Cipher Pt. 7
Emily Prentiss x butch!reader Warnings: SMUT!, a bit fluffy, them being little shits to each other lol, mention of injury and recovery from said injury WC: 4.2k Authors Note: This is for you @jayden-prentiss! I hope you enjoy love! Thank you for reading! As you know Cipher is an ongoing series with no real schedule lol. If you want to see something with these two feel free to drop a request <3
“Prove you’re tough,” she’d murmured, her lips barely brushing your temple, her breath warm and her voice thick with something that had nothing to do with teasing. “By letting me take care of you for once.”
You’d replayed those words a dozen times since.
They shouldn’t have hit you the way they did—low in your gut, warm in your chest. But they had. Because no one had ever said something like that to you before. Not like that. Not with that mix of tenderness and challenge that only Emily could pull off.
Now, two weeks later, she was doing exactly that. Taking care of you.
And driving you a little insane in the process.
"Did you just fold my socks?" you called from the couch, raising your voice enough to be heard over the soft hum of music playing from her kitchen.
Emily appeared in the doorway, drying her hands on a dishtowel, her brow arched. "You're welcome."
"You color-coordinated them."
“I’m thorough,” she said, smirking as she crossed the room and tossed the towel onto a nearby chair. “Besides, it gave me something to do while someone insisted they could hobble across the apartment without help and nearly face-planted into the fridge.”
You rolled your eyes. “I was just trying to get water.”
She leaned over the back of the couch, her fingers threading into your hair with practiced ease. “Baby, you looked like a baby deer taking its first steps. A very stubborn deer who thinks she’s invincible.”
You huffed, but the way her nails scratched lightly against your scalp made it hard to stay annoyed. You tilted your head slightly to lean into her touch.
Emily dipped closer, brushing a kiss against your cheek. “Tough doesn’t always mean doing everything yourself.”
“You say that like you don’t live on black coffee and adrenaline.”
“Difference is, I know how to make it look easy,” she whispered, grinning as you turned your head to catch her lips with yours.
It was meant to be a quick kiss—just a press of mouths. But Emily didn’t move. Her hand slid along the side of your neck, thumb stroking the hollow behind your jaw. She kissed you slowly, like she had all the time in the world.
You pulled back slightly, breath caught in your throat. “You keep kissing me like that and I’m gonna forget I had a bullet in my side.”
Emily chuckled, her eyes dipping down your body, lingering at the hem of your tank top where your bandages peeked out. “I’m counting on it.”
You gave her a look, trying not to show how much your pulse had just spiked. “You’re dangerous.”
She shrugged, stepping around the couch and kneeling beside you. “Only to people who don’t know how to pace themselves.”
“You do know I’m the one who usually runs this show, right?” you said, tone casual, but your eyes were already locked on hers.
Emily tilted her head. “And I think we’ve established you’re a terrible patient. So until you’re healed…” Her hand trailed up your thigh. “You follow my lead.”
You swallowed hard, pulse quickening again, but you didn’t object. You wouldn’t. Not when she was looking at you like that.
Not when the ache in your side was fading, replaced by something warmer. Thicker. A heat that had nothing to do with injury and everything to do with the way Emily’s voice dipped low when she got serious, the way her fingers lingered a second longer than they needed to—always so sure of exactly where to touch, exactly what to say.
She could disarm you with a look. And lately, she did it often.
You were used to being the one who took control. Who guided. Who had a hand on the back of a neck, a grip on a thigh, a growl pressed against her throat. It wasn’t about power—it was just how you were wired. You led.
But now?
Now, you couldn’t so much as lift your damn arm over your head without feeling that tight pull at your side. And Emily, infuriatingly, noticed every time. You’d try to push through it—bite back the wince, shift like nothing was wrong—and she’d just give you that look. The one that said, Don’t test me. I see you.
And then she’d kiss your shoulder, or bring you tea without a word, or curl her fingers under your jaw and whisper, “Still trying to act tough? Let me handle it tonight.”
It made your chest tighten in a way that wasn’t pain. It made something twist low in your stomach.
Because you liked it.
Emily leaned in now, her thumb brushing across your lower lip once before she kissed it. Slow. Possessive.
Then, just as easily, she pulled back and stood up like nothing happened—like she hadn’t just rewired your whole nervous system with one kiss. She stretched, grabbed her half-folded laundry from the other armchair, and padded toward the bedroom without another word.
She didn’t even glance back.
You watched her go, jaw tight, your pulse tapping hard beneath your skin.
You wanted her. Wanted to flip her onto the couch. Press her into the mattress. Slide inside her and make her say your name the way she always did.
But your body wouldn’t let you. Not yet.
And Emily knew that.
Which made it worse.
Or maybe better.
Because the way she moved through the apartment now—casual, calm, barefoot in one of your shirts—was full of little taunts. She bent to pick up something from the floor, and you saw the stretch of her thighs through those worn sleep shorts. She tugged her hair up into a messy bun as she walked past again, the line of her neck bare, tempting.
She said nothing. Just smirked faintly when she caught you looking.
And fuck, were you looking.
You shifted on the couch, your side aching just enough to remind you why you hadn’t gotten up to follow her.
She was giving you the space to want her.
Letting the tension build.
And even though it clawed at your pride—because it did—you stayed where you were. Breathing through the ache. Through the want. Letting her have the reins, because she’d earned it.
Because you trusted her.
Because even when she made you feel undone, stripped of control—you’d never felt safer.
—
The next week was torture.
Not because of the pain—it was still there, a dull reminder in your side when you moved too fast or twisted the wrong way—but that wasn’t what nearly broke you.
It was her.
Emily.
She was relentless in the softest, most infuriating ways.
She’d pass behind you in the kitchen and let her hand drag across your lower back, just slow enough to feel possessive. She’d lean over you on the couch, letting her breasts brush against your shoulder as she reached for the remote, lips brushing your ear as she said, “Need this, babe.”
She’d climb into bed beside you at night and curl around you, her hand resting just a breath too high on your thigh, warm and unmoving, her breath steady at the back of your neck like a whisper you couldn’t quite catch.
And she never did anything.
Not really.
Just enough to keep you on edge. Just enough to remind you of what you couldn’t have yet.
It was driving you insane.
Every time you tried to make a move—tried to push her back and take what you wanted—Emily would hush you with a kiss and a smirk, fingers sliding along your side until she found the sore spot and gave it a gentle press. Not to hurt. Just to remind.
Not yet.
You’d groan. She’d kiss your temple and pull you against her, smug and patient, and you’d lie there simmering, too turned on to sleep, too sore to do anything about it.
You didn’t want to be dramatic but…you were gonna die.
By the time your four-week checkup rolled around, you were vibrating with need and tension and frustration.
The doctor poked and prodded with practiced efficiency, reviewing your scans and scarring. You tried not to bounce your leg while she updated her notes.
“So, how’s your pain level?” she asked, not looking up from the chart.
“Manageable,” you said.
“Sleeping?”
“Mostly.”
“Back to normal activity?”
“Some,” you said, then hesitated. “I, uh… I had a question.”
The doctor looked up.
You cleared your throat. “What about—intimacy? Physical stuff. I’m not talking full-on wrestling or anything, just… a little cardio.”
One eyebrow arched. “Are you asking me if you’re allowed to have sex?”
You nodded once, expression flat. “Yes, that. Exactly that.”
She smiled like she’d heard it a hundred times, which she probably had. “Light activity is fine. No aggressive movement, no heavy lifting, and definitely no sudden impact to your left side. But yes. You’re cleared.”
You blinked. “That’s it?”
“That’s it,” she said. “Have fun. Carefully.”
You left the clinic with the medical paperwork tucked under your arm, but the only thing you could think about was the way Emily had looked this morning before she left for work—bare legs, oversized t-shirt, coffee in one hand, grey hair still a little wild from sleep.
You smiled to yourself as you pulled out your phone and opened a new message.
R: cleared.
R: you’re in trouble tonight.
You hit send, heart already beating faster. And for the first time in weeks, the ache in your side didn’t bother you at all.
—
Emily barely had time to set her keys down before you had her.
You caught her by the lapels of her coat and pinned her to the door, kissing her so hard she made a surprised sound against your mouth—half-laugh, half-moan. Her hands instinctively flew to your waist, steadying herself, but you were already there—lips moving with purpose, body pressed to hers like you were trying to make up for all the days you hadn’t been allowed to touch her like this.
“Whoa,” she gasped, breathless and flushed as you finally pulled back just enough to look at her.
You didn’t say anything at first, just rested your forehead against hers, your grin too wide to contain.
Then, between quick, giddy kisses, you said, “Doctor cleared me.”
Emily blinked. “For what?”
You pressed another kiss to her lips, then one to her jaw, your voice low and warm. “Light duty.”
Her brow arched. “Oh, so we’re calling it duty now?”
You groaned, but the laughter was already bubbling in your chest. “You know what I mean.”
Emily grinned and kissed you again—slower this time. “So that’s why I got tackled at the door.”
“I’ve been waiting weeks to put my hands on you again. Weeks,” you murmured, dragging your nose along hers. “But I meant what I said before.”
Emily’s smile softened, her hand sliding up to cup your jaw. “What’s that?”
You leaned in until your lips were almost brushing hers, but didn’t kiss her just yet. “That I trust you. And I want you to take the lead tonight.”
For a moment, Emily didn’t speak.
She just looked at you—eyes darkening, chest rising with a slow inhale—her thumb sweeping gently across your cheek like she was grounding herself in the moment.
“You sure?” she asked quietly.
You nodded, voice rough with sincerity. “Yeah. I want to let go. I want you.”
Emily leaned in, kissed you slow and deep, her fingers threading into your hair. When she finally pulled back, she was smiling—mischievous, warm, and completely in control.
“Well,” she said, her voice dropping a little, “in that case... I guess I better make it worth the wait.”
You shivered, every nerve ending on alert.
Emily's lips brushed your ear as she added, barely above a whisper, “But if anything hurts—or doesn’t feel good—you tell me. We stop. No hesitation, got it?”
Your breath caught, and you nodded. “Got it.”
She kissed you again, feather-light and reverent this time. “I’m gonna take such good care of you.”
And the way she said it made your knees go weak.
Emily didn’t let go of your hand as she led you through the apartment, her fingers threaded tightly with yours, thumb stroking the back of your knuckles. You followed close behind, trailing kisses to her shoulder, her neck, the edge of her jaw—too hungry to keep your hands off her, too content to rush anything.
She laughed under her breath when you nearly tripped over your own feet trying to kiss her and walk at the same time.
“Careful, tiger,” she murmured, glancing back at you with a glint in her eye. “Doctor said light duty. Not concussion duty.”
You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “Your fault. You’re distracting.”
“Oh, so it’s my fault you can’t stop kissing me?”
“Yup,” you said, tugging her closer until her back met your chest. You pressed your mouth to the soft patch of skin just beneath her ear and whispered, “You’re lucky I’m still not cleared to throw you on the bed.”
Emily chuckled—low and wicked—and turned in your arms, her grey hair loose and slightly mussed from your roaming fingers. She framed your face in her hands and kissed you again, slower this time. Like you were both finally letting yourselves feel the full weight of this—of the tension that had built for weeks, of the comfort you’d found in each other, of the ridiculous, surprising fact that somehow, you’d both fallen hard.
The bedroom was dimly lit. Emily moved with ease, guiding you backward until the backs of your legs hit the mattress. You went willingly, letting her press you down onto the bed.
She climbed over you, like she was settling into familiar ground. Her hands braced on either side of your head, her hips hovering just above yours, her eyes locked with yours in that way that made the whole world go quiet.
“You good?” she asked again, voice softer now. She brushed a strand of hair from your forehead, her fingers tender and warm.
You nodded. “I’m perfect.”
Emily smiled—genuinely, beautifully—and kissed you again. And when she did, you could feel it: all of it. Her control, her affection, her care. The love that was just beginning to grow roots, new and heady and a little terrifying.
But it felt so damn good.
She didn’t rush. She moved methodically, peeling off your clothes with the kind of attention that made your skin burn. Her fingers lingered at the hem of your shirt, and she helped you out of it with practiced hands, mindful of your injury without making it a thing.
And God, she looked so good doing it. Her grey hair fell loose around her face, her eyes sharp and dark as they traced over your body like she was studying you—not just for pleasure. Like she got it. Like she knew exactly who you were and wanted you anyway—wanted all of you.
“You’re staring,” you said, your voice caught somewhere between breathless and teasing.
“I know,” Emily said, completely unbothered, her palm pressing gently over your heart, feeling the steady beat beneath her hand as the other stroked through the strands of hair at your nape. “You’re so handsome.
You blushed and rolled your eyes, but she just leaned down and kissed the corner of your mouth.
“You really don’t know how sexy you are, do you?” she murmured against your skin. “Tough, bossy, stubborn as hell—but right now? Letting me take care of you? That might be the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”
You huffed out a laugh, half-flustered and half-ready to beg. “If you don’t kiss me in the next five seconds, I’m switching positions.”
Emily smirked. “Oh? As if you could.” She cocked an eyebrow. “Doctor said light duty, remember?”
You huffed out a breathless sound, half-laugh, half-moan. “You’ve been tormenting me for a week.”
Her nose nudged against your cheek. “Not torment,” she whispered, soft and wicked. “Just anticipation.”
Her fingers slipped lower, tracing the inside of your thigh with maddening slowness. Up, then down again. Like she was weighing how far to push you—how much more you could take.
“Fuck,” you groaned, shifting beneath her. “Stop teasing.”
Emily only smiled, her mouth finding your throat as she nipped you gently—just enough to make you twitch. Then she leaned back, laughing when you whined.
“Fine,” you grumbled, “I’ll stop being a brat.”
You tried to tug her back down to you, but she caught your wrist, pushed you firmly back into the mattress.
“My show,” she said and rolled her hips into yours—not enough to relieve the ache, just enough to pin you there. To remind you who was in charge tonight.
Then she paused.
Looked at you.
Your eyes met hers, and everything around you disappeared except for the heat in her gaze and the soft weight of her body above yours.
“I want to watch you fall apart,” she said. “Slow. Gentle. No pressure. Just… me and you.”
Your throat worked around a tight swallow, and your chest lifted with a deep, shaking breath.
Then her hand dipped beneath the waistband of your boxers. And she found you wet and already aching for her.
“God,” she murmured, pressing a kiss just beneath your ear. “You’re so ready for me.”
The sound that escaped your throat was raw—a gasp torn straight from your chest. Emily's fingers were slick with your arousal as she circled your clit with maddening precision. The pace was slow, unrushed, and it took every ounce of your restraint not to grab her wrist and guide her exactly where you needed her most.
Her eyes sparkled like she could read every thought in your head. “Breathe, baby. Do you trust me?”
You nodded, exhaling shakily.
Her fingers dipped lower—two slipping inside you with practiced ease. You gasped, sinking deeper into the bed, your walls fluttering around her in response.
She leaned forward, capturing your mouth with hers, swallowing your moans before she pulled back slightly.
“You’re so easy to read like this,” she murmured, her nose brushing your cheek as her hand moved again—deeper, more certain. “Strong, composed all day, and now you’re trembling for me.”
You gasped again when she found your g-spot, and she smiled against your jaw, her voice warm silk edged with heat. “You like giving this up, don’t you? Letting me take over. Letting yourself feel.”
Your hips twitched, your body arching into her. Words failed you. All you could offer was the sound of your breath hitching and the way your heart pounded beneath her palm.
She pressed her hand firmly to your chest, her thumb brushing just beneath the swell of your breast while her fingers maintained that devastating rhythm between your legs. It was all heat and pressure, and it wrapped around you, climbed up your spine, until you were unraveling in her hands.
It never took long with Emily. She was a slow burn that always ended in a blaze. You took in every detail of her—that infuriatingly smug smile, her long lashes, the way she bit her bottom lip in concentration. You loved her, and it was all too much in the best way.
“Emily,” you moaned, clenching tight around her fingers as the orgasm overtook you, swift and shuddering.
“Fuck, you’re so good for me,” she whispered, guiding you gently through it, holding you close while your body trembled with aftershocks.
Wrapped in her arms, you were giddy, boneless, and entirely undone. Everything felt brighter, clearer, warmer—especially after needing her like this for so long.
“I’ve got you,” she said again, her lips brushing the corner of your mouth, then lower—along your jaw, down the column of your throat. “You don’t have to do a thing but stay right here.”
And with her still wrapped around you, her touch steady and grounding, you did.
But as the last tremors faded, your fingers brushed over her forearm, then down to her hip. You turned your head, kissing the underside of her jaw with a soft sigh. “Let me take care of you now.”
Emily raised an eyebrow, amused and clearly still basking in the glow of having just unraveled you. “You sure you’re up for that, tough girl?”
You smirked, rolling carefully to your side and letting your hand slide along the curve of her thigh. “Consider it light duty.”
She chuckled, eyes darkening
Then she leaned in, her hand pressing gently over your abdomen, fingers grazing the edge of your healing scar. Her expression shifted into something tender, searching.
"Are you in pain?" she asked softly, brushing a few strands of hair from your face.
You shook your head, cupping her cheek. "No. I'm okay. You don’t have to worry."
She held your gaze a moment longer, as if making absolutely sure—and then you leaned back onto the bed with a slow smile, your voice low and warm. "Now get up here and sit on my face."
Emily blinked, then laughed—really laughed—eyes sparkling as she climbed up, knees framing your shoulders. “You’re lucky I love that mouth. But I set the pace tonight,” she added with a smirk, settling over you with deliberate control. “We go as slow as I say.”
She hovered just above you, teasing, her breath catching as your hands slid up the backs of her thighs, guiding her closer. You kissed along her pale inner thighs, lips dragging across soft skin, taking your time as you worshipped your way upward. Every kiss a silent promise that you were hers tonight, completely.
She exhaled shakily, her fingers curling against the headboard as she finally settled down, her weight sinking onto you with a low, shuddering sigh that sent a thrill straight through you.
Her eyes never left yours. There was fire there—intensity and affection woven together—like she forgot how good it felt to let go like this, to give herself to you so fully.
You moaned beneath her, reveling in the soft, wet heat of her pussy, savoring the way her body trembled in response to every flick of your tongue, every purposeful shift of pressure. Her hips rolled slow at first, testing the rhythm, finding her pace—and you met it with confidence, guiding her with the steadiness she had shown you so many nights before.
She whimpered softly, her thighs flexing around your head, her fingers digging into the wood above you as you suckled her clit gently, then harder. She gasped your name, a desperate, breathless sound, and it lit something deep inside you.
“Fuck,” she muttered, her voice rough with need, “Missed this.”
You couldn't speak—not like this—but your answering groan vibrated through her, making her cry out again, her fingers clenching against the headboard. Her head dropped forward, hair falling in a curtain around her face as she looked down at you, cheeks flushed, lips parted.
The taste of her, the way she ground against your mouth, the soft, breaking sounds she made—it was overwhelming in the best way.
“Please. Fuck. Don’t stop.”
You wouldn’t dream of it. Not when she was unraveling so beautifully above you. Every soft gasp and broken moan was a reward you’d never tire of earning.
Her hips grounded harder onto your tongue—using you as vessel to get pleasure. You knew she was getting close. You gripped her ass, quickening her pace and her hips stuttered as her pleasure built. Still you knew what she needed and she knew as her eyes locked with your own.
She moved your other free hand to her clit, jolting forward with the touch. She focused your finger.
“Fuck, just like that,” she groaned, her voice cracking on the edge of a gasp. “Right there—fuck, baby. Don’t stop.”
Her head fell back, long gray strands tumbling over her shoulders as she cried out, thighs trembling around your face. Her entire body began to shake, and you felt her muscles start to seize with pleasure. Her hand lost its grip on the headboard and dropped to your hair instead, clutching at the roots.
You moaned into her, the vibrations her undoing as a cry broke from her. Her hips bucked, riding the crashing wave. You held her tight, steadying her above you--pride blooming in your chest as you watched her breasts swaying with the effort to catch her breath.
When she finally settled, her body went soft and heavy against you. You kissed her slick thighs, your hands stroking up and down them, holding her close. You could’ve stayed there under her forever.
Eventually, Emily shifted with a laugh, breathless and flushed as she slipped back, crawling down beside you on the bed. Her legs tangled with yours, one arm slinging loosely around your waist.
“You always this greedy?” she teased, brushing a damp strand of hair off your forehead.
You gave a low hum, smirking. “Only with you.”
She chuckled, curling into your side, head resting just over your heart. “I think I just saw God.”
You grinned, wrapping your arm around her and pulling her in tighter. “Then I did my job.”
She nuzzled into your neck, lips brushing your collarbone as she laughed, and you both shook with it—an uncontainable joy that filled the space between you.
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