Behind Closed Doors
⋆˚࿔ emily prentiss x female reader
you didn’t mean to stay late. emily didn’t mean to snap. but when sharp words turn into sharper truths, neither of you can keep pretending. one jealous outburst. one kiss that changes everything. and maybe… maybe something more.
⋆˚࿔ disclaimer and possible tw: anger
It started like it always did — too late, too quiet, too much tension strung across the fluorescent hum of Emily Prentiss’s office.
You hadn’t meant to linger. The rest of the BAU had already peeled off hours ago, swallowed by the promise of sleep or whiskey or both. But Emily had stayed. And you’d stayed because she did. Which might’ve been a mistake.
Now you were sitting on the edge of her desk, flipping through a half-empty case file just to have something to do with your hands. Emily was behind her desk, posture too perfect, jaw too tight, like she was barely holding something back. The room wasn’t cold, but you felt like you were freezing under her silence.
"I didn’t ask you to stay," she said finally, without looking up.
You closed the file, slowly. "Didn’t say you did."
Emily’s eyes lifted to yours — dark, unreadable.
That was when it started.
"Then why are you still here?" she asked, her tone already on edge, like every word was a lit match.
You blinked. "You okay?"
That was apparently the wrong thing to say.
"Do I look okay?" she snapped.
You straightened a little. "You look like someone who’s about five seconds away from kicking me out."
"Maybe I should."
You raised an eyebrow. "Then say it."
Emily stood suddenly — chair pushing back with a groan against the floor. She leaned forward, hands planted on the desk, eyes sharp. "God, do you ever stop—"
You tilted your head. "What, existing near you?"
She flinched. Just barely. But it was enough.
"I don’t need you hovering every time I work late," she said tightly.
"And yet here we are."
"Because you don’t know when to back off."
You stood now too. "Maybe I’d back off if I knew what I was walking into."
Emily rounded the desk fast. The distance between you evaporated like breath on glass.
"I don’t need you waiting for me like some—some eager little—"
You stared at her. "Some what?"
Her mouth opened — then closed.
You waited.
She swallowed hard. "Like someone who doesn’t know when I’ve already made myself clear."
"You haven’t said anything."
"I’ve said enough."
"No," you said. "You haven’t said anything real."
She looked like she wanted to scream. Or kiss you. Maybe both.
And then—
"Do you want to know why I’m like this?" she snapped, voice shaking. "Why I keep snapping? Why I can’t stand you hovering?"
You didn’t breathe.
"It’s because I can’t focus when you’re around," she said. "Because you walk in here all—careless and kind and warm and I—"
She stopped. A beat passed.
Her voice dropped.
"Because I like you," she said. "And it’s fucking with my head."
Silence collapsed between you.
Your breath caught. Hers did too.
"I shouldn’t," she added. "You’re under my command, we work together, I should know better—"
"You like me?" you said, almost too soft to hear.
Emily scoffed, eyes glittering. "God, don’t make me say it again."
"Why not?"
"Because I’m barely keeping myself from doing something stupid."
You stepped closer. "Like what?"
Emily’s jaw clenched. Her hands curled into fists. "Like touching you."
Your chest ached.
"I’m not going anywhere," you said.
She exhaled hard — ragged.
And then—
"Fuck it," she whispered.
She grabbed your wrist and pulled.
Your back hit the wall before you could blink. Emily’s hand was braced beside your head, her breath hot on your cheek, her other hand gripping your hip like it anchored her to the moment.
Her lips hovered over yours.
"Tell me to stop," she whispered. "Because I won’t if you don’t."
You shook your head.
Her mouth found yours.
And it was not gentle.
Emily kissed like she was drowning — like you were the first breath she’d had in weeks. Her mouth was hot, insistent, her fingers curling around the back of your neck to pull you in deeper, tighter, until your knees almost buckled.
You gasped against her. "Em—"
She didn’t stop. Her hand slid up your side, under your shirt, trailing heat in her wake.
"Still want me to stop?" she whispered.
"No," you breathed.
"Good."
You were dizzy. Her control wasn’t rough — it was decisive. Grounded. Like she’d been holding herself back for so long, and now that she wasn’t, it all came flooding out in waves.
"You have no idea," she said into your skin, "how long I’ve wanted this."
You clung to her. "Then show me."
She did.
Her mouth traced your throat, teeth scraping your pulse point. Her hands explored with purpose — never greedy, never lost. Just claiming. Just certain.
And when you moaned — broken and breathless — Emily pulled back just enough to look at you.
Her eyes were soft now. Softer than they’d ever been.
"I didn’t want to feel this way," she admitted. "But you’ve made it impossible not to."
You reached up, fingers sliding into her hair. "You don’t have to pretend anymore."
Her mouth met yours again — slower now. Less fire. More ache.
When she finally guided you to the couch, it wasn’t to undress you. It was to sit. To hold. To breathe.
Emily sank down beside you, tugged you into her lap, arms wrapped around your waist like she couldn’t bear to let go.
Your head rested on her shoulder.
"I’m sorry I yelled," she murmured.
"You didn’t mean it."
"I meant all of it," she whispered. "That’s the problem."
You smiled into her collarbone. "Then we’ve got the same problem."
Her laugh was quiet. Tired. Real.
She kissed your temple.
And for once — in the mess of files, and rules, and everything unsaid — something made sense.
Her hand found yours. Laced fingers. A silent promise.
You stayed like that for a long time.
Wrapped in low lamplight, and warm breathing, and something brand new — but already felt like home.
a/n i feel like i’m about to run out of ideas !:,) any requests?