#also sorry for all of the water metaphors??? im a pisces lmao

[virescent-v]

Hello! As someone who struggled with a SH Addiction…as wild as it sounds. I was wondering if you could do Reader(Sh Addiciton) is clean but had urges again and is struggling to fight them with Emily helping them? It would help me as someone whose struggling rn lol

Siren Call

A/N: Hi lovie, I tried my best with this. I have struggled with depression since my teenage years, and suicide ideations throughout that time. To be transparent, I've never dealt with self-harm. I hope I managed to capture those feelings for you and do this justice.

To anyone reading this: Check the trigger warnings. Protect yourself. Please reach out if you're struggling. You're not alone and the world is better with you in it. <3

SAMHSA's National Hotline: [phone], or text your zip code to 435748 for help near you.

Warnings: Mentions of self-harm/cutting, mentions of razors. It's not very graphic imo, but again, protect yourself if these are not things you feel okay reading.

Word Count: 1.4k

It was a rollercoaster of emotion flowing through you. Ups and downs and turns that you could hardly keep up with. Numbness, but at the same time, a devastating whirlwind of thought. You weren’t sure how you could feel so empty but so full of emotion at one time, but you were. 

The depression was not new, a thing carried along with you every day from your adolescence, like a shadow or a tumor. Always there, sometimes bothersome, sometimes silent, and just waiting for a moment to shatter any progress you’ve made.  

Everyone you’ve talked to has dealt with their mental health differently; therapy, medications, denial. And, sometimes, those did work for you. You met with your therapist once a week (less, if you couldn’t afford it), you were on your third antidepressant, and you tried so hard to ignore how your mind betrayed you. 

The one thing that was consistent, that always helped with the emotions coursing through you, was physically releasing them. 

The first time you cut yourself, you were sixteen. You’d only learned about it from the darker corners of the internet, a place you shouldn’t have been. Too young, too impressionable. But, the first slice of the razor against the skin of your thigh felt good. As the skin tore apart from itself, as the blood oozed from the wound, all of your negative feelings went too. 

With each drop of blood, you felt the freedom from doubt, worry, anger, sadness. Each cut brought a feeling of euphoria, the dopamine replacing all of the emotions that were burying you. 

It was a habit that continued throughout your teenage years, and even early twenties. When the destructive thoughts got too much, the razor was there to bring color back into your life. But, as you got older, you got smarter, more diligent in the way those terrible thoughts would creep into your mind, suffocating the joy from you. You learned better coping mechanisms, learned how to manage the craving of the sharpness of a blade against your fragile skin. 

But still, the release would call to you, a siren of a dreadful sea you did not want to be a voyager on. 

On such nights, when the waves of despair rocked you too roughly, your girlfriend Emily was usually there to distract you, a life preserver to stop you from drowning. 

Unfortunately, Emily wasn’t always there. Her job was demanding, important, much more important than your broken brain. Which made tonight, a particularly rough night, hard for you. 

Everything seemed to be weighing down on you, going wrong, unavoidable mishap after mishap. The shadows seemed to wrap themselves around your brain, spindly fingers digging their claws in with no sign of letting go.

The siren call beckoned, a melodious tune that pulled you in, easing the racing thoughts in your mind. 

You stood in front of your bathroom mirror, the reflection in front of you hardly recognizable. Your skin pallor, dry, dark under your eyes. You licked around your chapped lips, feeling the fuzziness of your unbrushed teeth. Your clothes hung off of your body, loose from multiple days of wear. Unkempt hair, a tangled mess atop your head. You looked as rough as you felt, the lack of sleep and self-care exacerbating your inner turmoil. 

Taking a shaky breath, you looked down at your hands, the newly purchased razor blade sitting in the box. Pretty, new, waiting for use. You imagined the shine of the blade against your skin, how the silver would contrast the uneven, blotchy shade of you. How the deep red hemoglobin would look, how it would bring color back to you. 

The call got louder. 

As you were about to tear open the box, a single word, a single thought, broke through the haze of your mind. 

Emily. 

The cacophony of noise halted. You knew that she wouldn’t be disappointed. She’s the only one who ever really understood this habit, this… addiction. Understood how the silence and the noise bantered back and forth in a way that was sensory overload, how sometimes the only way to get it to stop was to cut. To feel something else. 

While she wouldn’t be disappointed, you could imagine the look on her face, how her eyes would hold all of her thoughts. She’d get you through it, she always has, but sometimes her looks haunted you more than your own thoughts did. 

Instead, you picked up the phone. 

It rang twice; she never sent you to voicemail unless she absolutely could not answer. 

“Baby?” She whispered. You’d woken her up. “Everything okay?” 

You tried to talk. The air was trapped in your lungs, the only noise escaping you a hollow breath, a crushed whimper. 

You could hear Emily sit up in bed, the click of a lamp. “Love? Answer me.” Her voice was more alert, commanding, an edge of fear. 

You swallowed hard. Your breath coming quicker, everything threatening to rush out of you. “Em,” another shaky whimper, a plea. 

“Take a breath for me, sweetheart. You’re okay. I’m right here.” You could hear the rustling of clothes being pulled on. 

The box in your hands rattled as it fumbled onto the bathroom sink, your trembling hands unable to hold it. Another thing you couldn’t do your mind hissed at you. 

“I can’t - can’t ma-make it s-stop.” You forced the words out, stumbling them into each breath you inhaled. 

“I’m coming, baby. Stay on the phone with me. You’re okay.” A car door slammed, the engine roaring to life. A siren. 

“Listen to me. I’ll be right there. Listen to my voice.” Emily continued to talk, walking you through the case she was working on. How the weather was. Her favorite movie. Nonsensical ramblings to keep you focused on her. You’d grunt occasionally in response, a way to ensure her you were still listening, still there. 

Your vision tunneled, black around the edges, as your grip on the sink tightened. You could feel the rush of blood through your body in your ears, your limbs starting to tingle as the  numbness started. 

You weren’t sure how much time had passed before you heard the front door slam, hasty footsteps through the hallway. A hand covering yours. 

Emily turned your body towards hers, her hands cupping your cheeks, trying to bring your eyes to hers. 

You felt paralyzed, stuck in a mud so thick and deep you couldn’t move. You tried to focus on Emily’s voice, the rubbing of her thumbs across your cheekbones. You tried to blink, tried to get your eyes to focus. 

Noticing that she wasn’t getting through to you, Emily wrapped you in the tightest hug she could, squeezing you as hard as her arms could handle. A way to help calm down your overactive nervous system, as if she was trying to transfer your energy to her. 

Eventually the shaking calmed down, the pins and needles in your limbs still pushing and pulling, beating to the accelerated pace of your heart. You were finally able to look at Emily, her eyes shining in worry, but also protectiveness. A lighthouse in a stormy sea. 

She tucked your hair behind your ear, checking over your body for signs of harm. Finding none, seeing the unopened box on the counter, she breathed a sigh of relief. “Let's go lay down, love.” 

She all but dragged you to bed, shoving you under the covers before turning off the overhead light. She walked back into the bathroom, presumably to get rid of the box of razors. 

Your eyes remained closed the entire time, listening to her fiddle around with things in your bedroom, the sound of her jeans hitting the carpeted floor before she joined you in bed. Her strong, warm arms wrapped around you, pulling you close to her, your head on her chest. 

Her hands traversed your body, as if taking note of each inch of your scarred, but intact skin. She paid extra attention to your previous cuts, the scars healed and raised and pink, a testament of your ability to withstand. Each line a reminder that you made it. That while the emotion swelled over you, overtook you, that you came out on the other side stronger. 

“Sleep, love. I’ll be here. We can talk about it in the morning.” 

All at once, exhaustion engulfed you. You settled more into Emily, breathing in her perfume, realizing at once that she was your saving grace, your protector. You were capable of overcoming anything with her at your side. 

Slowly, as you started to drift off to sleep, the blacks and grays of the shadows disappeared, replaced by a kaleidoscope of colors. Emily’s steady heart lulled you into a sense of comfort. In her arms, the noises and silence settled, the siren call faded into a calming ebb and flow of waves. What was once a tumultuous, dark and violent sea became a mellow, sparkling tide. With Emily, you were home and you were safe from the shadows that haunted you.

#emily prentiss #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss fanfic #virescent v fanfic #emily prentiss fanfiction #please please please reach out if you are struggling #it does get better i promise #ngl i do not like how i ended this but i wanted to get it out #also sorry for all of the water metaphors??? im a pisces lmao