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instantpandaspyskeleton · 2 months

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Attitude Adjustment. (Larissa Weems X Lady Lesso X Reader.) NSFW

Summary: Lesso thinks you need a punishment, Larissa unfortunately agrees.

Warnings: Mistress!Lesso, Mommy!Larissa, Student!Reader 18+, spanking, mild dirty talk, ending in fluff <3

"Darling, is this really necessary?" Larissa carefully asked as she paced back and forth throughout her office. Her mind was running wild with the knowledge of your upcoming punishment.

Lesso stood leaning against a wall, a dark chuckle leaving her throat as she held a cane wedged between the palm of her left hand and the floor, "Oh, please, my love. You and I both know that she deserves more than a spanking. If anything, I'm being beyond lenient."

"You're right," Larissa admitted as she stopped in her tracks, looking over into the red-heads eyes for the first time since the conversation had started, "you're right, darling. But it doesn't make it any easier."

"Don't worry, I'll take care of it."

Just as Lesso finished speaking, the door to Larissa's office flung open and you tiredly shuffled inside, both women shooting you very different glances.

"Look who the cat dragged in," Lesso smirked, to which you rolled your eyes as you flung your bag away from you without care.

"Darling, what happened?" Larissa immediately rushed over to you, stopping only once she was in front of the leather couch you had dropped onto. Your uniform was a mess; shirt untucked, tie gone, tights ripped. Larissa couldn't believe her eyes.

"It's been a long day," you sighed dramatically.

"It's about to get even longer," Lesso chimed and you narrowed your eyes at her, shooting her a confused glance. She was always ominous when she was in a bad mood. Great.

"What happened to your uniform?" Larissa pressed further, ignoring Lesso's comments and the attitude that was seeping out of you. Her hands sat on her hips. She was concerned.

"I may have gotten into a fight," you mumbled quietly and quickly, not daring to look the woman in the eyes.

"[y/n], look at me when I'm speaking to you," the tall blonde scolded lightly, her worry growing with every second, "and speak up, darling. What happened?"

You opened your mouth to repeat yourself but before you could get another word in, Lesso interrupted the conversation, making her way over to the both of you, "She said she got into a fight. Again."

You glared at your curly haired girlfriend.

"A fight?!" Larissa was appalled, "Again?! [y/n], this is—"

"Ridiculous," Lesso finished Larissa's sentence for her, "Pathetic, really. You cant keep your hands to yourself?"

You rolled your eyes, "It wasn't—"

"Your fault? No, it never is, is it, baby?"

The red-head was now crouched in front of the couch, eye-level with you. A stoic, almost-mocking look was accompanying her face. A stark contrast to Larissa's alarmed expression.

Spending time with the two older women was your favourite thing, but this wasn't your week. And the last thing you wanted was to bicker with Lesso, even if you did secretly find it hot to infuriate her.

"Lesso—"

"It's Mistress."

You gulped, "I'm not doing this today."

As you tried to stand, a cane was pressed against your chest and you were pushed back down, lodged between the couch and Lesso's strength as she now stood at her full height.

Desperately looking for remorse, you worriedly glanced over at Larissa, who looked almost sympathetic as she watched you squirm under the curly haired woman's power.

"Larissa, I—"

"It's mommy, darling," the principal finally spoke and her tone had dropped a few decibels lower than you expected, throwing you off.

"You're both teaming up against me?!"

Lesso chuckled coldly and you immediately knew you had blown it. If Larissa couldn't save you, no one could.

"Mommy?" You tried again, looking up at Larissa from under your eyelashes, batting them as a pout fixed itself onto your lips.

"Listen to your Mistress, darling. I don't have the energy to argue with you today," the Principal numbly told you before going over to sit behind her desk.

Your mouth flew open in disbelief as you focused back onto Lesso, "What did you do to her?!"

"What I did to her, [y/n]?" The woman before you seethed and it was enough to keep you sat still in place even after she yanked her cane away and slammed it onto the ground as to make a point, "We're going to talk about what you've done first, how's that for a change?"

You didn't get to reply before Lesso began chastising you again.

"You're insolent. You've been misbehaving in classes all week. You're a downright brat at times and more so lately than usual. You don't listen for shit, especially when your mommy tells you to do something you don't deem as important. And don't even get me started on the fact that I've smelled alcohol on your lips during school hours—"

"I'm an adult!"

"Yeah? I'll start believing it when you start acting like it."

A huff left your mouth. You were quick to cross your arms over your chest defiantly, staring daggers at the ceiling.

"My point is made," Lesso harshly finished, making sure to wait a few seconds to see if you were going to talk back. Once she was sure you were truly done, she made her way across the room towards Larissa.

You could've made a run for it. You thought about it. You contemplated it. You considered it especially greatly when you heard whispers between your two girlfriends and you couldn't decipher a single word. But before you could even get up, you were distracted by Larissa rising from her desk and making her way towards the double doors that led to her sleeping quarters.

You watched as she walked through, not paying any mind to you what so ever. Her white shirt was tucked into a black midi skirt that flowed as she walked, her heels tapping even after she was out of your eyesight, coming to a halt a few seconds later.

Lesso turned to look at you at the same time that you had quizzically begun eyeing her. Her cane rose from the floor, pointing towards the same door Larissa had disappeared through, "What are you waiting for? Off you go."

You furrowed your eyebrows. It wasn't that you were purposely ignoring the bad feeling in your stomach, it was just that your curiosity had gotten better of you and you ended up following instructions this time.

Feet coming to a halt once you entered the large space, a pit of anticipation began forming in your lower stomach.

Larissa was sat on the edge of her king sized bed, a serious look occupying her face. You made eye contact and the older blonde patted her lap, causing you to furrow your eyebrows in confusion.

"I... I don't get it," you spoke, before turning back to look at Lesso, who was now almost directly behind you, as if to make sure you wouldn't bolt away the first chance you got.

The red-head raised her eyebrows and lowered her head towards you, whispering in your ear, "Over her lap, baby girl. Now."

You giggled, which only lasted a few seconds as you realised Lesso's serious look had not faltered. Confused, you looked over to Larissa, then to Lesso, then back to Larissa.

"Mommy?"

"Stop pouting, darling. Do as you're told," Larissa swiftly spoke, "I don't have the time to play games today. I have a meeting with some of your teachers in an hour."

You couldn't believe it. You weren't half as bad as some of the other girls in the school (cough cough, Wednesday) and yet, you were the one constantly in trouble. It was probably all of Lesso's doing!

"Wait, wait," you lifted your hands in defence, pausing for a second as you looked back at Lesso, "I promise I'll change."

The older woman chuckled, clearly amused at your antics before grasping your left shoulder and turning you around, pressing her cane onto your lower back and shoving you forward, "Shut up. Do as you're told."

You weren't sure whether the situation was more embarrassing or the whine that had just slid its way out of your mouth.

Giving you no more time to protest, Larissa leaned forward and clutched your wrist before pulling you over her lap.

"No! Please! I'll be good, I swear this time!" You began thrashing around, and the poor principal couldn't bare to see you so helpless, so she began shushing you gently.

"It's ok, darling. The quicker you let Lesso do this, the quicker it'll all be over," Larissa sweetly cooed as she began pulling your tights down, before flipping your skirt up and rubbing the half-bare skin on your ass.

You heard Lesso muffle a groan at the sight before hearing her footsteps inch closer. "So pretty," she paused and you felt Larissa pet your hair gently before the red-head spoke again, "It's a shame you're such a bad girl."

A roaring smack tore through the room as you unexpectedly felt Lesso's cane meet your skin in a searing kiss, making you squeal in pain as you began thrashing again.

"Please! Please! Mistress, please."

"Please what? More?" The curly haired woman was having the time of her life as she lifted her cane and flung it down onto your soft skin once again, "Stay. Still."

You whimpered. Loud.

"Ssh, darling. Just three more," Larissa rubbed your back with one hand as she grabbed your wrists with the other, pinning them to your lower back.

"Three, if she takes them well," Lesso half-joked and the principal shot her a stern look, making the red-head shrug her shoulders in reply. She was going to teach you a lesson, that's for sure. You could call a 'red' any time, you knew that. Larissa and Lesso both knew that. But you all shared the knowledge that your punishment was well deserved, even if some of you didn't want to admit it.

"I-I'm sorry," you sulked, whining and squirming in Larissa's lap as you awaited another spanking.

Sure enough, it came a second later, leaving you gasping and crying out in shock, the sting heating your body.

"Sorry doesn't cut it anymore, baby girl," Lesso pointed out.

Larissa hummed in agreement and you couldn't have felt more betrayed in the moment. You were just trying to make school more bearable for yourself; sure, drinking once in a while and sometimes getting into fights wasn't the best way to go about it, but what else did you have to do? And yeah, maybe your attitude had been a little over the top lately. And you did sneak out a lot at night. And there was this one time you had almost poisoned Ms. Thornhill during a prank gone wrong. And—

Two sharp hits distracted you from your thoughts as you broke free from Larissa's grasp and covered your back side. The back-to-back swings of Lesso's cane had forced tears into your eyes and before she could even conclude your punishment, you shot up into a sitting position on Larissa's lap, wrapping your arms around her neck and snuggling into her warm skin, "I'm so sorry!"

"I didn't say we were done," Lesso interrupted. She was surprised at your bravery and how quickly you had managed to go from faux-begging and apologising, to actually sounding sincere.

"It's all right, darling. Mommy's got you," Larissa spoke gently, rubbing your back in a comforting manner immediately. She gave Lesso the 'mom' look.

"Well," the redhead cleared her throat, "I suppose you did take your punishment suitably."

You breathed out a sigh of relief, relaxing into Larissa's body, "I'm sorry for being such a brat."

"What was that?" Lesso asked, walking over the the bed and dropping onto the edge by the tall blonde that was cradling you sideways now as you looked into Lesso's eyes.

"I said I'm sorry for being a brat."

"I cant hear you. You're going to have to speak up, baby," Lesso teased, making Larissa laugh softly.

You rolled your eyes playfully, hiding your smile as you reached back and grabbed a pillow before swinging it forward and hitting Lesso with it.

The red-head gasped, "Oh no, you didn't!"

"Yes, I did!"

Larissa shook her head as Lesso climbed back onto the bed, grabbing another pillow, "You are both unbelievable," she laughed, before kissing your head and softly guiding you off of her.

"I have a meeting, so don't you dare hit me with those pillows," the woman stood up and dusted her outfit off, while you and Lesso both shared a knowing look.

You both turned to Larissa with devious looks on your faces and the poor blonde woman bolted out of the room with the widest eyes, losing her heels in the process, leaving you and Lesso in fits of laughter.

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instantpandaspyskeleton · 3 months

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#instapost #mother #gwendoline christie

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instantpandaspyskeleton · 6 months

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Babe. Please teacher/student Emily and fem reader. I beg of you. Smut galore!!!

Professor P

One shot | Criminal Minds Masterlist | Masterlists

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Pairing: Emily Prentiss x fem!Reader

Genre: Smut and fluff

Words: 4k+

Warnings: 18+, minors DNI, fingering and oral (r!receiving), semi-public sex (lecture hall), teacher/student, a little sprinkle of praise, swearing

Summary: Professor Prentiss has been coming to deliver weekly lectures at your university. You’ve mainly kept to the back and been weary of getting in her bad books. When you turn up late to class one day, things take an interesting turn, and you find the dynamics between the two of you drastically change.

A/n: i cannot find the gif I want, so we are going with a new layout. I scavenged everywhere for footage to make one and found fuckall :(

You're late. It's only five minutes, but that doesn't matter. Emily Prentiss does not appreciate tardiness, which is why your pulse is racing and your feet are rapidly slamming against the varnished floor.

When you reach the daunting lecture hall door, the handle mocks you with its screeching, causing you to grit your teeth. Great. Heads turn to the back of the room and watch as you clamber to find a seat, and no matter how hard you try not to look, you can feel Emily's pointed glare burning a hole straight through you.

The hall is relatively big. Sounds transpire effortlessly. It benefits whoever takes the class, their voice seamlessly carrying to the back. It offers no such advantage for the odd student who comes in late because the same principles apply. No matter how hard you try to keep quiet, the silence in the room does nothing to mask the ruffling of papers and pens.

"Thanks for joining us," Emily calls out once you settle, forcing you to meet her eyes.

You know better than to challenge her, so you grimace and mutter your barely audible apology.

"See me after class." she says, and murmurs scatter across the dotted ocean of students, "Let's continue."

It's torture. With each passing minute, your palms grow clammy, your knee shaky, and your breath heavy. Emily's picking on you more than anyone else, and though you know the answers, getting them right doesn't alleviate your nerves. She does offer a smile when you prove your lateness is by no means an accurate reflection of your intelligence. However, it's not a proud, candid smile that does little to calm you, simply because the browns of her eyes are tinted with something hungry and predatory that sends shivers through your body.

Time passes, and you continue to blossom into a colossal mess. Students dart out whilst you gather your things and nervously await your fate. On your way down the broad steps of the auditorium, fellow peers you've spoken to in passing offer their sorry attempts at comfort by leaving taps on your shoulders. It feels more like you're being sent off to the front lines rather than having a reprimand from your professor.

When you approach her desk, Emily's fingers tap away at her keyboard. Aside from a brief upward glance, she barely acknowledges your presence, and then she's back to typing, leaving you with nothing else to do - other than awkwardly fiddle with your fingers and wait.

What feels like an eternity later, Emily finally stops typing and turns the computer off. Though she may have still sat down, giving you the advantage of being on the higher ground, her piercing stare leads you to believe she most definitely is at no disadvantage and is solemnly aware she garners all your attention.

"What's the excuse?" she asks, looking you up and down.

"Excuse?" you nervously question.

"Yes, excuse," She rolls her eyes, stands up, then walks around the desk. Standing tall and remaining a few steps away, she continues, "Why were you late?"

Ice runs cold through your veins, and your mouth feels drier than the desert. You swallow the dry lump in your throat, "Library," you manage to choke out, "I lost track of time."

The answer doesn't seem to amuse her, and she rolls her eyes as she pulls up the left sleeve of her blouse. A silence bathes you both, though it seems only to take hold of you. Emily is too busy fiddling with her watch to notice or care.

It glints in the light when she steps forward, throwing your body into fight or flight, or the lesser of both, freeze. You stand stark still despite everything in your body telling you to back away.

"Hold out your wrist," she instructs, taking off her watch. You do as told and watch in astonishment as the leather straps clasp around your wrist. Emily's face remains unreadable until her eyes move from your wrist to your face, and you pick up on the slight curve of her lips and something unfamiliar in her eyes that almost resembles amusement, "Don't be late again."

Words aren't coming to you nearly as quickly as they should, and the hint of amusement that dances in Emily's eyes intensifies. Then, she grabs her things like nothing unusual has occurred and steps forward, whispering in your ear, "Next time, I won't be so nice."

A shiver runs down your spine, and before you can turn around, Emily's already out the door.

"What the hell just happened?" you ask the empty room, staring down at the watch on your wrist.

A week passes before you see Emily again, and in that time, there isn't a day that goes by when you don't wear that watch. The habit of looking down and smiling at it creeps up on you. Often, you look around to see if anyone else has noticed, then pull your sleeve over it as though it needs to be kept a secret.

Maybe you want to keep in on the down low because the thought of having anyone else know would tarnish what seems to be, or you hope to be a treasured memory shared between you and Emily, or maybe it is something else entirely. All you know is that you want the exchange to remain between the two people who were present for it. Thankfully, it does.

The leather straps of the watch itself have lightened ever so slightly with time, and a bubbling sense of warmth comes in late nights of your dorm room, looking at it and thinking of who it belonged to and how long it had adorned their wrist. You trace your fingers over the metal frame of the clockface and toy with buttons, all the while relishing in the hints of perfume that appear hellbent on remaining ever-present.

As the week drags on, you find yourself more excited than you've ever been for Emily's class. You're one of the first few to show up.

Though you usually favour the back few rows, the thoughts from the past week have you walking down more steps than you're accustomed to. Being at the front is far too much of a statement, you tell yourself. You settle for the middle.

With a clear view and no heads in your line of sight, you watch Emily stand by the computer and set up the necessary slides whilst she likely waits for the room to fill up. The side exit door is open, letting in a cool summer breeze that ruffles sitting papers on the brunette's desk—the touseling sound of crisp paper dances across the room.

The gusts of wind sweeping in aren't entirely strong, but they're blowing wisps of Emily's hair into her face. So much so she reaches a hand to brush them away and hypnotically tucks the loose strands behind her ear.

One of the first things you'd noticed about Emily, or rather, hadn't, was her fringe. Unlike in pictures you'd seen of her online, she now wears her hair down, parted in the middle with feathered layers subtly framing her face. It suits her. Then again, anything would.

Her attention falters, and she tears herself away from the screen to glimpse over the room. Eyes jadedly pass by you, then dart back and raptly take you in. Emily's gaze falls to your wrist. Her lips curve into a satisfied smirk, and there's no stopping the tension in your stomach that twists and coils in looping knots. Butterflies swim through the remains of cold brew coffee - that should be thanked for you getting to class so early - and the heat from the unforgiving sun feels like it's waited to peek through the window until this very moment to cast warm rays of light on your already flushed face.

Emily meets your eyes briefly. You mirror her smirk despite the nerves setting your body on fire and wait till she resumes scanning the room before shakily pulling out your notebook and pen.

It's not until she's looking back at her computer that you dare to look at her again. Your eyes traipse lower to her blouse. The light grey - if not off-white - colour of it is brought out by the occupying white blazer Emily has now flung over her chair. She's wearing black suit trousers, secured low on her waist by a simple belt, yet, with the buckle placement being off-centre, it becomes the heart of her outfit.

The last couple of students come in, dangerously close to being late, but no one else enters once the short clock hand takes its place next to the number nine. Emily moves to stand before the large white projection screen and begins speaking. Her hands move in time with what she's saying, gesturing to what's being displayed. Clasping together now and then.

You've always paid attention to how she carries herself, though now, you were really noticing it. Her walk, her posture, the way she needn't ask for silence or for anyone to focus because she simply demands it in the way she speaks. It's enticing. She's enticing, pulling you in like a helpless fish to bait. Everything becomes background noise from then on, and all you know is Professor P.

Words bellow through the room, and you try to focus on what's being said. It's not that you don't hear; it's that this lecture doesn't register as being nearly as crucial as Emily's newly popped button - revealing a whole new ocean of skin your eyes aren't quite sure they should be allowed to see. It takes dragging your eyes to the blank lined paper on your desk to find the will to breathe normally again.

Minutes pass. You don't dare pry your eyes away from the utter mess of words littered before you. Not being able to pick on anything being said coherently means going through the slides later, but it can't be helped. Every time you glance at the front of the room, you're entranced and sure that drool may be slipping from the sides of your lips. Somehow, Emily's loose shirt has managed to cling to her in all the right places, and you can't advert your eyes from her chest.

She clears her throat, and you break away from gawking at her breasts to see she's looking directly at you, trying not to smile. Thankfully, she moves on without drawing any unwanted attention from other students your way, but the damage has already been done. Your cheeks burn under the unbearable heat of the blaring sun and pure and utter humiliation.

For the remainder of the lecture, you keep your eyes glued to your desk. Thoughts racing, heart pounding, you think of how best to sneakily pack your things before Emily is finished so that you can flee the scene of the crime as fast as humanly possible.

That decision, unfortunately, is taken away from you when Emily makes her closing statement, "Come and collect your marked papers, and then you're free to go."

After tripping over flights of stairs rushing to be first, you end up fifth in the queue, straining to watch Emily search through a hefty pile to locate the corresponding paper to the student next in line. It moves quickly, and soon enough, you're face-to-face with the professor. Staring into her cedar eyes, you wonder why she's almost to the bottom of the papers and still hasn't found yours.

"Wait to the side, and I'll look in my bag once I've handed out the rest," Emily says, gesturing to the space beside her. So much for getting out as fast as you can.

There's not much for you to do but watch Emily delicately continue handing out papers. At times, she'll bring a finger to her lips and briefly run her tongue along it. Every morsel of your body lights up at the sight, and there is a need to discover what else that tongue could do. How fast can it move? How deep can it go? Would it delve in or torture you with teasing flicks until you're shaking with want?

The last student is given their paper, and you and Emily watch them leave. It's a hopeful thought to think that you're waiting because Emily wants to have you all to herself, and if that is indeed what she wants, you have no qualms.

The brunette leans down to grab her bag, making it incredibly hard not to notice the generous amount of cleavage on offer and the beginning of what looked to be a navy blue bralette, "You seemed less focussed today," she mindlessly says, looking through the contents of her bag.

Still flustered from the view, you shake yourself out of it and search your sluggish mind for a reasonable excuse that doesn't remotely sound anything like, 'Sorry, I was busy checking you out.'

"Sorry, I got a little distracted." It's not a lie. That does little to settle your nerves and level the uneasiness of guilt settling in your stomach.

Pulling out a sheet of paper, Emily places it on her desk and steps forward. The space between her desk and the wall is slim, so when you take the necessary action to keep your body at a distance, you feel the solidity of plaster against your shoulder blades.

In an effort to disguise your growing anxieties, you relax your back against the wall and push your hips out to place your sweaty hands against cooling white paint. Resting the straining muscles in your jaw, you hope to convince the profiler that this interaction does not affect you in the slightest despite it doing precisely that.

Emily studies your pose, and it appears for a few seconds she may have bought the whole, 'I'm waiting against the wall like any other normal student would' until she, once again, places one foot in front of the other and stands a hand's width away.

"What were you paying attention to then?" she asks, her tone unmistakably changing. It's raspy and playful, filled with the prowess of an experienced sweet talker.

She reaches out and lightly skims a finger down the outside of your arm, looking expectantly into your eyes for an answer.

Breathing has suddenly become incredibly hard. Electrical currents are running up and along the length of your arms, and they're ebbing their way across your chest, down your stomach to wake up an aching between your legs. There's no doubt what she's doing is passing the appropriate boundaries, but you can't deny the fact you want to entertain it.

"You." It was meant to come out confident. Instead, the word is whispered and almost cut short by your bottom lip slapping up to meet its counterpart.

The brunette's lips curve into a devilish smile, and she steps forward, resting one hand on the wall next to your head, "Interesting. And what about me were you paying attention to?"

"Emily," you whisper. It's unclear what you're hoping to achieve with her name tumbling out of your mouth in a manner that resembles both a beg and a warning. A faint tremor echoes through your body, and a surge of fear penetrates your mind, screaming that this could all be a wild dream within your psyche's hidden depth.

The professor's left-hand rests on your cheek; she bends her left elbow to draw her face nearer yours, and you see the eye of the storm in view.

Trudging through the muck of thoughts, you stand in the clearing. It greets you with visions that you've long since yearned for. Bodies tangled together, hands clawing along a muscled back, dark hair sprawled over exposed creamy skin dotted with botches the colour of wine.

"Please," you close your eyes and send your plea into the slither of space between you, a slither that feels more like a vast ocean. The need to know if this is real has you asking for one thing, "Kiss me."

The words linger, and weeds of doubt sprout. A pair of soft lips grab them from the root and plunge them from the earth with a kiss and firm hands now moving down to wrap around the small of your waist.

You part your lips and allow your hands to find their new anchor. They loop around Emily's neck and pull her in, and she, in turn, deepens the kiss, reaching out with her tongue to seek passage into your mouth.

Complying almost immediately, your tongues meet in a brief battle of dominance, where you quickly and selfishly decide it's best to surrender. Both of you are happy to let Emily take the lead.

Moans echo over the rows of seats, hands wander frantically under layers of clothing, and soon enough, Emily has you turned around and pressed against her desk. The shirt she's wearing has been fully unbuttoned, revealing a canvas of skin ready to be devoured: milky shoulders, sharp collarbones, full breasts, nipples straining underneath a cage of lace, and the soft outline of muscles running along her stomach down to the beginnings of her trousers.

"Up," Emily growls.

Taking it upon herself to carry through her order, she holds the backs of your thighs and props you atop her desk.

She wedges herself between your spread legs, pushing her taut stomach directly over your clothed cunt. The wetness of your underwear presses against your clit, and the realisation that no one had ever gotten you this wet from merely kissing and touching dawns on you. It makes you want her more if that's even possible.

Reaching out, you take her breasts into your hands, kneading them in your palms, then push the offending material away to give direct attention to her hardened nipples. One, you take between your lips, sucking intently, the other between your thumb and index finger, pinching and twisting it. When you switch sides, Emily lets out a crackled groan and threads her fingers into your hair. Your thumb brushes over her wet nipple, pressing it lightly into her breast. You circle her tit carefully whilst mirroring the same action with your tongue.

"Fuck. That mouth," Emily moans, the cords in her neck straining as she throws her head back in pure bliss.

Once satisfied, the brunette pulls you up into a needy kiss, desperate to show her gratitude. It doesn't last long, and soon, her mouth strays along the sharp edge of your jaw, down to your neck. Her fingers skim down your shoulder, chest and stomach, down to the buttons of your trousers, where she swiftly undoes them and delves her hand in.

You grip her shoulders, leaving moon-crescent indentations into her perfect skin, and let out a spluttered gasp. Emily runs her fingers through your glistening sex, leaving you breathless, "I love how wet you are," she says into the curve of your neck.

Using the arousal gathered on her fingers, she lathers your clit, circling it with a teasing barely-there pressure. Meanwhile, her hand sneaks under your shirt to toy with your nipple.

"More," you whimper, rucking your eyebrows and jostling your hips, striving for pleasure that will break through the surface of small shocks and leave you elated.

In unison, she bites down over your thrumming pulse point and pushes her fingers knuckle deep into you. A guttural moan roars and bounces off the tall confines of the amphitheatre. As the pleasurable cry ricochets back to the small desk, Emily shows no signs of stopping, too stubborn to care or too proud to acknowledge the severity of what the sound could lead to.

The walls of your pussy clench around Emily's fingers, heightening the stretch and feel of them slipping in and out of you. The abundance of wetness allows for no friction, and the fluidity aids the brunette to pick up a faster pace.

"You're taking my finger so well," she praises, thrusting deeper and faster.

Your nails must feel like talons to her at this point, clawing and etching at her back. She makes no complaint, only latches her lips to yours and groans whilst she fucks you fervently.

"I'm going to come." You breathlessly announce.

She pulls out abruptly, and the built-up pressure dissipates into thin air, leaving you simultaneously star-struck and confused.

A protest forms but has no time to leave you because Emily pulls you into a fiery kiss. It's fast and uncontrollable, tongue darting around your mouth, teeth gnawing at your lips, until she finally breaks away to catch her breath.

"I want you to come in my mouth," she says with a ravenous grin that instantly has you nodding your approval.

"God, yes." You moan.

Emily's quick to loop her fingers through the waistband of your underwear and trousers, leaving you half naked on the desk as she places your legs over her shoulders and runs her tongue up your right thigh, leaving a shimming saliva trail.

With one clean swipe of her tongue, the professor licks the entire length of your slit and moans as the first taste of you hits her taste buds. Hungry for more, she stiffens the muscle and plunges it inside you, lapping your juices straight from the source.

If the possibility of screaming wouldn't get you caught, you would do so. For now, you settle on nestling your hands into silky brown hair whilst quietly chanting Emily's name, encouraging 'yes's' and anything else that would keep her from letting up.

The muscles in your abdomen tense almost painfully from holding your body upright. You lay back on the desk, not wanting the sensations flowing through your body to be dulled in any way. Relief floods through you, and your actions are rewarded with waves of pleasure, crashing over every fragment of your being.

The room fades away as you close your eyes and feel the professor's tongue curve inside you, running along the rough edges of your g-spot. Too afraid you'll draw blood with the continuous raking of nails through her scalp, you settle your hands above your head, wrapping your fingers over the edge of the wooden desk.

Faint voices of students walking past the doors muffle in your ears, mingling with the rushed thudding of your heartbeat. Thud, voices, thud, clambered footsteps, thud, the sound of your moan, thud, then Emily's thumbing your clit, and every sound fades to nothingness, and you stop breathing.

Tremors render you useless. Your hips are grinding erratically, Emily's tongue is pressed inside you, and your clit is twitching. Sparks linger in your vision as your eyes fly open and find lust-darkened orbs - pinning you down with their fervour and watching you fall over the edge of your orgasm.

Somehow, through the haze of your orgasm-muddled brain, you tear your hand from the desk and slap it over your mouth to silence a shrilling sob. Your chest burns. Your legs shake. And finally, you arch your back, going joint-breakingly rigid.

The older woman slows down and runs soothing circles over the sides of your thighs. Two small pecks are placed on your hip bones before Emily stands up, and you all but fling yourself upright to devour her lips in a desperate kiss. Your aroma and sharp tang linger on the tongue, sliding into your mouth and causing you to stifle a moan at the taste.

"That was amazing," you murmur over her lips.

"Mmmm," Emily hums agreeingly, breaking away and resting her head on your shoulder to catch her breath.

"I still get to keep the watch, right?" You playfully ask, though there is some room for reassurance, "I've grown quite attached."

Emily chuckles into your neck, and it's single-handedly the most beautiful thing you've ever heard. Her laugh penetrates your skin and worms its way directly into your heart.

"Yes, it's yours," she replies.

"And…"

"And?" She pulls back, looking confused.

"I don't need to worry about you handing out other watches to students, right?"

The brunette tentatively meets your lips again in a sweet kiss, stopping only for a second to whisper, "Not a chance."

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instantpandaspyskeleton · 6 months

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So Pretty (Leonora Lesso x Reader)

Synopsis: Lady Lesso has a problem and you are the cause

Words:1.7k

Warnings: mentions of blood, choking

You were such a pretty picture. That’s what Lesso would tell herself when she realised she was staring at you. That was the point of beauty, to draw the eye. Who was she to deny her own nature?

That didn’t stop the way your laughter seemed to haunt her. Or how the brush of your fingers along her the back of her chair replayed in her mind for weeks. Or the way your gaze felt heavy on her in a way no one else’s did.

She had to do something about the way you seemed to have crawled under her skin like a bug.

Cane tapping with each footsteps, students tripped over themselves to get out of her way. She put it down to the murder in her eyes, and in her heart. She haunted the halls, hunting you down with a single mindedness unmatched by anyone.

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instantpandaspyskeleton · 6 months

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One Touch (Leonora Lesso x f!Reader) - Part 2

Synopsis: You decide it's time to play.

Words: 2.3k

Warnings: mentions of smut

AN: So, I didn't plan on writing a second part to this fic, and now I have at least one more to come. If you want to read the first part, it can be found here. Keep a look out for the third part.

Lesso was playing with you. There was no doubt in your mind that she was waiting for you to snap. It wouldn’t take much. You found yourself completely wound up, all at her hand.

Every time you saw her you were plagued with the vision you’d had at the touch of her skin, at the feeling of her lips against yours, at the whispered promise of more to come. Her eyes followed you around the school, watching as you met with students, the clasp of your hand with theirs, the way teachers would approach if they hadn’t had their future read yet.

It was intoxicating.

At night you dreamt of her. The feeling of her between your legs, the brush of her fingers over your skin, the press of lips. You’d wake with a throbbing in your core and a need for a warm body that was never there.

The longer you tried to resist it, the worse it was becoming. It was as if she was haunting you, showing up when you least wanted to see her. Those eyes would follow you and you’d watch her lips quirk up when she caught you watching in return.

The worst was when her fingers would brush against yours, always a supposed accident. The feeling of her skin against yours was burned into your brain from that day. The warmth of it had you almost begging her for more.

Knowing you had no choice, that it was going to happen whether you wanted it to or not, had you on edge around her, waiting for it to come true.

Unfortunately, it looked as if she was going to force you to be the one to make it come to pass. She kept her distance, always just on the outskirts of your life at the school. Her presence was felt, the sight of her familiar, but she wasn’t making a move to fulfil your prophecy of her future. She was waiting for you, and the arrogance of knowing you’d give in had you gritting your teeth and bearing it.

It was beginning to feel like a game, and you didn’t want to lose.

After a particularly gruelling session with a student you were standing in your doorway, watching them walk down the hallway. It was always hard, when you saw violence in someone’s future. Harder still when they were still so young. You sighed, turning away, getting ready to close the door.

You should have heard the cane on the stone floor but it came as a surprise when it caught the door before it could close. There was nothing you could do as you watched it push the door back open, your tormentor on the other side. A warm hand settled on your hip, pushing you out of the way to let her enter.

Her touch felt like a relief and you hated it.

Slowly, you eased the door closed again, not sure if you wanted to allow yourself to be alone with her like that. You weren’t sure you could trust yourself. Her gaze felt heavy on you as you rounded your desk, needing the space and the barrier to keep from doing anything you shouldn’t.

“You’ve been lying to my students,” she said, not bothering with any preamble.

“I have not,” you replied, indignation rising within your chest.

“You’re giving them hope,” she snarled.

“If they choose to take comfort in the visions I see then that’s their decision,” you said, “I only tell them what I see.”

“You told Hort he’d have a happy ending,” she said, taking one of those dangerous swaying steps towards you.

“I told him about a moment I saw in his future with a young woman where he looked happy,” you replied, “that’s hardly an ending.”

“Do you always see such romantic moments?” she asked.

“You know I don’t.”

It hung in the air, your accusation, staring her right in the face. Her lips curled up and she took one last step towards your desk. Hands splaying over the top she lent forward. Her eyes dragged down, watching as your breath hitched. That same infuriating smirk lit up her face.

“I suppose our definitions of romantic may differ,” she replied, looking down at you.

Your cheeks heated under her gaze, every instance of your dreams coming back to you, the flash of her future running through your mind. Her eyes seemed to darken as they focused on your lips before she lent backwards.

“Stop giving my students hope,” she said before sweeping out of your office.

All of which meant you spent the rest of the day a little breathless, and flinching any time you saw a happy moment in the future of the Nevers.

And perhaps a flicker of fire ignited within your veins making you want to stand up to her.

At dinner that night, you purposefully placed yourself beside her at the table, elbow brushing against hers. If she was surprised, she refused to show it. It took until you were halfway done before you could build up the courage to open your mouth.

“Are Nevers not allowed to have hope of winning?” you asked her, leaning towards her, keeping your voice hushed. No need to involve anyone else in your conversation.

“Of course they are,” she replied, voice cold.

“Then would you care to tell me what type of hope I should be avoiding?” you asked.

“Love,” she snapped.

“I see what I see,” you replied, “sometimes it’s love.”

Her eyes flashed up to you from her meal, something simmering behind them. You lent towards her, shoulder brushing hers, and just the feeling of it sent a shiver down your spine. Her warmth rolled off her body towards you.

“Sometimes it’s something more interesting,” you murmured.

Her head was slow as it turned towards you.

“Something more carnal.”

“Is this you trying to be seductive, little one?” she asked, keeping her voice low.

“Just stating facts,” you replied, offering her a placid smile, “why? Do you find my words seductive?”

“Not in the slightest.”

She lent away from you and a sense of disappointment gripped you.

“I suppose I’ll have to try harder next time then,” you said, rising from the table.

The way her eyes followed you out of the dining hall was heady. You were done playing, done denying yourself what you wanted. You were going to bring her to her knees.

The next day you saw the moment she saw you. Her eyes widened before the shutters fell and she schooled her features. Her gaze followed you as you received your breakfast and sat at the table, on the furthest end of the long bench from her. You kept your eyes trained on your food, purposefully ignoring her, assuming she wouldn’t like it.

“It appears as if you’re missing half your dress.”

Her breath hit your ear and the hiss of her voice was enough to make your thighs clench. You were slow to turn your face towards her. One of her hands was gripping the back of your chair, the other reasting on the table beside your plate, caging you in. Her face was so close to yours, teeth bared, eyes glowering. You smiled up at her, keeping your expression calm.

“Am I?” You looked down at your plunging neckline and high hemline, “whoops.”

“You’re making a spectacle of yourself,” she said.

“And a rather good one I think,” you said, spearing a slice of melon on your fork, “at last four students stopped me in the hall to tell me they were looking forward to their appointments with me today.”

You slid the melon off your fork slowly, lips pulling it from the tines of the utensil. Her eyes were watching your mouth, darkening when your tongue darted out to swipe along your bottom lip. She lent closer.

“This isn’t going to work,” she murmured, lips ghosting over the shell of your ear.

Your nose brushed against hers as you turned your head.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” you replied.

Her eyes raked down your body, lingering on skin that heated under her gaze. You arched your back, revelling in the way it seemed to take huge effort for her to look back to your face.

“You’re testing my patience,” she practically growled.

“You’re not going to survive tonight then,” you said.

She stiffened. You smiled up at her, batting your eyelashes before turning back to your breakfast. It was time for her to be on the receiving end of some of the torture she’d been sending your way. It was time for her to know the yearning that kept you up at night, the throbbing between your thighs, the fire raging through your veins.

She retreated, the clack of her cane hitting the floor as she stalked out of the dining room. You lent back in your seat, finishing your breakfast, play time done. Dovey was staring at you, mouth open. You offered her a smile of your own before you swept out of the hall, ready to begin your work.

You were booked up with appointments all day.

During the afternoon, once your office hours had ended, you took yourself for another walk through the garden. You turned your face up into the sun, soaking in the warmth and light, eyes closed as you smiled to yourself. Today was going well. The only thing that could improve it was…

“Must you parade yourself about like this?”

Your smile brightened for a moment before you turned, schooling your features into something more questioning. Lesso, both hands clasping the top of her cane, was standing just a few paces away, eyes fixed on you with a burning intensity.

“I’m not sure I know what you mean,” you replied, keeping your voice calm and soft.

“You wear that dress, exposing so much of yourself, and stand here, waiting for someone to come along and see you,” she all but growled, “have you enjoyed the attention from the students? Have you enjoyed being an object of their desire? I’m sure they were all disappointed you didn’t see half of what you did with me.”

“Careful, Lady Lesso,” you warned, “someone might think you were jealous.”

“Hardly,” she scoffed.

You took a step towards her and her eyes snapped back to you. Her jaw set, and you watched how her fingers clenched, knuckles turning white. With soft hands, you pulled one hand from the cane, finger tracing over the line of her palm as you looked down at it. Touching her, skin to skin, was like taking a deep breath after being underwater for so long. You looked up at her from under lowered lashes.

“What are you doing?” she demanded.

“Considering taking up palmistry,” you replied, fingers brushing against the inside of her wrist, “I wonder what else I could see about your future if I did.”

You pulled her hand up, pressing a delicate kiss right to the centre of her palm before releasing it. Her mouth had fallen open, eyes smouldering as she looked at you. You took a small step backwards, putting distance between the two of you despite never wanting to be so far from her. Her hand landed back on the head of her cane and she slipped the mask back on.

“You want to know about my future?” she asked, voice growing cold.

“Maybe I just want more excuses to touch you.” You shrugged, “or maybe I could spend the time mapping your body in other ways.”

The look on her face had your heart fluttering and you had to press your thighs together once again. Her hand shot out, grasping your wrist as she tugged you forward again, your body falling against hers. The heat of it was delicious and you wanted to feel those curves in your hands.

“Is this your seduction?” she asked.

“So paranoid,” you replied.

“What are your plans for tonight?”

“Why? Are you propositioning me?” You smiled up at her, impish and teasing.

“You have something planned,” she growled, voice darkening, turning gravelly and irresistible.

“Are you hoping it includes you?” you asked.

She tugged on your wrist again, reminding you how trapped you were, and how wonderful that felt. The fire licking at your skin was making your heart beat double time and your breath disappear.

“What is it?” she demanded.

“Making use of my own hands, although if you’re offering your services…” you trailed off, letting her fill in the blanks.

Her eyes flashed, raking down your body, lingering on your heaving chest. She shoved you away, watching you stumble a step. Looking up, her lips curled up in a mocking smile, straightening her spine. You lifted your chin, despite the heat in your cheeks and the yearning in your chest. Your fingers itched to touch her again.

You wanted her, plain and simple.

“Pathetic,” she said, almost spitting the word at you.

You took a step towards her once again, and there was no hiding the way her gaze slipped down your body. You lent forward, lips ghosting over hers, reminded of the last kiss she’d bestowed upon you.

“It’s an open invitation,” you murmured, “if you change your mind.”

You pressed your lips to hers for barely more than a second before turning away from her, walking back towards your room. It was time for such images to be plaguing her. Meanwhile, you’d be busy having fun until she chose to join you.

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