summary: Emily is a little too obsessed with coffee for your liking
tags: assistant! reader, uc!emily, coffee obsessed emily, pre pre pre relationship, no specific season or timeline in mind, no use of y/n
word count: 1,3k
author's note: can be read as a standalone, but is a part 2 of this blurb. i'm thinking of turning it into a little series? what do you think?
Three months in and you were finally starting to get used to being woken up in the middle of the night for a case. Well, sorta. At least this time you’re pulling into the BAU at 5:43am and not 4am.
You don’t have to be here, you know you don’t— Emily has told you countless times that she doesn’t expect you to come in so early when the team gets called in for a case, especially considering you’re just her assistant. And yet you do anyway.
You know the rest of the team will be trickling in soon, giving you just enough time to set everything up in the briefing room, open some blinds (again, all things you really don’t have to do), and most importantly, make Emily a cup of coffee. In the few short months as her assistant, you’ve taken notice of Emily's coffee habits— it was sort of your job to notice these things you told yourself. She has at least two cups a day, one when she first gets in and then another once the afternoon slump hits, always black with Splenda. Though lately, she’s been verging on the edge of a borderline coffee obsession and you’re pretty sure she had had at least three cups by 10am yesterday morning. It was concerning to say the least.
Emily walks in just before six, heading to her office to set her things down first before making her way over to the briefing room. You meet her just outside the door with a soft smile. “Morning, boss,” you murmur, pushing a travel mug into her hands.
Emily rewards your efforts with an absentminded “Good morning,” as she lifts the mug to her lips, immensely grateful for the caffeine at this early hour.
She can’t put her finger on when exactly this had started—when you had started showing up with a cup of coffee for her whenever the team got called in for a case, like a personal barista—but boy was she grateful. Beyond grateful really.
She had started looking forward to these mornings, to these quiet little moments with you before she was forced to brave the horrors the next few days would bring. She also couldn’t help the giddy little feeling she got every time, knowing that you only ever brought a cup for her—maybe because she’s your boss and you feel that it’s part of your job, or maybe because… Nope, she can’t let her mind wander there.
She takes a big sip from the mug, in desperate need to rid herself of the lingering sleep and heaviness in her limbs, but when the warm liquid hits her tongue it isn’t anything like the dark roast she’s used to. No, this isn’t dark at all. It’s light, a little floral, with a hint of…lemon?
She swallows her sip before looking down at the mug, brows already pulling down into a hint of a frown. “This isn’t coffee,” she mumbles contemplatively, looking up to find your lips twitching up into a victorious little smile, clearly pleased with yourself.
You shake your head. “It’s not. It’s tea.” The words leave your mouth with a casual shrug of your shoulders. Huh. Emily is suddenly very grateful you’re not a mind reader, because her brain is frantically rewiring itself at the thought of you bringing her tea. Tea. Warm, comforting tea. And for some reason, that simple gesture was doing things to her insides.
“Tea?” she echoes, the word coming out just above a whisper.
You nod. “Mhm. Tea. Lemon, chamomile, and lavender,” you explain simply, “Good for relaxing and relieving stress. It’s one of my favourites.”
Her lips pull into a small pout and there’s a slight furrow between her brows. You force yourself to keep your hands at bay and not reach out to smooth it over.
“I’m not stressed,” she defends, though it’s a futile attempt.
Anyone around here with eyes could see she had been under a significant amount of stress recently. With constant budget meetings, never-ending paperwork, and the director breathing down her neck, it was hard not to be. She had been so unbelievably stressed, and you noticed. Everyone else noticed too, but you noticed, and suddenly her insides were doing an embarrassing little flip.
She watches you huff out a little breath and raise a brow—it was clear you didn’t believe her.
“Yes, you are. Don’t even try to deny it. I know you love your coffee, but your caffeine habits have been bordering on obsessive lately, so I figured this would be a nice change. A needed change.”
And you were right, of course you were right. You always seemed to be right when it came to these things, these little ways she should be caring for herself better—like actually eating lunch, and leaving the office before 11pm, and not sneaking up onto the roof to have a cigarette every few hours days.
She wants to say something. A sarcastic quip or dry one-liner in true Emily Prentiss fashion about how she can take care of herself, but by now the rest of the team had filed into the briefing room and were waiting to get started. She settles on an appreciative nod with a quiet, "Thank you," before stepping into the briefing room, unit chief mask slipping back on.
Emily does her best to stay focused on the briefing. She really does. But it’s hard when every time she takes a sip from her mug her tastebuds are hit with the sweetness of lemon, lavender, and honey; and every time her mind then drifts over to you, and every time her mind drifts, her heart does weird things. She should get that checked out.
She'll be the first to admit she wasn't too thrilled about having an assistant in the beginning. She's the unit chief; she doesn't need help. She doesn't need someone running around fetching her coffee, bugging her when she's busy, answering 'Yes, ma'am,' 'No, ma'am,' like some lapdog, but you were...none of those things.
You were attentive, sweetly so. You actually took notice of her— of what she liked, of when not to bother her, of how she took her coffee and when to bring her a fresh cup, of when she needed a lunch break, and you showed up with Chinese. She hated admitting it to herself, but it was nice, you were nice, and she couldn’t help but start paying attention to you too.
And you were good with the team too, always feeding into Penelope's newest obsession, asking JJ about Will and the kids, checking in on Tara and Luke and Rossi. You were kind and always so willing to help; it was hard to wrap her head around sometimes.
After concluding the briefing, she heads back to her office to grab the last few things she needs, with you following her diligently. “Is there anything you need me to do while you’re out?”
Your eyes sweep over her desk and land on a small stack of papers in the corner. You jerk your chin towards them. “Anything I can help with?”
Emily follows your gaze and waves her hand dismissively when she spots the stack. “Oh, that’s nothing. Just budget reports and leave requests I need to sort through. I’ll finish it up when I get back.”
“I can do them,” the words leave your mouth so quickly they surprise even you. You don’t give Emily the chance to protest, already reaching over and gathering the stack in your arms with a shrug.
Emily huffs out a laugh and shakes her head, but you’re already halfway out the door. “You know, most assistants don’t practically beg to do paperwork.”
Her tone turns teasing, and you don’t even have to look back to know that little dimple is making its way to her cheek as a smirk tugs at her lips.
She watches you glance over your shoulder, an amused glint in your eyes, “I’m not most people,” you murmur, and then you’re gone.
Emily waits until you’ve retreated to your desk before lifting the mug up to her lips and taking the last sip. “Fuck,” she breathes. “It’s really good.”
criminal minds season 19 is coming out on may 28th and here are some things that i do NOT want to see (tw: personal opinions, i will watch the show either way)
1. the elias voit storyline, i feel like at this point it's dragged on and we really don't need a 4th season centered around this unsub; yes it was interesting in seasons 16 and 17 but like i said, at this point it's just pointless and i'm totally uninterested in that storyline, i feel like there's nothing they can do with it anymore other than make up something like his memory loss in season 18.
2. jemily queer baiting!!! please what they're doing with jemily is literally the definition of queer baiting (if you don't believe me look up the definition) and they should either make jamily canon or not and be done with it, the hinting needs to stop if they're not going to deliver it.
i will forever love criminal minds, it's my favorite show so i don't have many complaints, these two are just something that really annoys me and i hope they don't continue through season 19 as well, btw i want to hear y'all's opinions as well! 💋
In season 16 ep 6 when they finally get to use the jet and Penelope is asking Emily to bring them home.. and Emily all we will.. wheels up and she gives that smirk eyebrow raise combo as the elevator closes… gets me every damn time 🥵
*gif by the amazing @notsosecretlyalesbian * the tumblr search function was failing me*
Elana Barth x fem!reader
Warnings: language, smut mentioned, mainly just cute fluff.
Requested. Not sure if this was exactly what you were looking for but it's what we ended up with lol.
Super glad to be back writing and playing with y'all again. Hoping to keep it up at a fic or chapter of a fic every 2 weeks minimum! <3 I will say, I REALLY miss chatting with y'all, whether that be in the comments, in the ask box, even on anon. About fics, characters, shows, anything, PLEASE! Yap at me lol.
2k words.
Technically, a judge wasn’t a coworker.
Which is the line you’d told yourself the first night you’d ended up in a situation like this.
You’d get in more trouble for being involved with the ADA.
Was the reminder trailing through your brain the second time it happened.
By the fourth time, when things moved slower, when the two of you lingered at the bar, finishing drinks, sharing a plate of appetizers and actually enjoying each other’s company rather than instantly racing home to rip each other’s clothes off, any worry had been wiped from mind.
Now things were calm, measured out, thought through, hands traced gentle patterns over soft skin, raising lines of goose bumps in their path. The moments filled with urgency were replaced with spending every available second exploring one another, truly discovering what made the other person tick. Rather than chaste kisses, the air filled with moans and whimpers until a rushed goodbye, lips brushed tenderly over your neck, paused along her collarbone, met the side of your forehead, pressed to the inside of her wrist. The air was filled with light laughter, soft voices exchanging stories until the night sky began to shift into the colours of dawn.
Sporadic run ins at bars turned into actual date nights, dinner out on the town, a show on Broadway, late night cocktails on a rooftop lounge, happy hour on a sun filled patio. One night a week turned into the entire weekend at her apartment, making each other breakfast and lounging together on the couch all day.
You’d never expected to fall in love with Elana Barth, but you weren’t totally surprised when it ended up happening.
Currently, you were burrowed underneath her fluffy duvet, Elana’s body curved into your back, her fingers tickling circles into your stomach as the sun cast warm rays over the bed. You’d dozed off after a morning round or two, the sun now high in the sky, reminding you that your day off was already shifting into afternoon hours. Her lips met the back of your neck, pressing soft kisses into it, narrowly missing the purpling bruise in the crook near your shoulder.
“You’re tired today dove.” She murmured, and you couldn’t help but laugh softly, a groan leaving your lips as you rolled in her arms.
“Someone wore me out last night.” You didn’t even crack open your eyes, your lips instinctively finding hers for a kiss that you let out a happy hum into.
“Who was I to deny when you were so eager?” She asked, a grin on her lips as she kissed you again, her arm settling around your waist as yours circled her shoulders, fingertips tickling at the nape of her neck.
One of your fingers wound a strand of her loose hair, tugging ever so gently, “thought you liked it when I beg.”
“Oh darling, I do.” A satisfied sigh left her lips as your nails scratched at her scalp, “you have no idea how pretty you are down on your knees.”
A chuckle escaped you as you shifted on the bed, the tender ache between your legs from the night prior making itself present. It was only as little as it was because you’d insisted on returning the favour this morning, burying yourself between Elana’s legs until her hands were harshly tugging at your hair, your bodies both coated in a shimmer of sweat in the morning light.
“My pretty girl.” She murmured, pushing a strand of your hair behind your ear before caressing your cheek and your eyes fluttered open, a warmth spreading from them that she could practically feel seeping into her veins.
You shifted closer to her, stealing another kiss, “I love you.”
“I love you too, dove.” Her lips brushed against your forehead, the tip of your nose, then your lips once more and you let out a small giggle right before your stomach let out a wild growl. Elana laughed, her eyes sparkling in the sunlight and she pinched your hip gently, “seems like someone needs to refuel. C’mon,”
Reluctantly, she sat up, a rush of cool air spilling under the blankets that made you shiver, wanting to stay buried under them forever but the sight of her sauntering over to the walk in was enough to entice you. Even if half of you wanted to toss her back onto the bed and have her moaning your name over and over again, the promise of a homecooked breakfast was what your body wanted right now.
Elana passed you the silken pale pink robe she’d bought for you a few weeks ago, watching with a mischievous grin as you slipped into it, finally hiding your body from her view. As you were tying the knot, she slid her arms into her own lavender one, linking her arm with yours to wander out to the kitchen.
The coffee was already on auto brew, a steaming fresh pot ready as Elana opened the fridge, her lips pursing as she surveyed the contents. You took the initiative to pull down your preferred mugs, snaking the milk from the fridge door, sliding the sugar container towards the coffee pot. It hadn’t taken much to memorize her coffee order, two splashes of milk and just a dash of sugar, whereas you liked yours heavily flavoured enough to mask the actual coffee taste. Elana often poked fun of the frozen sugary drinks you got at Starbucks, saying they were most dessert than a pick me up, and she was never surprised with the resulting sugar crash despite the fact that it caught you off guard every single time.
“I need to shop…” Elana muttered, mostly to herself before raising her voice, “how do you feel about eggs, toast and fruit?” Her hand shifted to the freezer door, pulling it open before shuffling around inside, “I think there’s still some hashbrowns hidden in here.”
“Sounds perfect.” Your hand landed on her hip from behind, kissing her cheek before you reached into the freezer and pulled out the near-empty bag of breakfast potatoes.
The two of you fell into an easy rhythm, Elana preheating a frying pan to scramble everything together – you’d found half a pepper and a red onion in the meantime– while you set about washing and cutting up fruit. Sips of coffee were taken, little kisses stolen, happy murmurs and hums filling the air as the sun washed in through the windows. Everything about mornings with Elana were warm, cozy, they felt like home, a perfect hug on a happy day. You didn’t need to fill the quiet with scattered small talk, no awkwardness hung over you, you simply enjoyed each other’s company in comfortable peace.
A few hours later, empty plates and refilled mugs lay across the coffee table and you were in Elana’s arms on the couch, the newest season of Real Housewives playing on the television. Both your phones were forgotten either in the bedroom or kitchen, the desire to be unplugged and enjoying only each other and the time off bigger than any desire to endlessly scroll.
You pressed a soft kiss to her collarbone, nuzzling deeper into her embrace, her fingers trailing up and down your spine. You could have sworn you heard a faint buzzing coming from the kitchen, your head lifting up briefly before Elana kissed your cheek.
“Fresh coffee.”
“Mmm.” A dreamy smile took over your cheeks, “the perfect pick me up. Pretty sure mine’s gone cold.”
A few seconds later and there was the definite sound of someone knocking on the door, both of you tensing slightly before you let out a groan, sitting up as you stretched your arms above your head. Elana sighed, glancing to the clock before adjusting her robe and standing from the couch.
“Probably Mrs. Frankle.” She murmured, mentioning the neighbour who always dropped off extra baked goodies, “why don’t you fix coffees while I see what she’s up to.”
You nodded while she pecked your cheek, scooping up the chilled coffee mugs before wandering into the kitchen. Muffled voices made their way down the entry way and around the corner, you couldn’t hear much of anything, Elana’s tone friendly but a little more clipped than you thought she would have been with a nice neighbour. Maybe she just wanted to cut the visit short, get back to the relaxing, lazy day.
The coffee pot beeped just as you rinsed out the used mugs, swiftly drying them on a dish towel before placing them beside the pot. You dumped a few spoonful’s of sugar into yours and a dash into Elana’s before pulling open the fridge and you frowned.
Flavoured creamer in hand you padded around the corner, “we used the last of the milk, you want this or just sugar?”
Elana’s head turned to you as she stepped back a few inches and your hand instantly shot to the neck of your robe, cinching it tighter together as your eyes widened. The next voice you heard was your work partner’s, Amaro.
“Listen, we’re sorry to interrupt a weekend Your Honour but we really need this—” He cut off, eyes falling on you and the corner of his lips flicked up into a grin, “well detective… can’t say I was expecting this.” A playful spark shot through his eyes as they dragged up your body and you managed to shoot him a death glare.
“Sorry, what?” Elana asked, and your gaze shot back to her.
“No milk.”
She glanced to the creamer in your hand, it was a simple vanilla flavour, not something absurd like birthday cake or snickers, so she nodded toward it, “that’s fine.”
“Great.” You shot her a tight lipped grin as she turned back around.
“Let me see it?” She asked, motioning to the warrant that Nick handed over.
He gave it up quickly, eyes flicking back to you, “you know, we should think about putting you UC more often.”
Your cheeks flamed, tugging at the hem of your robe while you mouthed ‘I will kill you’ at him, glaring daggers before darting back around the corner to the kitchen.
Ears nearly ringing you focused on the coffee, rinsing out Elana’s mug so she wouldn’t have to deal with the extra sweetness before filling it with coffee. A few seconds later her hand landed on your waist and she pressed a gentle kiss to the crook of your neck, a murmur of a laugh vibrating against your skin.
“I take it you hadn’t mentioned anything about us to your partner.”
“No.” You sighed, turning in her embrace and your arms looped around her shoulders. “Figured it best not to mix business and pleasure.”
“I’m pretty sure we already do that, dove.” She smiled softly, lips brushing against yours and you couldn’t help but let out a small laugh.
“I guess we do.”
“It would be nice to not have to sneak around anymore.” She suggested, raising a brow, “I’d like to be able to swing by the precinct and drop off lunch or coffee for my girlfriend.”
“I am running pretty empty on excuses to swing by the court house.” You agreed.
“Then it’s settled.” She kissed the tip of your nose, “you’ll be my plus one to that fundraising gala next weekend.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely.” Her hand caressed your cheek before kissing you softly.
“I love you.”
“I love you too.” Her hand slid down your arm, “now, let’s catch up with these Housewives, shall we?” With her free hand she picked up her coffee, raising it to her lips for a sip before she pulled a face. “Oh god that’s terrible.” She slid it back onto the counter with yours before picking up her phone, swiping through a few apps, “I’m ordering more milk.”
“You’ll never be a sweets person, will you?” You asked with a laugh, warmth blooming through your chest at the way she pulled you into her side, pressing a kiss to your temple.
you had to go and break into my head
emily prentiss x f!reader
tags: established relationship, fluff, baby fever, discussions of child acquisition, no use of y/n, reader is adopted, age-gap relationship (no age mentioned)
summary: bau!reader sees emily take care of a child with missing parents and has some thoughts.
word count: 1.6k
a/n: i did picture r around 30, but that's up to you! it doesn't affect the story.
It's just a little boy. No older than four, terrified and tiny in a gray room full of adults. You can't help but feel for him. He's healthy, you can tell he's well cared for, and his clothes are clean and ironed.
His parents are missing. He was left at home by himself and, thankfully, found by a neighbor who went to investigate his loud cries. Now, you guess he's probably never been this silent.
JJ tried to talk to him, offering some old toys she found at home, speaking in that soothing mother voice you've heard her use so many times. Even Tara tried, her admittedly less experience with children but still useful as a psychologist, but he was having none of it. Luke created block towers with him in silence, everyone was surprised as the little boy actually joined him on the play, but still didn't speak.
He was set in a family waiting room, sitting on the couch and staring at his crocs, pulling on the sleeves of his own blue sweatshirt. His eyes were wide, scared, every now and then glistening with tears, most likely when he remembered where he was, and why.
You would've tried talking to him if you'd had time, but were working victimology with Garcia and couldn't be pulled away. After collecting some interesting data, though, you finally walk into the main area, heading for the conference room in which your team usually set up. On the way there, you hear murmurs from the waiting room and go to investigate, making sure to stay unseen so as to not spook the kid.
Emily's sitting on the floor, her back against the couch on which the little boy had been sitting since he arrived. She's holding a tiny horse in her left hand, probably one of Penelope's figurines, waving it around softly. Her voice is low, calm, and she's looking the boy in his eyes. Surprised, you realize he's looking at her, too. He nods at something she says, looks away but his gaze doesn't drift for long, and when he looks back, he picks up the plastic horse and pretends as if it's galloping on his thighs.
You see his lips moving, but don't actually hear what he says, although Emily seems to have understood. You can tell that she murmurs an it's okay, and picks up a few blocks that lay abandoned on the coffee table, piling them in a small tower.
In a move even Emily probably doesn't anticipate, judging from her raised eyebrows, the boy slides down from the couch and sits next to her to help with the blocks. He's not glued to her side, but he's close enough that Emily is surprised, though you notice she doesn't mention it, only continues making her tower as the child circles the little horse around it.
When he accidentally destroys her carefully curated tower of four blocks with his plastic horse, he lets out a small giggle. Emily smiles at him, saying his horse is too fast for the path they've made.
Glad she's making progress, you finally walk to the conference room with your chest warm and a strange sensation in your lower belly.
A few hours later, when it's getting dark and you're only a bit closer to finding the boy's — Milo, Emily had updated everyone with his name — parents, you make your way to Emily's office to see how she's doing.
Knocking softly, you step inside through the slightly ajar door, heart squeezing when you take in the scene. Emily's sitting on her couch, her glasses on and one of many files regarding your current case in her hands. She's taking some notes, leaning the paper on the arm of the couch for steadiness, and one might even ask why she's not at her own perfectly comfortable and huge desk. The reason why is lying right next to her. There's a pillow to the right of her thigh, and Milo is sleeping with his head resting on it, the top of his head touching Emily's leg. He's covered with one of her FBI jackets, his little legs curled into his chest, and his face is finally peaceful after an exhausting day.
Emily looks up at you and her eyes light up. She manages to give a resemblance of a smile in the dire situation.
You sit on the small table in front of the couch, placing a hand on her knee. “Came to see how you've been doing,” you murmur, making sure your voice doesn't wake the sleeping boy.
“Trying to find something we missed.” You notice she hasn't really answered your question, but you didn't expect her to. Your hand squeezes her knee, emboldened by the closed door and blinds.
“Garcia and I dug deeper into his parents’ lives,” you update her, knowing it's useless to try and talk about any other topic. “I'll grab the dossier for you in a second if you want to take a look.”
Emily simply nods, looking down at Milo, soundly asleep. “He's so small,” she states. “It'd been a while since I was around a four year old, I kind of forgot how tiny they can be.”
She absently runs her fingers through his dark hair, getting a small sigh in return. From the ease of it, you're guessing that's how she managed to get him to sleep in the first place.
Emily looks back at you, “you should go home for a while, baby, get some rest.”
Despite the dark circles you know are on your face, you shake your head, “I couldn't sleep if I tried.” Looking back at Milo, you see where Emily is coming from. In this three seater, dark leather couch, all curled up and quiet, he does look much smaller than his age. “I'll bring you that file and some coffee, then I'll try and find something for him to eat when he wakes up. Do you think he'll eat anything if it has some chocolate on it?”
Emily smiles tiredly at you, “probably.”
You nod, “I hope his mom isn't sugar-free, but I guess she'll understand it when we find her.”
She looks down again, sighing at the sight of Milo, then moves back to her case file.
“I'll be right back,” you whisper, but she's already laser focused again.
In the end, it thankfully takes less than 36 hours to find his parents. Once you found your UnSub's previous offences, it wasn't hard to locate him. Emily has to go to the take down, so you stay back with Milo in her office. He keeps to himself, but eats most of the eclair you brought him after some coaxing from Emily. It's easy to see the fear in his eyes intensifying when she's leaving, but she makes sure to explain she's going to get his mom and dad back.
Their reunion is emotional, as expected, and everyone is a little teary eyed around the bullpen. You finally hear Milo speak in a loud voice, calling out for his mom and running into her arms. Emily, walking behind them, catches your eye and smiles, relieved.
Still clinging to her son, Milo's mom gives Emily a hug, catching her by surprise, but thanking her soundly for keeping her little boy safe.
At home, you've already polished off a bottle of wine between the two of you, and as Emily works on opening your second, you speak up.
“You were very good with Milo today.”
She hums, filling both of your glasses with the chilled liquid.
“You're very good with kids.”
Emily shrugs, going back to her spot on the couch next to you, her head resting on your shoulder. Her arm is warm where it touches yours, and you can feel it through her silk robe and her sweatshirt that you're borrowing. “Kids are simple when you can give them back to their parents after a tantrum.”
You smile, biting your lip in thought. “Maybe, but you're the only one that got through to him. You were patient and exactly what he needed.”
She lifts her head up, looking at you with a frown. “What's this about, honey?” She asks, amused.
“We never talked about kids,” you blurt out. “If we wanted them or not.”
“I don't think-” She stops herself, looking down. “I guess I should've thought of that.”
“That what?”
“That you might want children, considering your age.”
It's your turn to frown, “what does my age have to do with anything?”
Emily stares at you, uncomfortable, “you're at the peak of your fertility. I'm… over fifty.”
“So?”
“So,” she insists, “if we have a kid tomorrow, I'll already be near sixty when that child is turning eight.”
You shrug, unbothered, “my parents adopted me when they were your age, I was just a baby.” Stating that, even though Emily already knows, brings a blush to her cheeks.
Emily shakes her head, “I didn't mean to-”
You smile, “I know what you meant.” Taking her hand, you continue, “I'm just trying to say that it doesn't really matter. My parents are still alive and, okay, maybe they won't be here when I'm fifty, but the time I've had and will still have with them means everything to me.”
She lays her head back down on your shoulder, taking a large sip of wine. “I wanted kids for a long time. I guess after a while I just accepted it wouldn’t be in the cards for me.”
You place a kiss on her forehead, “we could think about it, if you want.”
“Yeah,” she agrees, “We'll think about it.”
But her voice sounds hopeful, light, and you're guessing she's not gonna take a long time to think it through.
I don't even know what this is but I felt like writing and this kinda just flowed out. Its not the best and only half of it is proofread but Its okay.
Summary: You used to be fine, you and Emily were happy and things were good until they started changing. Now you're stuck in this new normal but all you want is your emily back. What does it take to get her back? Fully back. Apparently it takes getting put into the hospital for her to just look at you but maybe bringing the woman who loved you back wouldn't be as hard?
warnings: relationship problems, kinda in depth description of physical fighting, description of choking, guns, dead bodies, murder, child who killed someone
Emily Prentiss x Reader
2764 words masterlist
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The bed was empty. Again. You didn't even have to open your eyes to know this time. It's been the same for months, she'd wake up before any alarm could go then she'd get dressed silently and sneak out the door before you could lay your eyes on her. Then in the evening she'd come home late, exhausted, she'd take a shower and turn down your offer to heat up some dinner. "I already ate." she'd say and at one point you stopped being disappointed. Instead you waited for the same response every night and let it be enough, though you'd never stop asking "just in case" you told yourself, maybe a part of you was just afraid of what would happen if you stopped. What else would stop?
You didn't let your eyes linger on the cold side of the bed but you did let your mind wander as you showered.
'When did we become strangers who pass only in the night?'
Foolishly, you expected her to answer. She wouldn't. Not because she didn't too wonder, you hoped she did, but because she wasn't here long enough to notice.
Some days it felt like she looked right through you. At first you told yourself Emily's workload had just increased and let that thought write off your concerns. When she stopped touching you, holding you for even a moment, you pushed but she only shut you out further. Soon you gave into routine, let her sneak away like a one night stand in the morning, return late at night without a word passed like room mates who barely know the other's name, the phone calls that went unanswered soon became unread messages which also faded.
Dwelling on the woman who once loved you took longer than expected because your chest was now pink from the prolonged heat of the water and your skin was wrinkled like raisins. You were late so once you finished getting dressed you didn't bother to make another pot of coffee, instead you dumped the remains of Emily's brew down the drain and made a stop in a coffee shop on the way to work.
As you scanned your security card in the elevator and hit the button for the 8th floor you thought back to when you'd first met Emily all those years ago right in this very metal box. It was your first day and she walked into the elevator a mess, she'd just finished a week long case in Texas and when she was halfway home her got the call that Strauss wanted everyone back for debrief and then reports. "The wicked witch is trying to mold our villain origin stories so she can stay relevant." She joked in the quiet elevator before she ended up helping you find your way to every room on your list.
"It's a win-win situation, you get a hot seasoned tour guide and I get to avoid paperwork for a while with a cute new agent." If her calling you cute wasn't enough you were sure your heart was about to combust when you saw her wink at you. The memory shattered when the elevator bell dinged and you were greeted by dozens of agents rushing around. A new case.
You stepped out of the elevator and let the chaos drag your mind away from your relationship troubles. People needed your help, they needed your professionalism not your emotions. You locked all the feelings into a box named Emily Prentiss and got on with your life.
The cases with children were always harder, they took a bigger toll, they took bigger chunks out of your soul. Maybe that's why you let yourself get distracted for a moment.
You'd been good all day, really you had. You worked with the rest of your team to find the fucker that took the sweet 6 year old girl who had parents and siblings and friends waiting for her. Finally when clock neared 9 PM you tracked him down to a riverside storage unit an hour away, with the sirens on you made it in 22 minutes. Everyone rushed out of the SUV's along side the SWAT unit and you found you bulletproof vest with ease, your mind slipping into a familiar rhythm.
You were focused. Finding that little girl was your top priority. Somehow you found your mind resting back on Emily but you couldn't afford to lose focus.
You wanted to shut the thoughts off right then and there but instead you felt off. Something was wrong. You didn't care. That girl needed your help, you shot off a quick text anyways:
You: I know things haven't been right lately but I still love you
You: I won't ever stop loving you Emily Prentiss
Those familiar 3 dots appeared and disappeared but you were running out of time. Then they stopped, you refreshed over and over but nothing came. She didn't say it back.
The SWAT team was about to break down the door.
One last message
You: I'm sorry.
'I'm sorry I let this happen' 'I'm sorry I let us become this' 'I'm sorry we didn't make it'
'I'm sorry I won't make it.'
You had a million sorrys. But then the door fell. You had a job to do.
"I love you Emily. I hope you still love me too." You whisper into the dark night and your hand finds your gun, your legs are moving before you know it. Everything after feels unreal, you move through the building trying to find the right unit, silent as ever because one sound could mean the end of a life that has just begun.
A gunshot.
You start running.
You need to find the girl.
You turn a corner and then another, left then right then right again and then the scene in front of you is too bloody. Nothing is right. Not here, not today. Something is wrong. Something has been wrong for a very long time.
The little girl is standing in the corner of the storage unit, terrified and shaking. There's a dead agent laying on the floor in the center of the room, a pool of blood in front of his face from the bullet that went through his forehead.
Something is deeply wrong.
Instead of the man you tracked you first see a little boy, no older than 12 holding a gun to the dead man's head. Behind him is the fucker who started this all, now holding a gun to the boy's head and making eye contact. You don't stop once you enter the room.
First you use the element of surprise to your advantage and kick the gun out of the unsub's hand. He fights back, throwing you to the wall but you don't care as you bounce back and push him just as hard. He runs at you the second he stands up again and pushes you against the wall, his hand makes it's way around your neck and he chokes you. He presses harder and harder and the adrenaline from it all lets him lift you by the neck. "I. Am. A. God." His disgusting breathe fans across your face as he whispers from just inches away.
You struggle, "You're.. wea-k" you say even as you struggle to breath. He pulls you towards him and in a blink of an eye he smashes your head into the concrete wall behind you. You fight through the searing pain and kick him in the groin, he finally releases your neck and air rushes in with sweet bloody-like relief.
He falls to the floor in pain, you fall as well without anything keeping you up and you reach blindly for your gun as he stands again. His body filled with rage looms over you but you find the handle to a gun and shoot him, his dead weight falls atop of you. "I told you. You're weak." You say angrily as you kick his body away from yours.
Everything was going to be okay.
Wrong.
You look up to the 2 young kids expecting to see fear but only half is there. The boy was now holding the gun to the girls head.
Things are not okay.
You briefly wonder why backup never arrived but when the gun turns to you the thought fades away.
"You don't have to do this." You try, in these cases though reason never works. You walk slowly with your hands raised high and shift until the crying young girl in safely tucked behind you and the gun is still on you.
Reason never works.
He's just a kid.
"You don't have to do this." You say again but it almost gives him more determination.
The door bursts open.
For one second there is peace.
The agent hesitates as she takes in the scene. It's most likely an odd one. An FBI agent being held at gun point by a child, 2 dead bodies, and a scared girl hiding behind your legs.
She hesitated.
A gunshot rings out.
Then another.
Your eyes opened and suddenly you were being carried, you saw the starry night sky instead of the concrete ceiling from the room. Your head lulled to the side and you saw more cars arriving, blue and red lights flashing, ambulances on their way. Then it flashed again and you saw blaring white lights passing you oh so fast, the smell of sterilization, phones ringing faster than they were being answered.
Then it faded black again.
You don't come around for hours, when you do you see a dimly lit hospital room and feel a headache worse than ever in the back of your head. Your eyes take ages to adjust but the rest of your body recognizes her immediately. First was her perfume, it invades all of your senses in the best possible ways. In a way you haven't had in months. Then was her hand in yours, cold as always, steady, grounding. The more you blinked the tighter she squeezed.
Then.. then you saw her face, blurry around the edges but it was enough, her eyes filled with concern and her mouth moving a mile a minute. Everything was still hazy when your hearing came back to you, her voice was there along side the machine tracking your heart rate. "You're awake." She breathed out with the softest smile, you hadn't seen her smile in far too long. You smile the second you hear her.
Sluggishly your hand lifts to her face, wiping away the salty tears that litter her pretty face. "You're here?" your mind was gone but you still recognized the rarity of her presence. "Of course I'm here." Her brows furrowed and you hoped that maybe the last few months could turn out to be just a bad dream brought on by- by whatever put you in the hospital?
"What happened?" you choke out, she immediately gets you a glass of water and helps you drink it. She makes the face she usually does when she's planning and you get lost in the way that her face hasn't changed much over the years, sure she's aged a bit but deep down she's still that Emily who's wake up extra early despite her hatred for mornings just to make you breakfast.
"You got.. shot. They took you in for surgery and removed your appendix because the bullet grazed it and they didn't want to risk it rupturing. You also managed to dislocate your elbow so you're gonna have that sling for a couple weeks. Then you hit your head pretty hard, no concussion but you're gonna have a raging headache for a bit." She said like she had your chart memorized. "You'll be at home for the next couple weeks while you heal, don't have to worry though because I took some time off to stay with you." At that she looked almost nervous, nervous to spend real time with her.. girlfriend? You didn't even know what to call yourself to her anymore.
You let out a soft yet humorless laugh, "What's so funny?" She asks. "Nothing nothing. Just that if I knew all I had to do to get you to look at me or even be in the same room as me was to end up in the hospital then maybe i would've done it sooner." You said and saw her eyes widen as the guilt set into her expression. You looked up at the ceiling and let your eyes focus on one spot as she sat with herself.
"I.. I didn't mean to-" "Yes you did. Or else you wouldn't have snuck out of our apartment in the mornings like a criminal, or maybe tried getting home sooner in the evenings, or even just looked at me and said 'I'm sorry, this is how I feel, lets discuss it!' All of those were available options Emily!" You blew up at her, after spending so long shoving those feelings into that box you finally ran out of space.
You both sat in silence for the rest of the night, when the nurses came in to check in you were pleasant but the second they left you let Emily sit in her guilt.
It was 3 days until they finally let you leave the hospital but not without another dose of painkillers that left you loopier than froot loops.
Which also meant that when the car stopped in front of your building Emily got to spend the next 20 minutes maneuvering your body into the elevator and into bed. You only started to talk again while she tucked you in.
"Emmy?" you whispered with your eyes shut. "Yeah love?"
"Why don't.. why don't you wanna love me anymore?" With all the drugs in your system you didn't have enough of a filter to stop yourself. You also didn't have the ability to see the heartbreak that covered Emily's face.
"Hey, hey. Look I know things haven't been the same for a while but I will always love you. No matter what happens or what I do I will always love you and I will always be in love with you." Her brushes the hair out of your face before swearing to her self the fix the mess she's made. She'll spend however long it takes to nurse you back to health and then she'll spend the rest of her life making up for the mistakes she's made.
"Lay with me Emmy?" "Of course." She got into bed next you, careful of your injured arm and held your head to her chest. "I know you probably won't remember this so I'll say it again later but I am so fucking sorry. I fucked up, a lot. I'll get better and I'll be better and I have no clue how to fix it but I promise I will do whatever it takes and then some to fix us. I love you more than words can ever describe my love."
She pulls you in as much as she can and with a kiss to your temple you slip gently into the most restful sleep you've had in far too long.
2 Weeks Later:
It was finally time for Emily to go back. "Em?" you called out to her from the kitchen counter, and seh responds with a hum while she continues trying to make dinner. "Emily." You say, tone serious and she turns to look at you. "What's wrong? Do you not feel good? Do you want to go lay down?" She rambles out as concern etches itself into her expression.
"No no. Nothing like that." "Then what's wrong sweetheart?" She takes your face in her hands, "I'm scared thing will go back to the way they were, we're doing so good now and it finally feels right again but Em what if us going back to work sends us back there?" She sighs a bit, understanding your fear and even having hung in it for a while herself.
"We won't let that happen. We're learning together right?" You nod, "We communicate better, we talk about our feelings, I'm learning to delegate my work load so I can still have enough me left for us. We're learning and we'll slip but we'll work together to come back here every time." She looks you in the eye as she speaks and you believe her so you pull her into your arms as much as you can and savor this moment that marks the start of a new you and Emily.
for the 100 prompt challenge can i request 13+71 with evolution!emily?
i've been wanting to read a good angsty fic for a while now.
tysm!!
"Do you have any idea how much you hurt me?"
"We can't talk about this at work."
(prompt 13 and 71: Emily Prentiss x fem!reader)
The bullpen felt colder than usual, all glass and steel and muted voices, the hum of screens and phones bleeding straight into your bones. You stood at your desk staring at an email you’d already read three times, the words blurring together until they stopped meaning anything at all.
Voit task force briefing… moved up. Tonight.
Tonight.
You closed your eyes, jaw tightening, a slow ache blooming behind your ribs. Tonight had been circled on your calendar for weeks, written in a careful hand like that might somehow make it more real, more protected. Tonight had been reservations at that small cinema Emily pretended not to care about but always asked for by name. Candles. A bottle of wine and home-made food you’d hidden in the back of her fridge so she wouldn’t notice it too early. Tonight had been an anniversary you’d both brushed off as not a big deal, but had treated like something fragile and sacred all the same.
Or at least…you had.
Across the room, Emily was already in motion. Unit Chief Emily Prentiss, all sharp lines and purpose, phone pressed to her ear, voice low and clipped as she paced near the conference room. Her grey-streaked hair was pulled back like she hadn’t even paused long enough to let it fall loose. She looked exactly like she always did when the world narrowed to a case: focused, brilliant, distant.
Unreachable.
She didn’t look at you. Something inside your chest gave way quietly, like a fault line finally slipping after too much pressure for too long. You caught her near the glass-walled conference room, the door already halfway open, Rossi’s voice echoing faintly from inside. You said her name before you could stop yourself, before you could talk yourself out of it.
“Emily?”
She turned immediately, already bracing, eyes flicking instinctively to the rest of the bullpen. The look she gave you wasn’t cold, but it was guarded, professional, the look she wore when she needed control more than honesty.
“What is it?” she asked quietly.
You took a breath that didn’t quite make it all the way into your lungs. “You didn’t even tell me.”
Her mouth tightened. “Tell you what?”
“That you were canceling tonight,” you said, voice low but shaking just enough to betray you. “I found out through an email…”
Emily glanced toward the conference room again, then back at you. “I didn’t have time.”
“You always have time for this,” you said, the words coming out sharper than you meant. You gestured vaguely toward the boards, the screens, the case that had been living between you for months now. “You just –” You stopped, swallowing hard. “You didn’t think to mention that you were canceling our anniversary?”
For a moment, something flickered across her face. Guilt, maybe. Or fear. Or the split second where she realized she’d misstepped badly. It was gone almost immediately.
“This isn’t the place,” she said, lowering her voice further. “We can’t talk about this at work.”
The words landed like a slap. You stared at her, heat rushing behind your eyes. “You don’t get to do that,” you said quietly. “You don’t get to shut me down like I’m just… an inconvenience.”
Emily’s jaw clenched. “That’s not what I’m doing.”
“It feels like it is,” you shot back. “It feels like you didn’t even think about me.”
She exhaled slowly, controlled, then stepped closer. “Come with me,” she murmured. “My office.”
You hesitated, looking around. A few agents were already glancing your way, curiosity pricked. JJ’s eyes met yours briefly, concerned. You looked back at Emily, heart pounding.
“You don’t get to compartmentalize me,” you said under your breath.
Her expression softened just a fraction. “Please.”
You nodded once, stiffly, and followed her into the office, the glass door sliding shut behind you with a quiet finality. The bullpen noise dulled immediately, replaced by a heavy silence that pressed in on your chest.
Emily turned to face you, hands braced on the edge of her desk. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“But you did,” you said, finally letting it surface, the words trembling but honest. “And you keep doing it.”
She looked down, just briefly. “This case –”
“Is always the excuse,” you interrupted. “There’s always something. And I’m always the thing that gets pushed to later.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Isn’t it?” you asked, voice cracking now. “Because it feels like you chose Voit over me without even blinking.”
Silence stretched between you, thick and unresolved. Emily finally looked back up, eyes shining but controlled, like she was holding herself together by force alone. “I’m trying to keep everything from falling apart,” she said quietly.
“And what about us?” you asked. “What about me?”
She didn’t have an answer ready this time. And that hurt more than anything else. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, the kind that pressed in on your chest until breathing felt like work. She stood there behind her desk, hands still braced against the wood, shoulders tight, jaw set like she was holding back words she didn’t trust herself to say. Unit Chief Prentiss. Always composed. Always contained.
You waited.
And waited.
Finally, you laughed, soft, broken, disbelieving. “That’s it?” you asked quietly. “Nothing?”
Her eyes flicked up to yours, and for a moment you thought she might step forward, might reach for you, might say something real. Instead, she straightened slightly, professional instinct kicking back into place like armor snapping shut.
“I can’t do this right now,” she said. “I have a briefing in five minutes.”
Something inside you fractured. “Do you have any idea how much you hurt me?” The words tore out of you before you could soften them, your voice trembling despite your effort to keep it steady. “How small you make me feel every time you decide I can wait? Every time you choose not to tell me the truth?”
Emily flinched. It was subtle, just a tightening around her eyes, a sharp inhale, but you saw it. You always saw the cracks in her.
“I never meant…” she began, then stopped herself, shaking her head. “This isn’t fair.”
“No,” you said, tears finally burning your eyes. “What isn’t fair is loving someone who keeps putting me second and calling it protection.”
Her mouth opened, then closed again. She looked past you, toward the glass wall, toward the bullpen where voices and movement reminded her of everything she could control. Everything she knew how to handle.
You nodded slowly, realization settling like ice in your chest. “Right,” you whispered. “Of course.”
You turned before she could say anything else, before she could stop you, or worse, let you hope. The door slid open, bullpen noise rushing back in, too loud, too bright. You kept your head down as you walked past desks and familiar faces, the weight of their glances burning into your skin.
Emily didn’t call after you. She didn’t follow.
By the time you made it to the elevator, your vision was swimming, tears spilling freely now, unchecked. The doors closed with a soft chime, sealing the quiet around you as you pressed your forehead against the cool metal and let yourself break.
Emily’s apartment felt wrong without her. Too quiet. Too still. The kind of quiet that pressed in on your ears until it became almost painful, until every tiny sound felt amplified, the hum of the fridge, the faint ticking of the clock on the wall, the distant noise of traffic several floors below. You set your bag down by the door, unclipped your work badge from your blouse with trembling fingers, and let it fall onto the console table with a soft, hollow clatter.
You didn’t move right away. You just stood there, staring into the space you and Emily had slowly, carefully built together. The couch where you’d both fallen asleep countless times after long cases, she as the one out in the field and you pacing the bullpen anxiously, waiting for her to come back. The kitchen where she always leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching you cook like it was the most fascinating thing in the world. The hallway where she’d kissed you every morning, coffee in one hand, keys in the other. Shared mornings. Late nights. Laughter that used to echo off these walls and make the place feel warm, alive.
Now it felt like a shell.
The smell of food still lingered faintly in the air; garlic, herbs, something warm and comforting. You’d prepped everything the night before, humming softly to yourself, imagining tonight unfolding the way it was supposed to. Candles lit. Music low. Emily finally home, finally letting herself relax, grey hair loose, jacket tossed aside as she wrapped her arms around you from behind.
Your throat tightened at the thought.
You swallowed and forced yourself to move. The flowers went first. You picked them up from the counter, fingers brushing the paper you’d smoothed so carefully, the ribbon you’d tied and retied until it was perfect. You didn’t even take them out of the wrapping. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at them for more than a second. Straight into the trash.
Your chest ached.
The wine came next. Still unopened. Still cold from the fridge. The label chosen because you knew she liked it, because you’d listened, because you always listened. You held the bottle for a moment longer than necessary, your hand wrapped around the glass, thumb tracing the edge of the label as tears blurred your vision.
You had imagined her smile when you’d handed it to her. You dropped it into the bin. It landed with a dull, final thud that echoed far too loudly in the quiet apartment, and you flinched like it had struck you instead.
The food came last. Container after container, lined up neatly on the counter just like you’d left them. Meals you’d cooked with care, flavors you knew she loved, dishes meant to be shared over soft conversation and stolen glances. You opened each one mechanically, scraping the contents into the trash without tasting a single bite. You couldn’t. Your stomach twisted at the idea.
Your hands shook as you worked, tears spilling freely now, dripping onto the counter, blurring your vision until you had to wipe your face with the back of your sleeve just to see what you were doing. You felt ridiculous and hollow all at once, grief tangling with anger, love curdling into something sharp and painful in your chest.
When it was done, when the trash bag was heavy and your arms ached, you stood there staring at the mess you’d made, breath coming shallow and uneven. The kitchen looked bare now. Empty. So did you.
Your chest felt like something vital had been carved out of it, leaving behind a dull, throbbing ache that radiated through your ribs. You pressed a hand there, as if that might somehow hold yourself together.
You didn’t go to the bedroom. You couldn’t. You curled up on the couch instead, still dressed, shoes kicked off carelessly, the blanket pulled around your shoulders like a poor substitute for Emily’s arms. You tucked your knees close to your chest, trying to make yourself smaller, trying to ward off the cold that seemed to seep into your bones despite the heater humming softly in the background.
You stared into the dark for a long time, replaying every moment, every word, every look from earlier that day. The way she hadn’t looked at you. The way she’d let you walk away.
Eventually, exhaustion claimed you, not gentle, not kind, but heavy and unavoidable. Your eyes burned, your body ached, and sleep dragged you under like a tide you didn’t have the strength to fight. Even in sleep, your chest still hurt.
It was well past midnight when Emily came home.
The hallway outside the apartment was dark and quiet, the kind of silence that followed long days and longer nights, and she carried it in with her when she unlocked the door. She moved out of habit, not thought, keys placed carefully in the dish by the door, coat shrugged off and hung where it always went, shoes lined up with unconscious precision. Everything about her movements was controlled, restrained, the way she always was after a case that had demanded too much of her for too long.
The apartment was dark.
Not the soft, lived-in dark she expected, with a lamp left on or the glow from the kitchen spilling into the living room. Just darkness, broken only by the pale amber light filtering in through the windows from the street below, stretching shadows long and thin across the floor. She frowned slightly.
Then she saw the trash. It stopped her cold. The bag sat by the counter, untied, its contents visible in the low light, and it took only a second for her brain to register what she was looking at. The flowers were unmistakable, even crumpled and half-hidden; the color, the paper, the ribbon she remembered seeing on the counter that morning. The wine bottle lay beside them, intact but discarded, the label turned outward like an accusation. And beneath it all, the containers…empty, scraped clean in a way that wasn’t casual or careless, but deliberate. Final.
Emily’s breath hitched, sharp and painful, like she’d been struck.
For a long moment, she couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. The weight of the day; the Voit case, the briefings, the endless decisions; fell away all at once, replaced by something heavier, something that settled deep in her chest and refused to let her breathe properly.
She turned slowly, dread pooling low in her stomach. And that’s when she saw you. Curled on the couch, still in your work clothes, body folded in on itself like you were bracing against something unseen. The blanket was pulled up around your shoulders, but it looked insufficient, like it hadn’t done much to keep the cold, or the hurt, away. Even in sleep, your face was tight, lashes clumped together with dried tears, tracks still faintly visible on your cheeks in the dim light.
You looked smaller than you should have. Like you were protecting yourself even now. Emily’s chest constricted.
She stood there for a long time, unable to move, unable to tear her eyes away from you. The apartment felt different with this new understanding layered over it, heavy, quiet in a way that felt accusatory. The case that had consumed her for weeks suddenly felt meaningless. Small. Hollow. Every justification she’d built for herself… just this one more lead, just one more night… crumbled under the weight of what she was seeing. Of what she’d done.
She crossed the room slowly, as if afraid any sudden movement might break something further, and knelt beside the couch. Up close, the evidence of your crying was impossible to ignore. Her hand hovered just above you, fingers trembling, unsure if she was allowed to touch you anymore, unsure if she’d already forfeited that right.
Her throat tightened painfully. “I’m sorry,” she whispered into the dark, her voice rough, barely holding together. “God, I’m so sorry.”
You didn’t stir. The realization cut deeper than anything else that night, that she’d hurt you badly enough that even her presence didn’t register anymore.
Emily swallowed hard, then leaned closer, her voice dropping even lower, more fragile than she ever let it be. “I love you,” she whispered, the words catching as they left her mouth, pressed into the quiet like a confession she’d waited too long to make.
Still, you slept.
Carefully, gently, she slid an arm beneath your knees and another behind your back. You shifted slightly as she lifted you, a soft sound escaping your throat, instinctively curling toward the warmth she offered even in sleep. Emily held you close, your head fitting against her shoulder, your weight familiar and achingly precious in her arms.
She carried you down the hallway, every step deliberate, every breath measured, as if she were afraid the moment might shatter if she moved too fast. In the bedroom, she laid you down slowly, tugging your jeans off, pulling the covers up around you with a tenderness that made her chest ache.
She didn’t crawl into bed right away. Instead, she sat on the edge of the mattress, brushing a thumb gently along your cheek, careful not to wake you, memorizing the feel of you like she was afraid she might lose it. For the first time that night, a truly terrifying thought settled in her bones: She might have let you go too far to easily.
And she didn’t know if she’d be able to fix it in time.
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