ĖāāŗĖ³here to write and obsess over emily prentissĖāāŗĖ³
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i mostly write for emily prentiss, but i also love love love sitcoms, yellowjackets, readings, movies, and many many more things! all of which i love to talk about
feeling levels of emotion iāve never felt before and this is the time all of my friends have decided to disappear and stop replying to me hahahahahahaa
Tags: established (secret) relationship, uc!emily, shy!reader, age gap but no ages mentioned, soft smitten emily, petnames, slightly suggestive content, implied smut, attempt at humor, no use of yn
Summary: A slow morning with your girlfriend, plus a half-formed proposition, plus...her coworkers showing up at her door unannounced?
Word count: 2.4k
You open the fridge and are faced with the sight of something dreadful.
It would, perhaps, be more accurately described as nothing.
"Emily," you exhale, your voice thick with uncharacteristic reproach. "Jesus. Don't tell me you've been living onā¦that."
A sriracha bottle, one block of cheese, a container of leftovers, the last few pieces in a bag of bread. You spy a shriveled lemon, three lone eggs. Fog mists over the bare shelves.
It's not really a surprise, not after all this time, but still. The sigh is quiet as it leaves your mouth.
Emily's arms curl around you, pulling you into her chest in a slow, lazy show of strength. You don't resist. She's soft and firm all at once, blazing heat. You pretend it's the waft of cold air against your skin that makes you shiver, not the press of her lips to the slope that leads down to your shoulder.
"Don't be mean, honey," she murmurs, palpably fond. "It's not like you. You know I haven't been home."
You let the fridge door fall closed. Her voice rumbles through your skin, making you wilt.
"You've been back for three days."
"Been busy." Emily says. You open your mouth to protest, only to slam it shut when your stomach rumbles right into her hands. You flush, though you know she doesn't care. Emily hums and tightens her hold when you try to wriggle free. "The diner's open. You like their waffles."
You do like their waffles. But that's not really the point. Again, you open your mouth to argue, but then Emily uses her extensive knowledge of you to her best advantage; she lightly drags her teeth, soothes with her tongue, and you're liquid in her arms, the argument crumbling, her poor eating habits taking a backseat.
It's not fair.
"Want the ones with the pecans? Extra syrup?"
"Iāyeah." You manage.
Her smile is pressed to your skin. "Okay."
She's so, so good to you. You've hardly done anything other than wake up, and already she has you spoiled, soft from her mouth and slow, devastating rolls of her hips. Every inch of you still buzzes. Last night you'd done the work, sat on her lap and gave her a showāalmost instinctively, really, gone desperate with her absenceāand now she's treating you for it. Rarely does she need a reason, and often there's none; but today, she'd warmed your skin with whispers of so good, perfect, you were so good to me, baby. Still so good, look at you. Angel girl.
You'd basked in it.
The truth is, you've always been a sucker for praise. A job well done, a pat on the backāyeah, it got to you. And from her, it's ten times as potent, floating straight to your head and making you go woozy. There's just something about her voice, low and smoothāher approvalāthat flips a neat switch in you.
God, if you could bottle it up.
You're hopelessly far gone, you know that. Emily places the order, coaxes you back into bed, and you let her. You let her hike up your shirt, press her mouth to your hipbone, skirt your underwear out of the way. You couldn't stop her for anything.
You sense the same desperation in her as she cradles the backs of your thighs. She'd murmured how much she missed you, last night, and she does it again now, nearly sighing it out. "I couldn't stop thinking about you," she admits, hushed into your skin. The thrill burns in your veins, electric.
"What about me?" You breathe.
Her mouth curves. You feel it everywhere.
"This." A soft kiss. "Your voice. What you were doing."
A tight spring coils in your gut. You reach down and tangle your fingers in her hair, feeling the warmth of the sun in it.
"You have a phone."
"Didn't have the guts." She murmurs, so close to your skin you feel rather than hear it. Her eyes flick up to yours, warm, glittering brown. "Funny, right? You'd turned me shy."
There's a tenderness to her voice, I love you scrambled and stretched across different letters, poorly trying to conceal itself. You hear it. It's there in her eyes, the heat of her touch.
You'd guessed, earlier, that going for someone older would treat you well, but Emily's better than just well. She's everything. Too much, sometimes, all her devotion cramping your lungs, but you're getting better at breathing through it. Letting yourself be taken care of, be loved. She has no shortage of love, and you're drowning in it.
You're already struggling against a breath when her mouth replaces the hush of cotton. Your heart jumps, slamming into your chest. Involuntarily, your eyes close; under your eyelids, you see faint yellow, its heat finding the part between your legs. Slowly, as if she has all the time in the world, she builds you up. Her hands are gentle when you fall.
You love her, you think. Your already frantic heart kicks into a frenzy.
You're breathing hard in the wake of her attention, your exhales still puffing loud through your nose and into the faintly ringing silence of her room. Emily coaxes stillness into you, her hands warm as she trails them up, down, in long paths, wide circles. Your fingers unfurl from her hair. She dots small kisses over your bunched t-shirt.
"I was thinking," she murmurs when you've caught your breath, "I could take a few days off, too. When you get your vacation days. We could go somewhere." She lays her head on your hip.
You blink against the faint blurriness in your eyes, sunlight haloing her in gold.
"Somewhere." You echo.
"France," she says.
You laugh without meaning to. It's a mellowed sound, pliant and hazy, pulled long like a string of toffee.
"France," you repeat, "how am I gonna manage that?"
"You won't." Emily says. "I will."
As if it's so easy. Nothing at all. You're staring at her as she crawls up by your side, settling onto the pillows with an elegance that seems unfair.
Her face begs.
"No." You say.
"Why not? I have an apartment." Emily tilts her head, dazzling you with the slice of sun illuminating her eyes, "In Nice. It's just a matter of plane tickets. I've got the miles, more than enough of them. It'd practically be for free."
"Not really."
You know she'sālightly putting itārich. She's not very subtle about it, and neither does she seem to care about preserving her wealth. More about insisting to spend it.
Let me spoil you, she often sighs. Let me let me let me, I swear it's nothing, I want to. It makes you feel like a fraud. As if it's all transactional, your presence for her money. You know what anyone would call this if they saw it.
Emily presses closer, chin to the hinge of your shoulder, eyes soft. "I want you to see it," she says gently. "I want to show it to you. Let me."
You look away, to allow yourself firmer ground beneath your feet. "What's in Nice, anyway?"
"Come with me and I'll show you."
Your lips twitch. Emily shifts to meet your eyes and you spy a singular gray hair running from her scalp to her roots. It glints, nearly swallowed in a sea of surrounding black. You lift your hand, trace your thumb over it.
"I'll think about it."
Her eyes roll. "You're unbelievable," she mutters, shaking her head. The movement is fond, free of any and all heat. "Who else would refuse this? Practically all expenses paid and you're still soā¦" Her lips quirk, "stubborn."
She might as well have called you an angel.
"I justā" You swallow down a sound. Your body stews with heat, from her proximity and her generosity and justā¦everything, all of her. "I just don't want toā¦take advantage of you." You mumble, grazing over the faint dimple in her cheek.
Emily wilts.
"Honey," she sighs, placing her hand over yours. "I'm offering. There's no possible way you could twist this into me being taken advantage of."
"Mmm." You let the sound linger. Her skin is warm; your hand is trapped, heat on all sides. "I'll think about it." You concede.
Emily's nose scrunches in that soft way. Childlike, almost. "Stubborn girl."
"You like it when I put up a fight." You smile, sweeter than you can help.
You can see her crumble, right there. It's nothing short of astonishing, even after all this time. Youāmeasly, timid youāhaving such an effect on her. It's inconceivable, and yet it happens regularly enough.
"Yeah, baby." She turns her head, presses her smiling lips to the heel of your hand. "I do."
You swarm with nerves, flushing.
The doorbell saves you. It rings, and you perk up, pulling yourself upright. "Food."
Emily laughs.
-
You slip into the bathroom and she rifles through her wallet, pulling out a few bills. It's obvious, she thinks as she catches her reflection in the mirror, that she's been drowning in the unholy. Her lips are swollen with it, her eyes bright and gently lidded, a tangle to her hair that comes from fingers burying themselves in it, knotting, tugging. Emily smooths it down behind her ears, her mouth quirking.
For the sake of propriety, she ties the knot of her robe, hiding the thin slip under it. Opening the door a crack, Emily sticks her head out and mutters an instinctive greeting, the money held in her hand.
In her haste, she hadn't thought to look through the peephole.
It's a costly mistake.
The usual delivery guy doesn't stand in the hallway, no; Garcia takes his place, surrounded byāto Emily's glitching braināan army. Frankly the last people she wants to see. Tara, Luke, JJ, all hover close to her door, all wearing frowns that range in severity. Garcia's is the deepest.
The slow fog of the morning promptly burns off, Emily's mouth parting in bewilderment.
"What the fuck?" She gapes.
They briefly gape back in turn. Then, one by one, the worry leaves their faces. Smirks creep in, smug and too loud. Emily feels the hot trail of too many eyes on her.
"Oh, hello." Tara crosses her arms, eyes sparkling. They drag over her, leisurely tracking up and down and back up, her grin widening on the way. "Did we interrupt something?"
Heat blazes over her skin. Emily tries to force her voice down flat, but it betrays her. "What are you doing here?" She hisses.
Garcia snaps out of her stupor.
"What are weāwe thought you were dead! We tried your phone, like, fifty times." Emily winces at the reminder of her dead phone. "I sent you a dozen emails. Where have you been?"
"With who have you been?" JJ's brows lift.
"Nobody." Emily lies, ignoring the blush searing her cheeks. "With no one. Did we get called in, is that why you're all here? It's the weekend, for fuck's sake." Her dirty look hits Luke square in the eyes, and he shirks away, raising his hands in surrender. "And all this hardly warrants a search party. Jesus. I could've been sleepingāI mean, I literally was, untilā"
"Em?" You call out. "Did you open the door? What's taking so longā"
She goes still.
Garcia gasps so big it sucks the air out of the hallway. Emily doesn't have time to call out before you're there in the doorway, your frown giving way to a startled, deer-in-headlights look. Her mouth opens too late. You look over her shoulder at the entourage clogging the hallway and let out a squeak.
Emily doesn't really think; she just shuts the door, blocking the hungry sets of eyes still lingering on her doorstep. Through the wood, she can hear Garcia's ohmygodohmygod and Tara's laugh, Luke's sheepish looks like she's doing fine. JJ's voice blurs as Emily moves away from the door to where you're still frozen.
"Who are these people?" You tug at the hem of your shirt, as if you could get it to stretch down any farther. Emily finds the effort ridiculously endearing. She's plagued with the urge to take your face between her hands, feel the heat of you through her palms.
Her next words, she knows, will make you flame even hotter.
She wets her lips, briefly dragging them between her teeth. The racket still continues outside, and she takes you by the elbow, tugs you away from the door. You step into a pool of sunlight streaming in.
Emily's chest tightens. She's had you to herself for as long as she could, a warm, blossoming secret tucked between her ribs. It honestly lasted longer than she could've hoped.
"Those," she nearly sighs, "they'reā¦my team."
Your eyes blow wide.
"Yourāyour work team? FBI agents?"
Emily's chin dips once. "The BAU, yes. Myāsubordinates," she scratches the back of her neck, "if you will."
The color drains from your face. "Oh my god."
"It's fine!" She hurries to say. "I swear, if any of them even says a wordā"
"Oh my god." You hide behind your hands. The heat almost emanates from you. "Oh my god, Emily. This can't be their first impression of me! I'māI'm half naked, the FBI just saw me half naked, oh myā"
"Honey," she coaxes, trying her best, for your sake, not to laugh. "Baby, I promise it's okay. The door wasn't open that wide, I'm sure they didn't see you." She kneads up your arms, your tense shoulders. The muscle is stiff everywhere.
You make a vaguely dying sound into your hands and this time she does let herself laugh, wrapping her fingers around your wrists.
"Come on," Emily murmurs, lightly tugging your hands away. "Let me see that pretty face."
"They're your friends," you mumble, miserable.
"I wouldn't go that far."
Her consolation attempts are unappreciated. You're groaning as she tugs your hands away, visibly flustered. Emily takes each knuckle to her lips, kissing the hot ridges.
The doorbell rings again. You jump, letting go of her hands.
"It's your pancakes!" Garcia yells through the door.
You cringe, rubbing at your cheek. Emily sighs, mourning the loss of your quiet morning.
