Dive Deep into Creativity: Discover, Share, Inspire
reader serenades Emily on a restaurant rooftop in paris it's bought out for the night 
there's a piano
reader decides to go and play a song for Em
maybe even sings
Emily is so in love actually start tearing up(her version of sobbing)
Reader propose to Emily on a secluded rooftop in Paris!!!!
Enjoy Sunflower 🌻
The sky over Paris had just started to soften into dusky lavender when Emily stepped into the candlelight glow of the restaurant's terrace, her black dress hugging her silhouette perfectly with a shawl to match.
Y/N stood waiting in a perfectly tailored midnight-blue suit, open collar just enough to be casual, but polished with her signature edge. She didn't take her eyes off Emily until she reached the table.
Y/N pulled Emily's chair out, brushed a kiss to her knuckles and sat opposite with a look that said she still couldn't believe her luck.
The place was exquisite, crystal chandeliers, gold accents, a view of the Eiffel Tower from the windows, and the sound of clinking glasses blending with the soft jazz coming from the small quartet.
In the middle of them sat an unattended glossy black baby grand piano. They shared champagne and soft laughter through dinner, filet mignon for Emily, duck à l’orange for Y/N.
Dessert was nearly finished when Y/N stood up suddenly, “Where are you going?” Emily asked, brows lifted in amused suspicion. Y/N just smirked, “Trust me, sweetheart.”
They walked across the restaurant to the piano, catching the attention of the musicians as she gently gestured toward the keys. After a quiet exchange in French, they nodded and adjusted their tempo.
Y/N unbuttoned her jacket and sat at the piano, rolling her sleeves just a touch as she placed her fingers on the keys. The first few bars of “La Vie en Rose” drifted out from beneath her hands.
Soft, elegant, perfectly paced. Emily froze, eyes wide, hand gently fluttering to her lips. Then Y/N sang. In flawless French, her rich, low voice rolled through the restaurant like velvet.
" Quand il me prend dans ses bras Il me parle tout bas Je vois la vie en rose… "
Emily’s heart clenched.
" Il me dit des mots d’amour Des mots de tous les jours Et ça me fait quelque chose… "
The band joined in one by one, violin, upright bass, saxophone, like the city itself had conspired with Y/N. Every guest turned toward her, but Y/N only had eyes for love.
When the final note echoed out, the restaurant burst into gentle applause, but Emily didn’t clap. She stood, breathless, teary, and walked straight to Y/N, grabbing her cheeks with both hands to kiss her.
“You are unbelievable,” she whispered against her lips. Y/N gave her a secretive grin. “You haven’t seen anything yet.” They laced their fingers together and led her upstairs, past waitstaff who opened the doors with knowing smiles.
The rooftop was magic.
Hundreds of tiny candles flickered in hurricane jars arranged in winding paths across the stone floor. A scattering of petals curved around a table with two glasses of champagne already waiting.
In the far corner, the Eiffel Tower glittered just above the city skyline. Y/N turned to face Emily, hands slightly trembling now.
“I set this up… weeks ago,” they admitted softly. “I knew I wanted to do it here. In the city of lights, in the city of love. Because you... you make everything brighter. Everything warmer. You make me feel like I’m seeing life in color for the first time.”
Emily’s eyes brimmed with tears. Y/N dropped to one knee and opened the velvet box. “Emily Prentiss... will you marry me?” Emily let out a breathless laugh, crying now, nodding frantically.
“Yes,” she whispered, then louder. “Yes, yes, yes.”
Y/N slid the ring onto her finger, stood, and Emily kissed her so hard they nearly knocked over the closest candle. Paris glowed beneath them, and above them, and all around them.
The brightest part of the city right in front of Y/N's eyes, Emily.
reader is COLD
that's all i got
Enjoy :)
Emily sat behind her desk, flipping through case updates with her usual sharp focus, one leg tucked under the other, reading glasses perched low on her nose.
She glance up absently, just a habitual scan of the BAU bullpen, when she caught a movement out the corner of her eye. The newest addition to the BAU, Agent Y/N Y/L/N, sitting stiffly at her desk.
Head down, posture tight, and most notably... shivering.
Emily frowned. Y/N was still relatively new, five weeks in, sharp like her, well-versed in profiling and always meticulous in her reports. But she was quiet. Painfully quiet.
The kind of agent who always showed up on time, worked through lunch and never joined the team for drinks or dinner. A mystery in her own right.
And Emily, against her better judgement, had noticed her a little more than she probably should have. Y/N's thin button up did little to combat the spring chill that lingered in the BAU air conditioning.
Emily's gaze dropped to the bottom drawer of her desk. Without hesitation, she reached down, tugged it open and pulled out her spare FBI sweatshirt. Dark navy crew neck that was soft with age.
She stood, straightening the sleeves. With casual ease masking her fluttering nerves, the Chief made her way down the steps toward the desks in the bullpen.
Y/N looked up halfway through a sentence in her report, blinking in surprise at the sight of her Chief standing there. "Agent Y/L/N..." Emily said softly, offering her sweatshirt, "You looked cold."
Y/N's cheeks coloured immediately, "Oh... I.. uh, thank you, ma'am. I didn't realise I was-" Emily held her hand up gently, "It's alright," Emily smiled, gently pushing the sweater closer. "It's clean. I keep a spare."
Y/N accepted it with a smile, holding the fabric like it was something sacred, "this is really kind of you.. thank you." Emily nodded, lingering for a second longer than necessary, then, her tone gentled just a bit.
"Have you eaten today?"
Y/N blinked again, "Um... no, ma'am. I'm behind on the daily updates... and..." Y/N shuffled papers against her desk. "Emily," the Chief corrected with a warmer smile.
"Come on, it's sunny out, you've earned at least ten minutes." Y/N hesitated, Emily tilted her head, lowering her voice so it was just between them.
"Coffee. On me. We'll sit outside. You don't have to talk if you don't want to." A pause, then, slowly, the young agent nodded. "...okay."
Emily's chest did something traitorous and warm. She gestured toward the bullpen side doors. "Grab your badge. I'll meet you by the elevators."
As Y/N slid Emily's sweatshirt on, sleeves a little long over her wrists, Emily turned to head back upstairs, smiling quietly to herself. The coffee might just be ten minutes in the sun.
But to her, it already felt like the start of something worth being patient for.
Since the person didn't answer i'll request
An Emily X Reader SOFT LAUNCH
where the BAU slowly finds out that Emily is in a relationship (w/a woman)
reader not apart of bau(maybe a chef??)
;))
Thanks for the request 🫦 Enjoy! 😉
For weeks, the BAU had been on alert. It started small, cute, funny little, cryptic Instagram stories from Emily.
A photo of her hand over another, fingers intertwined beside a wine glass and a plate of what looked like the most divine pasta any of them had ever seen.
No caption. Just a timestamp and a playlist linked, “Melt into You, Slow Jazz Sundays.” Then came the lunches. Homemade. Artisan, even. JJ had noticed it first.
“Emily,” she murmured one afternoon, during their usual break between rough cases, "did you pack that yourself?" Emily's eyes cast down to the perfectly layered beetroot and goat cheese tart in a glass container, simply shrugging.
"Got lucky."
Morgan, of course, had smelled something fishy when a bouquet of rosemary, not flowers, rosemary, had shown up in Emily's office with a note attached, "Don't forget the salt this time, baby. -Y."
But no one had answers. Just assumptions.
Then came the night at Rossi's, a few weeks later.
The house was buzzing with laughter, expensive liquor and the warm hum of an early spring evening. Rossi was holding one of his infamous parties, the kind where the wine flowed like a river.
Strauss had gotten tipsy enough to sing Piano Man on the baby grand. Rossi had, apparently, spared no expense on the food this time. "Hired someone big," he said with a smirk to JJ as he poured her another.
"Almost impossible to book, but I pulled strings." Emily, nursing her scotch, froze, "Who?" Rossi grinned, holding his glass a little tighter with excitement.
"Y/N Y/L/N. Apparently she trained in Paris and Tokyo and is probably going to get her second Michelin star before thirty." Emily's glass paused at her lips.
"What?" Rossi looked her over, "You've heard of her?" Emily blinked once, swallowing her worry, "You could say that." And then, like fate tipping its might hat, Y/N walked into the room from the kitchen.
Carrying an amuse-bouche like it was a crown jewel. She had short, tousled hair tucked behind one ear, arms inked with delicate fine-line tattoos, a lavender sprig, a sunflower, a French knife, and a crescent moon.
She wore her pristine chef's jacket rolled at the sleeves, her apron tied snug around a frame that was compact but clearly muscular. She glowed. And when her eyes met Emily's dark irises...
Everything stopped.
The room, the noise, the laughter, every bit of it melted. Y/N lit up, face breaking into the warmest smile and she crossed the space in a few long strides before stopping just shy of Emily's side.
"...Babe," she whispered, "Didn't realise you were here."
Emily looked dazed, then chuckled, running a hand through her hair, "Neither did I." Y/N leaned in and kissed her temple, and the collective BAU jaw hit the floor in unison.
"Holy..." Garcia whispered from across the table, "That's the chef?"
"THAT'S the mystery girlfriend?" Morgan mouthed to the blonde. Y/N turned to the group, cheeks slightly pink but utterly composed. "Hi. I'm Y/N. Sorry for the surprise. I wasn't told who the event was for."
Her eyes flicked to Rossi, "Your assistant booked me under 'D. Rossi Enterprises.' Very sneaky." Y/N smiled to the older man. "You're the Y/N?" JJ blinked, "The pasta queen from Instagram?"
Y/N laughed, nodding her head gently, "Guilty."
And just like that, any awkwardness vanished. Y/N floated back to the kitchen like she was born there, commanding heat and flame and plating like it was an artwork.
Emily, never far from the archway between kitchen and dining room, watched with an expression none of them had ever seen on her. Not even during a case crack.
Admiration.
Adoration.
The soft kind of awe that made her cheeks flush and her lips curl even when she didn't know she was smiling.
At one point, music drifted from the speakers, and Y/N, mid-sear on scallops, turned with a grin and swayed her hips to the beat. She danced around the kitchen like it was a small stage, a pan in one hand and a plating tweezer in the other.
"Is she dancing?" Reid asked in a whisper, "While cooking?" He turned to Garcia, the blonde shrugging her colourful shoulders, "Gordon Ramsay would cry," She whispered back, "Happy tears."
Then came the food.
A roasted duck breast with blackberry glaze, served over parsnip puree and heirloom carrots that had somehow sculpted into tiny roses.
Pasta with lemon cream and shaved bottarga. Each plate was a piece of art, every bite more transcendent than the last. A moan escaping every FBI agent's lips.
As dessert was served, something chocolate and impossibly airy, Emily stood and joined Y/N in the kitchen, slipping an arm around her waist.
"Can I help?" Emily murmured against the shell of Y/N's ear, Y/N just smiled, still focused on plating. "You already are." And when Emily kissed her cheek in full view of the team, Y/N leaned into it without a second thought.
Rossi raised a glass, "To Chief Emily Prentiss, and her not so secret anymore girlfriend." The team clinked glasses, JJ still wide eyed, Morgan nodding with impressed approval and Garcia already on her phone trying to find an open reservation.
- - -
Later, when the dishes were done and Y/N was tucked under Emily's arm on the porch with a glass of wine, Emily whispered, "Soft launch, huh?"
Y/N just turned to her and smiled, "Felt more like a firework finale..." Emily kissed her slow, like gratitude, like peace, like home. "Couldn't be prouder and more in love with you."
reader is Emily's childhood friend/crush and they run into each other while she's on a case
they catch up after the case and reader spills that they had the biggest crush on em when they were younger
emily admits the same
they enjoyed their time together
plans for meeting up again
fast forward to someone asking someone to officially be their gf
kiss
yaaaaaaaaay
Enjoy!
The case had been long, gruelling, bloody and deeply personal. Emily was exhausted, her blazer slung over her shoulder and the tension in her shoulders refusing to let go.
When the team split off for the night, Emily slipped into a bar she hadn't been in for years, a dim, cozy, little place tucked between old buildings, where the whiskey was neat and the music always good.
She was halfway through her drink when she heard the name. "Emily Prentiss?" Her head turned slowly. And her heart stuttered.
They hadn't aged much, tall, still lean and a little broad through the chest, with black ink curling up their throat and arms. Y/N Y/L/N. The Y/N Y/L/N.
Emily's first real crush, her childhood best friend turned teenage enigma, gone before they could finish whatever spark had always hovered between them.
"Y/N?" Emily stood, stunned, "No... fucking way." They grinned wide, a little stunned themselves, their whiskey glass already sweating in their tattooed hand.
"I was gonna say something earlier but... god, you got hotter."
Emily laughed, breathless, "Still don't have a filter, I see."
"I'd apologise, but..." Y/N shrugged, "I always did have a thing for you."
Emily blinked, surprised but oddly warm, “You… what?!” Y/N leaned in slightly, tipsy but honest, voice low and velvet, “Yeah, Em… I had the biggest damn crush on you. Back when you wore ripped jeans and threatened to fight anyone who bullied me.”
Emily blinked, surprised but oddly warm. “You… what?”
Rox leaned in slightly, tipsy but honest, voice low and velvet. “Yeah, Em. I had the biggest damn crush on you. Back when you wore ripped jeans and threatened to fight anyone who bullied me.”
Emily's cheeks flushed. Her mouth opened, then closed, and then, quietly, she said, "I had a crush on you too. Thought I was subtle."
"You weren't," Y/N said, grinning, "I was just too scared to say anything." A silence fell between them, one of those rare ones, comfortable, suspended.
And then Emily took a chance, brushing her fingers over Y/N's hand. "Want to have a drink with me?" Emily questioned, Y/N grinned against, brighter, "Thought you'd never ask."
- - -
Weeks turned into months...
Drinks became dinners. Dinners became nights in, lazy mornings, bodies tangled in rumpled sheets and laughter under dim lights. Y/N was magnetic in a way that grounded Emily, direct, but soft.
They moved slow at first, talking about everything they'd missed. Y/N had built a career tattooing in DC, mostly queer clients, their arms now a living sketchbook.
Emily shared just enough of the BAU.
They flirted shamelessly. And then, there were nights they didn't sleep.
- - -
Present day...
It had rained all day, and the windows steamed. The lights were low, music barely a murmur. Y/N was in Emily's kitchen, shirtless in loose sweats, hair damp from the shower.
Emily came up behind them, arms snaking around their waist. Y/N smiled and leaned into her, "You okay?" Emily nodded, nuzzling her forehead into Y/N's shoulder, "Mmm... just thinking."
"Dangerous..." Y/N teased. Emily bit her lip, then, nervous, but sure, she whispered, "Be my partner." Y/N turned, their brows lifted, eyes wide, "You serious?"
Emily nodded, breath hitching, "I want you... all the way. Not just the sex, the beautiful mind boggling sex, not just the weekends. I want to say I'm yours... I want to know you're mine."
Y/N's answer was a kiss, deep, hot, hungry. Emily backed into the counter, gasping as Y/N kissed her like it was the first time. Clothes fell quickly, Y/N lifting Emily onto the kitchen counter, her legs around their waist.
Their mouths didn't part. Y/N kissed her until her head dropped back, breathless, whispering her name like it was holy. Bedroom, then bed, as usual. Y/N between Emily's thighs, worshipping her body.
Emily's fingers curled in their hair, guiding them, trembling under every touch, breath, and every desperate, quiet moan. They were slow at first, savouring. Y/N coaxing every delicious sound from her.
Emily whimpered Y/N's name over and over.
Then they flipped her gently, their chest pressed against her back. Y/N's mouth brushed Emily's neck, teeth grazing her delicate skin, "Mine?"
"Yours," the Chief whispered, desperate, legs shaking.
They took their time, rocking together, breath syncing in moans and curses. Emily cried out when Y/N's hand slid down her belly and lower, coaxing her over the edge again. And again.
She pulled them down afterward, sweaty and flushed, kissing them hard and messy and open-mouthed.
“I love you,” the Chief murmured, dizzy and spent, fingers brushing Y/N's jaw.
Y/N's smile was like sunrise. “Took you long enough.”
can you write a fic where reader is deaf and Emily learn sign language for them??
Enjoy!!
Truthfully? You never expected her to try. You couldn't just expect something like that from someone, or at least you'd come to learn that.
Emily was already so busy, with jetting off to cases, working long nights, leading the team, carrying the weight of so many lives. You'd told her more than once, "It's okay... you don't have to."
And you meant it.
But Emily Prentiss has a stubborn streak, and she doesn't do anything halfway. So when she showed up one evening with a stack of notecards, her hair a mess and her jacket over one arm, you just stared.
She dropped her keys, and her bag, and signed (clumsily, but surprisingly clearly), "Hi. I want to learn." You blinked, then blinked again.
She smiled, nervous and unsure, and added aloud, slow enough for you to read her lips, "I know I got that wrong. But... I want to do this. For you."
And so it began.
At first, Emily struggled. Her slim fingers didn't want to cooperate, she'd blame it on her years of holding stiff guns, her brow would furrow constantly.
And more than once she muttered, "This shouldn't be harder than hostage negotiations," which you couldn't help but giggle at, though you'd quickly hide it under a cough when her arms would cross with a sigh.
But you were patient, as patient as she'd allow. You signed things slowly, sometimes repeating them two, three even four times till she got it.
When she fumbled through something as simple as "coffee" or "work", she'd huff and sign something vaguely chaotic that made you burst out with silent laughter.
Still, she persevered, kept going.
She even enrolled in ASL class on Thursday nights, juggling it between her BAU schedule and mountains of Chief worthy paperwork.
You'd catch her practicing in the mirror, mouthing the words while signing them slowly, her fingers dancing shakily until they learned the easing rhythm.
You'd fall asleep sometimes with her arm wrapped around your waist, her free hand unconsciously tracing the alphabet against your back. And slowly, oh so slowly, she got better.
You taught her curse words when she needed to vent, and jokes when she needed to smile. She learned "I love you" early, she practiced it more than once.
One night, without warning, she looked at you, no stumble or hesitation, and signed it. Perfectly. "I love you". You forgot how to breath for a second.
- - -
A few months later...
You, something you don't usually do, join the BAU team for dinner. Garcia picked the restaurant, somewhere trendy and loud, all laughter and clinking glasses.
The team has taken over a long table in the back. Emily rests her hand on your lower back as you slide into the seat beside her. And just like that, it starts.
Morgan is already in story mode, laughing at something Spencer had mistakenly done last week, talking a mile a minute. JJ is trying to keep up, and Garcia's hand gestures alone could tell a full story.
You lean back, a little overwhelmed, your brows furrowing as you slowly get left behind...
But then Emily taps your thigh gently, her fingers drawing your attention. She signs slowly, "Morgan said Reid spilled coffee on Hotch's files. Again."
You snort. Emily smiles.
Every few minutes, she checks in, translating certain bits of fast conversation, shortening some, skipping others, but making sure you're never left out of the loop.
She signs across your lap, under the table, casually but clearly, pausing sometimes to double check her signs. Once, when she fumbles over a complex phrase Garcia throws out, she huffs, rolls ger eyes and signs, "I'm trying, okay?"
You kiss her cheek. Knowing Garcia was one to make up her own words and phrases to emphasise her misfortune.
- - -
Later that night, when everyone was full and winding down, you notice the others looking at her a little differently. Not unkindly. Just... moved.
Emily, who once struggled to remember the difference between "want" and "need", is now translating full conversations without missing a beat or made up word.
And she learned it all, just for you.
You squeeze her hand under the table, signing a slow, heartfelt, "Thank you. I see you." She squeezes back, "Always, love."
some more mother Emily stuff please
Maybe y/n is slightly ill
Emily comes home from being on a two week long case and sees them falling asleep while folding laundry and taking care of child so Emily decides to take child out to the park or something while y/n get some well needed to rest
Comes back home take care of all the chores puts child to bed
Cuddle up with y/n
Fluffy dovey lovey stuff
Enjoy!
- - -
The door creaked open just after 5, Emily stepping over the threshold with her go-bag slung over her shoulder. Her suit jacket was folded over her arm, her hair back, and exhaustion clinging to her skin.
Two weeks on a joint task force out of state, too long without her partner, too long without her boys. She shut the door softly, locking it behind her.
The living room was dimly lit by soft afternoon sun filtering through the curtains, there was the faint scent of laundry detergent in the air.
The TV played low in the background, something animated. She heard soft giggles. Then…
“Mommy!”
“Mommy!”
Twin tornadoes of joy hurtled toward her. Alec and Theo, four years old and chaos personified, each with mismatched socks and superhero t-shirts, collided with her legs and arms in a tackle hug.
Emily bent immediately, her bag falling forgotten to the floor as she knelt and wrapped them up tight. “My boys,” she whispered, kissing their cheeks one after the other.
“I missed you both so much!”
A rustle caught her attention from the couch. Emily’s head turned, and her heart dropped. Y/N Y/L/N, her partner, her best friend, the love of her life, was curled awkwardly at the end of the couch.
A mountain of clothes needing to be folded, their hands sluggish and trembling, their cheeks were flushed with fever, strands of hair stuck to their temple.
They blinked heavily, as though it took effort to stay awake. There were tissues on the coffee table, and a half-drunk mug of tea forgotten beside them.
Y/N smiled weakly, “I… hi, baby,” they rasped. “I was trying to clean up. The boys were running circles all day, and laundry kept piling up…”
Emily crossed the room in seconds. She knelt next to her partner, brushing the damp hair from Y/N’s forehead. “You’re sick, love,” she said gently, “Why didn’t you call your mom to help?”
Y/N gave her a sheepish shrug, “Didn’t wanna bother her. You were gone. I thought I could manage. I’m okay, just… just tired.”
Emily pressed a kiss to their forehead, already feeling the heat radiating from their skin. “Y/N. You are allowed to rest. Let me take over now, okay?”
“But the laundry-”
“I’ve got it,” Emily promised, “All of it. Right now, you’re going to bed.” Y/N blinked hard, lips trembling like she might argue, but Emily was already helping her stand.
Y/N leaned into her with a sigh, whispering a soft, tiny, “Sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Emily murmured, wrapping her arm around them, “You’ve done everything… let me do the rest.”
Once Y/N was tucked beneath the blankets, humidifier humming, fever medicine given and a cool cloth set on her forehead, Emily turned back to the living room where the twins were currently scaling the couch like a mountain.
“Boys,” she called gently, “how about we go on an adventure?” Both heads whipped toward her. “A park adventure?!” Theo asked, his eyes wide.
“Maybe even… ice cream?” Emily grinned, her smile ear to ear. Alex gasped, “Mommy, you just got home! We can really go?”
“We really can. But only if you help me put on your shoes.”
- - -
Within minutes, Emily was carrying a small backpack with snacks, wipes, and water bottles, her old BAU instincts turning domestic.
The twins were bundled in light jackets, and they set off, hand on hand toward the neighbourhood park.
They laughed on the swings, raced across the grass and climbed the jungle gym while Emily stood beneath it like a bodyguard.
“Good job!” and “Feet first, Theo!” would scream every few minutes as she watched them with a smile.
Afterward, when the boys were tired, they sat in the sun, each of them holding a single scoop of chocolate in a cup. Emily wiped their sticky faces and kissed their heads, her heart aching in the best way.
On the walk home, both Alex and Theo started yawning, leading Emily to carrying both on either arm for the last block.
- - -
Once home, Emily gave the twins a bath, using the bubble soap Y/N always bought because it, “smelled like calm.” They splashed, argued about toys, and asked if Y/N was okay.
“They’re resting…” Emily told them, towelling them dry. “And they’ll feel better soon. But they miss you both very much!”
Theo pressed his hand to his heart, “I miss Mama too.” Emily tucked them into their twin beds, kissed their cheeks and read two short books before they drifted off.
Then… laundry. She returned to the pile on the couch, folding small shirts, unmatched socks and tiny pants while a crime documentary played quietly in the background.
It was oddly meditative.
Kitchen next. Dishes were stacked, counters wiped, bottles cleaned and put away. By the time she turned off the last light, the house had gone still.
Emily padded into their bedroom, stripping down to an old t-shirt before crawling into bed beside Y/N. Y/N stirred with a soft breath, “You did everything… didn’t you?”
Emily slid an arm around them, pulling them close, “Just catching up.” Y/N burrowed into Emily’s chest, legs tangling with hers. “Fever still here,” they murmured.
“I know,” Emily whispered, kissing their damp temple, “I’ll be here all night. Holding you through every degree of it… right here…” Y/N sighed as Emily shifted to make sure they were comfortable.
“I missed you,” Y/N said softly. “I missed you too,” Emily returned.
okay so fic request
Emily and our future child decided that they want to make y/n breakfast in bed for their birthday
they tried making pancakes bacon toast eggs orange juice
somehow everything burnt y/n wakes up to the fire alarm blaring
y/n Goes downstairs to see Emily trying to fan smoke away from the smoke detector child is crying at burnt pancakes and bacon and eggs and ruined surprise
ihop was ordered after everything got cleaned up and everyone was calm
They made y/n pretend to be asleep to serve them the ihop in bed
had a great birthday at home with ur fav ppl
(tease Emily about this in the future)
As soon as I got your request, I got to working! Never in my life have I been so excited to write a quick fic! Hope you enjoy!
Summary: Y/N celebrates her birthday with breakfast, kisses, a fire alarm, and iHop!
You wake to the smell first. Unmistakable. Sharp. A scent that slams into your senses like a brick wall, burnt something.
Not just toast. Not just bacon. This is everything-is-on-fire kind of burnt. You blink hard, already halfway sitting up when the shrill screen of the fire alarm blares.
You don’t even bother with slippers. You bolt down the hallway, heart pounding, and when you round the corner into the kitchen, the sight makes you stop short.
Emily, your brilliant, expertly calm, terrifyingly sexy wife, is standing on a chair, frantically waving a flattened Princess doll cardboard box under the fire alarm.
Smoke curls from the stovetop behind her. A scorched pan rests in the sink, billowing what’s left of its dreams. But it’s your daughter, your sweet, earnest Lily, who breaks your heart wide open.
She’s crouched beside the kitchen island, her apron stained, her little face flushed with tears. Her lower lip quivering as she cries, fists clenched tightly at her sides.
“I ruined it!” She screams, voice breaking, “I ruined Mama’s birthday!” You rush to her instantly, dropping to your knees and pulling her into your arms.
She practically collapses against you, small and trembling and sticky with syrup.
“No… baby,” you whisper into her hair, “Hey, hey… look at me. You didn’t ruin anything.” Lily shakes her head, furiously, “I wanted to make you breakfast!”
Lily’s voice bordering on wail, “Eggs, a-and pancakes… and bacon and ju-juice and… coffee, and I-I dropped an egg on the cat… and the bacon caught on fire… and Mommy lied and said it w-was fine… but it wasn’t fine!”
You glance up. Emily looks like she’s aged and greyed ten years in the last ten chaotic minutes, still fanning the air like the fire department might show up.
“I didn’t lie,” Emily whines, climbing off the chair, “I said we could order pancakes if we needed to!” You give her a look, then kiss Lily’s curls.
“Sweetheart. You tried to make me breakfast. That’s the best birthday present in the world!” You confess, your hands gently holding her, “But it’s burnt!” She argues.
You pull her tighter, “So… we pivot. You know what Mama wants more than anything?”
Lily lifts her blotchy face, “What, Mama?”
“Pancakes. That don’t taste like smoke. Which is why… we’re ordering iHop. Right now…” Emily exhales dramatically, as if those two syllables, iHop, were her salvation. “Thank… god!”
You hand her your phone, “You order, I’ll calm our Michelin star chef down.” While Emily taps away on the screen, you rock Lily gently in your lap, her tears slowing, sniffling turning to quiet sighs.
You hum softly, rubbing her back, and she burrows into your neck with a whisper, “I just wanted to make you happy.”
“You don’t think this adorable face makes me happy everyday?” Your hand moves to gently pinch her red cheeks.
- - -
Fifteen minutes later, you’ve wiped down the counters, aired out the kitchen, lit a candle, and even managed to get Emily to laugh at her own morning misfortunes.
Lily sits at the table now, sipping on a plastic cup of apple juice with her head resting on her folded arms, still tired from the emotional whiplash of the morning.
You stretch and kiss Emily’s cheek. “Alright… I’m going back to bed.” Emily raises an eyebrow, “What?”
“I’m going to pretend none of this happened, so you two can try again. Bring me iHop. Act surprised. Got it?” You ask her with a smile.
Emily grins, “You’re such a little drama queen.” You nod, like it was common knowledge, “And you love me for it.”
“Every burnt piece of you.” You add.
- - -
You hear their footsteps before the door creaks slowly open. “Mama?” Lily whispers, careful, tiptoeing. You crack an eye, just enough to see her trying to balance a tray while Emily steadies it behind her.
You sit up, playing along, “Oh wow! Breakfast in bed? For me?!” Lily giggles, proudly setting the tray in your lap. “Happy birthday, Mama! We made this one better!”
You glance down, three golden pancakes, crispy bacon, fluffy scrambled eggs, and a little container of syrup. Everything you love, warm and perfect and not burnt.
Emily perches on the bed beside you, grinning, “You deserve it, hun.” You take a bite of pancake and groan happily, “This might be the best breakfast I’ve ever had.”
Lily beams. “It’s from iHop!” You laugh, mouth full, reaching to cup her cheek. “Still counts.”
She leans in and kisses your cheek, sticky, syrupy, and full of unconditional love. “Best Mama ever!” You sigh contentedly and wrap an arm around her, pulling Emily closer with your other hand.
“Best family ever!”
- - -
Months later…
You’re at the roundtable in the BAU bullpen. The case was hell. Everyone’s tired, weary and needing major sleep catchup.
Someone, probably Morgan, starts a round of “worst parenting fails,” and Hotch is halfway through telling a story about Jack and super glue when JJ turns to Emily.
“Didn’t you almost set your kitchen on fire trying to cook once?” The blonde questioned, Emily groaning as she sank into her chair, “It was a minor amount of smoke.”
You raise a brow. “Minor? The fire alarm woke the cat, and me. Lily cried. We had to order iHop to save my birthday.” Spencer’s eyes widen. “You ordered food and then pretended to be asleep so they could surprise you again?”
“Of course I did,” you say proudly, “I’m not going to miss a syrupy kiss from my daughter or my wife waving bacon in my face.”
Garcia practically squeals, “That is the cutest thing I’ve ever heard!” Emily squeezes your knee beneath the table, “She’s high maintenance, but she’s worth it.”
You grin. “You set off a fire alarm for me. That’s real love.”
Rossi chuckles, “You know it’s love when iHop saves the day!