jareauiisms

[jareauiisms]

i’ve been thinking a lot about . . .

Walking into work with Penelope, as she asks you about what you did over the weekend. When she notices the blush across your cheeks, the little smile on your lips, the way you can’t quite seem to make eye contact with her.

She pushes, questions incessant, that classic Garcia overwhelming optimism that you just can’t help but fall for.

“My boyfriend took me to a really fancy restaurant.” You finally confess, tucking your hair behind your ear as you push through the doors into the BAU’s bullpen.

“Boyfriend?!” Penelope nearly yells, loud enough to cover the jingle-jangle of her dangling accessories, loud enough that the entire floor is sure to hear.

Loud enough that the blonde just stepping out of elevator, her entrance deliberately staggered from your own, can hear.

Penelope presses, begs you for every detail, is desperate for a name, is desperate to meet him. Little does she know that he is just steps behind you, following you as you weave through the desks, arms crossed over chest, fingers not so subtly playing with sleeves.

You humor the technical analyst a little, telling her that he’s soooo romantic, that he’s soooo strong, he’s sooooo hot. Penelope is in a fit of giggles, is just about to pressure you into a double date, when her tablet dings between her fingers.

She corrals the team into the meeting room, and as you walk down the hall by Garcia’s side— she is just so happy for you she cannot take it— you feel the eyes staring you down. Jennifer walks behind you, like a guard dog, domineering, like she does when you’re out together late at night. You feel it blossom through you, the feeling you get when you know you have something to tease her over, when you know you can tug at her until ultimately, she’s all over you.

You’d figured out Jennifer’s penchant for the masculine quite early on, especially when you’d commented on her appearance one particularly sleepy morning, flippantly calling her a ‘pretty boy’, and she fucked you so hard you couldn’t walk for the rest of the day.

Penelope suddenly asks you something along the lines of is he good in bed? and while you’d usually blush and squeal and do all of the coquettish things a girl does when discussing her sex life, you just chew on your lower lip, flash a glance over your shoulder, find JJ’s eyes.

“God, yes.”

This sends Pen into another round of excitement as you enter the meeting room, and your guard dog has just caught up with you, holding the door open behind you, sliding a palm across your waist, just subtly enough that the rest of the group is none the wiser.

You sit through the meeting— the images are as always, impossibly painful to look at, but what’s even harder is keeping your focus on them. You keep getting distracted, by the handsome woman across the table, jaw tense, one arm slung over the back of her chair while she sparks up in her own observations. She is in work mode, you can tell, the way her eyes sharpen, the way her brow drops, her gaze unblinking at the screen.

The rest of your unit stands, off to prepare for the journey to whichever state Garcia had mentioned— you were far too distracted by the fingers gripping a mug of tea at the other end of the roundtable— JJ has never been very subtle about her frustration.

The room is cleared out, you start to stand, turn—

There’s a pressure against you, sudden, heavy, so warm, so familiar. Jennifer has you pinned, your ass hitting the table, all of your files and work belongings hugged tightly to your chest. There’s a stinging strain in your back from the angle she has you at, her hands firm on either side of you, pressing her weight into the table in that signature way, the way that makes you feel weak in the knees every time she does it.

You’re trapped, try to struggle, smirk to yourself when the pressure against your chest gets heavier, how her arms begin to bulge beneath the ribbed, navy blue longsleeve.

“This boyfriend… tell me more about ‘im.” She purrs, her jaw clenching around the words, her eyes still stuck in their ‘i’m going to catch this killer’ darkness.

Your breath hitches when she leans you back even further, her lips just brushing over your jaw.

“He’s a very good boy…” You whisper in return, wishing you weren’t holding all of this mess in your arms, ready to drop it all to your feet, what with the way that her hair looks like this, let loose from her typical tight ponytail, instead cascading over her shoulders in messy waves. You want to dig your fingers into it so bad, want to tug her close and hear those little groans and curses that she expels each time you tug on her hair.

“He’s so handsome, and God is he strong, his arms are just huge… can pick me up like it’s nothin’.” You smile, tilting your head so that her light sigh brushes against the bruise that’s still on your neck from last night. “You wanna know my favorite part?”

She tenses around you, a brick wall, unmoving, but you can practically hear the way her heart is thumping behind her ribs, can certainly see the vein throbbing in her neck.

She doesn’t respond, but she never needs to say much.

“He fucks me so good.” You smile at the shuddering breath that makes the hair lift off of your shoulder, lift your hand just enough so that you can press your hand to her chest, let your fingers roll over her collarbone. You get the confirmation then, of her pounding heart, can tell that she’s biting hard on the inside of her cheek, like a raging bull that’s being restrained behind bars, stomping its hooves in the dirt.

Jennifer only puts more of her weight against you, the buckle of her belt teasing your lower stomach, but what pulls your attention now is the sudden density that’s pressed against your thigh— not her muscle, not her gun, but plastic, between her thighs, pressing against your own, like she wants to make certain that you know it’s there, that she’s well prepared. This makes your own chest erupt in a frantic beating of its own, makes your knees feel like jello, makes you all but collapse against the table below you.

Jennifer just smiles, presses a small, belated kiss to your cheek— would never leave your side without at least one.

“We have a case, Agent.” Her voice is dripping with sarcastic seriousness as she stands, leaving you quivering in her wake, blinking stupidly, completely unprepared for the hours of torment you’ll be staring down once you step foot on that damned jet.

okay that’s all i have thank u! <3

[jareauiisms]

i woke up early for a fucking masterpiece

Taste for A Favor | E.P.

Pairing: Emily Prentiss x afab!reader

Summary: Emily opens up to you about her feelings regarding sex after menopause… you decide to help her out.

Tags: (18+) smut (oral, face!fucking, dirty!talk, body worship, scissoring, fingering), bit of an age-gap, struggles with self-confidence.

Word count: 12.6k

masterlist || read on ao3

a/n: the LONG AWAITED meno fic is finally here milf lovers… enjoy !! this is so unrealistic... but hey, its porn.

…

After being at the BAU for so long, you’ve grown quite a bond with the team. You consider Penelope, JJ, and Tara to be some of your closest friends, inside and outside of work, and Luke—the brother you never had. Rossi is practically a father to everyone, so of course, you feel the same.

And then there is Emily. 

The infamous Emily Prentiss, so very poised and always effortlessly catching the attention of everyone around her. 

You aren’t quite sure where the relationship between the two of you lies. 

You’d say good friends, but then again, there has always been that strange static energy when it comes to you and her. Not to mention, the way your breath always seems to catch in your throat whenever Emily looks at you, or the way you’ve always been drawn to the way her perfume lingers in the air even after she leaves the room.

Technically, it’s a crush, which is somewhat embarrassing to say at your grown age, but also embarrassingly true.

She is the older, wickedly attractive, silver-vixen of a boss that romance novels preach about. And you just so happen to be an absolute sucker for the taboo, and for her.

That being said, it’s sort of a fairytale in the making as to how you ended up in Emily’s upscale apartment in the district, after a long and stressful day of paperwork and meetings at Quantico. It feels as though it was by some divine intervention that out of all the women on the team, you were the only one available for an impromptu ‘girls night’.

When you arrived at her doorstep, Emily was already out there waiting, sitting comfortably on her stoop, a half-smoked cigarette betwixt her fingers.

She had changed clothes since she left the office earlier in the evening, trading her sleek button-down blouse and tailored slacks for a pair of black sweatpants and a pullover sweater, the neckline cut wide enough for it to fall off one shoulder.

The warm light of the street lamps caught on her skin, making the faint protrusions of her collarbones and the ball of her shoulder glow.

Her hair was another thing.

The thick silver locks were thrown up into a messy knot at the back of her head, a few loose white strands from her crown and temples framing her face. 

She looked effortless, remarkably domestic. It was then that you found domesticity to be your favourite look on her.

“Hey! I’m so glad you could make it. All the others bailed, haha.” She reached out with her free hand, greeting you with a pat to the bicep.

“So I see… we’ve never gotten a chance to hang out alone, so… I’m sure it’ll be a good time.” You chuckled nervously, shifting the bag of takeout from one hand to the other.

She led you up the stairs with a smile, stamping her cigarette on the stone wall and tossing it behind her.

You never thought climbing a single flight of stairs could be so tolling until you were stuck climbing behind her. 

Her scent wafted into your senses with each step, that expensive French perfume and the lingering cigarette smoke in her hair. You felt like you were suffocating in the most brilliant of ways. 

You couldn’t get enough.

Not to mention the way her hips swayed beneath the loose fabric of her sweats, the cotton clinging to her body in all the right places.

You stood behind her as she unlocked her front door, pretending not to stare at her exposed shoulder blade or the scandalous curve of her neck and jaw.

Stepping inside, you were met with the scent of earthy candles, and something very uniquely Emily.

“Here, I'll take that from you…” She placed her keys on the foyer table and spun to face you, taking the bag from your hand. “You go settle in, I’ll plate this up.”

“Sounds good.” You gave her a tight but friendly smile, adjusting the hem of your shirt nervously.

You watched her float into the kitchen mindlessly, sighing to yourself in somewhat disbelief that you were spending alone time with the object of your most recent romantic desires. 

…

Emily returns to the living room with two plates balanced in one hand, a bottle of white, and two wine glasses in the other.

“Thank you, thank you.” You take the plates from her and set them down on the table in front of the couch.

She drops down beside you with a tired groan, the knot of her hair bouncing animatedly.

“Thank god for wine and you, for the take-out.” She grins, setting the glasses down and pouring a healthy amount in each.

“Cheers to that…” you laugh, tilting the glass toward her before taking a long sip.

“So…” Emily starts, taking a bite of her food. “What have you been up to lately… when the BAU isn’t holding you hostage?” 

“Ahh, the age-old question…” You chuckle, picking at your food before gathering it onto your fork. “Nothing much, I usually just laze around in my spare time or enjoy some retail therapy.” You shovel the food into your mouth.

“I get it, nights like this are a rare commodity.” She sets the plate on her lap and reaches towards the side table. “Wanna put on a movie or a show? What’s good on TV lately?”

She hands you the TV remote, which you take carefully, flicking the TV on and opening one of her various streaming services.

“Hmm, how about… here, this’ll do.” You decide on some home renovation series you’d binged recently, a mix of hoarder house and fixer-uppers.

Setting the remote down, you start eating again, only half paying attention to what is on the screen.

Reaching for your wine glass, you take a quick glance at Emily. Your heart almost stops dead in your chest when you see the angular black frames resting on the bridge of her nose. 

You’d never seen her in glasses before, so it’s understandable why one would be surprised—but you were rendered speechless for a whole other reason.

She looks undeniably sexy wearing glasses, especially paired with the messy hair and lounge clothes.

“You wear glasses?” You ask, voice wavering slightly.

“Oh yeah, have for years now.” She rattles off as if the information isn’t turning your insides to mush. “I wear contacts at the office, just makes it easier.” She pushes the frames up a bit as they’ve slipped down while she’s been eating.

You watch the way her throat bobs as she swallows, the way her tendons tighten and release.

“You should wear them more often, they look nice, fitting.” You shake yourself out of your filthy thoughts, downing the remainder of the wine in your glass.

“Really?” She turns to you, her brow arched curiously. “I think I look like a dweeb.”

“Hey… dweebs are hot.” You wave your hand, nonchalance dripping from the statement as you try your hardest not to let your voice crack.

“If you say so…” she laughs softly, nudging your arm with her knuckles. 

Emily pulls her bottom lip between her teeth as she focuses back on the TV, and you can help but watch. You can see how her tongue glides over her lips, collecting crumbs of misplaced food, and how the muscles of her jaw clench as she chews.

Alright…

You settle back into a comfortable silence after that. After finishing up your food, you reach over to place the empty plate on the table—Emily catches your wrist before you can.

“I’ll take that.” She gives you a soft squeeze, smiling as she grabs the plate from your hand.

“Thanks…” 

As she wanders off into the kitchen, you take a moment to calm your nerves. Despite nearing your forties, attractive older women still maintain the ability to make you behave like a fool as if you’re sixteen years old.

Emily, plopping back onto the couch, pulls your attention back to reality. She smiles at you crookedly as she gets comfortable, folding one of her legs beneath her bottom.

“Hey, I never asked how you’re doing? What have you been up to?” There’s a slight gravel in your voice as you speak, and you take a sip of wine to soothe it.

Emily sighs as she takes in your question, which pulls a curious arc to your brow.

“Nothing good, huh?” You set the glass down, shifting on the cushion to face her.

“No, it’s just… I don’t know, when you get to this stage in life, I’m sure you’ll understand much more.” She pauses, the words arranging in her mind. 

“Understand what? I’m not that far behind you, y’know?” you chuckle, your hand reaching out to squeeze her shoulder, urging her to speak further.

“Yeah, yeah…” she scratches at the back of her neck, making a crooked face. “It’s just—ugh, I want to be getting out more. But this job, and life… it’s just so complicated.”

“I get that. Would you rather have gone to the bar tonight? We can totally still go out—”

“No, no… I wanted to stay in tonight.” Emily cuts you off. “I guess I mean it in more of the dating aspect.”

Oh.

Emily wants to start dating again…

“So you want to start dating? I’m sure that’s no issue for you, Emily. We’re in DC… there’s apps, there’s work events.” You attempt to help assure her, but you can’t deny the tiny pang of jealousy in your belly.

“I know, but…” Emily groans, taking a long sip of her wine. “It’s just hard… putting myself out there. Post-menopausal women aren’t really a hot commodity nowadays…”

You can help but scoff at the ridiculous statement, eyeing her incredulously.

“You haven’t been on the Internet recently, have you? Because I can assure you, Emily… they most certainly are.” You chuckle, leaning back against the armrest behind you.

“Okay, but it’s not just that—” she pauses, shaking her head a bit in thought. She pushes her glasses atop her head, her dark eyes a bit watery. “I want someone who understands what it’s like. To be a woman of a certain age.”

“Okay?” You urge her on, angling your head a bit closer. “So you want someone who’ll be able to cater to your needs.”

Your heart skips a few beats as the topic of conversation settles into place. Sex. Or more specifically, Emily Prentiss’s sexual needs.

“I started using those estrogen patches to help with the y'know—dryness, hot flashes, and whatever...” Emily motions downwards with her hands, vaguely. “And it’s been working well for me; my body feels more mine than it has in years. But, I’ve still been struggling with achieving… release, I guess you could say—or at the very least, having a pleasurable experience regardless of if I finish or not.”

Emily looks slightly defeated as she slumps against the cushions of her couch, the liquid in her glass swirling idly.

“Well, what do you think would get you where you wanna be?” You ask, resting your elbow on the back of the couch and your temple against your knuckles.

“I don’t know… maybe if someone else does the touching, it would feel better.” Emily sighs. “But I haven’t really had time to find dates, let alone find someone who’d even be interested in a woman like me…”

The comment makes you stir a bit; the fact that a woman as beautiful as Emily thinks that anyone would pass up on a chance to go out with her, let alone sleep with her, is rather bizarre in your mind.

Matter of fact, if given the chance, you’d do it in a heartbeat.

“Oh come on…” You swat at the older woman's thigh. “I bet you’ve got hoards falling at your feet. You’re fucking stunning.” 

“Oh, you’re just saying that…” Emily scoffs.

“Puh-lease, Emily… you have no idea.” You roll your eyes, hand lingering a little too long near her leg.

“Oh? And what is that supposed to mean?” Emily looks at you curiously, her brow arched high.

“All I’m sayin’ is, if you gave me a chance… psh” You trail off, waving your hand in the air shamelessly, averting your eyes from her gaze. 

She studies your face for a moment, a tiny smirk crooked at the corner of her mouth. The wine has brought a faint red glow to her cheeks, and the few stray hairs that’ve slipped loose from their hold under the glasses, framing her face gracefully.

“So you’re saying that given the opportunity, you—my agent—might I remind you, would sleep with me?” Her smile grows as she asks the question, the flush spreading down to her chest.

“Absolutely.” You deadpan, internally grateful for the third glass of wine in your system for a bit of liquid courage.

The lines at the corners of her eyes crinkle as her smile grows to its full capacity, the dim candlelight flickering across her features.

“Really?” Her brow worries, a line creasing through her t-zone. “You don’t think I’m too old and withered?” Emily chuckles, brushing a hair away from her lip.

“I think you’re everything.” Your gaze fixes on her, maintaining eye contact. The deep brown of her irises sparkles like the night sky as she stares back at you, a faint glistening of tears peeking over her waterline. 

“God, you’re so young…” she chuckles, placing the wine glass on the side table. “I’m sure you have better things to do than… me.”

You laugh softly in return, mirroring her position and placing your glass on the table. Shifting closer to her, your knee presses into the side of her thigh.

“I’m not that young, and you are most certainly very high on my to-do list.” You murmur, watching the way Emily reacts. You reach a hand out, knuckles brushing along the top of her thigh.

Emily’s breath hitches slightly at the contact, the muscle tensing below the fabric of her sweatpants.

“Y/n…” she whispers, her chest rising unsteadily.

“Emily…” you whisper back, matching her empathetic tone.

“You’re sure? About wanting that, I mean.” Emily looks at you, her lashes fluttering shyly. 

You smile at her, reaching up to brush your fingers along the curve of her jaw.

“I’m gonna be very honest with you right now, Emily…” Your thumb traces the swell of her chin, the underside of her lip. “I’ve thought about getting my hands on you since I first transferred onto the team.”

“Oh, m-really!?” Emily sighs almost in disbelief, as her eyes traverse your face rabidly, taking in the details. 

“Yes.” You breathe out, leaning in close enough to smell the lingering wine on her lips and laundry detergent on her clothes. “And what about you, hm? Is that, or—am I, something you’d be interested in?”

Emily silences, her gaze noticeably falling to your lips. You part them subconsciously, a hand cupping her cheek as you slowly lean in, your heart thumping wildly in your chest.

“Yeah… I’m very interested right now.” Her eyes flick up to yours one last time before she sinks fully into you, her soft lips pressing against yours in an almost feather-light kiss.

You pause for a moment, letting her take a breath, letting her relax. 

When her palms land on your hips, you move forward, pressing your mouths together harder and deepening the kiss. Emily hums softly as your fingers curl around the back of her head—the vibrations reverberating against your teeth.

You let her take the lead, her tongue darting out and dragging across your bottom lip teasingly, before curling into your mouth. You suck on it gently before releasing and re-attaching your mouths in a passionate onslaught. 

Emily sucks in a sharp breath as you nip at her bottom lip, your free hand gripping at her thigh. She pulls back and rests her forehead against yours, her breathing quick and labored against your lips.

“Jesus…” Emily pants, her thumb drawing circles against your abdomen through the fabric of your shirt.

“I hope that was a good ‘Jesus’…” you chuckle, scratching at her scalp with blunt fingernails.

“It was a good ‘Jesus’, trust me.” The silver-haired woman laughs. “That was very, very nice.”

“Just nice?” You question sarcastically, leaning against the back of the couch to look at her properly. Emily scoffs and rolls her eyes, her fingers tracing the hem of your top. 

Your hand slips from her hair and reaches for the glasses atop her head, pulling them from her tresses and tossing them onto the table next to her wine glass.

“Hey! Those were expensive.” Emily feigns concern, as if she hasn’t got about ten other pairs lying around as well as a hefty amount of cash stashed away in her savings.

“I’ll get you a new pair…” You mumble, leaning in to kiss her again. Emily whimpers softly, her hand clutching at your waist to pull you closer. 

It’s a bit sloppier as you take the reins this time, your tongue rolling languidly into her mouth and tangling with hers. Your teeth scraping at her bottom lip, fingers resting on the curve of her shoulder as your body rolls with the momentum of the kiss.

The skin that peeks out from the wide collar of her sweater is hot to the touch, soft and smooth against the pads of your fingers.

Trailing up the side of her neck, your fingers dance over the veins and tendons that dance with the motions of her jaw, protruding ever so slightly at the exertion. The tip of her nose rubs against your cheek as she tilts, opening her mouth and letting you lick inside—the essence of wine and leftover cigarette sinking into your tastebuds.

Scooting closer, you raise your leg and settle it atop hers, overheated bodies pressing into each other. 

Emily hums, and her hand slips down to rest on the muscle of your thigh, squeezing. Your hips lurch forward at the pressure, a twinge of arousal surging through you.

You pull back from the kiss to catch your breath, both hands clutching at the base of her skull.

“Can I touch you?” You murmur, inhaling sharply through your nose. “Do you want me to touch you?”

“Yeah…” Emily exhales, her other hand clutching at your shoulder blade from under your arm. “Please, touch me.”

You dive back in with a nod, kissing her hard but slow. Taking your time in savouring the way your tastes mingle, the way she feels.

One hand leaves her neck, trailing lower. You memorize the dips and curves of her chest through the fabric of her sweater, feeling along her collar bones, her ribs, the curve of her breast—but not where she wants you most just yet.

When you reach her stomach, you pull back just enough to watch her expression, savoring the way her breath hitches when your fingers dip under the hem of her top and press against her soft belly.

“You’ve got cold hands…” Emily shudders, the muscles of her stomach flinching.

“I’m sure you’ll warm them right up.” 

Emily’s eyes flick open and lock with yours momentarily. And with a quiet moan and furrowed brows, she leans in again—sucking at your bottom lip harshly before licking over it and kissing you properly.

Your hand travels further across the expanse of her abdomen as she kisses you deeply, tracing the curve of her lower belly and over the faint ripples of muscle below her diaphragm.

Emily freezes when your thumb brushes against the aged ridges of the scar jaggedly carved into the left side of her abdomen. You know exactly what it is, everyone knows.

The age-old tale of when Emily Prentiss died at the hands of Ian Doyle, and somehow miraculously survived.

You feel the shift in her demeanor as you press fully against it, fingertips tracing the faint ridges where sutures once lay.

“Is this okay?” You whisper against her lips, pressing a soft peck to the corner of her mouth.

“I-yeah. Yes. It’s okay.” She stutters, her thoughts seemingly jumbled. “Just don’t linger too long, okay?” 

“Okay.” You smile gently. “You’re beautiful, Emily… so beautiful.” You drag your fingers away from the old wound, tracing lower along the arch of her hip bones.

Emily whimpers as you kiss her gently, lips just barely pressing against hers.

The hand that still rests on the side of Emily’s neck reaches up and pulls the tie from her hair, the thick silver locks cascading down her shoulders and back.

The strands tickle your face as you move to tuck them away, fingertips brushing over her cheekbone.

“I love your hair… grey looks sooo sexy on you.” You murmur between chaste kisses, your hands flexing against her waist.

“Yeah?” She pants breathlessly, her hand squeezing your bicep as the tension seems to thicken between the two of you.

“Yeah…” You break away from her mouth, eyes flicking open and locking with hers before you shift lower, planting kisses along her jaw and down her neck.

The warm, aged skin is soft and pliable beneath your lips as you suckle at her pulse point, eliciting a tiny gasp from her throat. Your teeth graze the flesh as you move lower, using the hand in her hair to lift her chin, giving yourself more access.

“That feels good.” Emily sighs, her body slowly leaning further into the armrest of the couch. You let out a low hum, nipping at the underside of her jaw as you press her back fully against the cushion. 

Emily’s arches into your touch as the hand beneath her shirt trails higher, palm flat against the curve of her ribcage. Your thumb glides over the underwire of her bra teasingly, pulling a tiny gasp from the older woman. 

“Can I?” You whisper against her lips, her quick breaths fanning across your face with the closeness.

“Yes.” Emily exhales, nodding eagerly as your fingers trace the padding of the cup.

You palm a full breast, and Emily moans—her hands pawing at you through your clothes. You can feel the faint outline of her nipple as you squeeze, hardening with each groping touch.

With a desperate groan, you shift on top of her, your legs bracketing her thighs. Emily looks up at you with drooping eyelids, her hands moving to rest on each side of your waist—fingertips prodding into your flesh.

“And this? Okay?” You ask quietly, dipping down to nuzzle at her cheek.

“Yeah… keep going, please.” She squeezes your hips gently, her chest pushing into your touch.

You smile at her eagerness, cupping her breasts with both hands now. The silken fabric is warm to the touch, its smoothness pairing well with Emily’s soft skin. 

You lean down to kiss her again, lips meeting in a desperate mess of teeth and tongue. Emily’s breathing is shaky and shallow as you scrape your nails over the padding, teasing her covered nipples. 

Emily pulls away suddenly, the movement so rushed it almost knocks you off her lap altogether. Her arms clamber at her own back as she shakily reaches under the sweater, unclasping her bra and pulling her arms through the sleeves.

You can’t help but smile amusedly at the older woman as she struggles to free herself from the straps, wriggling beneath the thick fabric as if it were a straitjacket.

“Got it?” You chuckle, quirking a brow.

“Mhm… just a second.” Emily chokes out, her arms untangling and slipping back through the sleeves—one hand holding a simple grey bra.

She tosses it across the room before returning her attention to you, smiling and shrugging in a way that makes your heart skip a beat before lurching forward, reconnecting your lips in a fiery, passionate kiss.

A muffled moan slips into her mouth with the force of it, your hand grasping at her waist.

Using your free hand to stabilize yourself on the back of the couch, you press forward, righting yourself on her lap. Your hips rock in tandem with the kiss, rolling subtly over the meat of her thighs.

Emily hums, clutching at the sides of your face as your hands slip beneath her sweater again. Her skin is practically boiling, a hot flush spreading from her cheeks down to her chest.

You run your fingers up her flanks, tickling at her ribs before tracing your thumbs along the underside of her breasts. Emily shivers as you tease the sensitive skin, her nails digging into your neck ever-so-slightly.

Her nipples are fully peaked when you finally brush over them, her areolas puckered. The thought of her being so affected from a simple makeout session sends a sharp twinge of arousal straight through you, compelling your hips to grind harder into her lap.

Emily pulls back with a hiss as you squeeze at her bare breasts, pinching her nipples between your index and middle fingers. You watch attentively, studying her reactions as if you were scanning them into your brain.

You think for a moment that a memory as beautiful as this deserves to be kept close and sacred for all eternity.

Urging yourself on, you crane down and kiss along her exposed throat, nipping at the veins pulsing just below the surface. Emily’s hums, her svelte fingers tangling at your nape as you drag your tongue over her pulse point.

Tugging on your hair, Emily pulls your mouth back to hers. The kiss she plants on you is wantonly needy, the way her tongue drags across your lips before her teeth bite into it drives you practically up the wall.

Sliding halfway off her lap again, you drag your nails over her breasts and down her abdomen. The way her muscles jump and twitch below the skin fascinates you.

Looping an arm around her lower back, you tug her side against the front of your body. Emily squeaks in response, her torso twisting near unnaturally to keep your mouths connected.

Your hand runs flat over her pelvis and down to her thigh, squeezing at her knee before sharply scraping back up, your callouses catching on the worn fabric of her sweatpants.

Her hips cant forward as you tease at the hem, fingertips brushing over the skin of her belly.

“Please…” Emily whispers, pressing a gentle kiss to your upper lip and then the bottom.

“Please, what?” You murmur, drawing teasing circles around her belly button. “I need you to tell me exactly what you need, Emily. I want this to be perfect for you.”

“God, these are not the type of orders I’m used to giving…” she laughs breathily, tucking her face into your neck. “Just touch me… I’ll let you know if something needs to change.”

“Okay.” You press a kiss to her temple.

Emily inhales deep and shakily, her lips brushing against your collarbone. 

Squeezing her hip, you slowly let your fingers dip beneath the waistband. Immediately, you can feel the damp heat of her sex. 

“Oh god…” Emily sighs, spreading her legs further to accommodate you.

“So warm… I take it I’m doing well so far?” You quip, earning yourself a sharp bite to the side of your neck, most definitely leaving a mark.

“I’ll take that as a yes…” you grumble, cupping her pussy through her thin cotton panties.

Emily whines, pushing her hips into your palm to gain more pressure, only for you to pull away. You chuckle lowly as she lets out a needy plea, her hands still clutching desperately at the back of your head.

“I’m taking my time with you, be patient.” You murmur into her ear, breathing in the scent of her hair.

Emily stays silent as you slip your hand back into her pants, fingers trailing down her inner thighs before teasing the edge of her gusset. She sucks in a shuddered breath at the light touch, her thighs spreading impossible wider.

When you finally slip past the hem of her panties, the pads of your fingers immediately come into contact with the wiry curls between her legs.

“Sorry…” Emily mutters shyly against your neck, her face tucked just below your jaw. “If I had any idea this was gonna happen, I would’ve shaved.”

“Don’t worry about it…” You rake your fingers through the hair and press a gentle kiss to the bit of shoulder peeking out from the loose collar of her oversized sweater. “I’m a big girl… I like it.”

Emily shivers in your grasp, her hips twitching—the pressure of your palm seemingly doing wonders in working her up. Using just your middle finger, you slip lower and let it press between her folds, finding her warm and wetter than you thought she’d be.

“You’re wet…” you mumble against her shoulder, licking a broad stripe up the side of her neck as your finger draws teasingly along her slit.

“Yeah…” Emily gasps, her hips rutting against your hand. “I told you the hormones were working.”

“God, you’re so hot.” You groan, gathering some arousal and dragging it up to her clit, tracing light circles around it.

“Hm-fuck…” she whines, her muscles tensing and fingernails digging almost painfully into your scalp.

“Feel good?” You let your head rest against hers, your lips brushing at the shell of her ear.

Emily makes various whiny and illegible noises before she finally responds, her stomach clenching in concentration.

“Yeah, it’s good…” she pants, choking in her breath. “Just keep the touches light, more sensitive that way.”

“Okay…” you press a kiss to her cheek, continuing your slow, teasing strokes against her clit.

You can feel your own arousal starting to pool in your underwear simply from hearing the sounds Emily makes. The quiet gasps, the needy whines and whimpers, it all sends a thick wave of heat through your body, saturating every nerve ending in a heady glaze of want.

Trailing wet kisses along her neck and shoulder, you begin to slip from your spot atop her thigh, your knees sliding off the edge of the couch and slowly landing on the area rug below.

“Wha—where are you going?” Emily turns towards you, a worried crease between her brows.

“I wanna taste you…” You murmur, nuzzling your face into her soft chest. “Can I taste you?” You meet her gaze with wide, sparkling eyes as you kiss the tops of her breasts through the fabric of her sweater.

“Yeah…” Emily pants, breathlessly. “Please.”

You smile softly, your hand leaving the confines of her panties and resting at the curve of her hip as you settle yourself on the floor between her knees.

Emily leans back and pushes her hips towards you, her face flushed and lips parted. She watches with intent as you lift the hem of her top, exposing her soft lower belly. 

Diving in, you press a featherlight kiss just below her navel. Emily sucks in a breath at the feeling of your mouth, damp and soft against her heated skin. You can feel the pale peach fuzz beneath your lips as you drag them higher, mouthing at the skin of her upper abdomen.

Emily’s hands cup the sides of your head, her thumbs brushing over your cheekbones, the tips just barely touching your eyelashes. 

Her skin tastes just as sweet as imagined as you drag your tongue along the vast plains of her stomach, with a faint hint of savory perspiration. The skin prickles with goosebumps as you trail higher, lifting her sweater as you go and revealing her breasts.

Just the sight of the thick, heavy flesh makes your mouth water. 

You sit back on your heels slightly, using the tips of your fingers to hold the sweater out of the way as your palms press into the sides of her breasts. Your eyes are wide as you frantically explore the newly exposed skin, admiring every stretch mark, freckle, or sun spot, as well as the dusky pink of her nipples.

Leaning forward, you press a solid kiss to the shiny skin in the valley between her breasts, inhaling deeply.

Your kisses grow wet and sloppy, tongue laving along the hot underside of the globes. Emily lets herself fall into the spell of your attention, the pleasure. Her head falls back, tendons growing tought beneath the skin as her chest rises and falls in shallow breaths.

You look up to watch her expression when your mouth reaches her nipples, kissing the bud before dragging a flattened tongue over it.

“Oh-” Emily jerks, her head tilting forward and her gaze landing on your mouth. 

Your tongue flicks out at her nipple, drawing a choked gasp from Emily’s throat. Her cheeks grow a darker shade of red the longer she watches, her lips parted in a silent moan.

“Such a tease” She sighs, her breath fanning across your face. “C’mere… take this off of me.” Emily brushes the hair from your face, smoothing her fingers over your crown.

Excitedly, you crane up to peck her lips before sliding your hands up her sides and into the sleeves of her sweater, pushing it over her head, swiftly and discarding it somewhere on the other side of the couch.

You take a moment to admire her half-nude form, her reddened skin, her chest—still covered in the sheen of your saliva, her tousled silver hair; she is a prime example of the purest form of beauty.

You reach out, brushing the tangled strands from her collarbones before tracing over her shoulders and down her arms. When you reach her hands, you take them in your own, pulling them towards your face. 

Emily stares wondrously as you kiss her knuckles, down to the tips of her individual fingers, then her calloused palms. When you reach her wrist, you slowly run your finger along the sleek leather of her watch, unclasping it before gently sliding it off her wrist and placing it on the end table.

Your lips brush against the sensitive skin, her pulse thrumming beneath the light pressure of your thumb. A quiet whimper falls from the older woman’s mouth as you kiss along her wrist and up her arm, painstakingly slow and with lustrous intensity.

Emily slips one hand from your grasp, using it to tug you in by the hair.

Her mouth is a force as it collides with yours with a renewed passion, sucking you in as if she were trying to swallow you whole.

“Please.” She whispers, nipping at your swollen bottom lip.

Your hands cup the sides of her ribcage, feeling the ridges with the pads of your thumbs.

“Patience…” you draw the word out in a hushed whisper against her lips, nipping at the bottom one before dipping to the side again and kissing along her shoulder.

Emily groans impatiently, her flushed skin almost glistening as she struggles to hold herself back.

You smirk as you drag your tongue, hot and languid, over her right collarbone, dipping into the hollow of her throat, then the other. 

Her chest rises and falls almost frantically at the attention, her head tilting back to allow you more access.

You accept the offer graciously, a hand reaching up to catch her head as it lolls back—your lips latching on to the spot below her ear that pulls a gasp from her lungs.

With a drag of your teeth, you slip lower once again.

Your mouth moves tirelessly over her chest and the rounded edges of her breasts, your nose brushes at her side as you lavish her with undivided attention.

You inhale her deeply, breathing in the scent of sweat and skin, the intoxicating essence of her deodorant mixed with something entirely Emily.

She’s everywhere in your senses, and it makes you feel like you’re floating in space, watching it all happen from above.

You take her nipple into your mouth, and Emily breathes out shakily, arching into the suction of your lips, the swirling of your tongue.

Your teeth scrape over the bud and pull a surprised yelp from the older woman, her eyes shoot down to catch yours.

Her pupils are so blown that you can’t even tell where they end and her irises begin. The pride that surges through you is almost painful, curling deep in your chest, lungs going taught and then unfurling hotly.

She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, watching your face with half-lidded eyes as you shift to the opposite breast, giving it the same treatment.

Your hands glide down the length of her torso, palming the sides of her chest before your nails rake down her belly. Emily shivers, her hips twitching and her covered mound brushing against your abdomen. 

Finally, you lean back on your heels, letting your eyes take her in one last time.

You sit perched between her legs, palms driving up the underside of her thighs. The muscle trembles faintly, you wonder if it’s the anticipation or nerves—maybe both.

“Scoot a bit closer toward the edge for me, beautiful.” You murmur, dipping down to press a gentle kiss to her knee.

Her urges forward at the request, wiggling her hips as she slides closer—her ass just barely hanging off the edge of the couch cushion.

“Can I take these off?” Your fingers curl into the waistband of her sweats, teasing the hot skin at her panty line.

Emily doesn’t speak, she doesn’t trust her voice, she nods furiously—lifting her hips in the air for you to slip the fabric over her ass.

You pull the pants down agonizingly slow, revealing endless miles of leg. When the pants reach her ankles, you pull her socks off with them.

With the fabric discarded across the room, your head rests against her soft inner thigh, eyes dancing curiously over her most intimate region.

Your blunt nails scratch at the top of her thigh, noting the way a faint dusting of goosebumps rises on the flesh. Reaching the apex, your fingertips trace the hem of her panties, dipping teasingly beneath.

Emily hisses at the contact, like your touch scalds.

The thin, dark blue cotton sits slightly askew on her hips, the damp spot above her center darkening the fabric wickedly.

“Have I ever mentioned how brilliant you look in blue, Chief Prentiss?” You murmur, eyes flicking up at her through your lashes before landing on her center again.

Emily grumbles at the title, her hand brushing your hair back from your forehead.

“No, agent Y/L/N, I don’t think you have…” She plays along confidently, and it makes your breath stutter. 

You bite your lip nervously; that proud tone in her voice always makes you so weak.

“Well, you do…” You tilt your face, letting your nose drag along her thigh. “Absolutely…” You press a kiss to the meaty flesh of the apex. “Fucking…” another, right above her covered pubic hair. “Brilliant.” 

With the last words you press your mouth directly atop her clit, the bud twitching as your lips close in a slow—wet kiss.

Emily chuckles breathily as she slumps against the back of the couch, and it almost sounds like it’s mixed with a moan.

Your palms grip the backs of her knees, lifting and pressing them apart.

You breathe her in, the thick, heady scent of her arousal sending a shiver down your spine, the hairs on your arms standing.

You kiss lower, tongue swiping out to taste her through the thin fabric. 

It’s all too much and not enough at the same time.

Your nose rubs her clit as you practically make out with her covered pussy, her nails digging into your scalp—pressing your face closer.

“Oh, babe…” Emily moans softly, her mouth hanging open. “Please, fuck—I need to feel that pretty mouth.”

You let out a deep, needy groan, the vibrations sending a jolt straight through her.

Without a word, you sit up, gripping the hem of her panties and tugging them down so roughly the fabric pops.

Emily gapes at the aggressive movement, her breasts swaying as she shifts up for you again, letting you tear the fabric from her legs.

You gaze at her flushed face first, she looks positively ravished, then you look at the damp cotton in your hands.

“I’m keeping these.” You declare smugly, bringing them up to your face and breathing her in before shifting onto your knees and shoving the panties in your back pocket.

“Filthy thing you are…” she murmurs, her eyes glassy with arousal. 

A grin spreads across your face at the phrase, a tiny whine bubbling in your throat from the slight degradation mixed in.

You take in her utterly nude state, the tuft of salt and pepper curls between her legs now on full display. Your mouth waters at the sight of her, saliva pooling under your tongue.

“You’re wearing too many clothes.” Emily leans forward, her foot drawing over your clothed inner thigh.

“Am I? Maybe you should help me out of them then?” You lift your arms, and Emily’s hands immediately grasp at the hem of your t-shirt, pulling it over your head in one swift motion.

Her hands are at your belt next, her fingers tugging it open and reaching for the button of your jeans. You’re on your feet quicker than she has time to ask you to stand, pants falling down your thighs before stepping out of them.

Emily’s whimpers as she takes in the tightness of your underwear on your hips, the curve of your breasts in your sports bra.

She reaches for you, her fingers digging into the backs of your thighs. She pulls you to stand between her legs, her hands sliding over the curve of your ass and scratching up your back.

“Jesus…” she pants, her eyes wide. 

Her mouth is on you next, soft lips pressing kisses to your belly. You shove her backwards by the shoulders before she can get too far, falling back against the couch with an oof.

“This is about you, Emily… worry about me after I make you cum.” The words are gravely as they leave your throat, arousal evident in the raspiness.

She quirks a challenging brow, spreading her legs wide and settling further into the couch.

You sink to your knees before her, her scent already clouding the air. Your hands come to rest atop her knees, squeezing lightly as you press them apart.

Your eyes rake over her body, the soft curves, the old and new scars that blemish her flawless skin.

“You..” your lips press to the center of her heaving chest, “are sooo…” your tongue drags between her breasts, “fucking…” down her stomach and nipping at the soft pudge below her navel, “gorgeous.”

With the final words your lips find her pussy, warm and wet, awaiting. Emily’s hips buck against your face as you press sloppy, open-mouthed kisses to her sex, desperate for the release she’s been craving.

“Fuck.” The silver-haired woman sighs, her stomach twitching at the contact. Her eyes are locked on your face as you bury yourself in her, devouring.

Pressing her legs up again, you settle them over your shoulders, arms wrapping around her upper thighs and pulling her impossibly closer.

Your tongue draws a flat stripe over her folds, dipping between them before flicking at the underside of her clit. Emily jolts, her fingers threading into your hair and holding you exactly where she wants you.

“Yes…” You almost chant. “Fuck my face.”

Emily moans at your lewd words, and your mouth opens—tongue unfurling and resting atop your bottom lip. 

Above, Emily grins through a silent cry—her hands gripping at your scalp and maneuvering your head in an up and down motion, sliding your tongue over her pussy whilst her hips roll in circular motions.

You groan at the feeling, your nose pressing into her pubic hair, the way she’s taken control is absolutely intoxicating.

“Hm—you feel so good.” Emily pants, and your eyes flick up to her face, watching hungrily as her muscles clench and pulse, arms flexing as she guides you.

You can’t help but flash your teeth in a wolfish grin at her affected state, hands reaching up to squeeze her breasts.

Her skin is nearly feverish as your thumbs brush over peaked nipples, circling lightly with the pads before pinching them between your knuckles. The tweaking urges a whimper from Emily’s throat, squeaking out just as her head falls back again—her bottom lip pulled between her teeth.

“You look so pretty like this…” You mumble in between laps, swallowing down the excess saliva and arousal that’s gathered in the back of your throat.

Emily chuckles wryly, her gaze falling back on your face. “You look even better.” 

You hold back a groan as your mouth closes around her clit, suckling softly whilst your tongue flicks over it.

Emily chokes on a moan at the sudden shift in pressure, her hands and thighs squeezing so tightly around your head that it feels as if it might pop.

“Jesus Christ, you’re so good with that mouth.” She pants between words, muscles trembling.

You hum at the praise, jaw opening wider so your tongue can slip down to her entrance, just barely pressing inside before swiping back up and repeating the motion.

“Oh—” she gasps above you, rutting her hips against your tongue. “Keep doing that…” 

You follow her orders silently, lapping at her pussy graciously while she moves against you. A wet stain—without a doubt, forming on the lush fabric of the cushions below her.

Her face scrunches up in pleasure, and you can’t help but watch as she uses your face however she pleases. 

“Oh god… fuck, you’re so good… oh, fuck.” Emily cries, her head tilted back in pure, unbridled desire.

“You gonna cum for me, beautiful? You like the way my tongue feels?” You murmur against her pussy, quickly re-attaching your mouth to her clit as she fucks herself on your face wildly, unabashedly.

“Yes, so good—fuck, Y/n, FUCK!” Emily gasps, her hands clutching harshly at your scalp, her body seizing up, and her hips twitching ever so slightly as the orgasm she's been praying for finally washes over her.

A moan slips from your throat at the feeling of her pussy pulsing beneath your tongue, the way her hips roll—riding out the remainder of her pleasure.

Emily lets out a dramatic groan, those perfect, pearl-like teeth on full display as she falls limp against the couch, easing down from her high.

“Oh my god…” she sighs, looking down at you with half-lidded eyes as you place a final kiss to her clit.

“How was that? I do alright for you?” You question, raising your brows teasingly as you kiss up her sweaty torso.

“You made me cum, Y/n.” She laughs, you can’t help the blush that creeps onto your cheeks. “I haven’t even been able to make myself finish in months, so whatever the hell you just did…” her eyes go wide, flashing the white of her sclera before her hands cup your cheeks—pulling your mouth to meet hers in a soft kiss before leaning back just enough to look you in the eye. “I might have to keep you on speed-dial…” 

You surge forward this time, a greedy sense of pride swelling in your chest. The kiss is needy and open-mouthed, Emily’s tongue effortlessly slipping past your lips to taste herself. She groans into it, her arms wrapping around your neck and pulling you tight to her body.

You can feel her pubic hair brushing against your belly from this angle, and you swear you’ve begun dripping onto the floor even with your underwear still on.

“Can I worry about you now?” Emily murmurs teasingly, nipping at your bottom lip. 

You chuckle heartily at her eagerness, giving her one last wet kiss before sitting back and climbing to your feet with a groan. Kneeling on hard floors never has been kind to your knees.

“Let’s go to the bedroom.” You stand in front of her, reaching out to smooth your hand over her tousled silver locks. “I’m sure the bed is much comfier.”

“Oh, definitely.” She nods, her dark eyes sparkling as she rocks forward onto her feet. She wobbles for a moment, her hands shooting out to steady herself on your shoulder.

You wrap an arm around her back, the skin sticky with perspiration. “Alright?”

“Yeah… just forgot about those post-orgasm wobbles, y’know?” She grins, tilting her chin up and pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of your mouth.

You laugh softly, squeezing her hip and pulling her flush to your body. You tilt your head, inviting her in—she meets you with an open mouth, tongue invading your senses as she starts walking you backward towards her bedroom.

Her hands slip into the back of your underwear, palming your ass beneath the fabric. A muffled squeak slips into her mouth from the roughness of it, a seemingly more dominant persona taking over with the reversal of roles.

You manage to make it to the bedroom with minimal stumbling, given the fact that your eyes are closed and your body—occupied.

Upon entering the room, you’re hit with a fresh wave of Emily’s scent. You suck in a deep breath against her lips, breaking the kiss to glance around the room.

“Let me take these off…” Emily murmurs against your jaw, her hands sliding up the muscle of your back and under the hem of your sports bra. 

You lift your arms for her, letting the fabric slip over your head—the rush of cool air stiffening your nipples almost sorely. Her hands cover the exposed skin instantly, svelte fingers kneading at the flesh.

“So beautiful…” Emily mumbles, her gaze slipping to your chest. Her kisses trail over your jaw, then your neck, and she’s walking you backwards again. 

When your knees hit the edge of the mattress, you ease yourself onto it, and Emily kisses further down your torso as you go.

Her lips wrap around a pert nipple, and a whine slips from your throat, your hands clutching at the sheets.

“Your mouth feels so good, so warm.” The words sound more like a moan as they leave you.

Emily’s hums around the hardened bud, sending a sharp twinge of arousal straight between your legs. You let go of the sheets and clutch at the back of her head desperately, holding her as close as possible.

Emily climbs onto the bed next, your thighs spreading to accommodate her between them.

The feeling of her bare body flush to yours is absolutely overwhelming. Her hips press into your pelvis as she kisses back up your chest and takes your mouth once again—the patch of hair between her legs tickles the sensitive skin as she carefully rocks into you.

You let out a groan, your own hips moving against her motion to gain any sort of friction.

The kisses are sloppy and wet, but neither of you could care less, your body is surrounded entirely by the older woman, every nerve set ablaze as her touches wander.

Her hands rake down your flanks and over your outer thighs, squeezing the flesh before pressing them open wider.

“I think it’s my turn now…” Emily mumbles between kisses, her nails scratching over your skin in a way that makes your body tense and your insides churn.

“Please…” you plead, voice hardly a whisper as you clutch at her shoulders.

Emily grins, her eyes trailing over your flushed face.

“I'd like to taste you…” She bows down, her teeth nipping at your earlobe. “Would you like me to do that, sweetheart?” 

“God, yes…” your body arches into her, bare chest squishing against hers.

Emily chuckles, low and teasing, as she kisses her way down your body again. Her tongue drags across your collarbones, then down the valley of your breasts.

She sucks harshly at one's underside and it pulls a yelp from your throat. You look down at her shyly, climbing up onto your elbows.

She meets your gaze as she lifts and slides lower on the bed, her mouth never leaving your body. Her tongue laves at the edge of your rib cage, wet and searing before it drags lower, circling your navel. 

Your breathing is ragged as she nips at the flesh of your lower belly, then your hip bones.

Her eyes flick up to meet yours before she drags her nose up your inner thigh, her lips pressing teasing kisses as she moves. She does the same to the other thigh, biting at the tender skin at the apex this time.

Emily licks her lips as she gazes at the soaked spot on the gusset of your underwear. Those dangerously dark eyes meet yours one last time, a silent confirmation.

“Need you...” You sigh, breathless, hips rocking towards her impatiently.

Her nose presses into you first, dragging slowly along the length of your covered slit. Her hands clutch at the backs of your thighs, pressing them apart.

“Mm, you smell good.” She groans, and you can feel the vibrations through the thin fabric.

“Take them off…” Emily follows orders, curling her fingers into the waistband and tugging eagerly. You lift your hips to assist, kicking them the rest of the way off.

When you settle back down on the mattress, Emily’s gaze locks on your needy sex, her eyelids heavy with lust as she takes it in.

She brushes her fingers teasingly around your puffy folds, keeping you on edge. You know you’re already a mess from the way her breath fans your skin, sending a chill across the wetness.

“Touch me, Emily…” you murmur, watching her eagerly as she licks her lips—the sheen of her saliva glistening in the low light.

“You’re so pretty… so wet.” Emily rasps, she looks almost distraught as she rests her palm atop your mound, her thumb swiping over your soaked folds.

You can hear the squelch of your wetness as she toys with you, pulling a tiny whimper from your throat.

She rests her head against your inner thigh, watching closely as she brushes the underside of your clit. Your hips twitch as the sudden touch, pussy clenching around nothing as she keeps a featherlight pressure in the sensitive bud.

“Sensitive?” She mumbles, raising a brow.

“Mhmm…” you hum in response, grinding into her.

She swipes over your clit one last time before dragging it down to your slit, thoroughly coating it in your arousal before pressing it inside.

It’s hardly enough to satisfy, but it feels heavenly regardless.

She cranes forward next, her lips brushing over your mound. She presses a wet kiss to the center of your pelvis, then another just above your clit, and finally the sensitive bulb peeking out from beneath its hood.

Her tongue flicks out next, dragging flat and slow over your folds before drawing to a point and circling over your swollen clit.

Your head tilts back with a sigh as she finally gives you the pressure you’ve been craving, tongue dipping in alongside her thumb before dragging your arousal up, spreading it.

Emily’s thumb slips out, hands wrapping around your thighs and pulling your pussy flush to her face.

You moan quietly as her mouth covers your sex, her tongue dragging languidly over its entirety before wrapping her lips around the bud and sucking. 

She moans into you, practically burying her face between your legs.

Your muscles tremble as she works you, a shiver making its way through your body from how impossibly turned on you are.

Your fingers card through the silver locks at her crown, brushing them to one side so you can really admire her.

Emily laps eagerly, mouthing at your pussy as if it were her the last thing she’d do.

You can feel the tension building, that deep ache burning brightly in your womb as she urges on. Her tongue feels like everything, so perfectly overwhelming but delicate at the same time, like she knows exactly how to break you apart from the inside out.

“Shit—Emily… keep going baby.” You pant, hips rocking against her mouth. “Don’t stop.”

“Wasn’t planning on it.” She groans, quickly reattaching her mouth. Her hands leave their spot on your thighs and reach up, scratching over your abdomen before palming at your breasts.

Her knuckles pinch at your nipples, pulling a shrill moan from you. 

Her tongue works in tandem with the rhythm of your hips, applying the perfect amount of pressure, all while keeping still enough for you to control where it goes.

You’re already so close, it definitely won’t take much longer for you to be hurdling over the edge.

Her right hand leaves your breast and trails up, her fingertips dancing over your pulse point before brushing over your already parted lips.

You let her fingers slip inside, tongue immediately swirling around the long digits. Emily groans at the sight, her eyes fluttering closed as her efforts double down—sucking harder at your clit.

“Fuck!” You yelp, your body twitching at the sudden change in stimulation.

Her hand shifts beneath her body, the now well-soaked fingers teasing at your entrance before her middle slips inside.

“Yes—more.” Your hand clutches at her scalp as you pant, holding her right where you need her.

Her index joins in at your request, curling deliciously into your sweet spot with each slow, deep thrust.

“So good…” You sigh, your body curling into itself to heighten the sensations. 

You can feel the tension growing with each pass, the thickness of her fingers filling you perfectly. Emily’s face glows pink as she breathes heavily against you, her eyes flicking up at your face before falling shut again.

Suddenly, Emily’s tongue shifts, swiping against a particularly sensitive spot, and your body begins rapidly approaching orgasm. The taught string of heat in your belly cracks, your thighs tremble, and you try your hardest to keep them from crushing Emily’s head between them.

“Fuck, Emily! Right there—oh my god…” You groan through clenched teeth, your face screwing up with the intensity of your pleasure.

Emily doesn’t change a single thing about what she’s doing, keeping the perfect consistency. With one last swirl of her tongue and press of her fingers, your body crashes into an orgasm, trembling wildly as she slows down just enough not to overstimulate you.

Your body arches off the mattress, and your elbows collapse, neck craning backwards into the pillows.

Emily’s fingers slip from inside you, her hands splaying wide over your abdomen as she eases you down.

You laugh out a moan as the waves begin to settle finally, leaving faint twitches in their wake. 

“Mm, fuck… you’re so good at that.” You sigh, your fingers raking through her hair, practically petting her. “People really don’t know what they're missing.”

Emily lets out a hearty chuckle, pressing gentle kisses to your sensitive folds and along your inner thighs.

She works her way up your body slowly, kissing, licking, and biting at your flushed skin. She hums as she reaches your upper torso, kissing over the darkening hickeys she left on your breasts.

“You’re welcome.” Emily rasps, her nose nudging at the underside of your chin as she slots herself into your side, her thigh resting between your legs.

“Mm, thank you.” You smile at her dazedly, your eyes half-closed as you lean in to kiss her. She meets you eagerly, her tongue flicking out for you to taste yourself.

You moan into the kiss, sucking on the muscle gently before letting it go. Your arms wrap loosely around her shoulders, holding her body close. Her blunt fingernails rake along your side, tickling.

Soon enough, your body is already keening for more. You grind down against her thigh subtly, your slick spreading onto her skin. 

Emily smiles into the kiss, nipping at your bottom lip. She grips at the meat of your waist, pulling your pussy against hardened muscle.

You gasp, your arms wrapping around her tightly.

“You like that? Wanna ride my leg?” She mumbles into your mouth, her fingers kneading into the flesh of your ass as she guides your movement along her thigh.

“Yes.” You whisper sharply, rutting harder against her.

Emily groans, rolling onto her back and pulling you on top of her. Her foot presses into the mattress, raising herself up to press into you.

“Shit...oh—” you tremble, forearms framing her head.

Emily grins smugly below you, groaning as her tongue flicks out at the underside of your jaw before biting at it. Your spine curves to give her more room, the sharpness of her teeth on your skin sending a prickly chill over your body. 

The sound of your slick dragging along her toned thigh is just about all you can hear, aside from your own panting breaths and whimpers.

Your abdominal muscles burn as your hips roll eagerly, hands grasping at the pillows behind Emily’s head.

“God, you look so good like this.” Emily groans, her eyes dancing wildly over your body. 

A choked moan cracks from your throat as she squeezes you particularly rough, forcing your sex down hard against her thigh.

“Hm—fuck, Emily, hold on…” You gasp, pressing your hands to her sweat-slickened chest and lifting your torso.

“What’s wrong? What do you need?” She murmurs, her palms sliding up from their place on your hips and cupping the underside of your breasts.

“Let me just..” you shift quickly, rotating your hips and grabbing one of her thighs, raising it just enough for you to settle your pelvis against hers—sliding your pussy's together.

“Oh, I haven’t done this in ages…” Emily chuckles, curling up to better position herself for you. 

Emily watches with a bewildered expression as you find your rhythm, your hips dragging in a somewhat circular motion.

“Feel good for you?” You ask her breathily, holding her thigh to your stomach with one hand while your other hand palms her breasts.

“I’m not sure it’ll be enough to get me off, but I wanna watch you.” She rasps, her bottom lip shining from the pooling saliva in her mouth. “You look so pretty, rubbing yourself on me like that, fuck.”

“You feel so good.” You whine out the praise as you grind fervently, chasing the perfect amount of friction. Your clit, still hypersensitive from the last orgasm.

The lewd sounds of your soaked pussy grinding against her flesh fill the surrounding air, and the bed creaks. Emily looks so incredibly disheveled below you, completely absorbed in your presence. Her dark eyes, wide and focused, her hips and hands working your body tirelessly.

Your nails dig into the muscle of her thigh as you feel the telltale signs of an orgasm start bubbling within you. Your head lolls back, pleasure overtaking your movements.

One of Emily’s hands strays, bony knuckles pinching roughly at your nipples. The sharp sting shoots straight down to your sex, causing a fresh wave of arousal to pool between your bodies.

“Fuck—Emily.” You cry and your head tilts forward again, lips pressing against her kneecap. “So good… so close.” 

Your teeth graze her skin as you pant and rut against her, a film of sweat sheening over your skin.

You shift your hips again, and Emily squeaks—her mouth falling open as the new movement hits a particularly sensitive spot on her clit.

“You’re doing so good, baby.” She breathes, her eyes fluttering closed. “Hngh—that feels good.” 

“Yeah? Think you can cum?” You keep the position steady as you crane your neck to face her.  

Her brows crease together as she focuses on the feeling, her chest spattered in a deep red flush. 

“Yeah—fuck, I think so.” Her voice is practically a whisper as she relaxes her body, flowing with the consistency of your movements.

“What do you need? I wanna make it happen.” You set your own needs aside for the moment, letting your hand wander up her chest again.

You rake your nails down the center of her chest, and her body arches into the touch. You can see the faint muscles of her abdomen clenching with each roll of her hips.

“Just keep touching me, multiple points of stimulation help.” She whimpers through gritted teeth.

You nod silently, keeping your attention on her.

Your fingers draw teasing circles around her nipple, pinching, rolling the bud between the pads of your fingers before tugging gently. She twitches at the pleasurable pain, a whimperish moan slipping from her lips. 

You let your fingers trail upward, dancing along her collarbone before pressing into her already open mouth.

Her eyes shoot open at the unexpected intrusion, but she’s quick to accept it—sucking them in halfway before swirling her tongue between them.

Her face flushes harder at the sight of your face, the reaction your body seems to have. Your lips parting a silent moan, the motion of your hips faltering momentarily before picking up again.

You pull your fingers from her mouth and attach them to her neglected nipple, repeating the same motions.

“I want you to cum with me…” Emily pipes up, her half-lidded eyes locking on yours.

“You’re close?” You pant, picking up the pace.

“Yeah…” Emily’s brow glistens, the white hair at her temples clinging to the skin.

With a hand trailing down her belly and combing through the hair atop her mound, you can’t help but smile excitedly. The hair is completely drenched in a mixture of your arousal, slightly matted. You tangle your fingers in it, pulling it back and exposing more of her clit.

“Shit—” Emily sucks in a sharp breath, the now heightened sensitivity building her up rapidly.

“Come on, baby.” You whine, your head dropping to rest against her knee. “Fuck, you feel so good, Emily.”

“I’m almost there, ugh—almost there…" she trails off, her face contorting as the pang of her orgasm hits.

You double down on your efforts, muscles clenching as you work yourself over the edge with her.

“Fuck, fuck—Emily.” Your body tenses, orgasm rippling through your body. Your hips stutter as you ride it out, thighs trembling, and your upper half almost doubling over with the intensity of the aftershocks.

Emily’s arms wrap around your waist, pulling you flush to her chest. You paw at the older woman’s biceps, clinging to her. 

Both of your bodies are slick with perspiration; if you had any sense of function left in your brain, you’d probably try to peel yourself away—but you don’t.

Emily sighs loudly against your hair, her breath tickling your scalp.

“God, that wore me out.” You smile, your cheek squished against the protrusion of her shoulder.

“Tell me about it…” she chuckles, combing her fingers through the ends of your hair.

The pair of you lay in a panting heap for a long moment, settling into each other's overheated presences. 

You press gentle kisses along her collarbone before tilting to press your nose against her neck, breathing in her scent—a mix of sweat and lotion, feeling the thrum of her pulse beneath the skin.

“God, don’t sniff me, you weirdo.” Emily swats at your arm playfully. “I probably reek.”

“No.” You mumble against the base of her ear, breathing her in again. “You smell good. You always smell good.”

“If you say so, sweetheart.” She sighs, the same hand that hit you, now stroking languidly along the muscle of your flank.

“Have you got a bathtub?” You ask, raising your head just enough to look her in the eyes.

“Yes… Why?” She gives you a curious look.

“Let me run you a bath… take care of you.” You lean down to press tentative kisses along her cheekbone, then down to her lips.

Emily hums into the kiss, contemplating.

“I suppose that would be nice…” The low purr of her voice rumbles against your chest, “As long as you join me?” A lazy smile tugs at the corners of her mouth.

“Of course, ready to get up?” Your hand smooths over the soft curve of her belly, comfortably,

“Yeahhh…” she grumbles, and you sit up beside her. “Why don’t you go start it, and I’ll meet you in there.” 

“Sure.” She smiles at you as you lean in to kiss her again, it's chaste and gentle. She exhales into it.

With a squeeze of her thigh, you wobble your way toward her en-suite, which earns an amused laugh from the unit chief.

The en-suite is quite large, but comfortably so. Natural colored tiled floors and a matching shower, the walls are white, but the warm shade of the overhead light keeps it cozy. 

Stepping over to the tub, you turn it on, finding the perfect temperature before plugging the drain and letting it fill. 

You’re rifling through the toilette cabinet when a set of warm hands rest upon your shoulders.

“If you wanted to snoop, you could’ve just asked…” Emily squeezes your tight, mildly sore muscles. You laugh softly before standing and turning to face her.

“I was looking to see if you had some Epsom salts or bubble bath or something.” Your hands wrap loosely around her hips, pulling her body flush against you.

“I don’t, but shower gel might work?” Her brow quirks, and she slips from your grasp.

She grabs a bottle from the shower floor and pours a healthy amount into the tub. Soon enough, the bubbles start to form, and she looks over at you with an excited smile.

“You… are so cute, Emily Prentiss.” You chuckle, admiring her mused but adorable appearance.

“I am not cute.” She huffs, grabbing two towels from the cabinet and setting them on the countertop.

“You just keep believing that.” 

…

Once the tub is full, Emily slips in first, moaning at the perfect temperature.

You slip in behind her, your thighs bracketing her hips. She leans back against your chest, her head falling back into your shoulder.

“This is nice, such a smart idea.” Emily hums, pressing her cheek against your own.

“I am technically a genius, y’know.” You quip, earning yourself a pinch to the inner thigh.

“That wasn’t very nice.” You mumble, wrapping your arms around her waist, palms flat over the curve of her lower belly.

“I haven’t any idea what you’re talking about…” She lands a soft kiss on your cheek, smiling as she basks in the warmth surrounding her.

“Mhmm.” Your thumbs rub soothing patterns over her soft skin.

Tilting your chin down, you press a kiss to the curve of her shoulder, the sweet scent of the bubbles lingering in the air. 

Emily sighs as you kiss up the side of her neck, your nose brushing the back of her ear before your tongue darts out, teasing along the shell of it.

Her breath hitches, and the dissipating flush on her skin comes back in full swing.

“Y/n…” Her nails dig into the sides of your knees on both sides of her hips.

“Emily…” Your teeth graze her earlobe, and your fingers start to dance lower again. “Think you have one more for me?” You mumble, voice low against the side of her head.

“Yes.” Emily breathes out, her thighs spreading as your hands drag down her inner thighs. “God, you’re too good at this.”

You can’t help but chuckle at how wrecked you’ve gotten her, completely willing and desperate beneath the unwielding force of your hands.

Using your hips, you raise her bottom from the base of the tub and shift her so that she rests atop your left thigh, giving yourself more room to work, all while holding her close.

“Spread your legs.” You murmur, and she instantly obliges, her right leg settling between yours and the wall of porcelain.

The bubbles on the water's surface block the view of your ministrations from above, heightening the sensations’ intensity.

Your nails rake teasingly up Emily’s inner thighs, holding them open. When you reach the apex, her hips roll into the touch, urging you on. The fingertips of your right hand dance along the crease of her sex, teasing her folds while your left slides up to cup her breasts, your thumb brushing over her nipples.

Emily whines against the curve of your jaw, her right arm coming up to wrap around your neck.

“Please…” she pants, her teeth grazing your skin. You hum in response, tilting your head to take her lips in yours.

Just as her tongue flicks out at your bottom lip, your middle finger swipes over her swollen clit. Emily whimpers, and you catch it with your lips, swallowing it down.

Dipping into her slit, you feel the traces of her arousal. The fact that you’re the one at fault for it stirs a childlike sense of pride within you, as if you just won a prize at the fair.

You draw light circles over her clit, before teasing the sensitive underside of it for a moment and circling again.

“That feels good…” she whispers, breaking the kiss for a moment. “I wanna feel you inside me.”

The confession makes your heart skip a beat.

“Yeah?”

“Yes… Just go slow, one finger.” She kisses you again, slow and deep.

You groan into the kiss, the finger on her clit sliding between her folds once again. The tip of your middle finger teases her entrance for a moment, and her hips jump to meet it. 

Emily hisses as the first inch slips inside. She’s so warm, sensitive to the touch. 

“More, it’s okay.” She mumbles, her hand covering yours and pressing you deeper.

She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth as you bottom out, a quiet whine crackling from her throat as your palm makes contact with her clit.

“Guide me.”

She looks you in the eyes as her hand starts moving yours, angling your wrist so that your length tilts up, aiming for her spot.

Her hips cant forward as she settles into a slow rhythm, brows furrowing. 

“You feel so good.” Your nose brushes against her own, and she smiles faintly, her glassy eyes hooded. 

She pulls you into another passionate kiss, rising into it slightly, and the tops of her breasts break the surface of the bubbles.

You pinch at her nipple and you can feel her pussy clench around you. Emily moans softly, her hand in your hair, tugging at the nape of your neck.

“Play with my clit.” She whines, dropping your hand that’s inside her and dragging the one on her breast down. “Please.”

You smirk against her, nipping at her bottom lip as you scissor at her clit with your middle and fore fingers. 

Emily’s head falls back limply, and you take that as a chance to give her neck some attention. You kiss and lick along the exposed tendons, leaving faint marks that’ll fade in the next few minutes.

Her hips rut against your hands, rippling the water. 

“Mm, fuck you’re so hot.” You groan against her neck, biting at the muscle of her shoulder. Emily squeaks at the sudden aggressive gesture, her abdomen twitching.

“Oh—hm, gonna cum, baby…” she cries, lifting her head back up to face you again.

“Yeah? I’m making you feel good? You like the way I touch you?” You purr against her parted lips, her panting breaths fanning over your chin.

“God, yes… I love it, taking such good care of me.” Her eyes flutter closed, her words breathy and full of need.

The synced movement of your fingers is unwavering, working steadily until her muscles are trembling above you.

“Y/n—” she moans, her spine arching as her thighs quiver, tightening around your hands between them.

“That’s it… I’ve got you.” You finger stills inside her, keeping a constant pressure against her spot whilst your fingers on her clit circle slowly—drawing out the last bits of her orgasm.

Emily exhales shakily as her nails claw at your forearm, steadying your movements. 

“Easy, easy… fuck.” She groans, smiling brightly.

Her eyes open, gazing at you heavily. The apples of her cheeks glow pink, shining from the steam. She leans in to kiss you again, slow and chaste—but no less meaningful.

“I am definitely going to keep you around if it’s like this every time…” she chuckles, her hand loosening in your hair and cupping your cheek.

“Oh, yes. And… whenever you need it.” 

“I like the sound of that…” 

…

a/n: i hope that did not disappoint after all the waiting... anyways, happy humping!!!

taglist: @luvgreyponytail @piiinco @xoxo-maryssa @prentissmultiverse @blackcatlesbo @teeshatequila @professorsapphic @decadentcatcrusade @classic-fangirl-emily-prentiss @wittygutsy @jareauiisms @keepinggcomposure @bernieswolfe @prentitty @garcialuvr @chiefemilyprentiss @yourneighborhoodwlw @g59mads @r0manxff @confidant-thoughts @joanofvarc @lez-talk1 @wlwoceaneyes @wandasdollie @maximoffcarter @chestnutninny @realmisssnowflakes

[jareauiisms]

  ⁺ ⑅  ꫂ ၴႅၴ  jennifer jareau headcanons. <3 ..𓈒༄

🦢 , nsfw below the cut~!

𓊆   sfw⠀ 𓊇  

ྐ𖥨 JJ has a habit of pushing her hair behind her ears with both hands when she feels frustrated. Sometimes, she does this so frequently, so aggressively, that you must take her hands from her, hold them tight and help her slow her breathing until her anger disappears.

ྐ𖥨 In addition to her hair-tucking, you notice that the way she dresses also changes when she has a particularly caseload at work. Her sleeves always lengthen, and she typically wears them long enough to cover her palms. When you do her laundry, you'll notice that the sleeves of her hoodies are wrinkled from the way that she tugs at them.

ྐ𖥨 Even though she wears long sleeves, JJ always makes sure they're tight enough to show off her arms. She's very proud, obsessive, even, of her own musculature, and always likes to show off for you, even in the winter.

ྐ𖥨 She also loves to show you off. The ego rush that she feels when having a pretty little thing like you on her arm is seismic. She loves to dress you up, help you with your hair, pick out your outfit meticulously, even if you're just going to get a beer with her team.

ྐ𖥨 When you do leave the house-- quite the rare occasion, as JJ just loves to spend time at home with you while not on a case-- she is incredibly possessive of you. She's sure to hold your hand or drape an arm over you even while doing something as menial as grocery shopping. If you were to work at the BAU with her, she'd find it nearly impossible not to claim ownership over you, would have a hard time keeping your relationship a secret. She'll arrive to every unit function just that split second earlier to ensure she gets to sit next to you, to hold your hand under the table. She'll hover behind you when you talk to anyone, even when she doesn't perceive them to be a threat, just in case, just to keep you safe. It's like she feels burned alive when anyone sits between you.

ྐ𖥨 Jennifer still speaks with the slightest southern accent when she's near you, especially when she's tired. She'd always had it when she was younger, that young, bright face on the news, but her years in the bureau beat that sweet twang out of her, almost as if she felt she sounded more professional without it, would be taken more seriously.

𓊆   nsfw⠀ 𓊇

ྐ𖥨 Jennifer is most definitely a service top. She has already preferred to be in control, and with the way that you whimper and moan under her, she's at the point that your pleasure is what gets her off.

ྐ𖥨 JJ's job has impacted her so deeply that she's become quite jaded, especially when it comes to making love, so she's become a bit greedy for more. She has become a masochist, in that her nervous system is completely wrecked from shutting down every emotion that she may feel in the field, that she needs to feel extremes.

ྐ𖥨 She is embarrassed of it, will apologize profusely each time, but as she has aged, JJ has developed her own sadism as well. She would never intentionally hurt you, would never take it further than a light slap to your cheek, will always take the most gentle care of you afterwards. She feels out of her own control sometimes, gets too high off of the tears in your eyes.

ྐ𖥨 She likes you best on your knees. Be it riding her boot, desperately tugging at the badge which always dangles from her belt, wrapping your lips around her strap... she's obsessed with you, so much smaller than her, eyes wide and pleading and attention only focused on her. She loves the discipline she holds over you, grabbing you by the ponytail or by the chin, manhandling you as she pleases.

ྐ𖥨 JJ loves when you use masculine terms to refer to her. She'll always melt in your touch when you call her handsome, as you often do, and you love the way her jaw tightens when you refer to her as your boyfriend. As she has aged, she has grown towards dressing far more masculine, her closet now full of flannels and leather jackets. She's also let her hair grown, the patch that leads from her belly to her belt enough to make you drool every time she wears a pair of low-rise jeans.

[jareauiisms]

𐙚  𓂃   ࣪    ◌      ' two cigarettes in an ashtray '  🪽  𓉳    

 ྐ𖥨    pairing ,    𓊇 emily prentiss x bau!reader 𓊆 summary _    ͏ৌৄ়়ৗ.    based on the ending of 17x05, emily is about to lose her office at the bau. you give it a proper send off. છਊ tags!     𓊇   glasses!emily , fingering (r. receiving) , porn with feelings? 𓊆 author's note! ᭅᬻ the glasses stay on!! i am thinking about witing another chapter? please do let me know how u like this~!! <3

word count : 6,327 <3

Emily Prentiss.

BAU Unit Chief.

You read the plaque ten times over, and then some, just for safe measure.

Your hand rests, tentative, on the brass handle for what seems like hours.

You just can’t do it.

Can’t open the door, can’t see her like that again.

You’d seen her only a few minutes prior, those dark eyes portraying the heart-shattering grief of a woman losing the only job she’s ever loved, the only one she’s ever known. You would very much like to never hear that quake in her voice, to never feel the twang of pain in your chest you felt when she sulked back to her office, sunken by the knowledge that the tears were beginning to fall, that you have always been the only one who can kiss them away, but knowing that you must wait until the rest of the team has dispersed for the night for secrecy’s sake.

Her pain is entirely yours, and to see her sleep deprived features now would only come as a further confirmation of her removal from your daily schedule, perhaps the worst aspect of her restriction. It has always been your favorite part of the job, perhaps the only reason you stay employed by the bureau, that despite the gore and the terror, you get to see her during your every waking moment. From the minute you open your eyes in the morning, until the second they close come evening, it is Emily who fills them.

You curse under your breath, aimed for whichever higher level official has taken such perfect circumstances and squandered them.

The thought of returning to work tomorrow, of picking your gaze up from your desk, hoping to catch a glance of Emily sitting at her own, yet finding her office devoid of life, emotionally wrecks you.

You can’t open the door, can’t confirm this horrible thing that has happened to you.

But you can’t let her wallow in there by herself.

You push the door open ever so softly, the creak of its hinges impossibly familiar to your ears after countless mid-shift rendezvous, sleepless nights spent here, sitting with your knees draped over her desk while Emily endlessly rereads her current files.

The air is heavy with smoke, likely from her second or third cigarette of the night. You’d typically scold her, scrunch your nose up and fuss until she handed over the pack, but you know just how much she needs this tonight, won’t bother to hurt her any further.

Emily sits at her desk, hair loose, curls cascading over collarbones, cigarette in a hand which is propped against whatever book she is unsuccessfully trying to focus on. You see it in her features, brow furrowed and eyes glassy— she has been trying to fill time, just as you have, until the team has filtered out, but not one word of this book has been read.

Her glasses, though, those thick black frames that make you weak in the knees, sit so delicately against her nose, so dark against pale features and silvery hair, forcing a grin across your downturned lips.

You must be moving at a mouse’s volume, for the older woman slightly jumps when you open her window, let some of the smoke curl into the night, relieve some of the tension that’s thickening the air around you.

She sighs, eyes finding you finally, and she pulls the frames from her nose and hooks them over her shirt, slightly making the fabric sag, your mouth water.

“Emily,” you say softly, no expectations, just enjoying the way her name sounds on your tongue, letting it hang in the air, join the tobacco.

She slides a hair through the stress-dampened curls, leans back in her chair, waits patiently until you’ve settled yourself in her lap, a motion so frequent it comes to you without thinking.

You sink into her, one hand splaying against her collarbone, pinkie dancing in the silver curls, the other landing at her waist, thumb in her belt’s loop.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper as she lifts the cigarette to her lips, releases a low stream of smoke, the smell that you once detested, yet now feel so fond of for the way it reminds you of her. The tobacco, so rich and woody and melting perfectly with her perfume, calms you even though you are not the one smoking it.

“Don’t apologize,” she hums, eyes, once distantly staring towards one of the vases at the other end of the room, now finding you, “It isn’t anyone’s fault but my own.”

You shake your head, press a warm kiss to her temple.

“Don’t do that,” you retort, hand dropping to lightly tease at the glasses at her chest, tugging on them ever so slightly so that her attention never leaves you, “Don’t blame yourself. You were just doing your job, keeping people safe.”

Emily’s hand, the movement subconscious and not at all intentional in the way it makes your skin ripple, slides beneath your skirt until it rests possessively on your thigh, revels in your warmth, as she shivers from the night’s air whistling past the cracked window.

She looks up at you with that signature Emily Prentiss skepticism, the brow raised, the lips tight in a sardonic smirk, making you ready to fall back on what you’ve just said, to change your mind, to agree with her wholly.

This matter, however, you will never agree with her on.

You won’t let her be so cruel to herself, won’t allow this hatred to direct towards anyone but the people who got her arrested in the first place.

You trace over her collarbone, allow the silence that befalls you. Your head gently dips into the space between her neck and shoulder, resting upon the curls that sit there. You are surrounded by her heartbeat, it cradles you in its soft rhythm, accompanied by the gentle rise and fall of her chest, percussed by the recurrent lift of the cigarette to her lips.

“What have you been reading?” You ask softly after several minutes, your lids heavy but your attention dancing over the ephemerae of her desk, noting the unopened bottle of whiskey that you know she had once hidden away for a special occasion, now sitting on her desk, wax seal still intact, but a glass accompanying it.

She shrugs softly, picks up the book, must lift the glasses back to her nose to read the title to you.

It is in French, appears quite old, must be something regarding politics, if you were to trust your very limited knowledge of the romantic languages.

“Boring as hell,” Emily hums, a lilt of laughter returning to her voice, as though just your very presence by her side, even though you sit in silence, has lifted her spirits substantially.

You laugh, not at all too loud, you’ve learned your lesson enough that even when you believe the building to be empty, there are frequent stragglers, who often require something of the Unit Chief before they return home. Tonight of all nights, you want so deeply to not draw attention, to stay in this little box for as long as you can, to never allow the sun to rise.

You’ve become unsettled on her lap, sit upright, nose mere inches away from hers now.

“I love them,” you purr, finger lightly flitting across the black acrylic that still perches so precariously atop the strong nose.

She rolls her eyes a bit, moves to pull the glasses away, but you place your hand over hers before she is able to move them.

“I’m serious,” you smile sweetly, voice falsely stern, only somewhat proving your conviction in the matter, “keep them on. They’re so damn sexy.”

The last bit makes the sides of Emily’s mouth twitch, her fingers shifting against your thigh.

You’ve switched something on within her, and it makes that signature Prentiss-fueled fire in your belly flicker alive.

“Really?” Her voice is flat, but dripping with that signature sarcasm that she does so well.

You nod softly, capturing your lower lip between teeth, looking up at her beneath your lashes, your touch dipping from the glasses to gently caress her cheek.

“Real-.” Your breath catches, unable to complete your last syllable, when Emily’s hand slides ever further up your skirt, finds a handful of your ass, tugs you closer to her.

She is the one that seals the space between you, and though it is more awkward than usual, glass stopping the way your lashes would typically flutter against hers, she kisses you like she’s been needing this all day, like every stress that has been stacked atop her shoulders finally tumbles down the moment she feels your touch.

Her mouth is desperate, tastes of tobacco and coffee, is warm and moves against you in her practiced rhythm, yet there’s the aftertaste of exhaustion which is so unlike her, a tiredness to her movements that you feel almost guilty over.

You pull back a bit from this guilt, readjust yourself on her lap, find her eyes which take a moment longer to open.

“Emily,” you repeat the name, those three syllables your lips’ favorite, “we don’t have to. Not here. We should go home.”

Emily sighs softly, presses her face to your chest, breathes in deeply, greedy to feel you, to absorb your scent, even though you’re coated in sweat, and your clothes are far from clean this late in the day. She does not care, pulls her hand from beneath your skirt, her movements languid and almost carrying a solemnity to them. It makes your heart ache, to see her like this, the light behind her eyes flickered out for the night. You want to sweep her home, to hold her tight until the sun rises, and never return back into this building which has so shattered her soul.

She won’t let you do that, though.

For all of the pain that the bureau has caused her heart, she will return to it every time. It is her ultimate vice, one that she will never lay down until they drag her away, screaming and kicking.

“Just,” her voice picks up, quiet and quivering and sad, “let me stay here a bit longer.”

You nod, cradle her head between your hands, smile when she begins to press kisses to your chest, something fluttering behind your ribs when she begins to pull at your buttons.

“If this is the last night I ever spend in this office, I’m going to make it a good one.” Her voice immediately loses that sadness it once dripped in, now is biting and teasing and so her, and it makes that dorky smile spread across your features all over again.

You reach down, helping her with the buttons of your blouse, once again capturing your lip between harsh teeth, nearly drawing blood, from the soft little whimpers that escape the older woman with each pop of a button. She is ultimately in complete awe of you, hands revering your every inch as she slips the silk past your shoulders, onto the sticky floor of an office that hasn’t been treated with enough respect to earn a regular cleaning.

You find yourself unappreciative of the way that she’s craning to lay small kisses to your sternum, press a hand to Emily’s collarbone until she is flat against the large leather chair, her glasses teetering at the very tip of her nose.

Her gaze is so greedy, dark eyes never wavering from you as you lift a thigh, hiking up your skirt so that you may straddle one of her own legs. Once situated, breathing shaky from the way that her muscle immediately tightens below you, you press your finger to the bridge of her glasses, settle them correctly.

The look of her below you, sleeves rolled up to her elbows, hand running through that white streak of hair to push it out of her field of vision, her legs spread to accommodate you, posture so damn unprofessional that you are the only one she’d ever slouch like this for. She looks tired, but not like she’s hurting. Domestic, off-duty, like she feels safe with you.

The room is ever so quiet, save for your shared breaths, and the distant sound of whatever cars may dare the street this late into the night. You have the floor to yourself, only the hum of dying fluorescents and a vacuum elsewhere in the building.

The quiet is nearly suffocating, but you love it, for it allows you the sound of Emily’s typically hidden moans, like the one that falls from parted lips when you readjust yourself on her thigh, let the wetness she’s caused there seep through the fabric of her striped pants.

Her hands instinctually grip at your waist, stabilizing you, making sure that you’re really there, that this isn’t some sleep deprived, anger-fueled hallucination she’s having.

You’re quite real, you remind her by pressing small kisses to her cheeks, then ever lower, chest colliding with her stomach as you smudge your lipstick across her collarbone, fingers speedily undoing her top buttons.

You’ve always loved the dynamic of it, Emily staying dressed, powerful in her ownership of the office, you dressed so dangerously little, almost praying that someone would barge into her office, see you scantily clad, see Emily’s possession of you.

Tonight certainly is not the night for that fantasy though, so you allow your fingers to trail lower, let your kisses fall until you meet the lace border of her bra, find the opening of her shirt so that you can find the constricting muscles of her stomach. Your hands are cold, make her flinch, cause her own, significantly warmer, to find your skin, sending a warmth through your body.

You kiss her so lightly, her skin so delicate and already slightly bruised from your last venture beneath her shirt, but you’re not nearly as rough with her as she is with you. You find this woman to be something to be worshipped, and as such you are always light in your touch of her.

Emily could not feel more oppositely. She worships you, of course. Loves you just the same as you love her. Would never purposefully hurt you, but she often cannot control herself, much less when it comes to you. Her grip at your thighs is rough, your fat spilling between her fingers, veins protruding at her wrists from the strength of her grasp. She has always been one to handle you like this, and you’re always more than happy to be thrown around as she pleases, but tonight there’s something different within her, a deeper anger that she’s trying to suppress, an inner turmoil that has her hands tentative, like she wants to throw everything off of her desk in a rage and fuck into you until neither of you can think straight anymore, but she isn’t allowing herself that.

Not yet, at least.

You begin to rock your hips against her, just shallowly, as her grasp stabilizes you so much that you can only move very little. Emily hides the smirk that threatens her lips, watches you with that gaze that’s only sent in your direction yet mirrors the look that she shoots suspects.

Ravenous. Dark and shark-finned and so hungry for you, but forcing herself to wait, to let the tension fill the already thick air that swirls around you, to wait until you’re both dripping in need, then she’ll make her move upon you.

She cannot help her own mouth though, never has been able to.

“Fuck, baby,” She mewls, hold onto you still impossibly tightly yet now she begins to help you grind, doing the work for you, gliding your hips across her knee.

You return with a sweet curse of your own, the words whispered into her skin, your head lazy against her chest now, only pressing soft licks to her skin when you’re not completely wrecked by your desperate need for her.

“Em— mily—” You whimper, her name interrupted when her thigh hits you in just the right place, your nails digging into the skin at her sides, your hips begin to twitch in search of more.

Emily lifts your chin, smiles to herself when she notices the way your lips are wet from your own saliva.

“Can you use your words for me, sweetheart?” She questions, voice so teasingly kind, and pushes the hair away from your face.

When your eyes meet her, shocked all over again every time you see the glasses she’s still wearing, all your throat can muster is a little ‘mmph—’ before you’re biting your own tongue, trying not to make too much noise, your hips shuddering against her.

Emily pouts, false and mocking and making your stomach flip inside out, caresses your face so sweetly that it makes you blush.

“C’mon, baby, let me hear that pretty little voice.”

You feel completely unable to speak, brain so blurred and fuzzy and empty that you find it hard to function at all, let Emily just do everything for you.

“Please,” is all you’re able to muster, breathing the word several times, looking up at Emily, seeing the stress still present deep in her eyes but you’re too far gone into her fog of lust that you’re not too sure what you can do to help.

Emily smiles up to you, helps support your head which is so heavy on your neck that you’re getting close to dropping it to her chest again, swiftly lifts you so that you are sitting atop her desk, likely wrinkling several important documents, but neither of you care one bit about work in this moment.

You whine at the total loss of contact, Emily still sitting back in her chair, as if catching her breath, as if she is assessing just what means she wants to employ to have you gasping and moaning her name into the stale air of the empty office. She chances a glance to her left, notices that the blinds are still open, returns her gaze to you.

You’re ever so antsy, reaching out for Emily yet she’s just there out of reach so your hand falls back to the mahogany of her desk, features turning downward as if in anger, so very mad at her for not giving you what you want right when you need it.

Emily is having far too much fun with this, you see it in the way her brow quirks backward, how her tongue swipes over her lips, anticipating, teasing.

You’re about to huff at her, to make matters far worse for yourself, but Emily silences you with the first of many kisses, first to the inside of your knee, the next trailing further and further up, causing your thighs to squeeze together around her head.

She laughs into your skin, continuing her short frenzy of pecks until she reaches the fabric of your skirt, must pull back in exhaustion with the garment.

“Off.” She demands, plainly and calmly, and you all but fall off of the desk as you do just as she’s told, kicking the material off onto the floor to join your top.

Emily herself is growing impatient, doesn’t even allow you to return to your position on her desk, instead pushes you against it, so that you’re only lightly perched against the desk’s lip, feet just dangling so that you toes barely touch the ground.

Before you even have a chance to get your bearings, you feel breath, hot, prickling at your skin, the soft flesh right in the inside of your thigh, the softness of her nose gently nudging you, pulling your attention.

As you let your chin fall, your chest heaves with stuttering breath, finding her there below you, on her knees, glasses thrust back onto the crown of her head so that they push the hair away from her face. Her nose is buried between your thighs, her breath heaving, slow, deliberate so that she might suffocate herself there if she so pleases.

This sight alone is enough to turn your muscles to jelly, but you don’t even get the chance to revel in this lewd image she’s drawn you, for Emily drags her tongue along your soaked-through underwear, pulls a moan from your lungs that is so loud you fear you’ve alerted the entire building to your affair.

You can feel her smile— lips parting so that teeth gently scrape against your clothed cunt, that grin that always has you weak only furthering your undoing above her.

You hold yourself against the desk as best you can, but whichever hand is closest flies from the furniture to tussle in her hair, tugging her closer, wordlessly begging her for more.

Though, you know well that she won’t take kindly to your lack of words.

Emily wants to hear you, wants this room to echo with your little whimpers and pleads and calls of her name long after the plaque outside her window no longer holds the name itself. She continues her delicate, almost featherlight licks, tongue flattening against you, pulling more of those salacious noises from your kiss-swollen lips until you cannot take this heat any longer.

“Emily, please—” you mewl, and by the time your eyes flutter open those two dark pits are already baring into you, making you swallow hard, knowing just what she wants to hear, “Please, Em… fuck me.”

The request, quite a simple one in regards to your previous sexual history with Agent Prentiss, is all it takes for the woman to drop her gaze, return her attention between your legs. She cannot help but tease, must allow herself a few more sloppy kisses against your underwear, has found herself all too obsessed with the idea of keeping you clothed, taunting you just like this for hours on end.

Perhaps she’s found kindness in staring down the barrel of an early retirement, for Emily finds your waistband with her teeth, tugs it until she cannot any more, pulls it the rest of the way down with a hooked finger so that you may step out of the underwear.

The older woman falls back against her ankles, hands gently brushing over the smooth skin of your calves as she wolfishly eyes your glistening pussy. Your hips buck on their own, as if grinding into absolutely nothing, begging her for pleasure that isn’t there because she’s taking her sweet time, taking this mental image of you quivering above her, making oh so very sure that she’s getting every little detail.

“Fucking hell,” Emily whispers, voice so low and raspy that you nearly miss it, “fuck, baby, you’re dripping.”

Once again, you can tell she’s wearing that killer smirk, it doesn’t take a glance down to tell, her voice is just coated in sugar, so sickeningly sweet, just what you’ve grown used to when you know she’s about to completely destroy you.

Emily’s mouth starts lower this time, hungrily licking at your skin, lapping up all of the arousal that pools between your thighs, once again her method languid, methodical in each little desperate cry she pulls from you. Her hands find their place on your hips, keeping you steady, not wanting you to do any of the work, not allowing it. You give yourself over to her too easily, too entirely, find yourself existing only as she tells you to. When your hand gently tugs on her hair, it is only because Emily’s tongue has found your cunt once again, because she wants you to pull her closer, to feel your small fingers burn her scalp, wants to feel the affirmation that she’s doing a good job in addition to simply hearing it.

Emily teases you first with the bridge of her nose, savoring the soft hitches of your breath that come with each of her small prods. Her kisses to your skin are sloppy, searching, seeking the place that makes you twitch the most, until she eventually finds it, presses her tongue flat against your clit, curls and licks and makes you groan in the way that only she knows how to.

You can’t help yourself from whimpering her name into the empty office, both in wanting the whole bureau to know that Emily is the one that you belong to, and in a soft demand of more, letting her know how desperate you are to feel her inside of you, how ready you are, how sick of waiting you’ve grown.

She is quite the apt listener, for it’s not many pleads of her name before the older woman has plunged two fingers into you, eliciting just the volume from you that she so craves, has your back arching, threatening to spill you back onto the desk, your arms feeling weak from the shock of pleasure that careens through you.

Your fingers grab a fistful of her hair, holding her steady as you desperately hump against her mouth, but those damn glasses are in the way, interrupting your grasp of silver, so you grab the acrylic, slam them onto the table beside you.

This earns you a squeeze to the ass, and a sloppy reprimand.

“Gentle, baby.” Emily’s voice is soft against you, dark and sultry and fucked out in her own sense, her short words sending a gentle vibration through you, making you shiver.

You ride her, the display so obscene that when you catch yourself in the reflection of the window to your right, you blush so deeply, lift a hand to your mouth in embarrassment, yet you can’t pull your gaze away. You can’t see it well, but the image of Emily, the highest level agent in your unit, the one who has everyone on their metaphorical knees at any given moment yet now sits on her knees below you, is only focused on your pleasure, her head bobbing between your legs, you couldn’t be paid to look away.

Emily’s pace is rhythmic, not painfully slow as it usually is, but just at the speed in which you can beg her to go faster and you’re sure that she will, so that is just what you do, whimpering brokenly until her fingers curl into you at a pace that has you out of breath, will surely hurt your hips in the morning.

“E— Mily, ‘m gonna—” You call, voice broken and far too loud but God, you don’t care one bit because you feel so good, she makes you feel so damn good.

Emily doesn’t speak in return, for her mouth is quite busy not so gently sucking at your clit, sending the shockwaves through your belly and making your fingers tremble. Her fingers only fuck into you rougher at your confession, curling against the tender muscle until you’re unravelling, coming on her tongue and her palm, making a complete mess of the desk beneath you, but it’s not like either of you have to worry about its cleanliness anymore.

Emily slows her pace, quiets her mouth’s movements, instead presses soft kisses to your legs, then to the sensitive strip of skin just below your stomach which always tickles you just enough that it makes you giggle.

You release her hair from your tight grasp, shaking your hand slightly to relieve the tension it has built up, offer her your hands to help her stand once again.

Her hair is disheveled, chin glistening, shirt wrinkled… all making you feel so dizzy that you have to sit on her desk once again, holding onto her for dear life. She lets you do just that, presses small kisses across your forehead, nose, and jaw, lets you catch your breath, catches her own.

“My knees ain’t what they used to be,” she jokes, lightly kicking her leg, as if to regain feeling in something that has fallen asleep.

You laugh gently, wrap both arms around her waist, press your chin to her chest, lift your eyes up to her.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have let you—”

She cuts you off with a wet kiss, sneakily unhooking your bra as she distracts you with her lips.

“Don’t you dare apologize for anything.” Emily hums, pulls back, stands to look at your entirety, her fair skin highlighted by the warm glow of the only light on in the room, a lamp at the edge of the desk.

You’re not too pleased by the way she begins to back away, so you grab the glasses that were once discarded on the table beside you, hook them on her shirt, tug her closer to you once again.

You pull her into another kiss, this one sweeter, laced by the exhaustion that clouds both of your minds, the warmth of her chest pressing against yours, until she has you pinned against the table, trapping you between her two splayed hands.

When she lifts her head, her hair cascades into a waterfall that covers you, your new angle rushing all of the blood to your head so that you feel almost tipsy, feel bold enough to reach for Emily’s belt, to whine out a beg for her to take it off.

She does just that which you want, opens the metal clasp so that you can remove the shirt that was so cleanly tucked in, force it off of her shoulders, let your nails lightly scrape her skin.

“I’ve always had this fantasy…” You begin, voice trailing off, eyes becoming entirely avoidant when you realize just how silly the request sounds.

Emily will not accept any of this sheepishness, shifts her weight onto one arm, uses the freed hand to grab your chin, force your attention back up to her.

“Go on…” She purrs, eyebrow lifting in that way.

You swallow hard, let your hands drift around until you’re toying with the necklace that dangles just above you.

“You, fucking me against that window…” you extend a finger to the one you’ve just been staring at, the one that overlooks the whole unit, the one that gives you the perfect view of Emily from your desk. The one that, had anyone else been in the building, would have given them the perfect view of you.

Your blush only flushes deeper when you notice the quizzical look across her features doesn’t leave, and you begin to backtrack.

“It’s silly, right? It’s silly…” You try to force Emily’s attention on anything else, let your fingers fall to fidget with her glasses again, until her hand lifts from your chin to find your own, settling your worried movements.

“Not silly at all, sweet girl.” Her brow has fallen, sits comfortable over the dark eyes, instead turns up in worry, worry that you just don’t know how deeply she cares for you.

Emily stands, her features straining a bit from the movement, like the weariness of the day has finally collided with her, head-on, but she won’t accept it just yet.

The older woman extends a hand, lifts you up by it, pulls you until she has you pressed against the window, the glass so cold against your back that it sends a shiver through you, one that Emily settles with the warmth of her weight pressed against you.

You lift your fingers to cup her face, pull her in for another bout of lazy kisses, the action all too practiced, all too familiar. The feeling of kissing her never gets boring, will feel new and exciting and will make your stomach flutter every time your lips connect.

Emily’s touch is wandering, exploratory and worshipping and wanting to feel every single little raised freckle and pore and protruding vein, wanting to memorize your every square inch. At the rate of your nakedness around her, it’s possible that her map is very nearly full at this point.

You curve your back, press yourself into her, let her smother you against the glass, giddy with her weight atop you, lightheaded with the way she limits the intake of breath into your lungs.

You don’t worry over things as trivial as breathing, not when Emily’s fingers dance down your chest, find your breast, tease the nipple which has already stiffened from her tickling. She lightly pinches at the pebbled flesh, kneading into your tits, groaning at your malleability beneath her.

“You’ve been such a good girl tonight,” she whispers against the shell of your ear, pressing her tongue against the lobe, kissing your jaw, “making me forget all about this stupid fucking job.” You feel her tense up, when she remembers the arrest, the piles of cases, the restriction. Her grip on you tightens, as does her jaw, when she thinks about it, and as much as you wish she’d take it out on you, just release and let her anger crash over you, she is too rigid, will keep her anger behind her ribcage, will not let you share it.

She does not let you sit in this guilt for long, as her hand is swiftly replaced by lips, so hot it feels like she’s burning your skin, pulling those soft, high-pitched, desperate moans from you that make Emily antsy, amp up her desire.

Her fingers trail down the front of your stomach, her hand splaying across its expanse, feeling your porcelain-smooth skin before continuing downward, finding the heat that has been unrelenting since the moment you stepped foot into the office.

Though she leans against you with all her might, your hips still twitch up to meet her touch, but this time she is far less teasing, gives you just what you want.

Emily’s hand slips between your legs, and she gasps softly with what she finds, when she notices just how wet you still are, just for her.

“God, you feel so good, pretty girl,” she hums into your skin, her kisses expanding from your breasts up onto your collarbone, scraping teeth against your skin while she lazily speaks into you.

“Fuck, you’re perfect.” Her voice is broken and wrecked with her own arousal over you, like feeling you tighten around her fingers is going to get her off as much as it is you. She picks up her head, like she’s greedy to lay her eyes over you. “You look so pretty like this, sweetheart. You have no idea.”

She presses her thumb against your swollen clit, making you gasp for air that has been eluding you, your stomach contracting tightly, making your muscle harden as she finally slides one finger into your throbbing pussy. Emily is slower now, gentle and tender and so caring, just the same as she always is, always sweet and delicate with you even when she’s in her foulest of moods.

The world could be crashing down around her, as it very much is just this moment, and her touch will still be the most comforting thing in your world. You only wish to give her half of that solace in return.

Your hands lift to cradle her face, to pull her in close, to kiss her messily, to moan her name into her mouth while you do so. Though she has you pinned, you find a bit of relief, are able to ride her fingers, hips undulating against glass, thudding against it every once in a while, sometimes so hard that your heart pauses because you fear you may shatter it.

Emily’s fingers are so masterful that it’s not long until you’re careening towards orgasm again, shaking beneath her, fingers darting into those white streaks at either temple, holding her against you.

“That’s it, sweet girl.” She purrs as you cry out into her office, your body so fatigued, both by your day, by the emotional stress you both share, and from the overstimulation that Emily has wrecked your body with. While you often dread the half hour drive home from the office, the faint image of your shared bed with the woman that slides her fingers into you at a dizzyingly slow pace right now makes it all feel quite worth it.

Once again, Emily slows, pulls her fingers from you, lifts them to her lips to clean them, pats them dry on her pants. You smile at the action, bring your own fingers to your mouth in your own blushing habit, feel the way your lips have swollen from her kisses.

Emily pulls you from the glass, assesses your wellbeing, makes sure your breathing has settled into its natural rhythm before she helps you get dressed, pressing more of her slow kisses to each patch of skin that is available to her.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” she hums, helps you with the last of your buttons. Emily sighs as she collects her things, only the ones that she’ll find most important— her briefcase, the hair pin that was passed down her family line, and, of course, the bottle of whiskey that she’s been sitting on for at least ten years now.

You smile to her, the saccharine, knowing smile that you hope will make her feel better about turning her back on the office that she has put so much time into achieving, but you know well that you can’t do much to take the sting out of this loss. You allow her all the time she needs to collect her things, to collect herself, to take a look around the office and accept her own defeat in this matter.

You yourself have grown impossibly angry at the people in charge, will have several words with whoever it is that has done this to her— you will find out, as much as she wants to hide it from you.

You follow Emily out of the office, out of the unit, hold her hand so very tightly as if you worry she might run away.

But she doesn’t, and you climb into her car, follow the motions, begin the lengthy drive home. You know well that one night of sleep won’t fix the anguish that is wearing away at her, but you’re certain it’s the best place to start.

[jareauiisms]

jj and sleepy morning sex oh im so sick

𝐛𝐚𝐮 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬 + 𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭 𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐲 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐞𝐱

a/n: I was going to answer another ask, but I wanted to write this & honestly, this is purely self-indulgent. anygays, reader wakes up needy, I also have a reversed one in the draft, but nevertheless

𝐄𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐬

𖹭 she likes to sleep in when she can, but your soft little touches wake her — and her first instinct is to pull you closer.

𖹭 Her voice is low, still rough with sleep: “You need me, baby?”

𖹭 Slides her thigh between yours, lets you grind while she kisses your neck and whispers encouragement.

𖹭 Slow fingers, slow strap (if you ask). She doesn’t rush you.

𖹭 Holds your face when you come, smiling sleepily into your mouth.

𖹭 Definitely goes back to sleep after, with her arm draped over your waist possessively.

𝐉𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐟𝐞𝐫 𝐉𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐮

𖹭 Already awake but quiet, brushing your hair out of your face and watching you breathe.

𖹭 You barely need to ask — just a soft whimper and a wriggle against her is all it takes.

𖹭 “Shh, I’ve got you… just let me take care of you.”

𖹭 Uses her fingers first, slow and steady, her forehead against yours, eyes half-lidded.

𖹭 Her pace never changes — just deep, aching pressure until you’re shaking

𖹭 After, she kisses your knuckles and tucks your leg over hers like she’s never letting go.

𝐄𝐥𝐥𝐞 𝐆𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐧𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲

𖹭 She's not a morning person unless it's you

𖹭 “You really want it this early? You better ride it, baby.”

𖹭 Lets you climb on top and grind against her, but she’s still in control — hands on your hips, guiding you.

𖹭 Her mouth is on your chest, your throat, nipping sleepily, making you moan .

𖹭 The orgasm she gives you is hard and fast, even if the build-up is slow.

𖹭 Afterwards, she flips you over and spoons you, smirking: “Now I can sleep.”

𝐏𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐆𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐢𝐚

𖹭 Whines softly when she realizes you’re needy — she’s still all soft and sleepy and her hair’s a mess.

𖹭 “Baaaby, you’re gonna ruin me before I even brush my teeth…”

𖹭 But she loves it. Lays you back and mouths at your chest, trails kisses lower, still giggling.

𖹭 Uses her mouth slowly. Draws it out. Makes you beg.

𖹭 Praise tumbles out of her like it’s instinct: “You’re so pretty like this. My perfect girl.”

𖹭 Afterwards, she pulls the comforter over both your heads like it’s a fort and cuddles you into her chest.

𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐋𝐞𝐰𝐢𝐬

𖹭 Stirs slowly. Stretches. Groans low in her chest when she feels you against her.

𖹭 “Mmm… someone’s needy.”

𖹭 She lets you hump her thigh, or she pushes her fingers between your thighs while her lips are on your neck.

𖹭 Super gentle but firm. You’re not going anywhere until you come for her.

𖹭 Loves eye contact. Smiles when your moans get higher-pitched.

𖹭 She hums against your skin and rubs soft circles over your hips after, not even bothering to get up.

𝐀𝐥𝐞𝐱 𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐤𝐞

𖹭 She wakes up early — but never minds when you tug her back into bed with a whimper.

𖹭 Quiet. Intentional. One hand on your chest, the other between your legs.

𖹭 “You’re already soaked, sweetheart…”

𖹭 She whispers the filthiest things in your ear in that professor voice.

𖹭 Fucks you slow but deep — makes sure you finish hard.

𖹭 Brushes your hair back and reads next to you after, completely casual while your legs are still trembling.

𝐊𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐡𝐚𝐧

𖹭 Groggy, smiling, cuddly. Whispers something like “This how you wanna wake me up, babe?”

𖹭 Loves when you ride her thigh in the morning — her hands on your ass, helping you grind.

𖹭 Kisses your neck, murmurs sleepy praise.

𖹭 “God, you’re such a good girl, even before breakfast.”

𖹭 Might strap in if you beg — slow thrusts, one hand on your belly, watching the way you arch.

𖹭 Afterwards, she insists you both stay in bed and order breakfast to recover.

[jareauiisms]

yeah so we're DEFINITELY going places.

(s/o @dykeforhire for being the coolest person to send anons to.)

[jareauiisms]

working it out | emily prentiss x jennifer jareau

nsfw, mdni

summary: the missing scene of how emily and jj “made up” in 18x05.

word count: 2.7k

cw: smut, slight angst at the beginning, fingering, oral sex, scissoring, heavy implication that jj and emily hooked up in paris, a few cme spoilers, short scenes from 18x05 needed for context are included for anyone who doesn't watch cme but still wants to read

“Emily and I are friends. We worked it out. And when we landed in Cleveland–”

“Wait. How did you two work it out?”

“It’s not important.” 

“It might be.”

“It really isn’t.”

In truth, JJ didn’t want to tell Dr. Ochoa for another reason. It was important. Maybe. She thinks it was important. It sure felt important. 

Anyway, she didn’t tell her because it was too much to get into. Dr. Ochoa may know about Voit, the most recent cases, and her husband dying. But there’s a lot she doesn’t know. She doesn’t know about the twenty years of maybe something more than friendship, the glances that lingered a second too long, the brushes of each other’s hands that felt like a shock of electricity. 

And she sure doesn’t know about Paris. Nobody knows about Paris. Nobody but JJ and Emily.

But that’s not what this is about. Paris was a goodbye, a way to show Emily how much she’d miss her while she was away. But this? This was different. Not a goodbye, but a greeting of the person she could become. 

And they never talked about Paris when Emily got back. She had a feeling that they’d be talking about time one again. And again and again.

“JJ, come with me,” Emily said when JJ mentioned talking to the unsub that day. Furrowing her brow, she follows Emily into her office. She shuts the door behind her, leaving the two standing in the middle of the room.

“Absolutely not,” Emily says sternly.

“Emily, you can’t just–”

“I said no. You’re not ready, end of the story,” Emily says, and walks out of the office, leaving JJ to watch as she leaves. 

JJ almost calls out her name, but decides against it. Instead, she comes up with a plan. While the team talks in the conference room, JJ walks to the jet, closing herself in the small bathroom. She waits until she hears Emily’s voice to come out. 

“What are you doing?”

“Coming with you,” JJ says, hiding her hands in the sleeve of her sweater. 

“Can you guys give us a second?”

The team gets off the jet, avoiding looking at the two women. JJ approaches Emily, hardly meeting her eyes.

“Okay, make your case,” Emily says with a small shake of her head. “Why are you coming?”

“Because I have to.”

“I need more than that.”

“Emily,” JJ says, in that charged way she saves for occasions like this, “you told me to prioritize myself, and that’s what I’m doing. I am prioritizing myself and I need to get back to work. Okay? I need it.”

Emily sighs, considering it for a second, before she relents, telling the team to get on the jet. The whole team, including JJ.

What JJ could do is tell Dr. Ochoa that the moment on the jet was their way of making up. But she knew Ochoa would say that it’s not an adequate way to make up. It would also be a lie.

Because the truth is that they didn’t make up until that night, when Emily knocked on the door of her hotel room. 

JJ was already in her pajamas, hair tied up from her earlier shower. It almost startled her to hear the two knocks, but the pattern was familiar, the same knock Emily always used to show it was her. She sighs, throwing the case file she’d been studying on the desk beside the bed. 

She opens the door, waiting for Emily to speak.

“May I come in?”

JJ nods, stepping to the side. She closes the door, crossing her arms as she waits for Emily to explain her visit. 

Clasping her hands in front of her, she sighs, meeting JJ’s gaze. “We have to talk about it.”

JJ purses her lips, looking down at her feet. “Look–”

“No, JJ, you have to think about yourself. This isn’t good for you.”

“And how would you know? You don’t understand how I feel, you could never–”

She freezes when Emily reaches out and grabs her arm.

They meet each other’s gaze, and there’s that feeling again, the same one that’s been chasing them for almost two decades now. JJ takes in a quick breath. If the room weren’t so silent, Emily wouldn’t have heard it. But she did.

Emily breaks the silence. “I know I can’t understand how you feel. But I want to.”

“You don’t want to, Emily. And I don’t want you to understand. Just let me do what I need to do.”

“Yes, I do,” Emily says firmly. “I’ve been your best friend for twenty years now. Can you just stop bottling it all up this one time?”

“Bottling it up?”

“Yes. You’re hiding from your feelings, just like you always do.”

“Oh, really? Like when?”

“I can think of a few times. Should we start with Paris?”

“Don’t, Emily.”

“I will, and I am. Because for twenty years now–”

“Stop,” JJ says, loud enough to actually make Emily listen. “Please, don’t do this right now.”

“Then when? Because you had an excuse for a while, but Will is gone, and you can’t keep running from this.”

“Don’t talk about him.” JJ pushes her hair back, pacing the room. “That’s not what this is about.”

“This is what it’s always been about. And you know that as well as I do.” 

JJ huffs, tilting her head to the side. She has nothing to say to that, because she knows Emily is right. “I don’t want to talk about this,” she says as she approaches Emily again, standing closer than before. 

“We’re talking about it. It has to happen.”

JJ looks right in her eyes. “No, Emily. I don’t want to talk about it.” 

“Oh.”

They stand frozen in place, waiting for the other to make the first first. JJ’s the one to step forward, and JJ’s hands instantly go to her face, capturing her lips in a deep kiss. 

In Paris, it was quick, the passion of a moment on their kisses. But this is slow, the passion of the last two decades all bursting at the seams. 

Time seems to stop for them, at least until Emily has to pull back to take a breath. She rests her head on JJ’s forehead, placing her hands on her lower back. 

“I’m sorry,” Emily says.

“What?”

“About how we’ve been treating you. How I’ve been treating you. I shouldn’t have told you what to do like that.”

JJ nods. 

“Can you forgive me?” 

“I can,” JJ says, “and I can think of one way that you can make it up to me.”

“Yeah? And what’s that?”

JJ’s grin says it without words. Emily grins back, going back in for another kiss. 

With a giggle, JJ pulls her over to the bed by her belt. In that moment, she’s glad Emily is still wearing her work clothes for an easy way to get her on the mattress— even if she’s sure it’d be pretty easy even if she didn’t have a way to physically pull her over. They both fall on the bed facing each other, legs tangling as they deepen the kiss. 

JJ rolls over so she’s straddling Emily’s lap. She quickly makes work of unbuttoning her shirt, pulling it off to reveal her bra. She greedily takes in the view, biting her bottom lip as her fingers trace the edge of her bra. 

She takes it off, reverently trailing her hands over Emily’s tits. It’s unusual to see Emily speechless, but all her words are gone as JJ trails her hands from her breasts to the waist of her pants, taking her belt off. 

She runs her thumb along the skin just above the waistband, inadvertently teasing Emily. 

“Are you just going to stare, or are you going to take them off?”

Her comment has a small laugh leaving JJ’s lips, but she doesn’t argue, simply sliding her pants and underwear down her legs.

Again, JJ takes the time to just look at her. She didn’t have time to just look in Paris, but now she does. She has all the time in the world. 

Emily sits up, taking JJ’s oversized shirt off. JJ lets her, but then pushes her back to the bed. “You first. I’ve waited long enough to have you.”

Emily smiles, letting JJ push her down. “Whatever you say.”

JJ trails kisses from her collarbone until she reaches her hip bone. She kneels on the edge of the bed, hooking one of Emily’s legs around her waist. 

Her index finger goes to Emily’s core, slowly gathering down the wetness that’s starting to pool. 

“Pretty,” JJ murmurs. 

Emily writhes beneath her touches. She knows JJ doesn’t mean to tease, but she can’t help but want more as JJ explores her body. 

“JJ, please.”

“Sorry, sorry,” she says, finally pushing two fingers into Emily. 

Emily’s jaw drops, producing a low moan. A small smile plays on JJ’s face when she hears the sound, thrusting her fingers deeper. 

She leans down, giving her clit a tentative lick. When Emily moans again, JJ takes that as encouragement to keep it up. 

She lays on her stomach between Emily’s legs, trying to balance the motion of her tongue and her fingers. 

She’ll get more practice, Emily thinks, hoping this isn’t a one time thing. And from JJ’s enthusiasm, she’s pretty sure it won’t be. 

As Emily starts to wriggle her hips, JJ starts to have a harder time finding the balance between her mouth and hands. She decides to just work with her fingers, figuring she’s done it on herself enough times to transfer her skills to the other woman. JJ pulls back, just using her hands so she can completely focus. She studies Emily’s face, memorizing the spots that have her moaning the loudest. 

Her fingers find the spongy spot inside Emily, and she curls them. 

“Right there,” Emily says, hips bucking. 

“Here?” JJ curls her fingers again.

The motion makes Emily cry out, wrapping her other leg around JJ’s hips. JJ lets out a breath, smiling as she feels the clenching around her fingers. 

“Gonna come,” Emily whispers out. Usually she lasts longer, but something about finally getting JJ between her legs has her already on the edge. 

“Then come,” JJ says, working her fingers slightly faster. 

As usual, Emily can’t resist her words, falling over the edge. 

JJ is nothing short of mesmerized, watching intently as Emily’s core flutters around her fingers. She doesn’t even realize it when Emily starts whimpering from the overstimulation of being filled, at least until Emily grips her wrist to stop her. 

JJ takes the hint, hands coming to either side of Emily’s shoulders as she leans down for a kiss. Emily’s hands take her hair out of the messy bun before finding a home around her waist. 

She pushes JJ up so she’s on her knees, hovering. Emily slides her pants down, then guides her to hover over her face. 

“Sit,” Emily commands.

“Are you sure? I—“ 

“JJ, I have never been more sure of anything in my life.”

JJ laughs softly, eliciting a laugh from Emily. They both spend a few moments laughing, just savoring the moment, before Emily grips her hips, squeezing the soft flesh. 

JJ knows what she means, and sits down slowly, placing her hands over Emily’s. They lace their fingers together, JJ gripping her hands tighter when Emily’s mouth makes contact with her core. 

She lets out a small whimper, eyes rolling back. Emily’s tongue pushes into her, causing her to squeeze her thighs around Emily’s head. Emily can’t complain. Even if she suffocated, she’d die a happy woman. 

Emily only brings herself to unlace her fingers when JJ’s hips start to roll, grasping them to keep her in place. She can feel the muscles in JJ’s thighs flexing whenever her tongue brushes against her clit. She hums into JJ’s pussy, causing another whimper from the blonde. 

It’s clear to JJ that Emily’s had far more experience doing this than she does. Not that JJ minds, which is made obvious from the way her hand reaches to grip the hair of the girl beneath her. And she’s far from insecure about her inexperience. They’ve known each other too long to be shy around each other. Besides, she’s more than happy to volunteer for more lessons with Emily. 

After a few minutes of switching between circling her tongue around her clit and pressing it inside her heat, she hears JJ’s whimpers turn into moans. As her hips start to rock faster, more than her grip can stop, she knows she’s close. 

Her tongue works harder over her folds, coaxing her into her release. JJ grips the headboard, leaning forward as she comes. 

It’s a better view than Emily could’ve imagined even in her wildest dreams: JJ eyes are closed, mouth open as she cries out, leaning over Emily just so her breasts are right in her eye line. 

Emily moans into her, making JJ produce another whine. She rolls off of her, leaning back against the headboard. 

“You’re good at that,” JJ says through ragged breaths. 

Emily laughs softly, sitting up beside her. She leans in for another kiss. It starts softer, simply a gesture of appreciation for the pleasure, but it quickly turns heated again. 

Emily pushes JJ down on her back, and pulls one of her legs up. She leans back onto her elbows, slotting one leg beneath JJ’s as the other hooks around her thigh so their cores are pressed against each other. 

JJ sucks in a breath, hands gripping the sheets as she mindlessly starts to rut her hips against Emily’s. 

Emily moves with more purpose, rolling her hips so her pussy rubs against JJ’s. She can feel the wetness dripping down her thighs, and she doesn’t know if it’s hers or the blonde’s. Most likely, it’s a mix of both.

JJ’s back arches, displaying her tits perfectly for Emily’s view. Emily groans, planting the foot of her bent leg on the mattress so she has more leverage to rub against JJ. 

“God, Em.”

“I know,” Emily breathes out. 

JJ moves even faster, driven by the need for pleasure. Emily’s practiced motion goes out the window, matching JJ’s chase for release. 

They both lose themselves in their pleasure, rutting against each other with nothing on their minds but each other. Through it all, their heads keep looking up, searching for the other’s eyes. The room echoes with moans and cries of each other’s names. 

Eventually, JJ falls over the edge, collapsing from her elbows onto her back. The pulsing of her heat against Emily’s core has Emily following after her. 

Both women lay on their backs, legs still tangled as they try to catch their breaths. 

The first to recover is Emily, and she crawls over to JJ, lying beside her. JJ instantly rests her head on her chest, wrapping her legs around Emily’s thigh.

“Wow,” JJ says quietly. 

“Wow is right,” Emily says as she wraps JJ into a tight hug. 

“Would you ever… want to do that again?”

Emily smiles softly. “Very much so.”

“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.”

“I know.”

“Do you think… I’m betraying Will?”

“No. I think he’d want you to be happy. He got to make you happy for eighteen years. Now it’s my turn to take over. He would want someone to take care of you, knowing how our job is.”

JJ looks up at her, their eyes meeting for what must be the hundredth time that night. “Do you really think that?”

“I do. You deserve to be happy. You've lost too many people in your life to not have someone who stays. I want to be that person.” She pauses for a moment. “And I think you’ve loved me for too long to keep pretending you don’t.”

JJ goes silent, more than aware that her words are right. 

They lay in silence for a moment, content in the afterglow and heat that begins to fade as the moment goes on. 

“Have I made it up to you?”

JJ lets out a laugh. “Of course you have,” she says, snuggling impossibly closer. “And I’m going to hold you to this method the next time you have to make something up to me.”

“Please do.”

author's note: guys my first jemily fic omg! i'm delusionally convinced the are soft launching jemily and they'll be together by next season. anyway this was super fun to write so if anyone has any more jemily requests (or other characters) pls send them in 🫶

[jareauiisms]

I stand with bottom Emily agenda.

I stand with sub!top Emily agenda.

I stand with service!top Emily agenda.

I stand with dom!bottom Emily agenda.

I stand with top JJ agenda.

I stand with dom!bottom JJ agenda.

I stand with dom!top JJ agenda.

I stand with power!bottom JJ agenda.

I stand with dom!switch JJ agenda.

I stand with service!top JJ agenda.

I genuinely do not have a specific stance. I love it all.

[jareauiisms]

do it for the faggots who never got to btw

[jareauiisms]

would it be too much to ask for little a spoilers on one/some of the jj wips? 👀👀 just an eensy bit of spoilers. of any sort. what if I said pretty please

(because your writing is impeccable and I wish to hear what you've been writing about my wife. because I'm love her.)

Sure why not haha

Follow the Lines - this one’s basically just a pure thirst fic about buff!jj.

Eye of the Hurricane - absolutely filthy fic inspired by that voit crashout scene… it’ll be a bit of an altered plot but basically it’s jj coming home and de-stressing with reader. Aka fucking their brains out.

Day Off - fluffy fic, jj finally has a weekend off from work and she spends it curled up with yoh in the couch… things get a bit handsy.

I Who Says Country Girl Can’t Have Fun? - I forgot about this one honestly LOL. Based on The Giver, by Chappell Roan, you never expected jj to know her way around a woman until she finally got her hands on you, and damn were you wrong.

[jareauiisms]

she’s not just aging gracefully she’s aging aggressively hot.

[jareauiisms]

and if i say jj and elle are pros at riding 👀 - 🦈

you would be correct 🙂‍↕️🙌🏼.

Elle straddles your hips or your thigh like it’s a challenge, palms flat on your chest, eyes sharp, mouth curled in a smirk. Starts slow, grinding deep, watching your every reaction. “Thought you said you could handle me.” Her pace is deliberate — not teasing, not merciful — just intense and inescapable. She’ll lean in, breath hot against your ear, and purr, “Look at you. All mine.” When she’s close? Her rhythm stutters, hips jerk harder — she grabs your wrists, pins them down, and falls apart on top of you.

JJ rides you like she means it, but with so much tenderness. She tugs you to the edge of the bed, kisses you softly, and sinks down with a gasp. One hand clutches your shoulder, the other strokes your cheek — she wants it intimate. Skin-on-skin. Eye contact. Her hips roll in smooth, needy circles. She moans your name, quiet and breathless. “You feel so good, baby. So, so good…” The moment she gets close, she clings to you, buries her face in your neck, and sobs out your name as she falls apart.

[jareauiisms]

I NEEDED THIS

spoil my girl

who? penelope garcia x rich girl!reader summary: you can't help but spoil a sweet girl like penelope, and this time, she's adamant about repaying your generosity content warnings: smut, masturbation, fingering, sex toys, implied sugar relationship, no use of y/n, nsfw, 18+ only, minors dni word count: 2.1k author's note: thanks to @minswriting for giving me a great premise, and rihanna's 'loud' album for getting me through this fic, as well as this playlist by meg to help me get into the right headspace. dividers by @saradika-graphics happy pride xx

You knew you had to have her the second you laid your eyes on her; this beautiful woman with blonde curls, blue fading on the tips of her hair, adorned with a large flower clipped to the side, chunky rings adorning manicured fingers, a dark dress bespeckled with splashes of colour, hugging her curves.

The amount of things in her hand is a disaster in the making — her bright yellow thermos, her keys, her wallet and her phone, a large purse dangling from the crook of her elbow — and she isn’t looking as she tries to put her wallet back in her purse without dropping anything, and it’s as if you knew what was going to happen before it happened.

Her phone buzzed, startling her, then block heels stumbled on a chair, the thermos close to overturning when you rushed to brace her, which kept her from falling, but not from her iced frappe spilling all over her dress. “Shit!” she cried out, staring at herself, ice cold liquid and whipped cream staining her dress.

You can feel the other patrons staring at the both of you and you huffed internally — people really had nothing better to do than watch a girl’s misfortune. The woman’s close to tears as she dropped everything on the table you were standing at, grabbing at paper napkins to clean herself up. “Why don’t we head to the bathroom?” you asked, your voice soft and kind and she nodded, fighting back tears. You scooped up all your things as well as hers, guiding her to the public bathroom, leaving it on the side while the woman grabbed rolls of paper towels to clean herself up.

“God, this just had to happen the day I’m running late,” the woman muttered, wiping herself dry while you fought the urge to stare, counting bathroom tiles instead.

“Murphy’s Law, right?” you asked dryly. “Everything that can go wrong will go wrong.”

“You sound like one of my co-workers,” the woman huffed, glancing at you, and actually took you in — sharply dressed, simple but expensive… “I’m Penelope,” she said, watching you smile warmly.

“Well, Penelope, I hate to see a dress that vibrant ruined,” you said, your voice as soft as silk. “So, how about we get you a new dress, and I can get that dry-cleaned for you?”

“Oh.” She flushed. Adorable. “That’s nice. You’re nice, like really nice, but I’m running super late—”

“It happens,” you countered, tilting your head to look at her. “And I’m sure your boss would rather you come into work without wearing your coffee. Let them know you’re running late, and I’ll take care of the rest. I’ll be waiting out front.”

You deliver your promise in a way that exceeds expectations, driving her home in a sparkling Mercedes that has her internally squealing and also stressing about spoiling the seat, and a fresh frappe in her hand, cutting through lanes to avoid traffic with the radio on. Once at her apartment, you entertain all her caffeine-powered rambling with a small, amused smile as she changed behind a screen, throwing on an entirely new colour-coordinated outfit, and you take the coffee-stained dress in the paper bag she gives you.

A few days later, Penelope came back to her apartment to find her dress dry-cleaned in an outfit bag, and a card with your number on it, laid on her bed by a neighbour who kept a spare key. She sent you a text, thanking you, before settling on her bed and stalking you, her curiosity getting the better of her, and once she figures out your net worth, she slammed her laptop shut, eyes wide.

Her phone buzzed, with a text from you.

You: You’re very welcome.

Penelope swallowed, staring at the text from quite possibly the wealthiest person she knew.

Penelope: How can I make it up to you?

She tried not to think of the last bank account statement she’d been sent, watching the text bubble from you.

You: How about dinner with me? Friday, 7pm?

It hadn’t been done on purpose, and Penelope was in no way using you for your money — in fact, you had been the one to insist on the little gifts. Bracelets that reminded you of her, prescription sunglasses after a vague mention that she was missing a pair in a specific colour, getting more expensive the longer the relationship blossomed. It graduated from little trinkets and flowers to branded bags and precious jewellery, and had finally hit the peak when Penelope had a brand new Mac desktop sent to her office, with a note written in your loopy handwriting — ‘So you don’t have to crane your neck.’

Penelope tried to bring up in conversation at a dinner, but you had simply charmed her out of her discomfort, delicate hands on her hips. “Why have the money if I can’t spoil my favourite girl?” you’d asked, with that stunning smile that made her heart stutter. It always felt like Penelope was floating on cloud nine around you, especially when you brought her gorgeous lingerie in exactly her size, lacy little numbers that made her curves pop and nightrobes that made her feel like a princess in your silk sheets.

She’d never felt more taken care of, and yet all Penelope wanted to do was find a way to return the favour, no matter how many times you assured her that you weren’t doing any favours. It came to her when you were out of town on business, a networking thing for your advertising firm, on the same night she wasn’t working her cute butt off in the BAU.

That was definitely all it was, she told herself, putting on a Rihanna CD and preparing to take an everything shower with candles. Not that she missed the way you touched her like she was something fragile, or the way your eyes tracked every curve of her body as if it was her possession. But no amount of delusion could stop her imagining they way you’d unmake her, gently taking her jewellery off and placing it in the hot pink organiser you’d bought for her, or your slender hands taking the pins and clips out of her blonde curls and running through them, gently untangling knots with care. Brushing it aside to place soft kisses on plush skin, slowly unzipping the back of her dress, like it was something precious. That’s why she sends you that first video, making you almost choke on the champagne at the networking party, instantly lowering the brightness on your phone. To repay the favour.

Penelope: Miss you so much tonight <3

You closed your eyes, sighing, torn between telling her off and disappearing out the nearest exit and back to her hotel suite.

You: Are you trying to get me fired?? You: I can’t believe you wear that pretty a bra to work.

Penelope bit her lower lip, grinning as she ran her bath, one hand checking the water temperature, the other holding her phone, wearing a silk kimono.

Penelope: You know you’re the only one who gets to see it ;) You: God, I wish you were here tonight. You: The things I’d do to you in my hotel room… Penelope: Well, in your absence, I’ll just have to make do with what I have.

You groaned at the message, having to put your phone away for a moment and drain another glass of champagne. Meanwhile, Penelope was busy filming another little video of herself, involving bubbles, candles, rose petals, and a vibrator, laying back in your bathtub, the phone set up on a wall-mount.

She started by touching herself to the R&B music, closing her eyes and imagining your touch, how you’d let her rest her back against yours, and caressed her neck, down her collarbone to her heavy breasts. Her breath grew shallower as she squeezed one, fingers brushing over her nipple, the other starting to rub her thigh.

If she opened her eyes, she could see the disheveled mess she was becoming, with heaving breaths and lidded eyes, flower petals sticking to her glistening body. She desperately wanted you here, eliciting breathy gasps with your lips against her shoulder, touching her exactly the way she was, murmuring sweet endearments that she could only echo in her head.

She started running her perfectly manicured hand through her folds, enveloped in hot bubbly water, her thighs sticking out, a foot against the edge of the tub. She let out a low moan as she slid her fingers over her sensitive nub, aching for you. It was only a couple of days ago that your head was between her thighs, gripping her legs wide as your tongue swirled in that magic way that sent rivulets of cum dripping between your lips. Her fingers couldn’t do you justice, but it did the job, Penelope’s first orgasm leaving her half-sated, like warm honey-like relief releasing the coil that had been building. She took a few moments to catch her breath, drying her hands and sitting up to crop the end of the video and sending it to you.

All it took was the thumbnail of Penelope in the bath that forced you to leave the party early, faking sick to cut across a few blocks and into a hotel, and sitting at a table as you watched the whole thing. The funny thing was how your hips automatically started rutting against the chair to the video, watching your girlfriend get off.

You: Christ, you look gorgeous. My gorgeous, gorgeous girl. You: I want to touch you so bad…

Just sending those two messages had taken every ounce of cognition you had left, but one look at Penelope’s beautiful curves had sent you over the edge, rocking against the plush edge of the chair.

While you were still on the way to your first orgasm, replaying Penelope’s video, your girlfriend had moved on to her toys, recording herself as she dipped her finger into her dripping hole, both from her first orgasm and the bathwater, sliding it in with a soft gasp. It was an intoxicating sight, her perfect plush lips splitting apart, where you would have slid your fingers in, or kissed her, as her finger probed at her g-spot, then curled, just about as slow as you would have gone.

The next finger slid in after that, Penelope’s free hand gripping the edge of the bathtub as her hole stretched to accommodate her fingers. She kept stroking, curling her fingers against that sweet spot, groaning and shifting her hips in water that was growing cooler by the second, incentivising her to finish quicker, crying out your name, until her hand couldn’t work without cramping.

Which meant she was twisting in the tub to reach for her toys, a beautifully long pink dildo that had served her well in the past, that she slowly slid inside her, sinking lower into the water with a groan, hitting just the right spot. The best grip she could maintain was the edge of the tub, instead of your hips, or your hands, as she moved the toy in a slow easy rhythm.

She missed you so much as she touched herself, trying to get back that initial pressure to peak. She missed the way you’d play with her hair, crooning soft things in her ear, about how pretty she was, how you could touch her all day, all while pumping a strap-on inside her, turning her into a soaked, speechless, whining, writhing mess. And so she’s muttering profanities and moaning, the bubbles starting to dissipate as she came for a second time, her toes curling, hips arching uselessly as she thrust the dildo against her g-spot, letting slip a ‘Jesus fucking Christ’ as she pulled it out.

She waited to catch her breath, sliding back in the thumb, the cool water soothing against her over-heated body, slick with water and a little sweat on her brow, before eventually drying off and draining the tub.

Penelope finally lay back in your silk sheets, wearing a feathery pink robe, and all tucked up in your champagne coloured duvet, trimming her ‘short film’ before sending it.

Penelope: Something for you to dream about <3

By the time you got the message, you’d taken a hot shower and settling into bed in your own simple cotton pyjamas.

You: Jesus Christ, woman, do not make me hop on a red-eye and come find you.

Penelope’s grinning at your text, curled up in bed like a lovesick teenager.

Penelope: Is that a promise? You: A fantasy. But you’re definitely coming more than twice when I get you alone. You: That’s a promise.

The anticipation of your return leaves a flutter in her chest, as she inhales the scent of your perfume on the pillows.

Penelope: I’m holding you to that.

And with that, she clicked her phone off, setting the bejewelled device aside (with a brand new cover paid by yours truly), turned out the light, and closed her eyes, wondering if you would dream of her like she was bound to.

comments and reblogs appreciated xx

[jareauiisms]

All Night to Fall

⋆˚࿔ emily prentiss x jennifer jereau / jj

they weren’t supposed to end up on jj’s living room floor at 4am, tangled in silence and tequila. but maybe this night—club lights, soft confessions, the space between almosts—was always meant to happen. emily kisses her first. jj kisses her back harder. some things take time. this one takes all night.

⋆˚࿔ disclaimer and possible tw: mention of alcohol and intimacy

The bass hit like a heartbeat.

It pulsed through the floor, through the soles of Emily's boots, up her spine and into her chest like it belonged there. The club was packed, smoke and glitter moving in tandem with the rhythm. Bodies pressed close. Lights swung low. And in the middle of it all was JJ, laughing.

Garcia had picked the place—something retro and chaotic, half-rainbow half-industrial—and of course she'd dragged Morgan with her. JJ had been an easy yes. Emily... not so much. But there she was, standing at the edge of their booth, her drink sweating in her hand and her eyes trailing too often to blonde hair and denim and that smile JJ got when she was two drinks in and just starting to sway with the music.

"What's that look for?" Garcia asked, appearing like a glitter-drenched ghost at Emily's elbow. Her curls bounced like confetti. She was halfway through a neon cocktail and fully invested in everyone's secrets.

Emily didn't look away. "No look."

"Right." Garcia grinned. "You forget who you're talking to, sweet thing?"

"Pretty sure that's my nickname," Morgan said, slipping in with tequila shots balanced like promises on a tray. "Drink up, Prentiss. You're still too sober."

Garcia took a shot. "She's not sober. She's pining."

Emily rolled her eyes but smiled. It was easier than admitting anything.

JJ turned just then, her eyes catching Emily's over the lip of her glass, and she smiled. Not wide. Not for show. Just soft. Familiar. Like they were the only two people in the room who got the same joke. It hit Emily right behind the ribs.

She looked away too slow to be casual.

—

The first dance didn't mean anything. That's what Emily told herself.

Garcia had insisted on getting everyone up—dragged JJ by the wrist, grabbed Morgan's tie, winked at Emily—and they all found themselves in the neon haze, hips moving, arms raised. JJ laughed as Morgan spun her, the tips of her hair brushing Emily's shoulder when she stumbled back.

"I hate you for how good you look doing this," JJ shouted over the music.

Emily smiled crookedly. "You should see me with backup dancers."

And then JJ was dancing with her.

It wasn't planned. Maybe that was the problem. She just turned, grinned, stepped into Emily's space and never left it again. Hands grazing arms. Shoulders brushing. Their drinks long forgotten somewhere in the dark.

"You smell like my perfume," JJ murmured at one point, too close to Emily's ear.

Emily blinked. "What?"

JJ just laughed. "Nothing. Just... déjà vu."

Emily's heart kicked.

—

They staggered back to the booth with another round and a plate of fries someone definitely didn't order. Garcia was in Morgan's lap, stealing the food. JJ dropped down beside Emily, leg pressed to hers. Close. Closer than before.

"Are you having fun?" JJ asked, eyes glassy with alcohol and joy.

"I am now."

JJ smiled again. It was dangerous. The kind that said I know you and I see you, and maybe even I want you too, but Emily didn't trust herself to believe it.

"Why do you look like you're thinking too hard?" JJ teased.

"Why do you look like you're not thinking at all?"

JJ leaned in. "Because for once... I'm trying not to."

Her breath smelled like lime and salt. Her gaze dropped to Emily's mouth for half a second—long enough to be real—and then Garcia launched into a story about someone at Quantico mislabeling evidence boxes and the moment shattered like a disco ball dropped on tile.

But Emily didn't move. Neither did JJ. They just sat there, thigh to thigh, quiet amid the chaos. Letting the beat smooth over everything unspoken.

—

Sometime after two, the booth emptied.

Morgan left with a girl whose name he didn't quite remember. Garcia got a call from her cab and took three fries for the road. That left JJ and Emily, still there, drinks abandoned, shoulders pressed.

JJ rested her chin on her hand and looked sideways at her. "You could stay."

Emily's brows rose. "At the bar?"

"At my place."

The air shifted. Not sharp. Just... deeper.

"I mean," JJ added, "you've had a few. And it's closer. And we haven't done this in forever."

Emily tilted her head. "You and me, drunk at your place?"

JJ smirked. "Come on. I make a mean grilled cheese."

Emily's lips twitched. "That all you make when you invite girls over?"

JJ paused, then laughed—light, reckless, maybe a little daring. "You'll just have to find out."

—

"Come on," JJ said, dragging her jacket off one arm and fishing in her bag for keys. "You look like you're two shots away from philosophizing about how fluorescent lighting represents the collapse of society. Let's go."

Emily snorted. "It does. But fine."

Outside, the street was quiet in the way cities only get after 2AM—hushed but alive, glowing from streetlamps and the last heartbeat of nightlife. JJ's car wasn't far. She tossed her bag into the back, turned up a song Emily half-recognized, and leaned her elbow on the center console like she owned the night.

"You good?" JJ asked.

Emily nodded, still watching her. "Are you good?"

JJ smiled with just one corner of her mouth. "I'm tipsy, I'm off duty, and I'm taking home one of the most terrifyingly composed women in the FBI. So yeah. I'm doing alright."

Emily blinked. "Terrifyingly composed?"

"You carry three knives, Emily."

"Only two on weekends."

JJ laughed, turned the music up, and pulled into the street.

—

JJ's apartment was quiet, cozy, and full of half-forgotten warmth—throw blankets, candles with wax melted down the sides, and a dying bouquet in a chipped vase. She kicked off her shoes by the door and tossed her keys in a little ceramic dish shaped like a cat. Emily followed with slightly more caution, the tequila still humming in her blood.

JJ turned around. "Okay. House rules."

Emily raised an eyebrow. "You have rules?"

"Just one," JJ said. "No weird FBI talk. This place is a crime-free zone tonight."

Emily smirked. "Noted. What's the punishment?"

JJ walked toward the kitchen, her voice floating over her shoulder. "You'll find out."

That shouldn't have made Emily's stomach flip, but it did.

—

They ended up on the floor.

Not in a tragic, passed-out way, but on the soft living room rug with two mismatched mugs and a bottle of something JJ had found in the back of her freezer. The music was low now—an old playlist of Garcia's, all synths and soul. JJ sat cross-legged, her knees brushing Emily's. The buzz between them hadn't faded. If anything, it had settled in—quieter, steadier. Like the room had made space for it.

JJ poured a little more into each cup. "Drinking game?"

Emily tilted her head. "What are we, sixteen?"

JJ shrugged. "No, but I feel like asking you normal questions is too boring. I want the truth. And I want to see if you can handle it."

Emily narrowed her eyes playfully. "Truth or drink?"

"Exactly."

She leaned forward, blond hair slipping loose from behind her ears, and looked Emily right in the eye. "Okay. First question. Have you ever kissed someone at Quantico?"

Emily blinked. "That's the first question?"

JJ grinned. "You could drink."

Emily narrowed her eyes, then reached for her mug.

JJ gasped. "You have."

Emily took a slow sip. "You didn't say I had to answer."

JJ laughed, loud and delighted. "Oh this is gonna be fun."

—

They played for hours.

JJ asked if Emily had ever slept with someone twice her age. Emily asked if JJ had ever gotten flustered on purpose to manipulate someone. JJ blushed. Emily raised an eyebrow.

They both drank when the questions got too close.

"You're very hard to read, you know that?" JJ said at one point, her head tilted back against the couch, one leg stretched toward Emily's. Her foot bumped against Emily's ankle and didn't move.

Emily shrugged. "I don't like being obvious."

"Shame," JJ murmured. "I think I'd like it."

That made the silence shift.

Emily didn't answer. She just took another drink.

JJ noticed.

—

Somewhere around 4AM, the bottle was nearly empty. JJ had migrated onto her side, lying on the rug like she lived there, cheek against her folded arm. Emily sat beside her, cross-legged, her thigh warm against JJ's hip.

"Okay," JJ mumbled. "Last one."

Emily looked down at her. "Yeah?"

JJ reached up and flicked Emily's knee with one finger. "You have to answer this one."

"Or?"

JJ yawned. "Or I tell Garcia you cried watching The Notebook."

Emily leaned down, nose almost brushing JJ's. "That's not true."

"I said what I said." JJ grinned, too lazy to sit up.

Emily's voice dropped. "What's the question?"

JJ blinked slowly. "Have you ever wanted something... you shouldn't?"

That landed.

Harder than either of them expected.

The air pulled taut, like something might snap.

Emily didn't speak for a long moment. The clock ticked. The city buzzed beyond the windows. JJ watched her, half-lidded and very still.

Then Emily said, quietly, "Yes."

JJ's eyes softened. "Are you gonna tell me what it was?"

Emily met her gaze, no smile now. Just honest.

"Still deciding."

—

Neither of them moved.

Not even when the song shifted. Not when the fridge hummed to life. They just sat like that—Emily upright, JJ curled next to her, both still and waiting.

It would've been so easy to lean down. Just a few inches. Emily could feel JJ's breath on her knee. She could taste the tension. And still—she didn't move.

JJ blinked slowly. "You're thinking too hard again."

Emily smirked, just barely. "That obvious?"

JJ sat up, slowly, her face inches from Emily's now. Her hand brushed Emily's wrist—barely there, but enough.

"You don't always have to think," she whispered.

Emily looked at her, and for one dangerous second, she almost leaned in. Almost. But she stopped, because if she kissed her now, it would mean something. Something big. Something real.

And that... that deserved a little more time.

—

The lights were dim in JJ's kitchen. Just the warm underglow from the cabinets and the open fridge casting a low, blue wash across the room. Emily leaned against the counter, still half-smiling at nothing, the edge of a mug clutched in her hands like it was a lifeline.

JJ padded in barefoot, oversized tee hanging off one shoulder, holding two very tragic grilled cheeses on a chipped plate.

"This is a disaster," she muttered.

Emily looked up. "You made them with love."

"I made them with tequila."

"Same difference."

JJ laughed, set the plate down, and took the stool across from her. She sat with one knee up, hair falling forward, and picked at the crust like it might tell her something. Emily watched her for a long second—so long that JJ felt it.

"What?" she asked, soft.

"You're not what people think."

JJ raised an eyebrow, suspicious but amused. "What do people think?"

Emily took a sip of her water—stalling. "That you've got it all figured out."

JJ smiled without joy. "I've heard that before."

"And?"

"And it's bullshit."

She bit into the sandwich, chewed, swallowed, then added: "You don't have to have it figured out. You just have to make sure no one sees the cracks."

Emily hummed. "That's what you do."

JJ looked up, something flickering in her expression. "Not with you."

That made Emily go still.

"Not always, anyway," JJ said, quieter now. "You kind of... see through it. Even when I don't want you to."

Emily didn't answer right away. She looked down at her cup, then at JJ, and her voice was lower when she said, "You do the same to me."

JJ's gaze flicked to her lips and back.

"I notice things," she said.

"Like what?"

"Like the way your voice drops when you're uncomfortable. Or how you always stand with your back to the wall when we're out. Like you don't want anyone behind you."

Emily swallowed. "It's a habit."

"I know," JJ said. "I still notice."

The silence wrapped around them again. Thick. Charged. But neither of them ran from it now.

—

They ended up back in the living room, lights still low, the night stretching long and slow around them.

JJ sat with her back against the couch this time, her hands around her knees, head tilted. Emily lay on her side across the rug, fingers playing with the edge of a throw pillow. The bottle was forgotten now. It wasn't that kind of buzz anymore.

"I didn't plan on this," JJ said after a long quiet.

Emily blinked. "Plan on what?"

"This night. You staying. Us talking like this. Feeling like this."

Emily looked at her. Really looked.

"Is that a bad thing?"

JJ shook her head. "No. Just unexpected."

A pause.

"And kind of terrifying."

Emily propped herself up on one elbow. "Because?"

"Because it feels like I've been waiting for this and I didn't even know it."

Emily's breath caught. JJ saw it.

—

"I keep thinking," JJ said, "about the first time we met. That first week you joined the team."

Emily smiled. "When Hotch made me sit in that freezing cold conference room for hours because the printer jammed?"

JJ laughed. "No. After that. That night we all went out and you pretended you didn't like beer."

Emily smirked. "I don't like beer."

"You drank mine anyway."

"You dared me."

JJ tilted her head. "You still took the dare."

Emily looked at her for a beat too long. "You were hard to say no to."

JJ went still.

The moment held. Then Emily sat up, slowly, legs crossed like before, facing JJ full on now.

"Can I tell you something?" she asked.

JJ nodded.

Emily took a breath. "Sometimes I stop myself from looking at you."

JJ's eyes flickered.

"Because if I let myself really look," Emily said, "I think it'd be too obvious."

A breath. A beat. A shared stillness.

And then JJ whispered, "Look now."

Emily's stomach twisted—tight, electric—but she did.

She looked.

She let her eyes wander from JJ's hair, slightly tangled from the couch, to the bare curve of her shoulder where the shirt had slipped, to the little crease between her brows she only got when she was thinking too hard. And then to her eyes. Bright. Blue. Open.

It was too much. And not enough.

"I don't want to ruin anything," Emily said, voice barely above a whisper.

JJ smiled. "Then don't ruin it. Just... be here."

Emily reached out, fingertips grazing JJ's wrist. JJ didn't flinch. She leaned in.

For a second—just one—Emily thought this is it.

But then JJ said, voice breathy and almost afraid, "Can I ask you something now?"

Emily nodded.

"Did you ever think," JJ said, "that maybe we were just waiting for the right night?"

Emily didn't answer with words.

She didn't need to.

Because the answer was yes.

Because this was the night.

The one with the low lights, the too-loud thoughts, the slow confessions. The night that could've been any other—except it wasn't.

It was the one.

And maybe Emily didn't even realize she was leaning in until JJ turned her face—just slightly, just enough—and their noses brushed.

It was soft. Accidental, almost.

But JJ didn't pull away.

Neither did Emily.

They just stayed there, breathing in the same space, eyes flickering between each other's mouths and the question neither of them dared say out loud. Emily's heart thudded so loud it drowned out the hum of the fridge. JJ blinked up at her, eyes wide, lips parted just slightly—and that was it.

That was all Emily needed.

She kissed her.

Gently at first. Like she was afraid JJ might change her mind, might pull back, might shatter the fragile thing they'd built between confessions and silence.

But JJ didn't move.

She leaned in.

She kissed back.

And that—that was when it changed.

Because the kiss deepened without them meaning to. JJ made a quiet sound, one Emily wanted to memorize. Their hands moved at the same time—JJ's sliding to Emily's jaw, Emily's wrapping around JJ's waist, pulling her closer until there was no air left between them. The room spun, but only slightly, like the world was shifting to make space for this.

JJ tasted like whatever they'd been drinking and something sweet Emily couldn't name—something she'd been craving for months without knowing it.

They broke apart just barely, just for breath, foreheads pressed, noses brushing, both of them grinning like they couldn't help it.

JJ whispered, "That took you long enough."

Emily laughed softly. "You could've kissed me first."

JJ shook her head, breath warm against her cheek. "No way. I needed to know it was real."

Emily kissed her again.

This time slower. This time deeper. JJ sighed into it, one hand fisting in the front of Emily's shirt, like she needed to feel every part of her.

They didn't make it to the couch. Or even upright.

They half-fell, half-sank into the rug, laughing through their kisses like they were getting drunk on each other now instead. Emily rolled to her back, pulled JJ on top of her, hands tangled in her hair.

JJ kissed like she meant it. Like she'd waited long enough.

Like she wasn't scared anymore.

Emily kissed her like she'd just found something she didn't know she'd been missing.

Their legs tangled. Their hands roamed. The city buzzed just beyond the windows, but here in the soft dark, everything slowed down.

They broke apart again eventually, barely. JJ rested her forehead against Emily's, both of them flushed and breathless, mouths swollen and hearts racing like sirens in their chests.

Emily whispered, "This doesn't feel like a mistake."

JJ looked at her, serious now. "It's not."

Emily nodded, threading her fingers through JJ's. "Okay."

And JJ smiled—soft and real and all-in—and kissed her again.

Slower.

Deeper.

Like they had all the time in the world now.

But then JJ shifted—just slightly, just enough to slide her thigh between Emily's legs—and the kiss changed again.

Emily gasped into her mouth. JJ swallowed it.

Their hands stopped being gentle. JJ gripped Emily's shoulder, her nails dragging just enough to make Emily exhale sharply. Emily's fingers slid up the back of JJ's shirt, finding warm skin, pressing her closer. Their legs tangled tighter. JJ moaned—quiet, broken—and kissed her harder.

They were all teeth now, and breath, and the sound of the rug creasing under them.

Emily let her head fall back just enough for JJ's mouth to chase her jaw, her throat, the corner of her smile. JJ was everywhere, all at once—touching, tasting, laughing breathlessly against her skin like she couldn't believe this was finally real.

Emily tugged her back up for another kiss, and JJ went willingly, crashing into her like she'd been holding this in for years. Maybe she had.

Her hands were in Emily's hair now, pulling just enough to make her gasp again. Emily grabbed her hips and pulled her flush against her body, kissing her like she was never going to stop.

They broke apart for just a second—panting, flushed, wild-eyed—and JJ grinned, dizzy and dazed and so, so beautiful.

"Fuck," she whispered. "This is insane."

Emily laughed, breathless. "Don't stop."

"Wasn't planning to."

And then she kissed her again—messier than before, deeper, like they were trying to erase all the nights they hadn't done this sooner.

And neither of them wanted to come up for air.

Not yet.

[jareauiisms]

social sciences

[jareauiisms]

Pope Francis is dead

[jareauiisms]

CRIMINAL MINDS: EVOLUTION 18.04 "I'm Fine. It's Fine. Everything is Fine."