly “is that begging i hear?”
emily rolls her eyes almost instinctively at the teasing, but there's no heat behind it. she knows what you're doing. trying to divert, to deflect. she sees right through it.
"oh please." she scoffs, leaning closer with an eyebrow raised in challenge. "we both know i don't beg."
“i don't either”
unless she really wanted you to. but you were too prideful to ever tell her that.
emily laughs softly at that, the tension in her shoulders loosening somewhat. the sound is warm, almost amused.
"touché."
she shifts her position, drawing one leg up onto the bed, facing you fully now, knees almost brushing against yours.
"stubborn, the both of us." she says in a tone that's almost affectionate.
“cheers.”
emily's smirk deepens, the ghost of a real smile tugging at her lips. picks up her bottle by the bed.
"to stubbornness." her voice is dry as she raises the water bottle higher in salute. "may it never stop keeping us alive."
a beat passes before she adds, quieter: "...or get you killed first."
it's a joke, obviously, but the undercurrent of concern is there. she knows you too well not to worry. her gaze flicks over your face once more before her expression softens again.
"speaking of..." she hesitates, weighing her words like she does when she's treading on thin ice.
you don’t like where this is going.
“no thank you?” trying to cut the conversation short.
emily rolls her eyes again, but this time they're fond, almost affectionate. her hand finding yours under the covers and giving it a brief squeeze. her touch lingers just for a moment, the warmth of it seeping into your skin before she slowly pulls back. you can still feel the phantom of the touch, the loss of her warmth nearly affecting you.
"happy now?"
“i- what was that for?”
emily's gaze narrows slightly, just for a second, as if she's debating whether to pull away or double down. she settles on the latter.
"for this," she mutters, her voice rough but not angry. her thumb brushes over your knuckles in an unconscious gesture of reassurance. "because you keep pretending you're fine when i can see right through it."
a pause, and then quieter: "...and because i don't like seeing you hurt."
you hum.
emily doesn't miss the noncommittal sound you make, the slight twitch of your fingers under hers. it's another sign, a hint that you're not as okay as you'd like to pretend to be.
"don't hm me," she says gruffly, shaking her head. "you're not doing a very good job convincing me that you're fine."
her grip tightens almost involuntarily around your hand again.
“what should i do then?”
how could you lie to her better? how can she teach you what to do, what to say, to finally ease her worries and concerns?
emily exhales through her nose, a mix of frustration and something softer. she shifts closer, deliberate, not intrusive.
"tell me the truth." her voice is low, steady. "not your case file version. not the 'fine' you keep throwing at me like a shield."
her thumb traces idle circles over your knuckles, grounding without demanding. "you don't have to fix it tonight. just say it out loud so i know where to start."
“i-”
emily reads your hesitation like a book. she gives your hand another squeeze, encouraging nonverbal support. her thumb continues its idle rhythm, the motion almost soothing. she doesn't push, doesn't force. just gives you the space to gather your thoughts while letting you know she's there.
"i'm listening," she offers gently. "take your time."
you get lost in her eyes for a moment. the rich chocolatey ocean tempting you into getting lost. she could be a siren and you’d jump straight into her lure. you relent.
“'s really just the case em. it's stressful. think i was on the verge of a panic attack today then i'm overstimulated in this claustrophobic room sharing a bed with you and- you saw me naked and- “
as you start to speak, emily listens intently, her grip on your hand tightening just marginally at your words. her expression is focused, taking everything in with the practiced attention of a profiler. she catches the edge of panic in your voice, the slight trembling you're probably trying to hide. it sets off an alarm bell her head and her heart but she pushes that aside for now, letting you finish.
when you mention the bathroom incident, her brow creases slightly.
it clicks. the picture starts to form in her head. the case, the stress, the panic attack, the overstimulation...
her eyes flicker over your face, not pitying, but understanding. she may not know the details, but she knows the feeling. her hand tightens around yours again, steadying.
"hey, hey. breathe." her voice, though quiet, is firmer than before.
she shifts even closer, until there's hardly any gap between you on the bed. "focus on me."
you try to breathe and look away from her in a slight panic “c-close.”
emily notices the way you avoid her gaze, the way you look away. she knows avoidance intimately. it's a familiar pattern.
at your words, she moves even closer, until her knee brushes yours under the covers. her body is angled towards you, a solid presence in the space between. her hand remains holding yours, grounding without overwhelming.
"close your eyes." her voice is steady, quiet but commanding.
you panic. she’s not making it better. in fact, “em-”
emily feels the tension in your body, sees the panic flashing across your face. her grip on you tightens not to restrain, but to anchor.
"breathe," she orders again, her voice low and firm. "just breathe with me."
she exaggerates her own inhale through her nose, deep and slow, then exhales through pursed lips. reminds you of a yoga instructor guiding your breathing. her free hand lifts slightly toward you as if considering touching a shoulder or arm for grounding but hesitates at the last second.
you take a deep breath, mimicking the one she showed you.
emily watches the rise and fall of your chest, a silent marker of your breathing. it's steadier now, not perfect, but better than moments before.
she matches your pace, slowing her breathing to match your inhalations and exhalations. her hand on yours, still holding, is warm. a counterpoint to the cold, sterile hotel room.
"there you go." her voice is still low, quiet encouragement. "just like that. keep breathing."
“i- emily..”
no. she doesn’t get it. that’s not what you wanted. why is she always so kind to you? her proximity is only going to make things worse-
emily feels the hitch in your breath, sees the way you tense. her grip on your hand loosens slightly- not retreating, but adjusting to give you space while still keeping contact.
"hey." her voice drops lower now, calm but with intent. "i'm right here. not going anywhere."
she shifts her weight forward just enough to nudge her knee against yours under the covers, a small pressure point of grounding without overwhelming touch. you sigh in surrender.
“that's kinda the problem. i'm still mortified you saw me naked by the way and-”
emily doesn’t flinch. instead, she leans in slightly- deliberate and unapologetic.
"good." her voice is rough but not cruel. "you should be. i saw the scars."
a pause as her eyes lock onto yours, there’s no pity, just stark honesty. "the ones you keep hiding under sleeves and layers like they're something to be ashamed of."
“y-you're a little too close”
there it is again- the denial and avoidance.
this time, she doesn't move back and holds her ground. her knee is still touching yours under the covers, becoming a steady point of contact that grounds you in the present.
"i've been closer." she says this with a hint of that familiar smirk but her eyes don't leave yours. "we've shared a bed before."
“you-”
emily feels the hitch in your breath, sees the way you stiffen. she doesn't back off, doesn't retreat.
"you what?" her voice is quiet but unyielding, her gaze steady on yours. "finish that sentence."
she shifts closer again. not enough to crowd you, but just enough to make it clear she's not letting this go either. her fingers flex around yours under the covers.
“you’re not helping.”
you blurt out quickly
“me get over a tiny crush on you”
that came out wrong. like a word vomit. and you certainly had no plans to ever voice that out to her, or anyone for the matter. but it’s too late.
the confession hangs in the air. time seems to slow down as emily processes what you just said. she goes still, her hand gripping yours beneath the covers not quite frozen, but taken off guard.
her eyes are unreadable for a moment. she doesn't speak, taking a second to gather her own thoughts. finally, she exhales and her expression softens almost imperceptibly.
"of all the times you could've told me, you chose now…?" she asks, not angry, just a mixture of disbelief and... something else.
“you were- you are overwhelming me”
not the fact that you couldn’t keep your infatuation hidden anymore. building up like waves crashing over your grave. emily blinks. the bluntness of your words takes her off guard for a moment, but she recovers quickly. her hand on yours squeezes gently, a small gesture of understanding.
"right." she exhales again, the breath almost like a chuckle, though it lacks humor. she studies you, eyes roaming over your face like the profiler she is.
"well. that explains… a lot, actually."
what?
emily's gaze doesn't waver. she tilts her head slightly, a small smirk tugging at her lips.
"the way you act around me. the way you're trying so damn hard to get away right now... you're not just uncomfortable because i saw you naked."
there’s a pause as her eyes take in your expression, the slight shift in your breathing while she connects the dots.
"it's because you have a crush on me."
“i- give me some space please em?”
it’s overwhelming. you can’t do this. how could someone so cowardly every confess their feelings to their crush, their boss, no less? and now that she’s aware, what would she think of you?
emily hesitates, her grip on your hand tightening reflexively for a second. she's torn for a moment, a war going on in her mind between respect for your request and her own desire to keep the contact but she knows better than to force that on you right now.
"yeah. okay."
she lets go of your hand reluctantly and shifts back, putting a few more inches between you on the bed. emily sees the way you eye her warily, knows you're watching her movements like a scared animal. it's a familiar sight. you're trying to put up walls again, trying to hide.
she settles herself against the headboard, not crossing her arms but instead keeping an open and unthreatening body language. for a moment, she just watches you, eyes taking in your expression, your body language, every detail.
"i'm not gonna bite you, you know." she deadpans.
you bite back “we’re sharing a bed.”
a hint of that familiar smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth, but her eyes remain focused on you.
"yeah, we are." she says this almost casually, like she's commenting on the weather, not on the fact that you're both lying barely a foot apart in the same bed.
another pause as she considers her next words. "is that bothering you?"
“i- guess it's not helping my situation?”
emily snorts quietly at that, her smirk deepening a fraction. she can imagine your internal struggle, trying to deal with a crush on your boss while also trying to avoid an anxious spiral, all while lying inches apart in a bed that's too small.
"fair." she remarks dryly, folding her legs, one knee slightly bent. her eyes skim over you briefly, taking in the tension in your shoulders, the slight tremble in your hands.
"you're shivering." it's a simple fact, said so matter-of-fact that it has no emotional charge to it. she doesn't reach out to touch you, but the concern is there in her eyes, beneath the exterior of a professional.
she hesitates for a brief second, then: "come here."
“no.”
emily's mouth quirks slightly at your immediate refusal. she should've expected that. you're too stubborn for your own good. she rolls her eyes, almost fondly.
"come on, just get over here." her voice is a little sharper now, more commanding without being harsh. "you're cold and shaking. there's a simple solution to that."
it’s almost pathetic how weak you are to her commands, a dog on her leash.
you say uncertainly, “to turn up the thermostat?”
that is solving the situation at its roots and is clearly the optimal solution. but emily somehow huffs a laugh under her breath. you're being difficult on purpose, she knows that.
"or you could just let me warm you up." she replies, dryly. "it's an easier solution."
“you-you” stutter. you’re flustered, and well aware you’re not even hiding it anymore. how can she be so bold with the words she utter? does she not know she’s sending you into an existential crisis?
emily lets out another sigh, the sound almost fond in a way. you're just like a stubborn dog sometimes, cute, but also maddening. she keeps her expression steady, not quite amused but not entirely cold, just somewhere in-between.
"just scoot a little closer. i'm warmer than the thermostat." she pats the space beside her, the offer open. her voice is low, almost coaxing. "come. here."
you shift just the tiniest bit closer. you have always been weak to persuasion.
emily lets out a quiet, amused breath. she's not surprised you only moved an inch. you're still resisting, but at least you're not full-on bolting anymore.
"there we go," she murmurs approvingly as her arm shifts slightly to leave room for you between the sheets. "not so hard, is it?"
you nearly preen at the praise.
her body heat seeps into the space around her as she waits, not pushing further unless you do first.
you begin slowly “i'm not asking you to reply, gods, but um, what are your thoughts on the situation?”
emily tilts her head, considering your carefully-worded request. so you wanted her thoughts on this rather absurd situation, huh? she almost laughs, but manages to keep a straight face.
"my thoughts, huh?" she echoes, her lips twitching with the effort it takes to hold back a smirk. the urge to tease you is strong, powerful, but she pushes it down.
she takes a moment to choose her words. she knows you want honesty, and she's always prided herself on being truthful even if it hurts.
"well, first and foremost, i'm thinking you're being an idiot." she says it bluntly, not bothering to sugarcoat it. she's not great at sugarcoating anyway.
"you have this whole crush thing going on, and instead of telling me, you bury yourself in panic mode." she pauses, then "and you're shivering. like, you're shaking like a leaf. you know what that does to my protective instinct, right?"
you feel a curl of defensiveness rising “i-”
emily studies you for a long moment, her expression unreadable. then she lets out a slow breath, almost exasperated.
"you're impossible." the words are gruff but not unkind. her fingers flex against the sheets between you, like she's resisting the urge to reach out again.
she leans in just slightly, not enough to invade your space further, but enough that you can't miss it. "but if i say 'no' right now... will that actually make this easier for either of us?"
“y-yes?”
emily's eyes narrow slightly at your response. she can't tell if you're just being stubborn or genuinely afraid. knowing you, probably a little bit of both.
"i can tell you're lying." she counters, not accusing but not backing down either. "don't bullshit me, okay? we both know you'll keep up this stubborn denial for as long as you can. hell, you'll probably still try to run after i've told you this. but let's be clear about one thing."
emily exhales through her nose. part frustration, part something softer. she studies your face for a long moment before finally muttering,
"fuck it."
without warning, she closes the distance between you two and presses her forehead against yours. it's not quite a kiss, but close enough to make your breath hitch.
"there," she murmurs, "now we're both screwed."
you’re as red as a cherry, blood rushing through your cheeks. “you're supposed to say no or help me get over you, n-not-”
emily almost grins. you're adorable when you're stunned into silence, your brain going into overdrive just trying to process what's happening. it's kind of amusing. but right now, she's focused, intent.
"help you get over me?" she repeats, her breath brushing warm across your face. she's so close you can almost taste her, the familiar hint of coffee she drinks like it's water.
"what if i don't want to help you get over me?"
“em-”
emily ignores your half-strangled protest. she's not going to back off now. instead, her free hand shifts to rest against the side of your face. the touch surprisingly gentle, her thumb tracing lightly over your skin as if trying to memorize your features.
her eyes lock onto yours, intense, unflinching. her voice drops, low and smooth in that velvet tone you adore. it's almost a whisper, yet the sound reverberates between you like a gunshot.
"what if i want the opposite?"
you looks at her wide eyed,
“oh.”
emily's smirk deepens as she studies your wide-eyed expression. the air between you crackles with something unspoken- tense and electric.
"yeah. oh." she echoes, her voice rough at the edges. "that’s usually the reaction i get when i do this."
her thumb brushes over your lower lip just once, testing, before she pulls back slightly to watch how you unravel in real time.
“you're my boss-”
emily almost laughs, but she restrains herself just in time. the irony of your words isn't lost on her, she's your boss, you're scared, and you're sharing a bed. it's a recipe for disaster. and yet...
"i know." she says, her eyes not leaving yours. "that's exactly why you're trying so damn hard not to react, right? because i'm your boss."
emily feels the way you tense, sees the unspoken what now? in your frozen posture. she exhales through her nose, amused but not cruel.
"breathe," she reminds you, voice rough with something that isn't quite pity. "unless you want me to kiss that panic right out of your system?"
her thumb drags over your jaw again and there’s just a hint of pressure this time. a test.
“i-”
never in your wildest dreams would you even believe this was happening. emily prentiss, threatening to kiss you? yes please.
emily sees the panicked flash in your eyes, the way your mind struggles to catch up with the current situation. she almost takes pity on you, you look like a deer in headlights, frozen and wide-eyed.
"hey." she says your name, not sharp but firm. her hand moves to gently cup your jaw, keeping your gaze locked on hers. "just breathe. nothing's going to happen you don't want to happen."
you let out a breath, “okay.”
emily relaxes fractionally as you exhale, a shaky, ragged sound. you're still trying to process it, but at least you're not completely on the verge of hyperventilating.
"there." she comments approvingly, her fingers gently stroking over your jawline in a soothing gesture. "now you can form actual words. good girl."
her thumb brushes over your bottom lip again, not quite demanding yet, but close. "got anything else for me?"
“h-hi. you like me too?” you squeak out shyly.
that finally gets a quiet laugh from emily. the sound is both amused and fond, as if she's finally getting through to you.
"took you long enough." she mutters, almost teasing. her thumb still traces idle circles over your jaw, a soothing rhythm as she tilts her head to study your expression.
"but yes, i like you," she confirms, her voice low. "and that's a bit of a problem."
you nod in agreement, and it feels almost like an observer to this absurd play.
emily's eyes flick over your face, taking in your expression. you still look a little overwhelmed, but the panic's been replaced by something else. vulnerability, maybe. she sighs quietly, her thumb still tracing a slow path over your jaw in a silent assurance.
"it's a problem, because we're not supposed to be doing this," she comments, the edge of irritation clear in her voice. "you're my subordinate. and we work together. and we're currently in a hotel in the middle of god-knows-where in georgia, sharing a bed."
you nod “mhm.” a little too far gone and taken with her to fully process what she’s saying.
emily huffs a breath through her nose, the sound almost amused. you're still processing, she can see it in the way your eyes dart over her face like you're searching for confirmation.
"you don't have to look so shell-shocked," she mutters, though there's no real bite to it. "we've shared worse moments than this."
her hand shifts from your jaw to briefly ruffle your hair, a fleeting gesture of affection before she pulls back slightly.
“we have?”
emily pauses, her smirk fading slightly as she processes your reaction. she studies you for a moment, reading the surprise, maybe even disbelief in your expression.
"yeah." her voice is firm now. "like that time in chicago when i had to drag you out of a collapsing building. or when we got shot at during surveillance and i pulled you behind cover."
she leans closer again, not threateningly but pointedly. "we've risked our lives for each other before today. this isn't new territory for us."
“it's different. we're a team, we all risk our lives for each other.”
emily snorts quietly, a sound halfway between frustration and humor. you're not wrong, but her point still stands.
"i get that. hell, i'm the one preaching teamwork." she gives you a pointed look, a hint of a grin tugging at her lips. "but we both know there's a difference between risking your life for a teammate and what's happening right now."
you’ve had enough of this, feeling like the cpu of your brain has overheated and gone beyond overdrive. devoid of shame or embarrassment, you burrow yourself into her in an attempt to escape from this conversation. and not at all to enjoy her warmth or the feel of her against-
emily goes still at the unexpected movement, eyes widening for a moment before she slowly relaxes. she can't stop the way a huff of breath escapes her, something between a sigh and a laugh. it seems like she's finally gotten through to you.
"jesus. you're so stubborn." despite the complaint, there's a touch of fondness in her voice as she wraps her arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to her. she lets you bury yourself against her without protest.
“good night em”
emily's breath hitches at the sudden contact, her body stiffening for a split second before she melts into it. her arms wrap around you instinctively, pulling you tighter against her as if to make sure you can't escape.
"christ," she mutters under her breath, half exasperated, half something far warmer. "you're lucky i'm too tired to argue with this."
her chin drops onto your head lightly. the silence stretches between you two heavy but not uncomfortable anymore. she exhales slowly through her nose and finally settles in. this is something she’ll definitely make you settle in the morning.
for now, she places her palm on your back, gently splaying her palm across it to rub soothingly up and down before she speaks with an even softer voice.
“sleep tight.”
her name hanging from your lips like the gardens of babylon, a soft murmur before you drift off.
You get a little too comfortable and decide to be a brat. Emily knows just how to handle that, and it involves her office, your red ass, and torn panties between your pretty lips. | Based on my snapshot: "Punishing you in her office"
Mommy!Emily Prentiss x Bratty Fem Reader
content: mommy kink, spanks (mostly ass), slight exhibitionism, confusing mix of degradation and praise, panties as a gag | hello criminal minds fandom please be nice to me I come in peace I promise
18+, NSFW oneshot | 5.5k words
ao3
The good morning texts had started four months into your relationship.
She sent them whenever she left before you woke up, which was most mornings, because Emily Prentiss operated on a schedule that made normal people feel personally attacked. You'd rolled over one Tuesday to find your phone lit up on the nightstand: Good morning, darling. Sleep well. Don't forget to eat breakfast. Three sentences, punctuation perfect and correct.
You had, after some consideration, decided the good morning texts were your favorite thing. You'd never told her that. You weren't going to tell her that. But you'd saved every single one of them—a scroll of small good mornings going all the way back to the beginning, right there in your messages if you ever wanted to look.
You looked sometimes.
Today's had come in at 6:47 AM, the screen lighting up soft in the gray of the bedroom: Good morning, my darling. Early briefing—I'll be in the office before seven. Be good today.
A normal thing to say. A reasonable thing. Emily said it sometimes when she had reason to believe you might not be—fine, fair, you'd given her reasons before—and you'd read it twice in the warm half-dark with her pillow still carrying the faint smell of her shampoo, the duvet heavy and soft, the room quiet enough that you could hear the low hum of the city already going outside.
You'd typed back: define good
You watched those three little dots pop up. Then disappear. Then pop up again before Emily's reply came: You know exactly what I mean.
And here was where things had gone sideways, because you did know exactly what she meant, and something about lying in her sheets with her pillow still smelling like her while she was across the city in a briefing had made you feel a particular kind of reckless. The room was quiet. The morning light was just starting to go gold at the curtain edges. You were warm and comfortable. Very comfortable.
do i though, you'd sent. seems subjective
It isn't.
pretty sure it is
My darling. A longer pause this time. I'm in a meeting.
oh noooo, you'd typed, and you added a little smile face that you were not going to feel bad about.
She hadn't responded after that, which you'd taken as a win. You'd gotten up, padded to the kitchen on cold bare feet, made coffee in her French press because yours was at your own place and hers was better anyway. You'd eaten the breakfast she'd told you not to forget—half a bagel with cream cheese from the back of her fridge—standing at the counter in her oversized t-shirt, watching the city start to wake up through the kitchen window. The street below was already filling up, cabs and morning commuters, the energy of DC getting itself going.
The second thing had not been planned.
Not exactly.
It had been the fault of the bed, honestly. You'd gone back to it after breakfast with your coffee, just to drink it in peace and scroll through your phone, and the sheets were still warm from both of you and the morning light had shifted in the time you'd been up—coming through the curtains now in long golden stripes across the duvet, the kind of light that made the whole room feel like it was in no particular hurry. You'd set your coffee on the nightstand and pulled the duvet back up around you and settled in. And you'd found yourself thinking, with no real urgency, about the way Emily's hands felt when she wasn't in a hurry. Her patience when she'd decided to take her time with you. Her hands moving over you slowly, like she had all the time in the world and had chosen to spend it exactly there. You thought about it more than was probably reasonable. More than you'd admit to anyone, including yourself on most days.
The photo had felt like a natural progression of events.
You'd taken it without much deliberation—nothing elaborate, just you in the morning light with her sheets pooled at your waist and your hair loose around your shoulders. The kind of photo that said look what you're missing without having to say anything out loud. You'd sent it before you could talk yourself out of it, set your phone face-down on the nightstand, and waited with your pulse doing something slightly embarrassing.
Her response came five minutes later: Hi, baby.
You'd smiled at your phone like an absolute idiot.
Then, thirty seconds after: You're beautiful, darling. My beautiful girl.
A beat. Then one more line, because she must've known what kind of mood you were in: Don't touch yourself. I mean it.
Which was a reasonable instruction. She'd given it before. You'd followed it before. There was no reason today should be different.
The problem was the light, and the sheets, and the fact that my beautiful girl had settled somewhere in your chest. The more immediate problem was that your hand had already been drifting by the time you'd read don't touch yourself—just lazily, fingers tracing down over your stomach, not with any real intent at first. Just because the bed was warm and Emily wasn't in it and you'd been thinking about her hands for the better part of twenty minutes and your body had apparently started making its own decisions.
You read the instruction again, and your fingers didn't stop.
My beautiful girl, the back of your brain offered, helpfully.
You thought about Emily's voice when it went low—the tone that meant she'd made up her mind about something and the only remaining question was the details. You thought about her hands. You bit your lip and thought about her patience, the way she could make you feel the full weight of her attention like something physical.
Three minutes after her text, you reached for your phone with your free hand.
The second photo was just your hand—two fingers raised toward the camera, close enough that there was no mistaking the slick shine between them, the way the morning light caught the stickiness there. You held the angle for a moment, making sure it was clear. Making absolutely sure.
She would know exactly what that meant. You'd made certain of it.
The response took longer this time. Long enough that something started to assemble itself at the back of your mind—not quite regret, but adjacent to it, the quiet reconsideration of whether reckless had tipped into genuinely poor decision-making. You wiped your fingers on the sheet. You looked at the ceiling. You thought about Emily's jaw when it went tight.
Your phone buzzed.
Meet me in my office for lunch, my little darling.
That was all.
You'd stared at it. The my little darling at the end was doing a lot of work and none of it was reassuring. Emily's my darling lived on a spectrum—on one end, fond and easy; on the other, the tone that told you things weren't going to go your way. Right now it was sitting at the far end of that spectrum, and you had put it there yourself, and you knew it.
You'd gotten up to find something to wear.
(-)
The Metro was twenty minutes and three stops.
You'd sat in the window seat and watched the tunnel walls go by and thought, with some thoroughness, about what you had done. The first text—a little bratty but well within the established range of your behavior. The second text, the oh noooo with the smile face, that was also fine, honestly. Emily had been in a meeting and she'd chosen to read her messages and you weren't going to feel bad about that. The first photo had been a genuine impulse, and she had complimented you.
The second photo was harder to justify.
You'd known what you were doing. That was the thing you kept circling back to, sitting on the Metro with your bag on your lap and DC sliding past outside. You'd read don't touch yourself. You'd looked at it. And you'd kept going anyway, and then you'd taken the photo and held it up to make sure the light caught it right, and that was a sequence of decisions, not a single one. Each one had been made with full awareness of the one before it.
You didn't have regrets. You had arrived at this conclusion after eleven full reconsiderations and you were sticking to it. But you were also aware—had been aware since the moment you'd read meet me in my office for lunch, my little darling—that you were about to sit across from Emily Prentiss and account for yourself, and that was a thing you were allowed to have feelings about.
And feelings, you had.
(-)
The BAU bullpen had its own kind of energy at midday.
A low steady hum of keyboards and quiet conversation, people at their desks with lunches going cold beside their monitors. The overhead lights were the flat institutional kind that made everyone look slightly tired, but the bullpen had accumulated enough desk lamps and personal effects, years of lived-in use, that it felt less like a federal building and more like a place where people had genuinely settled in. You knew most of the faces by now, several names. Garcia had hugged you the third time you'd come by and called you a gift to the universe, which had seemed excessive but you weren't going to argue with Penelope Garcia about anything, ever, under any circumstances.
Nobody looked up when you came in. You were a known quantity here—Emily's—and that was apparently sufficient.
Emily's office was glass-walled, which you'd always thought was an interesting choice for someone who kept as much close to the chest as she did. The blinds were open. You could see her through them from halfway across the bullpen—head bent over something on her desk, silver hair catching the overhead light, the set of her jaw that meant she was working through something. She looked completely composed. She always looked completely composed. It had taken you a while to learn to read the variations inside the composure, but you'd been paying close attention for months and you were getting there.
She didn't look up when you pushed the door open.
"Close it behind you," she said.
You did.
She let you stand there while she finished reading. Turned over a page, scanned the back of it, set it down and squared it against the desk edge with careful precision. Then she looked up at you.
Emily Prentiss had a way of looking at you that you'd never quite gotten used to. Not the profiler thing—or not only that—but the way she looked at you when you were alone with her and she wasn't performing anything for a room. Direct and patient but warm underneath, and right now the warmth was present but it had company. You felt the full weight of her attention land on you from across the office and stay there.
"Hi, love," she said, her voice even and calm. "Come here, please."
You crossed the office. She watched you do it with her hands folded on the desk, and every step felt like it had some weight to it—the short distance between the door and her desk somehow longer than it had any right to be, the office quiet in a way that made you aware of your own footsteps. She didn't look away. Didn't shift or move, just watched you come to her with the patient attention of someone who had already decided how this was going to go and was simply waiting for you to arrive.
When you reached her side, she tilted her head fractionally, an instruction without words. She'd always been economical like that. A tilt of the chin, a look, a hand at the small of your back. She'd never needed much.
"Emily—"
"Mommy," she corrected, quiet and automatic, the same tone she'd use to note a factual error.
Something in your chest did what it always did when she said it like that. Like it was simply true. Simply the right word for what she was, nothing to make a production of.
"Mommy," you said, watching something settle in her expression. "Someone could—"
"I'm aware," Emily said. "I've worked here for years." She reached out and tucked a piece of hair back from your face, her fingers lingering at your jaw. Her touch was light. Her eyes weren't. "You had quite a morning, hm?"
"I—"
"The texts," she reminded you. "And then the photo." Her thumb moved once against your jaw. "Which I meant what I said about. You're a beautiful girl and you know it." A brief pause with a point to it. "But then the second photo. Now that was a surprise."
You said nothing. There wasn't much to say.
"Three minutes," Emily said. "I told you not to touch yourself and it only took three minutes. And then you sent me evidence to make sure I knew." Her thumb made one slow arc against your jaw. "That wasn't an accident."
It wasn't a question.
"No," you said, biting your lip.
"No." Her hand dropped from your face. "Turn around. Hands on the desk."
The surface was cool under your palms. Through the glass you could see the bullpen—anyone who looked at the right angle would see you standing at Emily's desk with your hands braced, which wasn't unusual. People leaned over Emily's desk to look at things all the time. Case files, photographs, maps spread out for a briefing.
From a certain angle you were just having a meeting.
From a certain angle.
"Mommy," you said, hating the smallness of your own voice. "Someone will see."
"Then maybe," Emily said, moving directly behind you, close enough that her voice was more felt than heard against the back of your neck, "my little brat should have behaved."
She didn't sound angry—and you were grateful for that, the way you were always grateful that her version of this was quiet. She simply had the situation in hand and you were the only one who was rattled. She reached around you and moved the papers to one side of the desk, clearing the space in front of you with unhurried efficiency.
"You made your choices this morning, darling. This is what comes after choices."
Her hand settled at the small of your back, warm through your shirt, and pressed you down against the desk.
"Consequences."
You gripped the edge of the desk and reminded yourself to breathe.
Her hands found the hem of your skirt and pushed it up. Then her fingers hooked into your underwear and pulled them down without ceremony, rough enough that the elastic ripped. The sound seemed to fill the quiet office, and you were almost certain it was entirely in your head, but your face went hot all the same.
"Mommy—"
"Shh." Her silver hair brushed your shoulder as she leaned over you, her voice dropping to just above a murmur. "You're going to take it. You know you are." Her lips were almost at your temple. "You know why this is happening."
You did know why. The morning arranged itself in sequence—the texts, the light through the curtains, the first photo, the second photo, the slick shine on your fingers, three minutes. Yeah. You knew.
She stood back up. Waited exactly fifteen seconds. Just when you were ready to lift your head and ask what was happening, the suspense making you shiver, her hand came down.
The first one landed clean and sharp, and you bit the inside of your cheek hard against the sound that tried to come out. The sting bloomed immediately, heat radiating outward from the center of it, and then her palm was there rubbing slow circles, pressing the warmth deeper. A deliberate contrast. Sting, then soothe.
"Oh, look at that." Her voice had a quality you'd been trying to name for months and still couldn't catch. Satisfied. Fond in a way that had an edge to it. "My brat's ass turns a lovely shade of pink." Her fingertips grazed lower as she rubbed, and she paused. "How cute."
Heat crawled up the back of your neck that had nothing to do with the spank.
Three more came in succession—measured, each one distinct, each followed by that same slow pass of her palm. You were gripping the desk edge hard enough that your knuckles had gone pale. Your hips kept trying to press back and you kept catching yourself doing it, which was mortifying and also completely involuntary.
"Be still," Emily said.
"I'm trying—"
"Try harder." Her palm came down again—harder than the ones before—and your whole body lurched forward into the desk. Her free hand pressed flat to your lower back immediately, holding you in place. "There. Stay there."
She wasn't rushing. She never rushed anything, and the deliberate pace of it was its own torment. Each spank gave you just enough time to process the sting, to feel the heat building and layering across your skin, before the next landed. She varied the spots, and by the time she paused you were breathing in short, uneven pulls and holding the desk like it was the only fixed point in the room.
Out in the bullpen, someone laughed at something. Normal sounds. Normal afternoon. The total disconnect of it made your face go hot all over again.
Emily's fingers trailed down slowly, past where she'd been rubbing, and then they stopped.
"Well," she said.
You closed your eyes, already aware.
"Well." Quieter, and there was something in her voice that wasn't quite amusement but lived right next to it. "Look at this." Her fingers shifted—just slightly, just enough—and the slick sound was audible to both of you in the stillness of the office. You wanted to evaporate. You wanted to sink into the ground right then and there.
"All of that," she said, thoughtful, "and you're soaking."
"Emily—"
"Mommy."
"Mommy." It came out rough. "Please—"
"Oh, 'please'?" She withdrew her fingers with maddening calm, and the loss of even that incidental contact felt deeply unfair. "I've barely done anything yet, darling." She shifted to your side—just enough to sit at the edge of your vision—her hand still resting light at the small of your back.
"Although," she said, working through something out loud, "I think I understand it now."
You were not going to let her have this this. Your pride would not let you.
"Sh-shush. It's not—"
A spank landed directly on your cunt, her fingertips hitting your clit. You had to bite through your lip, it felt like, desperate not to cry out.
You were going to let her have this.
"The glass," Emily said, her thumb making one slow circle at your back. "It's the glass, isn't it? The fact that someone might hear."
Another spank landed at a different angle, and you made a sound you'd been working to suppress, and she went very still for a moment.
"Yes," she said, quiet and certain. "That's it." Her focus sharpened—you could hear it in her voice. "My little brat gets wet from being spanked in her Mommy's office because someone might hear. Because she might get caught." A brief pause. "That's a little pathetic, sweetheart."
You felt your cunt drip down your thigh.
"Or," Emily continued, like she was amending her notes, "if I'm honest, it's very on brand." Her hand moved from your lower back, trailing down. "Let's see how pathetic you are, huh?"
Two fingers pressed against you and slid in without resistance—smooth and immediate—and the sound you made was not quiet.
"There she is," Emily murmured.
Your hands scrabbled at the edge of the desk. She hadn't started slow. Two fingers curled inside you at a pace that had you up on your toes in the first few seconds, your whole body either trying to chase her hand or get away from it. The stretch, the fullness, the relentless curl on every stroke that found the same spot over and over. You could feel it in your thighs, in your stomach, heat climbing fast and steep. The slick sounds in the quiet office were unavoidable and obscene, and you were past caring about them—past caring about anything except the pressure of her fingers and the angle she'd found that made your vision blur at the edges every time she curled them just right.
Your knuckles had gone white on the desk edge. The surface was warm now from your palms, and you gripped it like it was the only thing keeping you in the room. It was, more or less. Your hips kept making small involuntary movements, pressing back toward her hand, and each time they did Emily made a quiet sound behind you that you felt more than heard.
"You're adorable," she said, and she meant it. You could hear that she meant it, which somehow made it worse. Her free hand pressed firm between your shoulder blades, holding you flat against the desk. "Absolutely shameless. You slid right in, darling. No resistance at all." The curl of her fingers hit something that made your vision go white at the edges. "Pretty little slut."
A moan came out of you that was too loud for a glass-walled federal building, and Emily made a quiet sound above you that was distinctly less composed than her voice.
"That," she whispered, "cannot happen again." She didn't slow down. Her fingers kept their pace—relentless, that curl on every stroke—and you could feel yourself building already, embarrassingly fast, your thighs shaking with the effort of staying standing. "The agents outside will have questions I don't feel like answering today."
"I can't—" Your voice came out in pieces. "I can't help it, Mommy, please—"
"You can," she said. "You will." Her hand left your back. A moment later something soft pressed against your mouth—your underwear, or what was left of them, the elastic stretched and snapped, the slightest bit damp (yes, you had been wet as you walked in). "Open."
You opened. She pressed the cotton between your lips, not deep, just enough. The faint taste of your own arousal on the fabric pulled a helpless sound out of you. Emily smoothed one hand briefly over your hair before it returned to your hip.
"That's better," she said. "Don't you dare drop those pretty panties."
She wasn't gentle about it when she started moving her fingers again. She knew your body, and she used that knowledge without apology. Her fingers worked you with a focus that reminded you, not for the first time, that Emily Prentiss was very good at everything she decided to do. When the angle shifted you cried out against the gag, muffled now but still audible to her, and she catalogued the sound with quiet attention.
"Good girl," she said—confusing given the context and also exactly what you needed to hear. Your hips pressed back against her hand. "You're close already. I can feel it." Her fingers curled and held the pressure, and you bit down on the cotton, making a desperate, muffled sound from somewhere well past dignity.
"All because of the glass," she said conversationally, confirming something she'd already worked out, reminding you. "Because someone out there might know exactly what I'm doing to you right now."
The orgasm hit fast—too fast to brace for, too fast to muffle entirely. You came with your face pressed to her desk and her fingers inside you, your own ruined underwear between your teeth, shaking hard. Emily worked you through every second of it without letting up until the last tremor moved through you and left you limp.
She didn't stop.
"Mommy—" Against the gag it was barely sound, but she heard it.
"I know," she said. "One more."
"I can't—" You tried to say, though it came out as a bunch of muffled gibberish that Emily somehow understood.
"You can." Her thumb found your clit while her fingers stayed where they were, and the sensation after the orgasm was so acute your legs nearly went out. She stepped in close behind you, her body solid, steadying you. "You can, you will, and you'll thank me after." Her thumb moved in small, steady circles. Her fingers resumed their curl. You were crying now—actual tears tracking down your cheeks, your hands opening and closing against the desk edge because there was nothing else to do with them. "That's it, darling. Let go for me."
The second orgasm was longer. Deeper. It took you apart differently than the first. It was less urgent, more total, the kind that started in your core and rolled outward until your whole body was caught in it. You sobbed against the gag with your vision gone blurry, and Emily pressed close behind you, murmuring something low and warm against the back of your head that you didn't catch the words of but understood anyway.
Her fingers went still as you came down. Stayed still while you breathed, while the shaking worked its way out of your limbs. Her hand at your hip made slow circles.
"There," she said, quiet. "Good girl. That's my good girl."
You stayed against the desk because it was the only option. Emily gave you the time without comment—her thumb at your hip, her body steady and warm. When you finally stirred, she reached up and gently removed the makeshift gag, setting it aside on the desk, and helping you upright.
"I've got you," she said. "Take a second, sweetheart."
You took several. Your ass ached deeply. Your thighs were still trembling. There were tears drying on your cheeks and you were standing in her glass-walled office with the bullpen carrying on outside like nothing had happened at all, and Emily's hands were steady at your shoulders.
"Sorry, Mommy," you managed.
Something in her expression shifted. The authority didn't leave it—it never entirely left it—but it made room for something else. The warmth she had when she'd brought you through something and was checking that all of you had arrived intact on the other side. She smoothed your skirt back down, ran her hands over it once to straighten it, and turned you gently to face her.
Your eyes were probably red. Your face was definitely a disaster. She looked at you like you were something she was glad to have.
"I know, my darling," she said. "You did so well. Mommy's so proud of you. Such a good little sweetheart for me."
She guided you to the small sofa along the side wall—the one with the folded throw blanket that had appeared there a few months ago without either of you remarking on why—and sat down, drawing you into her lap with the ease of something long-practiced. You went without resistance, your face finding the familiar curve of her neck. She pulled the blanket over you both and her arm settled around your back.
Outside, a desk phone rang. Someone answered it in a low voice. The building kept operating, indifferent and steady.
Emily's hand moved into your hair—slow, even passes from your temple back. She didn't say anything. You didn't either. The silence was the comfortable kind, the kind that didn't need anything added to it, and you let yourself sink into it by degrees.
The office smelled like her—the same light scent from her jacket when she pulled you in close, something clean and faintly of cigarettes. You'd always noticed it. You'd noticed it the first time she'd stood close to you and you'd been noticing it ever since in the involuntary way you noticed things about Emily, which was thoroughly and without meaning to. Through the glass, the bullpen moved in its ordinary patterns. Someone walked past with a coffee mug. Someone else was on the phone, gesturing at nothing. A completely normal afternoon in a federal building.
None of them knew.
The thought landed somewhere odd—not embarrassing, exactly, more like a of a secret that was only yours. Emily's thumb moved at your back in a slow arc, and you pressed a little closer and let the thought go.
Your breathing evened out. The trembling left your legs. The heat across your ass was settling into a deep, grounding ache you'd still be aware of tomorrow morning, which was presumably the point. You could feel Emily's heartbeat under your cheek—steady, safe—and you focused on that while the rest of the room came back to you in pieces.
"Are you okay, darling?" she asked eventually.
"Yeah." Still a little rough. "'M okay."
"Good." Her thumb moved at your back. "Pain?"
"Little," you said.
She made a small sound—understanding, satisfied with that answer. Her fingers kept moving through your hair, and you let yourself stay heavy in her lap and not think about anything in particular.
At some point she'd have to go back to work. At some point you'd have to get back on the Metro. At some point the afternoon would have to reassemble itself into something practical.
You were aware of all of this in a distant, theoretical way, the same way you were distantly aware of the city outside and the bullpen through the glass and the rest of the world continuing to exist. None of it felt particularly urgent.
Not yet.
"Hungry?" Emily asked.
"A little."
"I did say lunch." She shifted slightly, leaning toward the desk without dislodging you from her lap, and producing a white paper bag—the kind from the deli around the corner from the building, the logo printed small on the side. Of course she'd had it waiting. Emily had never arrived anywhere unprepared for anything in her life, and apparently that applied to this as well. She found a wrapped sandwich and handed it to you, then retrieved her own.
"Turkey," she said. "They were out of roast beef."
You ate in the comfortable quiet of two people who didn't need to perform anything for each other, the sounds of the bullpen filtering through the glass in a low, easy hum.
Your ass ached every time you shifted. You shifted less.
She was watching you—you caught it at the edge of your vision.
"What?" you said.
"Nothing." She looked back at her sandwich. A brief pause. "Drink some water, baby. Bottom left drawer."
You retrieved water from the drawer and drank it, and she watched you do it with an expression you weren't going to put a name to, because you'd already been reckless with your feelings once today and that felt like enough.
The light through the blinds had shifted to mid-afternoon gold by the time you'd both finished eating—the flat overhead fluorescents softened by the warmth coming in from outside, making the office feel less like an office and more like somewhere you might want to stay. You'd ended up with your legs across Emily's lap, her hand resting easy and warm at your ankle, the blanket still around your shoulders. The deli bag was folded neatly on the corner of the desk because Emily folded things neatly. Her jacket was on the back of her chair. Through the glass, the bullpen had thinned out a little, the midday energy settling into the quieter pace of afternoon, people back at their desks with their heads down.
You were looking at the ceiling and thinking, idly, about the morning. About the way the texts had felt in your hands, lying in her sheets. About the light through the curtains and the recklessness that came from being comfortable and in love in a way that made you giddy when you thought about it. About the second photo, which had been a choice, which you had made knowingly, which had resulted in exactly the afternoon you were currently having.
You were thinking about whether you had regrets.
You didn't, you concluded for a final time.
Emily set the paper bag aside. She looked at you, and you looked back at her, and something in her expression settled. She reached over and took your chin between her fingers, tilting your face toward hers. Her thumb moved once at your jaw. Her eyes were warm and certain, and there was a smile at the corner of her mouth that she wasn't making any effort to suppress.
"That was fun, darling," Emily said, in the mild tone of someone making a perfectly reasonable observation.
"Fun is a way to put—" You found yourself shushed by a finger on your lips, and Emily's eyes looked into yours with an energy you knew by heart.
"But maybe that sore ass of yours will finally get it through your head that Mommy knows best."
The thing is nobody at pride is evaluating you to determine if you’re queer enough to be there because they’re too busy thinking “it’s so hot out” and “why is this lemonade 12 dollars?”
Summary: This little reader has a massive crush on our favourite Dean and decides that sneaking off at night to have a cold shower to help alleviate their tension will be fine, it's not like Lady Lesso roams the halls at night looking for rule-breaking Nevers... or does she?
Title (and piece) based on Lime Cordiale's cover of 'I Touch Myself'
A/N: Hey yall I'm back!! Its been a good few months since my last update but I just finished my big exams so I'm trying to get back into the swing of writing again.
I have been waiting for Lesso fiction since I read the books years agoand god am I happy with how much there is.
Aslo I'm an aussie so some things might not make sense but if I have to deal with American writing you get to deal with mine.
thank god for auto correct
Link
You pulled the scratchy blanket that the school for evil had given you if you could even call it a blanket. The thin material was scratchy and did nothing to keep you warm, not that you needed to be warmed up, not after dinner. Tonight was one of the few times that the deans had sat in on dinner and you could feel Lady Lesso’s eyes on you the whole time. A few reasons came to mind as to why she might have been staring, while you hadn’t failed any lessons you certainly weren’t at the top of the class. It’s not like you couldn’t be but you were easily distracted by a certain curly-haired redhead. Even when it wasn’t in her class you couldn’t help your thoughts from drifting every now and again. And then there was the problem of your missing book, it was one of the textbooks that they had provided you on your first day at the school and in the few short weeks that you had been here you had managed to deface it with some not so safe for school drawings of the red-headed dean.
You tossed and turned a few more times before deciding you had had enough of laying in your sweat and began to get up. It was long after lights out and even if this was the school of evil all of the students had the good sense to follow the rules. Deciding that just this once would probably be fine, and it’s not like you were going to do anything bad, you were just going to have a shower, a nice cold shower to help alleviate some of the built-up tension from the past few weeks. Sliding out of your bed and into your thongs, god knows what was on the floors of the showers, probable blood from various fights that had broken out or that had washed off students leaving the doom room.
Just the thought of the doom room sent a shiver down your spine.
If you got caught you were sure you could talk your way out of it, your talent was persuasion anyway.
Grabbing your towel and soap you quietly made your way towards the showers, watching out for any of the creaking floorboards that were placed stray around the school.
The showers were empty, obviously, and you walked over to the middle one, there were only three to choose from anyways. The doors were hardly doors, considering that most of them were hanging by a single hinge and made from rotting wood that smelt worse than most of the people at the school.
You hung your towel over the decrepit door and discarded your clothes on an equally rotting bench inside the shower. You turned the water on full blast, and even if you wanted a hot shower the warmest the water would get was maybe 20*C. The cold water pierced your body and you let yourself fall entirely under the stream, it did the trick of cooling you down albeit not by much and despite the coldness, you could feel heat still spreading in your lower body and silently cursed your mind for continuing to wander to Lady Lesso. Just this morning in class you could hardly maintain your focus on using your talents with her standing at the front, cane in hand and white shirt sleeves rolled up to her elbows. She looked so fucking hot without her long coat on and despite your hate of the heat you were thankful that today was on the warmer side.
With a heavy sigh, you decided that it wouldn’t hurt to at least alleviate some of the built-up tension and you grabbed your towel off the door and, moving your clothes aside, placed it on the rotting wood bench in the stall. You allowed yourself to get as comfortable as you could considering your environment and slid your hand down your body, running over your chest and pulling slightly at your hardened nipples. You bit your lip and let your other hand run further south, dipping into your soaked folds you let out a quiet moan, everyone was in bed but that didn’t mean you weren't scared that someone might come in. You continued your ministrations, running tight circles around your swollen nub, eager for release.
As your fingers moved faster so did your heartbeat, speeding up, pounding in your chest, eyes squeezing shut until your orgasm finally came crashing over you.
“Well, well, well,”
A sharp voice said that you’d recognise it anywhere.
Your eyes shot open and landed on the one person who you couldn’t persuade, the one person who had been haunting your dreams these past few weeks, the one and only, Lady Lesso.
The tall woman said nothing as her eyes roamed over your naked figure, her lips turning from a small scowl into her signature smirk.
You hurried to grab the edges of your towel in a vain attempt to cover up,
“I-”
Before you could protest or even defend yourself, the bottom of her cane was digging into your chest, shutting you up.
“What a show that was (Y/N),” she said, pushing the cane harder into your chest, “I suppose this is why you broke the curfew because you're a need little slut,”
You let out a small whimper at her words, you had to be dreaming, no way this was happening.
Her cane dropped back to the ground and her hand flew to your wrist, a vice-like grip digging into and definitely bruising your skin. She yanked you forward, off the bench and if it wasn’t for your other hand holding on for dear life to your towel it would have been discarded with your clothes on the bench.
She dragged you out the doors of the showers and down the hallways heading towards the dreaded door leading to the doom room.
Before you could even register what was happening you were strapped into the metal chair that sat in the middle of the room. Your eyes roamed the walls, skipping between the weapons that lined the walls, your eyes landed on some whips of varying sizes, they certainly looked entertaining and all things considered, this was one of your more vivid dreams. After all, this had to be a dream, no way in hell was this real.
“I’m dreaming,” you said aloud and heard a dark chuckle come from behind one of the stone walls.
“Do you dream of me often, pet?”
You swallowed thickly, maybe this wasn't a dream?
Lady Lesso stepped into view before you could answer and if your mouth wasn’t already dry it certainly was now. The towel around your body was beginning to slip, the rushed attempt you made at tying it failing.
“Tell me, do you often sneak out at night to get off like a whore in the public showers?” the curly redhead asked, stepping closer to you.
“N…no,” you stuttered, eliciting another laugh from the tall woman.
“Mhm, and how do you explain this?” she asked.
Only then did your eyes land on the book that was in her raised hand, your missing textbook. Your eyes widened at the sight of it, “it, umm, well,” you stuttered again trying to come up with any excuse, “can I get dressed?”
The dean's eyebrows furrowed for a moment before setting back into her usual smirk,
“No,” was all she said, moving closer to you, “I quite like you like this,”
Lady Lesso grabbed onto a stool that was opposite your chair and moved it closer to you before sitting down, her long legs on either side of your squeezing legs, trapping you again.
“Now, I must say,” she said, opening up the book, “these drawings are quite interesting,”
“Please don’t,” you ask, practically begging, as much as humiliation was a small kink of yours this was already a bit much, between being walked in on and sitting almost naked in the doom room with Lady Lesso fully clothed was almost too much for you to handle.
The woman let a small chuckle, “well maybe you can answer some questions for me then,”
You nodded as quickly as you could, anything to get out of her looking at the book more than she already had.
“How long have you wanted me to fuck you?”
You stared at the woman, flabbergasted at her bluntness.
“If you don’t answer then we’ll have to go through the book,” she said, opening the book.
“My first day,” you told her and she smiled,
“Whore,” she said with a smirk and you felt another wave of arousal hit you, thankful for the towel underneath you.
Lady Lesso’s finger began to glow purple and with a snap of her fingers your towel was gone, the dampness now replaced with the harsh, cold metal of the chair that you were strapped into.
“Much better,” she said, standing from her seat.
She somehow managed to get closer to you, leaning into your ear she whispered, “do you want to be a good little slut for me or are going to try and deny just how much you adore me?”
You shuddered at her words, fuck this was so hot.
Lady Lesso placed an unexpectedly soft kiss on your neck and your eyes fluttered shut. They immediately shot open as her teeth sunk into the skin of your neck in a bite hard enough to leave a mark for days. You couldn't help the moan that escaped from your lips at the masochistic action. One of her hands was placed on the back of the chair and the other found its way to your thigh, clamping down, nails digging into your flesh as her tongue ran over the bite marks on your neck. You let out another small whimper as her fingers moved closer to your entrance. Her thumb began to run small, tight circles around your sensitive nub and your legs began to instinctively open wider. Lesso’s other hand moved to your thigh and replaced her vice-like grip as her mouth made its way towards your ear.
“Tell me,” she said as she easily slid two fingers inside you, “How often have you cummed like a slut on your fingers wishing they were mine? Do you think about me often when you touch yourself?” the questions were emphasised by her fingers curling inside you. You let out a cry of pleasure and tried to push your hips forward, into her hand.
“Are you going to answer me, slut?”
You let out another cry of pleasure as your breathing became heavier. “O-often,” you moaned, causing Lesso to smile wider.
Her fingers began to move at a fast pace, curling every now and again. Your moans filled the room from both her fingers and her mouth which was making its way over your neck and chest, biting at the skin and pulling on your over-sensitive nipples with her teeth. It wasn’t long before the sensations became too much and you felt yourself reach the edge of your orgasm. The hand that was grasped onto your thigh made its way to your hair, pulling your head back as her fingers twisted their way around the strands of your hair.
“Are you going to be a good little pet and cum for me?”
The words made the inside of your walls clench and just as you felt yourself going over the edge, her lips crashed into yours, capturing you in a rough, dominating kiss that pulled at your lips as you cried out in pleasure.
Her fingers slowed down but she didn’t remove them yet as you tried to come back down from your high which was hard to do so with her still feverishly attacking your mouth. Her lips were softer than you expected but the roughness of her teeth was a nice contrast.
When she pulled her lips from yours the both of you were breathing heavily, her eyes darkened with lust.
“Such a good little whore for me,” Lady Lesso said, finally removing her fingers.
Your eyes went wide as she inserted them into her mouth and moaned at the taste of you on her fingers.
“Arnt you just delicious,” her words elicited a moan from you, “But you still need to be properly punished for breaking the rules,”
With her finger glowing purple you found that the binds around your wrist were gone and you could now move freely however this was short-lived as her hands found your wrists and pulled you up.
“My, what a mess you’ve made,” she said, turning you around so that you could see the chair and the wet patch that was where your crotch was.
“Clean it up,” she said, no, instructed, pushing you down to the ground and onto your knees.
You crawled over to the chair and, resting your hands on the armrests, began to start licking up the mess. You couldn’t see the gleaming smile on the Dean’s face but you could sure as hell feel it along with her eyes which were roaming your backside. You heard her being to move away from you so you turned your head to watch her.
“Did I say you could stop pet?” she said, her hands reaching for one of the long, knotted whips which hung from one of the many racks on the walls of the room.
You immediately turned your head back and continued to lick at the wet spot on the warm metal of the chair.
“I want you to count for me,” was all the warning you received as you felt the whip hit your backside.
You yelped out in pain at the harshness of the hit and breathed out a “one”. Lesso struck you again, softer this time and you moaned out a “two”. The third hit was as strong as the first and one of the knots hit your sensitive clit. You screamed out in a mix of pain and pleasure and stuttered out “t-three”.
The tall woman let out a maniacal laugh at your situation, “How good your pretty little arse looks from my whip,”
You moaned at her words, quickly changing to another yelp as the whip struck you again. Your brain was clouded with lust and pain, so focused on not collapsing that you forgot to count the fourth whip. A hand suddenly grabbed onto your hair, pulling your neck roughly up so that you could see the owner of the hand.
“I was going to stop at five but I think you’ve just earned yourself another five,” she said, her fist tightening on your hair.
“I-I’m S-sorry,” you stuttered out as she hit you again.
“Mhm,” she said leaning into your ear, “sorry doesn't cut it, from one,”
You yelped and began the count again, the first three hits stinging but bearable, the fourth however hit the same spot as an earlier one and you could feel the heat of blood dripping down your backside as she broke flesh.
“You look so pretty when you bleed for me,” she said and you moaned out a “four”.
The fifth hit was harder than the others and if it wasn't for her harsh hold on your hair you might have collapsed. Once you managed out a “five” she let go of your hair and let you collapse onto the ground.
“You know, you have such pretty blood,” she said, cleaning off the whip, “I wonder if it tastes as good as it looks?” she mused, walking back over to you and swiping her finger over the thin lines of blood before placing her finger back in her mouth with a moan. “Delicious,”
You whimpered at her words, trying to summon the strength to move. Seeing your struggle she ran a soothing hand over your back, “Take your time,” she said, lightly scraping her nails every now and again, “You did so well for me, taking those hits, my good little Never,”
You whimpered at her words and soothing motions, a sharp contrast to her rough actions from earlier. With a click of her fingers, there was a pot of slave in her hand which she began to rub onto your backside, when you winced at certain moments she stopped, placing a soothing hand on your shoulder, refusing to continue until you gave her the all clear. Once she was finished she placed a soft kiss into your hair, offering her hand to help you up and she placed the salve into one of her waistcoat pockets.
“Now every morning and evening I want you in my office so I can apply the salve for you,” she said and with a click of her fingers your pyjamas were back on your body and she sent you back to your room.
“My pretty little pet,” she muttered once you left the room, a smile crawling back to her lips.
fuck sake can people actually just stop with the ai. christ it's actually a depressing state of affairs when you go to read something and it's absolutely void of anything bar the same over generated phrases and structure. if you can't fucking write and/or don't even want to attempt then just don't? actual heathens.
if you aren't hunched over your laptop at 4am over-caffeinated, pulling strands from your scalp and scranning the arse out of thesaurus.com in a sleep-deprived stupor as you try and find another word for 'look' because you used it once already then i actually do not want to know.
"but writing is hard" yes. yes it is. because it's supposed to be. because it requires the human brain.
