alexblakegf - Tumblr blog

alexblakegf · 9 days ago

Text

shoot your shot | e. prentiss

summary: you enlist tara to teach you how to shoot a gun, not thinking your girlfriend would ever find out. but of course, she does.

word count: 2.4k

tags: guns, suggestive at the end, protective (and lowkey possessive) emily, also smug emily lol

Bang.

You fired off three shots, flinching at the recoil of the Glock in your hand. As you lowered the weapon, you sighed, frustration and disappointment practically radiating off of you. Out of the three shots you’d fired, only one of them had actually hit the paper target—the hole in the bottom corner taunting you.

“How do you guys shoot these things and actually hit what you want to hit?” You groaned, clicking on the safety before pulling the earmuffs off your head so they hung around your neck.

“Practice,” Tara chuckled, also removing her ear protection. “Lots of practice.”

“Great,” you huffed.

Being a kindergarten teacher, you had absolutely no use or affection for guns, or any sort of weapon for that matter. You always made your girlfriend lock away her weapons when she entered the apartment, and, knowing your disdain, she made it a habit to never carry around you.

Sure, you knew about Emily’s job and the potential danger in put you in, and she had told you about the horror stories of the team’s loved ones being targeted. But never in your wildest dreams did you think you would hold a gun, let alone have a need to.

It wasn’t until your apartment—the one that you shared with Emily in every way but on the lease—got broken into – the unsub clearly hoping you were there – that you decided to take it into your own hands to bolster your self-defense skills.

Emily was of course worried, nearly scared to death when she found out what had happened, and made you move to a different apartment, one in a much more suburban neighborhood, albeit further away from your work. However, despite her worry and fear, the thought of arming you with anything but a first-class alarm system never crossed her mind.

It did cross yours though, which is how you found yourself in your current situation—firing round after round in the FBI shooting range with Tara Lewis.

You knew you could have—and probably should have—asked your girlfriend, who was a skilled markswoman, but you also knew she would have shut your idea down immediately. The thought of you being anywhere near her dangerous world of violence and heinous crimes, when your days were filled with shining innocence and crayons, shook Emily to the core. She didn’t want that for you, or for herself.

Hearing Emily’s imploring refusal in your mind, you figured having her teammate, who had boastfully bragged about being a perfect shot one too many times at team dinners, teach you was a suitable next option.

“You’re getting there,” Tara encouraged with a nod and a small smile. You responded with a quiet snort and an eye roll. Teaching five-year-olds for a living, you had come to master the sugar-coated encouragement and could spot it a mile away.

“Don’t patronize me.”

“I”m not,” she insisted firmly. “Here, keep the safety on but act like you’re going to shoot.”

Following her instructions, you picked up the gun and aimed it at the target.

“Okay, first,” Tara stepped forward so she could critique your positioning better, “you want your arms slightly bent, not completely locked.”

You let your arms relax a little bit but kept them flexed in preparation for the kickback.

“And you want a wider stance, keeping your shoulders square and knees engaged.” She used her foot to gently kick your feet out.

“There.” Tara backed up, scanning your form with an approving look. “Doesn’t that feel stronger already?”

Nodding, you had to admit that the slightest adjustments in your positioning did make you feel more comfortable.

“Good,” she said as she moved to put her muffs back on. “Now give it another shot.”

You rolled your eyes at her pun but complied nonetheless, putting your earmuffs over your head. However, before you could even switch off the safety—

“What the hell is going on here?”

You froze.

Emily’s voice sliced through the air, sharper than any gunshot. You turned your head, dropping the gun on the small counter in front of you, and immediately locked eyes with Emily, who was standing just inside the doorway of the shooting range, her arms crossed and jaw clenched so tightly you could practically hear her teeth grinding.

“Em,” you started, your voice filled with an odd mixture of panic and warning. “I–”

“Don’t ‘Em’ me,” she snapped, walking briskly towards you, her boots echoing loudly against the concrete floor. “A gun? What are you thinking?”

You flinched, guilt settling in your stomach, but you didn’t back down. “I’m thinking,” you huffed, “that I need to be able to protect myself.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me you were doing this?” She waved her hands, motioning to the industrial walls of the federal shooting range.

“Because I knew you’d react like this,” you argued back, your voice quieter than hers but no less firm.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Emily scoffed, sarcasm dripping from her words. “Am I supposed to be happy to find out my girlfriend is sneaking behind my back, shooting guns – with a member of my team, no less.”

“It’s not like I had much of a choice, Em,” you exclaimed, running your hands through your hair. “You scoffed at the idea of me bringing pepper spray to work.

“But I need this, okay?” Your voice quieted as you started the conversation you’d been putting off having with her for weeks. “Ever since the break in, I’ve been feeling powerless. And I know”— you cleared your throat, swallowing the knot that was beginning to form—“I know you want to protect me and can protect me, but I need to do this for myself.”

Hearing the vulnerability in your words, Emily softened, the creases on her forehead soothing themselves. “Tara–” she turned to the other agent, addressing her for the first time since storming in– “can you give us a sec?”

Tara nodded, handing her earmuffs to her unit chief. “I should get back to my files anyways.” She gave you an encouraging look before slipping out of the range, leaving you alone with your girlfriend.

A silence hung over you, and you were suddenly aware of how large and empty the room was.

“You should’ve–” Emily started, her frustration boiling to the top, before biting her lip and taking a deep breath. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Her question was understanding this time, not as accusatory as it had been a few minutes ago, and you knew she was referring to more than just the shooting lessons with Tara.

“I didn’t want to worry you,” you admitted, tugging at the sleeves of your sweater.

Emily sighed and let the hardness in her expression completely fade as she bridged the gap between you. Her hands gently cupped your face, forcing you to meet her deep brown eyes. “I’m your girlfriend,” she said, her voice quiet but firm. “I’m always going to worry about you.”

You felt your chest tighten—anxiety and security fighting for grasps on your heart—as Emily’s thumb brushed over your cheek, her touch grounding you.

“I know,” you whispered. “I just don’t want to burden you anymore than I already do.”

“Burden?” Emily frowned, the crease between her brows reappearing as she furrowed them. “Honey, you could never burden me. You hear me?”

You hummed noncommittally, your eyes looking anywhere but hers.

“Hey, look at me,” she directed, her tone not leaving much room for argument. Unwillingly, you met her gaze, a fierce determination reflecting back at you. “You are not a burden.”

The weight of her words sank deep into your chest, easing the tension that had started to build.

You nodded, your eyes still locked with hers so she knew you believed her. “I’m sorry,” you said. “I should’ve told you how I was feeling.”

Emily gave you a soft and understanding smile, her hands dropping to rest on your shoulders.

“And, I’m sorry about the gun thing,” you mumbled reluctantly as you felt a flush of shame creep up your neck. “I just thought if I’d asked, you would say no.”

Biting her lip, Emily brushed a hair behind your ear. “You’re right,” she mused. “I would’ve said no.”

You waited for her to continue, trying to ignore the growing pit in your stomach.

“I hate the idea of you need to use one,” she continued softly. “The idea of you being put in a situation where this–” she motioned to the Glock still resting on the counter behind you– “is the only way for you to defend yourself terrifies me.”

“I don’t want to need one either, Em. Trust me,” you added, a small smile threatening to tug at the corner of your mouth.

“I just needed to regain control, give myself a peace of mind that I could protect myself,” you asserted, your voice finding its strength again. “I saw this as a good option, and it’s not like you guys are lacking resources around here.” You tried to inject some humor into the air, earning a fond roll of the eyes from the other woman.

Another moment passed between you where no words were spoken, but you could see the wheels inside Emily’s head turning as she observed you and contemplated her options.

“If you want to learn to shoot a gun,” she said finally, “I’ll teach you.”

Your eyes widened, blinking slowly. “You will?”

Emily hummed as she completely invaded your space, her warm body brushing against yours, and reached behind you to grab the gun. “Tara may be a good shot–” she handled the weapon with such ease, you were torn between swooning at its attractiveness and crying at the familiarity she had with the killing machine – “but I’m better.”

She punctuated her words with a wink, a wide grin appearing on her face. You could only shake your head at her cockiness, trying not to show how much it affected you—it would only inflate her ego even more.

“You’re unbelievable that’s what you are,” you muttered under your breath as you unsuccessfully hid the amused grin tugging at your lips.

“You love me,” she quipped, stepping even closer to you, leaving you no option but to turn around to face the target. As her body pressed up against yours, her bergamot, citrus perfume invading your senses, she placed the gun in your hands.

“First lesson,” Emily murmured, her breath tickling your ear as her hands slid over yours, adjusting your grip and flipping off the safety with a careful but confident touch. “Don’t fight the recoil. Let your body move with it and absorb it. You’ll feel steadier.”

You swallowed hard, doing your best to focus on the feeling of cool metal against your fingertips instead of the heat of Emily’s against your back. “You know you’re quite distracting,” you mumbled, your body betraying you as you leant into her touch.

Emily gently moved you back into an upright stance and chuckled lowly, the sound causing your stomach to flutter. “Am I distracting you, or are you just looking for an excuse in case you miss the target again?”

Scoffing, you glanced over your shoulder. “You’re distracting,” you deadpanned.

Emily’s smirk deepened as she pressed a ghost of a kiss to the shell of your ear. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” she said. “You ready to give it a shot?”

You nodded, as a warmth flooded your entire body, and you momentarily closed your eyes, letting the distraction of your girlfriend run its course.

“Focus, sweetheart.” Emily brought you back to the task at hand as she moved her hands down to your hips, giving them a small but firm squeeze.

With a deep breath, you pushed everything else out of your mind except for the lethal weapon in your hand and the target in front of you.

“Still distracted?” She whispered, her lips so close that you felt the words as much as you heard them.

You fired the gun with a loud bang, mostly wanting to quiet her teasing.

The shot rang out, echoing through the empty range. You flinched slightly at the kickback, but Emily’s hands on your hips kept you steady. Lowering the gun, you squinted at the paper.

Bullseye.

There was a moment of silence, you too shocked to speak and Emily quietly amused.

“A bullseye, huh?” Her voice low and warm with pride, and you could practically feel her grin against your skin. “Not bad.”

You stared at the neat hole in the center of the target, still blinking in surprise. “I can’t believe I actually hit it,” you laughed, the adrenaline catching up with you.

“Guess you just needed the right teacher.”

“Oh,” you drawled as you clicked off the safety, dropped the gun, and turned around to face your girlfriend. “So Tara was the problem all along?”

As soon as an inch of space separated you, Emily closed the distance, her hands still on your hips as she gently pressed you against the counter.

“Sweetheart, Tara’s good,” Emily countered with a smug smirk before her voice lowered. “But I know exactly how to handle you.”

“Do you now?” You played along, toying with the collar of her shirt.

Emily’s smirk didn’t falter for a second as her fingers traced small patterns on the skin of your hips, her touch leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake.

“I do,” she said, her words dripping with confidence.

You raised a brow, trying to hide the arousal that pulsed through you. “And what makes you so sure?”

“Because you just proved it, sweetheart.” Her lips now barely brush over your own.

Swallowing hard, you felt every ounce of your composure threatening to crumble under her.

“I hit the bullseye,” you purred, your eyes drifting down to Emily’s lips. “Don’t you think I deserve a reward?”

“A reward?”

“Yeah,” you whispered, fingers curling in the front of her shirt, drawing her impossibly closer.

Emily’s breath hitched, her eyes darkening as she kissed the corner of your mouth, not quite giving what you desired.

“I think you’ve earned a few,” she agreed with a hum before closing the last fraction of space between your lips.

The kiss was soft at first—teasing and gentle—but quickly deepened as Emily’s tongue swiped your bottom lip before entering your mouth. Her hands slid from your hips to cup your face, her touch setting you on fire, and you melted against her, the cold edge of gun and shooting range fading away until the only thing you felt was Emily.

When air became a necessity, you broke apart, resting your forehead against hers. Emily’s thumb grazed over your bottom lip, which was now red and slightly swollen, her dark eyes shimmering with mischief.

“We should get out of here,” she said. “It’s my turn to hit a bullseye.”

#mimi’s fic recs #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss

223 notes · View notes

alexblakegf · 10 days ago

Text

i hate doyle but unfortunately all i think about 24/7 is emily’s dimples when she was kissing him 😣 i just wanna press my thumbs into them

the smile, her nose, the dimples, the hair my god i want her so bad!!

#i’d be so good for her #i need her #criminal minds #emily prentiss

93 notes · View notes

alexblakegf · 12 days ago

Text

Take Me Back to the Start - Part 3

She thinks it’s a bad joke, a terrible one, but a joke nonetheless, but it’s only after she laughs and shakes her head that she realises her doctor isn’t laughing with her.

Emily, Aaron and two pregnancies twenty years apart.

A sequel to Allegiance.

Part 3/4 -x- Part 1, Part 2

-x-

Hi besties,

I know what you might be thinking - 'wasn't this a 3 parter?' and yes, yes it was. But in a move that will surprise no one, I got carried away and it will now be 4 parts.

Thank you for the love on this fic <3 it means the world to me!

As always, let me know what you think!

-x-

Warnings: pregnancy

Words: 2.5k

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

October 1995

“Why is naming someone so hard?” She groans and throws her head back against the headboard, dropping the baby book she’d been holding into her lap, “It’s too much pressure.”

Aaron smiles and wraps his arms around her, tugging her against his side to kiss the side of her head. “We’ll get there, sweetheart,” he assures her, kissing her head again as he places his hand on her belly, smiling when he feels their daughter kick against his hand, “We still have time.”

She grumbles as she pulls away to look at him, “That’s easy for you to say. I’m already in my 3rd trimester, and time is just slipping by, and she needs a name-”

“Okay,” he says, cutting her off with a kiss before she can spiral any further, smiling when he kisses her again for good measure, “Give me the book, I’ll look through it for a while.”

She nods and hands it to him before placing both of her hands on her bump, “I know you think I’m being insane.”

“Never have, never will,” he says, winking at her as he opens the book on the page she’d last been on, the corners dog-eared and already starting to wear from how often she’d flipped through the book.

She rolls her eyes at him, but carries on, “It’s just it’s a big deal, you know? We aren’t just naming a baby but a whole person. It’s the name we’ll write on forms for schools and that she’ll use for college one day. If she decides to go.”

“I know,” he says, looking up at her from the book, “It’s important.” He looks down at the page in front of him, “Ida?”

“That would be perfect if we were having an 80-year-old,” she says, scrunching her nose up, “I like the idea of her name being short, though.”

He hums in agreement, “Same, since she’ll have two surnames.”

She furrows her brow, her attention finally torn from her stomach as she turns to look at him, “Why two?”

“Oh,” he says, swallowing thickly, something close to disappointment flashing across his face, “I just thought…”

She rolls her eyes at him again, lovingly this time, as she cups his cheek and drags him in for a kiss. “Her last name is going to be Hotchner. That’s it.”

He tilts his head at her, “Not Prentiss? Or Prentiss Hotchner”

She shakes her head and runs her fingers through his hair, “Just Hotchner,” she says, kissing him quickly, “They don’t deserve her to have their name. Besides,” she adds, smiling softly at him, “One day, Hotchner will be my name too,” she laughs when his eyes go wide in excitement and she kisses him again, “No, you cannot propose yet.”

He sighs and shakes his head, “Fine,” he kisses her one more time, “But one day soon...”

She chuckles, “You can propose to me.”

“I’ll find the perfect moment,” he promises, and she beams at him before she rests her head on his shoulder.

“I know you will,” she replies, “Now, carry on reading out names. Maybe something will stick.”

He nods and kisses the top of her head as he flips through another couple of pages, “Imogen?”

She shakes her head against him, “No, it doesn’t feel right.”

He flips through another few pages, mentally checking off names he knows she won’t like, “How about Ivy?”

She stiffens against him and pulls back, her brow furrowed as she smiles, “Ivy,” she says, testing it out, “Ivy Hotchner,” her smile gets wider and she presses her lips together, “It’s pretty.”

“Just like her Mama,” he says as he winks at her, smiling when she shakes her head at him. “So, is that her name?” He asks, giving her the final say as he rests his hand over hers on her bump, linking their fingers together as they feel their daughter move.

Emily nods, choking on a sob as she kisses him, “That’s her name.”

___

Aaron offers to make dinner, but Emily declines, happy to have the distraction from her mother’s visit, for something to do other than stand there and listen to Elizabeth make comments about her life choices.

It was the first time they’d seen each other since Emily told her she was pregnant again. It was only as she did, a conversation which took place over the phone since Elizabeth was abroad, that she thought about the fact that it was the first time she’d ever done it. That even though this was her fourth baby, she’d never had that conversation with her mother before. It was another reminder of the relationship they’d never had, the one that at one point Emily thought was broken beyond repair.

She’d been oddly grateful that Elizabeth had been on assignment for so long, that now, at 6 months into her pregnancy, it was the first time she was seeing her mother. It gave her time to get used to it all, to get used to the idea of sharing this part of her life with her mom for the first time.

“Are you sure you aren’t going to find out what you’re having?” Elizabeth asks, and Emily briefly pauses chopping the vegetables in front of her, biting the inside of her cheek to stop herself from reacting emotionally.

“I’m sure, Mom,” she says, flashing her a quick smile, “We want it to be a surprise.”

Elizabeth chuckles from her spot sitting at the kitchen counter, “And being pregnant again at 45 isn’t enough of a surprise?”

Emily clenches her teeth and clears her throat, “Clearly not,” she quips, “We talked to the kids, they wanted it to be a surprise too, so we’re waiting.”

“Well, as much as I was not expecting you to make me a grandmother again,” Elizabeth says, her eyes flicking to Emily’s bump, “It is nice to know that I’ll know this baby from the start, unlike the others. I never got to know Ivy, Rosie or Oliver when they were little.”

“Ollie was three when you met him,” Emily says, no small amount of defiance seeping into her voice. She wasn’t entirely sure who she was more irritated with - her mother for goading her in the first place, or herself for falling into it like she always did.

“You know what I mean, Emily,” Elizabeth replies, sighing as she looks at the lined-up pictures of each of Emily’s pregnancies - four pictures that until recently had been three, “I missed so much.”

Emily hums, her jaw tight as she smiles at her mother in the way she’d taught her how to in order to remain polite, “We both know why that is, don’t we?”

In the eight years that had passed since her mother had come back into her life, Emily could count on one hand the number of times they’d spoken about the incident that had led to their estrangement. Robert Collins, his attempt to hit on Emily, and the subsequent scandal over a decade later that finally made Elizabeth see his behaviour, were all still stuck between them. The damage carved into the foundations of a relationship that had never been what either of them had wanted, leaving it unsteady beneath their feet whenever any kind of disagreement surfaced.

More than once, Emily had considered walking away from her relationship with her mother again. Even after all this time, it left her feeling wrung out, stretched to her very limit until she felt ready to snap, but the kids loved Elizabeth. It had taken Emily a long time to feel comfortable introducing her to them, and she knew Aaron had been hesitant, too. Almost a year after Elizabeth had popped back up in their lives, they finally let her meet them. After some initial awkwardness, it was as if she’d always been there.

For all of her faults as a mother, Emily couldn’t deny that she was a good grandmother.

Before Elizabeth can even react, Emily sees Ivy walk into the kitchen, a tightness to her jaw only her grandmother seemed to bring out in her, and she can’t help but wonder how much her eldest had heard. Elizabeth turns around when she notices Emily’s attention has shifted, and she smiles.

“Hi Ivy, when did you get here?”

“Just a few minutes ago,” she replies, “Couldn’t turn down the offer of a home-cooked meal,” she says, and Emily raises her eyebrow at her over Elizabeth’s head.

“And how is college going?” Elizabeth asks, either unaware of her granddaughter’s disinterest in a conversation with her or carrying on anyway.

“It’s fine,” she replies, her patience for Elizabeth somehow thinner than Aaron’s. Emily was never sure if it was because Ivy was older than the others when Elizabeth came into their lives, because she was on the precipice of teenage rebellion anyway, or because she had more memories of their life before her than Rosie and Oliver did. Whatever it was, she rarely wanted to speak about it, even to Emily, and would rarely be anything more than polite to her grandmother, “Ollie wants to show you his new game.”

Elizabeth’s smile gets wider, and she stands up, “Well, looks like I’ve been summoned.”

Ivy lingers in the doorway, her smile only slipping when Elizabeth is gone, and she blows out a breath as she steps into the kitchen, “Let me help, Mom.”

Emily smiles at her, “I’m okay-”

“You’re six months pregnant,” she says, sliding in next to her and taking the knife from her before she encourages her to sit down. “Relax. Let me sort dinner.” She winks at her, “You’re lucky Dad sent me in here to rescue you.”

Emily chuckles as she sits down, running her hand back and forth over her bump, “Did he now?”

She hums, “I was barely in the door before he asked.”

“Well, he knows I have a limit with her before I start to lose my cool,” Emily replies, and she watches as Ivy presses her lips together and scrunches her nose up, her shoulders briefly tight before she forces herself to relax. “Are you okay, honey?”

Ivy sighs and shrugs her shoulders, “I don’t know,” she replies, looking up from her task of preparing dinner, “I just don’t know why you put up with it.”

She furrows her brow, “Your grandmother?”

Ivy nods and blows out a slow breath, “Yeah. She’s awful to you, and she makes you and Dad both really tense. It just seems…” she drifts off, desperate to pick the right words, “Unnecessary.”

“Ivy-”

“And I know Rosie and Ollie love her, but they see what she’s like too, especially Rosie”, she says, cutting over Emily as she continues to chop vegetables, her irritation clear as she speeds up, “And if she knew…”

Emily furrows her brow as Ivy drifts off, her grip on the knife briefly tighter as she stops herself from carrying on. “If she knew, what?”

Ivy sighs and places the knife down, her lips pressed together as she looks up at Emily, her hands flat against the kitchen counter, “About Robert Collins.”

Whatever she had been expecting Ivy to say, it hadn’t been that. She sucks in a breath before she can stop herself, and it catches in her chest as she realises her daughter already knew about something she’d been trying to protect her from for years.

“How…how do you know about that?”

Ivy shrugs, “You wouldn’t tell me, I did some research and found an article about him that had a quote from Grandma in it,” she chokes on a hurmourless laugh, “It didn’t take long to figure it out…” she looks down at her hands, picking at her cuticles, “Did he…”

“He hit on me at an event she was hosting,” she says, “I was pregnant with you and feeling like crap so I was standing in the hallway, he came over and put his hands on my hips and tried to flirt with me,” she smiles wryly, “Your dad still wishes I’d let him do more than give him one of his hard stares.

“Mom.” Ivy says, frowning at Emily’s attempt to brush it off, “That’s…did she know?” She asks, and the silence she gets in response tells her all she needs to know, “Of course she did.”

Emily sighs and stands up, one hand on her bump to try and calm down her smallest baby, who was kicking like crazy, the spike in Emily’s blood pressure enough to make them move more than usual, and one hand reaching out for her eldest, “I told her. She didn’t believe me.”

Ivy shakes her head and scoffs, “Why didn’t you ever tell me about any of this?”

“To avoid this,” she replies, squeezing Ivy’s elbow to get her attention, “My relationship with her has always been one thing, and for a long long time I wanted her to have nothing to do with any of you, but we’ve worked it out as much as we can, and she’s always been good to the three of you.”

Ivy chokes on a sound Emily can’t name, “So thats enough for you? You’ll let her be…her just because she comes to our recitals and buys us gifts to make up for everything she fucked up with you?”

“Language,” Emily says automatically, smiling when Ivy rolls her eyes, “And yes, sweetie,” she adds, wiping away a tear from Ivy’s cheek that she knows is caused by frustration more than anything else, “I’d do anything to make sure you all have as much love and support in your life as possible.”

She shakes her head at her and leans in to hug her, holding her as closely as she can with the baby between them, “I’m so lucky to have you as a mom.”

It makes tears that Emily knows she can’t blame on her hormones flood her eyes, her vision going blurry before she closes them and turns her head to kiss Ivy’s temple, “I’m lucky to have you.”

They stand like that for a moment, wrapped around each other as they both comfort and draw comfort from the other, until the sound of someone clearing their throat makes them break apart.

“Can anyone join in on this hug?” Aaron says, his eyes curious as he looks back and forth between the two of them. He opens his mouth to ask a follow-up question, concern pressed into the lines on his face when he sees the tears in both of their eyes, but Emily shakes her head, a silent promise she’d tell him later.

“No,” Ivy sniffs, narrowing her eyes playfully at Aaron as she hugs Emily even tighter, “But you could make dinner instead of making your pregnant wife do it.”

He scoffs just as playfully and rests his hands on his hips, “Hey, I offered.”

#mimi’s fic recs #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #hotchniss

27 notes · View notes

alexblakegf · 19 days ago

Text

wet and needy -‘๑’- emily prentiss

Emily comes home exhausted and you’re just the pervy girlfriend who can’t wait to make her forget everything

You’re stretched out on your stomach across the bed when you hear the front door open, the familiar sound of Emily’s keys hitting the side table. The soft click of the lock sliding into place. You glance up just as she walks into the room, hair a little mussed from the drizzle outside, rain dotting the shoulders of her jacket.

She looks exhausted, tension in her jaw and dark circles under those sharp, beautiful eyes, but fuck — she’s still so stupidly gorgeous you swear it does something dangerous to you. That tailored coat, dark jeans hugging her hips, the faint flush in her cheeks from the cold.

You’d been waiting for her like a starved thing, picturing this exact moment all damn day. And now that she’s here, you can feel your pulse start to hammer, a low, persistent ache already blooming between your legs.

The smirk you give her makes her brow lift in that way you love — like she already knows you’re about to be a fucking menace. “Why are you grinning like that?” she murmurs, voice scratchy from the weather, loosening her cuffs.

You push up on your elbows, letting your gaze drag over every inch of her, practically licking your lips. “Because you have no idea what I wanna do to you right now,” you reply, voice lower, thick with intent. And God, the way her mouth twitches at that, trying not to smile, makes your stomach twist tight.

You don’t give her time to argue. You cross the room in a few quick steps, reaching for the lapels of her coat, fingers curling into the damp material as you pull her toward you.

Her scent hits you immediately — rain, spice, a trace of her perfume — and your brain short-circuits. You crash your mouth to hers, slow but filthy, tongues tangling, lips parting, that first kiss messy and desperate like you’ve both needed this all day.

The sound she makes when you nip at her bottom lip, the way she leans into you like she can’t help herself, sends a bolt of heat straight to your cunt. You rock your hips up against her, just enough to feel the drag of your panties, to let her feel the damp spot you know’s already there.

“Jesus, you’re worked up,” she groans against your mouth, hand slipping around to grip the back of your neck.

You smile, teeth grazing her jaw as you nip your way down to the curve of her throat. “Been thinking about you since this morning,” you murmur, letting your hands slip beneath her shirt, palms skating up her warm, soft stomach. She shivers beneath your touch, her skin pebbling.

You swear you could get off just on the way she responds to you, every hitch in her breath, every tiny tremor. “Couldn’t stop picturing your tits in this bra.” You palm them, greedy and unashamed, squeezing until she groans, her back arching into your hands.

“Fuck, baby,” she hisses, but she doesn’t stop you. She never does.

Your fingers work the button of her jeans, popping it open with a flick, dragging the zipper down slow, teasing, loving the way her breath catches when your knuckles graze the warmth between her legs. She’s wet already, the heat of her radiating through damp lace, and you nearly whimper because there’s something about Emily Prentiss slick and throbbing for you in her jeans after a long day that drives you out of your fucking mind.

“You’ve been like this the whole way home?” you tease, slipping your hand inside, fingers stroking through damp curls, down to her swollen, slick folds. She groans, her hips rocking toward you, her jaw clenched like she’s trying to stay composed, and it’s so goddamn hot you feel your own pussy clench in response.

“You’re disgusting,” she mutters, but she’s smiling now, eyes darker, lids heavy, voice frayed at the edges like she’s barely holding it together.

You grin against her throat, tongue dragging over her pulse. “You fucking love it.”

You steer her toward the bed, one hand still cupping her through her panties, the other pushing her jeans down as she walks backward. She sits with a soft exhale, legs parting instinctively, and God she looks obscene like this.

Dark hair mussed, lips kiss-swollen, cheeks flushed, those perfect tits rising and falling in time with her ragged breaths. You crawl over her, hands everywhere, lips ghosting over her skin. You mouth at the curve of her throat, down the dip between her breasts, teeth catching on the lace of her bra, dragging it down to expose one dusky nipple. You suck it into your mouth, flicking your tongue over the hardened peak, and the sharp gasp she lets out makes your stomach tighten painfully.

You fucking love the sounds she makes. Low, rough, desperate — the way she moans when you graze your teeth over sensitive skin, the way her breath stutters when your hand slides between her thighs again, fingers finding her clit, circling it slow, teasing. You watch how her body reacts, how her stomach tenses, hips twitching, the muscle in her thigh jumping.

“You should see yourself,” you rasp, lifting your head to meet her eyes, your own voice unsteady now. “So fucking pretty like this. All flushed and needy.”

And she groans at your words, head tipping back, a soft curse spilling from her lips. You watch her hand slide down, fingers brushing yours, and you realize what she’s doing. Your cunt throbs. She’s touching herself, rubbing tight, frantic little circles as your fingers slip lower, teasing at her entrance.

“You wanna watch me, huh?” she breathes, a wicked gleam in her eye even as her voice cracks.

“God, yeah. Show me how bad you need it.”

She groans again, fingers slick with her own wetness, hips canting up. The sight of it — Emily Prentiss with her legs spread, touching herself while you watch from between her thighs — is so filthy you swear you could come untouched.

You lean in, tongue flicking over one nipple, your free hand palming her other breast, and you’re not even pretending to be patient now. The air smells like her, like sweat and rain and arousal, and you drag your tongue lower, over the soft slope of her stomach, teeth nipping at sensitive skin.

You yank her panties down and she lets you, one hand still moving between her legs, and you catch her wrist before she can finish. You bring her wet fingers to your mouth, sucking them clean, tasting her, groaning low and shameless because she’s so fucking sweet you can’t stand it.

“Jesus Christ,” she pants, watching you, pupils blown wide.

“You taste so fucking good,” you mutter, sliding two fingers into her slick heat, feeling the way her body clenches around you instantly, and you swear it’s like your own pussy throbs in time with hers. Her hips buck, a ragged moan spilling from her lips as your thumb finds her clit, circling it just how she likes, your tongue laving over her nipples, the sounds of her falling apart filling the room.

Your fingers slip inside her like they belong there, and fuck, the way she clenches around them makes your whole body ache. She’s hot — so wet it’s obscene, your palm getting slick with it as you push deeper, curling just right until her hips jerk.

You can feel how swollen she is, soft, slippery walls pulsing tight around your knuckles, her arousal coating your skin, sticky and warm. Every time you thrust your fingers in, there’s this soft, sinful sound — the wet, sucking noise of her pussy trying to keep you in, and you swear you could come just listening to it.

“Fuck, you feel that, Em?” you rasp against her chest, your teeth grazing over one nipple again as your wrist works between her thighs. “Hear how wet you are for me?”

“Jesus,” she breathes, hips rocking against your hand. Her face is flushed, lips parted, dark eyes glazed with lust. She looks wrecked already, hair stuck to her damp temples, her throat working as she swallows down another moan. You watch her chest rise and fall in fast, shallow breaths, those perfect tits heaving with each gasp you pull from her. God, you love her like this — sweaty, needy, raw.

“You’re gonna make me come so fast if you keep talking like that,” she manages, voice wrecked, a desperate, broken edge to it now.

You grin, licking a stripe up the curve of one breast before you press your lips to her ear. “Good. I wanna feel you gush all over my hand, baby. Wanna watch that pretty pussy clench and soak me.”

And it fucking does — you feel her clamp down, those silken muscles fluttering around your fingers, and her back arches off the bed like she can’t stop it. Your thumb circles her clit faster now, relentless, knowing exactly how to wind her up tight. Every stroke has her hips chasing your hand, those long legs falling open wider, thighs trembling against your shoulders. She’s so sensitive you can see the way her stomach jumps with every touch, muscles flexing under flushed skin.

Her voice goes high, breath catching, and then she’s babbling, a beautiful filthy stream of curses and pleas.

“Oh fuck — baby, right there, don’t stop — oh God, I’m gonna—”

“Yeah, you are,” you growl, watching the way her cunt grips your fingers, her slick soaking your hand, the obscene wet sound of it filling the room. “Come for me, Emily. Show me how pretty you look when you fall apart.”

And she does.

With a shattered, desperate cry of your name, her whole body tenses, thighs clamping around your wrist as her pussy spasms around your fingers. You feel it — the gush of wetness, her slick coating your hand as she comes hard, hips bucking wildly. Her face contorts, jaw slack, eyes squeezed shut, dark hair sticking to her flushed face. You can see how her tits bounce with every jerk of her body, nipples so hard they ache to be in your mouth again.

“Holy… shit,” she gasps, one hand fisting the sheets, the other clinging to your wrist like she can’t bear for you to stop.

You ease her through it, fingers fucking her slower now, still pressing deep, your thumb teasing lazy circles around her clit just to make her tremble and curse again.

When her hips finally settle, when her breath comes in ragged little pulls, you slip your fingers free, watching her shudder at the loss. She looks wrecked — hair a mess, lips swollen, skin slick with sweat and flushed pink. Her pussy’s puffy, glistening, still twitching, folds slick and swollen, and you’re so goddamn wet from it you can feel the ache of it deep in your belly.

You bring your fingers to your lips, sucking them clean, moaning low as her taste coats your tongue.

“Fuck me,” she groans, watching you with half-lidded eyes, voice rough and shredded. “You’re so filthy.”

You grin. “I can be filthier.”

And before she can catch her breath, before she can even think about stopping you, you crawl up and kiss her hard, making sure she tastes herself on your tongue. She groans into your mouth, pulling you down, and you moan when your slick-soaked panties drag against her thigh.

“Jesus, baby, you’re soaked,” she murmurs against your lips, reaching down to cup you through the drenched fabric.

You gasp, grinding down against her hand, the friction unbearable. Your panties are clinging to you, dark with arousal, the gusset slick and heavy against your folds. You’re so wet you can feel it dripping down your thighs, sticky and hot, every nerve ending on fire. Your clit’s so sensitive it aches, your pussy clenching at nothing, desperate to be filled.

“Been like this since you walked in,” you whisper, voice shaky now.

Emily’s hand moves, pulling your panties aside, and her fingers brush over your slit, collecting your slick before sinking two fingers inside you in one smooth push. You cry out, body jolting, your head falling against her shoulder.

“God, you’re so fucking tight,” she growls, pumping her fingers hard, curling them just right. “You love getting off on me, don’t you?”

“Yes — fuck, yes — Em, please—”

She bites your neck, tongue soothing over the mark, and you shudder when her thumb finds your clit. The first press of it has your thighs shaking, your stomach clenching tight. You’re so close already, the stretch of her fingers perfect, the filthy, wet sounds of your cunt sucking her in loud in your ears.

“You’re gonna come for me,” she murmurs, voice dark and possessive. “Right now. Soak my fucking hand.”

And you do — with a strangled moan, your entire body convulses, pleasure ripping through you like lightning. You swear you feel yourself gush, slick pouring down her fingers, your pussy spasming violently around her hand. Everything goes white-hot, your hips jerking, clit throbbing under her thumb as she keeps working you through it.

“Oh, fuck, Emily — fuck, baby — don’t stop—”

She doesn’t, not until you’re begging, tears stinging your eyes from the overstimulation, your cunt a twitching, aching mess. When she finally pulls her hand free, it’s soaked, shining with your slick, and she holds it up, watching the wetness drip down her wrist.

“Look at this,” she murmurs, smirking. “God, I love how fucking messy you are for me.”

You can barely breathe, your whole body trembling, your pussy still clenching at nothing. You meet her gaze, still panting, and grin through the haze of it.

“Round two?”

Her smirk turns downright dangerous.

“Oh, you’re not getting any sleep tonight, baby.”

The look in her eyes makes your stomach flip, heat rushing low in your belly all over again. You're still trembling, your pussy still clenching on nothing, slick and swollen from how hard she worked you. Your skin’s flushed, hair sticking to your damp forehead, but you don’t care. You want her again — need to feel her cunt against yours, to grind until you’re both soaked and overstimulated, until the room reeks of sex and neither of you can move.

“C’mere,” you rasp, grabbing her by the wrist and pulling her down on top of you, catching her mouth in a filthy, breathless kiss. Tongues tangling, teeth clashing, the kind of kiss that tastes like sweat and come and need. You can feel the slick heat between her thighs as she settles against you, her pussy hot and puffy, and it makes your own clench hard in response.

“Need to feel you,” you mumble against her lips, voice wrecked. “Need you on me. Now.”

She groans, low and raw, reaching down to yank your panties the rest of the way off, tossing them aside like she can’t be bothered to care where they land. Her hands grip your thighs, pulling them apart, and you swear you can feel your cunt pulse at the sight of her kneeling there — dark hair a mess, eyes blown, tits flushed and perfect, her pussy slick and gleaming between her thighs, swollen and needy.

She looks wrecked. You look wrecked. It’s fucking perfect.

“God, look at this pussy,” she murmurs, her fingers brushing over your soaked folds, spreading you open. You can hear it — the slick, obscene sound of your wetness, your folds flushed pink and shiny, clit swollen and throbbing. She groans, biting her bottom lip, and you feel your stomach clench.

“Stop teasing,” you whisper, desperate now, grinding your hips up.

She smirks, settling between your legs, her hands on your inner thighs, spreading them wider as she swings one of her long, toned legs over yours. The moment her pussy brushes against yours, both of you gasp — the heat, the wet, messy drag of her folds sliding against yours is fucking unreal. You can feel how slick she is, how swollen, how her clit catches against yours in the best fucking way.

“Oh my God,” you choke out, your hands flying to her hips, pulling her down, needing more.

“Jesus Christ, baby,” Emily groans, starting to rock her hips, slow at first, grinding her cunt against yours. The friction is everything — wet, slippery, hot — the messy, soaked slap of your pussies grinding together making both of you moan. It’s not graceful, it’s filthy. The kind of desperate, hungry, sticky grind that makes your thighs ache and your stomach clench, every drag of her clit against yours sending bolts of pleasure through your core.

“Fuck, Em — your pussy — feels so good,” you pant, staring down at the slick mess between your legs. You can see it — her folds spread against yours, both of you glistening, flushed and swollen, your clits brushing, catching, sliding slick and hot. The wet, filthy sounds of it fill the room, your scent thick in the air, and it makes you dizzy.

She’s watching you, eyes half-lidded, a feral grin on her face. “Love watching you like this,” she pants, grinding down harder, your clits catching in that perfect spot that makes both of you cry out. “God, you’re so fucking hot when you get needy.”

You can feel your orgasm building again, heat coiling tight in your stomach, your legs starting to shake. Every drag of her clit against yours is perfect — slick and slippery and just enough pressure to make you see stars. Your hands grip her hips tight, helping her move, both of you rutting against each other like animals, sweat-soaked, breathless, messy.

“Don’t stop — fuck, Em — I’m gonna—”

“Yeah, come for me, baby,” she groans, her own voice high and strained now, her cunt throbbing against yours. “Wanna feel you soak me.”

And you do. It hits you like a train — your clit throbbing, pussy clenching, your hips jerking wildly as you cry out her name. Slick gushes between your legs, soaking both of you, and Emily’s right behind you. You feel her stiffen, her pussy clenching against yours as she comes with a wrecked, desperate moan, her body shaking, her hips grinding frantically as she rides it out.

The wet, squelching sounds are filthy, your slick mixed with hers, both of your thighs drenched, the sheets underneath dark with it. Neither of you can stop moving, grinding through it, overstimulation making your bodies twitch and tremble, pleasure blooming so sharp it borders on pain.

When you finally collapse, it’s in a tangled, sweaty heap, both of you panting, skin flushed and sticky. Your cunt’s still throbbing, aching and swollen, slick dripping down your thighs. Emily’s chest is heaving, hair clinging to her face, her own thighs glistening, her pussy puffy and pink and used.

“Holy shit,” you breathe, your voice nothing but a wrecked whisper.

She laughs, low and ruined, pressing a soft, breathless kiss to your mouth. “I told you you weren’t getting any sleep.”

You grin against her lips. “Good. Hope you’re not either.”

Her eyes gleam. “Not a fucking chance.”

And you know you’re not done yet.

#this is so good #omg #i need emily prentiss #mimi’s fic recs #emily prentiss x reader

401 notes · View notes

alexblakegf · 20 days ago

Note

MORE JEMILY IG POST PLEASEEE IM BEGGING 😵‍💫 🧎‍♀️

jemily instagram posts p.t 3

taglist 🏷️:

@villaneve4life @10-19-17uswnt @venromanova @Dj-bynum3718 @waitaminuteashh @momily @psychopath-at-heart @jjareau-cm @kathleenmikaelson @Multifandomlesbianic @Inlovewithjemily @thawnexwells @lovelyy-moonlight @sleepingathlete @jayden-prentiss @jenny-from-the-bau @voidsaddiction @pagetsgirl @potatovoyager @chestnutninny @quickslvxrr @bluetreearbiter @greyslover3004 @lunarmoonheart @justyourusualash @SirTerrific @mrsmorganprentiss @classic-fangirl-emily-prentiss @ajsbau

join the tag list here

#mimi’s requests #criminal minds #emily prentiss #jennifer jareau #jj x emily #jj jareau #emily prentiss x jennifer jareau #jemily

69 notes · View notes

alexblakegf · 20 days ago

Text

every time i go on holiday i tell myself that i’ll do everything i can not to burn and every time i burn anyway. guess thats what i get for being ghostly pale 😭😭

#mimi rambles #burning is literally so annoying #wish i could just tan

3 notes · View notes

alexblakegf · 20 days ago

Text

bau internet personas leaked

#these are adorable #aaron hotchner x reader

191 notes · View notes

alexblakegf · 26 days ago

Text

Take Me Back to the Start

She thinks it’s a bad joke, a terrible one, but a joke nonetheless, but it’s only after she laughs and shakes her head that she realises her doctor isn’t laughing with her.

Emily, Aaron and two pregnancies twenty years apart.

A sequel to Allegiance.

Part 1/3

-x-

Hi friends,

This came from a prompt from my lovely friend @sometimesitswho who asked for a fic where Emily and Aaron get pregnant again years after the did for the first time.

It felt like a good opportunity to bring back this version of young them, and to explore the early parts of their relationship in comparison to where they are now 20 years on and going through the same thing again as completely different people.

This will be a 3 parter, just like Allegiance, and will have flashbacks throughout.

As always, let me know what you think <3

-x-

Warnings: pregnancy

Words: 3.2k

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

May 1995

She was late.

It’s a thought that had haunted her for days, something she’d done her best to ignore, familiar panic starting to claw its way up her throat every time she looked at the unopened box of tampons in the bathroom cabinet. She kept hoping it would go away, that her period would arrive with the usual cramping in her lower belly and a sudden change in mood, but nothing happened. Instead, she feels tired, exhaustion she’d felt once before creeping up on her and an aching in her boobs that made her chest tight every time she thought about it.

She was furious with herself, angry that she was back in this situation again, only a decade after the last time, and the need to know for sure one way or the other finally overtakes her desire to ignore it four days after her period was due. She tells Aaron that she needs to go get something from the store and waves off his offer to go for her, forcing a smile she hopes he can’t see through as she kisses him when she leaves. She buys all sorts of things she doesn’t really need - things for the breakfast she’d idly told her boyfriend she’d make him as her excuse to leave, snacks in case she’s right and she needs to cheer herself up, wine in case she’s wrong and she can celebrate - all to disguise the pregnancy test at the bottom of the paper bag she carries into their apartment.

She kisses him again when he offers to unpack it for her, flitting between overwhelming love for him and irritation that he was just so damn perfect, determined to get her head around this, to make sure that there was something to get her head around at all, before she told him anything.

They were in the middle of deep cleaning their apartment, getting it ready for their landlord to come over and take pictures of it for the new ad he’d be running since they were moving out soon. They’d just signed the deeds for their new home, the house she’d bought them with the trust fund that had been earned through her stolen childhood, and she was excited for the next chapter with him. Excited to carry on building the life they’d only just started placing the foundations for.

The life she was worried was about to take a dramatic turn, leading them down a path she hadn’t seen coming for them for years.

She ignores the shake in her hands as she takes the test, swallowing thickly as she clicks the lid into place, desperately trying not to think about how much simpler the process was than when she’d done it the last time. She wouldn’t be waiting for thirty minutes for life-changing results like she had in Rome, but just three.

Three long, painful minutes.

She sits on the closed lid of the toilet seat and clasps her hands in her lap, picking at the already damaged skin of her cuticles, focusing on the spots of blood framing her thumbnail instead of the seconds ticking by on her watch. She jumps when the timer goes off, and she blows out a slow, shaky breath, wiping her clammy palms on her leggings as she stands up, giving herself a moment before she picks up the test and pulls it out of the packet she’d slipped it back into.

She’s slammed in the chest with long buried memories the moment she finds herself staring at two lines, and she sucks in a deep breath but it catches in her throat. She tries to fill her lungs, but she can’t, and panic floods them instead, making her ribs crack as she drops the test back onto the counter. It clatters, the plastic loud as it rattles against the granite, but she doesn’t hear it as she slips to the floor, only realising she’s crying when tears splash down onto her sweater.

She was pregnant.

Again.

She feels like she’s 15 again, like she’s still in the bathroom she’d all but barricaded herself in to make sure her mom didn’t walk in. She’s thinking about everything all at once, barely able to keep track of thoughts as they fly through her mind, not able to anchor onto anything as she panics, still unable to breathe.

It’s only as the bathroom door opens and Aaron walks in, his arms full of cleaning products, that she realised she hadn’t locked it, that she hadn’t even thought about it this time around.

“Do you need help in here…” he trails off when he sees her, his focus no longer on their plans to clean the apartment but on her as he drops the bottles in his arms to the ground. He lands on his knees in a way she must think hurts because she hears the crack of them against the tiles. “Em?”

She opens her mouth to respond, but a sob escapes instead, and she sinks against him, seeking out the warmth and comfort that he always has waiting for her as he crawls to her side and wraps his arms around her.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he says, even though he doesn’t know what’s wrong, his lips against her forehead as he rubs his hand up and down her back to try to soothe her, “I’m right here, I’ve got you.”

She wonders if she should hate the fact that him just being there calms her down almost immediately. She curls up against him, her face pressed against his neck as she breathes him in, letting the remnants of his cologne and something that was just him settle over her. She can finally breathe again, can feel the shudder in her chest as she sucks in much needed oxygen, giving herself one final moment of this, of the before, as she chokes out the words that will change everything.

“I’m pregnant.”

He tightens his hold on her, and she can feel how he holds his breath, how he carefully chooses his next words, his knowledge of her and her past overriding anything else.

“You’re pregnant?” He asks, and she pulls back to look at him, something close to relief flooding through her as she sees nothing back love reflecting back at her. It’s a much needed reminder that she isn’t alone this time, and she nods, “How long have you known?”

“For sure? About two minutes,” she says, unable to ignore the shake in her voice, “I thought I might be for a few days.”

He nods, no judgment, no anger in his eyes. Nothing but the love he never seemed to run out of for her, an endless supply of unconditional affection that she’d never had from anyone else before. “Why didn’t you say anything? I would have been here.”

She smiles tightly and nods herself, “I know,” she says, wiping a tear from her cheek, “I kept hoping my period would just show up, but it didn’t, and I…I just had to know,” she presses her lips together to try to stop them from shaking, “I kept wondering how it could have happened, but I had that chest infection a few weeks ago…the antibiotics must have turned my birth control into fucking candy.”

They fall into silence, each one of them waiting for the other to speak first, the weight of everything in the air around them, a thick blanket of their own making lying over their shoulders.

“What do you want to do?” He asks eventually, and it makes her fall impossibly more in love with him. The simple question said everything it needed to - he’d take her lead on this, let her make the final call on what they would do next, and it let her know that no matter what, they’d be okay.

“I…I don’t know,” she replies honestly, “We could talk about it? Figure it out?” She says, shrugging one of her shoulders, “It’s so much sooner than I thought we’d be doing this,” she says, her hand landing on her belly subconsciously, “But…”

“It could be nice,” he finishes for her, and she nods, sighing contentedly when he leans forward and kisses her forehead, “We’ll talk about it.”

She smiles at him, stamping her lips against his, the kiss tasting of her tears, and she blows out the first steady breath she has since she’d walked into the bathroom.

“We’ll talk about it.”

Days later, when they decide this was something they could do - something they wanted to do - she knows it’s the right decision, and when she holds Ivy for the first time 8 months later, she can’t imagine having done anything else.

___

February 2016

At first, Emily thinks her doctor is joking.

She thinks it’s a bad joke, a terrible one, but a joke nonetheless, but it’s only after she laughs and shakes her head that she realises her doctor isn’t laughing with her.

“Wait,” she says, shaking her head, her laugh turning into a nervous scoff, “I can’t be pregnant.”

Doctor Nicols smiles politely at her, clearly not a stranger to delivering news to people who weren’t expecting it, “I checked the results of your blood tests twice, Emily. You’re pregnant.”

She sucks in a deep breath and she twists her wedding rings around her finger, “How?”

She’d come in to discuss the menopause, convinced that she was on the precipice of the next phase of her life. She hadn’t anticipated this at all, hadn’t thought that this was even a possibility, and she feels numb, still half convinced it was some kind of sick joke.

They had their family, had agreed years ago that their family felt complete. The kids were older now, well past the stage of spit up, sore boobs and sleepless nights. Oliver was 11. Rose was 15. Ivy was 20. She and Aaron were in a completely different period of their lives as parents now, used to their kids being more independent, and she couldn’t quite believe she was about to be thrown back to the very beginning of it all again.

“Well, you have three kids already, Emily,” Doctor Nichols says, her smile soft and irritatingly kind, “I don’t think I have to explain that to you.”

Emily chokes on a sound she thinks is supposed to be a laugh, and she nods, “Yeah…” She blows out a breath, “And you’re sure?”

Doctor Nichols nods, “I’m sure,” she replies, “I know this news is unexpected, but you do have options-”

She shakes her head because she didn’t have options, not really. She already knew what she wanted, already knew she wanted this baby - even if it was a surprise, even if it was the last thing she’d been expected to be told when she walked into Doctor Nichol’s office a few minutes ago. It would change everything, would change the plans she’d had for the next several years, but she knew from experience it would change it for the better.

It just wouldn’t necessarily always be easy.

She relaxes as she thinks of a moment over 20 years ago when she sat crying on the bathroom floor of the apartment she’d lived in with Aaron, the first place they’d ever called home together, convinced that he’d be mad at her for something they were both responsible for, and she knows she has to talk to him. Knows that she wants to talk to him, to make sense of this bit of news she hadn’t seen coming with the man she loved, the father of her children.

“I need to talk to my husband,” she says, twisting her rings around again, shifting them back and forth, focusing on the feeling of the diamond on her engagement ring knocking against the neighbouring fingers. “Can I have an ultrasound?” She chokes on another laugh, “I don’t think he’ll believe me unless I have a picture to show him.”

Doctor Nichols smiles and nods, “Of course,” she nods over towards the bed in the corner, “I know it’s been a while, but I’m guessing you remember the drill?”

She nods and laughs, the sounds catching on a sob, and she wipes a tear from her cheek, “Yeah,” she says, “I remember.”

The rest of the day drags out around her. She can barely focus on work when she gets there. She knows the team can tell she’s distracted. Derek makes fun of her for it, smirking when she narrows her eyes at him and quips back in response in an attempt to throw him and the rest of them off the scent, not wanting the fact that something was wrong to get back to her husband before she could talk to him. Even though she knew her team were loyal to her, she knew they were loyal to him too - that they still respected him as the man who had led them before her.

They were more like family than friends or co-workers. They loved her, Aaron and the kids, and that love often came with interference, largely from Dave and Penelope, that she knew was well-meaning. It was a kind of love that she appreciated, something she and Aaron didn’t get from many other places.

It’s the same when she gets home, time moving like syrup until both Rose and Oliver go to bed, both of them promising they’d turn out their lights when they were done with their respective TV show and video game. Ivy was at George Washington University, living in an apartment with some friends a 30-minute drive away. Emily missed having all her kids under one roof, and she knew Aaron felt the same, but she was grateful Ivy had chosen a nearby college, sure that she’d miss her daughter even more if she didn’t come by for dinner - and a laundry drop off - once a week.

She’s in the kitchen, eyeing up the wine she’d unknowingly had a glass of the night before, when Aaron joins her, wrapping his arms around her from behind as he kisses her cheek. She turns her head to capture his lips in a kiss, sighing into it when his hands settle on her stomach, something he’d done a thousand times over the years that was suddenly more poignant, even if he didn’t know it yet.

“Funny how you get done with your marking the moment I finish loading the dishwasher,” she says, kissing him again as she turns in his arms. “Convenient.”

“I’ll unload it in the morning,” he promises, “Want to go sit down now they’re in bed?” He offers, running his hand up and down her back, “Share a glass of wine?” She tenses at the mention of wine, and she knows he senses it, sees how his eyebrows furrow in concern as she smiles tightly at him. “Sweetheart, are you okay? You haven’t been yourself all evening.”

She rolls her eyes, because of course he noticed, and she reaches for his hand, linking her fingers through his as she squeezes his palm against hers, “You don’t miss a thing, huh?”

He smiles at her, the edges of it lost somewhere in his dimples, and there’s a softness in his eyes she knows is just for her and the kids. “Want to talk about it?”

She nods and tugs him towards the living room. The ultrasound picture she has tucked into the inside pocket of her suit jacket suddenly feels heavy, the press of it warm against her ribs. “Yeah, but you’re going to want to sit down.”

He frowns, but follows her anyway, “Em, is this about your doctor’s appointment? Did the doctor say something?”

She shakes her head as they settle onto the couch, holding both of his hands now as she sits as close to him as she can, her knees knocking against his, “It’s not bad news,” she says, “Well, I don’t think it’s bad news. It’s surprising, fuck am I surprised, but I don’t think it’s bad-”

“Sweetheart,” he says, cutting her off, squeezing her hands as he smiles at her, a teasing edge to it that makes the tightness in her chest ease, “You’re rambling, you don’t ramble.”

She nods and she sucks in a slow breath, lets it escape even slower, and then she looks at him, desperate to make sure she watches him closely as she breaks the news to him.

“I’m pregnant.”

There’s a beat of silence, then another, and his eyebrows shoot up his forehead in a way that would be funny in any other circumstance, “You’re pregnant?”

“Yeah,” she chokes out, letting go of one of his hands to pull out the ultrasound picture to show him. He takes it immediately, looking at it with such intensity that she suddenly feels like she’s been transported back to the first time they saw Ivy when she was the same size. A tiny, life-changing dot on a picture they had framed in their home office alongside the first pictures of Rose and Oliver. She idly thinks she’ll need to get a frame for this one too, a baby whose name and face she didn’t know yet, but that she already loved beyond measure. “I’m 9 weeks along.”

He nods, tearing his gaze from the picture to look at her, “How do you feel about this?”

She smiles because it’s a reminder that she’d chosen the right person to do all of this with, that the man she had loved for over half her life loved her just as much as she loved him. A reminder that, no matter what, he always put her and their children first.

“I was shocked. I think I’m still in shock,” she says, pressing her lips together, “I thought she was joking at first. And I know we’ve been done with having kids for a really long time,” she says, shaking her head at herself, at the stiaution, “But I don’t know…it feels…”

“Right?” He finishes for her, and it feels like a weight has been lifted from her shoulders, a single word that silences the voice in the back of her head that had been telling her that he’d break the habit of a lifetime and say something that would break her heart.

“Yeah, it feels right.” She says, and her smile shakes, and tears she knows she’s seconds away from shredding press at the back of her eyes, “I know starting it all over again won’t be easy-”

“Everything is easy when I do it with you,” he replies, reaching out to wipe away a tear from her cheek, “Even the hard things,” he smiles at her, the smile she’d fallen in love with before she could admit it even to herself. “Especially the hard things.”

She leans in to kiss him, because she can’t think of how else to respond, and when she pulls back, she rests her forehead against his, the scan picture still in his hand between them, “So, we’re doing this again?”

“We’re doing this,” he confirms, kissing her nose, her cheek, wherever he can reach, “We will have to figure out how to tell the kids, though.”

Her smile briefly falls from her face as she thinks of all the conversations she’d had with her daughters, Ivy in particular since she was that little bit older, about safe sex and pregnancy prevention, and she closes her eyes, shaking her head as she practically already hears the jokes they’ll make at her expense.

“Fuck,” she says, blowing out a breath, “I didn’t even think about that yet.”

#i’m so excited for this #mimi’s fic recs #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #hotchniss

34 notes · View notes