#pls use if you like it!! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

riaki · 5 months

Text

nice boys and sour hearts | satoru gojo x reader

wc: 4.6k cw: minor swearing, he refers to u as 'momma' once (its normal i promise) n i think thats about it post suguru defection, shoko typical smoking ; no established relationship b ur def more than friends

i didnt want this angst to be too intense so i made it super duper fluffy. hopes it tastes like strawberries to u cs it does in my head ; another one of those fics i whipped up to meet the weekend deadline b i’m actually proud of this one not proofread!

satoru hates arguing with you.

it bites at him; twists his heart from the inside out in such a gut-wrenching way that he can hardly stand seeing your nose wrinkle in frustration and your eyes narrow with impatience, let alone hear the words coming out of your mouth, dripping with venom and irritation directed at him. he's never been used to being on the receiving end.

it tastes sour; bitter on his tongue in a way he's never been accustomed to. his tastebuds only recognize the sweet taste of fruit syrup, powdered sugar, or warm chocolate as home; he never indulges in the bitter, like the black coffee the kid he took in seems to like so much. but he'll take the silly sour lemon drops with sweet cream in the center, only because they remind him of you. you, so sweet when you love but sour when you're annoyed, which happens to be now, in this instant.

of course, he'll tell himself he doesn't mind. that sweet and sour have always gone nicely together. like strawberry lemonade on hot summer afternoons when the both of you have had enough of being stuffed into a clammy hot classroom with your musclebrain teacher. sometimes its the three of you, maybe even the four of you if you get lucky with the pixie stick trade offering (a healthier alternative to a cigarette, you both agreed on). but nowadays, it was only ever the two of you. the bitter had chosen his own path, and tangy was locked up in the infirmary sun up to sun down.

but right now, you're upset with him. and he absolutely despises it— to him, it's abhorrent. a strong word, but it's only fitting. but he can't help it when your conversation lingers in his mind, spinning itself a web of self-doubt and hurt and anger as he slips his gym shoes off and redresses himself by the school lockers, running a hand through his hair with a forced, annoyed exhale.

it was nothing big, really. or at least, that's what he thinks. you'd been in the gym after school, watching as he messed around with the basketball, seeing how long he could go dribbling by himself with a bump of his knee there, pushing it to the floor with his hand and watching it bounce back up with mild interest. he had no one to play with, but at least the ball would come back up no matter how much he pushed it down.

it was small. barely worth fussing over.

he had already been irritated. it was hot out, because summer was coming around. sweat beaded on his neck and rolled down his chest, seeping into his shirt as he wiped his forehead and made another shoot at the hoop, landing back on his feet with a soft thud as the basketball rattled around the rusted metal ring and fell through the net for the nth time that afternoon.

a hum of approval comes from your throat, followed by a loud whistle of contentment from him as he watches the ball bounce on the floor. he hikes his sunglasses up his forehead, bringing an arm up and wiping away the sweat on his cheek with his sleeve as he turns to look at you.

"that was pretty good, yeah? i think i deserve a celebratory smooch. lay some sugar on me, momma'." he laughs, loud and arrogant. you just give him a pointed look at that, but he ignores it as a sign for something wrong and only acknowledges it as your dramatic endearment. like speeding up at the sight of a yellow light in hopes that you'll make it instead of slowing down at the warning.

his shoes made squeaking sounds on the gym floor as he made his way over to you, swiping his shades off his face and sliding them onto your forehead, nestling in your hair as he grabbed a rag from the bench and wiped the sweat from his jaw. you have his uniform jacket on your lap, the yellow button glinting in the dying sunlight filtering in through the windows, reflecting off indiscernible flecks of dust in the air.

you had watched him with quiet contentment, observing the languid way he moved, graceful like a dancer moving in water. but then, you seemed to remember something; his lips pressed into a thin line, tilted to one side in anticipation. it made you hesitate— he always knew when you were about to speak before you even opened your mouth. he had come to notice, and appreciate, little things about you like that.

"were you smoking with shoko?" you had asked him. he tilted his head, eyebrow cocked up as he made a face. "no, i wasn't. why d'ya ask?" he huffed, watching from the corner of his eye with mild disinterest as the basketball, still rolling from his previous goal, bumped into the wall. cocky as ever.

(he wouldn't even look you in the eye when you were being dead serious.)

you reach a hand into his jacket, fishing around for something in his pocket; that gets his attention. who knows what trinkets and candy wrappers he has in there? and he'd hate for you to send him to his yearly checkup early again; the nurses always try to coddle him, and he has half a mind to charge for battery. nevertheless, he almost mistakes what you pull out for a lollipop stick. but it's not— it's a cigarette; a white papery hit of cancer with a dead cherry. certainly not a wise idea to keep that in his pocket among the other very flammable wax wrappers and the occasional flower petal, but who were you to judge? you, who's lips pucker like they've just tasted lemon juice when he eyes the unlit cigarette, utterly unamused.

he knows that you know it's his; the subtle glistening of pink around the end points to the gloss on his lips; he can practically taste it on his tongue. he wonders if you'd put the cigarette to your mouth too if you could have a sample of his lipgloss; then again, you could always just ask for a lip-to-lip taste, and he'd indulge you without a second thought.

you twist the cigarette butt between your fingers so that he can see the remnants of faint strawberry pink on the edges. he just rolls his eyes with a loud huff, leaning his weight back on his heels and shoving his hands in his pant pockets.

"yeesh. you're such a goody two shoes, y'know? how come shoko's allowed to smoke 'n i'm not?" he drawls, an arrogant lilt to his voice as he sticks his lower lip out. you can see a matte spot where the gloss had been transferred to the cigarette paper. you just sigh exasperatedly (he feels like a kid when you do that) and lean forward, resting your elbows on your knees. his jacket bunches up in your lap.

you tap the cigarette to his chest a few times; it makes a soft thumping sound against the fabric, and for a moment he's grateful of the noise; it sounds just like the way his heartbeat picks up with each touch, but you don't hear it. he wonders if you ever will. maybe one day, when there isn't so much distance between you and he has the opportunity to tuck your head to his chest, right over his heart.

"it's not that i care about the lung damage, idiot. why were you smoking?" you asked, voice softening. and he absolutely hates when you do that, because it always pulls on his heartstrings and brings a flush to his face, the way you treat him. he thought that if you did it enough, he'd be sent to the doctor for heart palpitations instead of a sweet tooth.

he doesn't answer you at that. how could he tell you, when he knew all that'd result from it was a thorn in his side? you, being the rose. so beautiful but awfully prickly and unfairly sour like a lemondrop with a sweet inside. then again, he'd much rather have your interrogating care than lose you, like what had happened with the reason he was trying out smoking in the first place.

then, it happened— your voice went unbearably soft, like puffy white covers and featherlight pillows with silk covers on a saturday morning, looking out the window to see pink tulips against a cloudy blue sky as the sun streamed in. it almost made him want to clutch your hand over his chest and see if you could feel the way he was reacting. no doubt, it was filled with such patient tenderness; all-encompassing sweetness it made him want to cry. so he coughed to cover it up, averting his gaze and bringing one hand to his face to absentmindedly smooth down the strands of damp white hair hanging over his eyes.

"thinkin' about suguru again, are you?" you asked gently, tucking the cigarette back into your pocket—yours, not his—and reaching out to take his hand.

his lips parted ever so slightly, gaping like a goldfish. he knew he looked silly, and he should've been okay with that— because being vulnerable with you, out of everyone he ever knew (with maybe the exception of one) was easier than breathing; came more naturally to him than his gravitation to a challenge. the same could be said for sweets.

(maybe he'd have to re-evaluate his proclaimed taste, then. since you were more sour than sweet.)

but this time, he wasn't okay with it. it had been hard to talk about what had happened with suguru one year ago since— it formed a nasty lump in his throat, bitter like black coffee and the wrong mix of herbs. it made him feel weak. reminding him of his shortcomings, which, in his mind, shouldn't even exist in the first place. but you never had a problem ripping his problems from the shielded cavity in his gut, bringing them under the operator's light to dissect and solve like a surgeon. forget about forcing him to the doctor's— at this point, you should be the one in the white coat, not shoko. he thinks about what you'd look like with blue gloves on your delicate fingers for a moment too long.

"what's it to you?" he snaps back after what feels like three years of his life. his fingers tighten around yours for a moment before he pulls his hand away abruptly.

the frown that lingered on your face from then on had been burned into his memory.

and, well, that was his mistake. it spiraled from there— because he knew what it was to you, and he hated that. hated that you could see straight through him like a cloud blue stained glass window; without rose colored lenses like the ones he always wore (the ones he rocked, he thinks).

a crack of thunder overhead jolts him from his thoughts; he couldn't even get in there to dust the spiderwebs away before being jerked back into reality. he clicks his tongue in disappointment, watching as the skies pry themselves open and rain begin to fall in the way it only did over heavy summer showers. he wishes the sky would stop its weeping, but even the strongest has his limitations.

but it doesn't matter. he has one of those cheap plastic umbrellas he'd bought from a convenience store one day in a late march many moons ago, during the brightest blue spring of his life. and so, he didn't understand why he was lingering at the door, swinging the umbrella around his fingers by the hook on the handle, watching as the rain fell with increased fervor. there was no plastic button to keep the folds tied up, so it floundered around with each swing like a tulip bent by monsoon winds. maybe on the coast of some faraway land with windmills and fields of flowers. he wonders if he'll ever get to see the world with you someday— a fleeting thought that crumbles instantly when he conjures your pretty face in his vision, clear yet distorted like a reflection on a glazed pond, rippling water from the dragonflies that skipped over the surface.

you were definitely still angry with him, because you hadn't showed— normally, you'd walk home together. sometimes with shoko, if she didn't leave early. angry words echo in his mind, the image of your downturned lips swimming in his bright vision as he watches the rain streak down the window panes by the lockers. there's a fog settling over the grass outside that's sure to leave dew after the storm. he wonders when that'll be.

"why can't you ever take me seriously? can't you see i'm worried about you?"

"of course i can. but i don't need your damn concern!”

...

he'd been sorely mistaken, that was for sure. loosing his cool and snapping at you wasn't exactly something he took pleasure in, either way. he leans back on his heels, tapping his foot impatiently as he holds the umbrella like a cane against the floor. infinity could probably do away with the rain. another reason as to why he's not even sure why he's waiting here, or why he's holding an umbrella. perhaps to keep in case he has to offer it to some poor, shivering and cowering young maiden lost beneath the shading of a bus stop behind a curtain of rain droplets, with a charming grin and a wink.

maybe.

a shuffle behind him catches his ear; he turns his head, an unamused expression on his face as his eyes drift over the empty room to land on you. the shadows beneath your eyes are prominent, and your hair is unkempt. there are sleep lines on your face; you probably fell asleep in a classroom somewhere, which is why you delayed.

it was evident you weren't expecting to see him, though— with the way your eyes widened a little before they dropped again, nose bridge wrinkling slightly as if you'd caught the scent of something unpleasant. your eyes left his, and he felt a little disappointed as he watched them wander toward the window, where the current downpour was prominent. he didn't like the way it made his chest pang when your attention was anywhere but him, so he raised his hand lazily, tilting his head to catch your attention that he so clearly craved.

"yo. got an umbrella?" he calls, tapping the tip of his budget cane on the floor. the thud is the only sound for a while as your gaze wanders back over to him; reluctant.

"no, i don't. i didn't expect it to rain so hard today." you responded quietly, stepping over to him with a small sigh. almost a little resigned, he thinks. he can't be sure, though. he never is with you. doesn't know whether to expect his candy to be sour in the center or the other way around; but maybe he likes a bit of uncertainty every once in a while. (not with you, though. if it means arguing? never with you.)

his sunglasses are hooked around the collar of your shirt. he doesn't know why it takes him so long to realize, but when he does, he has to clear his throat in an effort to hide the heat on his face and do away with the blush. "here. take mine. i don't need it," he says curtly, offering his umbrella to you. he wants to snatch the shades from your shirt, but he doesn't want anything to go wrong, so he just eyes them warily, careful not to let his gaze slip past into anything you'd be pissed at him for.

you eye him, eyes narrowed as you raise an eyebrow, but you don't protest. your fingers brush against his for a brief moment when you take it, shaking it a little before opening the door and stepping outside, opening it up. it looks like a little clear plastic mushroom cap over your head; you're short enough to constitute as the stalk in his eyes. it's a little funny, but he has to stifle the laugh bubbling on his tongue lest you think he's making a mock of you.

he follows after you, slipping past to stand at your side with his hands in his pockets. you can't help but feel a little curious despite your prolonged anger (you like holding grudges, he knows), so you sneak a glance upward to satiate your wonder. you don't expect him to look as breathtaking as he does.

the clouds are light overhead; they're not a heavy blanket of gray anymore, and a small strip of light manages to push through, shining on satoru's pale white hair. you can make out the edge of his undercut against his neck when the wind picks up a little, the color of fluffy white clouds on a lavender sunset with the sway of yellow flowers beneath an expanse of a bright sky. there's a little cat hair on the collar of his jacket; you realize with a faint flush that it must've been from when you were holding his jacket for him in the gym. somehow, the cat you have at home found its way to satoru. you hope your pet has become a matchmaking fortune teller, for the sake of your happiness.

what catches your eye the most, though, isn't the cat hair on his dark jacket or the faraway look in his misty blue eyes; it's the outline of rain water around him, a product of his infinity, you realize. he's dry underneath the downpour, and it never ceases to amaze you. it's like there's a soft glowing halo against the backdrop of tangled wires, gray walls and pale green bushes— he looks like an angel boy, school bag hooked and hanging over one shoulder.

eventually, you manage to peel your gaze away, and he notices— looks down at you, pressing his lips together and running his tongue over them. he can taste strawberry gloss.

wordlessly, you start walking. and he follows suit, rain bouncing off of him; you catch yourself sneaking glances from under the roof of your clear umbrella between raindrops that slide down the clear plastic. sometime during the walk home, he had gone off and gotten himself a drink from a nearby vending machine— the red can catches your eye, and your fingers curl around the rubber handle of the lent umbrella as you watch him drink; the bob of his adam's apple before he crushes the can up and tosses it into a nearby bush, causing a brief scattering of leaves and a downpour of collecting droplets onto the pavement.

despite the rain, the weeds between the cracks in the sidewalk still stay strong; they have deep roots. much like the way you never fail to scowl at him for littering. he catches it— of course he does. he's been praying for a sign you're not still so hopelessly angry with him that you can't even bring yourself to have a civil walk in the summer rain together. after the scowl, though, comes the smile— the one that always makes him melt in his shoes, much like the sunshine after the rain.

and there it is at last, he thinks. the hard sour coating melts away on his tongue, draining the taste of lemon to reveal a sweet, genuine center. all it takes is time. your lips curve up, and you duck your head, hiding the small bemused laugh that leaves you breathless.

"what are you laughin' at?" he huffs, glaring down at you. but there's no malice behind it— if only you could feel the wave of relief that's washed over him, a crest of white foam that leaves behind still waters reflected in the pools of sapphire in his eyes. nothing like the hit of numbing nicotine he'd shared in the shade of an alleyway with shoko earlier that day— away from the sun; away from you. hidden from both. or maybe they were the same— to him, he couldn't differentiate.

"i'm not laughing!" you protested weakly, immediately wiping the grin from your lips, and he regrets speaking up. "just.. i dunno."

you walk in silence for a little longer, content to listen to the rain lighten up overhead. satoru kicks a plastic onigiri wrapper out of the way, splashing up a puddle as a frown dampens his face when the wrapping only clings to his shoes. he's fine with getting a little grumpy if it means seeing you smile again. and even better, you laugh again— so sweet, like the chiming of bells in the wind's melody.

"please don't do that again." your voice sounds so very small when he hears it again, and he looks down at you from beneath long white lashes, the corner of his lips quirked up. the shape of them is almost cat-like, you think. he doesn't even know what you're talking about— a vague idea, at best— but he won't do it. not if it means hearing you sound so pathetically... sad. he doesn't like it. it's far too bitter for his taste. let the black betta you both used to know indulge in dark coffee and bitter cologne— satoru likes things sweet, like the cream surrounded by tea leaf matcha in the center of his mochi and fluttering feeling he gets when you run your hands through his hair, fluffing it up to your heart's content.

(as long as your heart is happy, his is, too.)

"i won't. happy now?" he sticks his tongue out, making a face. but you both know he means it— he hates breaking his promises to you. you smile when you look up at him again with a small nod, and he feels his knees wobble a little. he just hopes you don't notice. "sorry for lying. i just.. don't like it when you're mad at me. and you look at me like that," he mumbles under his breath, bunching up the fabric of his pants between his fingers. then, after a moment, "geez, you're so dramatic. quit carin' so much." he really hopes you don't stop, and it makes him feel like the world's biggest hypocrite. the strongest, but so weak for you.

"sorry, can't. the day you stop crushing your soda cans and littering is the day i'll stop caring, 'cus that won't be my satoru anymore." you tease. and he laughs, throwing his head back so you don't see the red that spreads across his cheeks, dusting his skin like powdered sugar on top of a strawberry crepe. he always wants to be your satoru, so he figures he'll keep littering. a few money fines here and there mean nothing to his undentable wallet, or the erratic beating of his heart, trapped against his ribcage in a feathery blooming of flowers he only gets from you and your pretty smile underneath the layer of lemony sourness.

you walk along the road for a little while longer. the rain has lightened, but it's still going— incessant, dripping from the leaves of trees and the knotted black wires overhead. he still has his infinity up, which means he can't pet the cat the two of you spot on your way back, but he's perfectly content to watch you do it. you scratch its chin, smiling at the way it purrs and nuzzles into your hand, and he wonders if he'd do the same if he was in its position.

he's lost in thought when you speak to him again, shoes splashing against murky puddles in the backdrop of a never-sleeping city; tokyo's bright skyline always makes your eyes go round with wonder. you say something, and he chuckles, warm and velvety. and then you realize what's been off with him this whole time— he doesn't have his shades on.

you slip them off the collar of your shirt, smoothing down the fabric before you reach over and attempt to nudge his arm. you don't think it'll work, because he still has his infinity up— and your sleeves are already getting spattered by rain that leaves darkened wet spots on the cotton. but to your amazement, your fingers make contact with his sleeve, and you watch in wonder as the rain actually falls— soaks into that little patch of wet fabric that you're able to feel on his arm. that he's turned his infinity off in that one spot so you could touch him. you spare a glance up at him, only to find his head angled away from you. you might be hallucinating, but the tips of his ears seem red.

you don't linger on it before you're tugging on his shirt with a frown, getting him to look down at you as you unfold his glasses and offer them over to him. he takes them quickly, and you don't miss the way the rain stops falling onto his arm again, back to bouncing off the invisible shield that protects him from everything (but you, it seems). he slips his dark shades back over his eyes, obscuring oceans of pure blue that seem like they've trickled in from the purest snowcaps on the distant mountains dotted with old red tori gates and shrines with scrapped paint. but you can't stifle the smile that spreads across your lips this time— giddy and fresh and filled with youth, blossoming like sakura petals in a spring that seems so far away yet so close with his presence by your side.

you don't say anything for a while. you're content to watch the rain wash down the pavement and into the gutters, past cute little coffee shops and parks with ponds as the droplets from the sky scatter the water in part of a never-ending cycle; watering the surface of the earth and bringing life that would soon spring up as shroomcaps and fresh dew on the clean cut green grass. you wonder what satoru sees through his lenses— though, you already know. you've worn them plenty of times before, when he insists on having your perfume cling to the frame for long missions he's sent on alone, when he can't have you hold his jacket, or his hand, or scold him for sneaking a smoke when you're not watching. that, and the extra lemondrops he keeps in his pocket; gifts from you that he's fought hard for.

you're more prepared to not feel any interference of his infinity this time when you reach over, and this time you don't go for his sleeve—yanking him close to you by his hand and forcing him beneath your umbrella. you feel the way he freezes up for a moment, but his fingers fill in the gaps between your own like its the most natural thing in the world, palms pressed together in a little breathless hug that leaves no room for the humid air.

"don't waste your infinity on the rain, dumbass. you'll fry what little is left of your brain." you scold him, and he just grumbles and scoffs angrily under his breath, cursing you as he hunches over and ducks his head to fit under the umbrella to negate his height. his hair brushes against the plastic roof of the umbrella, and his lanky limbs are still awkwardly sticking out, but his fingers tighten around yours and his thumb rubs over your knuckles, still a little damp from your earlier encounter with the rain, and you can't help but smile a smile bright enough to wash away every last bit of cloud in the sky. his personal sunshine.

even though he still prefers sweet things, satoru's come to like the taste of lemondrops. sweet and sour go well together, after all. just like you and him.

its okay if it doesnt taste like anything to u as long as u enjoyed it :) thanks for reading !! the black betta in question is suguru btw my (riaki) stuff. don't repost and/or plagiarize !

1K notes · View notes

virescent-v · 3 months

Note

Reader gets pregnant but baby’s father isn’t the picture and Emily’s helping and supporting reader through out the pregnancy?

Oh Baby

Summary: A glimpse of your pregnancy, with the help of Emily.

A/n: Sorry this took so long! I hope you enjoy it!

Warnings: none, this is all fluff! dont come for me about the name i couldnt think of anything else hehehe

Word count: 2.7K

You called her the second you realized your period was four weeks late. To be fair, you’ve never really had normal periods, so you hadn’t noticed at first.

She showed up at your door, bag from CVS in hand. She didn’t say anything, just took your hand and led you to the bathroom, thrusting the pregnancy test (or five) in your hands before closing the door.

You opened all of the boxes, followed the directions, and opened the door.

She was patiently waiting on the other side, arms across her chest, chewing on her lower lip.

“We’ll deal with whatever it says, however you want.”

You could feel your eyes starting to tear up, your lower lip wobbling with the influx of emotion.

Emily just held her arms out and you made your way to her, letting her gather you up in a forceful hug, as if she knew she was the only thing keeping you together right now. She rubbed soothing circles on your back, letting you take the time you needed.

As you pulled away from her, she pushed your hair from your face. “You ready?”

You managed a meek, “As I’ll ever be,” before leading her by the hand into the bathroom. You slid one of the tests over to her, grabbing a different one in your free hand. “Together?”

Emily smiled a little at you, “Together.”

You each flipped over the tests.

***

She took off work for the first appointment, told her team to not call her under any circumstances until the appointment was over. She made sure to pick you up, drive you, and she even filled out the paperwork for you because your hands were too sweaty to hold the pen.

When the nurse called you back, you made sure to grab Emily’s hand, dragging her along with you. She sat on the stool right next to the exam table, holding your hand the entire time.

As the doctor put the ultrasound jelly on your stomach, you felt Emily lean a little closer to you, trying to see the monitor better even though she had no idea what she was looking at.

A small little sac with an even smaller blob in the middle of it.

A baby.

You heard Emily take in a little breath, her hand squeezing yours a little tighter. You made eye contact with her, smiling at the barely hidden joy on her face. Emily’s always been really great with kids and you knew that she was going to be amazing with your little one.

“Do you want to hear the heartbeat?” The doctor asked.

You glanced quickly at Emily, a resounding ‘yes’ leaving your lips. A flick of the machine, a quick readjusting of the machine, and soon enough there was a rapid, static-like pulse emanating from the speakers.

“Everything with the baby looks great,” the doctor said. “Do you want some printouts of the ultrasound?”

“Absolutely,” you said.

As you sat in the car on the way back to your apartment, you were looking at the ultrasound, each of the six frames looking like the same blob to you. With a quick decision, you tore it in half, leaving three frames on each side.

When Emily parked, you handed her one half. “For you.”

You watched as she reverently held the pictures, her finger rubbing gently across the middle frame. “I can’t wait to meet them,” she whispered.

You smiled. You couldn’t wait for her to meet them either.

***

At this point, you were well acquainted with the inside of your toilet bowl. The morning sickness had hit you swift and hard and out of nowhere.

You were hardly able to keep food down, the smells of most things sending you running for the toilet. Your cravings hit you just as swift, but changed quicker than you could accommodate them.

Thankfully, your boss let you work from home most of the week. You couldn’t imagine having to deal with this while in the office.

Emily made sure to text you consistently every day, as much as her work day would allow for it. Currently, she was out of state, dealing with some psycho in Florida (go figure).

Emily: How’s today? Still puking your guts up?

You: Tell your soon to be bestie to calm down! Their mother actually needs to work to be able to afford them and she can’t when she’s constantly staring at the inside of her toilet.

Emily: Put your phone up to your belly.

Emily: Hi, little one! Auntie Em here. RELAX. Your mom is throwing a fit and needs to work!

You: You’re insane.

You: Thank you.

Emily: 🙂Did it work?

You: Ugh, yes, sort of. I’m drinking some water and ginger ale and munching on some crackers.

Emily: I should be back tonight. Dinner?

You: Yes, I miss you! We can decide when you get here?

Emily: See you two soon!

***

Second trimester brought nothing but constant weird cravings. Your pantry and fridge were overflowing with foods you’d probably never eat because it sounded good one second, but you ended up being disgusted by it the next.

It was around midnight on a random Wednesday when you woke up starving and craving mint chocolate chip icecream and pickles. You padded your way down to your kitchen, tying the tie of your robe around you, before frowning at the lack of both in your refrigerator.

Chewing on your thumb nail, blankly staring at the light emanating from within your fridge, you heard your phone buzz on the counter behind you. Sighing, closing the door dejectedly, you snatched your phone up, smiling at the text from Emily.

Emily: I just got back from the case in Wisconsin. You up?

You: I am. Cravings hit hard for choco chip mint icecream and pickles and I have neither. I might go to the store. :(

Emily: Absolutely not. I’ll grab it and be right over. Your place is closer than mine and I’m beat.

You shook your head, not arguing with her. Emily has been a lifesaver during your pregnancy, helping you as much as she can. She’s taken you to most of your appointments, helped you shop for (and build) some nursery furniture, and she’s bought the baby more clothes and toys than you have.

The opening of your front door jolted you from your thoughts.

“I come bearing gifts!” Emily said, walking into the low lit kitchen with a few bags.

You stared incredulously, “Em! I wanted icecream and pickles! What is all of this?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “I was hungry, too. And everything just looked so good. So I bought it,” she said, as she slid your icecream and pickles across the counter before emptying the bags.

You rolled your eyes. You were going to have so much food go bad on you. Opening both the chocolate mint icecream and pickles, you smiled, a happy little dance making your body wiggle.

Emily grabbed her own icecream, coming back to the island with two bowls and spoons. However, she watched in horror as you took one of the dill pickles and dipped it into the icecream and scooped some of it before shoving both in your mouth.

You hummed happily, the saltiness of the pickle and the sweetness of the icecream hitting your craving exactly how you imagined it would.

Glancing up, you almost choked and laughed at the look on Emily’s face. “Don’t say anything. Baby is wreaking havoc on my taste buds. Talk to them about it when they’re older. It’s their fault.”

Emily furiously blinked a few times before taking a deep breath and ignoring the teasing remark she had.

As she opened her chocolate icecream, you shrieked, covering your full mouth before rushing around the counter towards Emily.

“What?! What’s wrong?” She said, throwing her spoon down, thinking something was wrong.

You continued chewing, shaking your head, grabbing her hand and placing it on your stomach.

Emily’s eyes caught yours as she felt the baby move and kick. “Is that…?”

“Mhm,” you said, tears gathering in your eyes.

Emily knelt down to the ground, her face inches from your stomach. She was gazing at it with awe, rubbing small circles over the spot the baby had just kicked. “Hi, baby. I can’t wait to meet you,” she whispered.

At this moment, you’ve never been happier.

***

The third trimester flew by. The nursery was done, with the help of Emily and her coworkers. How she managed to get Derek, Rossi, and Hotch to paint the nursery and build the rest of the furniture in one day you will never know, but you were incredibly thankful. It was one less thing you had to worry about.

You had a hospital bag packed and ready in your car because the baby could come at any moment.

Sniffling, you were trying to hide your disappointment as you talked to Emily on the phone. “It’s okay, Em. Work is important. Go. We’ll be here when you get back. They just might be outside of me when you do,” you wetly chuckled. You were hoping she could be there when the baby was born, but you understood her job sporadically called her away.

There was a long pause. “You and this baby are more important than any job I’ll ever have. Do you understand that?”

You took a deep breath in, catching the undertone of what she was saying.

You and Emily had been toeing around each other for the past few weeks. Every moment felt charged and on the precipice of something more. Neither one of you ever brought it up, just allowed it to happen. You knew you were close to finally admitting to each other how you felt, but something was holding both of you back.

“I know,” you whispered.

Another long, tense silence.

A deep sigh. “Try to keep them in there until I get back, okay?”

“You got it, boss,” you said, still trying to hold back all of the emotions bubbling up inside you. “Stay safe and come home to us.”

You heard Emily suck in a breath. “I’ll be home as soon as I can.”

There was a click from her hanging up, and you rubbed your belly absentmindedly. Home. Emily was home.

***

Your relationship with Emily came to head one scary night when you thought you were going into early labor. The contractions felt real – real for someone who has never felt real contractions before.

Emily came over, rushed you to the hospital, and stuck with you the whole night just for the doctor to tell you it was false labor and to take it easy over the next few weeks until the baby finally made their appearance.

She took you back home, well after midnight, both of you exhausted from the whole ordeal. You both settled into your bed, still a little hyped up from the adrenaline of a possible delivery.

“I was a little scared, but also excited to meet them,” Emily whispered in the dark of your room.

“Me, too. It’s still too early for them. They need to cook a little longer,” you giggled.

You felt the bed shake slightly from Emily’s muffled laughter. “Don’t talk about my bestie like that! They aren’t a chicken that needs more time in the oven!”

You laughed loudly. “I know they’re not a chicken, Em! They’re our kid, so I get it that they’re impatient, but they need to walk until it’s safe to come out!”

It took you a few seconds to realize what you said. There was a tense silence from the other side of the bed. “Our kid?”

You licked your lips, your hands fiddling on your stomach. Clearing your throat a bit, you sighed. “Yes, okay, our kid, Emily. You’ve been here since the beginning. And we both know our relationship has changed, is changing.” You turned your head, trying to seek her eyes out in the dark. “I’m tired of not admitting how I know we both feel.”

You turned over, your enlarged stomach making it a bit of a harder task than normal. “You were here when I took the test, you take me to most of my appointments, you’ve built the nursery. Hell, Em, I’ve caught you talking to them when you think I’m asleep about all of the things you’re going to teach them, how you’re going to protect them, and threaten any future boyfriends or girlfriends!”

You scooched closer to her, your hand coming up to play with her hair. You were pretty sure her eyes were shining with tears, but with how dark it was in the room, you couldn’t be sure. “I love you, Emily Prentiss. Wanna raise a baby with me?”

Emily sniffled and laughed loudly, her voice gravelly from all of the different emotions the night was causing her. She brought her face closer to yours, rubbing her nose gently across yours. Another quiet sniffle. Her lips briefly met yours. “I love you, too. Let's raise a baby.”

***

Frantically, you tried to put on fresh clothes. The maternity jeans you were wearing having been soaked because your water finally broke.

Shoving your shoes into some sandals, not caring if it looked silly with socks, you shakily pressed familiar numbers on your phone, waiting for her to pick up.

On the second ring, a rushed, “Hey, what’s up?”

“Em,” you panted, rushing down the steps. “It’s time.”

“What?” There was a second pause. “OH. Okay, okay. Stay there, I’m coming to get you.”

“Okay, please hurry. These contractions are no joke,” you tried to laugh as another one took over. Through gritted teeth you mumbled, “Use the sirens.”

Emily was at your place in less than ten minutes, lights flashing. You were at the nearby hospital in less than twenty, the contractions coming every couple of minutes.

Emily helped walk you inside and get you checked in. In a flurry of minutes, you were undressed, in a hospital gown, and in your own room.

As you were being assessed, Emily had stepped out of the room to make all of the calls to let your family and her team know what was happening.

“Alright,” the doctor said. “Baby should be making their way into the world shortly. For now, we’re going to monitor both you and baby and get everything prepped.”

Another, stronger wave of contractions hit as Emily came back into the room. She immediately rushed over, grabbing your hand and letting you squeeze the shit out of it.

Over the next few hours, Emily stayed by your side, only leaving to get cold washcloths to wipe the sweat from your face, or to update everyone.

With the contractions coming closer and closer apart, the doctor came in, gowned up. “Alright, mom. It’s time! Let’s meet this baby!”

Emily got closer to you, continuing to hold your hand, her other brushing your hair out of your face. “You’ve got this, I’m right here.”

You took a deep breath, gritted your teeth, and started pushing.

***

What felt like hours later, many pushes, and a few inventive curses, an abrupt cry filled the delivery room.

“Congrats, moms! It’s a girl!”

You and Emily caught each other's eyes, not daring to correct the doctor. As the baby was checked, Emily wiped the sweat from your face, admiration shining in her eyes. “You did it. She’s here. I’m so proud of you.”

A nurse brought over the clean little blanketed baby, smiling as she handed her to you. “What’s her name?”

As you gazed down at the round, cute face of your newborn, you took a deep breath as her name came to you. You rubbed your finger across her chubby little cheek, getting a little misty eyed.

You looked up at Emily, watching as her eyes held so much love for your daughter, for you. Your little family.

“Charlotte Emilia. We’re hyphenating her last name.”

Emily’s eyes widened a little. She swallowed a little thickly before whispering, “You sure?”

You took her hand in yours, smiling at her. “I can’t imagine naming her after anyone else. She’s just as much yours as she is mine, Em.”

You brought your hand up, wiping an errant tear from Emily’s cheek. Rubbing the skin there, you smiled brightly. You trailed your hand behind her neck, dragging her face towards you. “I love my family, Em,” you said, before kissing her. “Wanna hold your daughter?”

Emily’s smile was the brightest thing you’ve ever seen.

#emily prentiss #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss fanfic #virescent v fanfic #emily prentiss x you #emily prentiss fanfiction #no use of y/n #if there are any pregnancy inaccuracies dont blame me i dont have kids and dont want them lol #i hope you like it!!#im also working on my other reqs but pls be patient im slow lol

345 notes · View notes