*My Type? (PrentissxReader)

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Requested by EmmaRae6

It's another boring day in the office. You don't mind though; the way you see it, every boring paperwork day means fewer severe criminals.

As you type away, scanning the files, you notice Morgan and Reid arguing.

"No way! You think y/n's into that?"

"Absolutely! Who doesn't want a muscular man?"

"You'd be surprised the allure to intelligence, Morgan."

You stifle a laugh. I didn't peg Reid as an aggressive type, you think. Shrugging, you try to continue eavesdropping when someone catches your eye.

"What does that mean?" Reid asks.

"You know, giving me eyes," Morgan repeats slower.

"So, staring?"

"Reid there's just a look, okay? A look like..." Morgan scans the room and lands on you. "Like that! See? Y/n's looking at me with that dreamy look."

"What? No way!" Reid turns his head to face you. "Y/n could be staring at me," he mumbles more to convince himself than Morgan.

"Uh huh, right pretty boy."

Reid shuffles a little. "Why don't we ask?"

"What?"

"Let's just ask."

"You're nuts!"

"I mean if you're too scared to ask then I guess we'll just never-"

"Alright alright! We'll ask."

As the two walk up to you, you snap out of your trance.

"Hey, y/n," Morgan flirts.

"Hi," you respond.

"Pretty boy and I were wondering who's more your type. Me or him."

You look between the two of them. "Wait. You two... like me?"

Their faces give you your answer.

Your laughing catches Prentiss' attention.

"What's going on over here?" she asks, a slight smile creeping onto her face.

"Oh, hey Em. Did you know that Morgan and Reid like me?"

"Really?" she asks with a fake shock.

"Yep," you coyly reply, standing up.

"Well, hate to disappoint you boys but uh..." Prentiss wraps her arm around you and pulls you in for a slow, long kiss. "This one's mine," she finishes once you both pull away. "Better luck next time," she adds. "Ready for lunch?"

"Yep!" you answer, a smug smile ruining your nonchalant tone.

Prentiss grabs her bag and walks away, her arm still around you.

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