I have no willpower every time someone says this about one of my headcanons or fake tweets I start outlining the fic I’m gonna be writing Polytrix for next several years at this rate
I promise I’m not! Writing this stuff is extremely fun for me and most of the time is how I like to relax and decompress! I do take breaks but I usually can’t stay away from it for long lmao. If not for other life circumstances I’d be posting fics like every week.
you put me on and said I was your favorite; blanket | e.p
Tags: flirty!reader, clueless emily, fluff, bed sharing (but they don’t go to sleep), set in the alaska episode 5x21, reader is hashtag #downbad, first kiss, blushy emily!!
Summary: Naturally, when you’re sharing a small blanket with your coworker in subzero temperatures, some confessions come to light. Day 6 of flufftober.
Word count: 1.5k
Moodboard!
She’s shivering. Stubborn as she is, she tries to hide it, but Emily gets cold even on the mildest of fall days, her fingertips like ice when she passes you a pen or squeezes along your shoulder. In the winter proper, her skin leeches of all color, lips cracking, nails tingeing blue. She’s just not built for it.
The thermostat is cranked up to the max, rumbling pathetically. For all its noise the room is still cold enough to make your bones hurt. The heat from the lit fire seems to be escaping through the thin walls, warming the frigid Alaskan air outside rather than the small box of a room you’ve found yourselves in (single queen bed, toy-sized desk shoved into a corner, 25 square foot bathroom).
Emily had crawled under the sheets some time ago, bundled in an overlarge hoodie and fuzzy socks, promptly nursing a cup of chamomile. Her head is ducked into it, lashes curling over the apples of her cheeks. The steam caresses her skin and warms it to a light pink.
You can’t lie to yourself and deny that it’s not unbearably endearing to see her like this. She’s surrendered to the cold, completely pliant under its heft, softened into a creature that pulls her sleeves up over her knuckles and buries her whole face in a mug of herbal tea. Jesus, you could kiss her senseless.
But you don’t. Instead you unzip your go-bag and take out the blanket you carry with you everywhere. It’s soft, navy blue fleece, a little thready along the edges if you look too long. You gather it up and unceremoniously dump it on Emily’s lap.
Her head snaps up, mouth, as always, dipping right into an O of protest. “Hey, what the…? I don’t—”
“Take it.” You interrupt. “You’re shivering.”
“I’m not.”
“No?” You quirk a brow, maneuvering around her full hands and bringing the blanket up around her shoulders. Her hair gets trapped under it; you gently pull it out, letting it fan over the fleece. Emily’s half-hearted glare melts into something weaker. “Well then, just keep it warm for me till I come back.” You gently pinch her cheek between two knuckles. “I have to pee.”
The corner of her lip twitches. You blink and it smooths out, her mouth pressing into disgruntled resignation, a heavy exhale pushing out through her nose.
“You’re not subtle.” She murmurs, tugging a fuzzy edge up to her lobe.
“And you’re not immune to hypothermia.” You retort, though your voice has softened, bent with the pleasure of seeing her acquiesce. “I’m not particularly eager to test the quality of medicine around these parts.”
“Pretty sure they’re well equipped to handle cases of this type.” She quips.
“Jesus, Emily,” you groan, “it’s just a blanket. Is it really so bad that I don’t want my favorite girl to get frostbite?”
Emily rolls her eyes and sips her tea. Her head remains firmly ducked, eyes fixed stubbornly away, refusing to meet yours again. It doesn’t matter. You take her silence as a win, chewing on a smile as you turn, gather up your pajamas, and slip into the boxy bathroom.
Her mug is sitting on the nightstand when you come out—shivering under your pajamas, droplets of icy water dampening your hair. You curl your fingers into your sleeves and feel warmth flare at the domestic scene on the bed. Emily has sunken into your blanket, entirely cocooned; the tip of her nose is dipped into navy blue, one cheek squished into a shoulder, the blanket masking her face in a fuzzy shield. Her eyes seem half-lidded, but they track your approach into the bed, keenly catching the shivers as they roll down your spine. She sits up as you crawl in beneath the duvet.
Stupidly, stubbornly—predictably—she tries to take the blanket off. You stop her as she tries to slip it from her shoulders. “Hey, no, keep it.”
Emily frowns. Her eyes do the thing, edging wide, two darkened pools of disapproval. “Y/N.” She says with no small amount of frustration, half sighing out your name. “Please. It’s fucking freezing.”
You give her a look. “Exactly. I think it’s big enough for two, Emily. Scootch.”
She looks taken aback, as if she hadn’t considered that particular option. You almost want to laugh, but you manage to hold it in as she jerks her head in a tiny nod, unraveling a corner from the shoulder closest to you and holding it out for you to take. You grab the corner and shuffle in, both into the blanket and onto what you’re sure is her pillow, tugging until your shoulders are covered, legs folded at the knees to fit.
It’s not nearly as big with two wrapped into it. Even with all your contorting, part of your foot still sticks out, an elbow excluded from the warmth. It comes at a high price, too. The side of your thigh touches the side of hers, your left arm nearly draping into her lap, her feathery bangs trailing wispy paths on your cheek. When you jerk to swipe the hair off, your nose skims her cheekbone, elbow hitting her square in the chest.
Her eyes blink too close, pools of rich brown you can almost taste.
“Hey, stranger.”
They slide away.
“You’re in my lungs.” She says, shifting to make more room. It’s a mess of adjusting limbs and the mattress squeaking beneath your shuffling weights until you finally settle into a sideways lump in the middle of the bed, all extremities successfully covered, an influx of heat rising between your bodies and trapping under the thick fleece. You’re quite…intimately entangled, your chests an inch away, Emily’s shoulder stacked on top of yours, your foot wormed under her thigh.
The realization hits her when you’ve settled. One brow ticks close to her hairline, her exhaled breath fanning hot across your jaw.
“Well. This is cozy.” She mutters dryly.
“Quite the HR scandal.” You grin.
Her cheeks darken with a blush. You blink several times, not quite believing the sight, but it’s unmistakable, the moonlight exposing flush patches of red threaded through her skin.
You want to touch the back of your hand to her cheek, feel the evidence in a sear of heat. Would it burn the same way your blood does at her mere proximity?
Emily shifts a couple millimeters until she can lie on her back. The blanket shifts, her eyes flick up. “Why do you have to say stuff like that?” She scolds, drained of any fight.
You trace her side profile with your eyes. “Because it’s the only way for me to show that I’m flirting with you.” The words melt the crystals of ice threatening to form in the air. ”Or trying to. Really, Emily, did it have to take me crawling halfway onto your lap for you to notice?”
She whips her head back. Two wide black holes form her eyes, a layering of black pupil on brown iris on inky lashes.
Her lips part. “I—uh.” She stammers. “Flirting?”
Your own mouth stretches, half pleased and half endlessly exasperated. “Yes, Emily. Flirting.” You lay the word on thick. “I don’t exactly run around calling all the girls in the block my favorite girls.” Amusement seeps into your voice. “I think I’ve run out of ways to politely ask if I can take you out.”
She blinks rapidly.
“Oh.”
At the base of her hoodie, a flush starts to creep up her neck. She scratches at her jaw, bitten nails drawing raised red lines in their wake.
“Are you going to say anything coherent?” You tease. “You’re usually much more eloquent—”
She silences you with a kiss. A blissfully warm kiss, her lips, chapped at the seam, tasting of ridiculously sweet vanilla. You surrender immediately, letting yourself be pinned when she rolls over you, knotting your fingers into her hair and feeling her weight press down.
Her flirting skills are moot, but fuck, she can kiss. You’re breathless when her lips move to the corner of your mouth, pressing there in something too light to even be a peck. An exchange of hot, too-quick breaths.
Emily’s forehead rests on yours. “I’m stupid.” She breathes.
“No, no.” You soothe, sweeping bangs away with your thumb. “Just a little unobservant, that’s all.”
“Stupid.” She groans. Her eyes flutter shut, the tiniest crease forming between her brows. “I can’t believe I never…” Your fingers tug on the hair in your fist. A shudder rolls through her, something baser than the cold. “Jesus. How long?”
Your turn to kiss her. You do it slow, memorizing the scratch, the heat of her tongue, the plushness you’d dreamed of for months on end.
“Mm, give or take a year.”
“Goddamn.” She breathes, from the revelation or your greedy hands, you don’t know. You highly prefer the latter.
“It’s okay, baby. At least you got here.” You find hidden warm spots—under her jaw, on her pulse. “Just in time to keep me warm, huh?”
She scoffs. “If you think I’m having sex in this weather, you’re more delusional than I thought.”
“Mm, yeah. We’ll save that for home, huh?” You murmur.
This time, you feel her blush right under your lips.
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