give me more than just some butterflies
emily prentiss x reader
tags: established relationship, fluff, pregnant!reader, use of pet names, no use of y/n, psychologist/bau!reader, oblivious!emily
warnings: mentions of weight fluctuation due to pregnancy, some mild pregnancy symptoms, very lightly implied mature themes
summary: reader is pregnant. emily really, really loves it.
word count: 2.1k
masterlist
a/n: okay so surprise!! i'm a sucker for momily and it'll be all i write for the foreseeable future idc
read on ao3 or below the cut
You're finally starting to feel good again.
After fourteen weeks of almost constant nausea, it seems like your baby has taken pity on you and settled for the time being. Now, the constant state is hunger.
Your doctor had been a little worried about your weight loss, but everything is back to normal now that you're able to eat again. And eating you are. Home Cooked meals when you're not too tired to cook, blueberry muffins baked by Penelope almost every Friday, take-out Emily resorts to when you're craving something greasy and caloric.
At last, you can see what people mean when they mention a glow.
Surpassing nearly three months of feeling uncomfortable, bloated, and queasy at the mere mention of food, it has led you to a blissful state. Your hair is shiny, your skin surprisingly free of dry spots, and your stomach definitely looks pregnant now, and not just like you ate your weight in carbs. Despite some soreness, you're content with your looks, and, now, excited to start preparations, like painting the nursery and browsing baby stores.
Good is the perfect word to describe how you feel about yourself.
Emily doesn't seem to agree.
She tries to hide it, but you can tell. It's in the way she stares when you change in the morning, the way her breath hitches when you’re applying moisturizer to your skin. Her touch is almost reverent when you shower together, lathering your body in scrubs and mousses and hydrating washes. To her, you are beautiful, exquisite, and she can't take her eyes off of you.
Confined to your desk, sometimes you feel her gaze warm on your back. It took a great deal of convincing for Emily to even allow you to work from the bullpen. Arguing your work as a psychologist could be done from home, she really tried to keep you away from the FBI building entirely. Thankfully, you and your obstetrician argued that movement was good for you, additional to the weekly pilates, and that it would do you no good to sit at home all day with no distractions. This way, you can walk around and stretch your legs, visit Garcia's lair for a break when your back is sore, and she can even keep an eye on you. Truly a win-win situation.
You might not admit it, but every now and then you wonder if it would be better at home.
It's not that you don't love her attention, you do, very much so. But it's distracting when you're trying to analyze and finish writing reports. It's so easy to lift your gaze and catch her staring right at you, and that specific look in her eyes has you growing hot from head to toe.
Emily has always been devoted, and though she said she would care for you times two now that you're carrying your child, it feels more like times ten. She always finds an excuse to touch you, even in front of everyone — innocently, of course, a hand on your shoulder or a graze of your arm —, she leaves a pastry on your desk when you come back from interviewing a particularly challenging suspect, and she keeps you hydrated with teas and refills of your water bottle every hour or so. Truly, as Unit Chief, you have no idea how she finds time for all of that.
Everything is sweet, caring, and you feel so, so loved. You know she's about to be the best mom your child could possibly have, and you wouldn't want it to be any other way. And yet.
Internally, you curse your own hormones for your distraction. Your doctor warned you that there might be an increase of your libido in the second trimester, but you didn't think it would be this intense.
Emily looks at you and you shiver. She grazes your back on the way to the conference room and you stifle a sigh. You want to scream at her for being so desirable, but you also want to pull her into a supply closet and have your way with her.
You haven't done that. Yet.
Truth is, you don't think Emily realizes how obvious she's being.
Your fiancée really prides herself in her compartmentalizing skills. She believes her poker face tramples any of the other behavioral analysts’ in the team and, in normal situations, that might be true. When it comes to you, though, she can't hide as well.
Her eyes always darken when she catches you with a hand on your belly, a habit you have developed whenever you feel disgusted at a new case, an unconscious way to protect your unborn child. You only ever realize you're doing it when she looks down at your movement and her cheeks flush.
In bed, she has told you many times how gorgeous you look pregnant. She says you look different, smell different, and she loves it. She's careful, but sometimes she's ravenous, and no atom in your body wants to reject her. You crave her all the time, the hormones increasing your normally already high want for her, and she complies. You know that, if it were up to her, you'd both spend these next six months in bed together.
Nevertheless, work calls, and you try to keep your distance from her in a professional setting.
You avoid being in her office alone with her, you sit on the other side of the table when you're debriefing, even on the jet, which you know will soon stop when you're too pregnant to travel, you sit next to Tara or JJ, making sure you can't smell her perfume or look too closely into her eyes.
Emily Prentiss is a damn hard woman to resist.
She might not notice, but your friends do. Penelope grins when Emily looks at you a little too long, JJ winks at you knowingly when your cheeks heat up as Emily is passing by, Rossi rolls his eyes when she guides you by the hips in the bullpen kitchenette. It would be funny to you, how oblivious the great lead profiler of the BAU is, if you weren't as affected by her as she is by you.
Consciously, you know you should mention it to her, ask her to dial it down, at least at work where everyone can see you and analyze you in the way your team is known to do. But realistically, you crave her attention, you don't want it to end.
At home, you stand in your underwear after a shower. It's a practical set, cotton, great bust support, and light pink for when you're wearing a more sheer outfit. Still, you look in the mirror and can't help but find it attractive. Really, this pregnancy combined with Emily's touch has done wonders for your self esteem.
Getting out of a steamy bathroom, Emily walks in your direction with her hair still up in a bun to keep it from getting wet in the shower. There's a strand loose near her face, the end of it curling with the humidity, and you smile at how stunning she looks.
She loves her silk sleep sets. Her camisole and shorts today are black, contrasting with the paleness of her skin, and you bite your lip at the sight. Her eyes catch yours and there's a new heat in her cheeks added to the fire behind her pupils.
Emily's hand immediately finds your stomach, brushing her palm on its curve. She kisses your cheek, your lips, then your chin, moving down to pay attention to your neck. It's so reverent, her lips soft, warm, that you only realize she has spoken when she moves her face away with a smile.
“Hm?” You hum in question, unwilling to break the tranquility of the moment.
“Your body oil, where is it?” She asks in a murmur.
After you answer, she guides you to sit on the bed, coming back in just a minute with said product. Her application is slow, her hands calloused from her gun and yet the softest you've ever felt. She lathers the oil on your skin, paying special attention to the area under your bellybutton, since you said it's the one that will most likely show stretch marks. You're sure you won't mind those in the future, they're necessary for bringing your child into the world, after all, but her care is deeply appreciated, and the relaxation is so intense you fall back onto your pillow.
Emily lets out a low chuckle, knowing how tired you get at the end of each day. You're not falling asleep sitting up like you were a month ago, but still, the work is draining and, apparently, forming a human being is as well. Who knew.
When she's done, after she's worked the coconut scented product onto your skin, not just your stomach, but your arms, legs, back, everything, she brings you a soft shirt to change into. It's already a little stretched, and you can imagine it's going to change even more as your child grows inside of you, but it's soft and smells like the laundry detergent you share, so you pull it over your head after loosening your bra. Due to the soreness, you can't sleep without one, but it's the most comfortable one you own — the most expensive too, and worth every dollar.
With your pregnancy pillow between your legs, you still cuddle up to Emily so you can sleep. It's an odd fit, but she doesn't mind, as long as your lower back doesn't wake up burning in the morning.
“Baby,” she calls softly into the darkened room, checking if you're still awake.
“Yes?”
“Why did Garcia tell me to wipe the drool off my face today?”
Feigning ignorance, and yet knowing exactly what she's talking about, you ask her to elaborate.
“After our debrief today, everyone left and when it was just us she said that, then laughed harder than I've seen in a while.”
You bite your lip, amused. Really, you didn't think Garcia would say anything before you got around to mentioning it to Emily, but you guess she is the best person for the task, since Emily can't stay mad at her for long. “Our friends may have mentioned it to me that you are, hm-” You stop yourself, not really knowing how to word it. “Very happy that I'm pregnant.” Hoping the intonation is enough, you wait for Emily to continue.
“Well, wouldn't that be obvious?” She asks, apparently affronted, but doesn't stop. “And why would I be drooling? What does that mean?”
Lifting your head to look at her, the frown on her face is close to adorable, and you can't help but throw your pillow aside, straddling her hips as quickly as you can manage these days.
“Honey,” you start, very gently and not wanting to embarrass her, “you've been very… obvious with your attraction to me since I got pregnant.”
Emily's eyebrows raise, and you can see the beginning of a blush appearing on her cheeks, even under the yellow light of your bedside table lamp.
“I love it,” you state, confidently pecking her lips. “It makes me feel wanted and, honestly, very attractive. But you haven't been very discreet, that's all.” Taking in her expression, you start rambling, “please, don't be embarrassed, okay? I think it's so hot when you look at me like that, and, of course, you work with profilers, it's their job to-”
Emily cuts you off with a kiss. You lean into it, opening up for her and letting her taste in the way she's craving. With a sigh, she pulls back, “I don't care.”
Still dazed, you ask, “what?”
“I don’t care that they know how much I want you. It's true.”
“So,” you continue carefully, “you don't mind the jokes?”
She frowns again, “they've been making jokes?”
You laugh, finally relaxed, “why did you think JJ said you'd been much nicer since you got me pregnant?”
“I thought she was just-” She cuts herself off. “I don't know what I thought.”
Kissing her cheek once, then twice. “I think it's sweet that you can't hide it. And hilarious that you thought you were.”
Emily raises an eyebrow, “it isn't just me who isn't subtle, ms. dropping files in the middle of the day just so she can look into my cleavage.”
You gasp in mock outrage, “you weren't supposed to know about that.”
“Well, I'm a profiler, too.”
“Really?” You ask jokingly. “I almost forgot.”
Emily pulls you down into a kiss again, and, okay, maybe you'll have to spend the night figuring out how to be less glaring about your desire for each other, but that can come after this. Much, much after.
hi, guys. one of my cats, gino, is showing signs and symptoms of kidney failure and really needs to go to the vet. i already lost a cat (kitty) last july 1st with the exact same condition and tbh i have not yet recovered emotionally and financially from that which is why i am asking for help to bring him to the vet asap and get him checked out. i want to do everything to not lose another one of my babies. 🥺
he would need at least PHP 11,000 (around $178) for the consultation, blood tests, meds, and supplements alone. any amount would greatly help gino. please help me help him. please reblog/share and whatever god you believe in, i hope you keep him in your prayers. thank you. 🫶🏻
paypal / ko-fi
recent photos of him below:
he lost so much weight and had become a picky eater and can't groom himself properly because of his recurring mouth sores. my mom helps him clean every morning and night. 😔😭
word count: 1.4 k
Summary: You and Claire are cared for by the first responders, and you notice that Emily never stops keeping an eye on both of you throughout the aftermath. Slowly, you realize that around her, you no longer have to keep every emotion under control. Not after everything you have been through.
tags: college!reader, fem!reader, emily prentiss unit chief, mutual pining, age gap, quiet tension, things left unsaid, unspoken connection, slow burn
Masterlist • Taglist• Series masterlist • AO3
The world around you suddenly feels surreal, slower, less frantic. A paramedic in a reflective vest crouches down in front of you, a clipboard resting against his knee.
“Hey. Can you hear me?”
Your gaze lifts toward him. It takes a second before your voice follows. “Yes.”
“Alright. Look at me for a moment.” He moves a pen slightly in front of your eyes. “Follow this.”
“Any dizziness? Nausea?” he asks, watching your face more than the clipboard. “Were you near the central corridor when it started?”
“I don’t think so,” you answer, no longer sure yourself. Everything in your mind feels blurred.
Claire is beside you, but not fully present in the same way. She is folded inward, shoulders drawn in, arms wrapped around herself as if she is holding the pieces of her body in place through pressure alone. Another paramedic kneels in front of her.
“Hi. Can you tell me your name?”
There is a pause before she answers. “Claire.”
“Good, Claire. Can you tell me if you’re hurt anywhere?”
Her eyes flicker down, then up again, unfocused. “I… I don’t know. I don't think so… I mean… It happened so fast.”
The paramedic nods, notes something down, calm in a way that feels practiced rather than distant.
Your own name is asked again, closer now.
“Yes,” you answer in a flat tone.
“Alright. You’re doing fine,” the paramedic replies while checking your pulse, fingers steady at your wrist. “You’re shaking a bit, that’s normal. Just stay with me.”
Claire visibly tenses when her wrist is taken as well. “Don’t,” she says, sharper than she probably means it.
“It’s okay,” the paramedic responds, not reacting to the tone. “I just need your pulse, alright?”
A beat passes.
“Okay,” Claire answers, quieter this time, but her hand stays tense even after he lets go.
“He was so close to us,” she murmurs, not really addressing anyone in particular.
The paramedic looks between the two of you before straightening slightly. “You’re out,” he says, trying to reassure her. “That’s what matters right now.”
“I saw him,” her voice cracking halfway through the sentence. “I saw him, I swear I did. He was—he was right there—”
One of the paramedics tries to interrupt gently, but she keeps talking anyway, the words spilling out faster now. “I couldn’t move. I couldn’t—everything was just… there were so many people, and I thought—”
Her voice breaks completely.
You reach for her hand, hoping to calm her. The strength of her grip tells you that, right now, you are the only thing keeping her from falling apart completely.
One of the paramedics glances over his shoulder before looking back at Claire. He studies her for a moment longer than before, clearly recognizing that she is no longer just shaken.
“Okay,” he says gently, lowering his voice. “I’m going to have someone come by and sit with you for a bit, alright?”
Claire doesn’t answer. Her eyes stay fixed somewhere past him, unfocused, as if she is still seeing something that isn’t there anymore.
“You’re safe,” he adds quietly. “You’re out. You’re not back there anymore.” He makes a quick note on his tablet before looking toward one of his colleagues. “Amber will come check on you in a minute.”
Then he gives you both one last look. “If you need anything before then, find one of us, okay?”
He is already turning away, though he gives the two of you one last glance before disappearing into his next task, following the same procedure as everyone else around him.
You lower your gaze to Claire’s fingers wrapped tightly around your hand and only look up again when you realize someone is watching you.
Emily is making her way through the police officers, paraparamedics, and first responders, weaving past flashing lights, temporary tents, and emergency vehicles. She pauses briefly beside an older woman holding a clipboard, one of the coordinators overseeing the civilian response.
Emily’s shoulders no longer seem as tense as they had twenty minutes earlier. And when she turns toward you, she no longer looks like Unit Chief Prentiss. She just looks like Emily.
Only when the crunch of her boots grows closer does Claire notice that she has returned. She hurriedly lets go of your hand and tries to get to her feet, almost losing her balance in the process. Her legs tremble beneath her, forcing her to sink back down, one hand lifting instinctively into the air.
Emily steps closer and crouches in front of her. “Hey. You’re okay. You’re out. You’re safe.”
Claire shakes her head once, but there is no disagreement in it, only overload. “I couldn’t— I didn’t know where—”
“I know,” Emily interrupts her softly. Her hand stays on Claire’s shoulder, her thumb doing small circles to anchor her. “You don’t have to explain it right now.”
Claire’s breath catches again anyway and she leans forward slightly, as if her body has decided that anything solid within reach is something she has to stay close to.
Emily stays with her for another moment, before her attention shifts to you. “You okay?” she asks.
Simple words. Wrong kind of simple.
“I think so,” you manage after a beat, digging your fingers into the fabric of your jeans, scraping your nails against the denim in a quiet attempt to steady yourself.
Emily studies you closely. Her gaze drops to your clenched fingers before lifting back to your lips, still pressed tightly together. She lets out a quiet breath, as though she is having an argument with herself.
“Alright.” Her voice is soft. “Stay here a little longer. They’ll finish checking on both of you, and then we’ll figure out the next steps.”
A paraparamedic returns to Claire, and this time she lets him approach without pulling away. He speaks to her quietly, asking simple questions and grounding her with a calm presence before glancing toward one of his colleagues.
A woman with red hair appears a moment later, moving toward Claire with a calm, gentle expression. She kneels beside her, offering her a small moment of reassurance before introducing herself.
“I’m Amber. I’m going to stay with you for a little while, okay?”
Claire doesn’t answer, but she doesn’t pull away either. Amber gives her a moment before continuing, her voice steady and reassuring.
“We’re going to get you somewhere quieter. Just for a few minutes. They’ll check on you there, and you don’t have to do anything except breathe.”
Slowly, Claire nods. Her eyes remain on you until the last possible moment as Amber helps her toward one of the nearby tents, away from the noise and the crowd.
Emily doesn’t step back. She stays close enough that her presence never quite disappears, even when she isn’t speaking. She knows how much Claire needs someone steady right now. And perhaps she has noticed that you do, too.
“You handled that well.”
You glance at her, unsure how to answer, because nothing about what has happened fits into anything that could still be called well in a way that feels connected to reality.
Emily doesn’t press for a response. She doesn’t seem to need one. And somehow, that makes it easier to breathe. The panic that has been sitting beneath your skin for hours doesn’t disappear, but it quiets. The tightness in your chest loosens, your fingers relax, your body slowly letting go of the instinct to stay ready for the next thing.
“We’ll take care of the rest,” she murmurs quietly. “And if either of you needs help, you’ll get it.”
Your throat tightens, and before you can understand why, a tear slips free. It catches you off guard more than anything else that has happened so far, as though your body has somehow decided that Emily is the one person it can finally let go around. Without you realizing it, your mind has chosen her as the place where it no longer has to keep every emotion under control.
Emily notices the tear, and something in her expression softens. Slowly, she lifts her hand and lets it come to rest against your forearm. The touch is light enough that you could pull away at any moment if you wanted to, yet gentle enough to soothe something deep inside you, like a balm you hadn’t realized you needed. Her thumb traces one slow circle against your skin, and a quiet sigh escapes you before you can catch it.
Emily’s eyes lift to yours, and a small smile settles on both your faces.
Hi! Thank you so much for being here! If you’ve ever liked, reblogged, commented, or sent me a kind message, I appreciate you beyond words. This event is just a small way for me to give back to you, so feel totally free to send in as many requests as you want!! (But please only choose one category at a time and have a look at my request guidelines first). You're more than welcome to specify the scenario you want for a more accurate fic! I'll begin posting a week from now :)
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