#butch!reader

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.

-

-

Her dark eyes, sharp and calculating at work, softened as she took in the sight. “You remembered,” she murmured, almost to herself.

You glanced at her, the woman who led teams with a voice that brokered no argument, now staring at a museum like a kid on Christmas morning. “Of course I remembered. You talk about this place like it’s a pilgrimage site.”

Emily chuckled, shaking her head, but she didn’t deny it.

You liked seeing her like this—unguarded, lips curling into a smile she didn’t have to hide behind. She was radiant, wearing dark jeans that hugged her hips just right and a black coat that made her look effortlessly cool. Still, you caught the peek of a navy sweater underneath—the same one she wore when she worked from home, when she was soft and warm and entirely yours.

You, in contrast, had leaned into your usual style: clean lines, structured clothes that didn’t need embellishment to make a statement. Dark jeans, a crisp button-up with the sleeves rolled just enough to show your forearms, and the well-worn leather jacket Emily never admitted to liking but always found an excuse to run her fingers over when you hugged her.

Inside, the museum was quieter than you expected. Soft lighting bathed the exhibits, casting shadows that made the ancient relics feel almost alive. The first gallery held towering dinosaur skeletons, their prehistoric forms looming over glass cases of fossils. Emily’s pace slowed as she looked up at a massive sauropod, her lips parting in quiet awe.

“I always loved the idea of deep time,” she said, almost to herself. “How these creatures existed long before humans ever took a step. It’s humbling.”

You watched her, not the fossils. The way her brows lifted slightly in wonder, how her fingers brushed absently against the strap of her purse as though grounding herself. Emily, the woman who could dismantle an unsub’s alibi with surgical precision, was standing here, starry-eyed over a dinosaur skeleton.

“You’re such a nerd,” you teased, bumping her shoulder with yours.

Emily didn’t look away from the fossil. “You like that about me.”

You grinned. “Guilty as charged.”

Further in, the crowds thinned, leaving the two of you in relative solitude. You moved through the exhibits at an unhurried pace, Emily stopping now and then to read plaques aloud—like you couldn’t read for yourself, but you didn’t stop her. You liked the sound of her voice when she wasn’t trying to be in control.

In the mineral gallery, the light shifted to something softer, almost ethereal. Ancient crystals sparkled under glass, casting fragmented rainbows across the floor. Emily stepped into one of the pools of light, her gray hair catching the glow, and for a moment, you forgot how to breathe.

“You’re staring,” she teased, not looking up from a cluster of quartz.

“Can you blame me?” you shot back, voice low and steady. “I’m looking at the rarest gem in the room.”

That earned you a laugh, warm and genuine, the kind she only let slip when she felt truly safe.

You stepped closer, the heels of your boots scuffing lightly against the polished floor. “You know,” you murmured, “when you first mentioned this place, I thought you were just humoring me. Another ‘fun fact’ from the encyclopedia that is Emily Prentiss.”

She finally looked at you, her gaze softening. “And now?”

“Now I get it.” You reached out, fingers brushing hers. “It’s not just the history. It’s that everything here has survived—storms, extinction, time itself. It’s resilient. Kind of like you.”

Emily blinked, her walls slipping just enough for you to see the woman beneath—the one who loved fiercely but struggled to accept that same tenderness in return.

“You’re such a sap,” she muttered, though her hand found yours and squeezed.

“Only for you,” you replied, voice softer now, more sincere.

You walked through the remaining exhibits hand in hand, her fingers warm and sure in yours. There was no rush, no urgency—just two people finding peace in a place built to honor survival. And, in a way, wasn’t that what you’d both done? Survived. Found each other in the wreckage.

By the time you stepped outside, the city had settled into quiet. Emily leaned against the museum’s stone railing, her gaze drifting toward the stars barely visible through the city’s glow.

“Thank you,” she said finally, turning to look at you.

“For what?”

“For remembering. For knowing me better than I sometimes know myself.” She hesitated, then added, “For making me feel… seen.”

You stepped closer, your hand finding its natural place on her waist. “That’s what partners do, Emily. We see each other. And we make damn sure the other never forgets how much they matter.”

Her smile was soft, almost shy—so unlike the Emily the world knew. But you knew this version, the one who geeked out over ancient history and leaned into you when she needed warmth.

“Take me home?” she asked quietly.

“Always,” you murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple before guiding her toward the car.

And as you drove through the sleeping city, her hand resting comfortably on your thigh, you realized that tonight wasn’t just a date. It was a reminder—that love, like the fossils she admired, could endure anything. It just needed the right people to uncover it.

—

The drive home was quiet, the air thick with something more than contentment—something warm, unspoken, and inevitable. Emily's hand rested on your thigh, her thumb tracing slow, absentminded circles over the rough fabric of your jeans. Neither of you spoke, but the silence wasn't empty. It was filled with anticipation, with the weight of knowing what came next.

When you pulled into her parking spot, she didn’t move right away. Instead, she turned to you, her dark eyes soft but intent. “Come inside?” she asked quietly, though you both knew it wasn’t really a question.

You nodded, squeezing her hand. “Lead the way.”

The house was dimly lit when you stepped inside, the faint glow from the kitchen lamp casting long shadows across the hardwood floor. Emily set her bag down by the door, her movements slower, more deliberate than usual. You followed her into the living room, but when she turned to face you, something shifted. The air thickened, and the teasing, playful energy from earlier gave way to something deeper.

“You really listened,” she murmured, brushing her fingers along the collar of your leather jacket. “About the museum. About everything.”

You caught her hand, holding it against your chest. “Of course I did. You deserve someone who remembers the little things.”

Emily’s lips parted, but no words came. Instead, she leaned in, her mouth finding yours with a tenderness that stole your breath. This wasn’t the rushed, desperate kind of kiss you’d shared after long cases or late nights. This was slow, purposeful—like she was tasting the truth of what you’d just said.

Her hands slid up your chest, fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt as she pressed closer. You let her take the lead for a moment, savoring the warmth of her body against yours, the familiar scent of her shampoo—lavender and something faintly musky, like worn leather and home.

But then, you shifted. Your hands found her waist, steady and sure as you guided her backward, step by step, until her back hit the edge of the couch. She smiled against your lips, amused but not resisting.

“Bedroom,” you murmured, voice low and certain. “I want to take my time with you.”

Emily’s breath hitched, her eyes darkening. “Yeah,” she whispered, threading her fingers through yours and pulling you down the hallway.

Once inside, the room softened around you—lit only by the glow of the lamp on her nightstand. The bed, unmade from the morning rush, felt inviting rather than messy. 

You reached for the buttons of her coat, slowly peeling it away from her shoulders. Her sweater followed, revealing the smooth curve of her collarbone and the steady rise and fall of her chest. Your gaze lingered, drinking her in.

“I love you,” you murmured, fingers brushing along her jaw before you leaned in to kiss her again.

Emily smiled into the kiss, her hands already tugging at the hem of your shirt. “Flattery will get you everywhere,” she teased, but her voice was softer now, almost shy.

“Good,” you replied, pulling back just enough to strip off your jacket and shirt in one fluid motion. You stood there for a moment, watching the way her gaze drifted over you, her pupils dilating as she took in your strong shoulders, the defined lines of your arms.

Emily stepped closer, her hand resting flat against your chest, just over your heart. “You always look like you’re in control,” she murmured, her thumb brushing lightly over your skin. “But it’s different now. You’re… softer.”

You caught her hand, kissing her palm. “Soft doesn’t mean less,” you said quietly. “It means I trust you.”

That seemed to break something in her. She pulled you into another kiss, deeper this time, more insistent. You didn’t rush. Instead, you guided her toward the bed, hands steady at her waist, letting her set the pace until the backs of her knees hit the mattress.

Emily sat down, pulling you with her until you were standing between her legs. Her hands found your belt, fingers working deftly to unbuckle it, but you caught her wrists, halting her movements.

“Not yet,” you murmured, shaking your head. “Tonight’s about you.”

Her breath caught, and you didn’t give her a chance to protest. You leaned down, kissing along the curve of her neck, the hollow of her throat, the soft slope of her shoulder. With every touch, she melted further into you, her body pliant and eager beneath your hands.

Emily’s breath hitched as you eased her back onto the bed, your lips tracing the delicate line of her jaw. Her skin was warm under your touch, and the slow thrum of her pulse beneath your fingertips made your own heartbeat quicken.

"Lie back," you murmured against her neck, the command softened by the kiss you pressed just below her ear. "Let me take care of you."

Emily didn’t argue. She never did when you got like this—steady, in control, your confidence something she’d come to crave as much as the pleasure you always delivered. You watched her settle into the pillows, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting shadows across the curve of her breasts and the smooth lines of her stomach.

You took your time, trailing kisses down her chest, your tongue flicking briefly over her collarbone before moving lower. Her breath stuttered as you brushed your lips across the swell of her breasts, teasing her nipples into stiff peaks with the faintest graze of your teeth. Emily arched into you, her fingers curling into the sheets as she silently urged you on.

"Patience," you chided, looking up at her with a teasing grin. "I’m not rushing this."

Her eyes darkened, and she bit her lip, but she nodded. She always did when you took control like this—surrendering the weight of the world to you, even if only for a little while.

Sliding further down, you traced the ridges of her abdomen with the tip of your tongue, savoring the way her muscles tensed beneath your touch. By the time you reached the waistband of her jeans, Emily was already shifting, trying to angle her hips toward you, seeking more friction than your teasing kisses offered.

"Up," you ordered softly, your hands sliding under her hips to lift them as you tugged her jeans down. She complied without hesitation, raising herself just enough for you to strip her bare, leaving her flushed and exposed beneath you.

You paused for a moment, just taking her in. Emily—always composed, always in control—was now spread out for you, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths, her thighs already glistening in the soft light.

"Fuck, Emily," you muttered, voice rough with desire. "You’re perfect."

Her cheeks flushed deeper, but the corner of her mouth lifted in a faint smirk. "Then stop staring and do something about it."

You didn’t need to be told twice.

You settled between her legs, your broad shoulders keeping her thighs parted as you pressed a kiss to the inside of her knee. Slowly, you worked your way up, trailing open-mouthed kisses along the soft skin of her inner thigh, letting your teeth scrape lightly just to feel her shiver beneath you.

"You're already so wet," you murmured, brushing your thumb along her slick folds, spreading the evidence of her arousal. Emily gasped, her hips jerking instinctively, but you held her steady with a firm grip on her hips.

"Please," she whispered, voice breaking on the word.

"Patience," you reminded her again, though your own restraint was fraying.

Finally, you leaned in, your breath hot against her as you pressed the first soft kiss to her clit. Emily’s entire body tensed, her fingers flying to your hair, gripping tightly as if anchoring herself.

"That's it," you murmured, the vibration of your words making her moan. "Let go for me."

You flattened your tongue, dragging it slowly up her slit, savoring the taste of her—warm, salty, utterly intoxicating. Emily cried out, thighs trembling around your head as you circled her clit with deliberate, measured strokes. You didn’t rush. You never rushed with her.

Her breathing grew ragged as you switched between slow, broad licks and tighter, more focused flicks against that sensitive bundle of nerves. When her hips lifted off the bed, you pressed her back down with strong hands, holding her in place as you worked her open.

"Y/N," she gasped, voice breaking as you sucked her clit into your mouth, your tongue teasing the sensitive tip. "I can’t—fuck, I’m close."

"Not yet," you muttered against her, the words muffled by the slick heat of her. You wanted to draw this out, to watch her unravel piece by piece until she had nothing left but your name on her lips.

You slid two fingers inside her without warning, curling them upward until you found that spot that made her entire body jolt. Emily’s grip on your hair tightened, her thighs clamping briefly around your head before falling open again, completely at your mercy.

"Please," she whimpered, her voice raw and desperate. "Please, Y/N. Let me come."

You looked up, catching her gaze. Her pupils were blown wide, her face flushed, hair falling in wild waves around her head. Beautiful. Utterly undone.

"Come for me," you ordered softly, your fingers moving faster, your tongue relentless against her clit.

That was all it took.

Emily shattered beneath you, her back arching off the bed as her orgasm ripped through her. Her thighs trembled violently, her breath catching in her throat before she finally let out a low, broken moan that made your own core clench in response. You didn’t stop, not until her hips bucked away from the overstimulation, forcing you to ease up.

You pressed one last kiss to her clit before sliding up her body, your fingers still buried inside her, feeling every aftershock ripple through her.

“Fuck,” she panted, eyes fluttering open to meet yours. You smirked, brushing damp hair back from her flushed face. Emily laughed breathlessly, pulling you down for a kiss that tasted like her own release. Her legs wrapped around your waist, holding you close as she murmured against your lips, “I want to ride you.”

But you didn’t move. Not yet. You wanted to memorize her like this—soft, open, and entirely yours. And when she finally flipped you onto your back, you slipped your fingers from her—determination burning in her eyes as she reached for the harness in the nightstand.

She pulled the drawer open without breaking eye contact. The cool leather of the harness caught the soft light from the bedside lamp, and her lips curved into a slow, knowing smile.

"Stay right there," she murmured, voice husky with satisfaction and hunger. She sat back on her heels, straddling your hips, her bare skin flushed and glistening. The sight alone was enough to make your breath catch.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you rasped, propping yourself up on your elbows as you watched her work. There was something undeniably intoxicating about the way Emily moved—graceful, deliberate, always in control, except for the moments when you pushed her past reason. But now? Now, she was the one setting the pace, and you were more than willing to let her.

She fastened the harness around your hips, tightening the straps with practiced ease. The sight of her nimble fingers adjusting the buckles sent a spark of heat straight through you, anticipation curling low in your belly. You reached up, brushing your thumb across her cheek, and she leaned into the touch for just a moment before her gaze darkened once more.

“You ready for me?” she teased, her tone playful but threaded with sincerity.

“Always,” you murmured, voice rough. “Take what you need, Em.”

That was all the invitation she needed. Emily leaned down, her lips brushing yours in a kiss that was slow and purposeful, her body pressing flush against yours as the harness settled perfectly between you. You could feel the warmth of her slick folds brushing against the length of the strap, her breath hitching as she rocked her hips experimentally.

"Fuck," she whispered, eyes fluttering shut for a moment. "I can already tell this is going to ruin me."

"That’s the idea," you shot back, hands finding her hips, guiding her movements with firm, steady pressure.

Emily chuckled breathlessly, then sat up, bracing herself with one hand on your chest. With the other, she reached down, positioning herself above you. The head of the strap teased her entrance, and she bit her lip, savoring the moment as she slowly began to sink down.

You watched every inch disappear inside her, mesmerized by the way her body stretched to accommodate you, the way her mouth fell open in a silent gasp as the fullness hit her. Your grip on her hips tightened, grounding her, steadying her.

“Fuck, Emily," you muttered, your voice nearly breaking as she took you deeper, inch by agonizing inch. "You look fucking perfect like this."

Emily’s breath hitched, and her hands flew to your shoulders, nails digging in just enough to make you hiss. "God," she whispered, voice shaking as she bottomed out, hips flush against yours. "So full…"

"Take your time," you rasped, resisting the urge to thrust up into her heat. "I’m not rushing you."

But Emily didn’t need time. She adjusted quickly, her body already attuned to yours after months of slow exploration and stolen moments. Her hips rolled in a lazy circle, testing the stretch, and her eyes fluttered shut as pleasure flickered across her face.

"Fuck, Y/N," she gasped, her voice breaking on your name. "You feel… so good.”

You couldn’t hold back any longer. One hand slid up her back, fingers spreading wide as you pressed her closer. The other stayed firm on her hip, guiding her as she began to move—slow, deliberate strokes that left both of you gasping.

"Look at me," you ordered softly, your voice firm but laced with affection.

Emily’s eyes snapped open, pupils blown wide, cheeks flushed. She held your gaze as she found her rhythm, each roll of her hips sending a fresh wave of heat crashing through you both. The sound of skin meeting skin filled the room, punctuated by her breathless moans and your quiet, reverent murmurs.

"You’re so fucking beautiful like this," you muttered, thumb brushing across her hipbone. "Taking me so well. Like you were made for it."

Emily’s lips parted, but no words came—just a soft, broken whimper as she ground down harder, chasing her pleasure with single-minded focus. You met each movement with an upward thrust, your restraint unraveling as the heat between you built to an almost unbearable intensity.

Her fingers tangled in your hair, pulling you into a kiss that was all teeth and desperation, her body tightening around you as she rode the edge. You could feel her thighs trembling beneath your hands, her breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps.

"Y/N," she panted, her voice shaking. "I’m so close. Don’t stop."

You growled, tightening your grip and driving up into her with deliberate precision. Each thrust hit that perfect spot inside her, and you could see the moment she lost control—her eyes squeezing shut, her mouth falling open in a silent cry as pleasure overtook her.

"Come for me," you urged, voice rough with need. "Let go."

And she did.

Her entire body went taut, her back arching as her orgasm ripped through her, the muscles in her thighs trembling violently as she rode out the waves. Her breath caught in her throat before breaking into a low, shattered moan that sent a fresh surge of heat through you.

"Fuck," she whispered, collapsing onto your chest, her body still fluttering around the strap buried deep inside her. Her breath came in ragged gasps, skin flushed and damp as she melted into you, completely undone.

But you weren’t finished.

"Emily," you murmured, voice thick with need. Your hands found her hips again, holding her steady as you rolled your own upward, just enough to make her gasp and jolt against you. "I'm not done."

Her eyes fluttered open, glazed and dazed, but that familiar spark reignited the moment she registered your intent. A slow, wicked smile curled across her lips.

"Still so damn cocky," she teased, her voice hoarse from moaning your name. "You want yours now?"

You grinned, eyes dark with hunger. "You gonna give it to me?"

Emily didn’t answer—not with words, anyway. She pushed herself up, muscles trembling but determination burning in her gaze. Her hands flattened against your chest, nails scraping lightly over your skin as she shifted her hips, grinding down slowly, deliberately, making sure you felt every inch of her slick heat against the base of the strap.

Your breath caught, hips jerking instinctively as the harness rubbed against your clit, the pressure just right. "Jesus, Em."

"That's it," she murmured, leaning down to brush her lips against your jaw, her breath hot and teasing. "Let me see you fall apart, tough girl."

You groaned, the words hitting you almost as hard as the way she moved—rolling her hips in slow, deliberate circles, the strap hitting just right with every motion. The friction against your clit was relentless, building quickly, too quickly, but fuck, you didn’t care. Not when she was looking at you like that—like you were the only thing in the world worth worshipping.

"You're so fucking gorgeous like this," Emily rasped the perfect echo, a mirror of the love you gave. Her hands sliding up your breasts, thumbs brushing your nipples. "Strong. In control. But right now? You’re mine."

Her words were your undoing.

"Fuck," you choked out, head falling back against the pillows as the coil of heat in your core snapped. Pleasure crashed over you in waves, sharp and consuming, stealing your breath as your body tensed and trembled beneath her.

Emily didn’t stop. She rode you through it, her grip firm on your hips as she ground down, watching every flicker of ecstasy cross your face.

"That's it," she whispered, voice rough with awe. "Let go for me, baby. I’ve got you."

And you did—completely, utterly, with nothing held back. When the tremors finally subsided, you collapsed against the mattress, breathless and wrecked, heart pounding wildly in your chest.

Emily leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to your lips, soft and lingering. "Worth the wait?" she teased, her smile lazy and satisfied.

You chuckled, voice rough. "Hell yes."

"Good," she murmured, brushing damp hair back from your forehead. "Because I’m not done with you yet."

The feeling was mutual. She struck you as arrogant, always pushing psychological analysis as the key to solving the case while brushing off the critical role your team played. It didn’t help that every conversation with her seemed to devolve into a battle of wills. And yet, you couldn’t deny there was something about her—something infuriatingly magnetic—that lingered in your mind long after each meeting. You weren’t sure if it was her dark eyes frame perfectly by her long lashes. Or the grey hair, that always seem to be flowing with movement. Everything about her caught your attention.

By the time this morning rolled around, the tension between the two of you was palpable. Your team had been up all night decrypting a message left behind by Cipher, only for the BAU to dismiss it as “another dead end.” The email you’d received from Emily this morning—blunt, condescending, and entirely unnecessary—had been the final straw.

Now, you stood outside the conference room, gripping a steaming cup of black coffee in one hand and a thick file of notes in the other. As much as you hated to admit it, you were running on fumes. The endless nights and mounting pressure had left you irritable, and knowing you were about to face off with Emily Prentiss again didn’t help.

You pushed the door open, immediately spotting her at the head of the room. She was as composed as ever, scrolling through data on the projection screen, her tailored suit pristine despite the long hours. Her dark eyes flicked up as you entered, and the faint smirk that tugged at her lips made your blood boil.

"You’re late," she said coolly, not bothering to hide the challenge in her tone.

"And you’re predictable," you shot back, setting your coffee down with a thud. "We’ve been running decryption on Cipher’s latest message all night. Maybe if you’d bothered to check in, you’d know that."

The other agents in the room—both from your unit and hers—stilled, glancing between the two of you like deer caught in headlights. This wasn’t the first time they’d witnessed the two of you butt heads, but the atmosphere today was heavier than usual.

Emily crossed her arms, tilting her head slightly as she regarded you. "We did check in. The only thing your team sent over was half a report and some raw data that’s hardly actionable."

You exhaled sharply, your frustration bubbling to the surface. "Raw data that might actually mean something if your team wasn’t so quick to dismiss anything that doesn’t fit into one of your neat little profiles."

The room felt like a pressure cooker ready to explode. You could feel every pair of eyes on you, but your focus was locked solely on her. For a moment, the two of you stared each other down, the charged silence stretching until someone—Rossi was his name you remembered—cleared his throat.

"If we could, uh, maybe focus on the case?" the agent offered hesitantly.

Emily didn’t take her eyes off you as she spoke, her tone sharper than it needed to be. "Fine. Let’s focus."

You clenched your jaw and stepped closer to the projection screen, flipping open your file and slapping down a printed screenshot of Cipher’s most recent threat. "The message your team dismissed wasn’t a dead end. It’s encoded, but there’s enough metadata here to suggest Cipher is planning their next attack on a major metropolitan hospital. If we’d spent less time arguing and more time collaborating, we might already have a lead."

Emily leaned in, her eyes scanning the page, her jaw tightening as she absorbed the information. "And yet, your team didn’t flag it as urgent. That’s on you, y/l/n.”

That was it. Weeks of barely concealed animosity, sleepless nights, and mounting pressure boiled over as the two of you stepped closer, the argument escalating in volume and intensity. By the time the rest of the room cleared out—agents awkwardly shuffling toward the door—it was just the two of you, toe-to-toe, the air between you crackling with tension.

"You always have to be right, don’t you?" you snapped, crossing your arms over your chest as you towered over her.

Emily didn’t flinch, her sharp gaze meeting yours with equal fire. "And you always take everything so damn personally. Maybe that’s why your team walks on eggshells around you."

Your fists clenched at your sides, your jaw tightening as you took a deliberate step closer. "You don’t make anything easy, do you?" you muttered, your voice rough with frustration.

Her lips curved into a smirk, though there was no humor in it. "You’re one to talk," she said, her voice softer now, her dark eyes flicking over your face—your jawline, your broad shoulders, the way your shirt stretched slightly across your chest. Her gaze lingered just long enough for you to notice, and your heart slammed in your chest.

"What’s your problem with me, Prentiss?" you asked, your voice rough, the words tumbling out before you could stop them.

She opened her mouth to respond, but no words came. Instead, the heat between you finally broke, all the tension, frustration, and unspoken attraction igniting in a single moment as you grabbed her wrist and pulled her closer.

The kiss was messy, frantic, and utterly unprofessional. Her hands found their way to your short hair, her nails grazing the back of your neck as she pulled you in closer. Your hands gripped her waist, firm and steady, grounding the both of you as the world outside the room melted away.

When you finally broke apart, your foreheads resting together as you caught your breath, Emily’s dark eyes searched yours, still half-dazed.

"This doesn’t mean I like you," she murmured, her voice low, though her hands lingered on your chest, her fingers brushing against the steady thrum of your heartbeat.

"Good," you replied, a faint smirk tugging at your lips. "Because I still think you’re a pain in the ass." You said gathering your notes and walking out the room.

The door clicked shut behind you, leaving Emily alone in the conference room, still leaning against the table as she stared at the empty space where you’d been standing. Her lips tingled from the kiss, and her heartbeat refused to settle, pounding in her chest like a war drum.

She exhaled sharply, raking a hand through her hair. "What the hell just happened?" she muttered under her breath.

Emily prided herself on control—keeping her emotions in check, maintaining professionalism at all times—but all of that had unraveled in a matter of seconds. And the worst part? She wasn’t even angry about it.

The way you’d looked at her, the heat in your voice as you challenged her, and the confidence in the way you closed the distance between you—it all lingered in her mind, refusing to be ignored.

With a sigh, Emily pushed off the table and left the room, heading for her office. The BAU bullpen was buzzing with activity, but her team’s voices faded into background noise as she marched past them, her mind still replaying the kiss.

Unfortunately for Emily, she didn’t make it to the sanctuary of her office unnoticed. Rossi was the first to notice her distracted expression.

"You look like you’ve seen a ghost," Rossi teased, his tone light as he glanced up from his tablet. "Or maybe it’s something—or someone—else on your mind?"

Emily froze, throwing him a sharp look. “Come on, Dave.”

That was the wrong thing to say. Rossi raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a knowing smirk as he set his espresso down. "Ah, so it is someone. Let me guess—built, sharp-dressed, and with a knack for getting under your skin?"

Emily rolled her eyes, muttering, “Not now," as she kept walking, but Rossi wasn’t one to let things go easily.

"Come on, Prentiss. You’re practically glowing," he said, his voice tinged with amusement. "If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’ve got a crush on our favorite Cyber Section Chief.”

Emily stopped in her tracks, her jaw tightening as she turned back to glare at him. "I do not have a crush on her,” she said, her voice firm but quieter than she intended.

Rossi simply chuckled with an infuriatingly smug look. "Whatever you say, Emily."

Emily turned on her heel and headed for her office, her face heating as she slammed the door behind her. She leaned back against it, closing her eyes and exhaling slowly. She couldn’t believe she’d let herself get caught up like that—let alone in a kiss with you of all people.

Across the building, you were having your own crisis of thought.

Back in your office, you sat at your desk, your notes forgotten as you stared blankly at your computer screen. The memory of Emily’s lips on yours played over and over in your mind, and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t shake it.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. You and Emily weren’t friends, weren’t even close to it. You were rivals, constantly at each other’s throats over the case, over methods, over everything. And yet, that kiss…

You groaned, running a hand through your hair. You couldn’t afford this distraction, not now. Cipher was still out there, and every second wasted was another second the terrorist could strike again.

But as much as you tried to focus, the image of Emily’s flushed cheeks, the way her dark eyes had softened just before she kissed you—it wouldn’t leave you alone.

The knock on your door startled you out of your thoughts. "Come in," you called, quickly straightening in your chair.

Your second-in-command, Agent Lopez, stepped in, a thick folder in hand. "We’ve got a lead on Cipher," they said, setting the file on your desk.

"Good," you replied, flipping it open and scanning the contents. The case had to come first, you reminded yourself. Whatever had happened with Emily would have to wait.

And yet, as you reviewed the file, you couldn’t help but wonder how she was feeling right now. Was she just as distracted as you were? Or had she already written it off as a mistake, a moment of weakness born out of frustration?

You shook the thought away, focusing on the task at hand. Cipher wasn’t going to catch themselves.

But deep down, you knew this wasn’t over—not by a long shot.

The jet hummed softly as it cut through the clouds on its way to Dallas. The team was seated around the conference table, going over the latest intel. You sat at one end, leaning back in your chair with your arms crossed, your eyes scanning the case files in front of you. Across from you, Emily sat stiffly, her gaze locked on the same files but with a tension in her jaw that betrayed her distraction.

"Cipher’s message patterns indicate they’re targeting Baylor Medical Center," you said, breaking the silence. "We’ve already flagged the hospital to beef up its cybersecurity protocols, but if Cipher’s on-site or has a collaborator inside, it won’t be enough."

Emily glanced up, her eyes meeting yours. "Which is why we need to anticipate their psychological profile. Cipher thrives on control and chaos. If they’re targeting a hospital, it’s not just about disruption—it’s personal. They’ll want to make a statement."

You bristled at her tone, the familiar edge to her words igniting your frustration. "And yet you dismissed the metadata that pointed us here in the first place."

Emily leaned forward, her hands flat on the table. "Because it was incomplete—“

"Okay, okay," Rossi interrupted, raising a hand and glancing between the two of you with a bemused expression. "How about we focus on the unsub and save the personal sparring match for later?"

You exhaled sharply, leaning back again, while Emily muttered something under her breath and turned her attention back to the files.

The tension between you and Emily was thicker than ever, but underneath it all, there was a new layer—something unspoken, a simmering heat that neither of you wanted to acknowledge.

Later, as the jet grew quieter and most of the team settled into their own tasks or conversations, you found yourself standing near the coffee station, pouring a fresh cup to stave off the exhaustion threatening to creep in.

"You’re going to burn yourself out," Emily’s voice came from behind you.

You turned to see her leaning casually against the wall, her dark eyes watching you with an expression that was softer than usual.

"I could say the same for you," you replied, offering her a pointed look before taking a sip of your coffee.

She shrugged, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "Maybe. But I’m not the one trying to solve every problem single-handedly."

You frowned, her words cutting a little closer to the truth than you’d like. "I’m just doing my job."

Emily stepped closer, her voice quieter now. "I know you are. And for what it’s worth, you’re good at it."

The compliment caught you off guard, and for a moment, you simply stared at her, unsure of how to respond. But then the moment passed, and the familiar tension returned, both of you retreating to the safety of your usual sparring.

By the time the jet landed in Dallas, the team was ready to move. You and Emily continued to clash over strategy, but there were moments—brief, fleeting moments—where the walls between you seemed to crack. A shared glance here, a quiet word of agreement there.

It wasn’t until the case ended, with Cipher apprehended after a tense standoff in the hospital’s IT department, that the full weight of everything hit you.

The team returned to Quantico late that night, exhausted but victorious. While the others dispersed to head home, you found yourself wandering the empty hallways of the BAU, your mind still replaying the events of the case.

You didn’t realize you’d ended up outside Emily’s office until her voice broke the silence.

"Couldn’t sleep either?"

You looked up to see her standing in the doorway, her arms crossed and a tired but soft expression on her face.

"Not really," you admitted, leaning against the wall. "Still going over everything in my head."

She nodded, stepping aside and gesturing for you to come in. "Same here. Come on. I could use some company."

You hesitated for a moment before stepping into her office. The space was dimly lit, warm, and oddly comforting. Emily moved to sit on the edge of her desk, watching you as you leaned against the wall, your hands in your suit pockets.

"So," she began, her voice light but cautious, "are we going to talk about it?"

You raised an eyebrow. "Talk about what?"

Emily gave you a pointed look, her lips curving into a small smile. "The kiss."

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. "I was wondering when you’d bring that up."

She tilted her head, profiling you. "What does it mean to you?"

You met her gaze, the vulnerability in her voice catching you off guard. "I don’t know," you admitted honestly. "But I haven’t stopped thinking about it."

Emily’s expression softened, and for a moment, the tension between you seemed to evaporate, replaced by something gentler.

"I haven’t either," she said quietly.

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. It was heavy, yes, but with possibility rather than animosity. Slowly, Emily stood and crossed the room, stopping just in front of you.

"If this is a mistake," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, "it’s one I’m willing to make."

You smiled faintly, your hand reaching out to brush against hers. "Then maybe it’s not a mistake."

And this time, when she kissed you, there was no anger, no frustration—just the quiet, unspoken understanding that something between you had shifted, and there was no going back.

Emily’s hand slid up your strong arm, her touch deliberate and slow, as though she was testing the waters of this newfound connection. Her dark eyes, framed by lashes that seemed unfairly long, searched yours, lingering on the sharp angles of your jaw and the way your neatly tailored blazer clung to your broad shoulders.

"You know," she said softly, her lips curving into a faint smile, "you make it really hard to stay mad at you when you look like this."

You raised an eyebrow, leaning just slightly closer, your smirk teasing. "Like what?"

Her eyes traveled over you again, this time slower, as though she was committing every detail to memory. "Confident. Put-together. And infuriatingly attractive."

Heat rushed to your face, though you masked it with a chuckle. "Funny, I could say the same about you. This grey hair? It’s unfairly distracting."

Emily’s smile widened, and for the first time, there was no hint of her usual guardedness—just a quiet, radiant warmth. "Distracting, huh?"

You reached out, your hand brushing against the side of her face, your fingers gently tucking a stray strand of her hair behind her ear. The streaks of silver stood out starkly against the black or her blouse, and you found yourself mesmerized by how it caught the dim light of the office.

"It suits you," you murmured, your thumb brushing lightly over her temple. "Like it’s a badge of everything you’ve been through and come out stronger for."

Her breath hitched at your words, and for a moment, all the tension and banter between you melted away. She tilted her head into your touch, her dark eyes flickering with something raw and unspoken.

"You’re full of surprises, you know that?" she said quietly, her voice softer now.

You smirked, your other hand settling on her hip. "I get that a lot."

Emily’s gaze dropped briefly to the way your sleeves were rolling up to your forearms, revealing strong, capable hands. The hint of tattoos peeking from beneath the fabric caught her attention, and she seemed momentarily distracted before meeting your eyes again.

"There’s something about you," she admitted, her voice low and almost hesitant, like she wasn’t used to saying such things aloud. "The way you carry yourself. It’s… commanding."

Her words struck a chord deep within you, and for a moment, you didn’t know what to say. You leaned in closer instead, brushing your lips against hers in a kiss that was slow but no less intense than the one you’d shared before.

Her hands found their way to the front of your blazer, tugging you closer as the kiss deepened. She smiled against your lips, her fingers curling into the crisp lapels, the soft fabric a contrast to the roughness of her grip.

"You’ve got this whole 'stoic butch hero' thing going," she teased between kisses, her voice breathy and warm. "And I’ve got to say, it’s working for you."

You let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head as you pressed your forehead against hers. "And you’ve got this whole 'unshakable badass with a vulnerable side' thing," you replied, your voice equally soft. "Not exactly fair, is it?"

Her smile widened, her hands sliding down your chest and lingering on the faint outline of your tie beneath the blazer. "Maybe not," she said, her tone playful. "But I think we’ll survive."

The kiss resumed, deeper this time, as the air between you grew charged with a heat that had been building for weeks—months, maybe. Emily’s hands moved to the back of your neck, her fingers tangling in your hair as she drew you even closer.

Your own hands moved to her waist, pulling her against you as you navigated her back toward the desk. The edge pressed against her, but she didn’t seem to notice—or care. Her focus was entirely on you, her lips, her hands, the way you seemed to take up every inch of space in the room without even trying.

The second you opened the door, the hum of tech and conversation fell into a hush. Monitors lit the dim room in glows of blue and green, casting long shadows across tired faces and desks cluttered with cables and coffee cups. But all eyes were on you.

“Boss,” Maldonado greeted, rising from his desk with a lopsided grin. “Tried to keep your seat warm, but no one can match the scowl.”

You gave him a sharp look—but it softened instantly into a smirk. “That why you’ve got the back cushion on my chair?”

He held up his hands in mock surrender. “Medical necessity. Not all of us are made of concrete and sarcasm.”

A few chuckles rose from the rest of the unit. You caught several lingering glances—some relieved, others protective, all familiar. These were your people. They’d held down the fort while you were gone. And now, they were ready to follow you again.

You tossed your jacket over your chair, ignoring the stubborn twinge in your side as you lowered yourself into the seat. You weren’t at one hundred percent—not quite—but close enough to fake it. And you were too damn stubborn to wait any longer.

Emily would have something to say about that. She had said something, more than once. Just last night, curled up beside you with her head on your chest, she’d traced a slow line across your ribs and murmured, “You better not go in there trying to play hero. If I find out you’re throwing yourself back into work before you’re ready, I’m cuffing you to the bed—and not in the fun way.”

You’d laughed, kissed her temple, and promised to be careful.

But she knew you too well.

And as you settled into your chair, pretending not to notice the stiffness in your side, you could practically hear her voice in your head—equal parts exasperation and fondness—“God, you're so bad at resting. Try not to break anything on your first day back.”

You smirked to yourself.

“Alright,” you said, clapping your hands once. “Let’s talk about this new case.”

And just like that, the room snapped back into motion. Your team slipped easily into the rhythm of your leadership, falling into step like no time had passed. You led the briefing with clipped efficiency—voice low, tone firm, brain sharp as ever. The hacker in question was younger, sloppier, but reckless enough to be dangerous. You ran down the profile, the activity patterns, the entry points he’d exploited in federal servers.

But somewhere between assigning trace tasks and reviewing metadata strings, your thoughts drifted. Just for a second.

You wondered what Emily was doing.

She’d texted that morning. Something simple. "Proud of you already. I’ll swing by later." You could still feel the warmth in your chest from reading it. Emily wasn’t the kind of woman who texted fluff. But when she said something, it meant everything.

You blinked, shook off the thought, and re-centered. You had a case to run.

—

Hours passed. The team flowed like they always had under your command—solid, precise, loyal. Maldonado ran a brilliant sting operation on a burner line, two junior agents followed up on trace logs, and you had your hands reviewing your team’s parsing of a string of SQL injections linked to three offshore shell accounts.

You were enjoying being back with your team. You found the easy rhythm of being in their quarters, sitting on a small chair on a computer dedicated for when you came out your official office to work with them.

And as if your chest couldn’t warm any more you felt the shift in the room that gave her away. A strange, synchronized awareness that someone had walked in. Someone important.

You looked up—and there she was.

Emily, standing in the doorway of your unit like she had every right to be there. (And she kind of did.) Her burgundy trench coat was slung over one arm, dark blouse open at the collar, and a sleek travel thermos in her other hand.

You raised an eyebrow, that signature swagger in your step—the one you only ever pulled out for her—as you crossed the room with confidence. Emily’s eyes flicked down your frame and back up, just a little too slow to be innocent.

“You get lost, Prentiss?” you asked, voice teasing.

She smirked, but the way her lips parted for a second before answering told you everything. She wasn’t lost—just momentarily distracted by the sight of you looking every bit the cocky, composed butch she couldn’t get enough of.

She shrugged. “Thought I’d make sure the Section Chief didn’t pass out on her first day back.”

The thermos landed on your desk with a soft thunk. “Not that I don’t trust your team,” she added, eyes flicking toward Maldonado, “but I’ve seen what passes for coffee around here.”

Maldonado smirked. “You wound me.”

Emily’s gaze shifted back to you, warming. “He’ll recover.”

You took the thermos, fingers brushing hers. Her touch lingered for a beat too long, her eyes scanning your face like she was making sure you were really okay. You gave her a slight nod—one she read easily.

“I’m fine,” you murmured.

She leaned in slightly, her voice dropping so only you could hear. “It’s ok mon coeur if you’re not.”

Before you could respond, Maldonado stepped forward, arms crossed casually, though there was a familiar gleam in his eye. “Emily. You can come in all the way, you know. We don’t bite.”

Emily blinked, but walked in fully, slipping seamlessly into the room’s rhythm.

“Good to see you all,” she offered with that cool, composed tone she wore like armor. But when she looked at you again, her lips twitched.

“Don’t worry,” Maldonado said, nodding toward you. “She’s already yelled at me once. We’re back to normal.”

“That quick?” Emily teased.

Maldonado gave a dramatic sigh. “Feels like she never left.”

You shook your head, sipping from the thermos. Of course it was Emily’s coffee—your favorite roast, with just enough bite to match her own taste. You didn’t have to ask. She just knew.

The moment stretched—comfortable. Familiar. And more than a few of your agents gave each other quiet looks.

“You know,” Maldonado said after a pause, eyeing you with a knowing smirk. “Emily’s been different since you got hurt.”

Emily raised an eyebrow. “Different?”

“Laughing more. Smiling. Cracking bad jokes at crime scenes.”

“I do not crack bad jokes.”

Maldonado leaned on your desk, stage-whispering, “She quoted Star Trek last week. JJ and Tara almost passed out.”

Emily glared at him, but there was no heat behind it. Just a faint flush that rose to her cheeks.

You tilted your head, amused. “Are you softening, Agent Prentiss?”

She gave you a tight-lipped smile. “Only for the right reasons.”

Your team chuckled, returning to their screens with sly grins, but they didn’t miss the way Emily’s fingers brushed yours again as she leaned in.

“Join me for drinks on Friday? Your team too?” she whispered. “My team’s asking for you. Don’t make me drag you there.”

“I’ll be there,” you said softly. “Promise.”

She gave your hand a final squeeze and stepped back.

“Don’t overdo it today,” she said, more firmly now. “I know you, and I know that look in your eye.”

You arched a brow. “What look?”

“The one that means you’re pretending you're not in pain.” She winked. “I’ll see you tonight.”

And just like that, she was gone—leaving only the thermos on your desk and the warm flush that rose to your neck in her wake.

—

By the time night came around, you retreated to your office, reading through the last of the reports and signing off on them. Maldonado gave you one last nod before heading out, but not without pausing in the doorway. “You know,” he called over his shoulder, “I still remember the day you two nearly tore each other’s throats out over jurisdiction on that first joint case.”

There was no need for a name. You gave him a dry look, your lip twitching. “Yeah, well. Growth.”

He snorted. “Sure. Growth. Or maybe Prentiss is just the only one stubborn enough to keep up with you.”

Before you could respond, another voice cut in from the hall.

“She does tend to wear people down,” Emily said smoothly, stepping into view. Her smirk was sharp, her coat slung over her shoulder like she owned the place. “Eventually, you give in. Or get steamrolled.”

You sat back in your chair, arms crossing over your chest as you tried—unsuccessfully—not to grin. 

“You’re lucky I like you now.” Emily said.

Maldonado glanced between you both with a knowing shake of his head. “God, it’s worse now. I liked it better when you were just arguing all the time.”

Emily raised an eyebrow. “We still argue.”

“Yeah, but now it ends with you two making goo-goo eyes across the tactical reports,” he muttered, turning to go. “Goodnight, lovebirds.”

You waited until his footsteps faded and the floor cleared, then looked back at Emily.

She was already at your desk, standing close enough that the edges of her trench brushed your knee. Her eyes scanned your face, pausing briefly at your shoulder, then trailing lower to your side—as if she could still see the injury beneath your clothes.

"You held up okay today?" she asked, voice softer now. It wasn’t just concern—it was that quiet protectiveness she reserved only for you.

You nodded. “Tired, but... yeah. Being back felt good.”

She smiled, but didn’t say anything else. Just reached out and ran her fingers along your jaw, tilting your face gently toward her. You let her. You always did.

“You sure you’re not just pretending to be fine so I don’t hover?” she asked, the pads of her fingers brushing just under your ear.

You raised an eyebrow. “Would it work if I was?”

Emily leaned in until her lips nearly brushed yours. “Not a chance.”

Your mouth curved into a half-smirk before you caught her bottom lip between yours, kissing her slow. She tasted like the dark roast she’d brought you earlier and the faintest hint of peppermint. 

Her hand reached for you, but before she could guide the kiss deeper, you took the lead. You tangled a hand in her grey hair and tilted her head back, claiming her mouth with purpose—all control and heat. She moaned against you, and the sound went straight to your core.

You broke the kiss just long enough to rise from your chair, your frame towering over hers as you stepped in. She instinctively backed up, her hands bunching in the front of your button-down, until her hips bumped against your desk.

You didn’t stop.

“You miss me?” you asked, voice low as your hand found her hip and pulled her in tighter. Your mouth brushed along the line of her jaw, then lower, teasing her pulse point with the barest scrape of your teeth.

She hummed, the sound breathy. “That obvious?”

“To me? Always.” You kissed just below her ear, grinning when you felt her legs tighten around your thigh, her body already reacting to the pressure you knew she wanted.

Your hands were firm—one braced against the desk beside her, the other sliding slowly beneath her trench, over the silk of her blouse. You reached the waistband of her pants, teasing your fingertips just beneath, where the heat of her center pulsed against your thigh. Her breath hitched, she clung to your shoulders, but you remained solid.

“You’re soaked,” you murmured, lips brushing the shell of her ear. “All this just for me pretty girl?”

Emily gasped, barely managing a nod. “You—fuck—you always do this to me.”

“I know,” you said, voice like velvet. “And I love watching you fall apart.”

You pressed your thigh higher between her legs and rolled your hips just once. She shuddered, her lips parting in a desperate moan as she clung to you tighter.

“Fuck,” she whispered, trying to catch her breath, already on the verge.

You leaned in, kissing her again—deep and possessive, your fingers curling around the back of her neck, keeping her right where you wanted her. She whimpered into your mouth, hips rolling in slow, helpless movements against your leg.

But just as her muscles started to tense, just as her moans grew higher and breathier—you stopped.

Emily blinked up at you, dazed, lips wet and red. Her eyes flickered with confusion and frustration.

“Don’t,” she begged softly.

But you stepped back, deliberately slow, licking her taste from your fingers with a smug moan.

“Easy,” you said, voice rough but steady. “You’re not coming just yet pretty girl.”

She stared at you, panting, her body still trembling. “You’re such a fucking tease.”

You leaned in, brushing your lips over hers in a whisper of a kiss. “And you love it.”

Emily let out a low, frustrated laugh and dropped her head against your chest, still catching her breath.

“I swear to God,” she muttered.

You tilted her chin up again, meeting her flushed, clouded gaze. “Let me take you home,” you said, more a command than a request. “I’ll ruin you the way you deserve.”

She groaned. “Then stop talking and get your keys.”

You grabbed your jacket, still watching the way she tried to smooth herself out, lips swollen, blouse a little askew. She looked completely fucked-out, and you hadn’t even really touched her yet.

“Next time,” she muttered under her breath as she walked ahead, still flushed and breathless, “I’m not letting you stop.”

You caught up to her easily, your smirk lazy and full of promise. “Cute that you think you’re in charge.”

She shot you a look over her shoulder, but the spark in her eyes said she didn’t mind one bit.

“You don’t have to babysit me, you know,” you muttered one evening as she set down a fresh cup of tea on the nightstand. She had you propped up against a mountain of pillows, a blanket draped over your legs as the glow of the bedside lamp filled the room.

Emily raised an eyebrow, her hands on her hips in that no-nonsense way that made your heart skip a beat. “Babysit?” she repeated, her tone dry. “I’m making sure you don’t pull one of your trademark stunts and try to get up to clean the apartment or, I don’t know, rearrange the furniture while you’re supposed to be resting.”

You frowned, crossing your arms. “I’m not that bad.”

Emily snorted, leaning against the wall and crossing her own arms. “You tried to walk to the kitchen yesterday and almost passed out halfway there. Care to explain how that’s not ‘that bad’?”

You huffed, looking away. “I just don’t want to feel useless.”

The words hung in the air, heavier than you intended. Emily’s expression softened as she moved to sit on the edge of the bed, her thigh brushing against yours. Her hand slid over yours, her touch firm yet tender as her fingers laced together. The other hand found its way to your face, her fingertips trailing lightly along your jaw before tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. Her thumb lingered on your cheek, her touch warm.

“Prove you’re tough,” she murmured, her voice dropping as her lips hovered near your temple, her breath warm against your skin. “By letting me take care of you for once.”

Your stubbornness wavered. You hated being vulnerable, but with Emily, it felt different. It felt safe.

“Fine,” you relented, though your tone was still begrudging. “But don’t think this means I’m going to be some helpless damsel.”

Emily’s lips quirked into a smile, and she gave your hand a gentle squeeze. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

As the days turned into weeks, you began to find a rhythm. Emily would bring you breakfast in bed, complete with your favorite tea, before heading off to work. She’d text you updates throughout the day, making sure you weren’t overdoing it, and every evening, she’d return with takeout or groceries to cook dinner.

At first, it drove you insane. You’d always been independent, and having someone dote on you was an adjustment. But Emily had a way of making it feel less like pity and more like partnership.

“You’re hovering,” you accused one evening as she watched you shuffle across the living room with your crutches.

“I’m supervising,” she corrected, leaning against the back of the couch with a smirk. “Big difference.”

“Emily.”

“Y/N,” she mimicked, her tone playful. “I’ll back off the second you stop auditioning for ‘World’s Stubbornest Patient.’ Deal?”

You sighed, shaking your head but unable to suppress a smile. “Deal.”

***

The next evening, as Emily returned home later than usual, you noticed the exhaustion etched into her features. She set her bag down by the door and kicked off her boots, rubbing the back of her neck as she walked into the living room.

“Long day?” you asked, your voice softer than usual.

She nodded, sinking heavily into the armchair across from you, her shoulders slumping in a way you didn’t often see. 'We’ve been working a tough case. It’s…' She trailed off, her hand brushing through her hair as though she could physically push the weight of it away. 'It’s just one of those weeks.

You shifted on the couch, ignoring the pull in your side. “Come here.”

Emily raised an eyebrow, but when you patted the cushion beside you, she didn’t hesitate. She sat down carefully, and you leaned against her, resting your head on her shoulder.

“You don’t have to do it all, you know,” you murmured. “You’ve been taking care of me and dealing with the team. Let me take care of you for once.”

She laughed softly, the sound tinged with both amusement and gratitude. “You’re supposed to be the one resting.”

“I can rest and still remind you that you’re not alone in this,” you countered, tilting your head to look at her. “We’re a team, remember?”

Emily’s eyes softened, and she leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Good thing you’ll never have to find out,” you teased, though the sincerity in your voice was unmistakable.

As the night wore on, the two of you stayed there, wrapped in each other’s warmth, the weight of the day slowly melting away. Recovery was a long road, but for the first time, it didn’t feel quite so daunting. Not when you had each other.

*****

Three weeks into your recovery, Emily got the call. A major case had come up, one the team couldn’t handle without her. She paced the living room while on the phone with JJ, her brow furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line. You could see the tension in her posture from your spot on the couch, and you hated that she looked torn.

When she finally hung up, she turned to you, worry etched into her features. “I have to go,” she said, her voice tinged with reluctance. “It’s a big one.”

You nodded, trying to keep your face neutral despite the flicker of unease in your chest. You didn’t want her to feel guilty for doing her job. “Go. I’ll be fine.”

Emily’s eyes narrowed, her gaze scanning you like she was trying to gauge just how much trouble you’d get into without her. “Are you sure? I can ask Rossi to—”

“Emily,” you interrupted, giving her a pointed look. “I’ll be fine. I can manage a few days without you.”

Her lips quirked into a small, knowing smile. “Manage, huh? Does that mean you’re not planning on following the rules while I’m gone?”

You shrugged, a playful glint in your eye. “Guess you’ll just have to trust me.”

She huffed out a soft laugh, shaking her head. Emily stepped closer, her fingers finding your jaw with a familiar tenderness. Her thumb brushed over your cheek, lingering as she studied your face like she was memorizing it. Then, her hand slid to cradle the back of your neck, drawing you into a soft kiss that left you breathless before leaning back. “I do trust you. It’s your stubborn streak I don’t trust.”

“You love my stubborn streak,” you shot back, grinning up at her.

Emily rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide the fond smile that tugged at her lips. “Fine, maybe I do.”

Her gaze lingered on you for a moment, and you noticed the way her eyes softened as they drifted over your features. The faintest flush crept into her cheeks, and you realized she was looking at you like she always did when she thought you weren’t paying attention.

“What?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Nothing,” she said quickly, though her smirk gave her away. “Just thinking about how lucky I am.”

You scoffed, though you couldn’t stop the warmth that spread through you. “Lucky? I’m the one stuck here while you get to chase down bad guys.”

Emily leaned down, her lips brushing softly against yours. “I’ll be back before you know it. Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone.”

“No promises,” you teased, earning a mock glare before she pulled away.

***

The first night without her was the hardest. You hated how quiet the apartment felt, the absence of her presence more noticeable than you wanted to admit. But true to her word, Emily checked in with you every chance she got.

“Hey,” her voice came through your phone late that evening, warm and soothing. “How’s my favorite stubborn patient doing?”

You smirked, leaning back against the couch. “Still alive, despite your dire warnings.”

Emily chuckled, and you could practically hear the smile in her voice. “Good to know. I don’t need you giving me a heart attack on top of this case.”

The sound of her voice was enough to ease some of the tension in your chest. “How’s the case?”

“Messy,” she admitted, her tone growing more serious. “But we’re making progress. I’ll tell you more when I’m home.”

Home. The word settled over you like a blanket, and for the first time in a long while, it didn’t feel like an empty concept.

“You better get some sleep,” she added, her voice softening again. “Don’t think I won’t know if you’re up all night watching home renovation shows.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Fine, Mom.”

Emily groaned. “Never call me that again.”

“Mommy, then?”

“Better,” she said with a smirk you could hear through the phone.

The call ended soon after, but the warmth of her words lingered.

***

When Emily returned three days later, you were in the kitchen, trying to chop vegetables with your still-healing arm. You hadn’t expected her back until the evening, so you nearly jumped out of your skin when the front door opened.

“Caught you,” she said, smirking as she leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, and an infuriatingly amused glint in her eye..

You froze, the knife still in your hand. “I was—uh—just making dinner.”

Emily’s gaze swept over you, leaving a ripple of warmth in its wake. “You’re supposed to be resting,” she murmured, her voice low and teasing as she stepped inside. The playful edge in her tone was familiar, comforting even, but the intensity in her gaze made your pulse stutter. She stepped closer, her fingers grazing your forearm, then sliding up to your shoulder. Her touch lingered, her thumb brushing against the curve of your collarbone.

“And yet, here you are,” she added, her gaze locking with yours. There was a flicker of something in her eyes—fond amusement mixed with something hotter. “Looking entirely too good for someone who’s supposed to be taking it easy.”

Her words sent a ripple of warmth through your chest, settling low in your stomach. Your throat felt tight, and you struggled to keep your expression neutral, though the heat creeping up your neck was hard to ignore.

“You know, resting doesn’t mean being useless,” you huffed out, but the slight rasp in your voice betrayed you. The grin tugging at your lips faltered as her gaze didn’t waver.

Emily shook her head, her eyes still lingering on you. She didn’t bother hiding the way her gaze dropped, trailing over the curve of your shoulders, the way the tank top clung to your frame. When her teeth sank lightly into her bottom lip, your pulse quickened.

Her attention felt like a physical touch, her unspoken desire heating the air between you. Your skin prickled under her gaze, your body hyperaware of how close she was. You shifted your weight, trying to ground yourself, but it was no use—Emily had a way of making you feel completely exposed and alive at the same time.

“What?” you asked, noticing the faint flush in her cheeks.

“Nothing,” she said quickly, though the smirk she tried to hide was impossible to miss. “Just thinking how unfair it is that you look this good while recovering from a gunshot wound.”

You snorted, leaning back against the counter. “Is that your way of saying I’m irresistible?”

Emily rolled her eyes, though her grin didn’t falter. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

Her hand slid over yours and you let her take the reins in the kitchen. It should’ve irritated you—being sidelined, handing over control—but this time, it didn’t. Maybe it was the exhaustion weighing heavy in your limbs, or maybe it was the way her touch, firm but gentle, made surrender feel like something close to trust.

You leaned back against the counter, your arms crossing loosely as you watched her move. There was a quiet confidence in the way she handled the task, her motions efficient but unhurried. The sight of her, so at ease, sent a ripple of warmth through your chest. You’d fought it for so long—the pull toward her, the way she made everything feel less sharp, less impossible.

It was easy to forget the ache in your side, the frustrations of recovery, as you stood there, captivated. Her hair fell loose around her face, and every so often, she’d tuck a strand behind her ear with a casual grace that made your heart stutter.

She glanced up and caught your gaze, her lips curving into a small, knowing smile. “What?” she asked, her voice soft, teasing.

You shook your head, a faint smile tugging at your own lips. “Nothing.”

But it wasn’t nothing. It was everything. The way she turned something as mundane as chopping vegetables into a moment that made you feel steady for the first time in weeks. The way she moved through her space, seamlessly folding you into it—like you belonged with her.

And as she turned back to the cutting board, humming softly to herself, you couldn’t help but think that you’d stopped imagining your life without her a long time ago.

“Emily?”

She turned, her eyes warm and questioning.

“Thank you.” The words carried more weight than you intended.

Her smile was soft as she reached out, brushing her fingers against your arm. “Always.”

As Emily plated the food, you leaned back against the counter, your arms crossed. Watching her move so confidently in the kitchen made you realize how much this woman had completely infiltrated every part of your life—and how much you didn’t mind.

Once the plates were set down, Emily turned to you, brushing her hands off on a dish towel. “Dinner’s ready,” she said with a small smile, but her gaze lingered on you like she was reading your thoughts.

You stood up straighter, your fingers drumming nervously on the counter as you cleared your throat. “Emily?”

Her brow arched slightly, the playful smirk you’d come to adore tugging at her lips. “What is it? Are you about to complain about my cooking?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “No, it’s not that.” Taking a breath, you stepped closer to her, your eyes meeting hers. “I’ve been thinking... Once I’m back on my feet—fully healed—I want to take you on a real date.”

Emily blinked, caught off guard for just a moment before her expression softened. “A real date?”

“Yeah,” you said, feeling your face warm but pressing on. “Not just takeout on the couch or me dragging you into my ridiculous recovery antics. A proper date. You deserve that.”

Her lips curved into a slow, genuine smile, and the way she looked at you made your chest tighten in the best way. “You’re serious.”

“Dead serious,” you said, a grin tugging at your lips. “You’ve put up with my stubbornness for weeks. I owe you dinner—somewhere nice, with me dressed up. Well, as dressed up as I get.”

Emily chuckled, her hand reaching out to rest lightly on your arm. “So, I finally get to see you in something other than your usual stuffy suit?”

You smirked, shrugging. “Don’t push your luck, but yeah, I’ll make an effort for something different.”

Her fingers slid down your arm until they laced with yours, her touch grounding you. “I’d like that,' she said softly, her eyes searching yours. 'But you know I don’t need the fancy dinner or the effort. I just need you.”

“I know,” you murmured, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. “But I want to. For you.”

Emily’s smile deepened, and she stepped closer, her hands sliding up to rest on your shoulders before leaning in. Her lips found your temple, lingering for a moment, before she pressed another kiss just below your ear. “It’s a deal,” she murmured, her voice low and warm.“It’s a deal, then. But only if you let me take care of you until you’re fully healed.”

You groaned playfully, following her to the table. “Fine. But no more micromanaging my kitchen skills.”

Emily smirked, glancing at you over her shoulder. “We’ll see. I like to keep you on your toes.”

Your bare body was still tangled in the sheets, one arm around her waist, her body close enough that you could feel her soft warmth, the rise and fall of her breasts against your own. You didn’t move, just savoring the quiet and the sense of calm that seemed to settle between you two.

Emily shifted slightly, her eyes fluttering open as she groggily met your gaze. There was no rush, no need to fill the silence with words. Her lips curled into a sleepy smile as she stretched, the subtle movements of her body making you keenly aware of just how close you were.

"Morning," she murmured, her voice thick with sleep, but soft—softer than you had ever heard it.

"Morning," you replied, your voice a little hoarser than usual, still a little unsure of where you stood but not wanting to break the easy rhythm between you.

She shifted slightly, her hand finding yours beneath the blankets, her fingers curling around yours. "Last night was… unexpected," she admitted quietly, her thumb tracing over the back of your hand.

You nodded, your gaze locked on hers, your voice soft but certain. "Yeah, was great—it felt perfect. Like it was supposed to happen."

Emily’s lips curled into a small, knowing smile, her dark eyes warming as she studied your face. Her chuckle was low and intimate, sending a wave of heat through you. “Perfect,” she repeated, drawing out the word with a playful lilt, her head tilting slightly. “I didn’t know you were such a romantic.”

You rolled your eyes, but the heat rising to your cheeks betrayed you. “I’m not,” you said, though the softness in your voice and the way your gaze lingered on her suggested otherwise. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

Emily smirked, leaning just a little closer, her voice dropping into a teasing murmur. “Too late.”

There was a beat of silence, but it wasn’t awkward. If anything, it felt easy—like the two of you had slipped into something natural, unspoken, yet undeniably understood. The tension that once simmered between you had softened, replaced with a quiet connection neither of you felt the need to rush or define.

"We don’t have to figure it all out right now," you said, your voice low, a playful undertone threading through your words. "We can just… let it be."

Emily tilted her head slightly, her dark eyes meeting yours with a warmth that sent a soft flutter through your chest. Her lips curved into a genuine smile, the kind that lit up her entire face. “Letting it be sounds perfect.”

For a while, neither of you moved, savoring the quiet intimacy of the moment. The world beyond the bedroom felt like a distant memory, irrelevant compared to the space you shared. When Emily leaned in to kiss you, her lips brushing yours with a tenderness that made your heart skip. It wasn’t hurried or fleeting—this was a kiss full of promise, a silent agreement that you had time to figure out whatever this was.

Pulling back just enough to meet your eyes, Emily’s lips quirked into a teasing smirk. “You’re not the only one who thinks I’m insufferable, by the way,” she said, her voice soft but full of playful challenge. “But I think I’m starting to like it.”

You chuckled, pressing a kiss to her temple, her soft hair shifting beneath your lips. The scent of her shampoo lingered, grounding you in the moment. “Good,” you murmured, your words carrying both sincerity and humor. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

The quiet comfort lingered between you both as the world outside seemed to fade further away. Emily’s fingers traced small patterns on your hand, the simple touch grounding you. She nestled closer to you, her breath warm against your skin, and you couldn’t help but wonder if this was how things were meant to be—simple, unhurried, no need to rush into anything or force any labels.

Sergio, seemed to sense the peaceful atmosphere too, padding across the room and hopping onto the bed, curling up next to you both. His purring was soft, the sound like a low, rhythmic hum that added to the sense of contentment filling the space.

You smiled at the cat, shifting slightly to make room for him, then turned your gaze back to Emily. It was hard to believe that only a few days ago, you were barely tolerating each other. Now, everything felt different, like the tension that had once kept you apart was dissolving in the quiet moments you shared.

Emily stretched, her body moving against yours, and you felt the subtle tension in her muscles, the warmth of her skin pressing into you. "I suppose we should get up eventually," she murmured, her voice thick with sleep as she burrowed herself into your side.

You nodded, your hand still resting on her back, lightly rubbing her spine as if memorizing the feel of her. "Eventually," you agreed softly.

The two of you lingered for a little while longer, both savoring the quiet. Sergio was content to curl up between you, his slow purring a gentle reminder of the comfort.

When it came time to finally leave the comfort of the bed, it felt like a reluctant surrender to reality. You both stretched lazily, the lingering warmth of the sheets still wrapped around your bodies as you finally stood. Emily moved toward the bathroom, and your gaze instinctively followed her—taking in the elegant flex of her back, the subtle curve of her waist, and the way her long legs carried her with effortless grace. You knew, without a doubt, that her bare form was something you’d never tire of admiring.

You followed her lead, running your fingers through your own short strands, the events of the night still fresh in your mind. The kiss. The way her body had felt pressed against yours. Chasing peak after peak, until there was nothing left to give to each other. It all felt right, even if it was just a small moment of time.

"Coffee?" Emily called from the kitchen as she pulled on a robe, her voice carrying through the apartment with an easy, familiar tone.

"Yes, please," you answered, a smile tugging at your lips. You found your way to the kitchen, where she was already preparing two cups of coffee, the scent filling the space between you.

She handed you one with a soft smile. "I’m glad you’re here."

You took the cup, meeting her gaze. "Me too."

After a few moments of comfortable silence, you both dressed, putting the morning behind you as you got ready for the day. The weight of the work ahead hung in the air, but it felt lighter now, as though the understanding between you had shifted something, made it easier to face whatever came next.

As you stood at the door, ready to leave for the office, you turned to Emily one last time, a gentle smile playing on her face that made your heart skip.

“I’ll see you at the office,” she said. You smiled back, your hand gently stroking her cheek, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath your fingers.

"Yeah. I’ll see you there," you replied, but before she could pull away, you leaned in and pressed one more kiss to her lips—soft, lingering, and full of reassurance.

***

The day began like any other. The BAU team shuffled into the bullpen, finding their desks and grabbing coffee. But today, something was different. There was a subtle change in the air, one that none of them could quite put their finger on. It wasn't until Emily walked through the door that they realized the change wasn't just in the atmosphere—it was in her.

She entered the office with a quiet confidence that hadn't been there before, her movements fluid and relaxed. Emily’s usual sharp edge seemed softened, like the weight of the world had been momentarily lifted from her shoulders. She walked with purpose, but there was something undeniably… different about her.

"Morning, Emily," JJ called out from her desk, smiling as she watched the usually unreadable agent settle on the edge of Tyler’s empty desk looking at notes, her demeanor more open than usual.

"Morning, JJ," Emily replied, a warm smile lighting up her face. It was subtle, but to anyone who had worked with her for as long as they had, it was noticeable. There was a lightness to her voice, something unspoken.

Rossi, who had been standing near the coffee machine, narrowed his eyes slightly as he watched Emily strolled to her office. He had been around long enough to know when something was off—or, in this case, when something was very much on. He hid his smile behind his coffee cup, but it was clear to him. He was the only one who knew exactly what had changed, but he wasn’t about to be the one to spill it.

The rest of the team exchanged curious glances. Penelope, as always, was the first to pick up on the shift. She leaned over to JJ, her vibrant eyes studying Emily with interest through the window.

"Okay, I’m not crazy, right?" Penelope asked, breaking the silence. "There’s definitely something different about Emily today."

Tara, who was sitting across from Penelope, leaned in closer. "I noticed it too. She’s… I don’t know, more relaxed?"

Luke, furrowed his brow. "Maybe she’s just in a good mood?"

Rossi, who had been listening intently, let out a quiet chuckle, though he kept his lips pressed to the rim of his coffee cup. He wasn’t going to spill the beans just yet. Let them speculate.

Tara raised an eyebrow, her voice lowered as if trying not to give away how much she was watching Emily. "It’s not just that. She’s always been good at masking her moods. But today—there’s something different. Something softer, almost… open?"

JJ, who had been around long enough to read the room, caught on quickly. "I think I know what you mean," she said, leaning back in her chair. "She’s smiling more. Really smiling, not that tight-lipped thing she does."

Penelope’s eyes lit up with realization. "Wait. I know what this is!" she said, her hands dramatically gesturing in the air. "She’s got that look."

Rossi couldn’t help but smile behind his coffee cup. He was enjoying this—letting them all play detective. The team had always been sharp, but this? This was a new level of attention to detail. But he wasn’t about to confirm or deny.

"What ‘look’?" Tyler asked, confusion etched on his face as he came up behind Penelope, trying to make sense of the conversation.

"The look that says someone’s definitely in love," Penelope teased, raising her eyebrows dramatically as if the answer was the most obvious thing in the world.

There was a collective pause as the team absorbed that. A few of them exchanged skeptical glances, unsure if they were ready to entertain such a bold claim.

"You think Emily’s in love?" Tara asked, clearly amused by the idea. "With who? She isn’t seeing anyone.”

Penelope shot a quick glance at Rossi, who gave nothing away. "I don’t know. She’s acting all different, like she’s glowing or something."

"That’s it," JJ said, eyes narrowing. "Emily is glowing today. She’s usually… not this relaxed."

Luke leaned forward, more intrigued now. "But with who?"

The team spent the next few hours observing Emily as she moved through the day. Every interaction seemed to support the idea. She was more at ease with everyone, her smile more genuine, her posture open.

Throughout the morning, there was a simmering question hanging in the air: who was she smiling at? Who had changed her in this undeniable way?

It wasn’t until later in the afternoon that the answer became clear.

The door to the bullpen opened, and you stepped inside, your presence immediately noticed by everyone in the room. You walked in with your usual confident stride, but today, something was different. Your eyes, too, held a warmth that hadn’t been there before.

Rossi watched, his gaze flicking from you to Emily, who had been talking to Luke just moments earlier. As soon as she saw you, though, her smile widened, and she stood up to greet you. There was no denying it anymore—this was what had changed.

"You’re late," Emily teased, her voice warm and playful as she leaned in slightly.

You rolled your eyes in return. "I was finishing up something. Did I miss anything important?"

The team watched, unable to hide their curiosity, as you and Emily shared a look that spoke volumes. It was clear now. Emily’s new mood was no longer a mystery. The connection between you was undeniable.

"Well, look at that," Penelope whispered to Tara, her voice a little louder than she intended.

"What?" Tara asked, not yet seeing the full picture.

"You have to be kidding me," Penelope said, her eyes practically sparkling with excitement. "They like each other. You see it too, right?"

Tara’s attention was pulled from the general buzz of the bullpen as she watched you and Emily interact. At first, she thought it was just a friendly exchange—Emily, ever the professional, standing with a slight smirk as she engaged with you. But as Tara’s gaze lingered, she realized there was more happening between the two of you than she initially thought.

You stood across from Emily, a light smirk tugging at the corners of your lips. You were leaning against the desk, arms crossed, and every inch of your posture screamed that you were too cool to be bothered—too cool to be fazed by Emily’s usual sharp retorts. But there was something about the way Emily tilted her head slightly, the way her hair framed her face just so, that said this was no ordinary conversation.

"You're always late," Emily teased, her voice smooth but with a playfully edged tone that, to anyone who hadn’t known her, might have come off as a reprimand.

You leaned forward slightly, your smirk widening as your eyes flicked to hers. “I was busy actually solving the case, unlike some people,” you shot back, your tone light, but the challenge in your words was unmistakable.

Emily raised an eyebrow, not missing a beat. “Oh, you solved it, huh? Funny, I thought I was the one in charge on this.” She tilted her head, her voice lowering, a teasing lilt in the way she spoke. "But go ahead, tell me how you cracked the case."

You shrugged nonchalantly, letting the tension hang between you for just a second longer. “I’ll just let you believe you are for now, Prentiss.”

Tara’s eyes flicked back and forth between the two of you. The verbal sparring was sharp, but the smiles on both of your faces were unmistakable. You’d always had this back-and-forth dynamic, always pushing each other’s buttons, but today there was something different. Something unspoken lingered beneath the sharp words and subtle jabs, something almost…cute.

"You two always this… charming?" Tara asked, her voice dripping with amusement, unable to resist the intrigue that had been building throughout the conversation. Her comment caught the attention of the rest of the team, who were now looking over with varying degrees of curiosity.

“Oh, you know, just the usual,” you said, shooting Tara a knowing glance. Your gaze flicked back to Emily, and for a second, you caught that glint in her dark eyes—the one that said she was enjoying this just as much as you were. The one that said she liked the tension between you, the spark of challenge, and the quiet understanding that lay beneath it all.

Emily’s lips curled into a teasing smile. “Don't worry, Tara. She’s just practicing for our next round of… professional disagreements.”

There it was again. The playful banter that had come to define the relationship between you two, yet today it felt more intimate. Emily's voice was lower, quieter, as though she was saying something only for you. Only for the two of you to hear. Her words might have been teasing, but there was a warmth in her eyes that betrayed the ease between you.

Tara turned her full attention to you both, leaning forward in her seat as she examined the subtle exchange. Her gaze darted from you to Emily, noting the small but meaningful shift in Emily’s posture, the way she stood a little taller when you spoke, the way her lips curved just so when you pushed her buttons. Tara could see it now—the flirtation wasn’t just playful anymore. The tension, while still present, had softened into something that was almost… comfortable.

“Okay, that’s it,” Tara said, her voice dropping to a lower pitch as she leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms and fixing her eyes on the two of you. “You two are definitely into each other.”

JJ, who had been watching from her desk, smirked. “Took you long enough.”

Tara shot her a look. “I didn’t want to jump to conclusions, okay? But come on—you can’t miss it now. The looks, the smiles, the weird energy. It’s obvious.”

Emily glanced over at you, her expression calm, though you could see the flicker of amusement behind her dark eyes. You kept your face neutral, but the tension in your shoulders betrayed the effort it took to not react.

“Sorry to disappoint,” Emily said smoothly, her tone calm and even, “but just because we aren’t yelling at each other today, doesn’t mean we like each other.” She leaned back slightly, her body language casual, as if Tara’s observation wasn’t hitting closer to home than she cared to admit.

You decided to play along, crossing your arms and shrugging. “Yeah, I don’t know where you’re getting that idea,” you added, injecting just the right amount of exasperation into your voice. “We’re just tolerating each other. That’s it.”

Tara raised a skeptical brow, her arms still crossed. “Tolerating each other? Right,” she said, drawing the word out in a tone dripping with doubt. Her eyes flicked between you and Emily like a profiler dissecting a particularly complex puzzle. “That’s why you’re suddenly finishing each other’s sentences and smiling like you share some inside joke?”

JJ smirked, leaning back in her chair with her arms crossed, clearly enjoying the show. “It’s cute, really,” she said, earning a glare from both you and Emily.

Emily rolled her eyes, her calm facade holding firm. Penelope, who had been watching the exchange like it was her favorite soap opera, chimed in. “Oh, come on, Emily. You’ve been all… glowy lately. And don’t even get me started on the soft smiles! You never soft smile, unless there’s wine involved.”

Emily pinched the bridge of her nose, exhaling slowly. “For the record, I don’t glow,” she said, her tone dry.

“And I don’t smile,” you added with equal dryness, though the corner of your mouth twitched upward despite yourself.

Luke, who had been silent until now, chuckled and leaned back in his chair. “You two are terrible at this, you know. Just admit there’s something going on. We’re all profilers here.”

“Exactly,” Tara agreed, gesturing between you and Emily. “We can see it a mile away.”

You shifted your weight, feeling the scrutiny of the entire team like a spotlight. Glancing at Emily, you caught the faintest smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. It was subtle, but you knew her well enough to recognize it now—a silent challenge, a dare to see who would break first.

“Believe whatever you want,” you said finally, shrugging with feigned indifference. “But you’re wrong.”

Emily nodded in agreement, her tone perfectly measured. “Dead wrong.”

The room fell quiet for a moment, the tension thick as the team exchanged knowing glances. Then Rossi, who had been watching the entire scene with an amused smile, finally spoke up.

“You’re both terrible liars,” he said, his voice rich with amusement. “But hey, take your time. Denial is a crucial step in any good relationship.”

Emily turned to Rossi, her eyes narrowing. He simply raised his hands in mock surrender, a smug grin plastered across his face. “Hey, I’m just here for the entertainment.”

As the team returned to their work—though not without the occasional side glance and suppressed grin—you and Emily shared a brief look as you walked into the privacy of her office. It wasn’t one of annoyance or frustration but something closer to amusement.

“Are we this bad at hiding it?” you muttered under your breath.

Emily tilted her head slightly, her hair catching the light as she leaned just close enough for only you to hear. “Apparently.”

Her tone was teasing, but her dark eyes lingered on yours for a fraction too long, making your pulse quicken. Before you could respond, she straightened and picked up a case file from her desk, as if nothing had happened.

You forced yourself to focus on your work, but the team’s words stuck with you. Every glance, every brush of hands, every quiet moment between you and Emily now felt charged, like the secret you were trying to protect had become a living, breathing thing.

As the day wore on, the playful tension between you and Emily continued. A quick exchange of quips during a meeting earned a knowing smirk from Tara. A brief moment of eye contact while passing in the hallway made JJ elbow Luke with a grin.

But it wasn’t until the two of you ended up alone in the conference room later that afternoon, reviewing case files, that the weight of the day’s scrutiny hit.

“Think they’ll ever let it go?” you asked, glancing at Emily as you set your file on the table.

She looked up from her notes, her lips curving into a soft, almost mischievous smile. “Not a chance.”

You sighed. “Guess we’ll just have to keep them guessing.”

Emily’s smile widened, and for a moment, you thought she might say something more. But instead, she simply tapped her pen against the table and said, “Good luck with that.”