I Hate Andrew And Would Love The Rage Room

I hate Andrew and would love the rage room 😂🤬

Rage Room

pairing: jennifer jareau x daughter reader

category: fluff

warnings: none

word count: 646

age: 16

summary: your mom brings you to a rage room

I saw my mom through the window of the rage room and smiled. She had her phone out, recording me. I had taped a picture of Andrew's face to the glass table I was about to absolutely demolish. I put on my goggles and watched her count down until I started smashing the sledgehammer against the glass table, smiling as I saw the glass fly everywhere, imagining it was Andrew.

It didn't time long for me to destroy everything in the room, and once I did I walked outside and high fived my mom, taking off my glasses. "With the amount of enjoyment I felt doing that I wouldn't be surprised if I were to turn out to be a serial killer."

"I don't want to have to send you to jail so I'm going to pretend like I never heard that." I laughed and looked through the window again, seeing the flash shards everywhere and the shredded picture of Andrew.

"I want him to see it."

"If he does he's going to file for a restraining order." She pointed out.

"Well...maybe I can hit him with a sledgehammer instead."

"Well...then you'd be in prison for murder."

"But since I'm not 18 yet it would be expunged from my records once I turned 18."

"Not if you intentionally murder someone." She put her arm around my shoulders, kissing my temple as we walked out of the building.

"But what if it was accidental?"

"I don't think the judge would buy that."

"Mom! You're supposed to be on my side here!" I protested, getting into the car with a disappointed look on my face. "I wish I didn't date a stupid piece of shit for a year." I slumped down in my seat.

"Me too. But you're not dating him anymore. So it's ok."

"I know but I wasted a year on him. Imagine if I had been with the right person. I would be so much happier."

"Yeah." My mom sighed and patted my knee. "Well...it might take you a while to find your person."

"Wow. That makes me feel so much better." I said sarcastically.

"I'm 43 and I still haven't found my person. But I'm so happy with you! You're all I need." She grabbed my hand.

"But what if I don't have kids? What if I'm just alone?"

"You're 16. You have so much time to find the right person for you." She started the car and backed out of the parking lot. "You're not expected to find the love of your life in high school." I sighed, leaning my head against the window. "It's gonna be ok, you know? Now that you dated someone like Andrew you know the red flags for people like him." She pointed out.

"Yeah. I guess."

"It's gonna be alright honey." We finally arrived home and I was so glad to just be home and spend time with my mom. She put her hand on my upper back and led me upstairs to my room. We both laid down on my bed and she grabbed my laptop from my nightstand, handing it to me so I could type in my password. I pulled up Gilmore Girls and leaned into my mom, hugging her arm tightly.

"Thanks for taking me to the rage room. I really needed that. I've felt so angry for so long and it felt amazing to finally be able to get it all out."

"Of course honey." She kissed the top of my head. "It always feels nice to relieve your anger. Especially when it's about a shitty boyfriend."

"You had a shitty boyfriend?"

"Mhm. Many. A lot of lessons learned." I sighed and leaned into her more. "But it's gonna be ok, yeah?"

"Yeah...I guess."

"It will be. No I guess."

"Ok...it'll be ok."

"I love you sweetie."

"I love you too mom."

wet cat vibe

pairing; emily prentiss x fem!reader

summary; you get rained on on the way to emily's apartment.

warnings; fluff, pure fluff, slightly suggestive towards the end, reader in a summer dress

notes; okay, so this was a little one-shot that i wrote a few weeks ago after i saw a prompt and my friend suggested that emily would be perfect for it! i've never actually published anything like wlw but i thought i might as well bite the bullet and show emily some gay love because her being straight-ified by the show is a crime to me and me personally. she is my bisexual queen. thank u. so, please enjoy this little fluff

masterlist

When you agreed to go over to Emily’s after you were finished with work, it hadn’t been raining. In fact, it had been a beautiful sunny day and you were walking around in your flowy summer dress. It had been warm, idyllic and you hadn’t even realised that anything had changed. That was until you stepped out of work and it was raining. And not just normal rain, it was a fucking torrential downpour. You didn’t know what to do.

You had assumed that it would stay nice all day but no, of course not. You internally cursed yourself as you stared out at the rain. Why did you never check the goddamn weather app? Were you really that stupid?

Everyone had already left the office which left you alone to try and get to Emily’s without looking completely ridiculous. You crossed your arms over your chest, staring across the street as the rain bounced off the pavements.

Her apartment was only a few streets over and so you scouted out the area in front of you. There were quite a few buildings that overhung which meant that you could at least get some shelter. It would be fine. You just had to be strategic.

So, you waited for the traffic to clear up before you ran across the road. You looked like a madwoman, in a flowy dress while it poured with rain around you but you had definitely looked more insane before so this was nothing.

By the time you reached Emily’s apartment and despite your best attempts, you were still drenched right through. Your dress was becoming transparent thanks to the rain which Emily would love but currently, anyone could see which wasn’t exactly what you intended.

When you pressed the buzzer, Emily let you in with no question and you rode the elevator up. She was waiting for you at the apartment door, hip rested against the door frame as she looked you up and day. You tried not to laugh, a smile spreading across your face.

“Have you not heard of an umbrella? Jesus,” Emily said and you looked down at yourself. You were literally dripping water across the carpet, your hair (that was down over your shoulders) was dripping droplets of water across the fabric of your dress. You looked a mess.

“I’m going for the wet cat vibe. How do I look?” You asked as you reached her apartment door. Emily chuckled softly at you and you did a little twirl for her before facing her again. Emily shook her head in disbelief.

“Pathetic. Come on, you’re dripping everywhere,” Emily said as she urged you inside. You followed her and she closed the door. Her back rested against it as she took you in. She could very clearly see the lingerie that you had picked out just for her. Though, you had completely forgotten how see-through your dress was so you wandered over to the kitchen for a tea towel to wipe your face without a care in the world.

“You know, I think this is a good look,” You stated as you turned around to face Emily. She was leaning against the counter now, obviously checking you out.

“I think what’s underneath is better,” She responded and you chuckled softly, remembering exactly what she was looking at. You wiped off your face and your neck with the towel. Your hair was probably a lost cause for now so instead, you dropped it down and reached out for her hands and tugged her a little closer.

“I wore it just for you,” You teased. Emily hummed out in response, moving her hand to rest against your cheek, “Thought you’d like it but the whole building saw it before you did,” You muttered. Emily tilted your chin up a little.

“I don’t mind,” She responded, her lips inches away from yours, “As long as they know who you’re coming home to.” You couldn’t help the bashful smile that spread across your lips, the wetness between your legs. Emily had this subtle possessiveness to her that made you completely weak at the knees. It was ridiculous.

“Why don’t we show them?” You suggested. Emily grinned and tugged you towards the bedroom. It was going to be a long night.

lights just went out at my house so ofc i’ve gotta fuck jj about it. this is new for me so. bare with me 😁🩵

i’m thinking about… a blackout with jj.

she’s a little prepared, of course, pretty girl is an organizer and planner obviously. battery packs are charged, and candles are lit (they’re yours, she likes your mini passion for candles, and she’s got her own for when you don’t wanna use your good ones.)

with the battery packs running low and your phones moving slowly for the lack of wi-fi, there’s not much to do but lie there and pace yourself on shows to conserve battery power. she’s a little warm against you, both of you in shorts and tanks, legs curled up with the others.

there’s not much to do.

it’s only natural that your minds move to one thing to do; each other.

her hand starts to roam as you pull her ever closer, whispering over your temple and cheek, until she’s placing her hand right over your tit and nodding all knowing, a sparkle in her eyes as you both lean in.

it’s getting warm, but the hot kiss feels so good you barely care. you’re already growing wet, and jj’s palming your tit through the thin little cami you’ve got on, and your legs part to allow one of her legs in between.

she grabs your tit just right, sending a little sparkle of feeling shooting from your nipple through your chest. you whine, a pathetic sound, all broken and ruined for her, and she craves and chases that sound like air.

air. air exists.

both of you separate and suck in said air, faces still close enough to feel the other’s breath ghosting against your face. her lips are slick with your spit and her nipples are hard, peeking through her shirt.

“we’re in a blackout and you’re still trying to get in my pants,” she jokes.

“i’m bored. nothin’ to do. i’d say you’re bored to, but it looks like you’ve found some entertainment.”

she shrugs and her eyes sparkle again. you kiss her again.

in the dark, her fingers find their home inside you and your squeaks and whines echo through the quiet home, and it’s fucking hot but she’s hotter, burning you from the inside out. the spit trailed from your shoulders to your neck is the only cold thing about you. your breath is ragged and rough and stuttered.

she can see where her fingers are stuffed inside your shorts that she disregarded in her pursuit of getting her fingers inside you. her hair is messy in the prettiest way and her blue eyes are dark and beautiful, and she glows even in the dim room. she’s a fucking dream, a princess as you like to call her, and she makes you feel angelic and depraved all at once.

your head lowers between her thighs at one point, her shorts discarded, and her spread wide for your tongue and fingers and eyes, a trinity working together in divine harmony that has her stomach caving in. one of the straps of her cami slides down her shoulder, the other one slides down when she reaches for your hair, threading her fingers into your curls.

you shake your head from side to side and it’s so much for her. she almost cries in response, the sparks resonating from your tongue on her clit fuck her mind and body up so bad. when she cums, she sounds like the princess you claim her to be, a melodic whine and a gasped “fuck,” all mixed up with her breaths as her eyebrows furrow and her thighs close around your head.

you’d think the temperature wasn’t rising with the way you two do everything but sit still. maybe it wouldn’t have even gotten so hot if you’d just resigned to reading a book or playing a board game.

when the lights finally flicker back on, and the soft whir of electricity and the ac kicking back on fill the house, you’d say you handled the blackout pretty well.

Coming Out

Emily Prentiss x fem!reader Warnings: some explicit language, mention of an unsub hurting Emily 😱, vague insinuations of homophobia, mostly fluff on fluff, feat. loyal himbo Derek Morgan Word Count: 2k

Summary: Emily gets injured on the job, and all she really wants is you, her girlfriend. But she's not out to the rest of the team yet. Can she be vulnerable enough to share that part of herself with the team? Can she be vulnerable enough to let you take care of her? Takes place at the end of S3.E2.

Emily dabbed at her head and winced, checking her watch to see if it had been long enough to take more pain medication. But despite getting clocked with a plank of wood, she was glad to be on the jet, glad to be back with her team because they really were starting to feel like her team. Who was she kidding? She loved her job.

According to the pilot, the team would be landing at Quantico in a little over an hour. Emily grabbed her phone, discreetly shoving it into her pocket, before heading to the back of the plane. She needed to call you, but the rest of the team didn't know about you yet. Hell, the rest of the team didn't even know she was gay. It felt too personal, and she'd been hurt by people's reactions–people she loved and trusted deeply–too many times. She played her relationships and her sexuality close to the vest.

Reid tapped Emily's arm as she passed by.

"Oh! Are you going all the way to the back?"

Emily tensed. "Yep."

"Could you bring me a Sprite?"

She felt her shoulders relax, and she patted Reid on the arm. "Sure."

After knocking on the bathroom door to make sure that truly no one was around, she called you, her voice hushed as she rifled through tiny airplane soda cans, looking for Reid's Sprite.

"Hey, Em," you said, your voice bright.

"Hey," she said, a goofy smile spreading across her face. "What are you up to?"

"Nothing much. Saw a street rat earlier. I named him Guillermo. I think he's on the prowl for a girlfriend."

Emily laughed, covering her mouth.

"How was Milwaukee?" you asked.

"Good. Really good. We got the guy. We're on the plane now."

She could nearly hear how smug you were through the phone.

"You're glad you went back," you snickered, relishing in being right. She'd sworn that it wasn't a big deal, that it'd be easy to get another good job, but you knew her heart was with the BAU.

Emily sighed. "I am. You were right."

"You're gonna stay?"

"Looks that way."

"I knew it!" you crowed. "I'm glad. You're too good at your job to quit it."

"Thanks, love. Listen, Y/N, can I ask you a favor?"

"Of course! Anything."

Emily winced, touching the swollen bump on her head. "We land in about an hour. Can you pick me up and stay at my place tonight?"

"Wow." You drew out the vowel, milking the fact that Emily needed you for once. "You missed me that much, huh?"

"Well, yes, of course, but... I, uh... I kind of have a concussion?"

Your tone shifted immediately from smug to concerned. "What?! Why?! What happened!?"

"Unsub hit me with a plank of wood," she admitted reluctantly.

"Jesus Christ, Em! Are you okay!?"

"I'm fine, baby, I promise," she reassured you. "I just got a little banged up, that's all. But I'll need you to wake me up every few hours and make sure I'm cognizant."

"I think I have some soup in the freezer," you observed, your voice far away. You'd put her on speakerphone to rifle through the cabinets. "And I have a thermometer. I don't know, do concussions cause fevers? I've never had one."

Emily shook her head, smiling. She loved that your first response, always, was to take care of her. Emily was not used to being taken care of, and she didn't let many people do it. She certainly wouldn't let many people see it either. But she let you.

"No thermometers needed. Just you and your car and more you when we get home."

"You got it. When did you say you land?"

"In about an hour."

"Okay. I'll leave in a few."

"Oh," Emily added quickly. "And you're cleared to drive into Quantico. They know the car you drive and they've got your ID on file. Just show it to them at the gate."

You paused. "Well, that's a little Big Brother of them."

"I gave it to them a few months ago. Just in case you ever needed to come by. Sorry, I should've told you."

"It's okay," you decided, pulling on a jacket and a beanie. "It feels kind of badass to be on Quantico's list."

Emily laughed, almost excited to have a concussion because it meant you'd be snuggled right up to next to her for however long it took to get better. 48 hours at least.

"Alright, baby," she finished, Reid's Sprite in hand. "I'll see you in a bit."

"Bye, love."

Emily wiped the grin off her face before returning to the cabin with Reid's Sprite–it'd look suspicious if she was too happy coming back.

An hour later, the team was going their separate ways in the parking lot, waving goodbyes and slamming car doors under the buzzing lights.

Emily leaned on the wall outside the building entrance, relishing the crisp night air.

"You need a ride, Prentiss?" Morgan asked as he walked out, used go-bag slung over his shoulder. "You shouldn't be driving" He pointed to her head.

"No, that's okay," Emily waved him off. "I've got– uh... someone's... picking me up."

Fuck, she thought. The concussion was not helping her ability to lie well.

Morgan stared at her suspiciously.

"What?" Emily laughed, trying to act normal.

"Why are you acting shifty?"

"I'm not!" she protested.

Morgan smirked and waggled his eyebrows. "Do you have a secret boyfriend?"

"What?" Emily said, laughing a little too forcefully. "No!"

He crossed his arms and waited. "You're seriously not gonna tell me?"

Emily leaned against the brick wall, rubbing her forehead. On the one hand, she was tired of keeping you–and herself–a secret. And if anyone was going to be supportive of someone on the team getting laid, it would be Morgan. But on the other, did she really know that much about him? She didn't know his religious background. Sure, he'd defend a gay victim, but that was his job. This was personal.

Emily sighed before replying. "I have... I have a secret girlfriend."

The silence felt like it lasted hours, stretching between them until Emily was sure the chasm would never close again, and that with just a few words, just by being herself, she'd ruined any chance of a friendship with Derek Morgan. It wouldn't be the first time. It probably wouldn't be the last.

Morgan seemed to think deeply before leaning against the wall next to Emily, turning to look her in the eye.

"Prentiss, why didn't you tell us you were gay?"

Emily was afraid to look at him, but when she did, her heart soared. He looked at her with nothing but love and respect and appreciation, no hint of hatred or disgust. If anything, he looked sad that she'd waited so long to tell him.

"I don't know," she shrugged. "I don't always get a good reaction."

"Well, you know nobody on this team would have a problem with that, right? Hell, Garcia'd probably hang pride flags everywhere."

"I know," Emily nodded. "I just... I don't think I'm ready yet. For everyone to know. Soon, though."

Morgan nodded, then thought for a few minutes before asking, "Is it serious?"

Emily chuckled. "Being gay? Yeah, I'd say so."

Morgan shoved her shoulder gently, mindful of the day's injuries. "No! The girl! How long have you been seeing her?"

"A little over six months."

"So, it's serious."

Emily grinned. She was glad to have someone to talk to about this. She'd held it so close for so long. She wasn't used to having anyone to tell about you. Maybe Morgan could be that person.

"Promise not to tell the others?"

Morgan put his hand over his heart. "Promise."

"I'd marry her tomorrow if she'd let me."

"Wow." Morgan raised his eyebrows, smiling lightly. "Prentiss is in love," he said, teasing her.

Emily fought a wide smile, but lost in the end. "Oh, shut up. And don't tell anyone. Especially her."

"Your secret's safe with me," Morgan reassured her. And she could tell he meant it. Emily trusted him, she realized. She trusted him to be a good friend, to keep her secrets. She trusted him not to out her to the rest of the team. He'd let her go at her own pace when it came to telling the others.

"She better be amazing," Morgan added. "I don't know how anyone could be good enough for you."

Just at that moment, a pair of headlights crept slowly into the parking lot, hesitant and unsure. It had to be you. Emily stepped forward and waved a bit, then turned to Morgan.

"Well, I'll see you tomorrow?" she said.

"Not with that head, you won't," Morgan observed.

You put the car in park next to the curb and leapt out of the driver's seat, hurrying over to Emily.

"Oh my god!" you exclaimed, anger and concern washing over you. "I thought you you said you were fine!"

You gingerly touched Emily's face and pulled her head down to examine the butterfly bandage above her eyebrow.

"Look at this," you grumbled, more to yourself than anyone else. "It's already bruising." You glared at the butterfly bandage. "Did a doctor do this or you? If it was you, I think we should clean it with rubbing alcohol at home."

Morgan looked absolutely delighted, both because you seemed like a delightful person and because Emily was beet red at being observed with you.

"Y/N, I'm fine," Emily said firmly, grasping your fingers in hers and removing them from her face. "This is my colleague Derek Morgan. Morgan, my girlfriend, Y/N."

You looked Morgan over and immediately decided you liked him. Mostly because you could tell that he really cared about Emily. But also because he looked mischievous, like he'd tease her. And if there was anything you loved, it was teasing Emily. You shook his hand enthusiastically. "It's really nice to meet you," you said. And you meant it.

But you didn't have time to chat with Morgan tonight. You were too worried about Emily.

"You don't look fine," you argued, looking to Morgan for backup. "Does she look fine to you?"

Morgan grinned at Emily, raising his eyebrows. "She definitely looks like she could use some TLC."

"Oh, and she'll get it alright," you assured him, opening the passenger door for Emily. "Shall we?"

Emily bent gingerly to get into the car, and you were careful to guard her head from the ceiling.

"Derek, it was really nice to meet you," you said, shaking his hand one more time for good measure as Emily rolled down the window, staring bullets at Morgan.

"You too, Y/N," he said, looking over your shoulder at Emily. "I hope you all have a very marry evening."

Emily pointed at him aggressively behind your back, mouthing, "SHUT. UP."

"See you, Prentiss," he called as you pulled away. He laughed and called out, "I hope it's a real honeymoon from work!"

Emily's hand shot out the window, flipping him off.

Later that night, your alarm buzzed and you blinked awake. You forgot for a moment that you were at Emily's, but her strong arms wrapped protectively around your waist were enough to remind you where you were.

You turned slowly to face a sleeping Emily, brushing her hair out of her face.

"Em. Hey. You gotta wake up, honey."

She groaned, placing a hand on her head.

"Sorry," you grimaced. "Gotta make sure your brain's alright."

"My brain is fine," she growled.

"Oh, yeah?" you joked, checking the time before shaking a few pills into your hand from the pill bottle on the nightstand. "Who am I, then?"

"The love of my life, Whitney Houston."

You laughed, which made Emily laugh, too. But she quickly doubled over in pain, groaning.

"Here, take these," you said gently, handing her the pills and a glass of water. "It'll help."

She took the pills obediently and lay back down.

"You know," you said, pulling up the blankets to make sure they covered Emily's shoulders. "I may not be Whitney Houston..." You wrapped your arms around her and drew her to you, and she burrowed her head into the space between your neck and your collarbone.

"But I think I'm a close second," you finished, running your fingers rhythmically through Emily's hair.

She sighed contentedly, pressing into you, then moving one of your arms to wrap it more tightly around her.

"Why are you so good to me?" she asked, quiet. You couldn't quite tell if it was a joke or serious, but you'd reply the same either way.

"Because I love you, you nerd."

She leaned up, planting a kiss underneath your chin. "I love you, too."

Within minutes she was conked out again, and you were setting another alarm, ready to do it all over again in a few hours.

Sick Call

Amelia Shepherd x fem!reader Warnings: established relationship, pure unadulterated fluff, seriously so fluffy, sickfic, would that we all had someone taking care of us when we were sick I mean come on Word Count: 0.8k

Summary: You wake up sick in the middle of the night, but your doctor girlfriend won't let you go back to sleep without a full check-up and some taking care of.

You tossed and turned in the bed, head pounding. You’d tried to convince yourself it was just a headache, just allergies, just anything except actual illness. But if your aching head, stuffy nose, and chills were any indication, you were really and truly sick. You coughed and pulled the blankets up to your ears, trying to keep warm. Unable to fall asleep, you propped yourself up to look out the window at the lighted coast and the darkness beyond. Your house was too far away to hear the ocean, but you knew it was there. You fell back down on the pillow with a soft groan, pressing your fingers into your temples. Beside you, Amelia stirred.

“You okay, bean?” Amelia’s voice was gravelly with sleep as she turned to face you.

“Yeah. Just sick. Go back to sleep. I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

Amelia’s hand shot out of the dark and wrapped around your neck.

“Ow!” you exclaimed.

Amelia sat up. “Your lymph nodes are swollen,” she observed. She moved her hand to your forehead. “And you’re definitely running a fever.” She sat up and turned on a lamp.

You groaned and squinted. “Jesus.”

Amelia launched herself out of bed and strolled into the bathroom.

“Amy,” you protested weakly. “I’m fine. Come back to bed.”

You could hear Amelia rummaging in the bathroom closet. “That’s what you always say.”

“Yes, but eventually I’m always right,” you called, yawning and propping yourself up on your elbow.

Amelia returned to the room carrying several pill bottles, a wet washrag, and a thermometer. “Open up,” she said, pointing the thermometer at your mouth.

You raised your eyebrows. “Amelia. It’s the middle of the night. I have a cold. This is a little overkill, don’t you think?”

Amelia looked around the room, as if gesturing to an invisible audience that this was unbelievable. “I’m sorry, who’s the doctor here?”

You wordlessly rolled your eyes and opened your mouth. Amelia popped the thermometer in and started opening pill bottles.

“Are you gonna pull the doctor card every time I have the sniffles?” you mumbled through the thermometer.

“Yes,” Amelia said. “Now shut up so I can get an accurate read.”

The thermometer beeped and Amelia removed it, peering at the screen. “102.6,” she read. Amelia shook two pills into her hand and opened your water bottle. “Take these.”

“What is it?” you asked, swallowing the pills quickly.

“NyQuil,” said Amelia. “Drink, like, half that water bottle.” She set the bottle of NyQuil and the thermometer on your nightstand.

You drank obediently, then set the water bottle aside. You watched Amelia watching you and felt a surge of love for her furrowed eyebrows, a tell that she was working out how to solve a problem. In this case, the problem was you being sick.

“Now lay down,” Amelia commanded.

You did as you were told, grimacing as you laid your head back down on the pillow and the throbbing resumed.

Amelia leaned over you from her seat on the edge of the bed, brushing a sweaty strand of hair out of your face. She held your head gently, leaned down, and planted a kiss on your forehead. She covered the spot with a cool washrag, letting her fingers linger on your skin a bit longer.

“Thank you, Dr. Shepherd,” you whispered.

“You’re welcome,” Amelia said, walking back to her side of the bed.

Amelia pulled a bottle of hand sanitizer out of her nightstand and squirted some into the palm of her hand.

“Are you using hand sanitizer?” you said, peeking out from under the washcloth.

“Duh. I don’t want your nasty bug.”

“You don’t want to be sick together?”

“Of course not,” Amelia said, pulling up the covers. “I want to be healthy together.”

You sighed. “Fine.”

After a few moments of rustling, Amelia spoke again. “Having established the consistency of the biomarker in a fairly homogenous group of high-risk participants, the broader app–”

“What’s happening right now?” you interjected.

“It’ll take about 30 minutes for the meds to kick in,” Amelia explained. “I’m reading you to sleep.”

“Aw,” you cooed. “That’s so sweet!” You reached over to squeeze Amelia’s thigh.

You couldn’t see it underneath the washrag, but Amelia looked at you with so much love, she thought she might burst. She shook her head and picked up her e-reader again.

“Now, go to sleep and listen to JAMA Neurology.”

You breathed deeply and nodded as Amelia continued reading.

“... the broader applicability of the derived threshold from Oxford Discovery was in a multicenter cohort consisting of a heterogenous group with variable risk of developing PD or related dementia, including GBA1…”

The Lentil & The Blueberry (The Surprise, Part 2)

Emily Prentiss x fem!reader Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, NSFW, sex, fingering, mention of vomiting (for my emetophobia babies), established relationship, fluffity fluff, worried Emily has my whole heart Word Count: 1.6k

Summary: Weeks six and seven of your pregnancy are underway, and you are struggling. But maybe not as much as your wife? Wildly overprotective Emily will do anything to help you feel better during your pregnancy. And I mean anything. 😉

Week 6: The Lentil

Emily had known about the baby for less than 12 hours, and she’d already gone into full Overprotective Dad™ mode. You’d slept in the morning after telling her, jerking awake to find Emily towering over you, watching with her eyebrows furrowed.

“Jesus, Emily!” you exclaimed, stretching. “You scared me!” You glanced at the clock. “Don’t you have to be at work?”

Emily continued staring, a look of deep concern on her face. “I really don’t want to leave you here like this.”

For a brief moment, you forgot you were pregnant. You scoffed. “I’ve had jet lag before, babe. I think I’ll be okay.”

“No! Pregnant.” She sighed and sat on the edge of the bed, absentmindedly running her hands through your hair as you moved to rest your head on her lap.

“I’m fine, Em,” you assured her. “I’m a little tired and sore, but that’s probably just from moving.”

“Maybe I should call and tell them I can’t make it in today…” She was speaking more to herself than to you.

Your voice was stern, decisive. “You can’t take off work for nine months just to sit around and watch me be pregnant. Even if you could, I’d rather you take the nine months after the baby’s born.”

She sighed deeply, looking down at you as if she was making the hardest decision of her life.

“You promise to call me if you need anything?” she asked.

“Promise.”

She gently placed your head back on the pillow, then knelt down in front of the bed so her eyes were level with yours.

“Please don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone,” she whispered. You could tell she was trying to lighten the mood, to make herself feel better about going to work, but she was too worried about you for it to sound anything other than terrified and pitiful.

“Like what?”

“Ladders, lifting things, falling in the shower...”

“Well, I wouldn’t fall in the shower on purpose,” you argued.

“Just…” She leaned forward and kissed you so gently, so softly, running her thumb slowly along your brow bone. “Be careful. Be safe.” She stood, then leaned down to kiss you on the head one more time.

“I love you,” she said, then lifted up your shirt to kiss your stomach. “And I love you.” She shot you one last desperate, anxious look before leaving.

“Promise you’ll call?”

“Go, Emily.” You shooed her out of the room, laughing. Who would’ve guessed that managing your wife might be the hardest part of being pregnant?

Week 7: The Blueberry (18+)

You leaned back into Emily as the warm water swirled around you, the sound of the jets and the movement of the water soothing your aching body. Morning sickness had started in full force, and your abs were sore from mornings spent heaving over the toilet. Your head was killing you most of the time, and you were constantly bloated. All in all, the first trimester was kicking your ass.

Emily kissed your shoulder, pressing her face next to yours and wrapping her arms around you to gently cup your breasts, mindful of the pain you’d been experiencing.

You sighed contentedly as she ran a thumb lightly over your swollen nipple.

“Better?” she asked.

“Mmhm,” you nodded, eyes closed. When Emily had called this afternoon to check on you, you’d told her how gross you felt from puking all morning, how sore your body was. She’d stopped at Bath & Body Works on the way home to buy every single kind of bath bomb they sold, just to be sure you’d have a fragrance that didn’t make you feel sick. She’d brought Epsom salts and fancy body butters and a new candle because the one you usually had in the bathroom smelled like coffee, and coffee triggered your gag reflex right now. She’d come determined to do whatever it took to help you feel better.

“And to think you said paying more for an apartment with a fancy jacuzzi bathroom was, and I quote, fucking dumb.”

“I take it all back,” you said, whining softly and involuntarily pushing your hips forward as Emily continued circling your nipples, her touch light as a feather.

“Honey,” Emily breathed behind you. “You can say no, but…” Her breath was hot against your ear. “Can I touch you?”

Your body wanted it, but your mind was struggling. “I don’t know, Em…”

Emily gently turned your body around so she could look in your eyes, her thumbs running back and forth along your hands. She leaned close, placing a hand gently on your cheek.

“It’s okay if you really don’t want to, but..” She watched you squirm a bit under the water. “It feels like you do. Can you tell me what’s going on in your head?”

You avoided her eyes, following a stream of bubbles as it made its way around the tub. “I don’t feel very pretty…” you mumbled, looking away.

“What?” she said, and you couldn’t tell if she hadn’t heard you or if she couldn’t believe what you’d said.

“I don’t feel very pretty. I feel gross.”

“Y/N.” Her voice was heavy with love and care and you felt a little like crying, not because you were sad, but because she loved you so much it was overwhelming in your current hormonal state.

Emily pulled you onto her lap and wrapped her arms around your body, pressing kisses into your face and neck. “You are so pretty. What are you talking about?”

“I’m pukey and bloated and my hair is greasy because I’m too tired to shower,” you confessed, resting your head on her shoulder. “I feel disgusting.”

“Baby,” she said, chastising you and gently guiding your face so you had to look at her. “You’re beautiful. You’re growing a whole human right now. You’re incredible. You have never been more beautiful to me.”

Almost unconsciously, you started to grind your hips into Emily’s, your breath coming fast, rhythmic. You sighed, wrapping your arms tightly around her neck.

Emily grinned. The words were working! She left a trail of kisses along your shoulder, placing her hands on your hips to guide you.

“You are stunning, Y/N. You’re growing eyes for our baby this week, did you know that?" She thought for a moment, morbid curiosity getting the better of her. "I wonder what it looks like in there…”

You stopped abruptly, as if a record had been scratched. “Not sexy, Emily. I don’t want you thinking about what the inside of my uterus looks like.”

“Sorry,” she replied sheepishly, an embarrassed smile playing on her lips. You pressed your hands to the side of her face and kissed her, your body hungry for hers for the first time since you’d returned from London. You couldn’t get enough of her, couldn’t get close enough.

“Emily,” you said breathlessly, pulling away to look at her. She was nearly as out of breath as you were–and significantly more flushed. “Touch me.”

“You’re sure?”

“Please.”

You whimpered as Emily’s thumb brushed over your clit, the warm water soft and comforting around you. She rubbed slow, indulgent circles, sensitive to your sensitivity, and your hips rose to meet her each time, even as exhausted as you were.

She kissed you deeply, passionately, her tongue desperate and gentle as it roamed your mouth, your neck. You moaned into her as she slipped two fingers inside of you, your body pulsing urgently around her. She kept her hand still for the most part, letting you control how hard, how fast, how deep.

As your breath grew ragged and your body clenched, surging against Emily’s, she moaned into your mouth, pressing into you. “Oh, god,” you breathed, Emily’s sounds nearly driving you over the edge.

“Come on, baby,” she begged, gasping. “Come for me.”

You drove your hips into Emily as your body convulsed, whimpering while your orgasm washed over you like a waterfall of static electricity. She fucked you through it, only removing her fingers when your breath started to calm and you fell against her, spent.

“Feel better?” she asked, kissing the side of your head, and pushing a string of wet hair out of your face.

You nodded, still too out of breath to speak.

You dragged yourself into a sitting position a few minutes later. “Here,” you said, clearly exhausted. “Let me do you.”

“It’s okay,” Emily told you, grinning.

“I can,” you insisted, pulling her toward you for a kiss.

“No, Y/N,” she said, laughing a bit as she pulled away. “I’m good. As in, I already came.”

“What!?” You giggled, blushing a bit. “Jesus Christ, Em! You were horny as fuck.”

She blushed and kissed you again, then poured some shampoo into her hand and grabbed your head playfully. You sighed happily as she massaged it into your scalp.

“I can’t help it,” she shrugged. “Look at you. Your boobs are fucking huge right now.”

“Well, don’t get used to it.”

Emily stared at you for a minute. Your soapy head. Your arms crossed defiantly over your chest. The slight pouch in your stomach that she knew would grow into her child. The way your eyes shone, holding so much love, so much purity of spirit and heart. What had she done to deserve you? She felt tears forming at the corners of her eyes, and she used her thumb to wipe them away.

“Are you crying?!” you asked, leaning forward to take her hand in yours.

“I just love you so much,” she said, her voice heavy with emotion.

“Oh, god,” you complained, sniffling yourself. You had a hair trigger for crying these days. “If you cry I’m gonna cry.”

She exhaled firmly. “I’m pulling it together, don’t worry.”

“I love you, too,” you said quickly before dunking your head under the water to get rid of the suds. And because if you thought about it too much, you'd start sobbing and god knows when you'd stop.

You popped back up, flipping your hair over so you looked like a founding father. Emily laughed, and all was right in the world.