Request are open but ONLY if they’re Twilight or Supernatural! <3 Have a nice day/night
<3 Have a nice day/night
Rosalie Hale x Daughter!Human!Reader
Emmett Cullen x Daughter!Human!Reader
Word count: 1062
Warnings: Appendicitis
Y/N: Your Name
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I don’t remember my parents’ faces the way I’m supposed to. I remember fragments. My mom’s laugh- too loud, always apologetic after. My dad’s hands, rough and warm when he lifted me onto his shoulders. I remember headlights cutting through rain, the smell of wet asphalt, and the sound of my own heartbeat pounding so hard I thought it might tear me open. Then screaming.
Then silence.
The Cullens tell me they found me hiding in the trees behind what was left of our car. Eight years old. Covered in blood that wasn’t mine. Shocked so deeply, I didn’t even cry when Rosalie wrapped me in her arms. Nomad vampires had killed my parents. And somehow… spared me. Carlisle says it was luck. Edward says fate. Alice won’t say anything at all, just smiles at me like she always knew I’d be here. Rosalie became my mother that night.
At sixteen, I’ve learned to live between worlds. I’m human in a house of marble statues. My heart beats too fast, too loud. I bruise easily. I get sick. I bleed. They’ve never let me forget how precious that makes me. Rosalie packs my lunches with obsessive care. Emmett walks me to school like a bodyguard who forgot subtlety exists. Carlisle monitors my health like I’m a glass ornament that might shatter if he blinks wrong. And I love them for it. I really do. But some days, being human feels like a ticking clock.
The pain wakes me before dawn. At first, I think I’m dreaming. It’s a deep, sharp ache low in my abdomen- hot and insistent, like something twisting inside me. I curl instinctively, breath hitching as the pain spikes suddenly, violently enough that a gasp tears out of me.
“Okay,” I whisper to the dark. “Okay, breathe.”
I try to sit up.
Bad idea.
The room spins, nausea rising fast and ugly. I press a hand to my stomach, fingers trembling, and bite down on a cry when the pain flares again- worse this time, focused and unforgiving.
Something’s wrong.
Really wrong.
“Mom?” I call, voice thing. “Mom?”
The words barely leave my mouth before she’s there. The door opens silently, light spilling in as Rosalie appears beside my bed like she’s been summoned. Her face is calm for exactly half a second, until she sees me curled in on myself, pale and shaking.
“Y/N,” She says sharply, already at my side. “What hurts?”
“My stomach,” I whisper. “It-It really hurts.”
Her hand is gentle when it presses to my forehead, brushing my hair back. I can feel her trying not to panic. Trying to be composed. She fails.
“This isn’t right…” She says, voice tight. “You were fine last night.”
Another wave of pain crashes through me, and I groan despite myself, clutching at the sheets. Rosalie straightens suddenly, fear flashing bright and unmasked across her perfect face.
“Carlisle!” She calls, loud enough to shake the house. “Carlisle, now!”
Footsteps thunder- impossibly fast- and suddenly the room is full. Carlisle is at my side, eyes already focused, hands warm and steady as they press carefully along my abdomen.
“Does it hurt here?” He asks.
“Yes!” I gasp.
“And here?”
“Yes! Worse!”
He stops. Rosalie is watching his face like it holds the fate of the world. Carlisle exhales slowly.
“Rosalie,” He says calmly. “She has appendicitis.”
The word hits me like ice.
“I-I have what?” I ask weakly.
Rosalie’s hands clench into fists. “Is that dangerous?”
“It can be,” Carlisle says. “If it ruptures.”
I suddenly feel very small.
“And we need to go,” He adds firmly. “Now.”
Everything moves too fast after that. Rosalie helps me dress with shaking hands, murmuring reassurances she doesn’t believe yet. Emmett appears in the doorway, face splitting into concern the second he sees me pale and bent in half.
“What happened?” He demands.
“She’s sick.” Rosalie snaps. “Get the car.”
Emmett is gone in a blur.
I’m half carried, half walked down the stairs, every step sending sharp jolts of pain through me. Carlisle keeps one hand on my shoulder, grounding, steady.
“You’re going to be fine.” He tells me gently. “Appendectomies are routine.”
“For humans…” I mutter.
His smile is soft. “You’re surrounded by vampires who love you. That helps.”
The ride to the hospital is a blur of red taillights and clenched teeth. Rosalie holds my hand the whole way, grip tight enough to hurt, but I don’t pull away. I don’t think she realizes she’s shaking.
“I’m sorry.” I whisper suddenly. “I didn’t mean to-”
“Don’t.” She cuts in immediately. “Don’t you dare apologize.”
Emmet glances back at us from the driver’s seat, jaw tight.
“You’re our kid,” He says. “This is literally our job.”
That almost makes me cry.
The hospital smells like antiseptic and fear. Carlisle becomes Dr. Cullen in an instant. Calm, professional, and commanding respect without trying. I’m rushed through triage, poked, prodded, and scanned. The pain keeps building.
By the time they confirm it- acute appendicitis, surgery, needed immediately- I’m exhausted, tears slipping down my temples as the world pulses in and out of focus. Rosalie stands at the foot of my bed, face paler than usual. Emmett is right beside her, arms crossed.
“They’re taking her now.” Carlisle says quietly.
Rosalie nods once. Then she breaks. She rushes forward, gripping my face gently but desperately, forehead pressed to mine.
“I should have known…” She whispered fiercely. “I should have seen it coming.”
I swallow hard. “You’re not Aunt Alice.”
Her eyes shine. “I can’t lose you.”
“You won’t.” I promise, even though fear coils tight in my chest.
Emmett leans down and kisses my forehead, careful and reverent. “Be tough, kiddo.”
“I learned from you.” I manage.
They wheel me away before anyone can say more. The last thing I see before the anesthesia pulls me under is Rosalie’s face- beautiful, terrified, and so full of love it hurts.
I wake up hours later, groggy, sore, and alive. Rosalie is there instantly, sitting beside my bed.
“It’s over,” She says softly. “You’re okay.”
I breathe out shakily.
“I hate being human sometimes.” I admit.
She smiles sadly and squeezes my hand. “And I love you for it. Every fragile, fleeting second.”
I close my eyes, comforted. Because I survived. Because I’m loved. Because even in a house of immortals, I belong.
A.N: an unrealistic ending to a story that’s true for many. This one I’ve been meaning to write for a while; it felt like a hug 🫂
You don’t like loud classrooms.
They make your chest feel tight, like the air is too thick to breathe properly.
The other kids don’t seem to notice the chatter, the scraping chairs, or the laughter that comes too easily.
You sit at your desk near the window, fingers curled around the edge, eyes fixed on the trees outside.
It’s easier that way.
“Y/N?”
Your shoulders tense.
You know that voice.
Soft.
Careful.
Like it doesn’t want to scare you.
You turn your head just a little. Your teacher, Ms. Maximoff, is kneeling beside your desk now.
Her red hair falls forward slightly as she tilts her head, studying you with gentle concern.
“You’ve been awfully quiet today,” she says. “Is everything okay?”
You nod immediately.
Her expression doesn’t change much, but something in her eyes softens even more, like she doesn’t believe you, but she won’t push. Not yet, at least.
“That’s alright,” she murmurs. “If you ever want to talk about anything, I’m here.”
You look back at the window, not wanting to continue the conversation.
Wanda notices patterns. It’s something she’s always been good at. Like, small shifts, quiet changes, the things other people overlook.
It’s part of what makes her such a good teacher.
And you… You don’t fit.
Not in the way the other children do. You don’t laugh loudly. You don’t raise your hand. You flinch when someone moves too fast near you. You freeze when voices get too sharp.
And sometimes—this is what unsettles her the most—you look tired.
Not sleepy.
Tired.
That deep, bone-heavy kind of tired no child should carry.
She tries again a few days later.
“Y/N,” she says gently after class, when the other students have left.
You pause at the door, your small backpack hanging off one shoulder.
“Can you stay for a moment?”
You hesitate.
Then nod.
You step closer, but you don’t meet her eyes.
Wanda keeps her voice soft. “I just wanted to check in. I’ve noticed you’ve been a little… quiet lately.”
Silence.
Your fingers tighten around your sleeve.
“You know,” she continues, “sometimes when something is bothering us, it can help to talk about it. Even a little.”
You shake your head.
Still not looking at her.
“I’m okay,” you whisper.
The words sound practiced.
Rehearsed.
Wanda feels her chest tighten.
“Alright,” she says, just as gently. “You can go.”
You leave quickly.
Too quickly.
-///-
That night, Wanda doesn’t stop thinking about you.
Her wife, Natasha, notices.
She always does, too.
“You’re doing that thing again,” Natasha says from the kitchen, leaning against the counter with a mug in her hand.
Wanda looks up from the couch. “What thing?”
“The ‘I’m worried but trying not to say it out loud’ thing.”
Wanda exhales softly, rubbing her hands together. “There’s a student in my class.”
Natasha raises an eyebrow. “Only one?”
Wanda almost smiles, patting the seat next to her.
“She’s… different. Quiet. Withdrawn. But it’s more than that.” She hesitates, meeting Natasha’s eyes as she moves towards the couch. “She flinches. A lot. And she looks… exhausted.”
She sits down next to Wanda, knees touching her thigh as she tucks her legs underneath herself.
“How old?”
“Six.”
Natasha sets her mug down.
“Has she said anything?”
Wanda shakes her head. “Every time I ask, she shuts down. It’s like she’s… afraid of saying the wrong thing.”
That’s what does it.
Natasha straightens slightly, something cold and precise settling behind her eyes.
“Tomorrow,” she says, “I’m coming with you.”
Wanda blinks. “Nat—”
"Wands, I work in children's welfare. What you said is reason enough for me to look into it,” Natasha says calmly. “And if something’s wrong…” She trails off, but she doesn’t need to finish.
Wanda nods.
She trusts her.
Always has.
-///-
The next day, you notice her immediately.
She doesn’t belong in a classroom.
Not like Ms. Maximoff does.
This woman is… different.
She stands near the doorway at first, speaking quietly with your teacher.
She’s dressed simply, but there’s something about the way she holds herself, straight, alert, like she’s always watching.
Her eyes scan the room.
And then they land on you.
You look away quickly.
But it’s too late.
She’s already noticed.
Natasha takes her time.
She doesn’t approach you right away.
Instead, she observes.
The way you sit too stiff in your chair. The way your gaze flickers toward the door every few minutes. The way you hesitate before answering even the simplest question.
And then—
A boy runs past your desk too fast, and a chair scrapes loudly.
You flinch.
Not a small reaction.
Not subtle.
A full-body recoil, like you were expecting something worse.
Natasha’s jaw tightens.
Yeah.
Something’s wrong.
Later, during lunch break, Wanda sits beside you on the bench.
Natasha lingers a few steps away, pretending to check something on her phone.
“You remember my wife, Ms. Romanoff?” Wanda asks gently.
You nod.
“She works with children, too,” Wanda continues. “She just wants to make sure everyone is safe and happy.”
Safe.
The word makes your stomach twist.
Natasha steps closer, crouching down so she’s at your level.
Her voice is calm and steady.
“Hi, Y/N. I’m Natasha.”
You don’t answer.
“You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to.”
You glance at her.
Just for a second.
Her eyes are different from everyone else’s.
They’re not soft like Wanda’s.
But they’re not harsh either.
They’re… certain.
As if she already knows something.
“Can I ask you something?” she says.
You hesitate.
Then shrug slightly.
It’s not quite a yes.
But it’s not a no.
Natasha nods once, like that’s enough.
“Do you feel safe at home?”
Your heart stops.
The world goes very, very quiet.
You stare at the ground.
You don’t respond.
You can’t.
Because if you say the wrong thing—
If you say anything—
Your fingers curl tightly into your sleeves.
Natasha watches the silence stretch.
The way your shoulders tense.
The way your breathing changes.
And that’s all she needs.
She doesn’t ask again.
Instead, her voice softens—just slightly.
“You’re not in trouble,” she says. “And whatever is going on… it’s not your fault.”
Your throat tightens.
You blink hard.
Still, you say nothing.
But Natasha doesn’t push.
She stands slowly, exchanging a look with Wanda.
A silent understanding passes between them.
This isn’t nothing.
This is something.
And they’re not going to ignore it.
-///-
That afternoon, as you sit by the window again, the classroom feels a little different.
Not louder.
Not quieter.
Just… different.
Because now, someone has seen you.
Even if you didn’t say a word.
And for the first time in a long while, you’re not completely invisible anymore.
The man introduces himself as Steve.
He doesn’t stand over you like most adults do when they want something. Instead, he pulls a chair out slowly and turns it so he’s sitting across from you—not too close, not too far.
Just enough that you know he’s there, but not enough to make you feel trapped.
“Hi,” he says, offering a small, careful smile. “I’m Steve.”
You don’t answer.
You keep your eyes on the desk, tracing a faint scratch in the wood with your fingertip. You’ve already counted it before—three fingers long, slightly curved—but counting it again feels easier than looking up.
“That’s okay,” Steve says gently, like he expected the silence. “You don’t have to say anything right away.”
The room is quiet. Too quiet.
Outside the classroom, you can hear the distant noise of other students—chairs moving, someone laughing, a teacher calling out instructions. It feels far away. Like it belongs to a different world.
“I heard you like sitting by the window,” Steve continues after a moment.
Your finger stills.
He notices things.
You don’t like that.
“It’s a good spot,” he adds. “Lots of light. And you can see outside.”
You don’t respond.
But you don’t move away either.
Steve shifts slightly in his chair, resting his forearms on his knees. He doesn’t take out a notebook. Doesn’t write anything down.
He just… sits.
“I work with kids sometimes,” he says. “Mostly I just make sure they’re okay.”
Okay.
You swallow.
“I talk to teachers. Sometimes parents. Sometimes kids, if they want to.” He pauses. “But only if they want to.”
Silence stretches again.
Your shoulders feel tight.
Your chest feels tight.
“Do you feel safe at home?”
There it is.
The question.
It drops into the room like something heavy.
Your heart starts beating faster. You can feel it in your throat, in your ears, and in your fingertips.
You nod.
Too fast.
Too automatic.
Steve doesn’t react right away.
He just watches you.
Not in a scary way.
Not like he’s angry.
But like he’s… thinking.
Like he’s trying to understand something you didn’t say.
“Okay,” he says finally.
That’s it.
No follow-up.
No pressure.
But somehow that makes it worse.
-///-
He comes to your house two days later.
You know it’s him before anyone says his name.
There’s something about the knock, firm but not aggressive.
Steady.
Your stomach twists so hard it almost hurts.
“Stay in your room,” your parent says sharply, already moving toward the door.
You don’t argue.
You never argue.
You close your door quietly and sit on the floor, your back pressed against the side of your bed. It feels safer down here. Smaller. Like, if you make yourself small enough, you won’t be noticed.
Voices drift through the house.
Muffled at first.
Then clearer.
“…just a routine check…”
“…she’s a quiet child…”
“…always been sensitive…”
You pull your knees to your chest and wrap your arms around them, pressing your face down.
You try to make yourself even smaller.
“…we would never…”
“…of course, we understand your concern…”
Their voices sound normal.
You know that tone.
You’ve heard it before.
It’s the voice they use for other people.
Not for you.
You squeeze your eyes shut.
If you don’t move, if you don’t make a sound, maybe he won’t come up here.
Maybe he’ll just leave.
Maybe everything will stay the same.
You don’t know if that’s what you want.
But it’s what you’re used to.
After a while, the voices fade.
The door opens.
Closes.
Footsteps.
Silence.
He’s gone.
Nothing changes.
At first.
Then everything does.
You don’t go to school the next day.
Or the day after that.
At first, you think you’re sick without knowing you were.
Or maybe in trouble.
You don’t ask.
You’ve learned not to ask.
“There’s no need,” your parent says when you linger near the door on the third morning, your backpack hanging loosely from your shoulder. “You’ll stay home for a while.”
“For how long?” you whisper.
They look at you.
Just look.
Your throat closes.
“…okay,” you say quickly.
Your backpack stays by the door.
You go back to your room.
-///-
Days blur together.
You lose track of time.
Morning feels like evening. Evening feels like nothing.
The window doesn’t help anymore.
You stop looking outside.
There’s no point.
No one is coming.
-///-
Wanda notices on the first day.
The empty chair.
Your chair.
She pauses in the middle of attendance, her eyes lingering just a second longer than they should.
“Y/N?” she calls out automatically.
Silence answers.
A student shifts in their seat.
“She’s not here,” someone says.
Wanda nods slowly, marking it down.
Absent.
It happens.
Kids get sick.
But something about it doesn’t sit right.
On the second day, she asks the office.
“No call or note,” they tell her.
Her concern sharpens.
On the third day, she calls.
No answer.
By the fourth day, she’s pacing.
“You’re wearing a path into the floor,” Natasha says from the kitchen, watching her with quiet focus.
Wanda doesn’t stop. “She hasn’t been in school all week.”
Natasha sets her mug down. “Did the office hear anything?”
“No. No call. No email. Nothing.” Wanda runs a hand through her hair, frustration and worry tangled together. “That’s not normal.”
“No,” Natasha agrees. “It’s not.”
Wanda turns to her. “What if something happened?”
Natasha doesn’t answer right away.
Because they’re both thinking the same thing.
“What if we missed something?” Wanda whispers.
Natasha’s gaze softens slightly. “You didn’t miss anything.”
“But she wouldn’t talk to me,” Wanda says, her voice tightening. “She wouldn’t talk to Steve either, and now she’s just—gone.”
Natasha straightens. “Then we go find her.”
Wanda blinks. “Nat—”
“I mean it,” Natasha says. “This doesn’t feel right. Not after what we saw.”
Wanda hesitates.
Then nods.
“I’m going there,” she says.
Natasha doesn’t argue.
“I’m coming with you.”
The house looks normal.
That’s the first thing Wanda notices, and it makes something deep in her chest twist uncomfortably.
The curtains are neat. The garden is trimmed. The front step is clean.
Everything looks… fine.
Too fine.
“She lives here,” Wanda says quietly.
Natasha stands beside her, eyes already scanning windows, corners, and small details most people would miss.
“Okay,” she replies.
Wanda steps forward and knocks.
The sound echoes too loudly in the still air.
They wait.
Nothing.
Wanda knocks again, harder this time. “Y/N? It’s Ms. Maximoff.”
Painted in Honey and Sin
Emily Prentiss x Older Reader
Warning: This story contains explicit adult sexual content (18+ only). Includes: mommy kink, dom/sub dynamics, strapless power switch, food play (cream, chocolate, honey), fingering, oral sex, dirty talk, overstimulation, and very detailed NSFW scenes.
Proceed only if you are 18+ and comfortable with graphic smut. MDN
Author’s Note:
Hey everyone, this is my first time posting on Tumblr! I’m not new to writing smut, but I’m still a little nervous haha. Please be gentle with me
The chill of the night still clung to Emily’s skin like icy fingers as she eased her car into the driveway. Another brutal case, another life saved — but the weight of it all carved deeper into her soul with every passing year. You were her sanctuary. Her safe harbor. The one person who could make the horrors fade the moment she stepped through the door.
The house was dark and quiet, wrapped in the familiar, comforting scent of vanilla and lavender from the candle you’d burned earlier. She let out a long, weary breath, shoulders slumping as she shrugged off her heavy coat — the fabric still cold and slightly damp from the night air — and let it drop over the back of the couch with a soft rustle. Her bag followed with a dull thud. Tomorrow she would deal with the lingering shadows. Tonight, she only wanted you.
Her tired feet carried her upstairs, the wooden steps creaking softly under her weight in the silence. A soft sliver of golden light spilled from the slightly ajar bedroom door, warm and inviting against the cool darkness of the hallway. Her heart fluttered. The little star night light — the one she’d given you on your first month-iversary — was on. You only turned it on when you missed her.
Emily pushed the door open quietly and stepped inside.
The bedroom enveloped her immediately. The air was noticeably warmer, thick and heavy with the sweet, decadent aroma of honey, rich dark chocolate, and silky cream. The star night light cast a gentle, twinkling golden glow across the walls and ceiling, painting soft patterns like a private constellation. The large bed was invitingly rumpled, the sheets carrying your natural scent mixed with faint traces of arousal. A quiet hum of anticipation filled the room.
Her lips parted in a silent gasp.
You weren’t asleep.
You sat perched on the edge of the bed, bathed in the soft ethereal glow, wearing nothing but the delicate blue lingerie you’d bought last week just for her. The sheer fabric hugged every curve, the color making your skin look warm and inviting in the low light. A playful, knowing smile curved your lips as you watched her reaction, eyes sparkling with wicked promise.
“Hi, baby,” you purred, voice low and sweet like honeyed whiskey, cutting through the quiet of the room. “Rough day?”
Emily could only stare, exhaustion already melting under the heat of your gaze and the comforting warmth of the bedroom.
You gestured to the three small bowls waiting on the nightstand. Their glossy surfaces caught the starlight — thick silky white cream, rich dark chocolate sauce, and golden glistening honey. “An angel told me you needed to be properly recharged. Penelope sends her love, by the way.” Your smile widened. “So I prepared a little surprise for my hardworking girl. Mommy’s going to take such good care of you tonight.”
Emily’s knees nearly buckled. The day’s horrors vanished in an instant, replaced by liquid heat pooling low in her belly. “Yes, Mommy,” she whispered, voice already breathy.
You tilted your head, eyes darkening with affection and hunger. “Good girl. Now take off your shirt for me — slowly. Then your pants. Let Mommy see you.”
Emily obeyed without hesitation, peeling her clothes away with deliberate movements, giving you the little show you loved. Every piece of fabric that hit the floor earned soft praise from your lips, and each word of praise pulled a needy, helpless moan from her throat. Her toned body was revealed inch by inch — the faint scars that mapped her dangerous life, the strong lines of her shoulders and arms, the soft swell of her breasts still cupped in red lace, and the growing damp patch darkening the front of her underwear.
You reached for her. “Come here, angel.”
Emily stepped closer, trembling with anticipation. The carpet was soft and warm under her bare feet. Your hands explored her reverently — cupping and squeezing her breasts, tugging the bra straps down until her nipples were exposed, hard and aching in the warm air. You rolled one between your fingers, then leaned in to take it into your mouth, sucking gently. Emily’s hands flew to your shoulders, soft moans spilling from her as her head fell back.
Your fingers trailed down her stomach, over her hips, then between her thighs. You stroked her through the soaked fabric before pulling it aside and sliding one finger through her slick folds.
“So wet for me already,” you murmured against her skin. “I can smell how much you need this, baby.”
“Please, Mommy… I’ve been such a good girl.”
You smiled, slow and indulgent. “I know you have. Give me kisses first.”
The kiss began tender, then turned fierce and hungry, tongues sliding hotly as the sweet scent of the bowls grew stronger. Your fingers pushed inside her — one, then two — curling just right. Emily moaned into your mouth, hips rocking desperately as she rode your hand. You held her steady, thumb circling her swollen clit while your mouth claimed one nipple, then the other, sucking and nibbling until she was shaking.
“Fuck— Mommy— so close—”
“Cum for me, angel. Say my name and make a mess on Mommy’s fingers.”
With a broken cry of your name, Emily shattered. Her walls clenched hard around your fingers as she came, soaking your hand and thighs. The wet, obscene sounds of her release mixed with her desperate moans, filling the intimate warmth of the bedroom.
“Thank you, Mommy,” she whispered, voice wrecked.
You kissed her forehead, then pulled your fingers free and licked them clean with a satisfied moan. Emily’s eyes darkened further at the sight. She began grinding her dripping pussy against your thigh, needy again already, leaving a warm, slick trail on your skin.
You chuckled softly. “Greedy girl. But Mommy’s not done with you… and you’re not done with me.” You reached for the three bowls. “Pick whichever you want, baby. Or use them all. Spread them anywhere on Mommy’s body you want to taste. I’m all yours tonight.”
Emily’s breath hitched as she looked at the offerings.
She chose all three.
You moved to the center of the bed, stretching out languidly for her. The sheets felt cool against your back at first, then quickly warmed with your body heat. Emily’s eyes drank you in hungrily. “You’re so fucking perfect,” she breathed.
She started with the cream, smearing a generous amount across your lips. Then she painted trails of warm chocolate down your collarbones and between your full breasts, watching it slowly drip. Golden honey was drizzled in teasing lines along your inner thighs, right up to your glistening core. The sweet, sticky scents intensified, thick and intoxicating in the warm room.
Emily leaned down and began her devotion.
She kissed you first — deep, messy, and sweet — licking the cream from your lips while her hands roamed your body. Then she followed the chocolate trail, licking and sucking every drop from your skin, paying special attention to your breasts. She spent long minutes lavishing your nipples until they were stiff and aching, until you were arching into her mouth.
Lower still.
She settled between your spread thighs, eyes locked on your pussy now glistening with honey and your own slick. “You look so divine, Mommy… I won’t hold back.”
She didn’t.
Emily dragged her tongue in one long, slow stripe from your entrance to your clit. The wet, obscene schlick of her tongue sliding through your folds filled the room, mixing with your sharp gasp. You threaded your fingers into her dark hair, pulling her closer as she moaned deeply against your cunt, the low vibration buzzing straight through your core.
She devoured you like a woman starved — long, hungry laps of her tongue that made loud, sloppy slurping sounds with every pass. The wet gluck-gluck of her mouth sucking your juices mixed with the sticky sounds of honey being licked away. She pushed her tongue inside you, fucking you with it in wet, rhythmic thrusts that echoed filthily in the warm bedroom.
Two fingers suddenly pushed deep inside you without warning. The loud, squelching squelch-squelch-squelch of her fingers pumping into your soaked pussy was shamelessly loud. She curled them hard against your g-spot while her mouth latched onto your swollen clit, sucking with wet, obscene pop-pop sounds.
“So tight, Mommy,” Emily groaned, voice thick and muffled, the words vibrating right against your throbbing clit. “Fuck, your pussy is squeezing my fingers so greedily. This pretty cunt is all mine, isn’t it? Look how well you take me… swallowing my fingers like the needy slut you are for me.”
Her filthy words sent another gush of arousal flooding out of you. The wet sounds grew even louder — lewd, rhythmic schlick-schlick-schlick as her fingers drove faster, your juices coating her hand and dripping down to the sheets with soft, wet splats.
“Fuck— baby— right there! Harder, please—!” Your voice cracked into a desperate moan.
Emily’s eyes flashed with dark hunger. “That’s it, Mommy. Beg for it. Tell me how bad you need your good girl to wreck this sloppy pussy.”
She obeyed instantly, slamming her fingers harder, the wet sounds of her hand smacking against your soaked cunt growing frantic.
She sucked your clit into her hot mouth with a loud, hungry slurp, tongue flicking rapidly over the sensitive bundle of nerves while her fingers fucked you mercilessly. The room was filled with the filthy symphony — her muffled moans, your broken whimpers, the constant wet squelching of her fingers plunging in and out, and the obscene sucking sounds of her mouth devouring you.
“God, you taste so fucking good,” she moaned into your dripping cunt, the vibrations making your toes curl. “Sweet honey mixed with your creamy pussy juice… I could eat this cunt for hours. You’re dripping down my chin, Mommy. Such a messy girl.”
Your head thrashed against the pillow, fingers yanking hard at her hair as the pleasure coiled tighter. The wet, sloppy sounds only grew louder and more desperate.
“Emily— fuck— don’t stop, baby— I’m so close—!”
She pulled her mouth back just enough to growl against your soaked folds, the hot puff of her breath teasing your clit. “Then cum for me, Mommy. Flood my fucking face. I want to feel this tight pussy gush all over my tongue. Be a good whore and cum on your babygirl’s fingers.”
She latched back on with a loud, wet suck, tongue fluttering wildly while slamming her fingers deep and fast. The squelching sounds became frantic and downright pornographic. Your back arched violently off the bed, thighs shaking uncontrollably as the orgasm crashed over you.
“Emily—! Fuck, Mommy’s cumming—!” you screamed, voice raw and broken. Your pussy clenched violently around her fingers, gushing hard with loud, wet spurts onto her tongue and chin, soaking her face and the sheets beneath you with messy, audible splashes. Emily moaned loudly in pure bliss — a deep, throaty groan of satisfaction — eagerly drinking every drop, refusing to pull away even as your body convulsed and more slick sounds of her lapping filled the room.
She pulled back just enough to look at you, cheeks flushed, lips swollen and glistening. “I love your reward, Mommy.”
You let out a breathless laugh, still riding high. “I’m happy you did baby, you earned it. And I loved every second of it.”
Emily’s expression shifted. A wicked, almost predatory smile curved her lips. “Good… because I can’t stop fucking you now.”
Before you could fully process her words, Emily moved with surprising strength. She grabbed your hips and rolled you over onto your stomach in one smooth motion. The cool sheets pressed against your overheated breasts as your ass lifted slightly in the air. Emily’s hands immediately spread your cheeks wide, exposing your dripping pussy and tight hole to her hungry gaze and the warm air of the room.
“I love fucking you, Mommy,” she growled, voice thick with lust. “Look at this pretty pussy… still twitching and leaking for me. So fucking wet and open after I made you cum all over my tongue.”
Oh, you just unleashed a wild beast in her. And you loved every fucking bit of it.
you should feel how i feel when somebody says your name
emily prentiss x f!reader
tags: fluff, single mom!reader, unit chief!emily, kissing, getting together, baby!!!, no use of yn, petnames, momily-adjacent
warnings: mentions of reader breastfeeding
summary: your boss is obsessed with your daughter.
word count: 1.1k
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a/n: just a silly thing as i procrastinate
read on ao3 or below the cut
Emily appears in that way that she does. Sudden and warm and disconcerting. Probably summoned by the giggles, of course.
Your stomach flips, but you keep your eyes trained on your daughter, sitting happily and babbling away in your lap.
“I thought I heard my favorite laugh,” she says from behind you, a smile that's so clear in her voice you can't help but smile too.
Charlotte, the traitor, reacts immediately. She turns to Emily, raising her little arms in a silent ask. Before you can even react, your boss has her lifted into her arms, breathing in her baby scent.
“Well, hi, sweet girl,” she murmurs in that voice she reserves only for Charlotte. “I didn't know you’d be here today.”
You turn to them, taking in the sight of Emily with your nine month old in her arms, hugging her to her chest. “My mom just dropped her off. She was worried my dad was about to get a cold and didn't want her near.”
Emily looks down at the baby, pouting sweetly, “oh, yes. That's no place for this perfect girl.”
You stand, about to gesture for your daughter back, knowing Emily has to get back to her office. However, she turns, murmuring all the while to Charlotte and starting to walk away.
“Let's go, honey. Your mommy has work to do.”
“Emily?” You call, frowning at her retreating form.
She turns only her face to look at you, “I'll keep her so you can go back to your duties.”
“I thought you had work to do,” you say, or sort of ask.
“I'm the boss, honey,” she calls back, already taking the steps up to her office. “I can do whatever I want.”
After a while of no word from them, and no hungry cries from Charlotte either, you make your way towards Emily's office. The door’s almost closed, but not quite, so you stick your head in.
The view that greets you is heartwarming — to say the least.
Emily is standing, swaying softly from side to side. Charlotte is held against her chest with one arm as the other holds up a file. The little girl's face is hidden in her neck, small fingers gripping the neckline of her silk blouse.
She turns. “Hey,” whispers. “She would cry every time I tried putting her down.”
You smile, “yeah, she does that.”
Emily leans her head on Charlotte’s for a mere second. It's so natural, the way she does it, as if the girl is anchoring her to a possibility she doesn't want to let go of.
“I can take her now,” you say, stepping inside and closing the door behind you. “I should relieve you of your babysitting duties.”
She shakes her head, “she's so comfortable.”
“I thought I’d take her home, if my boss allows it.”
Emily lays down her file, then shifts so she’s supporting the baby with two arms. Humming, “it is a Saturday, after all.”
You lean back against the door, “do you think my boss would like to come have dinner with us?”
The corner of her mouth tilts up in a soft smile, “I think she can be convinced.”
Dinner, of course, consists of Charlotte switching laps so you can both eat. After she finishes her own dinner of scrambled eggs and mashed up avocado, she whines to get out of her chair, wanting to be held constantly. You're better at eating one handed at this point, so you manage to finish most of your meal with her in your lap, until you try three times to get the last bits of pasta on your fork and fail, so Emily takes pity on you.
Emily stays as you bathe Charlotte, sitting on the closed toilet lid and watching as you kneel before the tub. You keep the conversation going, both of you not wanting it to end, which applies to the baby who babbles away as well, figuring she can be included in the subject.
It takes a little bit to put her to bed. You sit on the plush armchair in Charlotte’s room, breastfeeding her until she gets drowsy with sleep. Her late in the day nap was no match for how milk drunk she gets after a feed.
When you come back into the living room, Emily has poured the wine you had talked about earlier.
“I hope you don't mind I went looking into your cabinets,” she gestures to the wine glasses on the coffee table. You wave her off.
“You're a lifesaver.” Dropping on the couch, you immediately take a sip of your drink.
Emily smiles into her glass.
“Sorry I made you come in on a Saturday,” she says. “It seems I can’t do my job well without you.”
You smirk slightly, “I don’t recall you doing a lot of work.”
“I had a pretty girl to look after,” she counters lightly, scooting closer.
“Ah,” you nod. “Should I be worried?”
Emily tilts her head, “I don’t know.” She’s so close now, looking into your eyes like she can’t bear the thought of looking anywhere else. “Do you… have a reason to?”
You shrug a shoulder. She touches your nose with her own, pushing softly to the side. It’s silly, you almost giggle.
She interrupts your laugh by pressing her lips to yours.
Emily kisses like she does most things. Unhurried. Intentional.
She guides your face to where she wants it. She asks for permission with her tongue. It's deep yet it's not quick, she does it like she's learning you, and she does it until she runs out of air.
You're about to say something — maybe ask for it again — when a cry interrupts you. Emily smiles sweetly as you sigh in defeat, whispering you'll be right back.
Coming back with Charlotte in your arms, you ask if she can hold her while you get a bottle ready. Emily quickly puts her wine down and extends her arms, making grabbing motions, softening instantly when the girl cuddles up to her.
Sitting down on the couch, you hand her the bottle in a silent ask. Emily's eyes light up as she takes it from you.
“I thought you still breastfed her?” She guides the bottle to Charlotte's lips, who starts eating happily and relaxed, her little fingers wrapping around the plastic but not bothering to hold it.
“I do,” you say, relaxing back into your seat. You suddenly find yourself really tired. “But I keep milk frozen for when I want a drink.”
Emily nods, completely focused on the little girl's face.
“She doesn't usually wake up in the middle of the night anymore,” you murmur, watching intently as Emily caresses Charlotte's cheek ever so slightly, like she can't believe she's real. “I guess she wanted to hang out with you.”
She lifts her head, beaming as she looks at you. “I love hanging out with her.”
You hum, “just her?”
Grinning, she leans in to leave a peck on your cheek, “I guess you can stay, too.”
You're a little chaos gremlin.
Daryl Dixon thinks its adorable. Not that he'd ever tell you that.
The first time Daryl Dixon realized you were going to be a problem, you were hanging upside down from the roof of the RV.
Not metaphorically.
Actually upside down.
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, staring up at you where your knees hooked over the metal edge, your body dangling freely while you rummaged through a ripped backpack. “What the hell’re you doin’?”
You looked at him with all the calm confidence of someone not currently one bad grip away from a concussion.
“Inventory.”
“You’re upside down.”
“Blood flow helps me think.”
“That ain’t a thing.”
“Says who?”
“Says common damn sense.”
You grinned at him then—bright, crooked, utterly unashamed—and tossed a can of peaches down toward him. Daryl caught it automatically against his chest before glaring harder.
“See? Teamwork.”
“You’re gonna break your damn neck.”
“But I haven’t yet.”
“That’s not comfortin’.”
You dropped lightly to the ground beside him, boots crunching against gravel, and dusted your hands off like none of this had been strange. Which, unfortunately, was becoming normal for you.
Daryl watched you shove another two cans into your bag before wandering toward the tree line like a raccoon with opposable thumbs and absolutely no fear of God.
He should’ve been annoyed.
Probably was annoyed.
But somewhere beneath the headache you constantly gave him was something warm and helpless and dangerous.
Because you made this dead world feel alive again.
The group called you many things.
Rick called you a liability.
Carol called you “resourceful.”
Glenn called you “the human equivalent of a lit firecracker.”
Michonne once stared at you for a full thirty seconds after catching you trying to teach Judith how to throw knives and simply said:
“No.”
You’d smiled innocently.
“Okay.”
Five minutes later Daryl found you in the yard showing Carl how to pick handcuffs with a bobby pin.
“You ever listen?” Michonne snapped from the porch.
“Not particularly!”
Daryl nearly choked trying not to laugh.
That was the problem.
Nobody else saw it.
To everyone else, you were chaos incarnate. Tiny disaster. A gremlin in human form who somehow survived entirely on caffeine, spite, and poor decisions.
But Daryl saw the little things.
The way you made Judith laugh when she cried.
The way you always gave someone else the bigger food portion when supplies got low.
The way you stayed awake beside people having nightmares because you knew what it was like to wake up afraid.
You hid kindness under sarcasm and recklessness.
Daryl knew something about that.
Which was probably why he kept ending up near you.
Even when he swore he wouldn’t.
“You are banned from traps.”
“I don’t think you can legally ban me.”
“I ain’t askin’ legal permission.”
You sat cross-legged on the floor of the church, pouting dramatically while Daryl dismantled the horrifying contraption you’d built from fishing wire, a soup can, and what looked concerningly like a fork.
“It was defensive.”
“It was pointed at the bathroom door.”
“In case of intruders.”
“It nearly took my damn eye out.”
“You still have both eyes.”
“Woman…”
You snorted.
He tried to stay irritated.
Then you smiled at him.
Daryl hated that smile.
Not because it was bad.
Because it wasn’t.
Because it made something inside his chest go soft and stupid.
You leaned back on your palms, watching him work.
“You’re pretty when you’re grumpy.”
Daryl almost stabbed himself with the screwdriver.
“I ain’t pretty.”
“You kinda are.”
“Shut up.”
“You blush really easy for a scary redneck.”
“I ain’t blushin’.”
“Your ears are red.”
“Cold.”
“It’s August.”
He glared at you.
You grinned wider.
And Christ.
That grin was going to kill him someday.
You had absolutely no survival instincts.
That became obvious during a run when you found an abandoned toy store.
“Absolutely not,” Daryl said immediately.
“But—”
“No.”
“There could be useful supplies.”
“You’re lookin’ at a stuffed giraffe.”
“It could contain medicine.”
“It contains fluff.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know exactly that.”
Twenty minutes later, Daryl walked out carrying ammunition, canned food, and somehow three stuffed animals because you’d shoved them into his arms with an expression so heartbreakingly hopeful he physically could not say no.
“You’re manipulative,” he informed you.
“You like me.”
“I tolerate you.”
“You carried the giraffe.”
“…Shut up.”
You beamed like you’d won something.
Maybe you had.
The prison changed things.
Not all at once.
But slowly.
Quietly.
Daryl got used to hearing your footsteps beside his.
Got used to your voice drifting through cell blocks.
Got used to finding little stupid things left for him.
Half a candy bar.
A sharpened hunting knife you’d spent hours fixing.
A note that said:
found this. thought of your grumpy ass.
You never signed them.
You didn’t have to.
And Daryl—
Daryl started smiling more.
Not big smiles.
Tiny ones.
Rare enough that the entire prison noticed.
“You like her,” Glenn said one evening.
Daryl nearly walked directly into a wall.
“Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”
“She’s literally sitting in your lap.”
Daryl froze.
You were.
Somewhere during game night, you’d apparently climbed onto the bench beside him, gotten comfortable, and eventually ended up sprawled half across his lap while arguing with Maggie about card rules.
Neither of you had noticed.
Or maybe you had.
Because when Daryl looked down, you tipped your head back to look at him upside down and smiled sleepily.
“You comfy?”
Every thought left his head.
“…Yeah.”
Glenn made a face like he wanted to scream.
The thing about you was that you trusted Daryl completely.
Without hesitation.
Without fear.
You’d hand him your weapons without thinking twice.
Fall asleep against his shoulder.
Reach for his hand automatically in crowds.
And Daryl, who’d spent most of his life feeling unwanted, didn’t know what to do with that kind of trust.
Especially because he wanted more of it.
Wanted all of it.
Every smile.
Every laugh.
Every terrible impulsive idea.
Every moment.
It scared the hell out of him.
“You ever gonna tell her?”
Carol sat beside him on the prison tower roof while Daryl cleaned his crossbow.
He didn’t look up.
“Tell who what.”
Carol snorted softly.
“You’re hopeless.”
“Ain’t ask for commentary.”
“You look at her like she hung the moon.”
Daryl immediately scowled.
“I do not.”
“Mmhm.”
“She drives me insane.”
“You’re smiling right now.”
His face flattened instantly.
Carol laughed outright.
Below them in the yard, you were attempting to roller skate using scavenged children’s skates two sizes too small.
“You’re gonna bust your ass!” Daryl yelled.
“I believe in myself!”
“You shouldn’t!”
Two seconds later you crashed directly into a fence.
Carol nearly cried laughing.
Daryl was already climbing down the ladder.
“Y’alright?”
You sat in the grass blinking up at him after your spectacular wipeout.
“One day,” you announced solemnly, “my athleticism will reveal itself.”
Daryl crouched beside you, trying and failing not to smile.
“You got a death wish.”
“You caught me last time.”
His expression softened before he could stop it.
Because he had.
Months earlier.
You’d slipped climbing a shelf during a supply run and Daryl had caught you before your head hit concrete.
You’d stared at him afterward like he’d hung the stars.
Daryl remembered every second of it.
Now you looked at him that same way again.
Open.
Warm.
Fond.
Dangerous.
“You always catch me,” you said quietly.
Something painful tugged in his chest.
He looked away first.
“C’mon. Let’s get ya cleaned up.”
You took his hand immediately.
No hesitation.
Never hesitation.
The first time Daryl kissed you happened because you almost got bitten.
Which honestly felt fitting.
You’d split from the group during a run after hearing a dog barking somewhere nearby.
Because apparently your survival instincts had fully evaporated.
Daryl found you cornered in an alley with three walkers closing in.
Afterward, after the blood and panic and violence, after he killed the last walker with brutal fury, he grabbed you by the shoulders hard enough to make you stumble.
“The hell were you thinkin’?!” he shouted.
You looked startled.
“There was a dog—”
“You coulda died!”
“I didn’t—”
“You don’t get to run off like that!”
Your face changed then.
Not angry.
Hurt.
“I said I’m sorry.”
Daryl stopped breathing.
Because your voice had gone small.
And he hated that.
Hated being the reason for it.
You looked down, rubbing your arm awkwardly.
“I just thought maybe if it was alive—”
Before he could think better of it, Daryl grabbed your face and kissed you.
Hard.
Desperate.
Like he’d been holding it back for months and finally snapped.
You made a tiny surprised sound against his mouth before kissing him back instantly.
Like you’d been waiting too.
When he pulled away, both of you were breathing hard.
Daryl looked horrified with himself.
You looked delighted.
“Well,” you whispered. “That’s one way to communicate.”
“I—”
“You really need healthier coping mechanisms.”
He groaned and dropped his forehead against yours.
You laughed softly.
Then kissed him again.
And Daryl Dixon, perpetually grumpy survivalist, realized he was completely and utterly screwed.
Dating you was a nightmare.
Not because you were difficult.
Because you were impossible.
You stole his shirts constantly.
You hid plastic spiders in his bedroll.
You once convinced Glenn to help you paint tiny smiley faces on all of Daryl’s bolts.
He discovered them mid-run.
“What the hell is this?”
You looked unbearably pleased with yourself.
“Morale.”
“You vandalized my weapons.”
“They’re happy weapons.”
“Why are they winkin’?”
“Artistic flair.”
Daryl stared at the bolt.
Then at you.
Then back at the bolt.
And despite every effort not to—
He laughed.
A real laugh.
Rough and rusty from disuse, but real.
Your entire face lit up.
There it is, your expression seemed to say. There you are.
And God.
Nobody had ever looked happier to hear him laugh.
You loved him loudly.
Openly.
Without shame.
Daryl had no idea what to do with that at first.
You kissed his cheek in passing.
Curled against him at night.
Told him you missed him after short supply runs like he’d been gone for years instead of hours.
And every single time, Daryl looked vaguely stunned.
Like love was something he still didn’t fully believe belonged to him.
One night, lying together beneath a threadbare blanket while rain hammered the prison roof, you traced the scars on his arm gently.
“Whatcha thinkin’ about?” you murmured.
Daryl shrugged.
“Nothin’.”
“Liar.”
He stayed quiet for a long moment.
Then finally:
“Ain’t never had… this before.”
You looked at him carefully.
“This?”
“Someone carin’ this much.”
The honesty in his voice nearly broke your heart.
You shifted closer immediately until your forehead touched his.
“Then I’ll care enough for all the years nobody else did.”
Daryl stared at you like he physically didn’t know how to process that sentence.
Then he kissed you slow and deep and aching.
Like he was trying to memorize the feeling.
The prison fell.
Everything broke after that.
But not you two.
Never you two.
Even separated, even terrified, even covered in blood and grief and exhaustion, Daryl searched for you like breathing.
And when he found you again—
God.
He nearly collapsed from relief.
You ran toward him through the trees so fast you almost tripped.
Daryl caught you around the waist as you slammed into him.
“You idiot,” you choked out, crying and laughing at once. “You’re alive.”
He buried his face against your neck.
Couldn’t speak for a second.
Because you were alive too.
And that was everything.
Absolute everything.
“I gotcha,” he muttered hoarsely.
Your arms tightened around him instantly.
“I know.”
And you did.
You always did.
Years later, after Alexandria, after wars and grief and rebuilding, after all the ugly parts of surviving finally softened around the edges—
Daryl still woke up every morning with you tangled around him like a sleepy octopus.
Still found random objects hidden in his vest pockets.
Still watched you climb things you absolutely should not climb.
Still heard your laughter carrying through whatever place became home next.
And every single day, Daryl loved you more.
Even when you filled his motorcycle saddlebags with stolen candy.
Even when you taught Judith swear words “educationally.”
Even when he found you sitting on the kitchen counter at two in the morning trying to train a possum you’d found outside.
“You cannot keep that thing.”
“He likes me.”
“It hissed at me.”
“That’s just his personality.”
“You said that about me once.”
“See? Soulmates.”
Daryl stared at you holding the possum like a proud mother.
Then he shook his head slowly and stepped between your knees, hands settling automatically on your hips.
“You’re a damn menace.”
You smiled lazily, wrapping your arms around his neck.
“But I’m your menace.”
And there it was again.
That feeling.
That soft helpless warmth that had started the first day he found you hanging upside down from an RV roof.
pairing; Jinshi x servant!reader
summary; Jinshi just can't stop himself when it comes to Y/n. nor can he stop from causing disappointment for Lady Gyokuyou
warning; falling, injury.
JInshi just could not resist from calling after the girl, who was carefully treading with a heavy bucket of water. And that’s exactly what happened; Hearing her lover and master call for her, Y/n had turned around in a haste forgetting all about the bucket in her hand, making the heavy wood hit her ankle.
A pained scream pierced through the Rear Palace and Jinshi had sprinted over to the girl who was now sitting on the ground, painfully clutching her ankle. “ouch…” she whined.
“Y/n, my love, I’m so sorry,” Jinshi apologized; he really was sorry. All he wanted was to chat (annoy) his favourite girl. He had not meant for her to fall. Of course, he wouldn’t! Had he known she was doing such labour, he would not have called after her.
But what’s done is done. There’s no point in crying over spilled milk.
Y/n put her finger on his lips, stopping him from continuing. “Jinshi-sama, we’re outdoors. It’ll be an eyesore if someone hears you,” she said softly. Even though she was in pain, she still smiled. The smile that made Jinshi’s heart skip a hundred beats.
With a heavy heart, he asked. “Can you stand up?”
Y/n scrunched up her face in pain, trying her best to stand. She could only rise a few inches off the ground before she fell again. Sighing, Jinshi slipped one of his hands under her legs, the other supported her upper half.
Slowly, the master carried his treasured servant back to his quarter.
After asking the Rear Palace doctor to put ointment on her injury, Jinshi and Gaoshun had left to give the girl some rest. It had not even been half an hour before a frantic Gyokuyou and her darling daughter Lingli almost burst through the door searching for her most trusted friend and servant.
“Y/n!” Gyokuyou gasped when she saw the huge swelling on her leg. “You must be careful while working, Y/n! What if—’ the scene before her had stopped all those words in her throat.
Y/n was sticking out her tongue as Gyokuyou reprimanded her. She almost sounded like her sisters. But she looked up in confusion when she saw the elder woman stop in her words. “Lady Gyokuyou…?’’
However, it was not the woman who answered Y/n’s unasked question but her darughter, Lingli. “Jinshi!” Lingli said happily.
Only then did she pay attention to the garment that was on her body. Y/n was in her white robes or the undergarment. The thing keeping her from the chilly atmosphere was the ever so familiar round-collared robe, the intricate golden patterns on the hem of the garment.
Jinshi’s robe! Shit!
While Gyokuyou intended to lecture the girl further, she just could not continue on after witnessing this mess. So instead, she hollered, “Master Jinshi, come here, this instant!”
As if by teleportation, Jinshi was present in the room along with Gaoshun. However, Gaoshun was not as fast as Jinshi, he walked into the room normally. Knowing Jinshi, everyone in the room knew he had his ear pressed against the door, eavesdropping on every word of the conversation that took place inside.
But Jinshi paid no mind. “What happened? Is there anything wrong, Y/n?” He asked; worry and hurt laced in his voice.
Gyokuyou sighed. “No. She’s alright. However, Master Jinshi,” She put a heavy hand on his shoulder, her eyes dark. “Perhaps you should put more consideration into your actions?” The tone was one of warning. Y/n almost felt like she was watching a fight going down between siblings.
“Huh?”
Smack. She hit Jinshi’s head soundly. Pulling him by the wrist, she made him stand before his bed which currently rested Y/n. Gyokuyou pointed at the robe on Y/n.
“What is this?” She demanded, She had calmed down a bit but still had that disappointed mother look on her beautiful face.
“Oh. So this is what the fuss is all about!?” Jinshi sounded dismayed. With a sigh, he plopped face down on his lover’s lap. As if on cue, Y/n smiling began to caress his hair; the action making Jinshi smile much like the other toddler in the room.
Gyokuyou was completely and utterly defeated. “Master Jinshi, I know how much you love Y/n, but you should be more careful!” She sounded just like a mother, Y/n thought. “What if someone else saw this instead of me?”
“Meh,” Jinshi retorted, still relishing under Y/n’s fingers running through his locks. “Her clothes were wet, she could’ve caught a cold. How could I allow that?” He finally looked up, a smug smile on his lip. “Moreover, you can’t deny she looks absolutely delicious in my robes. Mm. Maybe we should do this more often—‘’
Smack. A second strike from Lady Gyokuyou!
do not steal, copy or translate my work on any other site. all belong to yup-thats-me™️ on tumblr
Hello hello! I loveed your Jinshi x reader fic and as much as I'd love Jinshi content I reallllyyy want some Mao Mao smut! :3 preferably fxf but if you're not comfortable no pressure! Take your time and I hope you have a lovely day/night! :)
I'm glad you liked it!! This was very fun to write, here you go:)
The Apothecary and the Advisor.
MaoMao x reader
NSFW fem!reader // maomao
warnings; fxf, porn with (some) plot, no explicit dom/sub dynamics, fingering, oral (reader receiving, Jinshi mentions (he's kinda into both reader and MaoMao), I think that's it.
Note; first time writing with two women! I hope I did ok. Anywayyy tysm for requesting, if you feel like it, please let me know how you found it!!
Also it's been a while since I've watched apothecary diaries, so if there's anything ooc, that's why. Also ignore the title, I was out of ideas:/
Enjoy~
It wasn’t that your presence surprised her, it was just that it came out of nowhere.
For the whole time that she’s been working with Jinshi, she’s been told the same narrative, ‘Jinshi does not have female servants (besides Suiren), for… obvious reasons’, and until her arrival that’s how it was.
Except that’s not how it was, not really at least.
Apparently, there was also another woman who was allowed around him, and she happened to have returned from overseas just recently. Though, you were less a servant as much as you were some sort of advisor. She wasn’t too certain, but what she was certain about was that Jinshi definitely had a thing for you.
Jackpot.
She could finally be free from his constant pursuits, he’d leave her alone! Her daydreaming didn’t last long though, it took about a minute of watching the two of you interact for her to realise that it was very much one sided. Seems he really is into the ones that don’t want him, huh…
Well, at the very least, now his affections were split between two people rather than just dumped on her, so a win is a win.
Over the few months since she first met you, you’ve been in and out of the palace for work pretty often, seemingly your job had you outside of the court more than within it. Due to this, the first few months that you were not abroad she hardly interacted with you.
It wasn’t until, after one of your trips outside you had approached her.
“Hey… miss MaoMao? Jinshi mentioned you had an interest in strange and unusual plants and such… I thought you might like these. I’m not sure what they are, but you’re free to have them if you wish.”
Oh.
Oh. Oh, Oh-
Foreign roots? Foreign unknown roots- She had hastily thanked you, and ran off with barely contained excitement to investigate. It had taken her almost four days to figure out what they were, four days spent buzzing with excitement as she read through books and experimented in an attempt to identify the plant and what it was used for. She was overjoyed.
By the time she had figured it out, you were back out of town, but she remembered that.
Since then, you’ve brought her a few more random items of interest. Herbs, spices, roots- whatever strange things you could find from vendors outside the palace, you’d bring back. MaoMao’s even found herself keeping track of when you were due to return, so she could plan breaks from work around it to experiment~
Unfortunately, this time that wasn’t going to work.
Another court-wide festival was coming up, and between lady Gyokuyou and lady Lihua’s requests for her assistance, Jinshi, and her own tasks, it had worked out that even though you had returned almost a week ago she’s hardly had time for anything besides work.
At least she’s been seeing you around more, though she’s not sure why that matters to her.
It’s not like she interacts with you much, the only interaction you’ve had was the night before the festival when you’d brought her the robe she was supposed to wear, and now, when you were helping her apply makeup, which you’d insisted on despite her assuring you she could manage just fine.
“Hm… yes, this colour compliments your complexion quite well, let’s go with this one.”
Your words are almost absentminded, as you brush the pigment onto her face. The focus in your expression is almost intimidating, so she finds herself shifting her gaze downwards, only to be met with your slightly more exposed than usual cleavage, prompting her to close her eyes altogether after a few moments of observation.
“Is this not too much..? I wouldn’t want to cause issues with the consorts…”
“Hardly, as long as we are not wearing their colours, there will not be issues. I assure you.”
Your confident tone eases her trepidations, maybe a bit more than it should, she’s not really used to placing such trust in others. Nevertheless, she sighs, dropping the topic. She supposes you’re wearing about as much as she is anyway.
“The robes are fancier than usual.” She mumbles, not really expecting a reply.
“They’re nice, aren’t they?” you hum, dipping the brush back into the pigment, “I picked out a colour I thought would match you, since I wasn’t sure which you’d prefer.”
You picked the outfits? Maybe your position is a bit higher than she’d originally thought… though it would make sense since you’re constantly being sent out of the palace. She simply hums in agreement.
“The colour’s nice.”
“It’s my favourite~”
She’s not sure why that makes her feel a bit bashful, so she just brushes it off. The rest of the preparation for the festival goes smoothly, as expected. You bid her farewell and she takes her place as a fill-in for a poison tester who could not make it.
The royal meal goes as planned, without any issues, and she is soon dismissed to celebrate with the lower court. Jinshi is nowhere to be found, so she finds herself with you and a few other court ladies, which further supports her suspicions that you’re probably not just Jinshi’s servant.
She also suspects that were it not for you, she would not be allowed at this table, but that’s irrelevant.
The food is soon set out, and everyone begins to eat their portions. For some reason, MaoMao feels a strange urge to test your food. She justifies it as the least she can do for all the interesting specimens you have brought her.
“Oh yeah… you’re a poison tester, I almost forgot.” you hum, shooting her a smile as you lean against your hand, sliding your dish towards her, “Sure, go for it. I doubt anyone would want to poison me though.”
She quickly tries your food, coming to the conclusion that it is, indeed, fine for consumption.
“No poison, you’re safe.”
The rest of the meal is nothing interesting, the two of you make idle conversation for a while, before a few of the other ladies request your attention and MaoMao slips away, choosing to take a stroll through the night instead.
It’s not until almost midnight that she returns to her allocated building, getting momentarily distracted by the sight of the moon from the walkway.
“Oh- MaoMao! I was wondering where you were, you disappeared before we managed to properly converse.”
Your voice shifts her out of her trance, and she turns to face you. Her silence is not born from disinterest, it’s just- the way the moonlight illuminates you, and your robe accentuates your figure… you certainly look nothing short of beautiful. Were you a courtesan, she thinks, you’d definitely be an expensive one.
“My apologies, I just didn’t mean to impede.”
“No need-! I understand I was preoccupied.” You stop and lean against the railing beside her, “Do you have time now? We could catch up over tea if you’d like.”
For some reason, she finds herself unable to decline. And so, she finds herself in your quarters, choosing between various exotic teas that you’ve picked up on your travels. Once settling on one, you quickly brew and pour it, sitting gracefully beside her.
Yup, you’d certainly make one fine courtesan.
“So MaoMao, is there anything I should keep an eye out for on my travels?”
“Oh, no no, there’s no need for that.” She assures, “I can’t possibly make such requests of you, my lady.”
You smile, sipping the tea and shooting her a side glance.
“So there is something you’d want then?”
She pauses, thinking it over. Would it be more impolite to deny your offer… or take you up on it..? Surely as long as her request came as a suggestion, rather than a demand, it would be alright to answer? After a few moments, she settles on neither.
“If you really wish to bring me something… come find me before your next departure, I’ll… drop a few suggestions, I suppose.”
“Alright~”
Your agreement sends a strange warmth through her chest, which she suppresses by taking a sip of the tea.
“How have your travels been?”
You hum, leaning back against your hands, your position casual, however the brush of your shoulder against hers as you move back makes her slightly more aware of how close you chose to sit.
“Oh, y’know… they’ve been, fine, I suppose. A lot less exciting now that I’m back here though. When I was abroad, I was the highest ranking official so everyone was at my beck and call. Now that I’m back… it’s not as interesting.”
“I see… Do you intend to go back abroad?”
“No no, I’m expecting to be travelling less if anything. I’ll still be sent out every now and then, but probably less often, so you’ll be seeing more of me around here.”
You’re so casual about it all, had she not known better she’d assume you and her had the same position. It’s a little off-putting, but she’s kind of relieved that you’ll be around more. She finishes her tea, but makes no move to get up, instead her eyes are drawn to the way you sit beside her, and before she can stop herself, the words slip out.
“That colour really suits you.”
Your brows raise slightly as you look back at her, eyes briefly flicking over her face before responding.
“Thank you…” You trail, pausing for a moment before adding, “You’re very pretty MaoMao.”
“That’s just because I’m slathered in makeup, I’ll take the compliment though.”
Her words are said to deflect your words, she’s not quite sure how to go about receiving a compliment like that from someone like you… so she simply chooses to brush it off.
“Without it too, I can see why Jinshi’s after your affections~”
“Oh please, you must’ve noticed, if anything it’s you master Jinshi’s after.”
You let out a soft snort, finishing your tea.
“That’s just old feelings being unearthed by my return, it’ll pass.”
“I certainly hope not… if he gives up on you he’ll be after me again…”
She speaks her words quietly, somewhat annoyed at the thought, looking back at you when you start laughing.
“Not into master Jinshi? Can’t say I haven’t had my suspicions…” You hum, “What kind of men are you into then?”
She pauses, and her eyes briefly shoot down to your chest, which she’s been trying not to observe too intensely since you put on the robe this morning, but that’s enough to have you shooting her a look.
“Oh? MaoMao~ am I more your type then?”
“Than Jinshi? Yes.”
She hopes her words can be interpreted as a joke, but when you lean in and grin she realises they might not have to be.
“I’m flattered… and a bit intrigued.”
You trail, looking off to the side innocently, but you’re way too close. Your hand rests against the table, and your face is barely an inch from hers. It’s practically impossible for someone in her position not to look down at your lips when they’re just so close.
And before she knows it, they’re pressed to hers.
It starts slow, a simple press of your lips to hers, but when you feel her tongue slide against the seam of your lips you can’t help but melt into it slightly, bringing your arms to wrap loosely around her neck as your tongues slide against one another. Tangling together as your lips move against hers, leaning in closer as her hands find your waist.
The two of you get a bit carried away, and she ends up on the floor with you holding yourself up over her. You’re braced upon your hands, looking down at her as you catch your breaths. Silence stretches, interrupted only by the soft sound of breathing, as MaoMao tries to quickly sift through every book she’s ever read trying to think up what she’s meant to do with a woman.
Fingers and mouth are probably her best bet at the moment.
Before she can get a word out, your lips are back on hers, this time it’s your tongue slipping into her mouth, and she can’t help but let out a soft hum, her own tongue quickly matching yours.
This time, when you pull away, your lips find her neck and your hands begin to part the top layer of her robe.
“My lady, should we really be doing this here?”
Her words are not meant to stop you, but more so simply to make sure that neither of you would have any future problems. She supposes this could be excused as an apothecary visit though, if the cards were played correctly.
“Yeah, it should be fine, I doubt anyone will be back until early morning anyway.”
That’s enough reassurance for her to bring her hands up to help you with her robe, prompting you to lean back and start undoing your own. Her hands work absentmindedly as her eyes follow your movements, staring in anticipation as your chest comes into view.
Once your robe is undone, hanging loosely from your shoulders, you bring your hands to gently hold hers, prompting her to sit up before letting them wrap around her waist, lips quickly finding hers again.
While your lips move against hers, your arms pull her into your lap, in a way that results in her back against the edge of the table. The shift of attention to her makes her both slightly nervous, and yet also sends heat through her body. She pulls away from the kiss, leaning her elbows against the table, as her eyes focus on you. The look on your face suggests you know exactly what you’re doing.
“I heard you’ve taught the consorts a few things… anything in your books about women with women?”
“No… nothing that I’ve seen so far.”
“Thought so~ well, figuring things out in person is always more fun anyway.”
You smile, leaning back in as one of your hands moves onto the table, while the other slides down between her parted robe. The hitch in her breath as your fingers slide lower is swallowed by your mouth on hers, and her eyes close as she feels you touch her directly.
She’s wet, you can feel it in the way your middle finger easily slips in, causing her hips to twitch slightly as you feel inside her. Your lips continue to move against hers as your thumb begins to rub softly at her clit, which she responds to by letting out a small sound.
You slip a second finger in, beginning to move them in and out, thumb continuing to rub circles against her. You don’t stop her when she pulls away to breathe, lips moving to press against her jaw as your fingers work inside her.
It doesn’t really take long until her breathing becomes heavier and she tightens around you, letting out a stifled moan as she finishes on your fingers. Her breathing remains ragged for a while, her head tips back as she lets the feeling subside, your fingers slowing their pace. It’s not the first time she’s experienced this high, but it is the first time it’s been done by another person.
Once she comes down, her eyes meet yours once more, and for (surprisingly) the first time tonight her hand moves to hold your chest. She cups it, thumb rolling over your nipple as she shamelessly ogles your boobs.
“Not… necessarily a tactic targeted towards women, but I know a few things that can work regardless of who it’s done by.”
So that’s how you’ve found yourself seated on the table, leaning back against your hands as hers hold your thighs open, face shoved between them as her tongue runs over you, swiping up vertically before stopping to stimulate your clit.
The heat spread within you flares every time she makes a sound into you, honestly you weren’t expecting her to get so into it-
A groan escapes your throat every now and then, every time her tongue does a particularly pleasant motion you feel yourself tensing up, fluttering at the sensation as you feel yourself get closer to the edge.
You bite your lip to suppress a noise, who knows if anyone’s returned yet. But the notion grows more and more difficult as you get closer and closer, until you feel that tension break and your thighs close around her, hands gripping the edge of the table as your breathing grows heavier. She takes you through it, slowing down only when she feels your thighs loosen up, and your noises subside.
“Fuckk…”
Your groan has her almost smirking up at you as she pulls away, clothing herself and getting herself together. You’re not sure what the intention was originally, but it doesn’t take much to convince her to stay the night.
spencer reid x super mega sweetheart reader who wouldn’t hurt a fly. but she meets one of spencer’s highschool bully’s (they can be on a case or just like out on a date, you pick!) and she just goes absolutely off on the bully that spencer has to literally hold her back
I love sweetheart reader x Spencer so much.
—————
Sweet girls bite
|| sweetheart reader protecting Spencer against one of his high school bullies.
༝༚༝༚
w.c 2k
Warnings: none
~~~~~
The first time Spencer Reid met you, he thought you were too soft for the BAU. Not weak. Never weak.
You smiled at everyone. You remembered Garcia’s complicated coffee order after hearing it once. You brought JJ’s boys little dinosaur stickers from airport gift shops. You cried over injured children in case files and apologized to bugs before scooping them into cups and releasing them outside Quantico.
Morgan once watched you spend 25 minutes trying to save a bunny trapped in a fence on a case.
And Spencer
Spencer had fallen in love with you so quietly he almost didn’t notice it himself.
It was in the small things.
The way you’d sit beside him during flights because you knew he hated turbulence more than he admitted. The way you listened when he rambled. Really listened. Not politely or patiently. Enthusiastically. Like every fact coming out of his mouth mattered.
You touched him carefully, too.
Never suddenly. Never in ways that made him tense. A hand on his sleeve. Fingers brushing his wrist. Your shoulder against his during late nights in the bullpen.
The team called you their sunshine.
Spencer privately thought that was inaccurate.
Sunshine could burn people.
You never did.
Until Cincinnati.
The case itself was awful enough already- a series of murders tied to a private high school where students were being targeted one by one. The unsub had a fixation on “punishing cruelty,” according to the profile.
Which was how they ended up interviewing the teachers of the victims.
Including Todd Mercer.
The moment the man walked into the police station conference room, Spencer went still beside you. Not visibly, maybe. Nobody else noticed.
But you did.
You always did.
His shoulders locked.
His breathing changed.
And when Todd laid his eyes on him, he grinned. Actually grinned.
Spencer looked down at the table like he was 15 again instead of a twenty something FBI agent with three PhDs.
Todd Mercer was broad-shouldered and expensive-looking in the sleazy way certain men were. Perfect teeth. Overwhelming cologne. The kind of guy who peaked at 17 and built an entire personality around it.
“Well, what do we have here,” Todd said, staring at Spencer. “Reid?”
Spencer adjusted his glasses. “Mr. Mercer.”
Todd barked out a laugh. “Still talking like a robot, huh?”
Morgan’s eyes narrowed instantly.
You looked between them carefully.
Todd leaned back in the chair officers had set up for him. “Damn. Haven’t seen you since high school. You look…” He paused dramatically. “Less pitiful.” Like it was a compliment.
Spencer smiled tightly.
The kind of smile that wasn’t a smile at all.
“We’re here to discuss the case.”
“Right, right.” Todd snorted. “You were always such a freakin’ narc.”
Heat prickled up your neck.
You glanced at Hotch, expecting him to intervene, but he was watching Spencer carefully- gauging whether Spencer wanted help or not.
Spencer kept his voice even. “Did you know the victims well?”
Todd shrugged. “Some of them.” Then he smirked again. “Funny though, it’s crazy seeing you act confident after spending four years terrified of eye contact.”
“Okay that's enough.” You cut him off “You’re here for a case, so please Mr Mercer, be focused”
Todd looked at you then.
His eyes lingered.
“Oh,” he said knowingly. “No way.”
You raised a brow.
He pointed between you and Spencer. “You two together?”
Spencer immediately said, “That’s irrelevant.”
Todd burst out laughing.
Actually laughing.
“Oh my God,” he wheezed. “Reid pulled a girl like that? Jesus Christ, miracles are real.”
Morgan physically shifted forward.
Emily muttered, “what a dick.”
But Todd wasn’t done.
He looked directly at you.
“You know this guy used to get shoved into lockers almost daily?”
Spencer went rigid beside you.
“Todd,” he warned quietly.
“No, seriously,” Todd continued. “Kid was weird as hell. Used to cry when people touched his books.” He laughed again. “Still does, don’t you Einstein?”
Your chest tightened painfully.
Spencer stared at the table.
Not speaking. Not even defending himself.
And something inside you cracked.
Because Spencer Reid- the kindest man you had ever known, the gentlest, brightest person in every room- was sitting there letting this man reduce him to a frightened teenager again.
Todd shook his head. “Can’t believe you bagged such a gorgeous girl. What’d you do, read her a dictionary?”
The room went silent.
Spencer inhaled softly beside you. Like he was preparing himself to endure this.
Endure.
Not fight back.
“Oh, shut the hell up.”
Everyone froze.
Including Spencer.
Todd blinked at you. “Excuse me?”
“No, actually, I’m serious,” you snapped. “Shut. Up.”
Morgan’s eyebrows shot up so fast they practically disappeared into his hairline.
Emily looked delighted.
Todd gave an incredulous laugh. “Whoa. Claws out.”
“You think tormenting a teenager makes you impressive?” you shot back. “You’re a grown man bragging about bullying someone in high school like it’s an achievement.”
Todd’s smile faltered slightly.
You stepped forward.
Spencer immediately grabbed your wrist gently.
“Hey,” he murmured. “It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not okay.”
Your voice shook with anger.
Not fear.
Pure fury.
“You made his life miserable for fun.”
Todd scoffed. “Oh my God, it was high school—”
“And?” you cut him off sharply. “Do you think that magically erases it?”
Spencer moved with you, trying to calm you. “Honey- ”
“No, Spencer, absolutely not.”
The entire team stared.
Because you didn’t get angry.
Ever.
Todd leaned back with a smug expression that made you want to throw the table at him.
“He survived, didn’t he?”
You lunged forward before you even realized you were moving.
“YOU- ”
Strong arms wrapped around your waist instantly. Spencer physically hauled you backward against his chest.
“Come on sweetheart-“ Spencer mumbled as he tried to calm you. You on the other hand were struggling against his grasp.
Not really trying to get free- just furious enough that your whole body vibrated.
“You think this is funny?” you snapped, struggling against Spencer’s grip as he held you against his chest. “You think treating people like garbage makes you important?”
Todd opened his mouth, but you didn’t let him speak.
“No, because let me tell you something.” Your voice shook now- not with fear, but fury so deep it hurt. “You don’t get to stand there and laugh about making someone’s life miserable like it was some stupid joke.”
Spencer’s arms slowly eased around you seeing you talk more calmly.
“Honey”
“You don’t get to act like it didn’t matter,” you continued, eyes locked on Todd’s. “Because maybe for you it was just high school. Maybe for you it was funny. But for him?” Your voice cracked slightly. “You made his life miserable just because you were an insecure little asshole.”
The room had gone completely silent.
Todd’s smug smile started slipping.
Good.
“You mocked him for being smart. For being quiet. For not fitting into whatever pathetic little box you thought people should fit into.” You took a sharp breath. “And now he spends every single day saving people who are terrified and grieving and broken, while you’re still acting like a 17 year old who thinks cruelty is a personality trait.”
“Dramatic?” you repeated incredulously. Your voice raising and stepping closer to him made Spencers arm back on your waist, pulling you backwards.
“You humiliated a kid for years and you’re calling me dramatic?”
Spencer looked genuinely alarmed now because your voice kept getting louder.
“You know what the worst part is?” you said. “He’s still polite to you. He still sat there and treated you with respect after everything you did to him, because that’s the kind of person he is.”
Todd looked away first.
“Coward” you muttered under your breath
“And you know what kind of person you are?” you whispered harshly. “The kind that only feels big when somebody else feels small.”
You lurched forward again before you could stop yourself.
Spencer physically hauled you backward this time, one arm locked around your waist.
“Honey,” he said weakly, somewhere between horrified and stunned, “please do not commit felony assault in front of the local police department.”
“He deserves it!”
“You are threatening a civilian.”
“He spent years taunting you!”
The words ripped out of you so fast your own eyes stung afterward.
Because that was the real issue.
Not the insults now.
The fact that Spencer had looked down at the table the second Todd walked in.
Like some part of him was still that lonely 16 year old boy expecting people to laugh at him.
Todd looked unsettled now. Actually unsettled.
Possibly because the sweetest person any of them had ever met looked genuinely ready to claw his eyes out for Spencer Reid
“You know what?” you snapped at Todd. “I hope every time you try to sleep at night you remember exactly the kind of person you were. A fucking scumbag.”
The room fell silent.
Todd looked away first.
Hotch finally stepped in smoothly. “I think this interview is over.”
Todd muttered something under his breath and stood quickly, escorted out by a uniformed officer.
The second the door shut behind him, the room exploded.
Morgan doubled over laughing.
JJ looked stunned. “I have never seen you yell before.”
“I didn’t know she could yell,” Rossi admitted.
You were still breathing hard, face burning with leftover anger while Spencer slowly loosened his grip around you.
Then realization hit.
Oh shit.
You had just nearly attacked someone in an interrogation room.
In front of your boss.
You turned toward Spencer immediately, horrified. “I’m so sorry.”
And somehow that made him look even more shocked.
“What?”
“I shouldn’t have- I just- he was awful to you and I- ”
Before you could finish, Spencer kissed you. The entire room went dead silent again.
Spencer Reid was not usually a public affection kind of man. But he cupped your face with both hands and kissed you like he couldn’t help himself.
Like he’d been wanting to do it since the moment you stood up for him.
The rest of the team slowly left the room to Continue asking Todd the questions, leaving you and Spencer alone.
When he pulled back, his cheeks were pink.
“You were going to attack him for me,” he said softly.
You frowned immediately. “Of course I was.”
Like it was obvious.
Because to you, it was.
Spencer stared at you for a long second with this unbearably tender expression.
“You’re insane,” he whispered.
“He was being a dick, I wasn’t just gonna stand there and let him” you said, still upset about it.
You looked appropriately ashamed for approximately three seconds.
Then you muttered, “He deserved worse.”
Spencer made a startled choking noise that sounded suspiciously like laughter.
Later, after the case wrapped and they finally made it back to the hotel, Spencer found you sitting cross-legged on the bed still stewing quietly.
The second he walked in, you said, “I hate him.”
Spencer shut the door behind him carefully.
“I gathered.”
“He hurt you.”
The softness in your voice now nearly undid him more than the yelling had.
Spencer sat beside you slowly.
“I’m okay.”
“But you shouldn’t have had to be.”
God.
You looked genuinely heartbroken over something that had happened to him years ago.
Spencer touched your hand carefully. “You know, statistically speaking, most people wouldn’t threaten bodily harm over high school bullying.”
You glared at him instantly. “Don’t use statistics right now.”
He smiled.
A real one this time.
“I’ve spent most of my life being the person people protect last,” he admitted quietly.
Your expression softened immediately.
“And then there’s you.”
You leaned into him without hesitation, arms wrapping carefully around his waist.
“Always,” you mumbled against his chest.
Spencer closed his eyes.
He thought about high school him.
Awkward. isolated. hurting.
If someone had told that boy one day a girl this kind would love him so fiercely she’d nearly throw hands in an interrogation room for his sake?
He never would’ve believed it.
Spencer pressed a kiss into your hair.
“You know,” he murmured, “for someone who ‘wouldn’t hurt a fly,’ you’re terrifying when motivated.”
You pulled back just enough to look offended.
“I still wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
A pause.
“Todd Mercer, however-”
Spencer laughed so hard he had to hide his face in your shoulder.
you sighed, your head in your hands while the preppy, white haired, blue eyed freak of a man stood before you, practically beaming and waiting for your praise while he stood by your door, his metaphorical tail practically wagging while you skimmed through his files.
"good job. these will do."
"come onnn boss, you can give me more than that."
"out, boy." he was scurrying out in no time, his stupid dress pants tenting just the slightest while he made his way out, biting his lip before running into a washroom like his life depended on it.
he made quick work of his pants, spitting in the palm of his hand, his pretty cock flushed and leaking, while he moaned like a pornstar into the echoing washroom. he was running his hands up and down—until he heard a door click.
"oh, this is what you do after hours, toru?"
"t—this is the men's washroom—!"
"oh? so you're okay with ogling me in my office, but when i catch you with your dick out, you're shy?"
you waltzed up to him, taking two of your fingers out in front of his face—
"suck."
"y—yes ma'am."
he wrapped his pretty lips around your fingers, sucking them like the good boy he was.
"now spit in the palm of my hands for me."
he spat, saliva dripping down your palm, right before you wrapped your hand around his flushed cock, leaking pre while he whimpered into your shoulders while you slooowly moved your hand up and down on his dick.
"i'm too old for you 'toru."
"n—no you're juuuust right." he whimpered.
"alright goldilocks."
he was tearing up, his blue eyes glossed over while you swiftly moved your hand up and down.
"hnnng—i didn't know it felt like thiss—."
"hm. pathetic." you spat, watching his eyes roll to the back of his head while he came in spurts, coating your hands while you watched his knees buckle.
"why won't you give me a chance y/n, i promise i'll be so good—." is all he said before dropping to his knees, hugging your legs while you pet his head.
"oh, darling." you whispered, making him lick your hands clean while he looked up at you with doe eyes, tears pooling in his eyes while he moaned.
"i'm 25! that's old enough yknow."
"and i'm a decade older, baby, you're pushing your luck."
"someday. someday i'll get there."
"it's cute watching you try." you walked out, right after washing your hands, your suit hugging your curves just right while you strutted out. and gojo was a goner. and someday, he'd bag his stupidly hot boss who drove him fucking crazy.
the same woman a whole decade older, the same woman who starred in every single one of his filthy fantasies, and the same woman he came to every single night like a routine. he'd get you to be his.
heeehe. ok bai.
dividers: @/pixopix .
all works belong to @lilithkleia, do NOT copy, translate or feed to AI. lest you wish upon toji’s worm to crawl up your ass.
pov: married emily prentiss has the filthiest sex with her wife then proceeds to make heart shaped pancakes for her kids.
the sunlight streams in through the light pink curtains of the bedroom shared by you and your wife, accompanied by the gentle song of birds chirping outside the window which has been opened ever so slightly to let some air in, casting a slight breeze over the still sleeping form of your wife and yourself, who is now slightly more awake.
a soft, sleepy groan escapes from your lips as you turn over to snuggle into emily’s back which is warm and soft, tangling your body further into the bedsheets in the process.
“good morning” you mumble against the small of her ear, a gentle nibble following a few seconds after. it doesn’t take long for emily to stir, slowly rolling over so your faces are now practically touching which causes a small smile to creep onto your face.
you always crave having her close.
“morning baby” emily says gently, voice raspy and still thick with sleep which causes a shiver to run down your spine and a fiery heat to pool in the pit of your stomach.
by now emily has her face buried in the crook of your neck, planting slow, sloppy kisses to your pulse point which provokes your fingers to flex against the edge of the duvet, a signal that you want more, a signal that emily isn’t going to ignore.
emily’s kisses against your neck start to move lower, her lips now travelling onto your chest and breasts. “fuck…emily” you breathe, fingers moving to grab at her hair, guiding her to where you want until her lips latch onto one of your already hardened nipples, suckling like she’s starving.
you part your legs just a bit, providing emily with more space as you feel your nipple slide out of her mouth with a wet pop, leaving it abandoned, hard and soaked in her spit. as emily goes to continue, you swear that you can hear noise coming from your child’s bedroom, causing you both to freeze up. “you locked the door, right?” you whisper to emily, and she nods which fills you both back up with relief.
“i wouldn’t let her disturb our morning, baby” emily claims, her tone making you believe her as she brings herself back up to your face for a brief moment, simply to press a kiss to your lips, one that conveys how eager she is to serve you and make you feel good.
once emily breaks the kiss, she settles back between your legs, pushing the duvet aside so she has more access to the very thing that you both know belongs to her anyway. her slender fingers hook into the side of your underwear, pulling them off completely to reveal your wet, swollen pussy which is now exposed to her gaze.
“god baby, you still get soaked for me like it’s our first time” emily says, a hint of smugness laced in her voice.
those words spiral around in your mind causing a wave of dizziness to wash over you, your need for her only grows stronger as the years go by, your hunger for her is never satisfied. “please emily, i need you to fuck me” you beg, voice soft and quiet as to not wake up the sleeping child next door.
emily flashes you a smirk, not long before her fingers grip into the flesh of your inner thighs, prying them open as she begins to eat you out- messily, hungrily and not in the least bit cautiously of making too much noise.
a gasp rips from your throat, your hands flying to emily’s head, grabbing a fistful of her hair which you use as leverage to pull her face in closer until it’s practically buried inside your pussy, intoxicating her with your scent and taste- knowing she simply can’t get enough of you.
“oh yes! emily just like that- fuck your tongue feels so good inside me” you pant like a dog with absolutely no shame behind it, your head already lolled back and now resting against the headboard. the deeper her tongue goes, the more wet you become, so by now? you’re dripping, coating her mouth and chin in your juices.
“fuck baby you taste so damn good” emily mutters as she lifts her head to catch a breath, her lungs filling with the air that is also thick with your scent, one that’s strong enough to push her head right back down between your thighs.
as she does, you start grinding your cunt directly into her mouth- “more…more” you pant as you do so, emily’s spit and your juices mix together, eventually leaking down her chin, the sensation causing emily’s head to spin.
she’s most likely just as desperate as you are right now.
by now, the minutes have started to blur into hours. not that you’ve realised, you’ve been too busy grinding your aching cunt into emily’s warm, welcoming mouth, reeling off the feeling of her tongue dragging up your slit, eliciting many different noises from you.
none of them quiet, or child appropriate.
as you catch a glimpse of the time you realise that your daughter will be waking up soon, making you curse quietly under your breath, but it easily gets drowned out by your urgent panting and chanting of emily’s name- begging her to make you cum on her face.
“right there emily” you whine, almost, and as if on cue emily’s fingers dig into your thighs a little harder causing you to wince- but she knows you can take a little pain. she holds you open, forcing you to endure more of the pleasurable torture her tongue is providing you with, the very torture you’ve been begging for all morning.
“oh emily- i’m gonna-“
“cum? yeah, i know you are baby” emily cuts you off, feeling all the telltale signs before your body can even register what’s happening. your legs have started shaking, your soft thighs clamped around the sides of her head and your greedy pussy already clenching around her skilled tongue.
you’re teetering on the edge now, the heat in the pit of your stomach has risen to your chest, making your heart hammer against your ribcage. emily’s head rises from your pussy once more as she flashes you a smirk- one that shows you she’s not finished with you yet.
emily wastes no time, not bothering to let you get a word in before she slides 3 fingers, all at once, inside your sopping wet pussy, scissoring them a few times, letting you feel the stretch and slight burn that accompanies it.
she wants to make sure you really ache before she gives you what you need.
“oh fuck! wait- oh god please emily! it’s too much-“ you cry into the air, all care for making too much noise isn’t even a thought in your mind anymore. not when emily’s making you feel this good.
“you can take it baby, i know you can. just give it all to me” emily reassures you so softly, her tone carrying the complete opposite to what she’s currently doing to your body.
her fingers are moving rapidly, the room filling with lewd squelching sounds as they plunge deep inside you before retracing for a brief couple of seconds, not long enough until she repeats the process over and over until she feels you clamp down around her digits.
that’s when emily reattaches her mouth to your clit, sucking it hard and fast like her only goal in life is to get you off.
well to emily, in this moment, it is.
finally, after what feels like hours of hanging on the edge of your pleasure, the much needed orgasm crashes over your body, making you convulse and tremble in a way you haven’t for a long time.
emily soaks up every moan, whine and whimper that rips from your throat, she brings herself out from in between your legs, laying her also exhausted body next to yours. she gently cups your sex flushed face in her hands, peppering kisses to every inch of it.
“thank you emily, i really needed that. we both did” you whisper when you can eventually breathe normally again, your body instinctively leaning into the arms of your wife. emily accepts the invitation, wrapping her arms around you tightly- pulling you into her chest.
for a moment the world is quiet, nothing else matters right now except for the warmth and comfort which can be found in each other’s arms, both of your heartbeats nearly synced together. every now and then emily leans down and plants soft kisses to your forehead and temple, a steady reminder that she’s still with you, and she’s not going anywhere.
it doesn’t take long for your peaceful bubble to be popped when the familiar creak of the bedroom door being pushed open rouses you both from a light, post sex sleep. as you sit up and turn to look at the doorway, you find your young daughter standing there, a sleepy grin on her face and a unicorn stuffed animal dangling from her left hand.
emily is the first one to speak, asking her if she’s alright to which your daughter just nods, padding her way over to climb up onto the end of the bed, her little legs barely able to make it- but she does. “can we get some breakfast?, i’m hungry” she mumbles quietly, rubbing her stomach for dramatic effect.
a chuckle can be heard from emily’s side of the bed as she wastes no time in retreating from the cosy space created by the two of you, knowing your daughter can get very impatient about breakfast, just like her mom.
“i’ll bring you a little something of what we make…if it’s edible” emily whispers to you before planting a kiss to your lips and leaving the room with her daughter’s hand in hers. you can’t help but chuckle at the comment, knowing full well that emily can’t cook to save her life.
a little while later, you’ve managed to get yourself out of bed and start getting ready for the day. at first it’s a challenge, due to the shakiness that is still running through your legs with each step.
a not so subtle reminder of emily’s presence on your body.
“hey, breakfast is ready” emily’s soft words cause you to snap out of your not so appropriate thoughts and turn to face her. the first thing you notice isn’t the fact that emily actually managed to cook something, it’s what she’s made that’s surprising.
“heart shaped pancakes?” you say, a slight tone of surprise laced through your words as you take a step closer, the smell of the fresh food wafting up to your nose, making your stomach growl in anticipation.
“it was my idea, i thought i should probably make something that will keep our child entertained” emily says with that voice- the one that instantly tells you she had more in mind than just your daughter’s entertainment.
“for how long?” you ask, a slight smirk now appearing on your lips as you wrap your arms around emily’s neck, pulling her in closer. her breathe instantly hits your face, it’s hot and the taste of your pussy still lingers on her tongue.
emily leads you back over to the bed, now freshly made, and pushes you down by the shoulders, gently climbing on top of you to keep you pinned to the mattress.
“for as long as you want baby…i can always make more pancakes”
and with that, emily presses on final kiss to your neck before starting to pull of your clothes again…
ALL ideas and credit for this story go to: @emilyprentissmylove
also big thanks to @imtheman1000 for requesting that i do turn this wonderful idea into a fic!
SUKUNA x female reader. modern au. married couple + baby son & daughter dynamics. resolved angst and fluff. kids names are unspecified and in (pre)school. reader is a working mom and going through a slump.
the thing about slumps is that you never know you’re in one. not until your own body becomes foreign — your limbs heavy, your eyes always tired, everything feeling a little... bland.
it wasn’t always like this. you used to love the routine — the mornings, the lunches, the yelling at sukuna to “not let them eat marshmallows before dinner,” the late night runs to get weird snacks, the sunday movie nights where you’d all squeeze onto one couch like sardines.
but lately, you’re just tired. not sleepy - tired in that soul-deep way where even brushing your teeth feels like a whole act. and somehow, your kids notice it before even you do.
you're sitting on the edge of your bed, motionless. your laptop's somewhere on the floor, your phone is still buzzing with unread messages, and you’ve been staring at the same spot on the wall for god knows how long. the curtains are drawn, and the air's too still. when your son pads in, it’s not loud. in fact, it’s too quiet for someone who usually announces every room he enters like a little tornado.
“mommy?” he whispers.
you blink. “hm?”
“can i touch your feet?”
you look down. he’s crouched at the edge of the bed, tiny hands already reaching for your ankles. you nod, confused. “why?”
he shrugs. “i saw daddy do it when you were sad that one time.”
before you can even process that, your daughter skips in — not with her usual dramatic flair — but with a thick book clutched to her chest. it’s the kid’s version of greek mythology you bought her from the school fair. she sits beside you, opening it with careful fingers.
“i’ll read to you,” she announces. “because when i feel sad, you read to me.”
you don’t even know what to say. your throat goes tight. you stare down at your son, whose hands are so small and soft, trying his absolute best to “massage” like he’s seen in movies. he’s pressing at your heel with his thumb like he’s kneading dough.
your daughter starts reading, mispronouncing “hephaestus” so badly it sounds like “head-pasta,” and she just keeps going, blissfully unaware, or maybe completely aware and trying her best anyway.
you don’t realize you’re crying until a tear falls right on the page.
“m-mommy?” your daughter panics immediately. “did the story make you sad?? i can skip this one! i’ll skip to persephone! persephone is cute, right?”
“did i do it too hard?” your son asks, frozen with one hand still on your ankle. “i didn't mean to squish your bones! i was gentle! i swear!”
you open your mouth to speak — to reassure them — but you’re already crying too much. it’s not loud, just silent sobs that shake you from the inside. it’s the kind of crying you don’t even realize you needed.
“what the hell happened here?”
sukuna’s voice is always a bit gravelly, but right now it’s softer around the edges. when he walks in, he looks at you, then the kids, then the way your shoulders are trembling — and in less than a second, he’s by your side. no words, no questions. just wraps you up like he’s got no bones, just solid warmth, holding you like someone might snatch you away.
“keep reading, sweetheart,” he murmurs to your daughter, tucking you under his chin. “she loves when you read.”
she sniffs. “but she’s crying, daddy!”
“yeah,” he says, kissing the top of your head, “but not ‘cause of the book. keep going. persephone sounds perfect.”
and so she does. voice quivering at first, then steadier, flipping the pages with a little more confidence. your son rests his cheek on your knee like he’s guarding you from sadness itself. and you — caught between two small kids who love you too much and a husband who may not always say the right thing but knows — you realize maybe you were in a slump.
and maybe this is all you needed. not a vacation or a break, but just a moment of family time. that's all.
.
.
.
it's 30 minutes past curfew. which, in your household, means the kids are practically criminals at this point. but try telling them that.
“daddy, i am not leaving until mama sleeps,” your daughter hisses with a level of conviction that could move mountains — or at the very least, her father. sukuna, crouched beside the bed and very obviously out of his depth, mutters back, “your mom doesn’t fall asleep on cue, kid. she’s not a switch.”
“she can be!” she whisper-yells, stubborn arms crossed over her tiny chest. “if i read long enough, she’ll sleep like a baby.”
meanwhile, at the foot of the bed, your son is grinning up at you with every single tooth in his mouth on display, thumbs digging into your calves with all the strength his tiny hands can muster. he’s working your legs like he’s been hired. “how’s that, mommy?” he beams. “you feel better now? i think your bones are less sad now!”
you bite back a watery laugh. “so much better, sweetheart. my bones are smiling.”
“i knew it!”
behind him, your daughter stomps her tiny socked foot. “daddy, give me the book. i’ll read. you’re too slow.”
“you have school in the morning,” sukuna says, exasperated. “go to bed.”
“mama’s more important than school.”
he exhales sharply. “you get that from her,” he mutters, jerking his thumb toward you.
“good,” your daughter huffs, crawling up beside you with the book anyway. “we’ll read the one where the girl becomes queen. that’s her favorite. and you—” she looks at sukuna sharply “—you do princess voice this time. last time you made her sound like a goblin.”
“i’m not doing the princess voice,” sukuna grumbles.
your son pokes your knee. “daddy is good at goblin voice, though.”
“fine. i’ll do the stupid voice,” he sighs. “but only one chapter, and then you kids are going to bed.”
they agree like it’s a peace treaty, and the chapter begins — sukuna reading in the most unconvincing falsetto you've ever heard in your life, your daughter correcting his pronunciation every other sentence, and your son now curled up beside your waist, occasionally patting your stomach like you’re a patient in need of healing.
by the end, your eyes are closed — not from sleep, but from how deeply your heart has been wrung dry from all their care. you’re quiet, not crying, just… absorbing. warm.
your daughter peeks.
“mama?”
you hum.
“are you okay now?”
you open your eyes to meet hers. “i’m getting there, baby.”
that’s good enough for her. she climbs onto your chest like a cat and smothers your cheeks with a flurry of kisses. your son follows, planting his own slightly-wet kiss on your forehead before they both hop off the bed.
“night night, mama,” he says. “don’t be sad again, okay?”
“not allowed,” your daughter adds sternly. “we’re not gonna let you.”
“roger that,” you say, voice thick.
“bed.” sukuna finally growls like a tired bear, herding them down the hallway like two giggling sheep. there’s some mild resistance, a little dragging of feet, and a lot of promises to check on you in the morning. but eventually, they vanish into their room. and then it's just you and him.
he closes the door, walking over and kneels beside you. his hand cups your face with such terrifying gentleness that it nearly splits you in two. you offer him the smallest, tired smile. it’s all he needs.
“shift over.”
he climbs into bed behind you, arm snaking around your waist as he pulls you into him like he's magnetized. no questions. just his way of saying i see you. i’ve got you.
“you gonna make me do the princess voice tomorrow too?” he mutters into your neck.
you snort, sniffling. “maybe.”
he presses a kiss to your shoulder. “then you better get some sleep, princess.”
this is a drabble archive account for creamflix - this is a repost and not something stolen. i am not exclusively active on this account, nor do i take requests on here. if you want to use this idea for a fic or series, please ask for permission first.
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