#emily Prentiss

[neysaadept]

I see you Emily Prentiss

i could fix her... (female character who is so clearly a lesbian but the writers or the network wouldn't allow it so she's trapped in heterosexuality) babygirl i could treat you so well...

[elles-greenaway]

#on this episode of 'not canon but should've been': (1/?)

[kiwriteswords]

Criminal Minds + Thanksgiving Aesthetic

[prentissmultiverse]

Fire and Phantom

You and Emily Prentiss find yourselves caught in the volatile push and pull of your love, unable to stay apart but struggling to make it work. tw: emotional distress, alcohol consumption, toxic relationship dynamics

(words 1532)

The cold crept in through the cracked window of your apartment, curling around you like an unwanted guest. You hadn’t fixed it. You couldn’t bring yourself to care. A half-empty bottle of whiskey sat on the coffee table, the glass in your hand long emptied but still clenched tightly, your knuckles white. The burn lingered in your throat, but it wasn’t enough. Nothing was.

The door slammed, loud and familiar, jarring you out of your haze. You froze, not needing to turn around to know who it was. Heavy boots thudded against the hardwood, a deliberate announcement of her arrival.

“Do you even bother locking the door anymore?” Emily’s voice cut through the silence, sharp but laced with a weariness you knew too well. There was a bite in her words, but the concern beneath it was unmistakable.

You didn’t turn to look at her. You couldn’t. Not yet. “Why are you here?” you muttered, voice hoarse, low.

“You know why,” she said simply, her tone dropping to something softer, something almost tender. “You shouldn’t be alone right now.”

You laughed bitterly, the sound hollow. “Funny. That’s how I feel when you leave.”

That landed. You didn’t have to look to see the flicker of guilt flash across her face; you could feel it in the weighted silence that followed. She stepped closer, her presence filling the small room like a storm cloud.

“You look like hell,” she said after a moment, and this time, there was no edge to her voice. Just exhaustion. Just worry.

“Feel like it, too,” you admitted, hating how easily the vulnerability slipped out. You set the glass down, your fingers trembling slightly as they left it behind.

Her sigh was quiet but heavy, the kind of sound that carried a thousand unspoken words. She perched on the arm of the couch, close but still not close enough. “Why do we keep doing this?” she asked softly, her voice cracking just enough to make your chest tighten.

You turned then, finally meeting her eyes. They were dark and stormy, just like always, and God, they made you feel everything all at once. Anger. Longing. Love. It was too much.

“You tell me,” you said, your voice rising despite the lump in your throat. “Why do we keep coming back? Is it because we’re good at tearing each other apart? Or because we don’t know how to be alone?”

Her jaw tightened, her composure slipping for just a moment. “It’s not like that—”

“Then what is it?” you demanded, standing abruptly. Your pulse was racing, your hands shaking as they curled into fists at your sides. “What are we doing, Emily? Are we just waiting for one of us to figure out we’re better off without this—without us?”

“Stop it,” she snapped, standing to match your energy. Her voice wavered, her control cracking. “You think I don’t ask myself that every damn day? You think I don’t know how much I’ve hurt you?”

“Then why do you keep coming back?” you fired, your voice breaking. “Why do you keep coming through that door if you’re just going to leave again? Am I not enough? Tell me, Emily. Who do you want?”

Her breath hitched. For a moment, she didn’t answer, and the silence was deafening. Her walls were up, those impenetrable shields she always used to keep you at arm’s length. But this time, they faltered.

“You’re more than enough,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “That’s what scares me.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. You stared at her, blinking back tears as they threatened to spill. “That’s not fair. You don’t get to stand there and tell me I’m everything and then walk away like it doesn’t matter.”

“I know it’s not fair!” she snapped, her voice rising. “But this—us—it’s not something I know how to do. I’m not like you. I don’t know how to be all in. I don’t know how to stop running when things get hard.”

“So what?” you asked, your voice breaking. “You’re just going to keep running? Keep leaving me here to figure it out on my own?”

Her eyes glistened, her hands trembling as she took a step toward you. “I don’t want to run from you,” she said, so quietly it was almost a plea. “I just don’t know how to stay.”

Tears blurred your vision, hot and unwelcome. You wanted to scream, to tell her to leave, to tell her to stay. Instead, you stood frozen, your heart breaking all over again.

“Then don’t promise anything,” you said, your voice cracking. “Just… be here. That’s all I’m asking.”

Emily’s breath hitched, and in an instant, she was in front of you. Her hands cupped your face, warm and trembling. Her dark eyes searched yours, and for a moment, the world stopped. Then she kissed you.

It wasn’t soft or hesitant. It was desperate and raw, full of everything she couldn’t say. You kissed her back just as fiercely, your hands gripping her jacket like you were afraid she’d vanish if you let go. The taste of whiskey and salt mingled between you, the kiss as messy and complicated as everything else between you.

When she finally pulled back, her forehead rested against yours, her breath warm against your skin. “I can’t promise I won’t mess up,” she whispered, her voice ragged.

“Then don’t,” you whispered back. “Just stay.”

Her hands slid down to yours, her grip firm despite the slight tremor in her fingers. “I’m here,” she said, her voice barely audible. “I’m here.”

Emily’s words hung in the air, grounding you even as your emotions threatened to sweep you away again. Her gaze locked onto yours, filled with that unique mix of fire and vulnerability she reserved for you and only you. You didn’t know which one of you moved first, but the next thing you knew, her lips were on yours again.

This kiss was even fiercer, hungrier, like the first taste had only fanned the flames instead of quelling them. Your hands found their way into her hair, tangling in the soft strands as you tugged her closer. She let out a quiet, desperate sound that sent a shiver down your spine.

“God, I missed you,” Emily murmured against your lips, her voice shaking with need. Her hands gripped your waist like she was terrified you’d slip away, her fingertips digging into your skin through the fabric of your shirt.

You kissed her harder, as if trying to convey through touch what words could never fully express. The need, the longing, the frustration—it all poured out as her teeth grazed your bottom lip, sending sparks of heat straight to your core.

Her grip on you tightened, and suddenly she was pulling you down with her as she sank onto the couch. You followed without hesitation, your knees straddling her hips as you kissed her with the same desperation that burned in her touch. Emily’s hands roamed your back, slipping under your shirt to press against bare skin, her touch searing.

“Emily,” you breathed against her lips, your voice a mix of want and warning.

“I know,” she said, her voice husky as her lips trailed down your jaw, then to the sensitive spot just below your ear. “I know.”

Her words were both an apology and a promise, but neither of you had the strength to unpack them right now. Her hands guided your hips closer, your bodies pressing together in a way that made you both gasp. You gripped her shoulders, holding onto her like she was the only solid thing in your world, and in that moment, she was.

The tension between you was unbearable, intoxicating, like a drug you both swore you’d quit but couldn’t stay away from. Emily’s lips returned to yours, her kiss more insistent this time, as if she needed to memorize every detail of you before you disappeared.

“Why is it so hard?” you murmured against her lips, your voice breaking. “Why can’t we just—”

“Because we’re us,” she interrupted, her voice raw. Her hands framed your face, forcing you to meet her gaze. Her dark eyes were glassy, her vulnerability laid bare. “Because this isn’t simple. But it’s real. And I need you to believe that.”

“I do,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “But believing doesn’t make it easier.”

Emily nodded, her fingers brushing away the tear that escaped down your cheek. “No, it doesn’t,” she admitted, her voice softening. “But I’m here. I’m here, and I don’t want to lose this. I don’t want to lose you.”

Her words cracked something open inside you, and you kissed her again, pouring everything you had into the act. It was messy, desperate, full of the passion and pain that had defined your relationship from the beginning. Her hands gripped your hips as she leaned back against the couch, pulling you impossibly closer.

It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t easy. But as her lips met yours again and your bodies moved together in a chaotic dance of need and love, you realized something.

Whatever this was, it was worth it.

[sharkycannon]

this definitely happened lol

*At Hotch's house*

JJ: Maybe we shouldn't have introduced Emily to Elle.

Reid: I wonder what they're doing in there.

Derek: Probably planning our demise

*In the kitchen*

Elle: So we just stand here and do nothing?

Emily: Yeah the longer we stand the more they'll think we're scheming and the more afraid they'll be of us

Elle:

Elle: You're my new best friend.

[lazyclumzycat-blog]

[endearng]

her hair omg

"Prentiss, this is the job, and I need to know that you can be objective." "And I need to know that I can be human." EMILY PRENTISS in CRIMINAL MINDS 3x04 | ‘Children of the Dark’

[elles-greenaway]

still thinking about this…

[elizabethsnuts]

Hiii !! i just wanted to say that you daughter!reader stories are just the cutest ever 💖 Can i request one emily x daughter where her little girl is in her super clingy behaviour phase and just wants to be with emily 24/7?

Velcro-Baby

Emily Prentiss x Daughter!Reader

Summary: You were going through an extra clingy phase, not wanting to part from Emily at all.

———

Emily had her first day off in a while, finally getting to spend her whole day with you, her clingy little toddler daughter who never wanted to let go of her mama for only a second. One day of not hearing your heartbreaking cries every time she tried to leave for work.

You were sitting on Emily’s lap while the both of you ate breakfast, you were shovelling some yoghurt in your mouth with your pink plastic spoon. You suddenly started singing your words, very cheerful since Emily wasn’t leaving. “Mama! Mama! Mama!”

Emily let out a little amused laugh, putting some of her own breakfast in her mouth. “Hello, hello, I’m right here! I’m not leaving today.”

You just giggled and turned around to look at Emily, giving her a sloppy-toddler-like kiss on her cheek with your yoghurt-covered mouth. You obviously didn’t care about the yoghurt you were leaving on your mother's cheek, you just wanted to shower her with all the love in your little heart.

Emily scrunched her face slightly at the feeling of yoghurt and baby drool on her cheek, but she knew you meant well. She returned the gesture with a peck on your tiny cheek. “I love you too! I love you and your yoghurt kisses.”

Eventually, breakfast was over and Emily set you down on the floor gently, grabbing both now-dirtied bowls to take them to the sink. Though she only got a few steps before you started to bawl your eyes out.

You immediately pulled yourself up by a nearby chair and toddled as quickly as your tiny legs could take you over to Emily, gripping her legs tightly as you cried. “Mama! Up! Mama!”

Emily let out a small sigh, picking you up and setting you on her hip. “Sweetheart, Mama’s trying to do the dishes. I can not hold you for one second, my love.”

You had immediately quietened down when Emily picked you back up, watching her now attempt to wash a bowl one-handed. “Mama.”

This had gone on for most of the day, you would not let Emily put you down, not even to go to the bathroom. Every time she tried you’d just cry your head off. Now Emily was trying to put you in your car seat so she could quickly go pick up a case file at the office, though you were not cooperating.

You were squirming in the rear-facing seat, your tiny hands gripping the sides of the padded car seat as your little legs prevented Emily from laying you down. You let out a loud cry and tried to push yourself out of the seat. “Mama! Mama! Mama! Wan’ Mama!”

Emily let out a frustrated sigh, holding you down and trying to do up your buckle with one hand. “Y/N, it’s okay, I’m right here. I’m right here, baby. We just have to go to Quantico, we can see Uncle Hotch, Aunty JJ, we can see everyone! You gotta let go of Mama for a second, then you’ll be right back in my arms.”

By some miracle, Emily got you buckled in your car seat and on the road in under 20 minutes. Though she did have to listen to your heartbreaking cries the whole way. She knew that since your car seat was rear-facing you couldn’t see her and that only made you more upset. She was talking with you the whole drive, a reassurance that she was still there and she wasn’t going to leave you.

The two of you finally arrived at the FBI building in Quantico, Emily parking the car and getting you out of your car seat. The second you were back in your mama’s arms, you let out the most cutest relieved sigh, hugging her tightly with your tiny arms. “Mama.”

Emily chuckled softly, gently stroking your hair as she rested your little head on her shoulder. “See? You’re back with Mama. Mama is right here, she’s giving you a big cuddle and everything is okay.”

Emily suddenly heard a familiar voice from behind her. “Hey, Em! What are you doing here?”

Emily turned around with a smile, recognising the voice of her very best friend, JJ. She was still soothingly rubbing your back, gently swaying you side to side. “Hey! Yeah… just here to pick up a case file. You’re leaving early?”

JJ nodded, running her hand through your soft hair. “Got to pick Henry up from daycare, poor thing fell off the swings.” She laughed softly as she saw your eyes closed, hugging Emily tightly and soaking up all the comfort of the cuddle. “She’s clingy today!”

Emily just rolled her eyes in mock annoyance, a smile on her face. “She won’t even let me put her down for a second, won’t let me pee, won’t let me have a shower, spent 20 minutes putting her in the car seat.”

JJ just smirked in amusement, giving you a tiny kiss on the cheek. “Ah, velcro-baby phase, Henry had it too. It’s irritating but it’s really sweet that all they want is you. She’ll grow out of it… though I do sort of miss it, as irritating as it is.”

Emily smiled, giving you a gentle squeeze. “I secretly love it, though I’d also love to pee in peace.”

JJ just smiled and gave your back a gentle rub. “Bye-bye, Y/N. See you on Saturday, huh? Henry’s already got all his toys out for you guys to play with!”

You gave JJ a small smile, unwrapping one of your tiny arms to give her a small wave goodbye. “Bye-bye.”

The three of you parted ways and Emily got her case file, driving back home. She had spent the rest of the day with you, giving you all the cuddles you had ever asked for, keeping you close. Despite the annoyance of not being able to put you down or leave you alone, she knew you weren’t going to be a baby forever and soon you wouldn’t want to be by her side every minute. For now, she’d just soak up all she could.

[scorpsik]

Tuesday art

Fineliner + water x

[maximoffwitch]

CUTEEEEEEEEE love some good hurt/comfort and friends to lovers

Here's a dialogue prompt for Emily please! Try this out pls. Love you Kam sm sm. "So why are you here?" "To make a fool of myself." ok ty lysm

even though i watched u type this, the wording makes me giggle every time i look at it.

emily prentiss x tech analyst!reader <3

warnings: fem!reader, cannon typical violence, very brief allusions to sexual assault (nothing happens!), angst and fluff! mutual pining.

word count: 5.4k

Emily is the loveliest thing you've ever seen and you can't imagine how she could ever possibly like you back. She enjoys the game, though, and teasing you is her favorite hobby.

-

It’s a sunny day. Warmth trickles down with the scattered light through the leaves. Patterns trace your arms, throwing your skin into a collage of different shapes and shades. Leaning back on your elbows, you watch people mill about the park. You look back down at your arm after a few more minutes, this time focused on the small watch resting there. With a sigh, you stand up and dust off your pants before picking up the small blanket you laid out and tucking it into your bag. 

You walk back to work, enjoying the sounds of the people around you. You lingered too long at the park during your break and are hoping that nobody notices your slightly late return. Maybe the team will be in a meeting, gruesome pictures you never quite learned to stomach plastered on the board, entirely oblivious to your tardiness. 

Unlikely, but a welcome thought soothing your anxiety as you push the door open and scan your badge at the security desk. 

“Welcome back,” the security guard says, smiling at you over his paperback. He’s an old greying man and you vaguely recognize him. You think he’s new and send him a warm smile in return. 

“Thanks,” you glance at his name badge, “Martin!”

You walk past him and step into the elevator. “Wait!” A voice calls and you reach forward to hit the hold button instinctively before you register the voice as Emily’s. 

She jogs into the elevator with you, smiling gratefully. “Thanks, I’m already running a little behind.” She lifts a container and shakes it a little. The label is from the Italian bistro across the street, about a ten-minute walk away and always nearly triple that in wait time. 

“Brave of you to go there during your lunch,” you joke, returning her smile and pressing the button for your floor. 

You hope she can’t see how your hands shake as you reach forward.

“I know, I just love their Pasta Brado. Have you tried it?”

“Can’t say I have. I’m boring, I usually go for the parm.”

“You’re not boring,” she says so earnestly that you can’t help but blush. You cough as an excuse to raise your hand to your face and hopefully hide it some. “You do have to try it, though. Here,” she offers you the plastic box. 

“Oh, I couldn’t. And I already ate.” You ignore the way your chest hurts a little at how enthusiastic she is. The worst part? She doesn’t even know how endearing her simple kindness, her casual enthusiasm, is to you. 

“Tomorrow, then. We can go together.” The elevator doors open as she says it and she steps out with an affirmative nod to solidify it. “Don’t try to bail out on me either, I know where to find you.”

“Yeah, I'm okay,” you say, feeling lame as you step out behind her. “I would love to.” She’s too far to hear you, though, already heading to Spencer’s desk and jumping right into his conversation with Morgan. 

Someone says your last name and you turn on your heel to see Hotch and cringe slightly. “I was trying to find you.” It’s a kinder way of him reminding you that you’re nearly ten minutes late back from your lunch. 

“Sorry, sir.”

“It’s fine. Do you have the reports finished from last week's trip to Huston?”

“Yes, sir, they’re at my desk. One moment.”

-

You and Emily don’t go to the bistro the next day because she and the team are sent to a small town in Kansas that night. 

“I’ll owe you lunch,” she says, hand on the back of your desk chair and brushing your shoulder as the team rushes to the jet. 

“Don’t worry about it!” You reassure her.

“I’m taking you to lunch,” she calls over her shoulder, pretend-glaring, “you will try that Brado!”

And then she’s gone, leaving you giddy and breathless. 

You know she’s just being friendly – she treats Spencer, Morgan, and JJ all the same as you – but her efforts to spend one-on-one time with you outside of work still have you feeling like a schoolgirl passed a note from her crush in class. 

You try to remind your heart to stop singing because Emily probably isn’t even gay and definitely isn’t interested. Instead, Garcia scares the shit out of you when she interrupts your inner monologue. 

“Lunch with Emily? Things are getting serious in your work marriage.” You hadn’t seen her walk into the room and jump at her voice, hand jumping to your mouth to suppress a yelp. “Sorry! Sorry!”

“It’s okay, didn’t see you.”

“Your loss, I look fantastic today.”

“As always,” you smile up at her, nose wrinkling and genuine fondness filling your senses. 

“Careful, wouldn’t want a workplace affair,” she jokes, leaning against your desk and picking up the stress ball you keep handy. 

“Stop,” you moan in good nature. “Nobody else calls us work wives.”

“That’s just because they don’t have my brilliance and excellent observational skills.”

“Nor do they have the same privy to my more personal thoughts,” you say, glancing up at her before returning to your paperwork. With the team leaving so quickly to tend to a missing child's case, you’re not getting home in time to cook dinner but are hoping to leave early enough to grab food instead of resorting to your freezer stash. 

“I would hope not. You know I can’t be replaced, baby.”

“Does Morgan know you talk to all your work besties like this?”

“I most certainly do not. You’re a regular bestie, not a work bestie.” A wink and then her expression sobers. “I do have an actual reason for visiting your humble cubical, though.”

“Hm?”

“I’m going to need extra hands for this case. It’s time-sensitive, as usual, and seems like it will be particularly tricky.”

“Yes ma’am,” you say, dropping your pen and standing to follow her. 

Your position at the bureau is kind of a catch-all. Most of your time is spent logging data, building reports, and doing general research for the team. Occasionally, though, you jump in to help Garcia with real-time research. Nothing as high-stakes as her direct assignments, more background work. Calling offices to talk to managers, combing through more meticulous data, generic census material to rule out obvious dead ends. 

It’s stressful work that technically isn’t what you’re paid for but you never complain. Your team saves lives, consistently putting themselves in the line of danger. If you have to spend a few hours a month helping Garcia call a suspect's manager at McDonald's to see if he still works there, it’s literally the least you can do. 

“Yes, so, it looks like our unsub…”

You drown out Garcia’s brief about information you already have sitting in front of you and begin vetting possible suspects from the large pool her system created.

It’s going to be a long night. You think about future Brado to cheer you up. 

-

“Reid, Prentiss take the back,” Hotch’s voice fills your ears. You imagine the pair nodding and splitting off from the group. 

This is your least favorite part of helping the team with active investigations – listening in on the calls. It’s rare that you and Garcia join the line when they’re approaching the unsub but, with you helping her, it isn’t a risk to distract Garcia and a much quicker method of getting any new information the team needs. It’s a new system you’ve only tried thrice, unsure how having microphones on 24/7 will work, and it grants you and the team more fluid communication.

Still, adrenaline floods your veins as you listen to their coms, the sounds of Garcia typing a constant behind their voices, imagining every way this could go wrong. 

You suspect the girl is still alive, the uncle doesn’t seem to have any reason to kill her just yet, but your fear for her grows with every minute. 

“Clear!”

Your eyes fall to the receipts flooding your screen. Ammo. A new rifle and pistol. The team knows but the evidence of this unsubs ability to hurt any of your friends, your family, isn’t helping your nerves. 

“I think he’s going to the roof!” Morgan’s voice, clear in the comms. 

You click out of the documents. Two swift motions on the screen. The firm press of the button. 

“Morgan, you’re on foot. Prentiss, follow him. Everyone else in vans, go!”

“Garcia, map out possible escape routes from the roof,” you instruct. 

She nods, screens shifting immediately. She puts on her own headset with one hand and clicks on the call and starts to bark information to Hotch. 

“Got her!” Reid’s voice sounds and you deflate a little. He mutes as he begins to console the small girl. 

You know you can take off your headset now, leave the call, and go to your paperwork. There isn’t much more you can do to help – you’re sure that’s what you’re supposed to do – but you stay on anyway, listening. 

“Right on Elmore!” Morgan calls. You find the street on Garcia’s screen, eyes tracing the path you think they’re taking. 

“We’ll try to cut him off,” Rossi says and you can hear tires in the background of the call. The click of a steering wheel cutting to the side too quickly. Someone’s labored breathing – probably Morgan’s as he dead sprints. 

“Stop! Put your hands up!” Emily shouts. The firmness in her voice makes you sit up straighter in your chair. 

You hear something that sounds vaguely like, “bitch,” before a loud pop drowns anything else out. 

“Emily!” Morgan’s voice, more pops. 

Gunfire. That’s gunfire, your brain recognizes. 

Your blood has gone cold.

“We need a medic!” Morgan shouts. Hotch’s line blinks red, going dead as he calls the ambulance. “Emily, Emily.”

Rustling. Cars. Sirens. Morgan’s line goes dead after you hear a car door slam shut. Then Reid’s and Rossi’s. Emily’s is the last to stay green, blinking.

You and Garcia stare at each other as you listen to Emily be loaded into an ambulance. Listen to Morgan tell the team, voice far away and barely tangible, that the unsub only managed to fire out one shot before he downed him. 

Neither of you can hear where she was shot or how badly injured she is before Emily’s line goes red as well.

-

“Emily?” You call softly, rapping your knuckles softly on the frame of the cracked hospital door. 

Your name, faint, answers you and you take that as permission to nudge the door open. The room looked dark from the hallway but Emily has the small lamp embedded on the wall switched on, throwing her face into harsh shadow. 

“Hey, you,” you say, walking in, arms full. “I brought things.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” she says, trying to sit herself up further and wincing as the motion pulls on her stitches in her abdomen. 

“Wait, let me help you,” you say, setting your things down and reaching out a hand. 

You wait for her nod before touching her, letting her grasp your arm and looping your other arm around the back of her waist to take most of her weight yourself. 

“Thanks,” she mumbles. You can tell she hates feeling useless, hates needing help for something as simple as sitting up, so you drop the subject with a nod and kind smile. 

You turn around to the small rolling tray where you put your things down, pulling two black containers out from a plastic bag. You feel silly and very awkward as you turn around to show them to her. 

“I know it’s probably not quite what you meant but,” you set the containers down on her bed and pop one open. 

“The Pasta Brado! Oh man, I was going to treat you.” She’s pouting through a smile, attempting to put on an upset facade and failing miserably. 

It’s so cute that you struggle with what to say next. 

“Thank you, really. You can pull up that chair, if you’re hungry now.”

You grab the chair she’s motioned to and drag it to sit next to her. “I’m hungry if you are. It might be a little cold, though, it’s kind of a far walk.”

“You walked here?” Emily asks, tone appalled and face comically shocked. 

“Yeah, my car broke down last week. I’ve been walking to work – it’s actually really nice out right now – and I couldn’t find a cab from the bistro.” You busy yourself with the food while you talk, opening the second container, setting it on her legs, and unwrapping the plastic cutlery for her. 

“Jesus! You didn’t need to come and see me if you don’t have a car. You didn’t need to come at all, actually. I really appreciate it,” she amends, seeing how your bashful smile freezes on your face, reaching forward as if to touch your face and brushing your shoulder instead. “It’s really sweet of you but you didn’t need to walk all that way. Isn’t it like a twenty-minute walk from here?”

Over thirty, but you nod anyway, knowing it won’t help your case to correct her. “It’s not a big deal. You were shot in the stomach, of course I wanted to see you.”

“Ah, so you wouldn't want to see me otherwise,” she teases, nodding and pushing her pasta around with her fork. She doesn’t even try to conceal her grin. 

“Ha ha, very funny,” you mumble. You take a bite of your food and your eyes widen. “Oh my god.”

“I knew you would love it,” she beams, watching your expression as you taste the food. You you she meant to say it in a gloating way but you swear you can hear a sort of fondness behind the words. Something in you warms at her ability to know you so well. 

You tell yourself you’re overreacting about both thoughts. 

“You were right – Emily this is unfairly good.”

“Oh, I know,” she says, taking her own bite and letting out an exaggerated moan, complete with an eye roll. You giggle and she smiles at you. “Thank you, this is exactly what I needed.”

“You’re welcome,” you say, holding her eye contact. 

She's been in the hospital for three days, transferred back to Virginia last night; her hair is unwashed and unbrushed, and she’s wearing no makeup and a hospital gown. 

She’s still the prettiest girl you’ve ever seen. 

-

Your car is fixed by the time Emily is released from the hospital two days later and you offer to take her home. 

“Hi Sergio,” you greet the cat brushing against your legs as Emily disengages the alarm. 

You set her things down by the door before turning to offer her your arm. Emily doesn’t pretend that she doesn’t need the help when it’s just you two, something you’re grateful for after watching her struggle with the team around, and lets you guide her to her bedroom. 

You set about making her comfortable, turning down her sheets and propping the pillows up so she can sit. 

“I’ve got it,” she laughs, playfully pushing away your hands. 

You laugh along with her, raising your hands and backing away. “I’m going to go put the rest of your stuff away and get you a drink.”

“Perfect, I’ll take an old-fashioned. Don’t forget the cherry.”

You roll your eyes at her, scoffing and leaving her room. 

You throw her clothes and go-bag in her laundry room before making her a glass of water and another glass of juice. Once you’re sure she’s settled in her bed with her book, you return to the kitchen to make her a few dinners, ignoring her protests. 

-

Emily is back in the field much sooner than you would have liked. 

“I was cleared by the doctors,” she tells you, coat slung over her arm as she digs through her bag for her badge. 

You smile at Martin, sending him a mock exasperated look, before she finds her ID and shows it to him. 

“It still seems too soon, Em,” you persist, reaching forward to push the elevator button and turning so you can lean back to watch her face. 

“Em?” Emily asks, the hint of a smile pulling up the left corner of her mouth. 

You sort of feel like you could die in that moment, just from the heat that simple gesture surges through you. 

“It just sort of slipped out, sorry,” you say, thoroughly embarrassed. 

The elevator dings and the doors open, throwing you off balance for a second. This doesn’t help your already flared nerves as you stumble back and drop your bag. You reach down to gather it and the files scattered across the floor. 

You’re kneeling to stuff everything in your bag when Emily crosses your line of sight again, wide smile on her face – teeth fully on display and nose scrunched, you are in desperate need of help – holding out your notepad.

“I think the nickname’s sweet. I kind of like the idea of having a name only one person, only you, calls me.”

All of the air has left this godforsaken elevator, the heat must be on, you stare dumbly at her as she reaches forward to grab your bag and put the rest of your papers inside of it for you. 

And then, realizing you look like an absolute idiot, you snap back into your body and cough slightly. The doors ding and open again, you grab your bag from her and stand slowly. Smiling at her, still crouched on the floor and looking, amused, up at you through her eyelashes, you say, “Okay. Thanks, then, Emmy.”

You walk away after that brief flash of confidence, telling yourself you’re just imagining how you swear her face flushed bright at your comment. 

And if Morgan mentions a few minutes that Emily seems flusters, well, who can blame you for floating on that high for a few days?

Except she doesn’t let it go. 

She corners you on your break in the kitchenette. Literally. She catches you when you’re examining the coffee pot that has been making concerning gurgles for the past few days and leans on the counter behind you, effectively blocking your exit. 

Not that you really want to leave. 

She’s wearing a red tank top and dark jeans, her hair is loose around her shoulders, eyes steadily trained on your face as you work. 

“Hello,” you say, quiet in a way you’re not normally. 

“Hi.”

“What’re you doing?” You ask after a few more moments of her silently staring at you while you pretend to know what you’re doing with a screwdriver. 

“Enjoying the view.”

You drop your screwdriver and relish in the sound of her laugh. 

-

You’d love to say that you had some suave answer to return her charm but you think you spent it all that morning with your boldness. 

You’re not shy but confidence doesn’t run in your blood either. You’d say you’re pretty normal – average. You don’t find much wrong with that, you know you have other qualities that build you up into an interesting person. You love your friends and coworkers deeply, for one. And have an intense trust in them and their abilities. 

That trust is always tested in your day-to-day at work but never more than now as you feel the car around you make turns at highway speeds. You think you’re on some sort of back road but it’s hard to tell from the trunk given the obvious lack of windows. 

You’re calmer than you thought you would be if kidnapped. 

Groaning after one particularly rough turn that has you jostling against the sides of the trunk, you allow your head to thump back and stare at the inside of the dark car. Light breaks through the cracks of the hinges of the trunk and you wonder if water trickles through when it rains. 

You’ve been in here too long to consider if you’re focused on the wrong things. You’re scared shitless, of course, but the adrenaline faded about an hour into your drive and now you’re just bored. 

Imagine that – bored as fuck in the trunk of a stranger's car, wrists burning from the rope and jaw sore from where it’s been forced open too long by the fabric tied around the back of your head. 

You’re just allowing yourself to reimagine your morning with Emily when the car stops and the engine cuts. 

You snap back into the present, energy flooding your system again as your brain flicks into overdrive. You might spend your days paper-pushing behind a desk, but you passed your physical. You’re smart, you’ve heard the stories of how these victims survive captivity. 

When the trunk pops open, you squeeze your eyes shut to prevent pain from the sudden lack of light. You don’t want to be blinded and the action has the added benefit of pleasing your captor. He put a hood over your hood when he grabbed you, muttering in your ear in tense tones that you would do best to not even try to see him. 

Say what you will, you usually do a pretty good job at following directions. This one is easy and happens to be number one on your list right now – keep him happy so he keeps you alive. 

“Good girl,” a gruff voice says before a calloused hand gropes the back of your neck to yank you forward. Scratchy fabric envelops your head and your hot breath bounces back against you, trapped against the fabric of the hood. 

You stand when his hands start to grab your waist, pulling yourself to your knees and allowing yourself to be lifted from the trunk.

You want to run but know now’s not the time. 

“Look at how well-behaved you are!” His breath is wet against your neck. He stands too close, hands clawing under the hem of your shirt to cling to your skin. 

He walks you forward like that, chest pressed against your back and breath slithering down the collar of your shirt to hang uncomfortably over your collarbones. 

It’s becoming increasingly more obvious what this sicko wants from you and your stomach is twisting at the thought. You urge the team to hurry up, knowing your absence would have been missed ages ago. They have to be looking for you by now. And, with how sloppy this dude seems to be, he must have left a plethora of clues waiting to be found. 

You have to repeat this to yourself as you hear a door lock click. 

“Took you long enough. This is the girl? She’s kind of … well,” the second man kisses his teeth with a sharp sound. You’re pushed forward again. “Whatever floats your boat man.” The door shuts and locks behind you. The second man's voice fades as he talks, disinterested. 

You wonder if it’s wrong to feel slightly insulted right now. 

“This way, doll.”

You listen. It’s saving your life to be complicit in his directions, so you listen. Still, you’re shoved harshly to the floor once you get to where he wants you, knees striking what feels like cement. Before you can recover, your cheek stings and your head is whipping to the side from a sudden slap. 

Then, there’s a kick to your ribs. You fall onto your side, too winded to even cry out, lips falling open in a silent scream. A boot in your belly. Your ribs again, your hip and back. 

“Why?” You manage to sob out. “Why, why?”

You don’t get an answer.

-

You’re not overly religious but you thank whatever heavens or universe exists that he leaves you alone once he’s done kicking the shit out of you. Your ribs are bruised but the worst you expected hasn’t happened. 

The boredom returns as you lay with throbbing ribs. At least one is broken and every breath hurts. You can’t imagine sitting up and, luckily, with your hands tied behind your back, it’s not really an option anyway. 

It must be near an hour later when you’re fading out of consciousness – a purposeful choice on your part to save your energy – when you hear the front door burst down. 

“FBI! Hands where I can see them!” Morgan. You nearly weep but think better when your stuttered gasp makes your side throb. “What the fuck?” You hear shouted in reply. “Robb, what the fuck man.”

There isn’t much of a resistance from the living room. The second man is shouting at what you can only assume is the first – your initial kidnapper – but there’s nothing else other than that. 

“Clear!” You hear Hotch call. Spencer replies and then you hear the door nearest you open. 

His voice calls out your name. You deflate against the floor. A second, you know he’s scanning the room with his gun before holstering it. “Clear! I need a medic!”

Hands, gentle, against your face, removing the hood. Swifter after that, removing your gag, and then hand binds. 

“Hey, Spence,” you say, trying to smile up at him. 

“Shh, you’re okay. We’ve got you.” He starts to support your weight behind your shoulders and the pain that brings is too intense to prevent your yelp. 

“Oh my god, is she okay?” You hear Emily ask seconds before you see her. She looks concerned, hair now in a tight ponytail and FBI vest strapped over her chest. She whispers your name once and then a second time, reaching forward to gently brush your hair out of your eyes. 

“Hey, pretty,” you say, words tumbling out of your mouth before you can catch them.

“Hi beautiful,” she answers, reply just as soft as your own. Earnest. 

It makes your heart ache and, for the first time since being yanked off the road walking to grab lunch, you start to cry. 

“Hey, hey, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, beautiful, it’s okay. You’re okay.” She repeats this as you’re lifted by the paramedics and cry harder. 

She repeats it when they stitch up where kicks burst the skin over your cheekbone open, repeats it as she trails a hand down your arm in gentle patterns while they examine your ribs and confirm that you’ve broken two, maybe three. 

She tries with you in the ambulance. 

You can’t help but think about being on the phone when you heard Emily be shot weeks earlier. You squeeze your eye shut as they insert the IV, beyond grateful that she’s there to hold your hand while they do it. The tear that falls down your cheek has nothing to do with the pain and everything to do with the thought that you couldn’t have been there for her in the same way. 

An odd thought, you realize, but it’s the one you’re stuck with as you drift away when the pain medicine enters your system. 

-

You’re sent home three days later. You insist on spending the night alone, afraid to admit you’re scared because, honestly, nothing much happened to you. 

Oh, of course, everyone tries to convince you otherwise but you know they’ve all had it worse. You were gone from the bureau for about eight hours and spent most of it bored. 

So you force yourself to spend the night alone. You don’t need help moving around or doing things for yourself so you convince yourself you don’t need help. 

You’re cooking dinner when the doorbell rings. You wipe your hands with a dish towel and take your time walking to the door to look through the peephole. You don’t know who took you yet, you haven’t asked and nobody has said, but you can imagine seeing him through the door. Waiting for you, waiting to kill you this time. 

Okay, yeah, maybe Spencer was right when he talked about PTSD and usual levels of anxiety, but you’re so tired of him being so right all of the time that you really want to prove him right.

There is no man standing on the other side of the door, though. Instead, you see Emily, holding a plate wrapped in tin foil and looking serene in your apartment hallway. 

You open the door quickly, unlatching it and turning off your alarm with a few clicks. “Emily?”

“Ah, man, I was getting used to Emmy,” she jokes, stepping inside with a smile in your direction and kicking off her shoes. 

You can’t think of an answer so you just smile at her, hoping she’ll take the lead. You’re tired and she must see it because she offers the plate in her hands to you once the door is closed and the alarm is reengaged. 

“Rossi sent me with it with explicit instructions to not let you share it.”

You giggle and take the plate. “I’ll have to tell him thank you. It’s kind of out of your way to come all this way, though, isn’t it?”

“Not out of my way at all,” she says, words dripping with meaning as she holds your eyes. “I would have come even if Rossi didn’t have food for you.”

“So why are you here?”

“To make a fool of myself,” she says, casually, like that’s something people say every day, “probably. You’ve just gotten back from the hospital and I know you said you wanted to be alone, but,” she swallows and her words are becoming more rushed as she speaks, “I said the same thing and you still stayed.”

“Emily?” You ask, setting the plate down on your hallway table and clearing your throat. “Ah, Emmy?” You amend when she cuts you a look. Your attempt to diffuse the tension doesn’t work and she steps closer so you’re toe to toe.

“That doesn’t really answer your question, though. You’re sweet enough that you would let it go, but,” she shrugs, reaching forward to gently loop her fingers around your wrists. “Stop me if this is awful timing. Please,” she says, leaning forward and staring into your eyes. 

You feel like you’re suffocating, but if this is death, you’ll greet it gladly in the irises of Emily Prentiss. You’re caught in the trap of the moment, heart hardly breathing, all aches and sores forgotten because Emily is leaning closer, breath fanning across your face. You feel intoxicated, ensnared. 

Everything that has ever been exists here, now, in this moment. Every breath used to blow out birthday candles and blow away eyelashes – breaths with purpose, with wishes, with intent – exists between the two of you as she leans closer and closer. Closer, still, and how can so much distance exist between you two when you’ve been standing so closely?

“Just, stop me, if you want,” she whispers against your lips, eyes falling shut. 

Time yawns again, freezing. Your eyes open, hers closed, beats of seconds pausing. Hesitating for you to hold this moment in your hands. You’re grateful to appreciate it because she really is so lovely. Her bangs are pushed back from her face with a headband – imagine that! Emily owns headbands! – and you can see every detail of her face. Her elegant nose, her slim eyebrows, her narrow, prominent, lips.

And then your heart finally catches up, beats loudly, cracks whatever fragile plane of glass holding the moment so perfectly still, and her lips are meeting yours. 

You gasp into her mouth, hands breaking out of her hold to grab her face. You’re afraid that she’s going to pull away before this kiss can be fully real. Before you can actually taste her – lemon cake and rain and warmth. Before you can memorize the feel of her lips pressed against your own before you can drag her closer and slip your hands into her hair. 

But she doesn’t pull away. She meets your enthusiasm with a sigh and then enthusiasm tenfold. You can feel relief in the kiss, feel how she relaxes into you. She takes a step forward and you take one back half the amount to account for it. 

A tilt of your head and it’s better, impossibly. She’s firm, sturdy, beautiful. Confident. Lovely, lovely, lovely. 

And then she reaches forward to hold you to her, hands brushing your ribs to wrap around your back and you can’t hold in the gasp of pain that causes you to stiffen. You want to take it back, want to ignore the pain, want to keep her near, but she won’t allow it.

“Oh, I’m so so sorry. Are you okay? I’m sorry.” You smush the apologies against her lips, removing one hand from her hand to guide her arms around your shoulders where they won’t hurt. “Okay! Okay,” she giggles, leaning back with several short kisses that do nothing to satiate you. “I need to know you’re okay.”

She can obviously tell she hasn’t hurt you too bad by your reaction, but the sweet caution in her voice has you melting further. 

“I’m perfect.”

[prentissmultiverse]

Fata Morgana

You and Emily Prentiss share a connection that’s as intoxicating as it is impossible—moments of closeness overshadowed by distance and doubt. Caught between longing and the need to move on, you’re left questioning if love can survive when it feels like a beautiful illusion. inspired by Fata Morgana - Nina Chuba (1407 words) The city feels colder than usual tonight. The bite of the November air cuts through your coat, but you barely notice. The city lights blur into a kaleidoscope as you walk down the street, hands buried deep in your coat pockets. Your breath forms small clouds in the crisp evening air. Somewhere ahead, the faint hum of a car engine and muted laughter echoes. But your thoughts are elsewhere, your footsteps aimless until they inevitably lead you here -

Emily’s apartment.

It’s late—too late, really—but you find yourself here anyway, stopping across the street, staring up at the window where her light is still on. The faint golden glow spills into the night, soft and warm, so unlike the icy detachment you’ve come to associate with her. You’ve been here before. Too many times. You told yourself you wouldn’t come back. You promised. And yet, here you are. Again.

It’s like chasing a mirage in the desert. You know there’s no water, no oasis waiting for you. Just an illusion. A cruel trick of the light.

But God, the illusion is beautiful.

The first time you met Emily, it was her eyes that held you captive. Dark, enigmatic, and just a touch too cold. She had smiled then, soft but guarded. That smile had cracked something in you, and before you knew it, you were swept into her world.

It was intoxicating—her wit, her strength, the way she seemed to see right through you. But as much as she could pierce through your walls, she kept hers firmly intact. Every glance, every touch, every word between you felt like a dance, one where she always led, always kept the rhythm just out of reach. And you? You were too enchanted to let go, even when it became clear that Emily was more shadow than substance when it came to her feelings for you.

And you told yourself it was enough. That the stolen moments, the rare glimpses of vulnerability, made the rest of it worth it. Even when she pulled away. Even when she made you feel like you were chasing a ghost.

Now, as you stand there, staring at her window, you wonder if you were a fool for ever thinking it could be different. You know she isn’t waiting for you. She never has been. But still, a part of you hopes.

You take a step closer to her building, then another. The familiar pull drags you in like a tide. You don’t stop until you’re standing on the sidewalk just below her window, looking up like the world’s saddest cliché. The song plays in your head, the one that’s been haunting you since you left her a week ago. Ich seh' dich vor mir, Fata Morgana... The lyrics strike too close to home. She’s there, in your mind, as vivid as she ever was—yet somehow always just out of reach.

“I shouldn’t be here,” you whisper to yourself. But your feet don’t move.

But tonight, you’re here again. The glow from her window makes it impossible not to imagine her inside, curled up on the couch with a book, her brow furrowing the way it always does when she’s engrossed.

The sound of the door opening pulls you from your thoughts. Your breath catches as Emily steps out, her silhouette sharp against the light spilling from the hallway behind her. She’s dressed in an oversized sweater and leggings, her hair pulled back in a loose ponytail. Casual, almost vulnerable. Almost.

Her dark eyes meet yours, and for a moment, neither of you says anything.

“What are you doing here?” she asks finally. Her voice is calm, but there’s a hint of something underneath—concern? Annoyance? You can’t tell.

You swallow hard, shoving your hands deeper into your pockets. “I don’t know.”

She steps closer, her expression unreadable. “(Y/N), you said you were done. You said—” She stops herself, her jaw tightening. “Why are you here?”

“I keep seeing you,” you admit, your voice breaking. “Everywhere. I can’t stop thinking about you. About us. Even though I know…” You trail off, looking down at the pavement. “I know it’s pointless.”

“(Y/N), you shouldn’t do this to yourself,” she says softly, stepping down from the steps until she’s standing only a few feet from you. Her tone is almost gentle, but her words cut deep. “You deserve someone who can give you everything.”

“And you’re saying that’s not you.”

Her expression softens, but only slightly.  “I told you before—I can’t give you what you need.”

“And what is that, exactly?” You look up at her, your eyes searching hers. “Because all I’ve ever wanted is you. Just you, Emily.”

Her lips press into a thin line, and she looks away. For a moment, you think she’s going to say something, but she doesn’t. The silence stretches between you, heavy and suffocating.

“Do you even care about me?” The words slip out before you can stop them.

Her eyes snap back to yours, wide with something that looks like shock—or guilt. “Of course I care about you,” she says quickly. Too quickly. “But it’s not that simple.”

“It’s never that simple with you,” you say bitterly, the frustration and hurt bubbling to the surface. “You keep me at arm’s length, but you won’t let me go either. Do you have any idea what that’s like? To feel so close to someone and still be completely alone?”

Her face falls, and for the first time, she looks like she might break. But she doesn’t. She never does.

“I’m sorry,” she says quietly. “I never meant to hurt you.”

“But you did,” you whisper. “Over and over again.”

Ein bisschen zu kalt und zu schön für die Wahrheit... Du bist eine Lüge, man hat mich gewarnt.

Later, when you’re back home in your dark apartment, the silence feels heavier than usual. You lie on your bed, staring at the ceiling, her voice echoing in your mind.

You’d always known Emily was a mirage, a vision too perfect to be real. But knowing didn’t make it hurt any less. The distance, the detachment—it was her armor, and no matter how close you thought you’d gotten, you’d never truly breached it.

You roll onto your side, staring at the empty space in your bed where she used to be. You told her you were done. And maybe, this time, you mean it.

And yet, you can’t help but long for her. For the rare moments when the walls came down, just enough to let you feel the warmth of her light. Even if it burned you in the end.

You close your eyes, but sleep doesn’t come. It hasn’t, not since you left her.

The next morning, you walk by her building again. This time, you don’t stop. You don’t look up. You tell yourself you’re moving on, that you won’t let her pull you back in.

But as you near the corner, you catch a glimpse of her—standing at her window, watching you go. Your heart lurches, and for one fleeting second, you consider turning back. Climbing the steps, knocking on her door, and asking her—demanding—what this all meant to her. If you ever meant enough.

But then the moment passes.

Her hand moves, a small, almost imperceptible gesture, as though she’s about to reach for the window or wave or stop you. But she doesn’t. And neither do you. And for a fleeting moment, you think you see something in her eyes that wasn’t there before.

Regret. Or maybe, just maybe, love.

You turn the corner, your footsteps quickening as the building disappears behind you. Your chest aches, your mind racing with what-ifs and maybes.

You don’t stop.

You don’t look back.

And as the distance grows, you tell yourself it’s better this way. Even if you don’t quite believe it.

And I see you before me, Fata Morgana I look into eyes that were never there for me A little too cold and too beautiful to be real You are a lie, I was warned

There are a hundred red flags, and you dance with them in the wind I love looking at you until everything around you blurs And you go so far that you don’t even know what we still are As long as you’re dancing, I’ll dance along until there’s nothing left

[lazyclumzycat-blog]

[criminalmindsandmgg]

people trying to pull suave covert tactics around emily #and backfiring because #she knows most of them #luke tries to go off alone to avenge his best friend #but emily knew that playbook #because lbr emily would probably do the same thing #we saw in lauren that emily also has some stash house #with new cover identities and weapons

Criminal Minds 14x06 - Luke

People use covert/spy techniques and Emily Prentiss immediately notices. Parts 1, 2, 3 (Don't con a conman -- don't use covert tactics around a former spy)

[nicodemuslily]

Hotchniss bloopers

Emily: Hotch! Come back here! It's my pizza!

___

Patrick Jane: I feel that there is something between you too.

Hotch: Absolutely n...

Penelope: I KNEW IT!

___

NSFW/18+

Emily: I want someone to call me agent, tell me to strip and bend over a desk where they spank me and fuck me until I come at least twice and then fuck me some more. Can you do that?

Hotch: I can do that!

___

So here are some trips we had on the Discord Hotchniss server.

The first one comes from this fic from @suallenparker : Aftermath where Emily just wants a slice of pizza (this scene is not in the fic, it's just what we imagined when she told us about what will happen into it).

The second one comes from what we imagined about a possible cross over between The Mentalist and CM. Quickly we thought that Patrick would have catch them out on the spot. XD

And the third one comes from another fic from Suallenparker: Sudden possibilities (NSFW/18+) This is what we all imagined reading that scene. XD