Chapter 6 Of Emily’s Anger Out Now Readers!! Enjoy, Appropriately.

Since the person didn't answer i'll request

An Emily X Reader SOFT LAUNCH

where the BAU slowly finds out that Emily is in a relationship (w/a woman)

reader not apart of bau(maybe a chef??)

;))

Thanks for the request 🫦 Enjoy! 😉

The Soft Launch 🚀

For weeks, the BAU had been on alert. It started small, cute, funny little, cryptic Instagram stories from Emily.

A photo of her hand over another, fingers intertwined beside a wine glass and a plate of what looked like the most divine pasta any of them had ever seen.

No caption. Just a timestamp and a playlist linked, “Melt into You, Slow Jazz Sundays.” Then came the lunches. Homemade. Artisan, even. JJ had noticed it first.

“Emily,” she murmured one afternoon, during their usual break between rough cases, "did you pack that yourself?" Emily's eyes cast down to the perfectly layered beetroot and goat cheese tart in a glass container, simply shrugging.

"Got lucky."

Morgan, of course, had smelled something fishy when a bouquet of rosemary, not flowers, rosemary, had shown up in Emily's office with a note attached, "Don't forget the salt this time, baby. -Y."

But no one had answers. Just assumptions.

Then came the night at Rossi's, a few weeks later.

The house was buzzing with laughter, expensive liquor and the warm hum of an early spring evening. Rossi was holding one of his infamous parties, the kind where the wine flowed like a river.

Strauss had gotten tipsy enough to sing Piano Man on the baby grand. Rossi had, apparently, spared no expense on the food this time. "Hired someone big," he said with a smirk to JJ as he poured her another.

"Almost impossible to book, but I pulled strings." Emily, nursing her scotch, froze, "Who?" Rossi grinned, holding his glass a little tighter with excitement.

"Y/N Y/L/N. Apparently she trained in Paris and Tokyo and is probably going to get her second Michelin star before thirty." Emily's glass paused at her lips.

"What?" Rossi looked her over, "You've heard of her?" Emily blinked once, swallowing her worry, "You could say that." And then, like fate tipping its might hat, Y/N walked into the room from the kitchen.

Carrying an amuse-bouche like it was a crown jewel. She had short, tousled hair tucked behind one ear, arms inked with delicate fine-line tattoos, a lavender sprig, a sunflower, a French knife, and a crescent moon.

She wore her pristine chef's jacket rolled at the sleeves, her apron tied snug around a frame that was compact but clearly muscular. She glowed. And when her eyes met Emily's dark irises...

Everything stopped.

The room, the noise, the laughter, every bit of it melted. Y/N lit up, face breaking into the warmest smile and she crossed the space in a few long strides before stopping just shy of Emily's side.

"...Babe," she whispered, "Didn't realise you were here."

Emily looked dazed, then chuckled, running a hand through her hair, "Neither did I." Y/N leaned in and kissed her temple, and the collective BAU jaw hit the floor in unison.

"Holy..." Garcia whispered from across the table, "That's the chef?"

"THAT'S the mystery girlfriend?" Morgan mouthed to the blonde. Y/N turned to the group, cheeks slightly pink but utterly composed. "Hi. I'm Y/N. Sorry for the surprise. I wasn't told who the event was for."

Her eyes flicked to Rossi, "Your assistant booked me under 'D. Rossi Enterprises.' Very sneaky." Y/N smiled to the older man. "You're the Y/N?" JJ blinked, "The pasta queen from Instagram?"

Y/N laughed, nodding her head gently, "Guilty."

And just like that, any awkwardness vanished. Y/N floated back to the kitchen like she was born there, commanding heat and flame and plating like it was an artwork.

Emily, never far from the archway between kitchen and dining room, watched with an expression none of them had ever seen on her. Not even during a case crack.

Admiration.

Adoration.

The soft kind of awe that made her cheeks flush and her lips curl even when she didn't know she was smiling.

At one point, music drifted from the speakers, and Y/N, mid-sear on scallops, turned with a grin and swayed her hips to the beat. She danced around the kitchen like it was a small stage, a pan in one hand and a plating tweezer in the other.

"Is she dancing?" Reid asked in a whisper, "While cooking?" He turned to Garcia, the blonde shrugging her colourful shoulders, "Gordon Ramsay would cry," She whispered back, "Happy tears."

Then came the food.

A roasted duck breast with blackberry glaze, served over parsnip puree and heirloom carrots that had somehow sculpted into tiny roses.

Pasta with lemon cream and shaved bottarga. Each plate was a piece of art, every bite more transcendent than the last. A moan escaping every FBI agent's lips.

As dessert was served, something chocolate and impossibly airy, Emily stood and joined Y/N in the kitchen, slipping an arm around her waist.

"Can I help?" Emily murmured against the shell of Y/N's ear, Y/N just smiled, still focused on plating. "You already are." And when Emily kissed her cheek in full view of the team, Y/N leaned into it without a second thought.

Rossi raised a glass, "To Chief Emily Prentiss, and her not so secret anymore girlfriend." The team clinked glasses, JJ still wide eyed, Morgan nodding with impressed approval and Garcia already on her phone trying to find an open reservation.

- - -

Later, when the dishes were done and Y/N was tucked under Emily's arm on the porch with a glass of wine, Emily whispered, "Soft launch, huh?"

Y/N just turned to her and smiled, "Felt more like a firework finale..." Emily kissed her slow, like gratitude, like peace, like home. "Couldn't be prouder and more in love with you."

Request Guidelines ->

Requests are currently: Open

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Fandoms (What I Write For) ; Marvel, Criminal Minds, Occasionally DC or other fandoms - feel free to ask!

What I Write ; Fluff, comfort, cute moments. Angst, Hurt/Comfort. Smut, NSFW. Emotional/Character-driven pieces. Reader insert, x OC, x Canon -> all welcome!

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Noncon/dubcon, Incest, Character death, Certain kinks including -> fart, scat, water sports, vore, m-preg, inflation, baby/pregnancy play, anything involving minors or non-human creatures in a sexual context, anything degrading without full consent/emotional care.

If you’re unsure whether something fits, you can always ask privately and I’ll let you know.

Request Format (Optional but Helpful) ; Character(s), Type of piece (eg. fluff, smut, angst, etc.), Specific prompt or idea, POV or Reader/OC details if important, Any preferences, limits or tones you want included.

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SOFT LAUNCH

Of? I’m gonna need some more details, otherwise I might think I’m in a relationship that I don’t know of! 😂

Is there a specific character? Or pair? Or even fandom? That you’re looking for?

Let me know! 🙂🤔

if u write literally any penelope garcia x fem!reader smut i will love u forever 🙏🙏🙏 (does not have to be like super smutty if u dont want) (maybe they go home together after a hard case and. relax. a little?)

i love ur writing!! :3

Enjoy :)

Rainbows and Storm Clouds 🌈 🌧️

The case had taken too much from both of them. Penelope closed the front door to their shared apartment with a heavy sigh, dropping her tech bag beside the coat rack.

Her heart was still tangled in the horror of the week, missing kids, sleepless hours, too much coffee and too little hope. From the kitchen, Y/N looked up.

She was tall and elegant in that quiet, still-water way. Bare feet, tank top, and sleep pants slung low on her hips. Her lean frame moved slowly, muscles pulled tight from exhaustion.

The subtle tattoos on her ribs and inner arms peeked out in the soft kitchen light, delicate and personal. "Hey, love," Y/N said gently, crossing the floor in long strides to catch Penelope.

"You're home."

Penelope let herself melt into the hug, burying her face in Y/N's chest. "I've never hated the world more." Y/N just held her tighter, one of her hands moving to hold Penelope's gorgeous blonde hair.

"I know."

They didn't talk much more. Didn't need to. The night folded in around them like velvet, slow, warm, and insanely gentle. Quiet music drifted from a speaker.

Penelope lit lavender candles while Y/N poured two glasses of wine, then set them down untouched on the bedside table. They kissed slow, Y/N always kissed slow.

Her fingers stroked behind Penelope's ear, across her jaw, down her sides, steady and reverent like she was trying to remind them both what tenderness looked like.

Penelope fell back on the bed, legs open, arms reaching, "Touch me," she whispered, her eyes glassy and soft. Y/N didn't rush. She always liked starting things slow, savouring every reaction, every sound and tremble.

She kissed down Penelope's neck, along her chest, between the soft curves Garcia always called 'too much' but Y/N loved them. Worshipped them.

She mouthed at her girlfriend's breast, sucking gently until Penelope arched up into her mouth. Fingers dipped low. Slow circles. Long strokes.

Y/N slid two fingers inside, curling them perfectly, her other hand never stopping its slow petting over Penelope's ribs, her belly, her thigh.

Penelope whined and gasped, thighs tightening, hips rocking up, one hand tangled in Y/N's soft, sun streaked hair. "I've got you," Y/N murmured, the vibration sending more sensation across Penelope's body.

"Let it go."

Penelope came with a soft cry, back arching like a bow. Y/N stayed with her, kissing every part of her she could reach, waiting for her to breath again.

Then Penelope blinked up at her, smiling, flushed and blushing, "Your turn." Y/N was quick to shake her head gently, "No, you don't have to..."

Penelope, in turn, shook her head, rolling them over with surprising strength, straddling Y/N with a wicked little smile. "I want to." Y/N let her.

Penelope took her time. She pressed kisses to the slope of Y/N's shoulders, licked down the lines of the tattoo on her ribs, traced her hands across the soft stretch of Y/N's stomach, admiring how she twitched under the touch.

Then she slid down between her legs, spreading her thighs gently, kissing the inside of one before curling her fingers into her. Y/N gasped and let her head fall back, one arm thrown over her eyes, the other fisting the sheets.

Penelope sucked slow and deep, fingers matching her rhythm, her free hand holding Y/N's hip still as she moved. Every moan Y/N gave her was a gift.

Every trembling breath, every whispered plea for "just a little more, please," was wrapped in love and gratitude.

When Y/N came, it was like something quiet breaking open, her voice low, shuddering, thighs shaking, body relaxing all at once like the band had snapped. Her body ending its fight against itself.

After, Penelope kissed her way back up, pulling Y/N into her arms. They laid there, heartbeats slowing in sync. Eventually, they padded barefoot into the bathroom.

Y/N ran the bath while Penelope dimmed the lights and brought the abandoned wine glasses on from the bedside. The tub was filled with lavender and honey oils, the warm water almost glowing in the candle light.

They sank into the bath, limbs tangled, bodies soft, heads resting together in silence. Garcia kissed Y/N's temple and whispered, "Thank you..."

Y/N kissed her back, "Always, love."

They stayed in the water until the candles burned low, until the pain of the world faded into the warmth between them, and nothing else existed by skin, breath and the raw and unconditional safety of each other.

can you write a fic where reader is deaf and Emily learn sign language for them??

Enjoy!!

Prentiss Signs

Truthfully? You never expected her to try. You couldn't just expect something like that from someone, or at least you'd come to learn that.

Emily was already so busy, with jetting off to cases, working long nights, leading the team, carrying the weight of so many lives. You'd told her more than once, "It's okay... you don't have to."

And you meant it.

But Emily Prentiss has a stubborn streak, and she doesn't do anything halfway. So when she showed up one evening with a stack of notecards, her hair a mess and her jacket over one arm, you just stared.

She dropped her keys, and her bag, and signed (clumsily, but surprisingly clearly), "Hi. I want to learn." You blinked, then blinked again.

She smiled, nervous and unsure, and added aloud, slow enough for you to read her lips, "I know I got that wrong. But... I want to do this. For you."

And so it began.

At first, Emily struggled. Her slim fingers didn't want to cooperate, she'd blame it on her years of holding stiff guns, her brow would furrow constantly.

And more than once she muttered, "This shouldn't be harder than hostage negotiations," which you couldn't help but giggle at, though you'd quickly hide it under a cough when her arms would cross with a sigh.

But you were patient, as patient as she'd allow. You signed things slowly, sometimes repeating them two, three even four times till she got it.

When she fumbled through something as simple as "coffee" or "work", she'd huff and sign something vaguely chaotic that made you burst out with silent laughter.

Still, she persevered, kept going.

She even enrolled in ASL class on Thursday nights, juggling it between her BAU schedule and mountains of Chief worthy paperwork.

You'd catch her practicing in the mirror, mouthing the words while signing them slowly, her fingers dancing shakily until they learned the easing rhythm.

You'd fall asleep sometimes with her arm wrapped around your waist, her free hand unconsciously tracing the alphabet against your back. And slowly, oh so slowly, she got better.

You taught her curse words when she needed to vent, and jokes when she needed to smile. She learned "I love you" early, she practiced it more than once.

One night, without warning, she looked at you, no stumble or hesitation, and signed it. Perfectly. "I love you". You forgot how to breath for a second.

- - -

A few months later...

You, something you don't usually do, join the BAU team for dinner. Garcia picked the restaurant, somewhere trendy and loud, all laughter and clinking glasses.

The team has taken over a long table in the back. Emily rests her hand on your lower back as you slide into the seat beside her. And just like that, it starts.

Morgan is already in story mode, laughing at something Spencer had mistakenly done last week, talking a mile a minute. JJ is trying to keep up, and Garcia's hand gestures alone could tell a full story.

You lean back, a little overwhelmed, your brows furrowing as you slowly get left behind...

But then Emily taps your thigh gently, her fingers drawing your attention. She signs slowly, "Morgan said Reid spilled coffee on Hotch's files. Again."

You snort. Emily smiles.

Every few minutes, she checks in, translating certain bits of fast conversation, shortening some, skipping others, but making sure you're never left out of the loop.

She signs across your lap, under the table, casually but clearly, pausing sometimes to double check her signs. Once, when she fumbles over a complex phrase Garcia throws out, she huffs, rolls ger eyes and signs, "I'm trying, okay?"

You kiss her cheek. Knowing Garcia was one to make up her own words and phrases to emphasise her misfortune.

- - -

Later that night, when everyone was full and winding down, you notice the others looking at her a little differently. Not unkindly. Just... moved.

Emily, who once struggled to remember the difference between "want" and "need", is now translating full conversations without missing a beat or made up word.

And she learned it all, just for you.

You squeeze her hand under the table, signing a slow, heartfelt, "Thank you. I see you." She squeezes back, "Always, love."

Late post, but, Chapter 13 of Emily’s Anger is out!

Chapter 3 of The Confessions is out now!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62361436/chapters/160518820#workskin

just requested a sick reader laundry fic

Could you make the child twins please

If you do end up writing it thank you

Enjoy! Feel free to request more if you’d like! I’m happy to write anything!

what are your request guidelines? :3

Truthfully, I don’t really have any. I’ve only ever received two fic requests that I’ve turned down, and I turned them down based on pairings and certain kinks.

I typically write for Criminal Minds and Marvel, and have recently started dabbling in smut so I’ve written a lot more requests than I would have if you’d asked me a few months ago. 🙂

So, it always depends, for now I don’t have any, but I’ll start thinking and maybe I’ll make a post of guidelines for future requests. But for now…

Request anything you’d like to see, and if I refrain from writing it, I’d let ya know!

😁

can u write a fic where penelope is sitting on reader chest on bed doing their makeup for fun

kisses

fluff

domesticated

they have a cat 

Enjoy 😉

The Brushes

The sheets were still warm. Tangled. Lived in. Penelope Garcia sat perched on Y/N’s hips, her robe clinging to one shoulder and doing very little else to hide the masterpiece that was her soft, plush body.

Her thighs cradled Y/N, her favourite highlighter brush poised in one hand and her makeup palette dangerously balanced on Y/N’s chest.

At the foot of the bed, their cat, Basil, watched with half lidded judgement, tail flicking lazily. He was an absurdly fluffy ginger Maine Coon with a penchant for expensive throw pillows and batting at makeup brushes.

He had claimed Y/N’s side of the bed when they weren’t in it, and currently had his head draped over one of their discarded shirts like it was a royal pillow.

“Don’t even think about knocking that brush off,” Garcia said to Basil with a pointed look, even as her fingers titled Y/N’s chin toward her.

“And you… stay still, gorgeous. You’re about to be elevated.” Garcia smiled, Y/N grinning, hair tousled, their tattoos a map of stories across their chest.

They lay back with one hand behind their head and the other tracing idle, electric shapes into the curve of Garcia’s thigh.

“I am still. You’re the one grinding every time you shift.” Y/N mumbled, Penelope gave them a scandalised gasp, though the smirk on her lips betrayed her.

“That is slander, I’m sitting. Artistically.” Penelope giggled, Y/N shaking their head, “You’re sitting sexily, and you know it.”

Their voice was low, morning-scratchy, laced with warmth. She could feel their hands sliding slowly up her outer thighs, thumbs sweeping just under the hem of her robe.

Penelope’s breath caught slightly, but she kept her composure, tilting their face again. “Don’t distract the artist,” she murmured, brushing shimmer over their cheekbone with a feather light stroke.

“I’ll mess up and Basil will look even more disappointed in us than he already does.” She joked, her tongue poking out gently in focus.

From the foot of the bed, Basil gave a faint trill, as if in response. “He’s judging us,” Y/N said seriously. “He always is,” Garcia replied.

“He’s lived a life of crime and drama, and now he thinks our bedroom antics are beneath him.” The blonde joked, Y/N huffing a laugh.

Their hand drifted a little higher, ghosting along her waist with a teasing touch, “Maybe he just wants to be included.”

“If he tries to climb on this bed right now, I’m disowning him.” Garcia pretend seethed, Y/N laughing, head tilting back slightly, Penelope using the opportunity to sneak a kiss to their jaw before fishing the liner.

Sharp, smudged just right, giving their eyes a smokey frame that made her heart skip a beat. She reached for the burgundy lipstick next, murmuring, “Now, the finishing touch. The mouth I’ve kissed twenty-seven times today..”

Y/N smirked, “Twenty-nine. You missed two.” Garcia gave a small, delighted noise and leaned in, brushing their lips with hers before applying the deep, sinful colour.

Their fingers never stopped moving, soft along the insides of Garcia’s thighs, gripping just enough to make her hips roll slightly without thinking.

“There,” the blonde whispered, “You’re lethal.” They smiled, slow and wide, “Your turn.” Garcia quirked a brow and tilted her head, “You want to do my makeup?”

“No. I want to do you again, but I’ll settle for painting your face. For now…”

She burst into giggles, head dropping to their shoulder. “You menace.” Y/N kissed her temple, hand sliding up to rest warmly at her waist, “I’m your menace, darling.”

At the end of the bed, Basil sneeze once, yawned, and rolled over onto his back in a soft pile of fluff and disdain. Garcia looked at him, then down at Y/N beneath her.

“Our little family is so weird.”

“The weirdest,” they agreed, catching her hand to kiss her knuckles.

“And the happiest.”