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decadentcatcrusade · 8 hours ago

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Beach Day

summary: A perfect day spent at the beach with Emily and your daughter, Rowan.

word count: 2.4k

tags: fluff, momily, fem!reader

warnings: slight baby talk at the end

The soft hush of the ocean is the first thing you register as you wake up. The second is the smell of coffee and something vaguely sweet sizzling in the kitchen.

You stretch your warm limbs under the linen sheets and glance at the empty space beside you. It’s still dented from where Emily slept, but it's cool now. She’s always the first one up on vacation, which is a miracle considering how many alarms it usually takes to wake her on workdays.

You pad barefoot across the wood floors of the beach house, the sun pouring golden light through sheer white curtains. When you reach the kitchen, the sight stops you cold in that soft kind of way that makes your chest ache.

Emily’s at the stove, hair pulled up in a loose ponytail, wearing one of your oversized sleep shirts and a pair of cotton shorts. Rowan sits cross-legged on the counter next to her in strawberry-print pajamas, clutching a wooden spoon. There’s a smear of flour on her cheek and a proud look on her face as she stirs a bowl with a dramatic, messy flair.

Emily glances over her shoulder, and her whole face lights up. “Morning, beautiful.”

Rowan gasps, spotting you. “Mommy! I’m cooking. With Mama!”

“Oh, are you?” you say, walking over to press a kiss to the top of her head. “Lucky Mama.”

Emily smirks, flipping a pancake with practiced ease. “She’s the sous-chef. And the official taste tester. We’re working on our presentation skills.”

“I tasted the chocolate chips,” Rowan reports seriously. “To make sure they weren’t poisoned.”

You blink. “And?”

“Still good,” she confirms, and Emily nearly drops the spatula from laughing.

You slide behind her, wrapping your arms around her waist and kissing her bare shoulder. “You’re not allowed to look this good before I’ve had coffee.”

Emily shakes her head with a smirk.

“I want coffee!” Rowan interrupts. “But with marshmallows.”

You and Emily share a look, the kind full of silent communication you’ve perfected by now, before Emily says, “How about some apple juice with breakfast, and marshmallows later after the beach?”

Rowan scrunches up her face in thought. “I get to wear my crab hat to the beach?”

Emily nods solemnly. “Crab hat is mandatory.”

You pour coffee while Emily plates the pancakes, which are uneven and slightly too brown in places, but Rowan is clapping like you’re at a five-star brunch. The three of you sit at the little kitchen table, sunlight streaking across the floor, legs bumping under the table, syrup dripping off chins.

It's messy and slow and perfect.

Halfway through her second pancake, Rowan looks up with her mouth full and asks, “Is it beach time now?”

Emily snorts into her coffee. You lean back in your chair, smiling as Rowan squirms with anticipation.

“Alright, baby,” you say, ruffling her hair. “Let’s get your crab hat.”

You fully underestimated how much stuff it takes to entertain a three-year-old at the beach until this morning, but here you are, surrounded by towels, snacks, water bottles, Rowan’s beach toys, and a bottle of sunscreen she keeps trying to hide under the couch.

“Do we need this many snacks?” Emily asks, peering into the beach bag as you shove another granola bar inside.

“We have a toddler. We need five snacks for every ten minutes she’s awake.”

“I can’t argue with that logic,” she admits, kneeling to fasten Rowan’s sandals.

Rowan is buzzing with way too much energy, arms flailing as she talks at full speed about how she’s going to build the biggest castle ever and maybe find a jellyfish and also bury Emily in sand. You’re not sure in what order, but you nod anyway.

“Arms up,” you say, holding the sunscreen.

Rowan groans. “I already did it!”

“You did only one arm,” you point out.

Emily chuckles from where she’s zipping up the beach tote. “Maybe she just wants a little extra vitamin D on one side.”

You give her a look, and she grins, no help at all. Eventually, with the promise of rainbow popsicles later, Rowan lets you cover her in sunscreen, complete with dramatic sighs and wiggling that would make an eel proud.

By the time you make it outside, the sun is warm, and the breeze off the water smells like salt and summer. The beach is only a short walk from the house, and Rowan immediately takes off down the path, plastic pail swinging wildly, yelling something about crabs and pirates.

“She gets that energy from you,” Emily murmurs beside you, slipping her fingers through yours.

“Please. I’m exhausted just watching her.”

She leans into your ear. “You’re so beautiful right now.”

You glance sideways at her in her black swimsuit and sunglasses, messy bangs and smirking lips, and roll your eyes. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you love me for it,” she says, lifting your joined hands and kissing the back of yours.

You reach the sand just in time to stop Rowan from throwing herself headfirst into the surf. Instead, you help her set up a towel and umbrella while Emily stakes out a shady spot for your bags. The moment her bucket hits the sand, Rowan is off and running, digging wildly and narrating every second of it.

You lie back on the towel, one eye on Rowan, one arm stretched lazily behind your head. Emily settles beside you, close enough that your thighs touch, and she exhales like she hasn’t done that in weeks.

“She’s so happy,” she says softly.

You nod. “She doesn’t even miss screens. Just needs a bucket and some wet sand.”

“And a crab hunt,” Emily adds. “She told me she’s going to bring one home for Sergio.”

“Absolutely not.”

Emily laughs and tilts her head toward you, voice lower now. “You’re happy too.”

You glance at her. “I am.”

And you are. It’s in your bones, wrapped around you like a blanket. The way Emily looks at you like you’re the sun and the tide and everything in between.

Rowan runs over a moment later, beaming, cheeks flushed, and proudly shows you a shell that’s half-broken, but totally perfect in her eyes. She plops down in your lap, warm and sandy, and you wrap your arms around her.

Emily’s gaze is soft as she watches the two of you. Rowan turns her head to Emily and raises the shell higher. “You want to see my shell, Mama?” she asks eagerly.

Emily laughs, leaning in closer. “Of course, let me see it.”

Two hours later, Rowan is still going strong, digging like she’s on a mission, when you and Emily exchange a glance over the rim of your sunglasses. Emily stretches, her hand brushing your thigh.

“She’s going to crash the second we get her in the bath,” she says with amusement.

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” you murmur, brushing sand off your knee. “She’s operating entirely on toddler adrenaline.”

Rowan runs up with a bucket full of foamy seawater and a single, very determined hermit crab. “I found a friend! Can we take him home?”

You sit up quickly. “He lives at the beach, babe. We have to leave him here at his home.”

Rowan’s lower lip trembles slightly, and you see Emily spring into action, crouching beside her.

“We can take a picture for Sergio,” Emily suggests. “And you can draw him later. That way, he stays here with his crab friends, and Sergio still gets to meet him.”

Rowan considers this very seriously before nodding and holding up the bucket like a trophy. “Okay, but I’m naming him Mr. Pinchy.”

“Of course you are,” you say, trying not to laugh.

After a few more minutes and a carefully orchestrated crab release, you start packing up your little beach camp. Everything is either damp and half-covered in sand. Emily shoulders the bag, you scoop up Rowan, who’s finally starting to get heavy-lidded, and together you start walking back up the path to the beach house.

Rowan rests her head on your shoulder, warm and sticky with sunscreen, arms tucked around your neck.

“I love the beach,” she mumbles into your skin.

You glance at Emily beside you, her hair windblown and her expression soft, eyes on both of you, memorizing the moment.

“Me too, Ro,” you whisper.

The bathroom fills with the smell of bubblegum shampoo and warm steam, and Rowan sits perched in the tub, surrounded by foam, plastic sea creatures, and a plastic cup.

You sit on the edge of the tub, rolling your sleeves up as she demonstrates how “Sharky” is going to attack the loofah.

Emily walks in with two folded towels and pauses in the doorway, smiling at the scene. “How’s Bubble Queen doing?”

“I’m not a queen,” Rowan says, scooping up a mountain of bubbles and smearing them over her face. “I’m Papa Rossi.”

Emily loses it. She nearly drops the towels as she laughs, hand pressed to her chest.

Rowan shrugs, holding up the plastic cup. “See, he drinks lots of coffee and I’m doing his beard.”

You grin, watching Emily wipe tears from her eyes. “Do you think Papa Rossi likes bubble baths?”

Rowan narrows her eyes. “He needs one.”

Emily stifles another laugh as she crouches beside you, tucking a wet curl behind Rowan’s ear. “He might agree with that, honestly.”

The sun is low and the heat has become pleasant and breezy by the time you step out onto the sidewalk. Rowan is between you and Emily, holding both your hands, swinging her legs every few steps with a delighted squeal.

The boardwalk is buzzing with families in matching T-shirts, couples walking dogs, and a man playing guitar near a bus stop. The scent of fried food and ocean breeze hangs in the air and lights blink to life one by one as the sun continues to go down.

You glance sideways at Emily. She’s wearing jeans and a loose button-down over her tank top. She has sunglasses perched on her head with one hand wrapped around Rowan’s. She catches your look and raises an eyebrow. “What?”

“Nothing,” you say, and it’s not even close to true. The truth is, you’ve never seen her more beautiful. You don’t think she even realizes how naturally it all comes to her, the way Rowan looks at her. It’s one of the most beautiful things you’ve ever witnessed.

You end up at a small beachside diner, the kind with string lights and picnic tables out front. Rowan insists on sitting between you both and orders mac and cheese with “bonus french fries.” Emily gets fish tacos. You get something with shrimp you barely look at because you’re too busy watching your wife help Rowan squeeze ketchup into the shape of a heart.

You laugh. “That’s not even remotely heart-shaped.”

Rowan defends it fiercely. “It’s abstract.”

Emily clinks her glass against yours. “She’s not wrong.”

Dinner is loud and sticky and filled with happy chaos. Rowan tells the waitress about Mr. Pinchy and the jellyfish castle and how Sergio is going to be very jealous that he didn’t get to come. The waitress plays along like a pro.

By the time you’re walking back to the beach house, Rowan is quiet, fingers tangled with Emily’s, yawning into her shoulder. She’s fighting sleep, but not very well.

“I like it here,” she mumbles. “Can we come back forever?”

Emily meets your eyes over Rowan’s head. “What do you think, babe? Should we just live here and build sandcastles professionally?”

You grin. “I think we’d have the best castles in Virginia.”

By the time you’re back inside, Rowan is half-asleep on Emily’s shoulder, fingers tangled in her mom’s shirt, breathing slow and shallow. You lift her gently, earning a sleepy grumble as you carry her down the hallway to her room.

She’s out before you even finish tucking her in, one arm flopped across her stuffed bunny, dark hair splayed across the pillow. Emily brushes a thumb across her cheek, kissing her temple softly, afraid to wake her.

“She’s wiped,” Emily whispers as the two of you back out of the room.

“She made it longer than I thought,” you murmur, pulling the door shut until it clicks.

It’s quiet in the beach house now. The windows are cracked open, and you can hear the faint lull of waves outside. You trail into the kitchen where Emily’s already pouring two glasses of wine and flicking on the dim lamp above the couch.

She hands you yours and curls up beside you, legs brushing. You clink glasses without a word, and it’s the kind of silence that doesn’t need filling.

After a sip, Emily sighs and leans her head against your shoulder. “Today was perfect.”

“It was,” you say, resting your cheek against her hair. “Sticky and sandy and loud and exhausting but perfect.”

You both sit there for a while, wine glasses in hand, just listening to the waves and the creak of the old beach house settling in for the night.

Then Emily shifts slightly, tracing the rim of her glass with her finger. Her voice is quiet, careful. “Do you ever think about doing it again?”

You blink. “Doing what again?”

Her eyes meet yours, steady now. “All of this. Another baby.”

You stare at her for a second, heart catching a little. “You’re serious?”

“I’ve been thinking about it for a while.” Her thumb slides across the back of your hand. “Rowan’s getting so big. I just… I don’t know. I miss the little moments. The firsts. The tiny socks. The way she used to sleep on our chests like it was the safest place in the world.”

Your chest tightens, not in fear, but something warmer. Something like the thought that maybe this life has more chapters you haven’t even imagined yet.

You lean into her, forehead pressed to hers. “I think I could love that idea.”

Emily smiles, eyes shining. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

She smiles, steady and calm. “It won’t be easy.”

You squeeze her hand. “I’m in. No matter what.”

She nods, a quiet confidence between you. “Then let’s see where it takes us.”

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decadentcatcrusade · 20 hours ago

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have you got any emily (and reader) headcanons with an older kid? maybe their child going off to college or meeting their first partner?

ps i love you and the way you write and your brain 😘

I love youuu mwah!! <3

Emily totally cries on the ride home from college/the airport. She fusses incessantly in the dorm—should we move the desk to the other wall? You hardly have any space—trying to lengthen the stay, give herself a bit more time with her baby that's no longer a baby :( if they're going somewhere out of DC, you suggest staying for a few days in their city, but Emily says no bc she doesn't want to make it more stressful/ embarrassing for (not so) baby Prentiss :').

She calls and texts every day while they’re away. Never misses a day even if she's busy with a case. Sends pics of Sergio and random, sporadic updates like there's suddenly a nationwide shortage of the one ice-cream flavor I've been craving for a week.

College application time was tense for everyone lol. All of you would be gathered at the dining table for days, going through colleges and majors and programs. You provide cups of tea and coffee while Emily proofreads personal statements and application essays. Penelope is on speed dial for any sudden crashes or website lags.

Emily isn’t too strict with partners, she was very diligent with teaching her kid about safe intercourse and boundaries, but if they're still teenagers she definitely has all the open doors, no sleepovers rules. She tries very very hard to be the Chill Cool Mom™️ even if she's internally freaking out every time they kiss or blush or hold hands. However, even if they're reasonably grown she does still pull them aside every once in a while and murmurs, are you being safe? ("Jesus, mom." "Just checking!!")

She totally breaks out all the albums and shows the partner all of her kid’s embarrassing pictures😭 (and you can bet there's a lot). That camera never fell out of her hand throughout their childhood.

Not so subtly profiling the partner the first time your kid brings them home. She manages to hold herself back from ordering a background check from Garcia (Garcia offered).

She's the best mom ever when her kid is on their period. Immediately breaks out all the chocolates, the teas, hot water bottles. They want to stay home from school? Sure, no problem! She's taking the day off too if she can, and they snuggle together on the couch and for just a few minutes she can go back to the time when they'd been constantly attached to her side, refusing to let her go. When both of you can stay home it becomes a sort of comfort-lazy day full of watching guilty pleasure movies and fussing over your kid.

She’s veeery iffy about unsupervised parties and the like. 1) she firsthand knows how bad they can get 2) she’s just way too paranoid after everything she’s seen on cases. Has to meet all their friends first (and definitely parents too) before she’d allow something like that. Sometimes this results in explosive arguments that remind Emily way too much of her fighting with her own mom at that age.

She definitely has some sort of secret code with her kid in case they want her to pick them up from somewhere, they're uncomfortable, etc. They're drilled into them from pretty early on—she's taking absolutely no chances whatsoever.

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