Reader accidentally drinks from Emily‘s coffee mug. Later Emily notices a lipstick mark on it. Her reaction makes reader blush.
Lipstick Service
pairing: emily prentiss x fem!bau!reader
word count: 1065 k
The table in front of you is covered in files and photos, with an opened box of donuts and half-empty coffee mugs scattered among them. You’ve been digging through every clue for hours, but so far without success. Your team is now placing hope on the suspect’s internet activity, which has spiked noticeably in the past few days. Penelope has barricaded herself in her office for over an hour and only accepts visitors if food or drink is involved.
“Should we go through the crime scene photos again?” Luke asks, and you almost tear at your hair in frustration.
“We’ve already done that five times,” you reply resignedly and bite into your chocolate donut, some colorful sprinkles falling onto the table while you do so. You can feel your chiefs’s eyes on you, and you try not to look up, not to fall into her well-placed trap. If it happens again, she’ll see right through you and your actions. You’ve been struggling for months with your small but intense crush on Emily Prentiss. Since you joined the BAU a year ago, it’s only gotten worse each day, and even the tiniest interaction with her makes you blush in an instant. During conversations, you often lose your train of thought and can barely hold her gaze, those dark, all-consuming eyes making it hard to concentrate.
Your behavior hasn’t gone unnoticed by your colleagues, who love to tease you about it. A comment here, a jab there. But none of them would actually throw you under the bus or expose you to an awkward situation, even if they do like to test your reactions regarding Emily. They sometimes try to reassure you that Emily hasn’t noticed your crush, but deep down, you know that’s not true. She’s not Unit Chief for nothing, plus she is one of the FBI’s top profilers for a reason.
“Maybe we missed something,” Tara murmurs beside you, holding up one of the photos. “What if it’s something completely ordinary? Like that fast food wrapper in the Lloyd case in Detroit a year ago?”
You watch JJ furrow her brows, pick up another photo, hold it close to her face, and shake her head. “What exactly were you thinking of?” she asks, and Tara shrugs.
“Well, definitely not chocolate sprinkles,” she replies, giving you a pointed look as more sprinkles fall onto the table and photos when you take another bite of your donut. You hear Emily chuckle in amusement, and feel the warmth rise in your cheeks. So much for flying under the radar.
“Sorry,” you mumble, place the rest of your donut on a napkin, and brush the crumbs off the table.
Just when you think you’re out of the spotlight, JJ clears her throat and gives you a mischievous grin. “You’ve got something there,” she says, and you look up, confused.
“Huh?” is all you manage, still unsure of your voice.
“There,” she points to her chin to show you, and you quickly wipe at the spot with your hand, apparently missing it.
“You’re only making it worse,” Luke chuckles, pointing to the left corner of your mouth.
“I’m going to the bathroom,” you whisper embarrassed, and catch a glimpse of Emily hiding a grin behind her glass.
In the bathroom, you glance into the mirror and realize your colleagues got you again. “Very funny,” you mutter and wash your sticky hands. You still dampen a paper towel to clean your mouth and prep for your new lipstick in the color Cassian. You hold the lipstick up to the neon light, admire its depth, and soon after, your lips are painted with it. Your eyes stand out even more now, and the shade perfectly matches the natural flush of your cheeks, a flush that tends to deepen depending on the situation. Thanks to Emily. Satisfied, you tuck the lipstick into your jacket pocket, put on a confident expression and return to your colleagues with a tight-lipped smile that makes them laugh.
“You had your fun,” you say, settling back beside Tara, who tries to hide her grin. Emily tucks her silver hair behind her ear and moistens her lips, making you hold your breath.
“Let’s get back to work,” she instructs, and you gratefully pull another file toward you, thankful for the distraction. While your colleagues groan, you throw yourself into the task, eager to show your boss how serious you are about your job. You still feel the need to prove yourself, even though you’ve become a valued part of the team and have provided key insights in many cases.
“I’ve got us some fresh coffee,” Rossi chimes in, holding up a pot as he closes the conference room door behind him.
“Finally, someone’s thinking,” Tara grumbles, raising her mug. You don’t look up, knowing Rossi always refills your mug first. You’re studying the photos from the third crime scene, reaching for your freshly poured coffee and take a sip.
You freeze. It’s black. Unsweetened.
You grimace in confusion, glance at the mug in your hand, and realize your mistake. It’s Prentiss’s mug. The big, white FBI letters stare back at you mockingly.
Embarrassed, you sneak a glance at Emily, who’s watching you intently. Her eyes sparkle with amusement, and when you slowly push the mug back to the center of the table, her gaze follows every movement. None of your colleagues notice the exchange, too absorbed in their files and now energized by the caffeine.
You press your lips together, offer your boss a sheepish smile, and reach for your own untouched coffee. As you take a sip of your sweet drink, Emily grabs hers and to your horror, you spot a huge lipstick mark on the rim. Your lipstick. The one you’d applied just minutes ago.
Your lips form a silent O. You want to stop her, offer her your mug instead, but Emily slowly turns her mug in her hands until the lipstick mark is facing her. You hold your breath as she winks at you and places her lips directly on the spot where yours had just been. Emily closes her eyes in delight after swallowing her first sip, then rubs her lips together, spreading your dark lipstick onto her own. She gives you a knowing look, before turning back to her laptop.
Your pulse quickens, maybe this isn’t just a one-sided crush after all.
pairing: emily prentiss x fem!bau!reader
word count: 1390 k
summary: It’s been a week since the mug incident, and Emily’s been teasing you ever since. Now, after a tough case, she calls you into her office.
tag list: @cinnamongirlblogsworld
A/N: Thanks for all the love on Part one <3 you totally made my week. Here's part two.
Part 1
You can’t quite shake the feeling that Emily’s been teasing you ever since the mug incident, the way she’d taken a sip from the cup where your lipstick had left its mark, her eyes flickering with something unreadable just before she smiled. Since then, little moments have added up: a glance held a fraction too long, a subtle lick of her lips when she thought you weren’t watching, the slight tension in her hands whenever she gripped her glass a bit too tightly.
Emily now stands in front of the team, arms crossed, back straight. Her berry-colored blouse is slightly wrinkled, her black blazer buttoned up as if to hide that fact. Her silver hair glows dully under the ceiling lights, slightly disheveled, like she’d slept on the jet. But you know better. You’d been sitting across from her, watching the steady tap of her long fingers on her laptop keyboard keeping you wide awake. And maybe it wasn’t just the typing. Maybe it was the fleeting glances she kept stealing after catching you staring a little bit too long.
“Good work“, she says with a grateful nod to everyone.
You snap out of your thoughts with a shake of your head and focus on Emily’s knowing face. A ghost of a smile plays on her lips, but her eyes, dark and unreadable, hold something else entirely. Perhaps a secret, still tucked away behind her steady gaze, waiting to be uncovered.
“Only because we acted quickly were we able to apprehend the suspect and save other women from any harm.” Emily’s fingers tap once against her arm, her posture stiffening slightly before she shifts her gaze. She looks tired. You all do.
The sleepless days, the endless hours spent chasing this guy, it’s written all over her. And on you, too. Your body feels like it might fold in on itself, your eyelids heavy, your brain two steps behind. Emily hides it well, not like Luke, who lets out a deep yawn. Not like Tara, who’s slumped against her desk or Rossi, on his eighth cup of coffee, which honestly has you a little concerned. Too much caffeine can’t be good. JJ had gone home an hour ago, Will and the kids shouldn’t have to wait any longer. Emily’s orders.
“I know it’s not ideal,” she adds, and you groan. “But Bailey wants the reports on his desk by tomorrow morning.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Tara mutters, rubbing her face. “How many hours have we been awake again?”
Luke makes a face and sinks into his chair with a dramatic sigh.
“I’m sorry,” Emily says, her eyes flicking to yours. You don’t even have the strength to push back, sleepiness having a hold on you. “Orders from above. The sooner we finish, the sooner we go home. Let’s get to it.”
Tara straightens her shirt, moves quickly to her desk, unlocking her screen. You watch as Rossi drags himself up the stairs to his office, quietly closing the door behind him. Luke’s already typing, filling his report with details. And you? You’re still standing in the middle of the bullpen like your feet forgot how to move.
“Y/N? Are you alright?” Concern flashes over Emily’s face, and for a brief second, her fingers brush your forearm. Warmth blooms beneath your skin, spreads to your cheeks.
“Yeah. Just tired,” you answer, fighting the blush, your gaze dropping to the floor just in case she sees it.
“Can I do anything for you?” she asks, her fingers trailing up from your arm to your shoulder, pressing gently. “Coffee? Something to eat?”
She’s always so careful with you. Always noticing, always offering, like she sees through you in ways no one else ever bothers to. You wish you knew what it meant, or if it meant anything at all.
“Sleep, maybe?” you blurt, before you lose the nerve. A smile tugs at the corner of Emily’s mouth as she steps a little closer. At once, you’re surrounded by her, her perfume rich and intimate: white gardenia and sandalwood. A scent your subconscious has already memorized.
“Who knows what you’d miss… if you went to sleep now,” she murmurs, her voice like velvet, laced with unspoken promises. When her eyes flick to your lips, your knees go weak.
You don’t trust your voice, so you clear your throat and glance around. “The upcoming paperwork, maybe?” you shoot back, raising a brow.
Emily lets out a soft laugh, amused, and turns to go. “Something like that,” she says, casting a look over her shoulder. “Get to work.”
You stumble back to your desk, limbs heavy, and drop into the chair. You stretch before unlocking your screen, eyes burning but blood rushing hot beneath your skin. Emily’s presence has rooted itself deep within you and refuses to let go. You’re exhausted, every part of you aching for sleep, but you don’t stop. Not yet. Not when she’s still in the room. So you focus, willing your hands to move, your brain to keep up, maybe it’s foolish, but some part of you still wants to impress her. Maybe always has.
Across the room, her heels strike the floor in that familiar, steady rhythm, until they don’t. Halfway to the exit, she stops. Her phone buzzes and she sighs quietly, but you catch it. “Bailey wants a short debrief. Of course, right now.” She runs a hand through her long hair, jaw tightening for just a second, irritation visible on her face.
Tara glances over the rim of her monitor, an apologetic expression on her face. “You just need some fresh makeup, Prentiss. You look tired.”
“Thanks, Tara,” Emily replies dryly, shrugging. “But my bag’s already in the car. This’ll have to do.”
Luke laughs quietly at the exchange and earns a pointed glare from your boss. There’s a beat of silence, then Emily turns, eyes locking on you.
“You always have some makeup in your drawer, don’t you, Y/N?” The question sends a shiver down your spine, her tone low and demanding. She doesn’t wait for an answer, seconds later, she’s already heading toward her office, glancing back when you don’t immediately follow. “You coming?”
Puzzled, you grab your toiletry bag and follow her up the stairs. You don’t miss the knowing glances exchanged between Tara and Luke, or the way they try and fail to hide their smirks. Your heart pounds loudly in your ears, your hands feel clammy, but you take a deep breath and slip through the door.
Once the door clicks shut behind you, Emily leans back against her desk, arms crossed, studying you. “Your lipstick,” she begins, her tongue briefly darting over her lips, “matches my blouse perfectly. Don’t you think?”
Heat floods your face, and you know she sees it. You know she does, but doesn’t comment on it. “Want me to lend it to you? It’s in my bag…” You reach down, rummaging with unsteady hands, but before you can find it, her hand closes gently around your wrist.
“I never said I wanted the one from your bag,” she murmurs, and you freeze.
Confused, you look at her and see a smile, playful and dangerous, dancing on her lips. She steps closer, raises her hand. Her fingers hover over your jaw, trace a slow path downward, then come to rest at your chin, holding it gently but firmly. “May I?” Her voice is soft, her head tilted slightly, eyes drinking you in, blown pupils, parted lips, and the ache of anticipation written all over your face. All you can do is nod, you’re not even breathing.
Emily Prentiss leans in, her eyes never leaving yours and when her lips finally meet yours, it’s slow, purposeful. Not demanding, just certain. And when she finally pulls away, your shade lingers on her lips. Cassian.
“Now I’m ready for Bailey,” she whispers, stepping back to smooth her hair.
You’re still standing there, stunned. The ghost of her touch still crackling on your skin. She throws you a satisfied smile, opens the door, and disappears down the hallway, heels clicking in sharp rhythm. She’s gone before you can speak and somehow, Bailey feels more like an afterthought than the reason she called you in.
Something passed between you, undeniable and deliberate. And now you are sure, this was never just a one-sided crush.
pairing: emily prentiss x fem!bau!reader
word count: 2182 k
summary: You finally give in to the fire between you. It blazes brightly as you spend the night together. Sorry guys, just smut (hope it's not as cringe as I think it is)
tags: smut (18 +), teasing, vaginal fingering, top!emily, r!receiving, oral sex, soft praise… is there something missing? If yes, hit me up (I’m new to this)
A/N: Thank you for all the love! :) This was never supposed to become a series, but here we are, five parts of Unit Chief Emily Prentiss and you.
If you enjoyed it, drop a comment, hit that like, or share it with someone who might too. Makes my day, truly! 💕
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
The door closes behind you, shutting out the rest of the world. The dull click of the lock echoes loud in your ears. You blink against the light and feel how close Emily is. Her breath brushes your cheek, warm and uneven. Her body heat reaches out, wraps around you like a protective veil. Suddenly, your coat feels too heavy, too warm. Your skin tingles beneath the fabric, alive with longing and the weight of anticipation.
Emily’s eyes roam over you, slow and hungry, a fire smoldering in every glance. She takes in every detail: the lipstick on your mouth, the line of your throat, the gentle rise of your collarbone, the top button of your coat. Your breath hitches. Shallow and uneven.
“You actually did it.” It’s not a question, but a quiet, reverent truth that leaves her lips.
Your fingers twitch, just slightly, but enough for her to notice. “I did what you asked,” you say, voice steady as you step toward her. You’re not touching. Not yet. But the air between you crackles. She’s the flame, and you’re already burning. “Do you want to see what’s underneath?” you ask, the words velvet-smooth on your tongue, surprised at your own boldness.
A flicker passes her lips, the hint of a smile. But her eyes are still caught in a silent war between control and desire, between what she should do and what she wants. You think she might step back. You prepare for it. But then her shoulders drop, just barely, and you know her decision has already been made.
“Show me,” she breathes, her voice a whisper laced with command, low, final and leaving no room for doubt.
A tremor runs through you, not out of fear but anticipation. Your fingers find the belt of your coat, resting there deliberately, not to tease but to show her you’re ready. For this. For her. Her pupils dilate the second you pull, your shoulders tilting back as the fabric slips off, pooling around your feet.
You stand before her, wearing nothing but your heels and lipstick.
Emily’s eyes flutter closed, like she needs a second to steady herself. And then she steps toward you, there is no hesitation, no restraint. Her hands cup your face, warm and certain, grounding you. She searches your eyes, sees the hunger flickering in them, and pulls you in.
Her mouth finds yours, hungry and claiming. It’s not gentle. It’s not sweet. She kisses you like she’s been starving, like she finally has the permission to taste.
First, there’s the lipstick, smeared between you, tasting of sin and recklessness. Then there’s the weight of the night you didn’t have. And now, there’s only what comes next.
You cling to her, fingers digging into the muscles of her arms. You’re safe here, in her heat, her firmness, the way she moves with such quiet authority. She lifts you without effort, carries you until you’re backed against the wardrobe. The wood is cold against your spine, and the contrast to your fevered skin pulls a gasp from your lips.
“Do you even know what you do to me?” she whispers into your ear, her voice rough with restraint. Her hands tighten around your waist. Her mouth finds that spot behind your ear, that tender place that makes your blood coil.
You try to answer, but your mind is a blur. Your body already too far gone. “Tell me,” you manage, breathless.
Emily laughs, low, dark, and devastating. If you were wearing underwear, it would be ruined by now. “You drive me out of my goddamn mind,” she murmurs, her fingers tracing your spine, slow and reverent. There’s no rush in her touch, only something aching, sacred, like she’s finally allowing herself what she’s denied for far too long.
You feel her chest rise and fall, her teeth grazing your neck, her presence overwhelming. She’s everywhere and somehow, never close enough.
“I’ve wanted this for so long,” she admits, pressing her body tighter against yours, and your breath stutters.
“So have I,” you confess, and in the next second, she spins you around, lays you back on the bed, and looks down at you like a predator who’s finally caught what it’s been hunting.
You take the moment to really look at her, tousled hair, your lipstick smudged across her mouth. Her hardened nippels beneath her dark blue top, the way her curves make your whole body ache. You want to worship her with your hands. With your mouth. With everything you have.
Emily licks her lips, eyes devouring you, then she pulls the top over her head. Her shorts drop next, leaving her in nothing but a black lace slip.
“Come here,” you whisper, cheeks flushed, pulse thudding in your throat.
She takes your hand without a word, her soft fingers curling around yours, a quiet promise, grounding and electric at once. Her knee slides between your thighs, easing you open, and when she presses against the place where you’re already aching, you can’t help the sound that escapes you.
She leans down to you, and the kiss turns into a wild mess of tongues and teeth, until she bites your lower lip, gently tugs it, and buries her hand in your hair. She pulls your head back, seizing the moment to slide her tongue into your mouth, while her free hand trails down your body. You arch your back until your breasts touch hers, savoring the feeling of her hard nipples teasing yours. Her fingers wander down your stomach, cirle your hip, then slide a little lower, digging into your thigh. You whimper in frustration, which draws a low, throaty laugh from Emily.
“So impatient,” she murmurs, pulling her lips from your neck, trailing her tongue down, until she finds one of your nipples. Her lips wrap firmly around it, she sucks gently, bites softly until you can no longer hold back a moan.
“So desperate to be touched,” she adds, as her fingers graze your folds. Emily lets go of your nipple and kisses her way down your body, sitting down on her knees and withdraws from your touch. Before you can protest, her hands grip your ankles with a gentleness that makes you pause. She skillfully slips off your high heels, drops them carelessly to the floor and kisses your calf, your knee, the inside of your thigh.
You're trembling with anticipation, you can't hide it. The tension coils inside you, almost unbearable, and a flicker of shame runs through you at how deeply you need her, want her. Emily senses it, your hesitation, the vulnerability that slips through at this moment.
“Do you know how beautiful you are?” she asks sweetly, before placing a kiss right where your thigh meets your hip. As you try to turn your head, her left hand shoots up, fingers firm around your chin, guiding your gaze back to her. She doesn’t let you look away and you blush at the sight of Emily between your thighs. “Look at me when I bring you to orgasm, understand?”, she commands and you swallow hard, “Eye contact, darling.”
At the sound of that pet name, something inside you shifts – a flutter, a surrender. You nod, obedient and undone, and just like that, the last trace of your shyness vanishes. Emily grins at you satisfied, eyes never leaving yours, as her tongue licks your clit slowly. Your breath falters and a desperate sound escapes your lips. It’s not enough, not nearly enough and Emily knows that. Knows exactly what she’s doing. You see it in her eyes, the glint of mischief, gleaming with wicked delight. You try to arch into her, to create friction, to find some kind of release. Anything.
“Ah, ah, ah,” she chides, and her hand leaves your chin only to press your hips firmly into the mattress. You stare at the veins that are clearly visible on the back of her hand, your tongue darting out to wet your lips. “Hold still,” Emily's voice dips, a shade darker now, "And remember, eyes on me. Keep them open, darling."
Before you can say anything in response, Emily lowers her head again, teasing your entrance with her tongue and collects the moisture she has created with her previous words and actions. You should be embarrassed by how wet you are, but right now, you don't care.
“Baby, you taste so good,” Emily growls, her voice vibrating through your body. Her tongue runs up with relish, caressing your clitoris and then descends again. She observes exactly how you react to her every movement, memorizes it, tests it out. She enjoys the way you squirm beneath her, wanting more, frowning desperately. “Tell me what you want,” she says between teasing and licking, “Use your words.” Emily knows how hard it is for you to articulate your desires. She knows your shyness, loves everything about it. But especially, when you outgrow yourself.
“Emily...”, her name tumbles from your lips, your breathing irregular.
“Yes?” Emily increases the pressure of her tongue, circling your clit until she suddenly sucks on it. You cry, wanting more, wanting to feel her inside you.
“I want to feel you inside me,” you finally say, having had enough of her games.
“Well, finally,” she hums against you, putting your body on alert. A finger presses between your folds until you whimper and Emily finally drives into you. You moan with pleasure, feeling her fill you up, testing how much you can take. She curls her finger slightly upwards until she hits your sweet spot and your gasping becomes a little louder. Satisfied, she increases the pace and devotes her tongue to your swollen nub again. Your pulse pounds in your ears, eyes half-lidded, the intense sensations are almost too much. Emily's silver hair tickles your thighs and you reach down confidently, pressing her head a little harder against you. Satisfied, Emily grins, increasing the pressure as desired and uses a second finger to thrust into you.
“Fuck,” you gasp, and your body shakes.
Her lips brush over you as she whispers, “That's better.”
Her hand grips your hips a little tighter, probably leaving a bruise, but at the moment, you don't care at all. Her fingers slide out of you, teasing your entrance and then slide back inside. She repeats this movement over and over again while her tongue keeps working your clit with sharp precision. She is thorough, savoring every sound, every desperate buck of your hips, your sharp intake of breath as she dives into you again.
“You're so hot when you let yourself go,” she moans, burying herself between your legs again and licking you as if she would never get enough of it. You can't find your words anymore, all that escapes your lips is a strangled whimper. Your fingers tangle in her hair, desperate and shaking, tugging hard enough to draw a moan from Emily. One laced with pain, but still with pleasure.
You feel your stomach tighten and heat coils up deep inside you. Your body tenses as if you're about to fall to pieces at any moment. You're about to come and Emily looks at you with lustful eyes. She can feel her fingers being pulled deeper inside of you. “You gonna come for me, darling?”, she teases you and gently bites you while her fingers work faster, more tirelessly, "Come on. Let me feel it."
You moan as her pace picks up, slamming into you. With one last suck on your clitoris, she sends you over the edge. Your orgasm jolts through you with full force, like raging waves crashing against solid stone. It takes your breath away as your body tenses, pleasure racing through your nerves as you cry out her name and clench your legs together, the pleasure almost unbearable. Overpowering.
Your legs tremble and Emily still doesn't let go of you, she moans and licks you until you flinch out of reach from overstimulation. She groans softly at the sight, carefully slips her two fingers out of you, places one last kiss on your swollen clit and holds her wet fingers in front of her mouth. She grins boldly at you and her chin glistens as she watches you gasp for air: "Look at you, falling apart so beautifully.“
She licks her fingers clean, slowly and sensually, not breaking eye contact and enjoying the way you squirm at this sight. Moaning, you pull her up, kiss her fiercely and taste yourself on her lips.
“You're going to be my downfall, Prentiss,” you growl, and Emily arches a brow.
“Or you’ll be mine?” she shoots back, pressing her body against yours. You hitch your leg up and feel just how wet she is.
“I'm going to show you,” you murmur, kissing her with hungry fervor and guide her onto her back, “Thoroughly.”
Emily's eyes darken another shade, and then your lips close around her nipple, pulling a throaty moan from her.
Now it's your turn. All that pent-up desire erupts like a raging storm. You feed the fire that’s been smoldering between you two far too long.
pairing: emily prentiss x fem!bau!reader
word count: 1899 k
summary: Thrown into an undercover mission that demands your everything, you play your part flawlessly, but Emily’s silence speaks volumes, and later, she makes sure you know exactly what she thinks of it.
tag list: @cinnamongirlblogsworld
A/N: Thanks for all the love on part one and two <3 never thought so many people would read them. Here's part three.
Part 1
Part 2
A few days have passed by since Emily kissed you. Or was it you who kissed her? The kiss plays endlessly in your mind, like a haunting melody stuck on an endless loop, tugging at your thoughts with restless persistence. It makes you shift uneasily in your chair, caught between yearning and confusion, every hour blurring the memory into distant, blurred haze. You bite your lower lip thoughtfully, tuning out your colleagues who are caught up in a heated discussion about the upcoming undercover operation. You reach for the fragile thread of that moment in the office, trying to grasp what truly happened. One truth remains clear: nothing happened afterward.
No explanation and no second attempt. Only the burning tension between you, present in every fiber of your being. Even the air around you seems to shimmer, ready to ignite and consume you whole. You tilt your head slightly and observe Emily, whose pale hands are wrapped tightly around her FBI coffee mug. She grips it a little bit too hard for your liking. She has become what she always is: inscrutable, professional, and elegant. And still untouchable. Only you are clinging to every fleeting touch, every comment too casual to be clear. Emily, on the other hand, seems unimpressed by the past encounters you shared. At least that's how it seems.
With a sigh, you shake your head and focus on Tara, who throws her hands in the air. A new case forces you into action, sparks a discussion about a crucial decision regarding how to proceed in this case. A serial killer with a clear victim profile is targeting young women in bars and leaving their murdered bodies on park benches a few hours later. There are four victims that you know of, and you fit his profile perfectly. Should you say unfortunately or luckily? You don’t even know yourself.
“Y/N should blend in with the crowd, she fits the profile perfectly,” Garcia now chimes in, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose, clearly uncomfortable with her own suggestion. You notice Emily glancing up briefly. Her expression remains neutral, but you catch the twitch of her jaw.
“You’d be ideal,” Tara agrees, eyeing you from head to toe, “And you’ve got the talent to make men nervous in seconds.”
“And women,” Luke adds, earning a sharp look from Emily. A flutter rises in your stomach, but you suppress the feeling. Not now. You choose not to respond, because your decision is already made. You’re going to do it. Not just for the case, but also because you want to provoke a reaction. A reaction from Emily to show you that you haven’t imagined it all.
A few hours later, you step out of the hotel room, tugging at the skirt that fits a little too perfectly, and barely recognize yourself in the hallway mirror. You rarely wear figure-hugging clothes, but Penelope outdid herself with this outfit. The skirt is paired with a blouse that hugs your curves like a second skin. Your hair is flawless, and your lipstick? You chose and applied it yourself. It’s your current favorite shade: Cassian. Memories flash through your mind, but you shake them off with a huff.
You descend the stairs in high heels and join the team waiting in the lobby, all ready for the operation. The moment they spot you, the conversations fall silent. Emily’s gaze strikes you like a sudden jolt of electricity. She doesn’t say a word, but her eyes betray every thought. You read her face like an open book, every flicker of emotion laid bare beneath her composed exterior.
A quiet satisfaction blooms within you as her eyes darken ever so slightly, a shadow of something fierce and unreadable. Luke whistles low, making you glance down in embarrassment. “You look great,” JJ says, pulling you into a brief hug that steals the last flicker of doubt from your chest. “You’re going to be incredible, okay?” You nod, shoulders straightening, and step forward into the unknown.
“Caution is the top priority,” Emily interjects, her voice cool and firm “No heroic solo moves, understood?”
“Understood,” you reply, finally meeting her eyes properly for the first time tonight. Something inside you rebels, but when Emily arches a brow and lets her gaze trail slowly over your silhouette, heat floods your cheeks and you look away, surrendering to the moment.
“Let’s move,” Rossi’s hands rests briefly on your shoulder as he escorts you outside. The team follows briskly, and you try to ignore the pounding in your chest. Excitement rushes through you as you slide into the van, but when Emily’s hand brushes yours every so briefly, you feel just a little more grounded. As if she knew you needed it.
The bar is warm and loud. The smile on your lips hurts, your eyes keep scanning the room, and your drink remains untouched. You flirt with strangers, casually, skillfully. You’re aware the team is watching you, tracking your every move and Emily is among them.
A body presses against your side, unfamiliar fingers curl around your wrist. “I’ve never seen you here before,” a man with a deep voice says.
You study him, offer a desirous smile, and murmur, “Just in town for one night.”
Something flickers in his eyes, a dark spark you recognize instantly. And with that, you’re sure, this is your guy. He leans in, shakes your hand, and introduces himself as James. “Nice to meet you,” he says, charm dripping from every word, but you see the manipulation beneath, your careful gaze has tracked him all evening.
“Likewise, James,” you reply, voice smooth. He finally releases your hand, only to place it moments later on your waist. “I’m Y/N.”
James grins broadly, leans in closer, and whispers in your ear, “I’d buy you a drink, but your glass is still full. I get why you’re not drinking it.” He pauses, his thumb grazing your hip bone.
You bite the inside of your cheek, forcing a flirtatiously smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “And why’s that?” you ask, fluttering your long lashes like a invitation.
“I wouldn’t want to ruin that beautiful lipstick either, it suits you perfectly,” he answers. He leans in and before his lips can meet yours, Luke and Tara burst into the bar with weapons drawn.
As you stand and smooth your skirt, Emily Prentiss sits in the van, gripping the armrest tightly. Anger gnaws at her, but she knows better than to let it consume her. She’ll make sure you understand exactly what your mistake was tonight.
You’re nervous as you’re called in for debriefing shortly after. With trembling fingers, you knock on the door, take a deep breath, and Emily opens it. She’s still wearing her black blouse and slacks, though you’re fairly sure one more button is undone than before. On purpose? Your thoughts spin and blood rushes in your ears. She says nothing, walks over to the window, and stares out into the dark city. Her shoulders are tense, her gaze composed.
“Bold choice, what you wore tonight,” she finally says, her voice calm, maybe too calm. “Almost made me forget how many eyes you can catch when you want to,” she adds, her gaze sweeping slowly, deliberately over you. Assessing.
You bite your lip, trying not to show how much you enjoy playing this game with her. “Almost?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.
Emily ignores the question and instead looks at your lips. “And that lipstick,” she tilts her head slightly, “Did you wear it just for our suspect?” There’s a sharpness in her words that makes you press your thighs together, expectant, nervous.
“Tell me, Emily. What bothered you more? That I wore it and got complimented or that I smiled when he said it?”
She stops directly in front of you, gazing at you a second too long. She lifts her hand and lightly traces your lower lip with her thumb, casually, but consciously. “Both,” she murmurs. “But the smile made it worse.” She brushes her fingertip lightly over your lip and moistens her own. A habit she often does around you. Warmth floods through you and you find yourself leaning in slightly. “Your lipstick is almost gone,” Emily notes, scanning you closely, “One might think you kissed too much tonight.”
Your heart skips a beat, and excitement spreads through every inch of you. You take a moment to gather yourself and then say, quieter than intended but bold nonetheless: “Strange. I felt like I wasn’t kissed enough.” You pull the lipstick from your purse and hold it out to Emily. Wordless, but clear in your intention.
Something flickers in Emily’s eyes, a crooked grin tugging at her lips that nearly makes your knees give out. She looks like she hadn’t expected that turn. “Is that so, hmm?” Her voice is lower now, more playful, as she lets her finger trail down your jawline and studies the lipstick in your hand. “Funny, you seemed to enjoy batting your lashes at the guys.”
You lift your chin and hold her gaze. “Maybe you were the one I was trying to impress.”
Emily stares at you for a long moment. The silence becomes almost suffocating, panic rising that you might’ve misread everything. Then, slowly, she takes the lipstick from your hand and opens it. “May I?” she asks, with an expression that makes you melt. You nod, barely, and hold your breath as she steps closer, carefully and reverently applying the lipstick. “You don’t need lipstick to impress me,” she whispers, a promise laced in her tone that makes you smile. “But this color on you does something to me.”
She takes one final step closer, closing the distance until you can smell her unmistakable perfume. Gently, Emily brushes a strand of hair from your face, letting her fingers rest beneath your chin. She pulls you in softly, searching your eyes for confirmation. All she finds is consent. Her lips meet yours, and for the first time, it feels like something more. It’s not a test, not a maybe, just a now.
When she finally pulls away, barely a breath apart, her lips still hover near yours. Her breath, soft and warm, caresses your skin, soothes your flushed cheeks, and unwinds the tension coiled within you. “Now everything’s perfect again,” she whispers, resting her forehead against yours. And you know she means more than just the lipstick.
You let out a soft laugh, your eyes flickering to the shade of your lipstick now kissed onto her lips. With a teasing tug on her belt loops, you draw your boss closer. Surprise flashing across her face, while a silent triumph blooms inside you. But Emily wouldn’t be Unit Chief if she couldn’t reclaim control in an instant. The tide of power shifts swiftly. Strong hands encircle your waist, lifting you up effortlessly. Her warm body presses against yours, trapping you gently between her and the solid wall behind. Emily’s lips graze your ear, her voice a husky whisper with a hint of tenderness beneath the command: “Next time you want to catch someone’s eye, wear nothing but this lipstick. And make sure it’s only me who ever gets to see it.“
And as her hands hold you tight, you know: everything you felt was real and she felt it just as deeply all along.
pairing: emily prentiss x fem!reader
word count: 1.5 k
summary: During a tense case and the quiet that follows, something shifts between you and Emily. It’s in the way she watches you, in every unspoken glance, every careful touch. After the chase ends, adrenaline fades but the tension doesn’t. Back at Quantico, under flickering lights and quiet hallways, the distance between you finally begins to close. And maybe, just maybe, it was never really there to begin with.
tags: slowburn, mutual pining, soft moments, fluff
Masterlist
You weren’t imagining it. The way Emily had looked at you earlier, sharp, unreadable and intense. It has nothing to do with the briefing or the suspect sprinting through the woods, ducking branches and vaulting over roots. You are also sure, it has nothing to do with the chaos in your earpiece, or the fact that you’d nearly lost your footing at the creek crossing. No. It had everything to do with you.
She hadn’t said anything, of course. She rarely had to.
It was in the flick of her gaze when you’d adjusted the strap of your vest mid-pursuit. The way her eyes had lingered a second too long when you’d crouched beside the victim. The way she’d barked an order to Morgan, voice cool and precise, only to glance back at you after. Just a flicker of concern or something like it.
You’d felt it the entire operation, the quiete pressure, of someone watching your every move. Not judging, but noticing. And distracting.
Earlier, in the woods, the killer had fled without warning, vanishing into a tangle of trees. You’d split up. Emily had been two steps ahead, her breath visible in the cold, her body a sharp silhouette in tactical black. You remember the way she’d looked back over her shoulder when you almost slipped, one hand instinctively reaching for you even though you were ten feet apart. She hadn’t needed to catch you. But she’d wanted to.
The memory lingers now, even hours later.
Back at Quantico, your nerves hum beneath your skin like a current you can’t shut off.
The bullpen is quieter than usual, fluorescent lights casting soft shadows over scattered case files and empty coffee cups. The post-field lull has settled in — paperwork, debriefs, and silence that always follows after something loud.
You return from the locker, vest still strapped to your body, soaked in adrenaline and sweat. Your fingers fumble with the zipper, you got the broken one. Damn it.
It’s caught on the inner lining. You mutter a curse under your breath, frustration bubbling under your skin and try again. Still stuck. You feel ridiculous, trapped in your own gear. You tug harder at the zipper of your vest, but nothing happens.
“Need some help?”
You turn around, startled by her appearance. Emily is there, leaning against the wall with her FBI mug in one hand, the other resting on her hip. Her silver-streaked hair is still damp from the rain, pushed back messily, and there’s a scrape on her temple she hasn’t even looked at yet. Of course she’s here. Of course she’s watching.
“I—yeah,” you say, voice caught somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “The zipper’s stuck. It does this sometimes. Not a big deal.”
She pushes off the wall with that same calm precision, each movement deliberate. She steps closer, her eyes sweeping over you. You don’t feel exposed, just examined. She sees right through you.
“Let me,” she says simply.
You don’t respond — can’t, really — before she’s behind you. One moment, she’s standing at a polite distance. The next, she’s stepping into your space, not invading, exactly, but close enough to make your heart stutter.
Her fingers graze your side as she moves your hair gently off your shoulder. The touch is featherlight, but it freezes you in place. Her knuckles are cool against the back of your neck. It makes you shiver. The scent of her is familiar by now, but it still hits hard. Clean, earthy, with a hint of her soap.
“You’re tense,” she murmurs, voice low and close to your ear.
“I’m fine.” You’re not. Not with Emily this close. Your heart is racing, palms clammy.
She hums, a small, knowing sound. She doesn’t believe you. Of course she doesn’t. And then, with slow, practiced care, her hand finds the zipper. Slowly, deliberately, she works it free. The vest begins to loosen around you, releasing a breath you didn’t know you were holding.
“I’ve seen this one catch before,” she says, almost conversational. Her breath grazes your skin, giving you goosebumps. “You should’ve asked sooner.”
There’s no mistaking it now. Her voice, the closeness, the way she doesn’t move away. Your pulse spikes and your hands twitch at your sides.
“I didn’t want to bother you,” you say quietly. As soon as the words are out, you regret them. They sound like an excuse.
Emily lets the zipper drop, but her hand stays, resting lightly against your back, just between your shoulder blades. Not guiding, not possessive. Just there. Like a whisper of something more.
“You never bother me,” she says, softer now. As if she wants you to believe her. As if it matters to her that you don’t think you’re a nuisance.
You turn slightly, your shoulder brushing hers. You don’t mean to, but the contact grounds you. When your eyes meet, she’s closer than she has to be. She’s still not stepping back.
And her gaze? Her gaze holds you in place. Calm, but charged. Focused in that particular Emily way, like she’s reading every thought that just crossed your mind. Like she knows. And maybe she does know. Maybe she always has.
A breath passes between you. One beat. Two. And then, with that same maddening subtlety, her hand drops away. She takes a slow step back.
“Next time,” she says, a smile ghosting over her lips, “don’t wait for me to come to you.”
Her tone is even. But her words… they’re something else entirely. They feel like an invitation to you.
She leaves you standing there with a half-unzipped vest, flushed cheeks, and a pulse that won’t quite settle. You stare at the empty hallway for a moment too long before exhaling slowly, as if that could somehow reset your entire body. Like maybe you can unstitch what she just did to your nerves.
It doesn’t work.
Later, your team debriefs in the conference room. The whiteboard is still stained with the unsub’s timeline. The scent of coffee and exhaustion fills the air.
You say the right things, file the right reports. Nod at the right moments. But your mind drifts. You think about the chase in the woods, Emily’s hand brushing yours when she handed you the evidence bag, her voice in your ear.
“You’re clear. Move.” She is always so calm under pressure.
You remember the way she’d looked at you in the clearing after it was over. When the suspect was cuffed and the storm had finally stopped. You were both covered in mud, and breathing hard. The chase had taken it‘s toll on both of you. She hadn’t smiled, but something in her eyes had shifted.
You remember that most of all.
When the day ends, sore muscles, foggy minds and sleepy eyes, everyone leaves but you. You linger in the parking lot a lot longer than you should, the air cool against your skin, the weight of the day pressing on your shoulders. The sky is pitch black and cloudless, stars shining dimly through the city lights.
Footsteps echo behind you, steady and familiar. You don’t have to turn, you know it’s her.
“Hey,” Emily says. She steps up beside you, arms crossed, posture relaxed. You glance over. Her eyes are on the horizon, not on you.
“Hey,” you reply, almost a whisper.
For a moment, neither of you speaks. There’s only the buzz of the security lights, the faint wind rustling the trees beyond the lot.
“Long day,” she murmurs.
You nod. “Long week.”
“You okay?” She glances back to you, worry grazing her features.
You want to say yes. Want to lie, keep it simple. But the words get stuck somewhere between your throat and your ribs. So you exhale instead, and look at her fully this time.
“I think I’ve been pretending not to notice something for a while now.”
She finally turns her head, and meets your gaze. There’s no surprise in her eyes, only patience. And if you look closer, there’s something warm underneath.
“You don’t have to pretend,” she says. „Not with me.“
The silence stretches between you, but it isn’t heavy. It’s featherlight, like it’s waiting for you to do something. You take a half-step closer, close enough for your shoulder to brush hers again.
“Then maybe… don’t let me walk away this time.”
Emily’s eyes soften. She doesn’t smile, not quite. But there’s a shift in her stance, barely there, but unmistakable a quiet yes.
“I wasn’t going to,” she says.
And just like that, something unspoken finally lands. The kind of truth that doesn’t need to be said twice.
pairing: emily prentiss x fem!bau!reader
word count: 1752 k
summary: The mission is over, but sleep won’t come. Emily’s touch still lingers on your skin, even as her voice turns cold in daylight. You both pretend nothing happened. But when you knock on her door that night—wearing only what she told you to—pretending is no longer an option.
A/N: Appreciate all the support :) This was never supposed to become a series, but here we are —and I’m thrilled you’re along for the ride! If you enjoyed it, drop a comment, hit that like, or share it with someone who might too. Makes my day, truly!And yes… there will be a final Part 5. One last chapter to bring it all full circle.
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
It’s too early for clear thoughts. The only thing keeping your mind from drifting is the coffee between your hands. The James Sutton case, the one you had to go undercover for, is barely eight hours behind you. Last night’s clothes lie crumpled in your travel bag, the fabric still heavy with smoke and perfume from the bar. You threw your toiletries carelessly on top. No time for neatness, no time for anything to settle.
Another case tore you from sleep, and from Emily’s arms. You can still feel her. The ghost of her breath lingering against your skin. You remember how your back met the wall when her lips moved across your neck. How her fingers had just begun to slip under the hem of your blouse and then her phone rang.
In a blink of an eye, all warmth vanished from her features. She snapped back into the role of Unit Chief with chilling precision. The fire in her eyes died like someone had flipped a switch. You assume it’s reflex by now, learned discipline, practiced detachment. Still, it leaves a bruise on your soul and a bitter taste on your tongue.
You bite your lip hard enough to bring yourself back into reality. Back to the voices of your colleagues, to birdsong filtering through the open window, and to the extremly sweet coffee in your hand that Tara always teases you for. Your fingers trail along the papercup, then press into the cool surface of the table. A shiver crawls up your spine, mirroring the unrest in your chest. You exhale and look up.
Emily.
That cool, composed voice that makes orders sound like a caress. She’s entirely in character, laying out the facts with clinical precision, sticking to protocol so tightly it almost makes her unreachable again. But she can’t hide everything from you. Not the shadows beneath her eyes, not the hard set of her mouth, not the way she sits, tense and too still. You’ve seen behind all of it. You’ve been closer than anyone else here. And you know this is her armor, the only way she knows how to stay in control.
“Wheels up in thirty,” she says and just like that, the room stirs into motion. Everyone moves quickly, methodically. Except for you. Your hands move slower than they should, like your body’s trying to stretch this moment out just a little bit longet. But Emily knows you. Her eyes find you across the room, sharp and unmistakably aware.
“Pack your things, Y/N,” she says, and her voice cuts through the air.
You flinch, caught in hesitation. You nod, avoiding her gaze. The chill in her voice is intimidating, there’s no recognition in her eyes. There is no trace of the heat that once passed between you, no flicker oft he woman who touched you last night. Just commands and the job.
“On it,” you reply coolly, as you sling your bag over your shoulder and follow Luke out of the conference room.
“What’s up with Prentiss?” he asks mid-bite of his sandwich. “She’s been edgy since yesterday.”
"I don’t know“, you lie. You press your tongue to the roof of your mouth, swallowing the truth whole. You know exactly what’s wrong. But some things don’t belong in daylight.
Hours later, under the merciless sun, you’re at the crime scene. The air clings to you like a second skin. Your clothes are damp, and the heat pulses beneath them like a heartbeat. Everything around you wavers in the shimmer of it. Melted asphalt. The sting of hot metal. The sour mix of rubber, blood, and oil thick in your lungs. You roll your shoulders to ease the tension, to try to focus on the evidence. So far, nothing stands out. Until Luke calls you over and moments later you kneel beside him, both of you examining a shell casing in the dirt.
“What do you think?” he asks.
You raise your camera, take a photo beforen you speak.
“He fired twice,” you begin, pausing as you notice a uniformed officer‘s gaze lingering on you, “He was hiding in the barn and waited for his victim. Seems like he missed the first shot.”
“The footprints agree,” Luke says, lifting the casing. “No blood here either.”
You both rise, dusting off and make your way to the first casing, the one found earlier. “He hit the target here,” you murmur, gesturing to the blood spatter. You point it out, and instruct an officer to take a wide-angle shot oft he scenery. “Let’s follow the trail.”
As you move forward, Luke leans towards you, his voice teasing. “Someone couldn’t stop looking at you,” he says, flashing that playful grin of his.
You nudge him in the ribs, but your eyes flicker toward the officer. He looks away, a smile tugging at his lips. You say nothing, try not to react. Try to ignore the heat behind that look. But you’re a profiler, you read people for a living. You can see the depth in his gaze, the weight behind it.
“Knock it off,” you mutter, and kick a stone out of the way.
“I’m just saying…” Luke starts, but stops mid-sentence.
Emily appears behind you like a shadow pulled from the sun.
“All good?” she asks, tone neutral but her eyes are fixed only on you.
“Perfect,” you answer quietly. Luke glances between you both, suddenly unsure.
“Good,” Emily replies and huffs. Her lips press together, and you see the flicker of her tongue trace the edge of her mouth. “We need clear minds out here.” Then she turns and walks away, the air seems to shift in her abscence, like a pressure releasing.
Tara steps beside you and raises a brow as she watches Emily walk away. “If looks could kill, that officer would be ash,” she says, brushing dust off her pants as she leans on a nearby post.
Luke chuckles under his breath as he watches Emily while she talked to another officer. “She pretends nothing’s going on,” he says softly, giving you a pointed look. “But come on, we’re not blind.”
They’re fishing for an answer, you can feel it. But you don’t bite, you can’t. Because the heat beneath your skin has nothing to do with the sun.
-----------
You’re grateful for the air-conditioned lobby of the motel, as the cool air washes over your overheated skin. Your skin tingles from hours under the sun. It’s quiet here, smelling of old furniture and something else in the air, something like anticipation.
You walk slowly down the hallway, there is no need to rush. Emily’s just twenty steps infront of you. Luke and Tara’s rooms are behind you now and just the two of you remain.
She stops, staring down at her key card. But she doesn’t move, not until you’re beside her.
“You were popular today,” she says without looking at you.
“You mean the officer?” you reply and take a steady breath.
“Well,” Emily tilts her head slightly, finally turning to face you, “He seemed quite taken with you.”
“Wasn’t mutual,” you murmur. Silence settles like a heavy cloak between you. Your eyes drop to her hand, white-knuckled around the door handle.
“You did good work today,” she says, dodging the inevitable. She slides the key into the lock.
“But?” you ask gently, studying her tense expression.
“There’s no but,” she replies, quieter now, more controlled. “Just… this isn’t a game.”
“I know,” you answer, confusion blooming in your chest. “Not with him. Not with you. I don’t play games.”
Her gaze meets yours for the briefest moment and in that look, everything she can’t say lives and breathes. Then she opens her door without another word and slips inside. You’re left alone in the hallway with nothing but your certainty and a heart that won’t quiet down.
You linger for a moment, staring at the closed door, waiting for something—anything. But nothing happens. Eventually, you turn and walk back to your room. Each step feels strangely distant, like your body moves ahead while your mind stays behind.
Inside your room, the silence wraps around you. The room is still, but your thoughts aren’t, when you make yourself ready for bed.
You lie in bed, wide awake. An hour passes, but sleep never even tries to come. Your body vibrates with restless heat. Your thoughts are loud, tangled, filled with her. You remember her mouth. Her words.
Next time you want to catch someone's eye, wear nothing but this lipstick. And make sure it's only me who ever gets to see it.
Your decision is quiet but rings through you like thunder. You get up. Darkness cloaks your room as you shut the door behind you. You pull your long black coat tighter around your bare skin, your legs are shaky. Your heels echo softly on the tiled floor, each click of your heels syncs with your heartbeat.
Cold air slips through the coat, brushing against nothing but skin. You shake off the chill, press your lips together to refresh the lipstick, and stop in front of Emily’s door.
You knock twice.
The door opens slowly. A warm, golden light spills into the dark hallway, illuminating your face, tracing your collarbones, and sinking lower. Emily stands in the doorway, barefaced and seemingly just as sleepless as you. Her eyes roam over you and pause — on your lips, on the sliver of bare skin just beneath your coat.
You watch her swallow. See the way her jaw clenches. That look in her eyes, hot, dark and raw. It undresses you already, it holds a promise, you look forward too.
“I did what you told me,” you whisper, leaning against the doorframe. The coat shifts, revealing the curve of your bare leg. “I’m wearing nothing but the lipstick,” you add, stepping closer, voice trembling with truth “And no one but you is allowed to see it.”
She looks at you like you’re something precious. Like you’re already belong to her. Her eyes darken and you feel what’s coming before she even moves. Her fingers wrap around your wrist, firm and certain, as she draws you silently inside.
The door shuts softly behind you and this time, she doesn’t let go.
And when her lips finally meet yours, you understand what your heart always knew: it was never just a game. It was a fire and she had been ready to burn with you all along.
