Coffee Habits | emily prentiss x reader
summary: Emily is a little too obsessed with coffee for your liking
tags: assistant! reader, uc!emily, coffee obsessed emily, pre pre pre relationship, no specific season or timeline in mind, no use of y/n
word count: 1,3k
author's note: can be read as a standalone, but is a part 2 of this blurb. i'm thinking of turning it into a little series? what do you think?
Three months in and you were finally starting to get used to being woken up in the middle of the night for a case. Well, sorta. At least this time you’re pulling into the BAU at 5:43am and not 4am.
You don’t have to be here, you know you don’t— Emily has told you countless times that she doesn’t expect you to come in so early when the team gets called in for a case, especially considering you’re just her assistant. And yet you do anyway.
You know the rest of the team will be trickling in soon, giving you just enough time to set everything up in the briefing room, open some blinds (again, all things you really don’t have to do), and most importantly, make Emily a cup of coffee. In the few short months as her assistant, you’ve taken notice of Emily's coffee habits— it was sort of your job to notice these things you told yourself. She has at least two cups a day, one when she first gets in and then another once the afternoon slump hits, always black with Splenda. Though lately, she’s been verging on the edge of a borderline coffee obsession and you’re pretty sure she had had at least three cups by 10am yesterday morning. It was concerning to say the least.
Emily walks in just before six, heading to her office to set her things down first before making her way over to the briefing room. You meet her just outside the door with a soft smile. “Morning, boss,” you murmur, pushing a travel mug into her hands.
Emily rewards your efforts with an absentminded “Good morning,” as she lifts the mug to her lips, immensely grateful for the caffeine at this early hour.
She can’t put her finger on when exactly this had started—when you had started showing up with a cup of coffee for her whenever the team got called in for a case, like a personal barista—but boy was she grateful. Beyond grateful really.
She had started looking forward to these mornings, to these quiet little moments with you before she was forced to brave the horrors the next few days would bring. She also couldn’t help the giddy little feeling she got every time, knowing that you only ever brought a cup for her—maybe because she’s your boss and you feel that it’s part of your job, or maybe because… Nope, she can’t let her mind wander there.
She takes a big sip from the mug, in desperate need to rid herself of the lingering sleep and heaviness in her limbs, but when the warm liquid hits her tongue it isn’t anything like the dark roast she’s used to. No, this isn’t dark at all. It’s light, a little floral, with a hint of…lemon?
She swallows her sip before looking down at the mug, brows already pulling down into a hint of a frown. “This isn’t coffee,” she mumbles contemplatively, looking up to find your lips twitching up into a victorious little smile, clearly pleased with yourself.
You shake your head. “It’s not. It’s tea.” The words leave your mouth with a casual shrug of your shoulders. Huh. Emily is suddenly very grateful you’re not a mind reader, because her brain is frantically rewiring itself at the thought of you bringing her tea. Tea. Warm, comforting tea. And for some reason, that simple gesture was doing things to her insides.
“Tea?” she echoes, the word coming out just above a whisper.
You nod. “Mhm. Tea. Lemon, chamomile, and lavender,” you explain simply, “Good for relaxing and relieving stress. It’s one of my favourites.”
Her lips pull into a small pout and there’s a slight furrow between her brows. You force yourself to keep your hands at bay and not reach out to smooth it over.
“I’m not stressed,” she defends, though it’s a futile attempt.
Anyone around here with eyes could see she had been under a significant amount of stress recently. With constant budget meetings, never-ending paperwork, and the director breathing down her neck, it was hard not to be. She had been so unbelievably stressed, and you noticed. Everyone else noticed too, but you noticed, and suddenly her insides were doing an embarrassing little flip.
She watches you huff out a little breath and raise a brow—it was clear you didn’t believe her.
“Yes, you are. Don’t even try to deny it. I know you love your coffee, but your caffeine habits have been bordering on obsessive lately, so I figured this would be a nice change. A needed change.”
And you were right, of course you were right. You always seemed to be right when it came to these things, these little ways she should be caring for herself better—like actually eating lunch, and leaving the office before 11pm, and not sneaking up onto the roof to have a cigarette every few hours days.
She wants to say something. A sarcastic quip or dry one-liner in true Emily Prentiss fashion about how she can take care of herself, but by now the rest of the team had filed into the briefing room and were waiting to get started. She settles on an appreciative nod with a quiet, "Thank you," before stepping into the briefing room, unit chief mask slipping back on.
Emily does her best to stay focused on the briefing. She really does. But it’s hard when every time she takes a sip from her mug her tastebuds are hit with the sweetness of lemon, lavender, and honey; and every time her mind then drifts over to you, and every time her mind drifts, her heart does weird things. She should get that checked out.
She'll be the first to admit she wasn't too thrilled about having an assistant in the beginning. She's the unit chief; she doesn't need help. She doesn't need someone running around fetching her coffee, bugging her when she's busy, answering 'Yes, ma'am,' 'No, ma'am,' like some lapdog, but you were...none of those things.
You were attentive, sweetly so. You actually took notice of her— of what she liked, of when not to bother her, of how she took her coffee and when to bring her a fresh cup, of when she needed a lunch break, and you showed up with Chinese. She hated admitting it to herself, but it was nice, you were nice, and she couldn’t help but start paying attention to you too.
And you were good with the team too, always feeding into Penelope's newest obsession, asking JJ about Will and the kids, checking in on Tara and Luke and Rossi. You were kind and always so willing to help; it was hard to wrap her head around sometimes.
After concluding the briefing, she heads back to her office to grab the last few things she needs, with you following her diligently. “Is there anything you need me to do while you’re out?”
Your eyes sweep over her desk and land on a small stack of papers in the corner. You jerk your chin towards them. “Anything I can help with?”
Emily follows your gaze and waves her hand dismissively when she spots the stack. “Oh, that’s nothing. Just budget reports and leave requests I need to sort through. I’ll finish it up when I get back.”
“I can do them,” the words leave your mouth so quickly they surprise even you. You don’t give Emily the chance to protest, already reaching over and gathering the stack in your arms with a shrug.
Emily huffs out a laugh and shakes her head, but you’re already halfway out the door. “You know, most assistants don’t practically beg to do paperwork.”
Her tone turns teasing, and you don’t even have to look back to know that little dimple is making its way to her cheek as a smirk tugs at her lips.
She watches you glance over your shoulder, an amused glint in your eyes, “I’m not most people,” you murmur, and then you’re gone.
Emily waits until you’ve retreated to your desk before lifting the mug up to her lips and taking the last sip. “Fuck,” she breathes. “It’s really good.”
