I bring you some of my stories I've written, if you have a request, feel free to send an ask or message, and I'll do the best I can to give you a sweet/angsty/beautiful story...
have u seen the pitt? if so I would luv if u wrote for cassie mckay, u would write her so gooood
hello anonđ«Ą
welp, I got this likeâŠ2 weeks ago? but didnât have time to answer it haha been way too busy, will explain later. And it was like they smelled that I was watching the pitt, cause yes, hun. I did watch it. And also yesâŠI am very much in love with Dr. Cassie McKay.
I did write a one shot. ButâŠsince itâs been so long since Iâve written anything, and posted, I am not sure if itâs any good and if anyone would actually enjoy itđ„Ž Iâm a bit insecure as always but extra this time hahaha
time can't stop me quite like you did; drowsy | e.p
Tags: bau!reader, unit chief emily, fluff, poorly concealed yearning, one too many borderline confessions, sleepy emily (<3), no use of yn
Summary: You take your drowsy unit chief home. Day 20 of flufftober.
Word count: 1.4k
âHey Emily, did anybody get back to you about theââ
You trail off as you look up from your file, suddenly taking in the hushed stillness of Emilyâs office. A wince scrunches your face in the echo of your voice, but it soon melds into a sad smile at the scene in front of you.
Emilyâs neck is bent into her crossed arms, her hair tumbling down in a silver cascade. She has her chin propped up on her wrist; her eyes are peacefully closed behind her glasses, frames tipped low on her nose, lashes pulling long shadows on her cheeks. The skin between her brows is smoothed from its usual wrinkle, her whole face lax with the brief respite. Warm light reflects in her lenses, pools in her hair, softens her usually harsh lines.
You tread lightly as you cross over to her desk, flipping the file closed. The flutter of paper wakes her before your hand does; her shoulder jerks away from your fingers, tugged back by an invisible string, her neck snapping up and bleary eyes finding yours.
She blinks a few times. Sits up. Pushes her glasses up her nose. Runs the same hand through her hair to comb it back, brows lightly pulled.Â
âIâm up.â She mutters, a faint rasp curling around her voice. Her shoulders lift in a lazy roll, then settle back against the padded leather of her chair, tired eyes flicking to the file in your hand. âWhat do you have?â
âI donât think so.â You say, placing it onto the bookshelf behind her, a few shelves above her head. She frowns; you ignore it. âCâmon, letâs get you home. Youâre dead on your feet.â
âNo, no.â Emily yawns, waving you away with a dismissive hand. âI still have a bunch of stuff to do.â
âYou canât do any of it if youâre asleep.â You flit about her desk and start gathering her things. Blazer, briefcase, long drained thermal mug. You even slip her phone into your pocket, despite her protests.
âHeyââÂ
âCome on, Emily.â You raise your voice over hers, softening it with a touch to her shoulder. Her whole face is creased with sleep, lines of exhaustion drawn in the slight pout of her mouth, the crowâs feet partially hidden behind her glasses. Your chest twinges, something all at once quiet and screaming. âYou need the rest.â You say. âYouâre no good tonight.â
She attempts a glare. It cracks when she stifles another yawn, her eyes going squinty beneath her glasses. They shine with a thin film of tears; Emily nudges her frames up to rub at them, smearing traces of mascara onto her already dark undereyes.
You take the pause in stride and slide your hand down to loop your arm through hers, fingers settling on the curve of her bicep. A few tugs procure nothing. When you murmur, Emily, with a harder yank, she heaves out a sigh and rises, resigned.Â
You fold a smile into the corner of your mouth.
The peace doesnât last longer than the few seconds it takes for her to push her chair back. She still triesâof course she doesâbecause sheâs stubbornness itself.
âWhat about my car?â
You let her take the mug from your hand, but you keep your hold on the briefcase. Her arm is still in yours, warmth bleeding into your skin even though she stands steady, slowly surveying her desk, lips slightly pursed. She pockets her car keys and fumbles with the light switch on her lamp, digging around until the citrine light extinguishes. You watch her with a great deal too much affection, tricked into letting your guard down by her soft, unfocused eyes and the sluggish way her tongue drags over her lip. The slight lean of her weight against your side, almost too light to be noticed.
Almost.Â
âSay you come home with me tonight.â You murmur before you can stop yourself. Before you can think it through, really.
Emily squints her eyes and grabs a sleek black glasses case, dropping it into her purse.
âThat seems excessive.â She says slowly.
âOtherwise Iâd have to pick you up tomorrow.â You point out, finally tugging her away from the desk.
âOr you could just let meââyawnââdrive.â
You give her an indulgent smile, squeezing her arm. âYou shouldâve been a comedian.â
âMissed my calling.â She mumbles. Her thumb digs into the space between her brows, briefly massaging before she lets it drop. âOkay, yeah, your place. I left some clothes over last time.â
âI know. I kept your toothbrush.â
You lead her into the elevator and turn to see her teeth biting down on a smile. A similar one tugs at your own lips, far before her weight leans more heavily into yours. You feel the brush of her fingers against your leg; her hand dips into your pocket, sifting around until she pulls her phone out. When she blinks at you, her smile is loose and easy, two dimples you havenât seen in forever clutching your heart in their fists.
âThat might be the sweetest thing anyoneâs ever said to me.â She drawls, half crushed beneath her teeth.
You fight back the urge to brush loose silvery strands from her face. She does it herself, tipping her chin back and dislodging the hair with an idle shake of her head. Your fingers curl into a lax fist, restless against the warmth of her arm.
âYou really need sweeter things to be said to you, Emily.â You murmur, soft enough to betray yourself.
She rolls her eyes, smothering you in heat where her body leans into yours. âI was joking.â
âWell, I wasnât.â The doors slide open. You walk out into the parking lot, your arm finding her waist in the shift, the threat of an echo not enough to stop you. âI love you.â
It does end up echoing. Your forcibly casual tone rings through the empty lot, amplifying the sentiment and leaving you nowhere to hide.
Emilyâs mouth pulls up mid-yawn, watering eyes catching the light that turns her hair ten shades of platinum. âThat the best you got?â She teases, her fingers tugging where they hook into your belt loops. Your arm tightens around her as she leans more of her weight into yours; your pace staggers, unsure what to do with so much of her giving itself over to you.
You spot your car a few paces away. Your hand curls around her hip, giving it a parting squeeze before you dig your keys out.
âIâll get you donuts tomorrow if you donât offer to drive.â
A laugh spills out of her, light as air and so easy it nearly knocks you off your feet. Itâs unfiltered, unburdenedânot a polite, controlled chuckle but something that makes her breath fan warmly over your skin in tremulous waves. Youâre helpless against smiling at the sound, joining in with a quiet huffed breath that sounds like your heart bounding back too heavily in your chest.Â
âYou make it easy not to try.â She mumbles haltingly, her voice nearly lost in the wake of your beeping car.
Your mouth tips up. âOh, this is you going easy? Couldâve fooled me.â
Emily stops in front of the passenger door. âItâs harder,â she blinks heavy lashes, âto say no to you.â
The words race through your chest, hot magma making you jolt all the way down to your veins.Â
Itâs hard not to think this means something, when sheâs rumpled and soft around the edges, every part of her too exhausted to uphold her usual impenetrable barriers. You can see it in the slump of her shoulders, the less blunted edge of her gaze. Sheâs not hiding behind uncountable fronts. Not right now. Her voice runs with the slightest slur, coming out muffled from between her plush, overtired lips.
You step forward and pull open the door for her, half for having something to do with yourself. âWell, youâre good at it.â You murmur, resisting the urge to thumb away the smudged mascara under her eyes.
Emily hums quietly. âGetting weaker.â Her hand comes up to the edge of the door, whispering over yours and finding a grip to lean against as she gets inside. âYouâre trouble.â
