Geodeprentixx

A fanfic obsessed and very distracted writer lives here 💜🔮💜

[geodeprentixx]

Hello!

🔮 Welcome to the little corner of the internet where a Emily Prentiss lover and writer resides

🔮 I am currently outlining my first

Emily prentiss x og female character fic [Stars in Your Eyes] and excited to take you all along the ride

🔮 My oc for SiYE is named Victoria Starling

🔮 Requests/asks are welcome but will most likely take a while to finish

[emilys-bangs]

Having people in your house can make you suicidal

[emilys-bangs]

𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐚 𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭, 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐚 𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭, 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐚 𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭, 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐚 𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭 | 𝐞.𝐩

Tags: momily, established relationship, angst, hurt/comfort, season 7 emily, no use of yn

Request: here! Celebrate 2k with me!

Word count: 0.8k

mom!emily masterlist

જ⁀➴⋆.˚

When Emily had imagined this—and she often did—she imagined there'd be tears and impossibly tight hugs, about a million I love you's and I'm sorry's, too many wet, desperate kisses to keep count of. And she wasn't off the mark, but she didn't expect that you'd smell different, too. That you'd feel a little softer, that something about your eyes would change—their light dimmed out, the skin under them inky dark in a way that feels permanent.

She didn't expect to flinch at the sound of her own daughter's cry.

It's a sharp wail, a thunderclap of a sound, unfamiliar to Emily's ears. It rings from the monitor propped up on the coffee table and she can't hide the way she sucks in a breath, half gasp, half startled inhale. A skittish, porcelain fawn, shakenly searching for the source of the sound before finding it, before it sinks in, further, sharper, that she's a mother. 

Your eyes are glassy as you wipe at her cheek. "It's okay, it's Vivian," you whisper. "She's probably just hungry."

Emily nods, her chin rising, dipping, rising, dipping. Vivian. Her baby. Her infant child who'd been born without one of her parents.

Her eyes brim with tears again.

"Can I—?" She rasps, the words collapsing, her throat clenching too tight. Emily tries again. "Can I see her?"

Your chin trembles, smile wobbling as you nod and take her hand. Emily clings to it. Your fingers slot together, as perfect as she last remembers, and it takes everything in her not to crumble, not to stand here and crush you to her chest until this feeling goes, until the cracks fuse over. She feels, again, like a broken doll as you both fit yourselves side by side in the narrow staircase, squeezing through when the space closes in too small, stubbornly refusing to let go.

Vivian's cries echo louder in the landing. Emily's heart clenches tight. You push open the nursery door and lead her in, your hand slipping out of hers as you near the bassinet. She can only watch, transfixed, as you reach down for your daughter, murmuring too quiet for her to hear.

You scoop her up, cradle her against your chest, and Emily's breath catches. The room is dim, her vision blurry, and Vivian is so, so small. Just a tiny little thing, quieting as she crumples into your arms. You gently rock her, smoothing over her dark hair, whispering feather-soft into her forehead. You look so natural doing it. 

Of course. Of course you would be.

Emily finds herself stepping closer. You glance at her over your shoulder, almost as if you forgot that she's there.

"Is she okay?" She croaks out.

You nod. "Just hungry," you murmur, shushing Vivian when she lets out a little whimper, muffled into your chest. The sight thaws something in her and simultaneously presses, new pressure on her lungs, nearly crushing. She can feel her heart, thrumming as hard and frantic as a hummingbird's wings.

Emily wets her lips. "Can I…" she clears her throat, swallows, "Can I take her?"

Your face shifts, crumpling, and she hates instantly herself, for asking, for leaving, for dragging you into this big fucking—

"She's yours, Emily," you say hoarsely. "You don't…" your voice cracks, and you shake your head, swallowing. "She's yours."

Hers. This little girl, curled into your chest, her weight so slight as Emily takes her. She hardly weighs anything at all, but Emily's arms feel so boneless, entirely uncapable. She shouldn't be able to hold her up, Emily thinks. 

But she does. 

Vivian roots into her chest, immediately trusting, and Emily—she forces in a breath through her cramped lungs, trembling as she tightens her grip on her daughter. Her daughter whose age she doesn't know. She almost expects to drop her straight to the ground, but somehow Vivian stays, firmly cinched in Emily's arms, whimpering into her chest. It gears into a louder cry that snaps you out of your daze. 

"I'll go get her bottle," you mumble, squeezing her elbow. 

She nods and watches you leave, instinctively rubbing Vivian's back. She shifts her grip on her, adjusts her higher on her chest, cupping a hand to the back of her neck. Her hair is silk-soft under Emily's fingers; it dampens with the tears running down her cheeks. Similar tears wet Vivian's face, hot and slippery when Emily wipes at them.

"It's okay, Vivian," she whispers. Her voice is low and cracked and entirely unsoothing, but Vivian goes a little quieter at the sound of it. "Hi. Hey, honey. You're okay. Mommy's coming." Emily falters, looking down at her tear-soaked eyes.

Hesitantly, she presses her lips to Vivian's head. The smell of her shampoo drifts to Emily's nose, makes its way down to her lungs and stays there. She breathes in and lets her eyes fall closed.

"She's coming."

[emilys-bangs]

𝐬𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐬 𝐩𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐧𝐨𝐰 | 𝐛.𝐡 𝐱 𝐞.𝐩

Tags: fluff, poly!baranmily, established relationship, petnames, one use of yn

Request: here! Celebrate 2k with me!

Word count: 0.8k

જ⁀➴⋆.˚

Sleeping between your girlfriends means that, very rarely, either one of them makes a move without waking you. You've gotten used to sleeping around a tangle of limbs, the tickle of hair on your skin from every which way. Still, your sleep is light, and when the mattress shifts beside you, rising and dipping as Baran tries to excavate herself from your arms, your eyes flick open before she can slip out of bed.

She's blurry, a mess of soft curls and Emily's old t-shirt slipping off her shoulder, sleep still clinging to her even though her eyes are sharp. The smile she gives you is lopsided, sheepish. You know what it means.

"No," you rasp, hooking your arm around her waist. You pull her back into you, your face dipping into the slot between her jaw and her shoulder, the scent of her almond oil still sweet on her skin. "No, Baran."

"Good morning to you too." She hums softly. You can hear the smile in her voice—can feel it—still a little rough with sleep, gravelly and gorgeous and all yours.

"It will be," you try to speak quietly, "a good morning, if you stay put."

This time, she laughs.

"I'll be back in an hour—two, at the most." She murmurs. Her hand trails gently over the back of your head, smoothing pets on your crown. "Go back to sleep, azizam. It's still early."

"Too early for you to be up." You sigh, curling tighter around her. You haven't looked at the clock, but you're sure it's atrociously early. Exactly how she always likes it.

Baran's touch travels down to your jaw, then your cheek, her thumb idly sweeping over your cheekbone. They're sweet touches, buying you time. Lightly, she says, "You could always join me."

"And I would, baby," you yawn, letting your eyes fall closed. "Just not at ass o'clock in the morning."

Another laugh spills from her chest, gently jostling you.

Behind you, Emily stirs. None of you happen to be deep sleepers, which proves troublesome at times—the constant movement, someone or the other's blaring alarm. The bed dips, again, this time at your back as Emily slots her knee into the hollow behind yours. She presses her warmed cheek to your arm, the sweep of her lashes tickling your skin.

"Why are we awake?" She rasps.

Baran sits up a little, leans over you. You hear the sound of a small kiss, then her murmur as she says, "You have no reason to be. Go back to sleep, joonam."

You blink at the stretch of her body over you and, silently thanking the years upon years of heavy lifting at the fire department, grab her around the waist, gently hauling her down into the space between you and Emily. She makes a little oof!, gasping, and you smile, burying it in her cheek.

"Emily," you say, before you can get chastened, "tell her to stay."

Emily makes a sound, shifting to nuzzle into Baran's side. She brushes a wayward curl from her cheek, leans in to place a lingering kiss on her jaw. "You sure we can't convince you, hon?" She murmurs, coaxing. You nearly melt yourself, wrapped up in her saccharine sweetness. "Just this once."

She has strange, wondrous ways that you often fall victim to. Her voice, molten into honey, those eyes of hers imploring. Even Baran can't resist, in the best of times—and right now, her reasoning seems so flimsy.

"It's—it's a short class." She tries. "I thought I'd make the most of it, since you were sleeping."

"We're not sleeping now." You press a kiss to one of her freckles, thumbing the sliver of skin at her waist where her shirt had ridden up.

"All the more reason for you to join me—"

"But I'm so tired, love." Emily cuts in, her voice like velvet. Her eyes meet yours, still sleep-softened, hazy, but bright with the same smile that curls her mouth. "Aren't you, Y/N?"

"Exhausted." You say, and it's only a half lie. "But," you hum, kissing Baran's cheek, "I'd be more than happy to help you burn off a little energy."

"You don't even have to move." Emily murmurs.

"I happen to enjoy moving." Baran sighs. Whether it's at her defeat or Emily's attention, you don't know. You do know that her workout class is quickly fleeing her mind, her body sinking deeper into the bed, legs easily parting open to let you slip your knee between them.

"We can move plenty right here." Emily promises. She's so sweet with it, and her hand drifts under Baran's shirt, rises high; she finds the mark, and Baran's eyes drift shut, a soft exhale pouring out of her.

You kiss her, and she has no protests to murmur against your lips.

[tankbyseatbelts]

meanwhile, in another universe...

dr. baran al-hashimi & dr. heather collins, digital painting, july 2026

[emilys-bangs]

𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧, 𝐧𝐨 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝, 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 | 𝐛.𝐡

Tags: established relationship, fluff, bit of feels, no use of yn, baran al hashimi i would do anything for you forever

Request: here! Celebrate 2k with me!

Word count: 0.7k

જ⁀➴⋆.˚

Baran is not proud to say that she nearly loses a fight with the football strewn across the driveway. She gives it an irritable kick once she regains her balance—that's for nearly making her face-plant onto the gravel—and pulls in a breath as she grabs her keys from her bag, some of her drowsiness dusting off with the brief fright.

Idly, she hopes you haven't heard her strangled yelp—not because you would laugh, no, but because you would get that look about you. That displeased frown, the twist of your mouth that wordlessly says you hate all of this, how the hospital bleeds her dry, how she won't let you inconvenience yourself—"it's not an inconvenience if I want to, Baran"—and she's too weary to rehash it all again tonight. Actually, she thinks, slotting her key into the lock, she'd very much prefer to never speak about any of it again, in any capacity.

The door quietly creaks open, the house's warmth drifting through. Baran steps in with a slow exhale. It's unusually silent, with Kian at his father's, but light floods everywhere, the familiar scent of home lifting some of the weight off her shoulders.

She's grateful not to find you in the living room. You're not in the kitchen, either, though a pot of something bubbles at the stove.

"Azizam?" She calls out, trudging over to the stairs.

"Here." Your voice drifts down. It's a little muffled, courtesy of the half-shut door of her bedroom. Baran reaches it and gently nudges it open, her smile, already in place, slipping when she takes in the sight in front of her.

There's a basket of laundry at the foot of her bed—laundry she hadn't washed before leaving, she's certain—and you're sitting on top of the covers with your legs crossed, folding. Piles of neatly folded clothes flank your side—short stacks of her t-shirts, another one for her leggings, small balls of socks gathered into a circle. All in dark shades, her blacks and browns and deep grays.

Baran stares. You look up from the shirt you're folding and flash her a smile. "Hey."

Her eyes dip down to your hands, locked on their fluid movement. You tuck in the sides of the shirt, smoothing the sleeves down flat, then fold it in half.

"What—" She finds herself faltering, briefly taken aback. Baran swallows—the action is difficult in a way that alarms her, her throat suddenly tight, her voice coming out more choked than she expects. "What's this?"

"What?" You stand, carefully sidestepping the towers of folded clothes. She's still frozen in the doorway, startled back into moving when you reach for the bag on her shoulder and rid her of the weight.

Her eyes grow hot. "You don't have to do my laundry for me."

"Can't I want to?" You murmur, drawing back closer, tugging her into a hug. "Hi."

Baran swallows again. "Hi," she whispers. Her arms sling around you, her head falling to rest against your cushiony warmth. Her eyes shutter closed; she breathes in, feels your scent filter into her lungs. She holds it for as long as she can, her lungs itching, then pushes it out slow. "You didn't have to do that," she says quietly.

"I know," you hum, squeezing her. "How was your day?"

Baran sighs into you. She feels you brush a soft kiss to her skin, then feels you reach around to free the clip from her hair. Feels you ease the teeth out, gently smooth over the crown of her head, loosening the ache that had been pounding up at her temples. At her prolonged silence, you give her another kiss and cinch your arms around her tighter.

"Long, huh?"

"Mm." She mumbles.

It's all she can manage. She hates it sometimes, how forcing the words through feels monumental. You're never upset when she comes home like this, her mouth suddenly too heavy, her jaw feeling like it's glued shut.

Baran digs her face deeper into you. All at once, she's overwhelmed—with you, with the way you love her, lift her up like it's so easy. She'd grappled with her independence for so long. It's been an uphill battle, her whole life—yes, she's capable, yes, she can be responsible. But it's different, having someone else take over the reigns—not because you think she can't. Never because of that.

Her eyes burn. "I love you," she says hoarsely.

You hum, kiss her again. "I love you. Dinner?"

She mumbles an affirmative.

[dummy-bee]

Emily Prentiss with a savior complex.

[jemilysversion]

Hot women in blazers, that is all.

[geodeprentixx]

Headcanon that after the season 19 finale they just all go to rossi’s and eat pasta

[ropoto]

BAU + dancing

[mcromantis]

"You're a spark in the dark and my clothes are caught aflame"

[decadentcatcrusade]

holding hands and sharing clothes 🤨🤨

[as-syllable-from-sound]

Yes I think that Baran Al-Hashimi has the most gorgeous cursive you have ever seen in your entire life but her actual handwriting is chicken scartch. Fully illegible. Yes I think she is a Do Not Disturb warrior and only has three tabs open at any given time and they're ALL for a research article. If she wants to buy something online or Google a fact or quote she is opening that tab, doing her business, and immediately deleting it. Yes I think she has one of those privacy screen protectors that turns black when you tilt the phone and yes I think her phone brightness is always at 0% and Trinity launches some crazy rumors about what she's doing on that phone because why tf is it so locked down. And also I firmly believe she can type 130 wpm and is definitely smug about it and it most certainly sounds like rain pummeling a metal tin when Dr. Al-Hashimi gets near a keyboard because she's smashing the fuck out of those keys and yes I believe the med students come up with some kickass nicknames for her because of that

[hqtchniss]

i just wanna hold tight emily prentiss x f!reader

tags: established relationship, attempt at humour, fluff, implied mature themes, emily's sister, lighthearted teasing, strained family dynamics

summary: emily gets a visitor. which would've been fine if you weren't in minimal clothing.

word count: 2.4k

join my taglist masterlist

a/n: i think emily is the most only child to ever only child BUT i wanted to use this as a plot device lmao (tho its still fuck canon) IM SORRY THIS IS SO BAD I LOST INSPIRATION HALFWAY THROUGH

read on ao3 or below the cut

It's not usual that Emily gets a real day off. Most times she's “free”, she's still taking phone calls and doing paperwork.

This time, though, she said she'd turn off her phone and she did. The night before, she made a show of turning it off and leaving it in her desk drawer, all the way in the home office. You laughed at her antics, but were clearly glad to see it — the thing had interrupted you way too many times. Then, she had made a dinner that you both thoroughly enjoyed and you actually managed to enjoy her for the night without that shrill ringtone in your ears.

This morning, she takes long to wake up. It's already nine by the time you open your eyes, something that rarely happens, and Emily is still sleeping, worn out, probably. From her long week or your activities the night before, well, that's yet to be determined. Either way, your stomach rumbles irritatingly, but you decide to ignore it for now.

Emily slowly blinks awake, her long lashes casting shadows on her cheeks when they move. You scoot closer, keeping her face in your line of sight. She smiles unconsciously at the feeling of being so close to you, even half asleep.

“Morning,” she mumbles, turning her face away even though you've told her a million times you don't mind the morning breath.

You tilt her face back to you with a soft hand on her jaw, “morning.” Smiling, you nip at her chin, then leave a kiss on her cheek.

Emily hums. “Any plans?”

“Sure,” you say, breathing her in after hiding your face in her neck. “They involve you and this bed.”

“That's it?”

“Mhm,” you agree.

Emily turns on her side, bringing your body with hers. Her hand drifts down to your waist, squeezing as she lands there, then she closes the gap between you, apparently over her own made up issue.

You kiss her slowly, savoring the time you have together, something that's not common or even to be taken for granted. Your fingers wrap in her silver hair, pulling just enough to sting, just enough that she lets out that delighted little sound in the back of her throat.

You're about to throw a leg over hers, growing impatient by the second, though your stomach has other plans. It rumbles again, causing you to groan annoyedly.

Emily laughs, pulling away reluctantly, “let me make you something.”

You shake your head, turning away and picking up her shirt from the floor. It's a button down, but you don't bother buttoning it up all the way, just enough to ward off the cold. “I'll just grab a banana and I'll be back.” You look back at her, pointing a finger, “don't move.”

She smiles, “wouldn't dream of it.”

Tiptoeing out of the bedroom, only because you forgot slippers and the floor is always so damn cold in the morning, you try to quickly make your way to the kitchen. On the way there, though, something catches your eye.

Doing a double take, you let out an involuntary yelp.

Because there's someone sleeping on Emily's couch. Someone you have never seen before.

Well, they were sleeping before you screamed. Now, the woman is slowly blinking up at you, her forehead creased in a frown.

Emily, mercifully clothed, in a t-shirt and sleep shorts — clothed nonetheless —, comes running out of the bedroom, her eyes fully open in panic. She doesn't even get a word out before you're hiding behind her and turning her body towards the intruder, hoping she knows what to do, due to being law enforcement and all. Maybe. Consciously, you know you're just being a bit of a coward.

“What the fu- Sarah?!” She exclaims surprisedly, frowning strongly now.

Oh. Sarah! Sarah?

The woman waves from the couch, placing her other hand on her forehead and pressing, perhaps to ease some pain.

You had no idea Emily's sister was in town, you didn't even know she had a key to Emily's apartment. Surely Emily would've said something about it?

“What are you doing here?” Emily asks, still half shocked. The other half… you're not so sure. “How the fuck did you get in?”

“Mom lent me her copy of your key.” She waves a hand, now bored of the commotion.

“Just like that? Without asking me?”

Sarah shrugs, “I told her I'd stay with her, gently, she told me to come here. Nice place, by the way. Have you been back from London for long?”

“Um,” you clear your throat before Emily can reply. Catching her attention, you give her an awkward smile, “I'm gonna go change into something less- You know.”

Quickly darting into the bedroom, you let out a sigh of relief when the door is finally closed behind you.

More annoyed now than anything after the adrenaline has passed, you start looking for something to wear. Your first free weekend with Emily in weeks gets interrupted by her estranged sister. Seriously, what kind of cosmical joke–

You hear Emily introduce you through the door, the slight shiver present whenever she says my girlfriend right after your name. You walk further away from the door fast, not wanting to intrude.

Following Emily's lead, you find sweatpants and a modest t-shirt of hers to wear. Hopefully it'll tell Sarah that you don't intend to have visitors for long, even if the apartment is not yours. The point stands.

Slowly creeping into the living room, you find the silence oddly disconcerting. Emily is still standing, Sarah still sitting, and they're both just looking at each other without saying anything.

Ever so gently, you move next to Emily. As if not trying to spook a cat, for a second thinking of Sergio who's probably still sleeping, hiding from all the noise somewhere, you lay a hand on her arm.

She turns to you, her eyes immediately softening the slightest bit. You smile minutely, “want me to put the kettle on?”

“Oh, some coffee would be great. I have the worst headache,” Sarah complains from the couch, leaning back into the cushions now that you have interfered with their staring contest.

Emily ignores her, “we'd love some tea, honey, thanks.”

Moving to the open floorplan kitchen, you secretly curse the fact that there's no wall for you to hide behind to listen to their conversation. Unfortunately, you'll have to settle by pretending to be busy making tea, which usually just takes five minutes, as they talk.

“Did mom give you the security code as well?”

“Yes! April 14th, what's it for, anyway?” She asks curiously. Emily doesn't respond.

You think of Sergio again. His birthday. Or, well, his made up birthday. You both decided on one for him after Emily told you she had an old rescue cat at home, in the very beginning of your relationship.

In no time, you feel his tail on your shins.

Crouching down, you scratch behind his ears, whispering good morning to him and promising you'll put his food out soon.

“What are you doing here?” Emily finally asks again, crossing her arms.

Sarah sighs tiredly, “I went to a friend's birthday party last night.”

Emily hums knowingly, “and went back to mom's estate?”

Looking up, you notice Sarah nodding.

“She didn't want you there drunk, so you came here.”

“Look, I just had a little nap. I figured, you're my sister, so what's the harm?”

Stopping short in the middle of pouring Sergio's kibble into his bowl, “wait. What time did you even get in? How did we not hear you?”

“Don't worry,” she smiles. “I didn't hear anything, if that's what you're wondering.”

You feel your cheeks heating up involuntarily.

Emily clears her throat pointedly, “leave my girlfriend alone.” She walks over and sits on a barstool, her back to you as she stares her sister down. “What time did you get in?”

“Around seven,” Sarah shrugs. “Look, can I just have some ibuprofen and a small nap? I'll get out of your hair after, I promise.”

Scoffing, Emily turns, that deep frown still between her eyebrows. You wish you could smooth it out.

“Would you grab the advil, please, sweetheart?” She asks, her voice low and just for you. You smile encouragingly at her, hoping she'll understand what you mean.

Handing her the bottle, you squeeze her hand quickly before she turns away again.

“Not even a glass of water?” Sarah jokes, taking the pills. “Wow, you're reminding me so much of mom.”

Waiting for the tea to steep, you risk a look at them. From this angle, you can clearly see the resemblance in their sloped noses and the shape of their cheekbones. They both look more like Elizabeth than anything, you remember from the few pictures of Emily's childhood that you've seen.

Most photos were from official events, Emily with her parents and her sister, sitting in front of some expensive piece of art or in a well maintained garden. Their ten year age difference was clear, but only on height — Emily still had a baby face, no matter that she's older. Only a couple were of Emily alone, more candid, and she told you those were taken by her grandfather in her visits to the Alps. As children, they definitely looked more alike than they do now, but you can see it if you really pay attention.

You push both mugs towards the edge of the counter, closer to Emily. Your own mug stays beside you as Sergio jumps on the island, still impressively quick for an old man. You scratch his head, leaving a kiss on it.

Looking over, you see Emily extend her hand, holding out one of the mugs for Sarah to take. Her sister scrunches up her nose, but takes it anyway.

“How long are you in town for?” Emily asks, sipping from her own way-too-hot mug as usual, earning a glare from you as she casts you a glance. The blip of normalcy eases the tension in your shoulders.

“I thought I might stay,” Sarah shrugs.

“Not here?” She poses it as a question, or at least tries, but everyone in the room knows it's not one. Even Sergio.

Sarah rolls her eyes, “no, Emily, not here.” She drinks her tea, surprisingly making an appreciative face. “With mom, of course.”

You walk around the island, leaning back on the counter next to Emily's barstool.

She lets out a loud laugh, “good luck with that.”

“I think we can coexist in a ten thousand square foot house, right?” Sarah asks, looking unconvinced even as she says it.

Emily places an arm around your waist distractedly, “maybe if you stay in the pool house.”

Sarah looks at you both, cataloguing your body language, you're pretty sure. “Look, I don't wanna ruin your weekend.”

Emily waits her out, sipping her tea.

“I'll just go back to mom and crawl until she takes me back. I can take two hours of a lecture about my drinking problem.” Okay, that's new. You didn't know that.

Sighing tiredly, Emily shakes her head. “Stay.”

If you're being honest, that decision surprises you. You would've guessed Emily might've offered to drive her to Elizabeth's, or to pay for a hotel room, but now… You see the way Emily looks at Sarah, like she's just her little sister again.

“Just for tonight. And you're not going out to drink again.” She crosses her arms, as if talking to a misbehaving child, “actually, I'm hiding all of the alcohol.”

Sarah rolls her eyes yet again.

Emily turns to you, “let's eat something, I know you're starving.”

You chuckle slightly, “I kind of forgot about that, to be honest.”

As you're eating — even Sarah, who's managing to keep down some dry toast —, Sergio jumps on your lap.

“What's his name again?” She asks, pointing at the cat.

“Sergio,” Emily says, eating her scrambled eggs impressively fast for someone who claims she doesn't get hungry in the mornings.

“Oh!” Sarah perks up, “like that butler we once had!”

Incredulous, you look at Emily in question.

“Shit.”

You let out a loud laugh, “you named your cat after a butler?! You aristocrat.”

“Okay,” she protests. “Not consciously!”

“He was pretty somber. Like a black cat!” Sarah counters. “Mom claimed he was efficient but too depressing.”

You hum, “Elizabeth always manages to surprise me, somehow.”

“Have you met?” She asks, with genuine interest now.

“A few times,” you shrug. “She's always been cordial.”

“Yeah,” Emily scoffs, “she loves to pester us, not others. Just wait until you mov- I mean,” she corrects herself, “until she's more familiar with you.”

You find it cute how she's blushing. It's been a few weeks since she gave you a key, but has yet to properly ask — you know better than to rush her, so you haven't said anything.

Sarah presses her lips together in amusement, but keeps quiet. Thankfully.

When you finally manage to get some time alone it's because Sarah has succumbed to her much desired nap. In Emily's room, you start tidying up the clothes from the night before that have ended up on the floor.

Swiftly, you feel Emily's arms wrapping around you from behind, stopping your movements.

“I'm sorry.”

You frown, turning to catch a glimpse of her face, “for what?”

“I didn't even ask how you felt about her staying. I know you don't know each other.” She sighs, “even I barely know her.”

You turn in her arms, placing what you hope are comforting hands on her shoulders, “it's your apartment, your sister… You decide what's best.”

“Well,” she says petulantly, “I was hoping it would be our apartment soon.”

Smiling, you wrap your arms around her neck, “you were too afraid to ask, I gather.”

“I wasn't afraid,” Emily rolls her eyes.

“Sure,” you smirk. “Well, if it means that much to you, no, I don't mind if she stays. She's still your sister. You grew up together.”

“Grew apart together…” She mumbles. “Are you sure you don't wanna go to yours? Maybe christen some surfaces before you move in here.”

You give her a look. One that says you know exactly what she's trying to do.

Emily shrugs, “worth a try.” She squeezes your waist, leaving a peck on your lips. “This was supposed to be our free weekend.”

“Well, we can still have our weekend,” you argue, kissing her once, twice. “We still have a shower... And I don't know about you,” you walk backwards, pulling on her hands in the direction of the ensuite, “but I can be very quiet.”

Emily grins.

taglist: @emilyprentissmylove @zeyz444 @shygirl1645 @probablydoingyourmom1 @criminally-chill @whittakermultiverse @italianaidiota @emilys-bangs @decadentcatcrusade @midnightprentiss @cmmndr-widw @sevi-kas01 @mimzamo @red1culous @wlwoceaneyes @berryblondd @milfmeup @geodeprentixx ⭐︎

[jemilysversion]

[geodeprentixx]

Emily is the type of person to pick up your call in the middle of the day and listen to you vent about your coworker stealing your lunch or something while sympathizing and focusing all of her attention on you until you take a deep breath and ask her how her day is going, which she responds with,

“Oh it was fine, but I may be home a little late because the er is taking forever to finish my stitches”

[mistydear]

i need to add to the prev ask that the one thing i blatantly ignore in my characterization of baran is that she would never date a resident she’s directly supervising/mentoring. i just cannot see it.

but i absolutely love grappling with her guilt and shame and desire around being with trinity and knowing she shouldn’t