liz’s fic recs

met you at the right time, this is what it feels like

[houseofccardsficrecs]

navigation ‧₊˚ ⋅ ౨ৎ ‧₊ .ᐟ

ꨄ︎ liz ꨄ︎ 18 y/o ꨄ︎ she/her ꨄ︎ inspired by the positivity picnic by @amiableness ꨄ︎ main blog is @houseofccards

links to my fav fics ‧₊˚ ⋅ ౨ৎ ‧₊ .ᐟ

ꨄ︎ remus lupin ꨄ︎ james potter ꨄ︎ sirius black ꨄ︎ spencer reid ꨄ︎ miscellaneous

[pathologicalreid]

hotchner!reader (hotch’s daughter) who’s married/dating Spencer, and then telling her dad she’s pregnant, lots of fluff please!! :)<3

goads and goats | S.R.

telling your dad (who is also your boss) you're having a baby ends in him giving spencer a hard time

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff content warnings: accidental pregnancy, missed period, hotchner!reader, pregnant!reader, not proofread, dad!hotch, established relationship word count: 1.01k a/n: i have been so down and out about writing recently but i had so much fun writing this. i firmly believe that if spencer was dating hotch's daughter hotch would never let that man have a moment of peace.

“He’s going to throttle me,” your boyfriend announced mournfully, holding the door open for you to enter headquarters, the two of you flashing your badges at security before passing through the metal detectors together.

Rolling your eyes, you reached your hand out and nearly dragged him into the elevator with you. He had been digging his heels in the mud all morning, even going so far as to propose playing hooky, which you were fairly certain he had never done in the history of ever. “He is not going to throttle you. I mean, just imagine the HR implications,” you gently chastised, watching Spencer as he leaned against the wall of the elevator. “Hey,” you said, standing in front of him, you placed a hand on his chest, “We don’t have to tell him today, you know. It could be our little secret for a while.”

Quicker than you expected, Spencer shook his head, “Of course, we have to tell him today. What would happen if you got sent out into the field?” He self-consciously readjusted the strap of his shoulder bag before looking up to watch the floor numbers rise as the elevator went up, “If we didn’t tell him because of my own reservations and then something happened to you, it’d… I’d…”

Your chest clenched as his voice trailed off and you thought of the positive pregnancy tests that were still sitting on your bathroom counter. The tiny wad of cells that had been settling in your womb for weeks without your knowledge – until Spencer asked if you needed pads while you had been grocery shopping – was already so loved.

The first test had come back with such a faint line that you convinced yourself it was just a shadow of an indent on the fragile plastic, but the test you took this morning had been glaringly positive. Slowly, you reached out and took Spencer’s hand, intertwining your fingers as the door to the elevator opened and the two of you stepped out together, “Nothing’s going to happen to me, okay?”

Taking a deep breath, he nodded while holding the glass door to the bullpen open for you, glancing up, you saw that your dad’s office door was open. As soon as you set your things at your desk, you looked at Spencer, nodding up the steps, figuring it was better to do this now than wait.

By Spencer’s math, you were approximately five weeks pregnant, much earlier than people usually elect to share their news. Still, both of you immediately decided it was in your best interest to let your dad know right away.

Leading the way, you knocked on the heavy wooden door to get his attention, his head snapped up in the direction of the noise, shoulders relaxing slightly when he saw it was you, likely having thought a case was being brought in. “Do you have a second?” You asked softly, nerves creeping up as your father waved the both of you in.

“For you, of course,” he responded, nodding at Spencer in acknowledgment before watching suspiciously as the two of you sat in the chairs in front of his desk. “What’s wrong?” He asked, watching you fold and unfold your hands in your lap, it didn’t help that Spencer looked like he had been called into the principal’s office.

You shook your head, “Nothing’s wrong, Dad. We just needed to have a chat,” you told him.

Frowning, his curiosity deepened, “A chat?” Hotch questioned the word that wasn’t a frequent flyer in your lexicon.

“A talk?” You tried again meekly, knowing that he’d start making his own conclusions if you didn’t say something soon.

He looked over at your boyfriend, “If it’s just a talk then why is Reid avoiding eye contact?”

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you exhaled heavily, “We should’ve waited,” you muttered to no one in particular.

“Waited for what, exactly? You’re not splitting up, are you?” He inquired, likely developing a list of forms that would need to be filled out if the two of you had in fact broken up.

You waved your hand aimlessly in the air. It seemed that neither of you had fully understood how hard it would be to announce your accidental pregnancy to your father and your boss simultaneously.

Since neither of you spoke, your father continued, “I’m obligated to side with my daughter. Which isn’t solely based on my belief that she can do no wrong, but if-“

“I’m pregnant,” you blurted, clamping your hand over your mouth as if you could recapture the words that had flown from your lips.

What followed was the silence that you had dreaded. Weren’t people supposed to jump for joy in situations like this? However, the moment Hotch jumped for joy for anything would likely end in someone being institutionalized.

Slowly, you dropped your hand from your mouth, watching your father as if he were a ticking time bomb.

“Is this a good thing?” He asked, finally shattering the wall of silence that had been put up.

Your eyes widened as you looked between your father and your boyfriend, “Oh, yes! We’re very happy,” you clarified, bracing your hands on the armrests of your chair.

Finally, your dad smiled and stood up from his desk chair, waving you over and enveloping you in a hug, “Then congratulations,” he told you, pulling away slightly, “How long have you known?”

You looked back at Spencer, who was standing up beside you and looking decidedly less nervous, “About ten hours,” he answered for the both of you.

Releasing you, your father looked your boyfriend up and down, “You should probably get married before the baby arrives,” he suggested. You recognized the mischievous look on his face – you frequently sported the same look.

“Right, of course,” Spencer said, straightening his posture behind you, nerves once again emanating from him.

You held a hand up, “An incredibly bold statement considering I was in your wedding,” you peered at your father.

Ignoring you, your dad continued, “So, we should settle on a dowry.”

“Dad!”

[houseofccardsficrecs]

such a silly fic i love it so much

[luveline]

hotch x reader with new baby girl, honestly i have no ideas just anything with girl!dad aaron lovey fluff is all i want, he’s just so lovely ily jadey 💕

thank you for requesting! fem, 1.4k

Hotch is so hungry he genuinely wonders if it is acceptable to collapse and beg you to make him a sandwich. He probably would if Jane hadn’t tired you out so fiercely that morning; learning to crawl is hard on both the baby and the mom. 

It’s not his turn to make dinner, but he is, because he doesn’t really care who’s turn it is. He has the tortellini on a low heat, the veggies toasting to a golden brown in the oven. 

He wonders if having a baby isn’t what you thought it would be. It’s certainly not how Hotch imagined it, because Jane is gorgeous and he couldn’t be more in love with her, but she’s also very hard work. Hard work you often perform alone. You don’t seem upset, only tired, and so making dinner is his pleasure. It’s as he’s finishing up that he wonders if he should’ve offered to put Jane down instead. 

He’s trying so, so hard to be the best father and husband that he can be. He might always find it difficult (but it's an effort he’s always willing to make). 

“Dad?” Jack asks. 

“Yeah?” 

“Dinner almost done?” 

Hotch wraps an arm around Jack’s front despite his wriggling. “Almost,” he says into Jack’s hair, “did you wash your hands?” 

“I always wash my hands. Did you wash yours?” 

Hotch laughs. Steals that extra second with his arms around Jack before he pulls away. “Of course I did. I’m gonna go make sure everything’s okay in babyland, okay? And then we’ll fill in your homework diary.” 

Jack nods and goes back to colouring. In babyland, the living room, outfitted with toys and swings and sleepers, you and Jane are slouched on the floor. You’re leaning against the front of the couch with Jane in your lap while she looks up at you. At eight months old she’s more than fond of a cuddle. Her eyes are wide with love and awe alike as you rub the bridge of her nose with your pinky finger, the closer you get to her eyes, the more they squint closed. You repeat the motion over and over again. “You’re feeling sleepy,” you whisper in a funny tone, “you want to nap badly. You’re gonna sleep for a long couple of hours so mommy can have a bath.” 

“Mom can have a bath,” Hotch says. 

You don’t startle, but your surprise is evident in the way your hand slides up her back. “I’m kidding around.” 

“No, it’s okay. You go take a bath, I can have her.” 

“She might not like that.” 

Jane has clingy syndrome. “Does it matter?” he asks sincerely. If she cries, she cries, and he will try his hardest to comfort her. 

You smile slowly, and sweetly. “Okay, I’ll be quick. I don’t want to miss dinner.” 

“Dinner’s ready when you are.” 

Hotch crouches down to begin the transfer. “Hello, little love,” he murmurs, sliding his fingertips carefully behind her back. She’s warm, her onesie soft. “Can dad have a kiss?” 

Jane is a quiet baby. It’s normal that she might not start speaking for a few more months, but beside the occasional ‘bababa’ or giggly laugh, she doesn’t have much to say —not unlike her father. Her communication lays instead in affection. Her emotional intelligence is in the highest percentile, certainly. 

Not that Hotch is prone to bragging. “There’s my smarty,” he hums, pulling her gently into his arms before he stands. She looks at him with equal parts curiosity and annoyance. 

He can guess what she’s thinking. Why is dad picking me up? 

She looks for you with a wobbly lip. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay, can’t dad have some time with you? You’ve favoured your mommy all day.” Hotch brings his free hand to her cheek to stroke it. She loves it, immediately tipping her face into his hand, tickled and huffing as he leans down to kiss her nose. “Please, can I have a kiss?” 

He kisses her cheek. She gives a spitty one back. 

You slink away while she’s distracted and he carries Jane to the kitchen, turning the oven off with one hand, and pushing a chair out with his foot to sit. Jack’s eyes brighten with her arrival, colouring pencils pushed aside. “Hi, Janie.” 

Jack waves at her. She waves back. 

He shifts Jane further into his arms to press lazy kisses over her ear. “My baby,” he murmurs, nearly inaudible against the hum of the washing machine in the utility room and the gentle patter of rain on the windows. “She’s my smart girl. Just like her brother.” He strokes her head back to see her and her baby-lashes. “Hm? You’re my smart girl, aren’t you?” 

She tucks herself into the curve of his neck.

“She knows how to wave already,” Jack says, “when will she be able to say my name?” 

“Pretty soon, bud. Babies tend to learn things in little jumps. She’s making sounds, the babbling she does? That’s a stepping stone. Next she’ll say mama, and then mom, and then we can teach her all sorts of words.” 

“Like crawling to walking.” 

Hotch smiles as Jane leans back against his hand. “Exactly. Jane isn’t the only smarty-pants, huh?” 

Jack smiles in return. “You look happy.” 

“I am happy. So happy, because I’m so lucky to be your dad.” 

“Is it weird?” 

“What?” 

Jack shrugs. “Being a dad.” 

“No, it’s never weird. Sometimes weird stuff happens. Like when we all panicked thinking we couldn’t fine Jane just to realise I was holding her,” —Jack giggles ferociously at the memory— “and, you know, sometimes things get pretty gross.” 

“Like spit up.” 

“Exactly. But being your dad isn’t weird. It feels like the most natural thing in the world. I’m lucky…” He kisses Jane again indulgently. “To have ended up with another child as perfect as the first.” 

“Dad,” Jack says, squirming and pleased at once. 

“What?” Hotch laughs. He has spent a long time proving to Jack that he’s not as serious as he was, a long time trying to keep his promise, and he can see now that it worked. Jack shakes his head and goes back to his colouring as a smile apples his cheeks, not for a moment surprised that his dad loves him without hesitation. 

Hotch beams to himself, absolutely full to the top with love as he lifts Jane up just enough to make her smile too. “Oh, nummy!” he says, taking a big pretend bite of her belly. 

You take a long, long time in the bath. He ends up serving Jack’s plate when his son hints that he’s hungry, and giving Jane another couple of ounces of milk. She grows sleepy on his shoulder. With some soft taps to her spine and a handful of loving shushes, she falls asleep there. 

Sentimental, he thinks, Aw, my girl, and begins to rub her little foot through her onesie. 

You find him standing in the kitchen, hip to the counter. He’s not doing anything besides holding Jane, Jack’s plate abandoned at the table and his cartoons playing from the living room. Hotch should’ve put Jane down for a nap in the bassinet in the living room, freeing his hands to tackle the mess of dishes he’s made preparing dinner, but he honestly hadn’t thought about moving. He’d been perfectly content to hold her and rub her wiggling foot. 

“Sorry I took so long,” you whisper. 

“No, no, you take as long as you need. You look better.” 

You ease between Hotch and the counter, situating yourself in a snug corner to see Jane’s face more clearly. You look at her with love, and then you lean up to kiss his cheek. “I knew you’d get her to nap. You’re amazing.” 

“She likes all the same stuff as you and Jack,” Hotch whispers with a soft laugh.

You pause for a second. Careful, you bring your hand to his cheek, a gentle fist turned with knuckles inward as you stroke his cheek with your index finger. “Can I take a photo of you?” 

“What for?” he asks. 

“I wanna remember it. And it’ll be nice one day to show Jane.” 

“To show her what?” 

“You, Aaron. Show her how much you love her.” You drop your hand to his shoulder for a squeeze. “You’ve gotten even kinder since she was born. Did you notice?” 

It seems you’re feeling sentimental as well tonight. Your long bath has washed away the stress of a longer day. 

“Okay,” he says, too in love with your smile to disagree, “but just one.” 

[houseofccardsficrecs]

ahhhhhh so so so cute

[luveline]

can I pls request: dad!spencer and his baby boy getting antsy and weepy but spencer not knowing what’s wrong until you come back from a long case and then he’s fine straight away

—Spencer and his baby miss you like crazy for 3k, fem

Things have been hot garbage since Monday. Saturday night and all Spencer wants is one good day, where Jude doesn’t cry, and Spencer doesn’t feel sick. Saturday morning it went on for hours —Jude started crying because his bottle was prematurely empty and he didn’t stop, the sobs petering into weeps, sniffly wet nose pressed to Spencer’s neck, then his chest, then his forehead. Poor boy can’t stay still. 

Spencer hasn’t eaten properly since you left. He can’t get more than a couple of mouthfuls in before Jude is protesting his own meal or snack and flopping sadly into a Jude-puddle. 

Spencer has suggested dinner again, because not eating makes you sad, but Jude doesn’t care what it does and Spencer puts electrolytes in his juice. He offers extra time at the swimming pool and the library, and he plays soccer outside despite terrible coordination because Jude loves to score. Nothing lasts long enough. Jude spends half of his waking time morose and clingy, the other hiding under beds or in the kitchen cabinet under the sink. Spencer makes him an appointment with the pediatrician for Wednesday morning. 

The waiting is agony. 

“I don’t think you should worry about it until you go,” you say down the phone, “you know that worrying twice is pointless. Not that you shouldn’t worry at all, I know it’s scary, but there’s nothing you can’t handle, Spence.” 

“If Jude is sick I definitely can’t handle that.” 

“Yes, you can. Don’t be stupid.” 

Stupid said very softly. Spencer misses your voice. He tries to go on cases but if they look too long, he stays home, ‘cos who does he trust enough to take care of Jude besides himself? There was one time where you stayed with Jude for a two-nighter just because you wanted to and Spencer missed being with the BAU, but he missed Jude more while he was there than he missed the work. He’s a professional consultant now, and it’s fine. He loves his life. He still goes to the office and sees his friends for coffee, and he gets to be with Jude all the time. If something happened to him… 

“He’s just not himself, it’s–” breaking my heart. 

“Emily said we’re a half hour from touching down in Quantico, I’ll come over?” 

Spencer didn’t consider you going home to your own place, but he should’ve. “Please. Maybe you can get through to him, or figure out what it is that’s making him so sad.” 

“What's he been eating?” 

“Nothing.” Spencer rubs his eyebrow and the headache there roughly. “Uh, he can’t stop himself from eating those carrot puffs. If you get a couple of those on the way in I’ll pay you back.” 

“Honey, I can buy the baby some snacks. What about you, are you eating?” 

“Not really,” he confesses quietly. 

“Anything you fancy?” 

He grins at your phrasing and your light tones. Maybe when Jude is a little older, a lot older, Spencer could go with you again. 

“Can you get me those chilli tortilla chips, please?” 

“And salsa?” 

“Please, if you don’t mind.” 

“I love all the snacks you love,” you laugh, “did you want something sweet, too? I really crave a three musketeers.” 

“That’s the worst candy bar you could’ve picked.” 

“It is not. And for that you aren’t getting one.”

Spencer laughs and sways Jude’s attention from the movie. He frowns at Spencer as if to say, What’s so funny? I’m miserable. And Spencer feels more sorry for him than anyone in the whole wide world. “What’s the matter, baby?” he murmurs. 

“Is that my boy?” 

Spencer tries to pretend you saying such a thing doesn’t inspire extreme attraction. “That’s your boy,” he says, flustered beyond sense, “he’s not feeling the best.” 

Jude shuffles to Spencer’s seat. “I know, poor boy,” you murmur, “aw, I can’t wait to be home, I missed him so much more than I can say, this case felt like an age.” 

Doesn’t Spencer know it? He pinches the phone between his ear and shoulder, holding out his hands for Jude, slipping them into his armpits as Jude struggles up into his lap. “What’s wrong?” Spencer asks again. 

Jude pouts up at Spencer through long eyelashes. “Daddy, who’s on’a phone?” 

“Y/N. Do you want to talk?” 

Jude is rigid, his eyebrows pinched tightly, but he nods and holds his hand out for the phone. Spencer guides it gently to his ear. “Tell me if it’s too loud, okay?” 

“Hello?” Spencer hears you say. “Jude, lovely, are you there? Can you hear me?” 

“I hear you,” Jude says. 

“Hello. I miss you very much, I’m excited to come home. Daddy says you’re not feeling well, I’m very sorry to hear it. If you can think of anything I can get you or I can bring you to make you feel better, can you tell me now?” 

“Um…” Jude gives Spencer a betrayed glare that makes no sense.  “Dad?” 

“She said she misses you,” Spencer says softly. “She’s sorry you’re not happy. And she wants to know if you want a present, or a special dinner.” 

“No.” Jude straightens up, a little hand tight on the phone. “I miss you,” he says loudly. 

“I miss you too. I’ll see you soon, just a couple more hours. Can you be good for dad and have something to eat? Have some apple stars or a bowl of chips or a boppy?” 

Jude nods. 

Spencer huffs a laugh. “Say out loud,” he whispers. 

“Say what?” Jude asks. 

“He’s saying yes,” Spencer says loudly. 

“You’re gonna go have a boppy now?” you check. 

“Yeah,” Jude says. 

Your laugh is hard to hear, but Spencer knows it well, filling in the gaps in his head. “Okay, babe. You go have your boppy and I’ll see you real soon.” 

Jude perks up a little. He thanks you in his mind for being a miracle worker. Jude says, “Okay,” and you say, “Okay, bye-bye,” and Jude says, “Bye-bye, I love you,” which makes you backtrack to say, “I love you too! Okay? Go have your boppy. Bye, sweet boy.” 

Jude gives Spencer the phone nicely. 

Spencer can see you’ve hung up, so he puts the phone on the arm and takes Jude’s cheek into his palm. “Okay?” he asks. 

“I’m gonna have boppy now,” Jude informs him. 

“Yeah, let’s go make it.” 

It’s skim milk now Jude’s old enough, but he likes it all the same, and he drinks it held against Spencer’s chest where Spencer stands in the kitchen. Jude doesn’t fuss as Spencer starts writing a list on the fridge-pad. Milk, laundry detergent, carrots, tomatoes, potatoes, bread, cheese and broccoli pasta mix, cheese, noodles. “What do you want for your dinner tomorrow?” Spencer asks, unsurprised to go unanswered. He adds rice, hand soap, and crayons. 

Jude doesn’t fall asleep after the bottle. He stretches and cards a hand through his dad’s hair, clumsy but quiet without sulking for the first time in days. “Thank you, that feels nice,” Spencer whispers. 

Jude presses his nose up against Spencer’s jaw, bringing his other hand to double the stroking. “I love you very much, you know,” Spencer says. 

“Yeah.” 

“And things are going to be okay, I promise.” 

“Promise,” he repeats. 

“Want another boppy?” 

“Maybe I can have soup?” 

“Is that what your tummy wants?” Spencer opens the cabinet above the counter before Jude can say yes or no. “What soup do you want? Dad has tomato, chicken, mushroom, parsnip, I have all the best ones. Baby, let’s have soup and sandwiches.” 

“Mayo-yaise?” 

“Is that what you want? Like, a grilled cheese, or just toast and mayo?” He grins at his little weirdo. “You don’t even want the cheese, do you?” 

“No, I don‘ even wan’ the cheese,” Jude grins back. 

They make soup together. Spencer sits Jude next to the stove, positioning him between legs so he can’t fall or touch the saucepan. He opens two cans of tomato soup and adds fresh cream from the fridge to reduce the sourness, letting Jude pull basil from the window plant to sprinkle in after he’s brought it to a boil and then cooked it back down to a simmer. He gives it time to cool for at least ten minutes, stirring, and pressing the bread spread with mayonnaise into a sizzling frying pan, Jude mumbling at his side the whole time. Some stuff he understands, and some is jumbled nothing. “I think we can,” he says as Spencer pours the soup into two bowls. He leaves more than enough for you in the pot. 

“What do you think we can do?” Spencer asks. 

Jude only smiles. 

Jude takes a long, long time to eat his soup. Spencer heats it up again once, but Jude doesn’t mind it cold. Spencer finishes his in about five minutes and spends the next thirty waiting for you to come home. Over. Not home. 

“Have some more?” Jude asks. 

“You want more?” Spencer nearly chokes on his breath. 

“You and me.” 

“Sure,” Spencer says, standing, “babe,” —he kisses Jude’s head— “you can have,” —he gives another kiss while he's there— “as much as you want.” 

“Thanks thank you thanks.” 

“More sandwich, too?” 

“Can I have–” Jude struggles. “Dad, can we have bread without mayo-yaise?” 

“Just bread, not toasted? Still soft?” 

“Yes. Please.” 

“Sure, baby. Whatever you want.” 

Spencer likes that having a baby has made affection easier in every part of his life, he’s kinder to every child he meets because it’s easier now to call them lovely or beautiful or ask where their mom is, probably as a side effect of being loved resolutely. Jude loves Spencer so Spencer loves the world. It’s not exactly new rhetoric. 

Jude has managed a second piece of bread sans crust when you slip the door open across the house. Spencer grabs a paper towel to wipe Jude’s face and hands quickly.

“Hello?” you call gently, melodic in your cadence. 

Jude sits ramrod straight, batting Spencer’s hands away. “Hello?” he calls back. 

“Is that my Jude?” you ask, footsteps drawing nearer, your shoes clipping the wooden slat flooring, and then suddenly there in the kitchen doorway. “Hi, angel. I can’t believe you’re not feeling good, you look just the same as the last time I saw you!” You don’t take your bag off your shoulder, but you let the tote in your hand fall to the floor by the fridge. 

“Hi,” he says, like he’s in awe. 

Your expression softens further. “Hi.” 

Jude slides off of his chair and you go on one knee to reach for him, laughing softly as he digs his face into your neck, throwing his arms around you, too short to close. You hold his back in one arm. The other —Spencer’s heart feels squeezed in your palm— rests in the waves of his hair where they kiss Jude’s nape. 

“I’ve been so worried about you,” you confess, your hand turning to a fist on his back. You drag your knuckles up and down. 

“I miss you.” 

“Sorry, handsome, I didn’t mean to be away that long.” 

“I miss you.” 

“I missed you too.” 

Jude takes a breath somewhere near sobbing and startles both you and Spencer. “I miss you,” he insists. 

“Bud, it’s okay.” 

Jude takes in another horrible straggly breath that nearly forces Spencer onto his knees. 

“Miss you,” Jude says, clinging to you with white-knuckled hands, “miss you, don’t go.” 

“Baby, I’m not going.” 

“Miss you.” 

“I miss you too,” you say, locking eyes with Spencer over his head, your lashes like willow, wide in confusion. 

Jude swallows harshly but nods like you’ve said something he can agree too. 

You shift Jude against your chest and stand. In your winter peacoat, your scarf and your silky black tights, you aren’t shy about squeezing poor rumpled Jude to your chest, ignoring his frizzed hair and his soup-stained t-shirt, all love as you rub his shuddering back. “Jude, you okay?” you ask quietly. 

“You was gone for too long.” 

Spencer can hardly hear him. 

“I was, huh?” 

“Too much.” 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know you’d miss me this much. I didn’t mean to make you sad.” 

“You’ll be in the bed with me?” 

“Is that what you want me to do?” you ask patiently. 

“Yeah.” 

“If dad says it’s okay, we’ll sleep in the big bed.”

Jude spins in your arms, imploring Spencer desperately, “Please, daddy? Please?”

Of course you can stay in the big bed. It’s not unusual for you to spend the night, and you stopped suffering the couch a long time ago. 

The moment Jude knows you aren’t going home, he starts to act like himself again. He stops the shuddery breath that makes Spencer hot behind the eyes. His mumbling turns to a more curious probing —Why were you gone so long? Did you miss him? Can I come with you nex’ time? 

You don’t baulk. When Jude knocks the door while you’re changing and again while you’re freshening up, you don’t mind. You open the door with water running down your arms and chin and sit him on the sink basin while you brush your teeth. Spencer isn’t offended that you’ve taken over, it’s love. Like, his stomach aches with fondness watching you with Jude. You’ve been gentle from the beginning, loved Jude since he was a furious little baby crying himself sick in Spencer’s lap, and now you’re somehow more than that. You answer Jude’s why’s and when’s with the best you have. You pretend you aren’t tired, waiting for the three of you to sardine together in the dimly lit bed before you let out your first yawn. 

“Are you tired?” Jude asks you knowingly.  

“Not too much. How about you, are you tired?” 

“Not too much,” he echoes. Jude turns to Spencer, looking his age again. “Are you tired?” 

“I’m the most tired I’ve ever been,” he says. 

He doesn’t have his schoolboy heart attacks seeing you in your pajamas anymore, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t still find it special and secret when you rub your bare face and settle on your pillow, one eye hidden, the other sluggish. “Maybe we can rest our eyes with dad,” you suggest in a whisper, “he can sleep, and you can give him a cuddle.” 

Jude reaches for your hand. 

You hum softly. “I'm not going anywhere.” 

Slowly, Jude reaches for Spencer with his other hand. 

“Me neither,” he says. 

They ‘rest their eyes’ until Jude falls asleep, snoring in snuffs by your head. Spencer takes his glasses and folds them up for the nightstand, before curling into him. 

Cautious not to disturb Jude, you reach over to hold Spencer’s arm, locking Jude in, and giving Spencer some much needed reassurance. You don’t talk. Your thumb rubs into a ridge, a sore spot, and after a moment it’s sore in a new way. 

“I can’t believe I didn’t realise it was you,” he says. 

“Realise what?” 

“Jude missed you. It was you.” 

Your smile is gaussian. Happy and smudged. You pull Spencer closer to you, which in turn brings Jude right up on your chest. Spencer isn’t too cowardly to curve the arm you're holding right up over you in turn. His fingertips flirt with the dip in your spine, but stay. 

“You’re not saying all this fuss was about me being away.” 

“I’m wondering if it was.” 

You don’t respond. 

“You know how he gets when he can’t see me for the day,” Spencer says, afraid of waking Jude and of saying something too obviously adoring, “I should’ve guessed he missed you.” 

“He doesn’t love me like he loves you, Spencer. Jude loves you like you’re… it’s… I wish you could see him when he’s with you, it’s like you’re the same person…” You smile apologetically. “Sorry, I don’t know how to say it.”

Spencer doesn’t know how to answer. He stares at Jude’s neck. “I know how he loves me, ‘cos it’s how much I love him. I just think after seeing him tonight, it’s obvious what was going on with him.” 

“Don’t speak too soon, okay?” you say. “Let’s wait until tomorrow to decide he’s alright again.” 

Spencer draws a line down Jude’s nose. What a kid. Exhausting, beautiful Jude. 

“I missed you,” he says under his breath, not looking at you. “Don’t think I realised how much, either.” 

“I missed you, too,” you say. When you laugh, it’s like your voice has split and feathered into softness he can’t touch. “I didn’t think it was possible to miss someone like I missed you both. I kept thinking about Jude, when he used to do all that gibberish babble between real words and you’d ask him to repeat himself and he’d be too shy to do it. And his eyes, and his curls, I… I really love him. I’m so lucky that you let me.” 

I love you, Spencer thinks. From the day we met, and again when you called yourself my friend. Again, when you spent the first week of Jude’s homecoming sleeping on the couch and waking with every cry, soothing tears no matter who they came from, patient and tired, endlessly pretty. 

“I didn’t let you,” Spencer says. “You’re ferocious.” 

“Ha!” you whisper. “Ferocious. I like it.” 

“I like you,” he says. It’s all he’s brave enough to confess. 

“I’m a little sweet on you, Spencer Reid,” you say, turning your head up with a yawn. “I’m so tired.”

“Then sleep. We should sleep, I’m tired, too,” he says, sure he’d meant to say I love you, I want you to stay, I want to reach over and hold your neck and stay here for days. 

Spencer allows himself the last one. You whisper goodnight, your face tickled by a small head of hair.

[houseofccardsficrecs]

ahhh this is so freaking cuteeee

[docrobinavitch]

i can’t recall if i already put in a suggestion, but my idea is a dr robby girlfriend/wife reader

reader deathly afraid of needles but takes injections every week for migraines. michael takes his “lunch break” to calm reader down and help her through the injection.

hiii bestie thank you so much for the request! i took some liberties with this so i hope that's ok. this should've been a relatively short prompt, but i am apparently incapable of writing anything without establishing backstory!

_______

time after time

dr. robby x wife!reader content: 18+ mdni, swearing, needles (obvie), some canon medical stuff, but barely words: 4.8k

It had been Robby’s idea for you to see a neurologist for your migraines. He had been begging you to for as long as he’d known you.

The first time he came home from a shift to find you laying down in the shower with the lights off, it scared the shit out of him.

“What the fuck?” He flipped the light switch on and dropped to the side of the tub.

But you seemed annoyed and groggy as you squinted against the sudden brightness, “Lights off, please.”

He looked at you incredulously, but since you didn’t seem to be dying, he obeyed, “I thought you fell.” He said, sitting down next to the tub and rubbing at his face.

“The sound of the shower and the feel of it against my head is soothing the pain,” You murmured, “Also,” You gestured to the toilet, “Proximity if I need to puke.”

He shook his head, “You could’ve warned me.”

You hummed, “Lost track of time. I don’t know how long I’ve been here.”

“That’s… mildly concerning.” You didn’t say anything else, but he continued to sit there, unwilling to leave you alone in this state, “Would you see a neurologist if I got you a referral?”

“No.” You said immediately.

“Why not?” He asked, though they had already had this conversation. He wondered, though, if asking while you were in the middle of an episode would change your tune.

“I’ve been dealing with it just fine by myself.”

He huffed a laugh through his nose, “I’m not sure I would call this just fine. Did you take Advil?”

“Yes.”

“Did it work?”

You didn’t answer, which was an answer on its own.

“I hate seeing you like this.” He said quietly.

“Then go in another room.”

He smirked, you were stubborn. To a fault sometimes. But so was he. He would wear you down. Not that day perhaps, but eventually.

“Can’t leave you here unsupervised when you’re like this. You could slip and fall when you try to get out.”

You sighed, “Well then, I guess we’re at an impasse.”

And it went like that for years, Michael repeatedly asking you to see a neurologist, you refusing.

It wasn’t until a year into your marriage that you finally agreed. Lately the attacks had become more frequent and lasting for longer periods.

Michael had been checking on you when he was home, but for the most part you would shrug him off and go back to sleep. It had been days, now since it started. But you wouldn’t listen when he said maybe you should go to the ER for fluids and meds. So he would leave you, putting a security camera in your bedroom so he could check on you while he was at work.

You had rolled your eyes when you watched him angle the camera towards the bed, “You know, baby, we could be doing much more exciting things with a camera in the bedroom than watch me sleep.”

“Yes,” He nodded solemnly, “And it’s a shame that we can’t do any of those fun things because you refuse treatment—“

You groaned and tugged a blanket over your head, “Thank you, Dr. Robinavitch, that’ll be all.”

He had smirked and pulled the blanket back down, kissing your forehead, “You know how to find me if you need me. I love you.”

When he checked a few hours later and you were off camera, he assumed maybe you were feeling better, maybe had gone to eat something. Or, you had gone to lay in the shower in the dark. He sent off a quick text to check in and then jumped back into another case.

But a half hour later, Dana was coming to find him, “I need you in North 11.”

“Just a second.” Robby was gloved up, watching Collins and Santos drain some blood that had collected around a patient’s lungs.

“I really don’t think you want to wait for this one.” He turned and looked at Dana. Her face was hard to read, but she wasn’t one to insist if it wasn’t important.

“Collins, you got this?”

“Sats are rising,” She glanced up at Robby, “We’ll call if we need you.”

“What is it?” Robby said as he degloved and threw away his robe.

Dana sighed, “Your wife is here. She’s fine.” She added at the look on his face, “Well, not fine. But she’ll live. Status migrainosis.” He nodded, but showed no other reaction, “You don’t seem surprised that she’s here.”

“She’s had a migraine for three days now, mostly bed ridden.”

“And you left her at home?”

He huffed a laugh, “When have you ever known my wife to do something just because I suggested it? Do you think I should have tossed her over my shoulder and brought her here against her wishes?”

“Point taken.”

Robby started walking, Dana trailed a step behind, “She brought herself here?”

“I think she Ubered, but she was pretty upset when she got here, it was hard to understand her. She didn’t want you to know she was here.”

Robby slowed and turned back to Dana, “Why wouldn’t she want me to know she was here?”

Dana gave him a knowing look, “Come on, Robby. You’ve been begging her to see a doctor for years now. The two of you are competitive and stubborn as hell. Her being here means you won.”

He gave a short laugh and began walking again, “Well she can’t be that bad if she’s thinking about winning.”

“As if you weren’t thinking about it, too.”

“How dare you. My beautiful wife is in so much pain she’s in my ER and you think I’m thinking about winning?”

“I don’t think,” Dana smirked, “I know.”

Robby pushed back the curtain to see you sniffling, curled on the bed and around a basin you appeared to have been vomiting in. You wore one of his hoodies which was tugged over your head, the strings pulled tight enough that it partially covered your eyes.

He sighed and pulled a stool close to the bed, “Hey, sweetheart.” He said softly stroking a hand on your bare ankle, “I hear you’re in a lot of pain.”

You glared up at Dana, “Traitor.”

“Sorry, kid.” Dana smiled and backed out, pulling the curtain closed behind her.

With just the two of you now, he could see you struggling not to cry, “The pain’s only gotten worse and worse and I couldn’t stop puking and I got scared.”

“It’s okay, you’re probably dehydrated. It’s likely that this was just your normal migraine, but since the pain’s worse than you’re used to, we’re going to run some tests to be sure.” He started to glove up as he spoke, “We’ll give you fluids and some meds intravenously for the pain while we wait for a spot to open up for CT.”

“Intravenously?” You squirmed away from his touch, “Can’t I just take them orally and chug a bunch of water?”

He eyed you strangely, “They won’t work fast enough that way, you’d probably keep puking them up.”

You rubbed a hand at your face, frustrated as tears began flowing again, “I can’t,” You cried.

“What do you mean you can’t?” He asked gently.

“Needles.” You mumbled.

He raised his eyebrows, “You’re afraid of needles?”

You nodded, still sniffling.

He almost laughed, “How did I not know this? In all the time we’ve been together haven’t you gotten vaccines or bloodwork done?”

You sighed and closed your eyes, tilting your head back against the bed, “If I absolutely have to, I wear noise canceling headphones and a blindfold so I don’t know when it’s coming.”

“Doesn’t that make it worse?”

You shrugged, “I don’t know, but it’s stopped me from punching healthcare workers involuntarily. They don’t like it when you do that.”

Robby nods solemnly, “Yeah, I can imagine. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I don’t know.” You sighed helplessly, “I thought maybe you’d think it was silly.”

“It’s not silly,” He said softly, “It’s a very common phobia.”

You closed your eyes and leaned your head back, “I hate it when you do that.”

“Do what?”

“Talk to me like I’m a patient you’re trying to soothe.”

He sighed, “Well, right now you are my patient and we have to get those fluids and meds in your body sooner rather than later, so I’m sorry to say, but we’ll have to put an IV in and we’ll have to take some blood too once you’re hydrated—“ You looked at him with horror and he said quickly, “But you probably won’t even feel the second one once you’re hydrated, alright. It’ll be super quick, I promise. And I’ll be here the whole time. I’m gonna go get Dana, okay?”

Robby sighed and walked out of the room.

“How is she?” Dana was immediately next to him.

Robby sighed, “She’s deathly afraid of needles.”

“You’re kidding,” Dana playfully shoved his arm, “You’ve been with her how long and you didn’t know? Some husband you are.”

He nodded and looked at the floor, “I feel awful I didn’t know. It explains why she’s always been so resistant to come here or go to the neurologist.”

“It’s okay, Robby. Happens to the best of us,” She clapped him over the shoulder, “Do you want help with the IV?”

“Yeah, I thought maybe you could do it. I don’t do them often and I don’t want to miss her vein.”

 Dana laughed, “Ah, so if I miss the vein, she can hate me instead.”

“Exactly.” Robby said as they pulled the curtain back around your bed.

You were puking again when they walked in and Robby immediately put a hand to your back to soothe you. It looked like you were vomiting straight bile now, which he imagined was very painful and only further exacerbating your migraine pain.

“Could we… Turn these lights off?” You asked calmly, but tears were streaming down your face and you were shaking.

They couldn’t turn the lights off because you weren’t in a room. “Do we have any private rooms?” He asked Dana quietly.

“Oh, no,” You said immediately, “I don’t want to take that from a patient who actually needs it—“

“You are a patient and you need it.” Robby said, and then turned back to Dana.

“We don’t, but we could put her in the family room. One of them has a little couch she could lay on.”

Robby nodded, “Could you grab a wheelchair?”

Robby fussed over you, carrying you into the wheelchair when you said you could walk. Rubbing your back when you inevitably vomited again. And although Dana would do the IV insertion, Robby disinfected your skin and tied the tourniquet.

Despite your best efforts, you whimpered when the tourniquet tightened. Robby looked up at you, “Did I hurt you?” He asked softly.

You shook your head, but didn’t say anything, worried you’d start sobbing if you tried to speak. You felt silly about how afraid of the needles you were. Anyone else would barely flinch at the thought of it. But it made you feel sick.

Robby came around to your other side, taking the hand that wasn’t about to be poked, “Look at me.” He smiled when you obliged, his eyes warm and loving, “Do you want to know what’s happening or would you prefer not to know?”

You took in a shuddering breath, “Could you distract me, please?”

He held your hand to his mouth, bending his forehead towards yours, “This was supposed to be a surprise, but I booked us an Airbnb in the mountains for Memorial day weekend.”

Your lips turned up just marginally and Robby watched as Dana prepped the IV behind you, “Will there be a hot tub?”

Robby laughed, “Yes, there will be a hot tub and it has an excellent view.”

“That’s good,” You seemed to be relaxing a bit more now, eyes barely opened, muscles deflating, “Because I bought a new bikini last week. I must’ve known subconsciously I would need it.”

He hummed, Dana was getting very close to inserting the needle, “What color is it?”

“It’s blue,” You licked your lips, “I know how you like me in blue.”

He smirked, “I like you in every color.” He said, and at the same time Dana inserted the needle. You jumped just a little, but you weren’t crying anymore.

“All done, sweetheart.” Dana said softly and took off the tourniquet, “You did great.”

Dana left the room, giving them some privacy, and Robby sat in the dark with you for a few minutes.

“You should get back to your patients,” You said, eyes closed.

He watched you carefully, “I’m going to refer you to a neurologist in the hospital. I’ll make sure an appointment gets scheduled where I can go with you. Okay?”

You swallowed and kept your eyes closed, “Okay.”

He leaned over and kissed you lightly, “I love you, I’ll be back in a bit to check on you.”

“Okay, love you.”

And so, you had gone to that appointment and had been prescribed Aimovig, a medication that needed to be injected once a month. You had tried to argue your way out of it, but the neurologist insisted it would be your best bet at reducing the number of episodes.

“Baby,” Michael whispered to you, “I can do it for you every time, I promise—“

“You don’t know what I’m like when—“ You sighed, cutting yourself off, “I was in so much pain the last time in the ER, I couldn’t put up much of a fight. What if I hurt you or something?”

He laughed, “You think I’ve never had a combative patient before?”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, “I’m your wife.”

He leaned in closely, his nose brushing against the shell of your ear, “Can we just try it, honey? It might work so well you find it worth it.”

You swallowed tightly and then clapped your hands together. “Fine.”

Robby had given you the first shot there in the neurologist’s office. The neurologist had left the room.

You were already beginning to shake, watching as Robby put on a pair of gloves.

“I’m going to inject it in the back of your arm, so you’re not going to see me do it.”

You felt a wet cotton pad on the back of your arm, “Now, I want you to try something for me.” He said, and you heard the cap of the injection pop off, “Could you sing our first dance song for me?”

You gave a short laugh of surprise, “You’re serious?”

“Humor me.”

Against your will, you were smiling already. Your wedding had been dreamy and romantic, everything you had wanted. You were married, just the two of you, a photographer, and an ordained minister at the top of a mountain. You had both read your vows through tears. Later, you had dinner and dancing in a garden at the base of the mountain with your friends and family. Your first dance had been to Time After Time, but a more acoustic version of it sung by Lennon Stella. The original version with Cyndi Lauper had played in a bar on one of your first few dates and you had had to coax Michael to the dance floor with you. It had been your first dance then and at your wedding. You had thought yourself very clever for that, but you had kept that secret between you and Michael.

“Fine, but only if you sing it with me.”

He chuckled, “Deal.”

You say go slow I fall behind The second hand unwinds If you’re lost you can look and you will find me Time after time If you fall I will catch you I’ll be waiting Time after time

You winced at the sting of the needle and your heart rate picked up, “Keep singing.” Michael urged.

If you’re lost you can look and you will find me Time after time If you fall I will catch you I’ll be waiting Time after time

As you both finished singing the second chorus, you felt Michael place a bandaid to your arm, “There you go,” He said and gently turned you to face him, “That wasn’t so bad, hm?”

Thirty days had passed since and Michael kept forgetting to help you with the second injection.

“Honey, I am so sorry.” He said that morning, rushing through the house to get ready for shift, “Why don’t you stop by the ER this afternoon and I’ll do it on my lunch break?”

You laughed, not looking up from the novel perched in your hand. It was a Saturday and you were sat at the kitchen table, eating a bagel and sipping your coffee slowly, dressed in only one of Robby’s old T-shirts.

“You forget I have been to the ER,” You swallowed the bagel in your mouth, “I know you don’t get a lunch break, baby.”

He leaned down to kiss you and as he pulled away, booped your nose, “Don’t be a smart ass. Bring the Aimovig and call Dana when you get there, she’ll come find me.”

“Yes, sir.” You mock saluted him and he rolled his eyes.

“Don’t forget it needs to be taken out of the fridge at least 30 minutes before injection.”

“I know.” You said, not looking up from your book.

He paused at the doorway of your home, looking down the entryway, he could see you perched at the kitchen table, your legs pulled tight to your chest. He never understood how you could sit comfortably like that, “You’ll come, right?” He asked, one AirPod in his hand, the other already in his ear, “You won’t pretend that you forgot?”

You looked up from your book to meet his gaze, the beginnings of a smirk on your face. Slowly, you looked to the clock on the wall, “You’re gonna be late.”

He sighed and lightly knocked the heel of his hand against the doorway, “Okay, I’ll see you later.”

“I love you, have a good day!” You shouted after him.

“Love you too,” He replied, closing the door behind him.

***

“Dana,” Robby leaned over the desk at the hub, “My wife may be stopping by at some point today, could you come find me when she gets here?”

“Yeah, sure, everything okay?”

He nodded, “She was prescribed Aimovig for her migraines, I told her to come here so I could inject it for her.”

“Why don’t you just do it at home?”

He sighed heavily, “Because I keep forgetting and I think she keeps allowing me to forget to keep delaying it.”

Dana smirked as they began doing rounds, “If she’s delaying it, what makes you think she’d come here of her own free will?”

“She told me she would,” He shrugged, “I can’t keep treating her like a patient or a rebellious child, I can tell it’s getting on her nerves. She said she would come so I’m taking her at her word.”

“Fair enough.” Dana said, “I’ll let you know when she gets here.”

“Thank you.”

***

When you walked into the ER waiting room, you immediately felt your anxiety tick up. Walking to the window, you knocked sharply to get Lupe’s attention. You gave her a wave and a smile and she waved you through, unlocking the double doors that led to the ER.

Taking a deep breath, you exhaled shakily as you walked over to the hub where you saw Dana.

“How’s my sister wife doing today?” You asked playfully. You knew about the running joke that Dana was Robby’s work wife. When you found out about it, Robby had worried it would make you jealous, but you had only laughed and joked that you always wanted a sister wife.

Dana looked up and smiled, “Mrs. Robinavitch, we weren’t sure you’d show.”

“Ah,” You leaned against the hub, “You mean my husband didn’t believe me when I said I would come.”

“Oh, can you blame him, kid?”

You clasped your hands tightly in front of you to try and stop the shaking, “Did you know he told me to come in during his ‘lunch break’?”

Dana laughed loudly, “Lunch break? He’s lucky if he has time to stop and take a piss.”

You chuckled, “Yeah, that’s what I said.”

“Alright, let me go find him, you wait here.”

You nodded, letting the smile fall from your face as Dana left. You were very good at covering up your anxiety when you needed to be, but your breathing trembled and your hands still shook.

“Hey,” A warm hand settled on your shoulder, squeezing lightly, “I’m glad you came.”

You turned to see your husband, “Well, don’t sound so surprised. You asked me to come, I said I would, so I’m here.”

He smiled, “Alright, follow me.”

You trailed behind him through the chaos of the ER.

“Dr. Robby!” You turned at the sound of your husband’s nickname to see what looked like a resident running after him.

“Not now,” He said quickly.

“But, I need—“

“Go ask literally anyone else, I will be with you shortly, Dr. Santos.”

You followed behind him into what you recognized to be the family room. He sighed deeply as he closed the door behind you, muffling the din of the ER.

“I can wait here for you,” You said softly, “If you need to go deal with that.”

“No,” He said and turned to you, smiling, “You have my undivided attention.”

You smiled tightly, “Great.”

“Oh, come on,” He cradled your face gently in his hands and you closed your eyes at his touch, “It’ll be over before you know it. I’ll be very gentle.”

Your eyes watered, but you nodded.

“Did you bring the Aimovig?”

You nodded again, reaching into your bag for it, but your hands were still shaky and as you pulled it out, it fell from your hands. Robby caught it in his hand, eyes focused on you the way they always did when he was worried about you.

“Why don’t you sit down over here?” He guided you gently to a chair, “I brought you some treats.” He pulled out a Polar seltzer can and a small package of Nutter Butters.

You managed a small smile as you took the Seltzer can from him and popped it open, “Thank you.”

He pulled on a pair of gloves while you focused on your breathing, barely taking a sip from your seltzer.

“No Nutter Butters?” He asked mildly, “I thought they were your favorite.”

You take in a shaky breath, “They are, but I am pretty nauseous at the moment. Wouldn’t want to start puking in your ER.”

“I can have Dana grab you some anti nausea meds.”

“No,” You said, “I’ll be fine once it’s done.”

He sat on a stool and rolled over to you, sliding between your knees, “Take a deep breath for me?”

“Michael, I don’t need a diagnosis, I think it’s pretty clear what’s going on with me.”

“Come on, I’ll do it with you,” He slid a hand to your inner knee, “Deep breath.”

You rolled your eyes, but did as you were told. Michael breathed with you, and though you hated to admit it, it was soothing to hear the sound of his breathing in sync with yours. The weight of his hand on your knee and the light circles his thumb made against you grounding.

“Better?”

You nodded, “A little.”

“Good, turn around for me?”

You straddled the back of the chair, taking a deep breath as you felt the wet cotton pad against your skin, “How’s your day so far?” You asked.

He chuckled, “You want to know about my day right now?”

“You act like I never ask you,” You sighed, “I’m asking for you to distract me so I don’t have a full blown panic attack. Who was that resident earlier? I haven’t seen her before.”

“Dr. Santos? New intern.” He pinched the muscle in the back of your arm between two of his fingers and you heard the cap on the injection clatter to the floor. “She’s good. Smart. Observant. Sometimes too ambitious for her own good. More empathetic than people give her credit for.”

You groaned quietly feeling the prick of the needle in your skin, exhaling shakily.

“Just another second, you’re doing so good, baby... And, done.” You felt the bandaid on your skin and heard the snap of Michael’s gloves as he tossed them in the trash.

Then his hands were on you, turning you to look at him, “Hey, you did it. You okay?”

You nodded, your anxiety leaving you in a rush. You felt Robby’s hands on your face again and you leaned into him, “You said I did good?”

He laughed, “Very good,” He grabbed the Nutter Butters and opened the packaging, “Eat.”

Just then the family room door opened and you recognized Dr. Mohan at the door, “Oh, um, Mrs. Robinavitch, I—I didn’t know you were here, sorry to interrupt, I—“

“What do you need, Mohan?” Michael asked and you tried to hide your laugh. It was always like this with the residents. Something about seeing you with Robby really flustered them. You listened as they spoke about a patient and then Mohan was gone.

“What do you do to your residents that they look so goddamn scared whenever they see you with me?”

He rolled his eyes, “Eat your cookie, please, I’ll be back in a few minutes to check on you.”

“You’re insufferable when you baby me.” You said, but took a bite of the cookie anyway.

He kissed the top of your head on his way out, “Complain all you want, I know you like it.”

You smirked as you watched him head back into the ER, Dr. Mohan following him closely.

With Michael gone and your anxiety leaving you, you fully took in the Nutter Butters and seltzer. Your favorite cookies and favorite drink.

You had always been annoyed by his insistence to get you treatment for your migraines. It wasn’t like he had been the first partner of yours to suggest you see a doctor, but he was the first to not give up, despite your stubbornness.

He had pushed, but he had never made you do anything you didn’t agree to. And now, in the face of your silly phobia, he had cared for you with no judgment, and thought to bring your favorite snacks in even in the chaos of his work day.

Obviously, he loved you very much. It had never been up for question, you knew the reason he was so stubborn was because he cared about you and hated seeing you in pain. But still, sometimes, it was nice to be reminded.

After a few minutes, true to his word, Michael returned.

“Feeling better?”

“Much.” You said, and reached for his hand, pulling him down to sit next to you, “Thank you.”

“Yeah, of course.” He smiled at you, “You’re not lightheaded or dizzy?”

“No,” You said and held up the cookie wrapper, “The cookies really helped.”

His grin widened, “Good. You’re cleared to go home, then.” He kissed your forehead and then stood to go, but you pulled him back down.

“If I’m not gonna see you for another six to seven hours, I’m gonna need a better kiss than that.” You smirked.

He chuckled, but seemed happy to humor you, taking your face in his hands he kissed you, long and slow. He slipped his tongue into your mouth, keeping you anchored to him with a hand at the back of your neck. Your toes curled in your shoes when he sucked your lower lip into his mouth and bit down gently.

As he pulled away, just slightly, you were still leaning into him for more, “Was that better?” He asked, cocky grin on his face.

You cleared your throat, sure you were blushing, “Yeah, that was fine.”

“Well I gotta get back to it now. I’ll see you at home?”

“Um, I have dinner plans with some friends in town so I might be back later than you, but yes.”

He nodded, “Okay,” He kissed your forehead again, “Be careful. I love you.”

“Always. I love you. Make sure you eat something, please.”

He nodded to acknowledge he’d heard you, and then he was gone, back in the thick of it.

[houseofccardsficrecs]

ahh i love how comforting and sweet he is 🥹🥹

[quickestgold]

Still Life: Dr. Jack Abbot x Reader

Synopsis: Jack always expects the unexpected, both as a doctor and a partner. But when your water breaks during a citywide blackout, the pressure to deliver your baby safely grows with each contraction, trapping you, him and Robby in a single, still moment of life and loss.

Warnings: Angst, as always; Pregnant reader; Features a graphic, traumatic birth > Similar to the birth scene in the show. Pls don’t read if this sounds too heavy for you!! (everyone lives)

Word count: 2.7k+

A/n: Yes, this is a cliché baby-born-in-an-elevator story, but the show gave us Abbot/Robby x Elevator and Collins mentioned getting stuck while giving birth, sooo what can I say, we're here now, aren't we. Something something about the enclosed space being a metaphor for birth etc. I’m also very passionate about raising awareness for birth trauma / birth related injuries + these are my emotional support sad boys, so I had to… Enjoy <3

“I’m not giving my baby an old white guy name” you deadpan, leaning against the nurses' station, glancing up at the board with a playful grin. Ellis and Shen chuckle at your honesty, Princess and Perlah enjoying the show from a distance.

As if summoned, “Oh I know you’re not talking about us” Robby counters, him and Jack suddenly appearing next to you.

“Well I know she’s not talking about me!” Jack adds lightly with that dry humor you love so much.

"All I'm saying is, Frank is a great name for a little boy." Langdon argues from his side of the station, hands on his hips. "Frankie. Frankie Jr., the possibilities are endless..."

You roll your eyes, though you can't help but smile fondly at the camaraderie, a warm feeling growing in your stomach.

Though it might be something else.

"Maybe we should go for a name that doesn't sound like he's already retired", Jack quips, his eyes meeting yours. Something about the way you're leaning against the station, catches his attention, worry flickering in his eyes.

The storm outside has been growing since the start of your shift, a low rumble in the distance interrupts the friendly work banter.

As if on cue, you feel another tightening in your lower abdomen, this time a sharp stab that makes you wince. You brace yourself against the counter, careful not to let anyone notice.

You're 40 weeks pregnant, but you know it's not active labor... yet.

Jack is already so prepared, so meticulous. You don't want to worry him more than necessary.

“Well, my vote’s for something classic”, Robby says cheerfully. “Like, um… Robby. Simple, strong.”

"Good thing you don't get one." Jack raises an eyebrow as he steps behind you, putting an arm around your waist instinctively. With ease he holds up your belly, taking some of the weight off your back. He gently pecks your cheek, whispering into your ear. "You okay?"

You lean into his embrace, taking a breath of relief, as you feel the pressure building inside you again.

Before you can respond, the storm outside shifts from a distant rumble to something more urgent. You hear the first crack of thunder, followed by a flash of lightning that lights up the hospital windows.

“So much for having a quiet night”, Shen laughs.

You instantly shush him, loudly. Everyone's reaction's are instantaneous, Princess and Perlah cursing in Tagalog.

Ellis: "Fuuuck!" Langdon: "You always do this!"

As usual, Shen manages to jinx whatever team is unlucky enough to work his shift.

The elevator doors close with a jarring ding. The tightness in your belly flares again, but you grit your teeth and try to ignore it.

Jack and Robby stand by the doors, arms crossed, like they're guarding something precious.

You lean back against the cold metal walls, the tightening growing again, unable to find a position that's comfortable.

Even in this enclosed space, you can hear the wind howling from outside. The lights flicker, then, without warning, the power cuts out entirely, as the elevator halts to a stop.

You hear Robby curse as the emergency lights turn on, their blue glow casting everything in a surreal light. The elevator now feels even smaller, almost womb-like.

Fuck.

You groan softly, hoping Jack doesn’t catch on.

But of course, he does.

“What was that?” He turns to look directly at you, concern written across his face.

You avoid his gaze. “Nothing, I’m fine."

You say it so unconvincingly, you almost laugh at yourself.

“I can see that.” It's the same skeptical tone he uses with Santos and the other interns. It's charming actually.

“When did you start having contractions?” Robby asks, like he’s already claimed you as his patient.

You hesitate, but there's no point lying. “This morning.”

“You’re joking.” Jack is by your side in a heartbeat, torn between putting a hand on your belly or pulling out his stethoscope. Torn between being doctor, partner or father-to-be.

“I’m okay. Really.” You try to reassure him, gently touching his forearm.

That’s when you feel the warm liquid rushing down your legs, a puddle growing beneath you.

Jack and Robby's eyes drop to your feet, then up at each other. They exchange a look, no words needed. This is happening.

“I- I didn’t realize…” You breathe, dazed.

“You didn’t realize you were in pain?” Jack asks, incredulous.

“I’m always in pain, Jack", you bite back. “Ever since you knocked me up!”

You groan, turning around to lean your elbows against the wall, letting your head drop. Your breath is already ragged.

Jack’s hand finds your back, rubbing slow, grounding circles.

“I’m not having our baby in an elevator…” you pant.

“I’m afraid, we are, love.” Jack whispers gently, pressing a kiss to your sweaty forehead.

You let out another sharp groan.

“I need to examine you. Is that alright?” Jack’s voice shifts into professional gear. He pulls gloves from the pocket of his trousers, swiftly slipping them onto his hands.

You nod, squeezing your eyes tightly shut.

He lines up behind you, slipping a hand into the back of your scrubs and reaching down.

Once he’s measured with his fingers, Jack’s eyes flick up to find Robby’s, a mixture of panic and surprise flashing across his features.

Robby reads him instantly. He steps in without a word, steadying your shoulders. His grip is firm and reassuring.

“What?” You gasp.

Jack leans in close to your ear, voice soothing, but urgent. You can feel the warmth of his breath against your already burning cheek. “Honey, listen to me. We’re having this baby now.”

You groan again, louder this time.

Robby’s frown line softens, his lips forming a genuine smile. He and Jack share a warm look, full of excitement.

“No. No!” You shake your head. "Not here."

No prenatal bag. No birthing playlist. No epidural.

“I need to have a proper look, okay?” Jack says calmly, though his hands move quickly.

“Wonderful." You laugh through a groan. "This’ll make a great story for group therapy.”

Nothing says professional boundaries like giving birth in front of your boss.

“I won't look." Robby promises, quickly turning away. "But I am a doctor, you know", he chuckles.

"Not mine, you're not." Your lips form a playful smirk. "This will do wonders for your patient satisfaction scores", you add with a wink.

The air suddenly feels a bit lighter.

Jack kneels down, gently parting your legs and slipping your pants down to your knees.

His eyes widen, before whispering. "You're in active labour, baby", his voice softer now.

Robby doesn't hesitate, rushing to the elevator doors, trying to pry them open. With a metallic screech, they slide just wide enough for people to pass supplies and equipment through. But you haven’t quite reached the next floor.

“Not enough to get her out,” Jack mutters.

You lean forward and peek through the small opening.

Your cervix is probably bigger than that…

“Dana!” Robby yells.

Dana appears instantly, dropping to her stomach to peek inside. She finds you leaning against the wall, pants down, legs shaking. Jack holding you up.

“Jesus. Y’all got terrible timing you know that!”

“We need fresh gloves, blankets, a BOA kit, baby warmer, fetal monitor, anything you can pass through.” Robby orders.

Dana’s already on it, shouting over her shoulder.

Jack turns to you again. “Do you want to sit or get on your knees? What feels more comfortable?”

“I- I don’t think comfortable is the word I’d use right now." You groan. "Feels like I’m being split open front to back.”

“I know. I know." Jack’s hands are already guiding you down. "Let’s get you on the floor okay?”

You drop to all fours.

It’s so goddamn hot.

Your hair sticks to your face, salty water stinging in your eyes, the vein in your forehead threatening to pop.

You tug at your scrub top and Jack understands instantly, pulling it over your head. You sway back and forth, now only in your bra, nothing else.

Groaning. Panting. Cursing.

Jack is beside you, gently massaging your back. He moves with you, trying to match your rhythm.

He’s grateful Robby takes command, barking orders to the team above, in full doctor mode. Focused, clinical.

“You’re doing so good.” Jack whispers.

Another contraction rips through you.

Jack glances at his watch, then over to Robby, who places a surgical blanket on the floor, hooks you up to cables and machines to monitor your and the baby’s vitals.

You curse loudly. “What the hell did you do to me, Abbot!”

“I’m sorry. You can do this.” He takes your hand, squeezes. “Let's meet our boy.”

The next contraction comes fast, stealing your breath. Jack doesn’t need to look at his watch, he knows.

It’s time.

Robby positions himself behind you, breaking his earlier promise. But you forgive him, if it means having your husband by your side and not two doctors competing for who's running this.

“She’s crowning.” Robby announces. His hand applies gentle but firm pressure, to keep the baby from delivering too fast and to prevent tearing.

Jack’s hand trembles slightly in yours.

“Y/N, I can see the head. I need you to push on the next contraction okay?”

You nod your head, almost frantically.

Jack takes a deep breath, for both of you, instructing you to follow his rhythm.

A deep, guttural growl tears from your chest as you push.

And push again.

The sensation overwhelms you. The burning, the tingling, the stinging.

The ring of fire.

“That’s it. Catch your breath before the next one.” Robby's steady but kind voice anchors you. “I need one more big push. Three, two…”

Jack’s voice is soothing in your ear, but you barely register it. You’ve never experienced anything like it.

You’re not even fully in your body anymore.

How long has it been? Minutes? Hours?

You feel another contraction approaching, but Robby suddenly halts you.

“Stop. Y/N, don’t push! Not this time."

“I- I have to.” You groan, almost sobbing.

“No.” Robby's voice is low, sharp.

Jack’s head snaps up.

Something's wrong.

“Baby’s shoulder is stuck on your pelvic bone. I need to release it.”

Jack turns pale, tightening the grip on your arms, preparing for the inevitable.

“I’m sorry,” Robby mutters, but before you can react, his hand breaches your entrance.

The pain is unimaginable.

Is he rearranging your organs?

You scream into Jack’s chest, muffled and desperate. He tightens his arms around you, attempting to ease your pain.

“J- Jack…”

“I know, I know, I’ve got you.” Jack's voice breaks. “Robby…"

“Hang on…” He's still rummaging in there.

"I'm sorry", tears streaking down your face. You look up to find Jack's eyes. "This is my fault... I should've-"

“Look at me. Hey,” Jack says, commanding your gaze. “We’re okay. You hear me? You and me. We’ve got this.”

“What’s going on down there?” Dana shouts from above.

“I need you to lie on your back, Y/N” Robby instructs. But before you can register his words, Jack has already flipped you around. Your bottom lowered against the floor, Jack sliding behind you to brace you in his lap. His arms wrap around your legs, pulling them up and in.

“Lean into me, baby.” Jack’s voice is soft. He closes any distance between you. Practically melting into your body.

“Okay”, Robby breathes, applying suprapubic pressure. “Let’s take a deep breath.”

You feel his hands, firm against your lower abdomen, pushing the baby downward.

“Dana! Call Dr. Ingram, from the NICU, we need him.” Robby shouts towards the elevator doors.

You swallow hard. “Please... Please tell me I'm not having a fucking c-section in an elevator.”

Robby glances up briefly. His voice is low, focused. “Not planning on it.”

He reaches in again, one hand sliding beneath the baby’s head, working carefully to release the shoulder.

Another sharp stab rips through your abdomen. It feels like someone's clawing their way out from the inside, making your vision blur.

“Fuck Robby!" You cry out, voice breaking. "Please stop.”

Though you know he can't.

“Got it.” He suddenly announces. “On the next contraction, you push again.”

Your head feels light, but you know you can’t give up. Not now. Not yet.

3, 2, 1….

You push. With everything. Every muscle. Every breath. Every part of your being.

Until...

A sound cuts through the air.

Crying. Tiny, fragile, crying.

Not yours.

Not Jack’s.

Definitely not Robby’s.

Your eyes snap open. And there he is.

Your baby boy.

Robby lifts him carefully, umbilical still attached, assessing, drying and finally, placing him gently on your chest.

You can feel an unfamiliar but indescribable warmth flood you.

A sob escapes your lips, but this time not from pain.

You've never felt a love like this. Pure and sweet. Instant.

Jack leans in, showering your forehead in kisses, then your boy.

“You did so good, my love." Jack whispers. "So fucking good.” He wraps a blanket around you both, trying to shield you from the cold, from the storm, from everything.

Robby watches the three of you, his own emotions evident in the way his eyes glimmer in the light. He waits a few moments before he's back in professional mode, clamping the cord and letting Jack cut through it.

But they know it's not over. You do too.

You feel another contraction coming…

"The placenta", you murmur.

Robby nods. “One more push for me. Ready?”

He presses into your lower abdomen, a familiar pain ripping through you again.

“There we go." Robby says quietly. "Congratulations mom and dad.”

But...

The moment of bliss suddenly turns into horror.

The world around you starts to fade.

You feel Jack’s arms tense as Robby rips your baby from your chest, passing him through the narrow gap in the elevator doors to Dana’s waiting hands above. You feel the cold breeze against your exposed chest, the loss of warmth from your boy.

What the fuck is he doing? Skin-to-skin is supposed to be longer than this!

You want to argue. Shout at him, but your body won’t let you.

Why are you lying flat on the floor? Where's Jack?

You stare at the ceiling. Your heart starts to race.

You know what this means.

You hear Robby’s voice change. Tighter. Urgent. Then Jack’s voice joins him, both of them shifting into clinical, practiced motion.

Massive blood loss.

If they can’t stop it you’ll need a hysterectomy.

Or worse.

Their words are distant, blending into the chaos of your wandering mind.

“Spike a liter of saline.” “Starting uterine massage.” “Dana! Two units from the blood bank.” "Balloon is past the cervix."

Panic rises in your belly. It travels up to your chest, then your head.

Robby’s movement are frantic now. Jack's too, eyes wide with terror.

Their hands are on you, moving, pushing, pulling, trying to keep you from slipping away.

Jack drops to his knees beside you, instantly at your face, cupping your cheeks with gloved hands slick with sweat and... blood? “Hey,Y/N? Hey.”

You blink slowly, your breath shallow.

“What- what if we name him after my dad?” Jack suggests with an unserious grin.

His deadbeat, boys-don’t-cry, toxic-masculinity-in-person father?

Another time you’d have burst into laughter. And that’s what he’s trying for. A reaction. Anything.

You blink up at him, your lips twitching. It’s a fragile smile, but it’s real.

"Michael.” You whisper.

"I'm here", Robby reassures, working steadily.

No. You gesture weakly. "Th-the baby. Mikey for short."

There’s only one Robby, so that’s the next best thing.

You and Jack want Robby to be the godfather, though he doesn't know yet. He's an important person in both of your lives. And now he's brought your son into this world.

You're glad he's there. For you. And your boys.

Especially if this goes badly...

Jack snorts, but quickly realizes you’re serious. Robby's eyes widen.

“Yeah. I like that.” Jack says softly, nodding, overwhelmed with love and fear.

Jack gently places an oxygen mask over your face, hands trembling as he brushes the soaked hair from your forehead, trying to comfort you in any way he can.

Your eyes flutter open, finding his. Memorizing him.

Jack leans forward, pressing his forehead to yours, whispering things you don’t hear.

Then he feels it. The absence of your breath.

The stillness.

A moment frozen in time, reflecting the fragile balance between life and loss.

Jack's eyes shoot to Robby's, desperate.

But Robby doesn’t stop. Not for a second.

He’ll do whatever it takes to bring you back.

Back to Jack.

Back to your boys.

And he wiiilll. As promised, everyone lives. But I had to end it here - for the drama lolz... Pls lmk what you think <3

Part 2: Still Alive

[houseofccardsficrecs]

ugh yes the emotions in this are top tier PLUS part 2 🥹🥹 frequently coming back to this fic

[luveline]

Pls reader who’s always wanted a baby but is too scared to ask hotch to have one with her — he’s his usual understanding self and also whipped and nearly cries cos he gets all emotional?

—you and Aaron misunderstand one another. fem, 2k

You debate yourself for weeks, on and off, alone or with company, and aided by the internet. 

Is it okay to want a baby when you have a step kid? Does really wanting a baby mean I don’t like the first one? Your search engine spits out forums and web articles alike that say the same things —of course it’s okay. Wanting another kid doesn’t mean you don’t love your first; craving to be a mom to a baby doesn’t mean you don’t love Jack, even though he had his own mom when he was a youngster. 

You read a little about it. Books recommended by the articles, and stories from women who became step-moms to children with mothers who had heartbreakingly passed away. It’s a guilty thing to be the mom or stepmom to a child who’s natural mom has died. You might always feel cruel for stealing her moments, for loving her ex husband, and raising her baby. But Jack isn't just someone’s baby, he’s Jack, and you don’t think you could’ve helped yourself. You would’ve loved him no matter what. 

Once you’ve worked past two different types of guilt, you’re crushed by your reality. Jack is nearly nine years old. Your husband isn’t exactly spry. Like, there’s nothing wrong with him (besides a stomach full of scar tissue and partial deafness in one ear), but he’s not a spring chicken, either, and he seems content with your life. In what world would he want to change diapers again? 

The same world where he gets to kiss a little cheek, you think hopefully. Where you get to make it together. Maybe… he loves you enough to try, even if it’s not something he’s pictured. 

You settle, and you decide to be brave. You’ll ask Aaron to have a baby with you, and you won’t feel guilty. 

You realise you can’t face the answer, is all. If he says no it’s gonna break your heart. If you never ask you’ll never get one, unless it’s an accident, and that’s not a good idea, either, you’d never purposefully want a baby to find out later on that the dad doesn’t want them, even if you’d be enough. You know you’d be a good mom, and that you could deal with things alone. There’s an avenue you could take where you have your baby no matter what, it’s your life. 

If only you didn’t love Aaron as much as you do. The idea of being without him is a horror you don’t want to contend with. 

Aaron can sense your constant mental back-and-forth, though he hasn’t guessed what it’s about yet. If you give him time he might get there on his own. He watches you thinking and he wraps a hand around your leg. Weird thing to do, but he’s not normal. He’s a gentleman mostly. Rare moments like this betray his character, how he loves you, pulling your leg toward him and hugging it to his chest despite a strange angle.

“Honey,” he begins softly. 

“Not tonight, I have a headache.” 

“That’s not funny,” he says, smiling, “you know you don’t have to say anything else besides no.” 

“Can’t imagine being with someone who needs a reason,” you say, softly as he had as you lay back against a minky cushion, “‘m lucky my love’s such a gentleman.” 

“You can’t deflect all night.” 

“I was only kidding. Take my pants off and we’ll–” You gasp a laugh as he squeezes your thigh. “Shit, don’t do that!” 

“You don’t have to be so crass about everything,” he says, joking. And people would tell you he has no sense of humour. “I’m trying to ask if you’re okay. I know you’re dodging the question, but I was gonna persuade you.” 

“Oh, yeah?” you ask, letting your knees tip apart, punished by another awful squeeze. 

“Honey.” He kisses your knee. Your heart is pressed on from all sides. “I just want to know what’s upsetting you lately. I can tell it’s important, but I can’t work out what it is.” 

“It’s not. Not important, I mean.” 

“I’ve been putting my mind to it. There aren’t many things that could take up this much of your attention. I worried you might’ve been chafing with Jack, but you’re as sweet on him as usual. I worried you might be having second thoughts about us, but you’re not. You’re too careful with your wedding ring to have me think you don’t love me, and–” He rubs at your leg. “You’re as tactile as ever. You aren’t drawing away from us. I don’t want to think about it, but I’m worried you’re sick or something similar and you aren’t telling me.” 

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” you say, startling you both, “please don’t worry, I’m not sick.“ 

“You’re alright?” he asks. 

“I’m about as healthy as I usually am.” 

“But?” 

You can’t not tell him. You’re married. He loves you. While you’ve driven yourself crazy wondering how much, he’s been worrying you’re poorly. It’s unfair, and you can’t do it much longer. 

“I have been thinking about something for a while,” you confess. 

“And a lot.” 

“Yeah. I think about it every day.” 

Aaron turns your face to his. You’d have to change positions to kiss, your leg firmly locked in his grasp. He doesn’t lean in, holding your eye with a seriousness rarely given at home. He looks as though he’s had a long day. “I can’t think of anything you could say to me that I wouldn’t still love you by the end,” he says quietly. 

“It’s not about love.” 

“Why wouldn’t it be?” 

“Because there are things we won’t agree on.” 

“I can’t agree if you don’t tell me what you’re thinking,” he says. 

“I know. I’m not not telling you because you aren’t allowed to disagree with me, I’m just scared.” 

“Scared?” he asks, frowning now, that square wrinkle at his brow deeply carved. 

You have to build yourself up for a long time before you can say what you want to say out loud. He waits in the quiet, his expression impossible to read. 

“You know how much I love Jack.” 

Aaron’s hands are still on your leg. “Of course.”

“And how much I love you.” 

His lips part, but he doesn’t speak. There’s a dawning understanding on his face as he stops touching you, his hands falling to his lap resoundingly. “What’s going on?” he asks. 

You aren’t encouraged by his response. 

He doesn’t want a baby. Saying it is admitting to a difference between you both, one that might make him angry. You’ve never had him angry with you.

Usually, if he noticed your flicker of fear, he’d have rushed to correct it, but Aaron does nothing now. He simply waits. 

“I wanted to ask you to have a baby with me,” you say quietly, watching him for an emotion and finding him with a blankness he’s practised over years. You’ve no hope of discerning him. “But I don’t think you’ll say yes. I’m sorry. I just want it.” 

He swallows roughly. “Oh.” 

“I know it’s not something we’ve talked about much.” 

His hands return. His fingers slip up your calf until it’s trapped in the hinge of your knee, pulling your thigh to his chest. Hip to hip as you are, you’d think it would be uncomfortable, but he’s gentle. He leans down to rest his cheek against your knee. For a moment, you’re his to look at, squirming with nerves and depressed to have disappointed him. You fight the urge to run. 

“For a second I thought you were about to tell me you’d cheated on me,” he says under his breath. 

You startle. “What?” 

“You looked so sorry, my mind went straight to the worst. You looked like you knew you were about to hurt me.” 

His sincerity is aching. 

“I could never do that.”

“I know, I’m sorry for entertaining it…” He picks up his head. “I never thought you’d be scared to talk to me about anything. It was the only thing I could think of that you might’ve done wrong.” 

“I thought you were angry about the baby.” 

“Is there… a baby?” he asks tentatively. 

“No.” You rub the painful throb between your eyes. “No, there isn’t a baby. I just meant you’d be angry at me for asking. Disrupting our life.” 

“You think you’re disrupting us by expressing what you want?” 

“It’s a big thing.” 

“Can I put you out of your misery?” He turns to take your face into his hand. “I would never be angry with you for wanting something, especially a baby. And I can tell how much this has worried you, so while I can’t promise the answer is uncomplicated, I’m happy to say yes to you. If you want a baby and you want that with me, of course I’ll say yes.” 

“Jack–”

“Honey, you’re thinking too much about Jack. Children have siblings. It doesn’t mean you don’t love them. Is that why you brought him up first?” 

You look away, ashamed to be read. “Sometimes I wish you didn’t know everything.” 

“Honey, I don’t.” 

Your smile is unbidden and somehow deeply felt at the same time, chancing a happy look at him. He’s smiling too. “You’re serious? You’d have a baby with me?” 

He turns into you even more, raising his remaining hand to your opposite cheek, holding you sweetly, putting you nose to nose. “I wish you’d asked me before you worried yourself sick. I would love to have a baby with you, sweetheart. I didn’t realise it was something you wanted already.” 

“I want it with you,” you say, matching his low tone. 

“And I want it with you. How couldn’t I?” 

You fight the sudden heat of tears, your heart pounding in your ears. ”I figured Jack is growing up, you’re so busy, and things have only now calmed down–” 

“Who cares?” he asks, laughing. 

“I thought you might.” 

“I’m sure I will, but not right now. You want a baby?” He gives your head the gentlest squeeze between his hands. “Sweetheart. You want to have a baby?” 

“Yeah, I do.” 

“Then let’s have a baby.” Aaron’s shaking his head, pulling you in, his lips glancing off of your cheek as he hugs you tighter than he ever has. You lose all the breath in your lungs. 

“Don’t hurt me,” you tease, relaxing for the first time in weeks in his arms, “or I won’t be able to have one.” 

“I could never hurt you like that,” he says easily. “Oh, sweetheart.” He says your name. He says it again. 

All that fuss for nothing. You confess on a high, “I want one so bad I don’t know what to do with myself half the time, I– I went to the mall a few days ago to look at the baby stuff, just to look, and I wanted to ask you when I got home but I lost my nerve.” 

“You did?” 

“Yeah, I even picked up this little babygrow with flowers on the feet but–” You fluster at the memory. “Sorry, that’s so weird.” 

“It’s not weird.” He encourages you away with another rough swallow and scares you half to death —if he cries, you’re gonna sob. His eyes are definitely glassy. “We should go, you can show me.” 

“Really?” 

“We have to start preparing at some point, right?” 

You climb onto your knees and vault on top of him, arms around his neck, no chance he can get away. He takes it like a champ, returning your ecstatic laughter with a more content chuckle, a big hand spreading out protectively over your shoulder.

A baby, you think, unaware that Aaron’s thinking the exact same thing, with the same reverent warmth growing in his chest. A baby. 

[houseofccardsficrecs]

mild angst + fluffy comfort!?! sign me upppppp

[luveline]

I absolutely love love love the way you write!! I was wondering if you could write a Hotch x reader where their relationship is pretty new and reader gets unexpectedly pregnant and is worried about telling Hotch since they haven't talked about having kids and it's just a lot of fluff when Hotch finds out ! Thank you :) <3

ty for requesting!! hotch receives some unexpected news, but he loves you, and he’s happy to prove it. pregnant!reader, 1.5k

Oh fuck, you think, pins and needles in your hands you can’t shake. Oh, fuck. 

Aaron’s car pulls into the parking lot outside of the doctor’s office, fifty metres away, forty, less. You have about twenty seconds to think of what to tell him, and to conjure a lie he’ll believe. You’re a bad liar when it comes to him. 

You’ve thought of him fondly as a human lie detector since you met, apparently because you’ve never needed to lie to him before. As soon as you open the passenger door, he’s concerned. You hadn’t allowed him time to get out first. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks, frowning. 

“Can you give me a few minutes to think about it?” you ask. 

He clears his expression quickly, which would be impressive if you weren’t nauseous beyond words. “Sure.” His eyes soften. “I missed you.” 

He’s been away for a few days, and you'd thought it was great timing for him to come home just after your appointment, but now you’re not so sure. Regardless, he leans across the console and kisses the corner of your lips. 

You lean down under his touch. The pins and needles fade ever so slightly. 

Aaron looks good, you realise, despite the racing heart in your chest. It’s funny how you can think of two things at once, how you can struggle to put together what you have to tell him, and still acknowledge how sharply handsome he looks in his suit and tie. He must’ve been in the office before he picked you up. 

“I missed you too,” you say finally. “Really.” 

He squeezes your arm. 

Aaron turns onto the road out of the doctor’s office lot, past sparse greenery and into the city street that will lead to his apartment. “Is my place okay, or do you need to go home?” 

You aren’t sure. What if he doesn’t even want you there when you tell him? Panic flits through you and, evidently, across your face —Aaron catches it from a sideways glance and takes the first left into a quieter street. He parks as soon as he can. 

“What’s wrong, honey? You look like you’re waiting for me to yell at you,” he says. His brows pinch, eyes dark as always but not without tenderness as he turns in his seat towards you. 

“Please don’t be mad at me. I swear– I mean, I–” You stop. “Please don’t be mad.” 

There’s a pause. “I’m not going to be mad at you,” he says. He looks like he’s guessing the problem. You want to tell him before he can figure it out wrong.

“The doctor just told me I’m pregnant,” you admit, watching his face. When he doesn’t react, you stare down at your hands. You have no idea what to do.  “Almost four weeks pregnant. Aaron, I…” A hot flush rushes down your face. 

Aaron shakes his head. 

“I’m not mad. There’s no need to panic.” He speaks with deliberate slowness. You’ve heard him talk this way before, on the rare occasion where you’re upset and he’s been there to see it. 

“I would never try to trap you–”

“Okay,” he interrupts. You aren’t sure he’s ever done that, not once since you met. “I think you’ve just had very big news, and you’re panicking, but I need you to know that I’m not against you right now.” He holds your gaze. 

Your eyes water. 

“I’m gonna get out and come around, okay?” he says quietly. 

“Okay.” You sound pathetic to your own ears, like your voice is air squeezed tight from your chest. 

Aaron climbs out of the driver's side and walks around the bonnet. You can’t watch him. You’re still not looking when he opens your door, bending to touch your cheek. 

You turn into him. He takes it as permission to hold your face, giving you a quick once over before he kisses your cheek. “It’s okay,” he murmurs, “it’s okay.” More kisses, three then four, a fifth pressed to the softest high point. 

You lean into him, immediately read for what you need, his arms wrapping around you and hugging you close. Maybe he’s right, you were panicking rather hard, and it’s not as though he’s given you reason to believe he’d react badly to the news, just, what man wants to hear from his partner of barely five months that she’s pregnant? 

You suppose you don’t have to continue the pregnancy. Then you panic worse, because you’re not sure what you want, turning rigidly stiff in his embrace. 

“It’s okay,” he says softly, “I love you, you know.” 

It isn’t the first time he’s told you but you’re not used to hearing it, either. It’s reassurance you needed. Just as quickly as you stiffened, you relax. 

He feels it. “I love you,” he says again, “and I’m so happy.” 

“What?” you ask, pulling your face back from his chest. 

“With you. This is the happiest I’ve been in a long, long time.” 

“You want me to have the baby?” 

He blinks. “Honey, I want you to do whatever you want.” You smile at him softly. He cups your face in both hands, his thumbs at the corners of your smile and pressing mildly into your skin. “It’s soon, isn’t it? But I do love you, I don’t say that lightly, and so I’d love for you to have a baby.” 

“Really?” 

“Are you surprised by that?” 

“You really love me that much?” 

“I want a life with you,” he confesses. How terribly sincere a thing to say, stooped under the car roof, trying to stop you from crying into his palms. 

You don’t know if you want a baby just yet, but you have time to think about it, and a clearly supportive partner. He waits for what he’s said to sink in, rubbing semi-circles into your cheek, dotting a kiss heavy with affection into the skin just shy of his index finger and the corner of your eye. “That’s a cruel surprise, for you to have been told alone. I’m sorry you were by yourself. If I’d known…” 

“If I’d known I would’ve made you go with me,” you promise. 

“Do you feel alright? I suppose we know why you were craving Dora’s so badly a few nights ago,” he says. 

He sounds achingly in love with you. You’ve never heard him so gentle, not even the first time he took you home. 

“Honey?” 

“I love you too,” you say. 

“I know.” He hugs you, a rare smile brushing your cheeks as he leans down and in. “Can you answer me? Do you feel okay? Hayley was sick to her stomach the whole nine months.” 

“She was? Are you kidding?” You baulk wondering if that’s what’s in store for you. 

“Not kidding. Sorry. Not that you have to… well. You’re not feeling sick, are you?” 

“I feel better now,” you say honestly. 

He rubs your back, big rough lines full of fondness. “Okay, good. I’m gonna get back in, okay? So you can think about things at home. What do you think, is that alright? We’ll order something to eat and you can take your time.” 

“No, no–” You grab him tight. He can’t leave. 

Aaron laughs and hugs you tighter. You spend a long few minutes like that settling, no tears shed, just trying to catch up to yourself without panicking again. It could be nice to be pregnant. It could be an early start on your life with him, there’d be nothing wrong with that. You’d live together with Jack, you’d get to wake up beside him everyday. You’d love that, you’d love to be with him, you and him and your babies. But it’s not that simple. 

Aaron’s right though, you have time to think. In the meantime, he loves you. 

“I can take a few days off.” 

“What?” You laugh. “Have you ever had a day off in your life?” 

“No, but I should start. I will. No matter what you choose.” 

He tips your head back for a chaste, adoring kiss. You can feel it in every millimetre of pressure, and the way he chucks under your chin with his thumb as he stands. 

He goes to shut your door, but doubles back for another hug. “I’m so lucky to have you. I love you.” He seems surprised he’s said it, though not regretful, laughing sheepishly as he pulls away. “I’m very sorry for putting you in this position unexpectedly.” 

It’ll be alright, ‘cos he loves you. You manage a short laugh. “Well, it’s okay. I’m just glad you’re not mad.” 

“It never even crossed my mind.” He closes your door, walking back around to the driver's side to take you home. 

[houseofccardsficrecs]

stopppp i love that he's so sweet and understanding

[luveline]

idk if you would write for this I checked your guidelines and wasn’t sure but I would LOVE a pregnancy scare with Aaron (May be reader is younger than him?)! And she’s just panicked bc he’s older and already has a kid and etc and the test can be pos or neg totally up to you!

thank you for requesting! 1.3k, fem (possibly) pregnant!reader

cw reader's and hotch's attitude towards pregnancy is mostly positive

Your period is twelve days late. 

That is not a small amount of time. 

You don't notice it at first, and when you do you figure it's a few extra days without an irksome pain, a balm to soothe the ache of your absent boyfriend and a hard job, but when Aaron comes home from a case and you still haven't started your period, the panic begins to set in. 

You have a hard time keeping things from him for obvious reasons. His being a human lie detector felt fascinating when you first met, but now it's making things worse. You would've liked some time to yourself for denial, only he can always tell when something is wrong, though it's clear to you he's not sure exactly what it is. He'll realise eventually, you know. 

"Let's go to the store," he suggests, his hand flirting with the back of your neck. "You always feel better after a sweet treat." 

You've been to the store today, unbeknownst to him, for some emotional support chocolates and a small box you'd rather not think about. You'd hoped that he might get called away to give you time to open it, but without him you're not sure you have the strength. 

You hadn't expected to feel this way. You want desperately to tell him, but you're just so, so scared. 

"I don't feel like going anywhere." 

He hums as his hand moves to your shoulder, squeezing a loving path down to your hand. Jack bangs a toy down in his bedroom across the way, and the washing machine spinning from the utility closet sounds louder than it ever has before, like a rocket about to erupt. You don't know what it is that gets you, but suddenly you're overwhelmed, a confession stuck in the back of your throat as Aaron meets your panicked gaze. 

"What's wrong?" he asks. "Here, honey, sit down." 

He guides you to a kitchen chair. 

"What's wrong?" he asks again, bending at the waist. 

Your head rushes with white noise for a second. You wet your chapped lips with the tip of your tongue; you've missed your period, but it isn't that alone that scares you. Perhaps in an instance of a psychosomatic symptom, you feel weird, other. Something has changed. And you're starting to feel sick. 

"Aaron, I don't know what to do," you say. 

His eyes widen with an expression you don't often see. "Has something happened?" 

It's so, so hard to say. "I think I've messed up." 

"Not in any way I can't fix." 

"Maybe I have," you say miserably, panic hot behind your eyes. 

He shakes his head. "You haven't. I swear you haven't. Please, tell me what's wrong before I have a heart attack." 

You can't say it while he's looking at you, and when you do it's hardly audible. "I think I'm pregnant," you breathe. 

Aaron pauses. You can't even raise your head, anxiety its own heartbeat and nausea rising fast. You let out a gasp you'd held in and try to calm down, even while every little part of you worries about what he's going to say. 

You don't know if you want to be pregnant, or have a baby, but you know it would probably break your heart just a touch if Aaron didn't want to have one with you. You're not sure why. And Jack is a beautiful kid but he's growing up. Aaron isn't young. 

"How sure are you?" he asks, tone completely measured. 

"I… I feel it," you say. "I know that's stupid… 'N my period is really late, nearly two weeks now." 

"You feel it?" 

"I feel sick." Your elbows on your thighs and the backs of your hands pressed to your eyes, you curl in on yourself. "I'm so scared." 

"You're scared?" Hands on your forearms. Aaron gets down on his knees in front of your chair and rubs fondness into your skin, his voice a soothing, familiar comfort as he says, "Sweetheart, you have nothing to be scared of. Don't be scared. I'm right here." 

Tears like a shock, relief and horror mixed into one. "I'm so stupid, I haven't even taken the test yet, I don't know why I'm acting this way." 

"We all react differently to foreign situations than how we might imagine. What's important now is that you take a breath, because otherwise you'll panic." 

While you're afraid of what he's thinking, you trust him implicitly. "Okay." 

"Okay," he says, pulling your hands away from your face. "Just breathe, honey." 

He's more patient than you knew another person could be. He wipes your straggling tears with his hand without a word, his breath coming in even inhales and exhales for you to follow. The small spike of panic swiftly melds to plain old tears. You're embarrassed. You're unhappy. You and Aaron certainly weren't trying for this occasion. 

"What are you scared of?" he asks eventually. 

"Of you. Of what you're thinking, and– and what if I– I mean, what if I'm pregnant?" you ask, as though pregnant is a new word. When you said it at first, you'd meant, what if we end up having a baby together? But now you're more inclined to think about the process itself. What if you're physically pregnant? 

"Well, you have absolutely no reason to be scared of me. I love you." Aaron puts his hand just under your ear, his thumb to your cheek. "Whatever happens. Nothing else matters to me besides you." 

"Because you want a baby," you say unhappily. 

"Who says I don't?" He smiles at you softly. "I think we should've had this conversation a long time ago, but the long and short of it is that I love you. I love you and I'll do what you need me to." 

"I figured you'd be done having babies," you say, still hesitant. 

"Evidently not." He laughs, and you laugh back and he acts like you've hung the moon. "If you're scared of being pregnant, maybe you should take the test before you wind yourself up, hm?" 

"I guess I'm acting pretty silly, huh?" you ask, sniffling and wiping your eyes, the two of you caught in breathy laughter again. 

"Hormonal, maybe," he says. "Don't be scared. I don't want you to be scared." 

"What do you want?" you ask. 

"I just want you to stop crying. It's not right…" He strokes your damp cheek. "If I'm honest? If you take that test, and you aren't pregnant, or if you don't want to have a baby," —his face is calm, a small smile playing on his lips— "then I don't want you to, either." 

"But if I am?" you ask. 

"Then I will be so, so happy, because it's you." 

A missed period isn't necessarily indicative of pregnancy, and you could be freshly pregnant or four whole weeks and the test could still come out negative. Maybe your weird feeling is indigestion. Whatever happens, you really believe that the man in front of you is here for whatever answer you find. 

"I love you."

"I love you, too," he says, bone deep sincerity turned to something lighter, fondly teasing as he lifts himself up and hugs you close. "You know that." 

You let him hold you for a little while, calming down, looking at the positives and all your options. "You think Jack would be happy?" 

"He'd love a brother or sister… eventually." 

You wipe your tears and runny nose in his shirt and he does you the generosity of pretending not to notice. If you are going to have anyone's baby, you'd want it to be his. 

[houseofccardsficrecs]

YES protective and concerned aaron i've found heaven you guys

[luveline]

maybe hotch and reader are expecting a little bambino and nobody else knows until someone points out reader's belly? (i feel like it'd be absolutely hilarious if it was spencer that pointed it out 💀💀)

thank u for ur request! fem!pregnant!reader

"Can I ask you something?" Spencer asks.

You smile at him gently. "Always, Spence." 

He seems cagey despite your assurance, lowering his voice and stepping closer to you. "Do you think maybe you need more fibre in your diet?"

You've been friends, best friends, with Spencer for so long you genuinely can't remember a time in your life where you didn't love him, but you have no idea what to say to that. It's the weirdest thing he's ever said unprompted. That's saying something. 

"Is there… a reason that you're asking me?" 

"There's three," he says. He waits for you to nod before laying them out. "For a few weeks now you've been more tired than usual. You're hungry all the time, and your stomach is bloated. I know that can feel painful, you could eat a handful of chia seeds in the morning and it would help." 

You feel like someone's dropped an ice cube down the back of your t-shirt. Disarmed, you turn to Hotch where he's standing at the whiteboard, your hand moving automatically to your stomach. He gives you a similarly perturbed look. Derek's head shoots up at the list of symptoms, and Emily covers her mouth at your protective hand where it's poised. Fucking profilers.

"I've actually been taking vitamins," you say, wondering if you can still save it.  

Emily is the first to break. "Wait, are you–?" She doesn't let herself finish. 

Spencer shakes his head, brown curls bouncing at the base of his neck. "What?" he asks, his lips twisting into a trademark pout. 

"Spence," you murmur, taking his wrists into your hands. "I want you to know that I was going to tell you first. This weekend, genuinely. I didn't think you'd notice so soon, is all."  

He looks at Hotch, then you, then Hotch again. You press your lips together. "Please don't be upset," you say. 

It clicks. There and then, you witness the cogs turning. "You're pregnant?" he asks breathlessly. 

"On purpose," you joke. 

Spencer tackles you. His arms fly around your waist, a tight, brotherly squeeze of a hug that makes you feel like you're gonna burst. "You're kidding!" 

You're barraged by hugs. Emily, Derek, JJ. Rossi shakes Hotch's hand and pats his back in congratulations, which is so old-man style you find yourself laughing under JJ's arm. "How do you know it's his?" you ask Rossi. 

Hotch laughs as Derek moves in for a similar bro-hug, nothing but love in his eyes as he smiles at you from over Derek's shoulder. You smile back, amazed and ecstatic at their happy reactions, until Spencer forces JJ aside with more gusto than he likely should to hug you again. You're blinded by his wild hair. 

"I don't think you can fix this with a cup of chia seeds," Derek says. 

"We couldn't be happier," Hotch assures him. 

"On purpose, huh? When were you going to tell us?" Emily asks, her face a picture of surprise, a hint of disappointment in her thin brows. "I had no idea you wanted another one!" 

"Jack wants a brother," Hotch says. "You know she can't say no to him. And he's perfect–" 

"But there's nothing wrong with wanting more," Rossi finishes, his eyes gleaming. 

"I thought it might be a little awkward to emphasise that we were trying," you say, patting Spencer's shoulders. 

Emily winces. "Gotcha." 

"Let's see the bump, mama," Derek says. 

You step back from Spencer's side to turn, holding your shirt flat to the underside of your baby bump. It got bigger quicker than you thought it would, and now that it's been pointed out, it's obvious. 

Derek shakes his head in disbelief. "That's–" 

"Amazing," Hotch says. You beam at him. 

There's a second round of hugs. Delight thrums in the air like a charge, laughter buoyant. Hotch parts the sea of excitement to kiss your cheek and hug your shoulder proudly, turning his head away from everyone. You know what he's thinking —this is going to be a really special time for you both. Your team will make sure of it.

"Um?" Penelope asks, elbowing open the door with a weighty laptop in her hands. "Did I miss something?" 

Penelope, predictably, screams down the house at the presenting of your bump. Then she cries, and for a while you're all unashamedly teary-eyed. 

[houseofccardsficrecs]

spencer is so cute in this omgggg (yes this is a hotch fic but im allowed to obsess over mu favourite nerd too)

[luveline]

Hi lovely!

I saw you’re looking for Hotch requests and I think I requested one before but I forgot what it is oops.

Could I please have one where Jack calls R mom for the first time and she feels super guilty about it but Hotch is super sweet.

Thanks!

ty for requesting 💞 fem (mom and stepmom!) reader, 1.4k

You’re obsessed with your little baby, but you’d loved Hotch’s son for a long time before you had your own, and you’ve continued to love Jack as your own regardless. If anything, having a baby only cemented that you love him. 

Though you’d never disrespect his mother or what she gave up for him, you’re a parent to Jack. When Hotch is home, Jack is home, and when he isn’t you have Jack four days out of the week anyways, splitting him lovingly with his Aunt Jess. You take care of him and you love to do it; being his stepmother is a gift. You love Jack. 

And he loves to cuddle. 

“Rub my hair,” he demands sleepily, crushed as far into your neck and chest as he can be without pushing his brother out of the way. 

“Say please,” you say, already bringing your hand up where it’s sandwiched behind him to stroke the hair from his eyes. “Like this?” 

“Thank you.” 

He’s pretty much always polite when he’s not tired. Which has little to do with you and everything to do with Haley and Hotch, you’re sure, he’d been a picture of a golden child the day you met him and besides the occasional tantrum or naughty spell, he’s a grateful child. He says thank you for things you want no thanks for, when you towel dry his hair at night for bed, or when you help him into his socks. He once said thank you for a kiss on the cheek, as if it wasn’t something you’d wanted to do. 

“You’re welcome,” you say softly, brushing a stray strand of hair from his brow. “Can I have a little kiss?” 

You kiss his brow when he smiles, letting your eyes flutter closed, nose still pressed to his skin. 

“I love you, mommy,” he says, wrapping his arm around your neck with a sleepy snuffle. 

You struggle to answer. The baby gurgles against your chest.

There has been a lot of mommy talk lately. Hotch is calling you mommy often now that the baby’s born, cutesy stuff like, There’s mommy! when you come back from a shower, or How’s your mom? when he’s home from work and he wants to hold the baby, but he wants to check on you at the same time.

He’s never called you Jack’s mom, but Jack’s six. He was bound to get confused, or to feel new feelings, though you weren’t expecting him to do it right now. 

Eventually, you figure you’ll do what’s best for Jack even if that best isn’t something you deserve. “I love you too, baby.” 

“Are you falling to sleep?” he asks. 

You have arms full of children and Hotch will be home any minute if what he said on the phone is true, so you won’t. “Maybe not yet, but you can sleep if you want to. I’m sure dad will wake you up when he gets home.” 

Jack settles in with the baby. Your promise gives him the solace he needs to sleep.

…What if Hotch is angry? 

You’ll tell him what happened, of course, because you don’t have secrets with each other, and even if you did this is something he’s owed, right? He’s been completely candid with you about everything, how he loved Haley, how he feels he failed her in more ways than her death, and how he loves her still. 

You don’t feel like you’re competing for his loyalty or affection, it’s simply clear that he respects Haley’s memory very strongly. What if you tell him what Jack said, and what you hadn’t said, and he’s furious? 

The door opens downstairs. Hotch calls hello, but with Jack and the baby both sleeping, you stay quiet in fear of waking them. You listen to him do a familiar dance, the click of the safe where he retires his firearms, the rushing water of the faucet as he makes himself a glass of water, and then a second you assume to be for you. 

You shuffle Jack from your chest gently, pulling the baby into the curve of your arm and depositing him with an overabundance of caution into the crib. 

You hurry to the door, finger on your lips, startling your husband on the last stair. 

“I need to talk to you about something,” you whisper. 

He gestures for you to walk back down with him. He’s unperturbed by your worry, two glasses in one hand so he can use the other to feel at your shoulder as you take the stairs in front of him. “What happened?” he whispers. 

“It’s–” You wince, descending the stairs with a distinct sense of nausea. “Can we sit down? I’ll make you something to eat.” 

“I’m fine,” he says, following you to the kitchen, where you sit in adjacent chairs at the dinner table. 

You brace your hands on a placemat. 

He laughs and takes them into his own. “Nothing you tell me is worth all this worrying.” 

“It’s about Jack.” 

His smile fades. “What about him, honey?” 

“We were upstairs… You know how he is, he climbed on top of me and we were cuddling because Noah finally fell asleep, and,” —it’s best to just tell, even if you feel clammy and guilty before you’ve admitted to it— “he called me mommy. I’d never tell him to, I promise.” 

Hotch brings his hands up slowly, yours raising with them where he’s holding your wrists. “What did he say?” 

“He said he loved me. ‘I love you, mommy.’” 

“What did you say?” 

Your grimace is apologetic, eyebrows pinched. “I said I loved him too.” 

“And you’re worried that’s not okay?” You nod. “It sounds to me that he was just telling you how he feels. When you wake him up in the mornings and you tuck him in at night, and you’re the person he goes to when he needs a bandaid, you must feel like his mother.” 

“But I’m not.” 

“No.” His dark eyes are relaxed, his brow only a shade of its usual downturn. “Haley is his mother, and she’d love how you treat him. He will always, always know who his mother is. But if he wants to call you mom, a woman who loves him and looks after him with the same tenderness as you do your own, then I think that’s okay, especially with Noah getting older… How do you feel about it?” 

“I love him.” 

He does that silly smile where he’s more happy than he’ll admit to, leaning forward, pressing your hands to his arm and then his lips. “He loves you,” he says. 

Hotch stands and offers a hug. When you take it, he sways you from side to side. “She really would’ve liked you, honey. It was me who let her down.” 

“But her baby calling me mom…”

“I know. It’s a conflicting feeling.” 

You let out a big sigh and slouch in his arms. You’re warm butter under his touch. He reacts accordingly, bending and cupping the back of your neck. 

“It felt awesome,” you confess. He might as well know. After the remorse, you were happy. Jack must really love you. 

“You’re very, very good to him. Just let him love you however he wants to, and I’ll make sure he doesn’t forget who his mother was, and how much she loved him.” 

You wouldn’t let Jack forget her either. 

Hotch leans away to dot a kiss to your cheek before he hugs you again. “How are they? The boys?” 

“Sleeping. Waiting for you to come home and wake them up. Maybe please don’t wake up Noah, he might sleep through the night tonight if we leave him alone.” 

“I won’t. I’ll see him in the morning.” His smile is audible. “I’m a little jealous, I think. Jack hardly ever says he loves me first.” 

“You clearly don’t cuddle enough.” 

“That,” he says, giving your hip a squeeze, “is a low blow. But I’ll allow it.” 

“You’ll allow it?” 

Another adoring sweep of his arms on your back. “You can say what you want,” he amends. “Thank you for taking care of things while I was gone.” 

He doesn’t need to say thank you, you’re a family, but you appreciate the gesture. “You’re welcome, handsome.” 

[hoe4hotchner]

Can you write a story where the reader, a BAU member, is on maternity leave after she and Aaron just had a baby? One day, she goes to the office to bring their daughter to visit Aaron, only to find him in the bullpen with the agent who replaced her while she’s been on leave. The replacement has a crush on Aaron and doesn’t know that he’s married to the reader. The replacement becomes jealous when she sees how much attention Aaron is giving their daughter and confronts the reader, but Aaron gets angry and ends up firing her."

Family first | [A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader | WC: 1.1k | CW: Fluff, mom!reader, they have a daugther, bitch of a replacement coworker who doesn't know her place.

As you stepped into the all too familiar bullpen you were met with the usual sound of phones ringing, keyboards clicking, and the occasional laughter bubbling up from conversations between team members. You hadn’t stepped foot in the office in months — your maternity leave had been an endless storm of sleepless nights, diaper changes, and indescribable moments of joy. Now, cradling your six-month-old daughter in your arms, you stood at the threshold of the office, taking it all in — realizing how little you'd missed working, as long as you got to spend your time with your daughter.

“Ready to surprise Daddy?” you cooed to your baby, brushing a soft kiss against her fluffy head. She giggled in response, her little hand grasping at your necklace — the one Aaron had gotten you with a charm of your daughter's initial. Her chubby fingers wrapped around the charm, and you couldn’t help but smile at her curiosity.

Heads turned as you had entered, and a wave of warmth spread through you as familiar voices from your friends greeted you.

“Y/N!” Garcia’s exclamation came first as she flew across the bullpen, pulling away from her conversation with Morgan, her colorful dress trailing behind her. “Oh my gosh, let me see that precious little angel!”

You laughed, carefully handing over your daughter as Garcia immediately began cooing at her. Emily, Morgan, and JJ soon gathered around, their faces lighting up at the sight of the baby.

“Look at those cheeks,” Morgan said, his voice soft as he tickled her tiny hand. “Hotch better have her signed up for karate classes already. Gotta keep the boys away.”

“Or girls,” Emily added. “She’s going to be a heartbreaker either way.”

You beamed at their affection, the team’s love for your little family filling your heart. “Where is Aaron?” you asked, glancing toward his office. The blinds were drawn, but you knew he wasn’t inside.

JJ nodded toward the conference room. “He’s in there, showing something to Agent Morrison.”

Your smile faltered slightly at the mention of Morrison, the agent who had been brought in temporarily to cover your leave. You hadn’t met her yet, but you’d heard through the grapevine that she was ambitious, skilled, and confident — maybe a little too confident.

You spotted Aaron through the windows, his back turned as he reviewed what you assumed were some case files with Morrison. He looked relaxed yet tired, his tie slightly loosened, though his usual air of authority remained in place. Morrison stood close to him — a little too close — her laughter ringing out at something he said.

Your lips pressed into a thin line, but you pushed the feeling aside. Aaron was your husband, your partner, and the father of the baby currently making grabby hands at Morgan’s face. You had no reason to feel insecure.

Morgan handed your daughter back to you as you went to greet your husband.

And still, as you approached, you couldn’t help but notice the way Morrison’s body language leaned toward him, her hand brushing his forearm as she laughed again. Aaron didn’t seem to notice — or if he did, he wasn’t encouraging it.

When you reached the conference room, Aaron glanced up, and the moment his eyes met yours, his entire demeanor softened.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice filled with warmth and surprise. His gaze immediately dropped to the baby in your arms, and he stood quickly, coming around the desk to envelop you both in a hug.

“You should’ve told me you were coming,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple before gently brushing a finger across your daughter’s cheek. She squealed in delight, reaching out for him, and he took her into his arms with ease.

“It wouldn’t have been a surprise if I told you,” you replied, grinning as you watched him cradle her. “I figured you could use a break.”

Aaron’s smile widened, and he kissed the baby’s forehead before turning back to you. “I always have time for my girls.”

Morrison’s voice cut into the moment, a hint of confusion lacing her words. “Wait, your girls?”

You turned to her, offering a polite smile. “Hi, I’m Y/N. Aaron’s wife.”

Her eyes widened, darting between you, Aaron, and the baby. “Wife?” she repeated, her tone almost incredulous.

Aaron’s arm settled protectively around your waist as he nodded. “Yes, my wife. Y/N used to work here before going on maternity leave.”

Morrison’s expression shifted, her initial surprise giving way to something more guarded. “Oh. I… I didn’t realize.”

“Well, now you do,” Aaron said firmly, his tone polite but edged with finality, hoping that your visit would make Morrison drop her antics.

The tension in Morrison’s posture was clear as day, but she pasted on a smile. “She’s adorable,” she said, nodding toward the baby. “You’re very lucky.”

Aaron’s grip on you tightened slightly. “I know I am.”

The interaction seemed to conclude there, and Morrison excused herself, claiming she had paperwork to finish. But as the day went on, it became clear that the encounter had unsettled her. You noticed her watching you from across the room, her eyes narrowing whenever Aaron’s attention lingered on you or the baby.

Finally, as you were gathering your things to leave, Morrison approached you near the elevator. Her smile was tight, her tone clipped.

“Can I talk to you for a moment?” she asked, glancing around to ensure no one else was within earshot.

You raised an eyebrow but nodded. “Sure. What’s on your mind?”

Her polite facade dropped almost instantly. “You don’t have to flaunt your relationship in front of everyone,” she said sharply. “It’s unprofessional.”

Your jaw tightened, but you kept your voice calm. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

She scoffed. “You know exactly what I mean. Walking in here with your baby like you own the place, acting like Hotch is your personal property… It’s distracting and completely inappropriate.”

You blinked, stunned by the audacity. Before you could respond, a familiar voice cut through the tension.

“Agent Morrison.”

Aaron’s tone was ice-cold, and you turned to see him standing a few feet away, his expression thunderous. “A word, please. Now.”

Morrison’s face paled as she stammered, “I… I didn’t mean…”

“My office. Now.”

You watched as Aaron led her away, his posture stiff with fury. The bullpen had fallen silent, and you could feel the eyes of your colleagues on you, but you held your head high, refusing to let Morrison’s pettiness rattle you.

Minutes later, Aaron returned, his expression softer but still serious. He placed a hand on your arm, guiding you toward the elevator. “Let’s go home,” he said quietly.

As the elevator doors closed, you glanced up at him. “What happened?”

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Morrison won’t be returning. Her behavior was unacceptable, and I made it clear that we won’t tolerate that kind of attitude here.”

You nodded, your heart swelling with gratitude and love for the man beside you. “Thank you.”

Aaron’s eyes softened as he leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead. “No one disrespects my family,” he said firmly. “No one.”

[houseofccardsficrecs]

protective aaron yesyes

[goorgeousz]

girl crush | aaron hotchner

pairing: aaron hotchner x bau!reader summary: beth is coming back from hong kong and you feel like hotch’s feelings are slipping away, so you decide to do it first. content/tw: brace yourself, it’s a long one! established relationship, beth’s coming back, jealous!reader, oblivious!hotch, dave being a father figure (love him), very angsty (at least my attempt), alcohol consuming (barely), lots of crying, happy ending, lmk if i missed something! word count: 7.3k (stfu challenge level impossible) a/n: based on this request! this one goes for my people who feel like they have to remove themselves from the situation for things to be okay. know that you are important, wanted and loved! if you ever had a girl crush, sending you an extra hug and much love! hope you like this one💗🪽 dividers by @uzmacchiato

masterlist

The smell of bacon and toast fills the air even before you step into the kitchen. 

Aaron is there, scrambling eggs with his shirt still unbuttoned and his hair damp from the shower. He glances up when you step in, already dressed up “Didn’t have time to make coffee.” he explains, nodding to the empty coffee pot plugged on the counter behind him. You shake your head, squinting your eyes at his face.

“Aren’t you at least a little bit embarrassed?” you tease, already starting to brew the coffee beans. It has been almost a year since he bought it – following your suggestion – and he never even cared to learn how to use it. Not that he needed to, really. You were always there to do it for him.

He pressed his lips together in a mocking reflective expression, just to shrug his shoulders “Not really, no.” you just chuckle as the two of you move in sync to finish preparing breakfast.

Just as the eggs were ready, his phone rang all the way to his bedroom. As an old man who still hadn’t created the urge to be glued to his phone 24/7, you took over the bacon pan as he faded into the hallway to pick up.

You were so focused on your task you didn’t realize he was taking too long. It wasn’t until you filled both of your plates and mugs that you noticed he didn’t come back. Your first reaction was too tense, to go after him and check what was wrong, but soon after you heard his laugh, loud and strong, making its way towards you. So, no emergencies.

Sensing it was probably Sean, your boyfriend’s brother, or maybe Rossi with a gossip – something you learnt after you started dating Hotch: the two older men at the BAU were gossipers. Penelope Garcia level gossiper – you stayed back, giving them privacy to chat. Ignoring all the etiquette lessons you had, you started eating alone. At least one of you should enjoy the warm food.

Just when you took the last bite you heard him stepping back into the kitchen, a ghost of a smile still present on his face “Hey, you chatty” you teased. He chuckled, sitting beside you on the stoll and drinking a sip of coffee “Who was it?” your curiosity got the best of you, even though you knew he was going to tell you either way.

“Beth!”

Oh.

“Oh”

“Yeah.” he agrees, taking a bite of the toast, completely oblivious to the gut wrenching feeling taking over your senses “She called me to say she’s coming back. From Hong Kong.”

Oh (but harder).

“That’s… good?”

“It’s great! She got to transfer back for a promotion, with a higher salary and getting to be close to her family.” he explains, sounding way too pleased with himself.

“She rocks.” you cringe immediately, not knowing what the hell you meant by that.

“Right?” fortunately – or not, that’s up to the eye of the beholder – he remained completely clueless to your awkwardness. “Jack’s going to lose it when he hears it.” he said, chuckling to himself.

You hate how hearing this makes you twice as jealous.

“Y’think Jack remembers her?” you wonder, pretending to be unbothered as you wash your dishes in a way to distract yourself. He stays silent for a second, and you hope he’s not picking up on your selfish rotting for the worse.

“He does. Last time she face-timed me, Jack took over half the call.” he says, his voice suddenly closer to you. He takes the dishes from your hand, gently pushing you to the side “That’s on me.” he points kindly, taking over the dishes. You step away, hoping he didn’t feel the sound of your heart breaking.

They face-time each other? Is Jack a part of this? By the way he said it, it seems like a frequent occurrence. Where were you all those times? How could you miss that?

Is this cheating? Objectively speaking, if it was cheating he probably wouldn’t be so blunt about it. And he’s probably the most loyal person you know.

So why does it feel like cheating? Why do you feel betrayed? Why do you feel so jealous?

Trying to take a hold of the situation, you fight to appear normal, trying your best to hide your anxiousness and all of self-doubt, at least while you figure your feelings out. Otherwise you’d probably end up locked in a mental asylum.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

It turned out the mental asylum would probably be a nicer place to be than your own head right now.

As the day passed by, you started to notice how excited Aaron was for Beth’s arrival. If you missed their calls before, you definitely weren’t now. Every other day you stumbled on him somewhere in the house, his phone balanced between his shoulder and his ear while he finished a task.

When it wasn’t the calls, it was the texting. He would send her pictures about things she liked and places she missed. She would always send a picture of everything that was different over there, ask silly questions about the job or about Jack. 

And Jack was a whole other problem. Not a problem, actually. But his obvious adoration towards the woman made you bitter. You found yourself losing your appetite more often than not every time Jack asked about her in the middle of dinner or lunch. Which was a horror on its own, but it was even worse because every time he did it, soon after the meal ended Hotch would call her to tell her about it.

You felt like an outsider.

The worst part was that it wasn’t even their fault. Everytime you walked by him, he asked you to join the call, pulling you to sit with him and chat with the woman on the other side of the screen. She would ask about you, about your likes and dislikes. She would joke about Hotch, about his sleep myoclonus, about his ability to fall asleep in the first few minutes of a movie.  You laughed with her, making fun of his antic habits as if sharing that with her didn’t feel like a knife in your gut. 

When she finally came back, it was, somehow, worse.

Hotch insisted that you’d tag along on their catching ups, you hang with them as she went out with the team. You had playdates with her and Jack.

It was now safe to say: you hated Beth. And you were completely obsessed with her.

You watched the way she spoke, the way she dressed. How she smiled, how she laughed. The exact color of her lipstick, her haircut. 

When her nails were perfectly made. She was so elegant. You started doing your nails weekly.

Next time you saw her, her nails were chipped and two of them were broken. She was so carefree. You cancelled your membership at the nail salon.

One would think Beth was a frequent character in Hotch's life. She really wasn’t. With all the cases, Jack and his relationship with you, he barely had time to actually hang out with Beth. But there was no point, and the damage was made.

Ever since he took that call, she made her way into your head, building her own little house with a balcony and a white fence. Even if she wasn’t around, your mind made sure to think about her. You hated hearing her name, but you secretly hoped it would come up in the middle of the conversation.

When his phone rang, you braced yourself, preparing for that gut wrenching pain you were oh, so familiar with. 9 out of 10 times, it wasn’t her. But 1 out of ten times, it was. And when you hear him calling her name, smiling easily at the speaker like she was seeing him, you felt your world fall apart, and what a comforting sensation that was.

You had no idea how you could crave someone as much as you craved her.

You wanted her gone.

The thought came to you out of nowhere, in the middle of the night. You were sleeping on his bed – almost yours by now – and his body involuntarily jerked. And there it was: another sleepless night. You were reminded of her, and now you were cursed to spend the rest of the evening wondering if she slept on the same side of the bed you were in, on how she would react. Would she laugh? Would she wake him? Would she pretend she didn’t see it?

It was maddening. It had to stop.

It wasn’t going to stop. You had to get out of this.

When the thought came, it stayed. You haven’t thought about it before, but you knew it. It had to be done. There was no way you would survive this. There was no way you could compete with this, with her. They understood each other to a degree you could never. They were the same age, and had the same references. They were both divorced, they had experiences you still haven’t had. You hated being outside of their inside jokes, even if said jokes were whatever was fashion in the 70’s.

Truth to be told, you wouldn’t even be with him if she hadn’t moved out of the country. And now she was back, reclaiming her old apartment, her athletic habits and his heart.

You weren’t dumb. You could see he loved you. But he loved her too. And you wouldn’t settle for half. Even if it killed you inside.

Besides being younger than Aaron – and Beth – you were very mature. Mature enough to understand that you shouldn’t make a big deal out of this. You knew, usually, the right thing to do was to talk about your feelings. To explain where you were coming from and make changes in order to keep the relationship alive.

But how could you go to the man you loved and beg him to not fall back in love with his ex? What exactly do you want to achieve by talking to him about it? He wasn’t doing anything wrong, you know that much. He would probably just stop talking to her ‘if it meant not making you insecure’, but you know very well how that would turn out. You didn’t want it to end with a fight, and you didn’t want to feel like you had to put up a fight to keep the man you love. You didn’t deserve that, and neither did him.

So, piece by piece, you started to make your way out of Aaron’s life.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You usually spent the majority of your time in his place. And you started to change that, slowly starting to spend more time in your rented apartment than in his. Piece by piece, you started to move back your clothes. First a blouse, then a pajama. Evolving to your dresses, shoes, and your products.

It was going by unnoticed, until after you moved almost all the products on your side of his bathroom’s cabinet. A wednesday morning, while getting ready to work, you opened it to find everything back where they belonged.

You stayed there, shocked for a few seconds, your heart racing. The toothbrush inside your mouth is frozen, the minty foam starting to burn your gums. Aaron stepped on the bathroom behind you, fixing his cufflinks and looking at you through the mirror.

“Oh, I saw you ran out of them.” he explained, casually pointing at the new stack of products, completely unaware of your mind short circuiting “You didn’t restock, but I remembered them from last time. I had to go to the drugstore anyway.” he shrugged, reaching for his cologne and stepping out like he didn’t just shatter your whole world.

Later, when your tears smudged your mascara, you just said you choked with the mouthwash.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

After a while, you’d spent so much time on your own place that Aaron started to miss you. Not only that, he questioned it. One specific morning, you were in the shared kitchen in the BAU mixing a bowl of yogurt with cereals and fruits when you felt a pair of large hands clinging to your hips. Yelping in surprise, you turned to face your boyfriend.

“Hey, you scared me.” you chuckled, picking up the bowl to put something between the two of you.

“I miss you.” he said, simply. He wasn’t whining, or complaining, or even trying to talk you out of your devious plan – not that he knew about it. He was just stating a fact, as clear as the day, the same way and tone he announced a profile or call a meeting.

Not knowing what to answer without breaking into tears, you stuffed a spoon full of greek yogurt, granola and strawberries into your mouth. While you did it, you mumbled something he couldn’t comprehend. Figuring you said you missed him too, he just moved on, leaning over your head to reach for the cabinet.

“Can I take you out for dinner tonight?” he asked, grabbing the freshly made coffee and filing his mug “It’s been a while since we left the house.”

You swoon at him, taking a deep breath before answering “It has. But I have plans.” you grimaced “Girls night.” you explained, chewing on the granola for longer than needed.

Aaron stopped for a second, his steaming mug already halfway to his lips. “Oh.” He wasn’t the kind of boyfriend to be in the way of your life, but he usually was aware of your plans. Not in a controlling way, but by knowing you, talking to you. And he was just realizing how it felt not knowing. He hated it. Not being a man to give up, he quickly came up with another idea “I can make you that BLT you like while you get ready.” not seeing you immediately jump with joy – as you usually do when BLT is mentioned – he suggested “Or we can stop at McDonalds drive-thru when I pick you up later.” 

Your heart did a backflip and shattered in a thousand pieces with the sight of his puppy eyes, expectantly looking at you.

“Oh that sounds lovely. But the bar we’re heading it’s the one across the street from my building. We’re walking there.” you explain, placing a hand on his chest gently, fixing the lapels of his suit. He looked down at your hands, fighting the urge to pull you by his arms and lock you in there. He wasn’t sure what was happening, but his gut knew something didn’t sit right.

“Text me when you get there. And when you get home.” he says, more a statement than a request. Your safety was not negotiable. You nodded, stepping closer to him and giving him a quick peck on the side of his jaw.

“I promise!” and you meant it, winking at him as you move to leave the kitchen.

Just as you step outside the perimeter, you almost bump into Rossi, who’s just standing there with his hands buried in his pockets and his eyebrow raised so high it was almost blending his hairline. Not ready to handle his piercing gaze – knowing you’d crumble at the first couple minutes –, you just nodded and gave him one of your best polite smiles, speeding your pace all the way to your desk.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

After you knocked twice on the office door, you stared at the words “David Rossi” engraved on the metal platter in its center as you waited for him to open.

When he did, you were surprised to see his office drowned in low light coming from the lamp on his desk and the moonlight peeking through the widow.

“You wanted to see me?” it meant as a statement: he did ask to see you. At first, you were sure it had something to do with the case you were consulting, the topic you and him were talking about during dinner. What confused you was that the setting looked anything but professional, if the expensive bourbon bottle and the two glasses sitting on the table wasn’t enough of a tell.

“Yes. Come in.” he said, waiting for you to walk into the office to close the door. You stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, waiting for him to take the lead. Unaware – or, most probably, choosing to ignore – your startled state, he slowly made his way to the couch on the back of the room, filling up both glasses before sitting comfortably.

Taking one of the glasses, you sat beside him, pressing your lips together and trying not to bounce your leg to ease the tension.

“How was girls night?” Rossi asks, raising his glass to his lips. He didn’t even look at you as he waited for your answer, his tone almost mocking you.

Having absolutely no idea what he was going with this, you decided to play along “It was fun.”

He nodded “I see.” You took a sip of your drink, trying to keep your posture. It didn’t work. As soon as the burning liquid settled in your stomach, you turned to face him. Terrible idea.

“Dave, what’s going on? What is this?”

“You know,” he started, completely ignoring your question “People may think about profiling as a criminal study. They think we have to learn about psychopaths, stressors, geography, and criminal patterns. That it’s about getting in the mind of crazy people and figuring them out.”

“And it isn’t?” you blinked, drowned by his speech.

“Oh, definitely. But it’s not just that. It’s about studying people. Feelings, motivations. Learning, understanding their behaviour and using it to figure out their intentions.”

And that’s when it hit you: he knew.

“We have an unspoken policy in the BAU: not profiling each other.” he began, turning his body to face you.

“So why are you profiling me?” you asked, voice edging and uneasy, desperately trying to stop him from putting into words. He ignored it.

“You’re breaking up with him.” Not a question, not a suggestion, and definitely not a doubt. “I know what this is about. Who this is about.” your chewed on your bottom lip, deciding on what to say.

“Please, don’t try to talk me out of it.” you beg, hating how weak your own voice sounds. He took another long and lazy sip, and you watched as the liquid clinged to his lips, the wet reflecting the low light of the lamp.

“I won’t.” he stared at you, his eyes squinting slightly “I’m here to encourage you.”

You frowned, your eyebrows pinching together “What?”

“Yes. You really should break up with him. You know, if you’re in such an unbearable relationship.” You roll your eyes, tilting your head back.

“Stop.”

“No, seriously. Do you think he’s what? Cheating on you with Beth?”

“What? That’s not what this is about. I know he’s not cheating.” you defend yourself, cringing at the topic of the discussion.

“Then what is it?”

“I’m just…” your eyes burn with tears harder than the liquid on your throat when you down the rest of the bourbon before continuing “I’m not her.”

“You sure? Under this specific light I could’ve swore…”

“Dave!” you whine, and he chuckles.

“Yes, you’re not Beth.” you grimace at her name, not bothering to hide your feelings anymore “Why are you saying this as a bad thing?”

“Because it is. She’s back now and…” you feel a tear striking down your cheek as you gesticulate “She just fits. She gets him.”

“And you don’t?”

You sigh “You must think I sound really stupid.”

“Oh, you sound absolutely ridiculous.” you look at him, looking at a smirk on his face. Before you realize it, you’re laughing as well, but in a weak and depressed way “Love does this to us. Make us blind to the obvious. Clouds our judgement and turns us into…” he gesticulates towards you. You roll your eyes, but you’re not crying anymore “I have three divorces, so you’d think I know one thing or two about failed relationships. And let me tell you: yours isn’t one of them.”

“You’re just saying this because you’re his best friend.”

“I’m saying this because I love you.” he stated bluntly, and you widened your eyes in surprise, not expecting this. “And it'll kill me to see you do something I know you’ll regret later.” he leaned closer, looking at you with a paternal love that made you uneasy “Hotch loves you, kid. Don’t try to assume things. Let him know.”

“It’s hard.”

“I know it is. It has to be, don’t you think?” he smiles, the wrinkle on the corner of his eyes enhancing his passion towards the subject “Or else is not worth it. But talk to him. You know him more than I do, but I’m pretty sure you’re seeing things out of a place of hurt, probably past experiences.” he nod his head in a knowing gesture “From what I see, you’re out of your mind if you think that Hotch would ever consider living his life away from you.”

You only notice the tear streaming down your cheeks like a waterfall when his fingers gently wipe them away.

“Sorry.” you mumble, and he shakes his head.

“Listen, if it doesn’t work out, it doesn’t. It’ll be fine too. You’ll be fine. But just don’t let it all go to waste before at least giving him a chance.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

It got to a point where you had to stop for a second to wipe the sweat out of your eyelids to see. By the time you reached your – Aaron’s – front door, your heartbeat had lowered to a normal rhythm and your skin was now cold rather than wet. You spent almost the entire night awake, tossing and turning on the bed. The night went so late it was almost morning, so you figured it made more sense to just get up and do something other than to lay in the dark with nothing but your loud and torturous mind.

Running, these past few weeks, were your loyal ally to your early mornings. That specific day, you just got back from an over two hour long run, finally feeling your limbs hurting more than your heart. As you walked in, you were surprised to find Aaron pacing around the living room, something crumpled up on one of his fist, a piece of paper in the other.

When he looked at you, his face was everything but stoic: he looked panicked, tortured, confused and, overall, hurting. “We need to talk” he said, quietly. If you listened closely, you could hear the way his voice wobbled in the middle of the sentence, like he didn’t actually want to talk. Like he wanted you to just be confused, and just ask what he meant by that, and that you weren’t being distant, he was just paranoid. Anything that could prove, beyond reasonable doubt, that you weren’t, in fact, leaving.

Despite all his silent wishes you just nodded, making your way to the couch “Yeah, we do.”

Hoping the sound of his heart shattering wasn't loud enough for you to hear, he made his way to the couch in front of you, distant enough for him to think clearly – as much as possible, under the circumstances. For a minute you just stared at each other, the weight of everything unsaid so heavy it could suffocate.

You glanced down at his hands, still not managing to understand what he was holding so tight on his fist. On the other hand, you could finally see what it was. Before you left the house that morning, already planning on staying out for long, you wrote him a note with the steps to use the coffee pot.

“Before we start,” he began, his voice hoarse. He clears his throat before continuing “I already know. So there’s no need to lie.” you gulp, shifting in your seat. You never lied to him before, but it was fair of him to point it  out. You weren’t being exactly honest. And even though you knew what he was talking about, it still surprised you when he finally said it out loud “When exactly you were planning on breaking up with me?”

Your breath hitched, panic rushing through your veins. It didn’t matter that you still weren't sure about what to do, there was no point in lying. Not anymore. It hurt you to think about it, but actually admitting to him was a whole other level of pain.

“I don’t know.” you answer weakly.

He blinks. And then chuckles.

When he dips his head down, you stare at him confused. The only thing you catch is the way his head shakes slightly, his fists flexing but never letting go of your note and the other white soft – looks fluffy? Is it a stress relief ball? – thing. Aaron tilts his head up and his eyes are full of tears. They are shiny and reddish, and you want nothing more than to make it all go away.

“Hotch,” you try, because just watching him crumble in front of you is not an option.

“Jesus! Stop calling me that.” he spat, frowning.

“Your name?”

“That’s not my name. Not to you. Not in here.” he adverts, the pain muffling the anger in his tone.

You chew on your bottom lip, trying to hold back the tears that are threatening to fall from your eyes. Sniffing as quietly as possible, you look at him “Do you think this is easy for me?”

“It must be!” he says, barely containing himself, “You’re doing it all behind my back, vanishing from my life little by little, until all I have left is an empty drawer with nothing but this shirt and a coffee pot I don't know how to use.” and you finally understand what he was holding on so tightly. It’s a plain silky pajama shirt. It’s the only piece of clothing because it’s matching short you – he – ended up tearing it in half on the first night you wore it.

“I left you instructions.” you point to the paper in his other hand.

“I don’t want to learn.” he looks disgusted at the paper, like it personally offended him “I’m not learning how to use it.” he emphasizes.

You try again “It’s not that hard.”

“I won’t.” 

That discussion was pointless, anyway. It is something to cling onto while avoiding the main issue. Sighing deeply in order to avoid crying, you change the subject “Listen, it’s nothing with you. It’s me.” you snort at that, because it’s that old cheesy and shitty excuse. But it’s the truth. “I’m just…” it’s all you manage to say before the tears blur your vision and you have to dip your head down to try and wipe them away.

His voice filled your ears, making you glance up to face him again. “I noticed that you weren’t being yourself, but I figured you’d tell me. It was something from work, or your family. I didn’t think it was this. It was us.” his voice weakens, and he has to gulp before continuing “Aren’t you happy anymore?” 

“I… there’s a lot going on.”  you feel your nose burning, and you stop caring if he sees the tears streaming down your face.

“Tell me what I did.” his demeanor changes, and he doesn’t look sad and confused anymore. He sounds energetic, urgent, demanding and begging all together “Tell me where I got it wrong, i can change it. I’ll do it right. I’ll do it better.”

Hearing this, combined with the raw desperation on his voice, so opposite from his usual calm and steady behavior, only makes you cry harder, and you don’t even try to wipe them away.

“You did nothing wrong. Nothing. I don’t want you to change. I just…” a strangled hiccup interrupted your speech, and you feel ridiculous, weak, dramatic and lonely. You want this to end, but also you want this to have never happened. “I shouldn’t feel this way in a relationship.”

He nodded, thinking. When Aaron speaks again, his voice is much calmer. Resignated, even. “So that’s it, then? You have your mind made up? Nothing I say will change it.” and it’s not a question anymore.

“I’m doing this for you, I want nothing more than what’s best for you.”

“Bullshit.”  he snapped, his words startling you “Why are you doing this? Is it the job? You said it’s not me. Is it Jack? Is this life too much for you? The responsibility of…”

“What? Of course not!” your heart aches thinking about it. It hurts that he thinks this, but you have no one but yourself to blame “I love Jack. I love our… this life.” 

He stays silent for a second, as if analyzing your explanation — or lack thereof. “Is it someone else?” you stop, and blinks. This is it. You won’t lie straight to his face. He stiffens, and it doesn’t need another word from you to understand. “Who is him?”

“Him?” you frown in the middle of your tears, so confused you stopped crying. “What do you mean?” 

“You said there was someone else.” he squinted his eyes at you.

“I didn’t, you did.” 

“You didn’t deny it. Who is he?” he insisted, his jaw tensed.

“Who do you think I am?” you asked, actually aggravated at his accusations “I would  never…” 

“Who is he?” he interrupts you, his eyes burning holes in your head.

“There's no he. It’s Beth.” 

Hotch’s jaw is immediately unlocked at that, the anger and betrayal completely subsided by complete shock and confusion. “What? You and… Beth?”

“Huh?” you were the one left in confusion now. How did he get to that conclusion? For a second, you didn’t feel the excruciating pain and humiliation from admitting your feelings to him “No. You and Beth.”

“What do I have to do with this?” he asks, his confusion turning to aggravation once again “You don’t like our friendship? That’s why you're breaking up with me?”

Now, said excruciating pain and humiliation were back on its full force. You ignored the lump on your throat, taking a deep breath and explaining the situation in the most sober and objective way possible. “I realized you and her fit more together than me and you, and…” your voice faltered as you saw his outrageous expression “...the two of you only broke up because she moved away. You’re all happy that she’s coming back. I just figured…”

“What?” he interrupted, his voice sharp and edgy “That i’d break up with you to be with her?” asking like it was a ridiculous thought. You stayed silent, because that was exactly what you thought. He huffed an incredulous laugh through his nose “Jesus. Did I ever give you a reason to question me? Or my loyalty?” he accused, his voice showing more worry than anger.

“No. Actually I don't know if you’d break up with me. That’s why I saved you the trouble.” you shrugged, trying not to show how much it hurt you to say it.

“Jesus fucking christ.” he muttered, pintching the bridge of his noise “Are you even hearing yourself?”

“Stop talking like I'm insane.” you snapped, losing your patience “You’re the one making phone calls, facetiming and going on dates with your ex girlfriend. I saw you when the two of you broke up. I was there. You were in pain. How am I supposed to feel? How am I supposed to handle this? How am I supposed to compete with this? Explain to me, Aaron. Because I have no fucking clue.”

The moment you stopped speaking, you realized you were almost yelling. It was the first time you let out your anger, your hurt. All the time you kept saying you were doing the best: for Aaron, for Jack, for Beth… Not once you stopped to think how much it sucked to be you, to deal with all of that. Yes, you could’ve talked to him sooner. But you shouldn’t have felt like that. No one should. 

When you asked him to explain, to tell you what to do, it wasn’t a fight. It wasn’t sass. You were actually asking, begging for him, for someone, to tell you how to feel. It didn’t make sense, none of this made sense to you. It was too overwhelming, and you just wanted it to be gone. You wanted to disappear.

You noticed too late you were crying, fully sobbing now, with one hand clutched to your chest, as if you tried to rip your heart out, and the other resting against your throat, trying to soothe the pain from talking so loud. You didn’t see how his expression softened, his anger melting into pure sorrow. He couldn’t believe he did that to you, that he, of all people, made you feel this way.

A few minutes had passed when he finally made a move. He got up from his couch and crossed the room, sitting right by your side. His knees were pressed against your thighs, his eyes filled with tears. His body and his soul were completely in surrender to yours. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, simply. “I should’ve seen it before. I shouldn't have acted like this. Or at least, talked to you about it. I’m not trying to make any excuses for the way I acted, but I need to explain.” he cleared, his eyes scanning your face every 10 seconds, trying to find any hint of chance in your stance “The thought of someone other than you, in a romantic way, is so out of my reality that I didn’t even considered her a ‘threat’. Not that she, or anyone, is a threat. But I really didn’t see the situation as something that could’ve hurt you. And that was my first mistake.”

“She knows you in a way that I can’t.”

“You know me in a way no one can.” he argued “You were my subordinate, then my work colleague, my friend. Now you’re my best friend and my family. You’re the woman I love.” he gulped, flinching at his own words and feeling the hot streak of a lonely tear falling from his eye. The one he couldn’t hold back. “I don’t want you going back to being less than that.”

Your posture didn’t show any kind of surrender. But he didn’t see resistance either, and when you turned to face him, he noticed that you didn’t keep arguing and just waited to listen. Taking it as a good (the best yet) sign, he pressed further.

“There’s nothing going on between me and Beth. She happened to be the first friend I’ve had outside of the job for a long time, that’s all. I don’t know if it will help to hear this,” he tried, hesitantly “...but her leaving wasn’t the only reason why we broke up.” seeing your questioning expression, he kept going “We came to the realization we worked better as friends anyway, and it was just a matter of time for us to end things. The moving just happened first.” he shrugged.

You opened your mouth to speak, but he anticipated your argument “Yes, I did suffer. It was a change in scenario, how could I not? But as I said, we knew it was happening. So what it hurt the most was actually Jack. I felt like the worst parent from giving another sort of mother figure just to take it away from his life. Again.”

Before you could think properly, your hand reached out to his, squeezing in a silent reassurance. He always doubted his parental skills, and you were always making sure to remind him how amazing he was. Even now, with your heart broken and your relationship hanging by a thread, you still found a way to comfort him. 

How could he lose something like this? Someone like this? How could he let you go? How could he make you feel that way? He had to press his lips together in a thin line to keep them from trembling, and to hold back the force of his grip when he squeezed your hand back, making sure he wasn’t hurting you as he not so subtly tried to hold on to you. To keep you from leaving.

“Honey,” he started, not even caring about his voice cracking. He couldn’t wait any longer, or lose any more chances. This was it. “I love you so much. I know this isn’t ideal, and I hate myself for ever making you feel this way. If not being with me will make you happier, then…” he gulped “...I’ll let you go. But if this situation is the only reason, please, don’t go. Please, give me a chance to show you how you’re the only one I want.”

You feel your tears running freely from your face, and you choke up a sob before speaking, your voice so weak it was barely hearable “I feel really immature.”

He laughs, but it doesn’t sound like he’s making fun of you. It sounds like he’s gone completely mad, like your admission was the water bottle after two days in the desert. It gave him hope.

“No.” he denied firmly, not letting go of your hand even for a second “Now that I think about it, if the tables were turned, I might’ve murdered your ex.” he whispered like a secret. It was so unexpected and so out of character of him that you laughed, surprising both you and him. He smiled from ear to ear at the sound of it. “I’m really sorry, I should’ve been more careful with the situation.”

“I should’ve just talked to you instead of jumping to conclusions.” you smiled apologetically. He ignores your attempt, looking deep into your eyes and calling your name with such a raw expectation that if you weren’t already seated, you would’ve fell.

“Did you change your mind?” you hesitate for a second, and he sees right through you “Tell me you have. I know you want to, I can feel it.” His voice is quiet, his words so soft spoken it feels like a spell. Only you know that you do want to be with him, now that is all cleared. “Please, give me a chance to make things right.”

You chew on your bottom lip as your eyes fill with tears again “I feel stupid.” you admit, and he wants nothing more than to cry his eyes out.

“Don’t say that ever again.” he leans in hesitantly, and when you don’t flinch or pull back, he wipes the tears from your face with the pad of his thumb. The other hand is still holding yours firmly “You were protecting yourself, as you should’ve. Thank you.”

“What for?” you snort between tears, not understanding what he could possibly be thankful for in this situation.

“Thank you for protecting and taking such good care of someone I love so much. Especially when I was too damn blind to see that she needed it.”

After that, there was no point of dragging this any further: you were completely and undeniably his.

He didn’t see it coming, his body jerking in surprise when you literally jumped to his lap, hugging him tightly and burying your face on his neck, sobbing and muttering apologies on repeat. His lips were glued to the crown of your head, kissing you repeatedly. His hands were all over you, touching from your feet to the strands of your hair, as if his body needed to feel you there, to make sure you were with him, for his mind to completely wrap up around the fact that you weren’t going anywhere.

Ignoring your words, he whispered his own, “Don’t you ever apologize. I should be the one apologizing. I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” and it’s the only moment his lips leave your skin “I’m sorry. I will never make you feel this way. If I ever hurt you like that again, and I won’t, I want you…”

“Don’t say it.” you cut him off. He ignores, once again.

“...to just shoot me in the face. Kill me.”

You chuckle weakly, lifting your head from his chest to face him properly “Dude, you gotta stop with the murder threats.” he arches his eyebrow at you, the corner of his mouth twitching in a smirk.

“Dude? Who do you think you’re talking to?” he asks, and his finger tickles your sides as the stubble on his beard tickles your neck. Your body jerks and twitches on top of his while you laugh loudly, but never moving away from his.

When he finally feels you learned your lessons, his hands rested comfortably around your waist in its rightful place. You sigh, looking at him.

“Promise me that you will always talk to me, and be honest about your feelings. No matter how ugly you think they are.”

“I promise.” you say as you wipe the wet off his face, and it’s just then that he realizes he’d been crying all along “Promise me that if your feelings for me change, you’ll communicate.” he rolls his eyes so hard it feels like they’ll hit the back of his head “Promise.” you insist.

“I promise.” he says, seriously. When you relax, he starts again. “Matter of fact, my feelings just changed.” you squint your eyes at his playful tone “A few minutes ago I wanted to stop by your place to get back the clothes you took. But now, I’ve decided you’ll be spending the rest of the weekend with nothing to wear but that shirt.” he says, leaning – without moving you away from his lap – to grab the piece of fabric he left on the center table.

“I have to get at least underwear.” you argue.

“If you behave, I’ll let you borrow a couple boxers.”

“Jack will see it.”

“He’s a kid. And they’re the exact same size of what you call your casual shorts so I doubt he’ll notice the difference.” he points seriously and you squeal, slapping his chest slightly.

“That’s rude. And humiliating.”

“That’s what you get for stealing.”

Your mouth hangs open for a second “I didn’t steal! I didn’t take anything from your house but my clothes.”

“This house is ours.” he stares at you deeply, waiting for his statement to sink in before continuing “So is everything in it. From the bedroom to the coffee pot and, therefore, your clothes. So, basically, you stole from us.” he shrugged, like he made a perfect point. You just laugh, choosing to accept it.

“I’m sorry for stealing.” he nodded politely and you dive back into his embrace, sighing happily “Can we stay like this forever?” Aaron tight his arms around you, his whole body answering before any words came out.

“I’ll think about it. But before that, we have to eat. You're probably on the verge of dehydration right now.” he points, standing up with you still in his arms, and makes his way toward the kitchen. He settles you in one of the stools and hands you your shirt “Go change while I make us breakfast. Now that I’ve learnt how to use the coffee pot.”

You gasp, widening your eyes in a mock-threat. Jumping out of the stool with your shirt already crumpled on your hands, you stomp your way to where he stands behind the stove, pointing your finger to his chest. “You can cook whatever you want, but don't you dare touch the coffee pot, Aaron Hotchner.”

Aaron does just as you said, beaming while frying the bacon even when you’re upstairs in his shower. Your shower. And both of you know, somehow, you’ll be okay.

taglist: all hotch @winyourheartemma all cm @s0urw00lf @deeninadream @khxna

[houseofccardsficrecs]

angst angst angst yes more please

[sunskisser]

hi san! congratulations on 1k lovely 🎉🎉 i'd like to request a 🐚 with the prompt "i couldn’t stop loving you. never, not even if i tried" with remus lupin. only if you vibe with it of course, but congrats again on 1k 🫂

neighbour!remus (who's moving) x fem!reader

“You’re sure you don’t want a drink?” Remus arches his eyebrows, looking up at you from his own glass.

You shake your head. You were feeling sad enough sober, it was hard to imagine how much of a wet blanket you’d be if you had alcohol in your system. “Nope, I’m good.”

He nods, relaxing back into a lazy sprawl on the ledge of his balcony. You’d be worried, but he’s assured you time and again that the railings were safe enough. 

You stare at him for a bit. Those scars you’ve come to memorise, kissing lashes as he blinked out at the skyline, you’d miss all of it desperately — miss him desperately.

“Rem?”

“Hm?” he hums in reply, setting down his glass in favour of pulling out a box of cigarettes. He lights one with ease, lighter clicking against concrete as he puts it down beside him. “Yeah, lovely?”

“Will you forget me?” you ask. You don’t mean to guilt-trip him, or ask him something he wouldn’t be able to answer, but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t terribly anxious about it. Remus had been your best friend for a while, your nice neighbour for longer. The thought of him not being a part of your life anymore scared you.

He frowns. “No, I won’t. Do you think I will?”

“I’m scared you will.”

His expression softens into something fonder, exasperation lining the crease in his eyebrows. “I won’t,” he says as he reaches for you, slides his fingers up to your elbow when you give him your hand.

“How do you know that?” you mumble, a mix of dread and sadness scratching at the back of your throat. “You’re my best friend, do you know? I’m too shy to tell you most times, but I really love you. I want you with me.”

“Oh, dove,” Remus murmurs, one part exasperated and three parts fond, tugging you towards him. He wraps his arm around the back of your shoulders, pulling you close into his side. “I love you too. I couldn’t ever stop loving you, you know?”

You cling to him greedily. “Never?”

“Never.” He gives your arm a squeeze. “Not even if I tried.”

That cheers you up a little, yearning slowing its flow through your veins. You close your eyes to press your face into his side, mumbling a contented “Okay.” 

Remus rests his chin on your head. “You will come visit me, though, right?” He taps your shoulder, a teasing lilt to his voice. “I’ll pay for the ticket.”

“Really?” your neck strains with the speed with which you tilt your head up to look at him. Your heart sparks with an affectionate sort of hope. “You will?”

Remus laughs, fondness settling like an ache in his limbs. 

“Nah,” he grins, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. He pulls you closer, almost like an apology for what he was going to say next. “I’m too broke for that, lovely. You’ll have to fund it yourself.”

san's 1k ocean odyssey

[houseofccardsficrecs]

sweet and fluffy omg thank you san my beloved this was amazing <3333

[blondykebarbie-deactivated20260]

James Potter x afab!reader (blurb)

Cw: reader is pregnant and emotional; james is a coddler; one mention of pregnancy induced nausea

Summary: your hormones get the best of you when james gets a haircut

You’re leaning back against the couch, hand running over your swollen bump, and fan blowing softly on you as you absentmindedly watch whatever is playing on tv. You don’t really know what’s happening on screen because you keep dozing off. This far along in your pregnancy, you’re too heavy to get much of a good nights rest. And, god love him, your husband doesn’t often leave you alone long enough during the day to nap. He’s been anxious since the day the test had two lines, but his worrying has worsened with time. You don’t mind it mostly- knowing it kills him that he can’t do more to help with the nausea or aches and pains that come with the gig. Yet, you’re thrilled for the hour or so of silence promised to you this Saturday afternoon while James goes out to run some errands. You sip on a glass of lemonade you fixed yourself and the baby kicks. He or she is a fan of the sugary drink and has caused you to crave it almost constantly. You’ve never had so much of it in your life.

You hear the front door swing open and the lovely baritone of your husband’s voice, “don’t even think about getting up!” He calls out, “I’ll come to you!”

“I can get up and walk,” you answer back with a huff, “I’m not immobile.”

His socked feet pad down the hall quickly as he emerges in the living room, “no! No! Don’t do that!”

Any other time you’d offer some sarcastic remark in return that he’d brush off with a laugh, but this time you can’t. Your eyes are fixated on something else, “your hair…”

James’ eyebrows raise and he looks up, as if he can see the curls on his head. He gives you a handsome smile, “oh yeah! I got a haircut while I was out cause it was getting too long for the summer weather.”

It’s certainly still floppy, but shorter on all edges. While before he’d need a headband for his morning runs, and you could even give him small pigtails, you’re certain now there’s no need for either. Your eyes fill with tears and James’ face falls.

“Baby, what’s wrong?”

Your husband rushes towards you, concern etched on his face as he cups your cheeks.

You sniffle and then the dam breaks, fat tears spilling down your swollen cheeks, “you cut your hair!” You wail pathetically.

He looks a bit bewildered at this and says your name so sugary sweet, “it’ll grow back, sweetheart!”

“But it was so long and pretty and- and” you hiccup, choking on another sob, “now it’s short!!!”

James tries not to laugh at the fact that you’re crying over his hair. He knows it’s just your hormones making you act this way, and he won’t mention it or tease you about it. It’d only make you more upset.

“And- Jamie- now I can’t put it in pigtails and- and- you can’t wear that headband I got you and-“

He melts even more and rubs his hand over your bump, pressing his lips to your slightly sweaty hairline, “sweetheart, you can still play with my hair, and I’ll still wear the headband all the time, I promise. I just don’t wanna be too hot in the summer. And I wanna see you, hm? My hair was getting so long I could barely see your pretty face.”

This calms you down a little and your sniffling slows. Your eyes are wide like a baby deer’s and shiny with unshed tears, “really?”

James kisses your forehead, and then your nose, and then your lips, and then your bump, “I promise, baby. And you know me, my hair grows fast.”

You nod and swallow, much calmer than before, “okay.”

You say it so meekly and James can’t help but tease you a little, mimicking your ‘okay.’ It makes you giggle and your husband’s face lights up, eyes twinkling with affection, “love you so much sweetheart.”

He presses a quick kiss to your lips, “now why don’t I refill this lemonade and then I can rub your feet while we put on your favorite movie.”

[houseofccardsficrecs]

this is so cute and fluffy omd i've been torturing myself with angst lately and this really made my day!!

[nereidprinc3ss]

be my angel

in which BAU fem!reader was injured on the job, but is refusing painkillers at the hospital. spencer thinks he knows why.

fluff (+a little angst) warnings/tags: established relationship, hospital stuff, reader got beat up by an unsub, discussions of spencer's past addiction, mentions of period cramps, reader ends up being administered some sort of painkiller a/n: another draft i found in my literal hundreds of pages of abandoned wips and fixed up cause it's cute, I hope you like!!!

Spencer is tearing through the hospital. They all keep saying you’re going to be okay, but what does that even mean? Why is nobody telling him anything? He’s not even sure he heard what the orderly at the front desk said, but his feet are carrying him with a strident purpose through the winding white halls, so he has to assume he at least subconsciously knows where he’s going. 

Finally he spots Penelope, a beacon in her candy-colored clothing, speaking to a doctor in hushed tones. Penelope sees him approaching and turns away from the doctor, looking harried and exhausted. 

“Is she okay? What happened?” Spencer demands, before either of the others can say a word. 

“She’s okay,” the doctor assures. “She was beat up pretty bad—concussion, broken ribs, some bruising that looks worse than it is. There was a clean shot through her arm, but—” 

His blood runs cold. Nobody told him you were shot. Why had nobody told him you were shot? 

“I need to see her.” 

The doctor frowns, glancing between the two agents. 

“I’m sorry, are you her spouse?” 

“Yes. No, not yet, I just—I need to see her, please. Now.” 

“Sir, unless she—” 

“Just let him see her!” Penelope practically yells. “She wants him here, believe me.”  

The doctor clenches her jaw and scribbles something on her clipboard. 

“Okay. Maybe you can try to convince her to accept some painkillers.” 

Spencer’s frown deepens. 

“She’s refusing pain management?” 

“We gave her as much ibuprofen as we could, but she refused anything stronger than that. She has to be in a lot of pain right now, and there’s no background of addiction.” 

“I’ll talk to her,” Spencer says, already twisting the silver door handle. He has a sneaking suspicion as to why you denied pain treatment, and it makes him feel incredibly guilty. More than he already did, after this entire debacle. 

The sight of you, bloodied and bruised and obviously suffering has his heart splintering right down the middle. Whatever meager semblance of a smile he can scrounge up and offer is reflected back to him on you—which only makes him feel worse. As always, you’re putting on a brave face. 

“Hey,” Spencer says quietly as he closes the door behind him. 

“Hi,” you croak. “How do I look?” 

He approaches, sitting on the edge of the bed and pushing your hair away from your face. 

“How do you feel? The doctor told me you wouldn’t accept pain medication,” he murmurs. 

You sniff. 

“I feel okay. Did she tell you it’s not as bad as it looks?” 

But your voice is so small, so wavery and weak, that he knows you’re lying. 

“Sweetheart...” 

You’ve been holding it together since the unsub beat you nearly unconscious. You held it together as he ran away, even got a couple shots in before he turned around and returned fire. You held it together while you sat against the dirty truck, bleeding out, not sure if your team was coming, and you held it together in the ambulance, and for the past thirty minutes in this hospital bed. But all it takes is one gentle word from Spencer, with that concerned, solicitous look in his eye, and the floodgates are opening. Tears spring up in your eyes and begin silently falling down your dirtied cheeks. 

“It’s okay!” you attempt to reassure him, affecting cheeriness even through the tears. “It doesn’t hurt. I’m fine!” 

He says your name soft and low and he tries his best to keep his tone even though he is liable to burst into tears or start yelling at someone (not you) at any minute.  

“I know that’s not true. You have broken ribs and a gunshot wound. I know how badly it hurts to breathe and how it feels every time you move your arm. That is too much damage for over-the-counter anti-inflammatories. You need real analgesics.” 

“I don’t,” you whisper. Your teary eyes make his whole body ache. He squeezes your hand—the one that’s not connected to the wounded arm. 

“Because of me?” You stare at him blankly, as if you’re shocked he was able to put two and two together. “I promise you don’t need to worry about that.” 

You sniffle. 

“But what if—what if they give me the drugs and I get all weird and it’s, it’s like... triggering for you, or something?” 

“It’s been a really long time since I’ve worried about that. I’d rather see you a little tired and out of it than in extreme pain and trying to pretend you’re not. You getting the pain relief you need in a medical emergency is not going to make me relapse.” 

“But I really think I could go without,” you begin, voice already tightening around a cry. “I’ve—I’ve had period cramps that were worse than this.” 

Despite himself, he chuckles. Goes back to stroking your hair. 

The laughter fades quickly. All the pain you’re in is so evident in your eyes. The dissociative glassiness, the tension around them, the bloodshot quality—he's seen it many times before, and he hates it on you. 

“Will you please tell them you’re ready to take something? They won’t give you Dilaudid. It’s too strong. They’ll give you something that I’d have no interest in anyway.” 

“Not funny,” you whisper. 

He ignores this. 

“Will you let me call the doctor back in?” 

You take a deep, shuddering breath—or at least, you try to, before you’re loosing a sharp squeak that deteriorates into a little sob. The ribs. 

Spencer doesn’t bother asking again, just gets up and begins to walk away as efficiently as his legs will carry him. You need painkillers and he thinks it might be fastest to just fetch the doctor or a nurse from the hallway. 

“Wait,” you plead.  

He stops. Reminds himself that you need him right now—not his medical opinions. Spencer turns back around and approaches again, crouching by your bedside this time. 

“What, honey?” 

“I don’t...” 

You trail off, overcome by something like fear in the width and shine and nervous dart of your eyes. Spencer knows, everybody at the BAU knows, that showing fear to a serial killer will get you killed that much quicker. During your time alone with the unsub, which is a can of worms Spencer literally cannot psychologically open right now, you had to put on your bravest face. Even while you were being beaten within an inch of your life. Even when you thought you were going to die, alone, and that your team—that Spencer—wasn't coming back for you. Because that’s the kind of thing you have to do to cope when you’re at rock bottom. But you were terrified. Petrified. That doesn’t just go away—and Spencer knows it’ll be bumping against the surface until it finds a way out.  

He has to remember that just because you look unafraid and you act unafraid doesn’t mean you aren’t. 

“You were so brave,” he manages after he’s sure he can say it without incident, swiping moisture from your cheek. “You did everything exactly right.” 

“I know,” you whisper, chin trembling. Spencer knows you, and he knows this kind of trauma well enough to know that you’re thinking, I did everything exactly right, and it wasn’t enough. I did everything exactly right and this is what I have to show for it. 

“But nobody needs you to act like it wasn’t hard, okay? You don’t need to pretend like it doesn’t hurt. You were so, so brave, angel. You don’t have to be brave anymore.” 

Your eyes squeeze shut, sending a new wash of tears over your tacky cheeks. A few moments pass. You say nothing. He hopes you’re not going to hide away inside yourself like he did. 

“Will you please, please, let me get the doctor?” 

At least this time you don’t immediately say no. 

“Will you come right back?” 

“Of course.” 

Finally, you nod your hesitant assent, and Spencer presses a careful kiss to your forehead. 

A few minutes later, the doctor—who was shocked that Spencer was able to so quickly change your very made-up mind—is back, and so is Spencer. It only takes a moment for them to determine the best course of action for you and soon the fist around his heart is loosening its grip as he watches some of the agony melting from your eyes. 

“Better?” he murmurs as the nurse who’d administered the drugs leaves, fanning his thumb over the underside of your wrist. You nod, already appearing sleepy. 

“Can you lie down with me?” 

He smiles at the way your words slip against each other, simply relieved that you’re able to relax and no longer in extreme pain. 

“Hospital beds aren’t rated for two people.” 

“Spencer.” 

It’s enough for him to climb onto the bed—not that he was ever going to deny you what you wanted to begin with. The fit isn’t exactly perfect—he's a bit too long and combined the two of you are just slightly too wide—but with some finagling it’s comfortable enough. Spencer has slipped his arm underneath you and your head is on his shoulder and he’s so glad to have you in his arms and so grateful that you’re okay he does something almost like praying in his head as he kisses your hair. 

“Hey. Ask me about my bruises.” 

“Why? Do they still hurt?” 

“You should see the other guy.” 

It’s dumb and it doesn’t make sense because you didn’t bother waiting for him to actually set the joke up—but he smiles dryly nonetheless. 

“Can you please give me... I don’t know, 36 hours before you start making jokes about almost dying?” 

“Clock starts now.” 

“Thank you.” He feels your lips curve into a half-conscious smile against his neck. It’s a wonderful feeling. “How are your ribs? Breathing feels okay?” 

“Mhm. Love breathing.” 

“Mhm. And your arm?” 

“Like I got shot.” 

“Well, that’s pretty much unavoidable. But not as bad as before, right?” 

“Right. Spencer?” 

“What, my love?” 

A little pleased puff of air warms his shoulder. He carefully rubs your hip. 

“Will you tell me how brave I was again?” 

He takes a silent, very deep breath.  

“You were incredibly brave. And smart, too. I’m really proud of you for how you handled that situation. I’m so sorry you had to go through that, but I don’t think anyone could have handled it better. Especially when you chose to stay put by the truck, instead of chase him. I know that wasn’t what you wanted to do, but it was the right choice.” 

“I thought you guys maybe weren’t coming,” you murmur, no hint of sadness in your smushed, flat voice—like you’re barely awake. “I waited half an hour and I thought you weren’t gonna find me.” 

“Angel, I will always find you. We didn’t stop looking even once, as soon as we noticed you were gone. I’m just sorry I wasn’t with Emily and Rossi when they got to you.” 

“’Nelope told me... she told me you got really angry and scary.” 

He stares at the ceiling and considers this. 

“I could see... how what I was feeling would be interpreted that way. I was pretty angry. But not at Penelope or any of them. I was mostly just scared.” 

“I’m sorry I scared you,” you whisper. “And I’m sorry if I made you mad.” 

“You did not. I wasn’t mad at you. And it’s not your fault that I got scared. You were just trying to do your job. None of this is your fault.” 

“She also said that you said fuck like... three times.” 

“Mm... doesn’t sound like me,” he evades. You giggle, and the sound is more a relief than any drug he could take.

“No, seriously, I’m so mad I missed it. I love hearing you swear. Tell me what you said—and you have to cause I’m all messed up so I get whatever I want.” 

He sighs in mock annoyance. 

“Well, she’s wrong. I only said fuck once. I used fucking as an intensifier twice.” 

You hum. 

“Sexy.” 

“Alright,” Spencer laughs, flushing as he moves his hand to your shoulder. “Go to sleep before I tell them to up your dosage, weirdo.” 

[houseofccardsficrecs]

protective spencer awww

[crescenthistory]

starry-eyed fear

pairing: remus lupin x black!sister!reader

synopsis: being raised in the noble and most ancient house of black meant that you were still looking at shadows like ghosts, even in a healthy and loving relationship with remus lupin, the best boy you had met. when his bad day triggers your fawn response, he sees through you and tries to help you calm down. in the end, you wind up wanting needing your older brother.

wc: 5.1k

cw: fem!reader, no use of y/n, complex ptsd symptoms written by someone with ptsd, childhood abuse, panic attack, fawn response, trying to use sex to avoid anger, conversations around consent, reader's self-neglect, eventual healthy communication, breakdown, hurt/comfort, changing povs, remus' self-hatred, big brother sirius centric for parts of it, background prongsfoot, found family, fluff

You would never tell Remus that you could tell he was in a bad mood before he even entered the dorm – though, on better days, he already knew.

His feet hitting harder against the corridor outside, dragging as if his body was simply too much to bear, gave it away. Not to mention his contradictingly quick gait; one that would surely cause his hip pain to flare, pain he only ever welcomed when he was feeling particularly sorry for himself or angry at the world.

This close to the full moon, he was usually feeling both.

Perhaps part of it was on you, too. Perhaps your overt awareness of the moon cycles in an effort to care for him best, backlashed and made you anticipate the drops in his mood that could come with it, despite him not giving you an explicit reason to do so. Despite him never proving that he would be a danger to you on his bad days. You still needed to help, to make it all better, or you would remain uneasy. 

Sometimes in your desire to care for him, you were actually carrying out injustices against yourself that consequently hurt you both. A lesson you would come to learn today.

Upon hearing his footsteps in the hallway, upon feeling the deferred chill penetrate your spine, you sat up straighter in your bed. Smoothing out the blanket, you dragged your textbooks into your lap in favour of the novel you had been reading, to seem more collected and productive. A bright smile already coated your lips when his hand hit the handle, in a hope to quench any turmoil in his heart before he could even voice it.

Had his walk not given it away, his face would; Remus opened the door and slumped his entire body against the doorway as he stared at you with exhaustion etched into every beautiful crevice of his face.

“Heya, dove.” The words were raspy, as if they hurt clawing their way out of his throat.

“Hi, my love,” you whispered in turn. You put your textbooks that you had not been reading aside, making space for him on the bed. Open arms, guarded heart.

Remus was limping a little as he closed the door behind him – the slam making you flinch while his back was turned. He had forgone his cane today, and was evidently paying the consequences. 

Maybe it was because Regulus got a black letter from home earlier this week that he still refuses to show you. Maybe it was the fact that he showed Sirius who also refuses to tell you what it said, meaning that it had to be bad. Maybe it was caused by you barely seeing either of them – and thus not being grounded by them – this past month with how hard they had been training for the end of quidditch season.

Or maybe it was because once your brain is convinced there is something to protect itself from, it will continue to do so even long after the threat is gone and all you’re surrounded by is your sweet boyfriend and his kind brown eyes. 

Either way, you could not help but instinctively fawn over him as he slumped down beside you on your bed.

As soon as he dropped his bookbag by the end of the bed, he beelined for your side. You propped up the pillows, making everything ready for him, but the lanky boy chose instead to crawl up on top of you and collapse with his head on your chest. The weight usually helped ground you, but with your body already dysregulated, you found it stifling and hard to breathe. 

All of this was pushed aside in favour of your hand going up to scratch at his hair while your free arm caressed his back, soothing.

“You’re alright, sweet boy.” You willed it to be true, both for him and for you. “I’ve got you. Do you need any pain potions? A massage?”

Remus made a slight tsking noise that made it even harder to breathe. “Just need you, dovey.”

You loved him. Gods, how you loved him. And you knew he loved you. Why was the panic still rising in your chest, tingling in your fingertips?

You kissed the top of his head in response, tightening your hold on him and trying to force your body to soften. “Well, you’ve got me. All of me. Whatever you want, love.”

Remus buried his face further against your chest, tipping his nose up to brush it against the side of your neck. Tender. Sweet. Suffocating. He pressed slight kisses to the skin there, breathing you in. “All of you?” he asked, voice again growing hoarser, but this time with another intention.

You knew how to make everything okay. 

The smile you plastered on widened, just for him, just to make him feel alright, to ward off any irritation remaining in his bones. With gentle fingers, you moved your hand to his chin and lifted his head at the same time as you slid further down your bed, so that you would come face to face. It shifted his weight off of you, which helped you focus on your mission. Wordlessly, you brought him in for a greeting kiss, lips pressed against each other and then opening one another, diving in.

Remus’ breath hitched that way it always did when you kissed for the first time in a while, like he couldn’t believe it, then promptly melted. His strong arms came to wrap around your waist, pulling you further against him; and just like that, you were suffocating again, but you kept shoving it down. 

You led inquisitive, kind fingers to the hem of his ruffled shirt, sliding up beneath it and exploring the expanse of skin. Your lips moved together, Remus deepening the kiss further and you gifted him a soft moan for his efforts that saw him doubling down on them. You pressed your body against his, giving your all, as your hands only escaped to begin unbuttoning his shirt and loosening his tie. Trembling.

“Need you,” Remus mumbled against your lips before he began trailing his kisses down the side of your neck. You pushed his shirt off, successfully leaving him half naked, and quickly moved onto your next mission, which was unbuckling his trousers. “Gods, I need you. You’re so lovely, so good.”

You kept keening at his attention, making soft sounds you knew he liked. You couldn't say anything, though, too focussed on breathing. His tongue kissed down your neck, lapping at your pulsepoint.

It was then that Remus’ movements froze for a second. Lips pressed against your rapidly beating pulse. “Dovey?” he asked, tone still coated with desire, but checking in. You kept his face buried in your neck with a hand on the back of his head, so that he wouldn’t try to look you in the eyes. “You alright?”

You hummed in the affirmative, going back to exploring his body with your free hand. “Let me make you feel good,” you murmured, ducking your face down to his own neck, leaving open-mouthed kisses there as you slid your hand down his unzipped trousers, cupping him. He groaned.

Your movements were instinctual, habitual, but you didn’t realise how robotic they were. Even with his eyes squeezed shut in pleasure, hips bucking, Remus was beginning to pick up on it. “Mm, dove, w-wait a second.” It was all breathless mumbles.

You doubled down, grinding your palm against Remus’ length straining through his boxers, kissing down his neck and slowly trying to lower yourself with kisses down his chest. Kissing away his ire, his upset. His breath stuttered, but he managed to say your name, not as a moan but in an attempt to reach you.

What he did next made sense to Remus as a way to get you grounded again; it terrified you.

With a swift, kind movement, Remus grabbed your wrist and rolled the two of you from laying on your side to him laying on top of you. Your hand was removed from his trousers, and your face was drawn out from its hiding place, finally revealing your eyes to Remus’.

They flashed with fear for the one second you looked into each other’s irises, before you quickly averted your gaze. The unexpected movement, the sudden weight of him on top of you, the caging position you were in – it brought forth the hyperventilation you had been trying to fight back.

“Hey, dove,” Remus tried, voice unsure. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

You’re looking everywhere but Remus, breathing hard. This was not how you wanted this to go, not how you needed it to go. Your mind is suddenly yanked backwards, 2 years, 5 years, 12 years, through dark corridors and dark eyes zeroed in on you, shadows over your face, bruises on your body, pure and utter misery. He's angry, everything is wrong, you've done something wrong.

It was all you could do not to cry; because you knew crying only made it worse.

Though you didn’t see him, you could tell Remus had caught onto this sudden switch because his voice suddenly changed from uncertain to slightly panic as he said, “Hey, hey, my love, hey, you’re alright.”

He scrambled off of you, sitting awkwardly beside you instead, trousers still unzipped, the moment frozen in time. His hands hovering above you, wanting to comfort but not knowing how. Instinctively, you rolled your body to the other side, hiding away, as one arm wrapped around you securely and the other covered your face.

Hiding. What you always did best.

It broke Remus’ heart.

He whispered your name twice, voice breaking slightly. As he grew more determined, piecing together what was happening as best he could, he settled properly beside you. Your chest was heaving more and more violently, never quite catching your breath. “Dove, it’s alright. You’re safe. You’re safe, okay? You haven’t done anything wrong. But I need you to breathe for me, sweetheart. Please, breathe for me. Copy my breath if you need to.”

Remus didn’t touch you. He sat still beside you, all movements slow and measured, as he desperately tried to conjure up memories of conversations he had had with you or your bothers about how to help you through episodes. Going back to the first years of his friendship with Sirius where he held his hands through moments like this – well, maybe not exactly like this, but close enough. It was hard to think when he was this freaked out on your behalf but he had to try.

He breathed in and out loudly, slow movements, hoping to get you to copy him. You remained in your curled up position, struggling to catch on, but he wouldn’t give up. 

Grounding. You had told him about grounding, he had seen James do it for Sirius countless times after you all left. “You’re safe, my love. So safe. We’re in your dorm, it’s just you and me here. No one is angry, nothing is wrong. You’re okay.” He kept breathing for the both of you.

When he heard the violent sob that tore its way out of your throat, he thought for a second that he had said something terrible, that he had made the situation so much worse somehow.

Then, your voice rang through your head, confiding in him about how difficult it is to cry when you feel unsafe, how it only really happens when you’re with someone you trust.

He let out a sigh in relief – but it didn’t make the sound any less heartbreaking.

“That’s it, love, you’re all right. Let it out, do whatever you need. I’m here for you, okay? You’re safe.” Remus felt like he was reading off a list of what to say when someone is having a panic attack, which meant he felt like an utter buffoon, but you kept crying and you kept breathing, so he was at least not making it worse. 

“Oh, my girl, you’re okay.” He was fighting tears in his own eyes as he looked at you, ached to hug you but knew he couldn’t. “Can I come around to the other side of the bed, dove?”

He was expecting a no if not silence, but you emphatically nodded your head, another sob tearing from your throat.

Slowly, careful not to startle you, Remus eased his way off the bed and walked around to the other side, so that he could see your face without you emerging from your near-fetal position. He fully ignored his screaming knees and hips as he kneeled on the side of the bed, keeping his fingers interlocked on the mattress so they wouldn’t reach for you. Your eyes were squeezed shut behind your hand and his heart hurt more than his joints when he thought about what you must be seeing behind your eyelids.

He whispered your name softly. “My love, it’s okay. Whatever it is, it’s okay, you haven’t done anything wrong. Whatever you’re seeing in your head isn’t real, not anymore, you're with me.” His voice broke on the end, but he willed it back to its soft, sweet nature to calm you. “Can you open your eyes for me, dove? It’s not real, I am. I am. It’s alright.”

Tears were still streaming freely down your scrunched up face, but tentatively, with no shortage of hesitation or fear, you began to peel open your eyes. The second you could see Remus’ concerned, loving face through your veil of tears, you broke further, hand shooting free to clasp over his.

“Oh, Remus, I’m so sorry,” you sobbed. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

The feeling of your hand over his was a balm that empowered Remus to take further care of you, the stinging fear that you would be better if he left the room easing in his chest. He slowly turned his hands over, inviting you to clasp your hands together – sighing audibly when you did.

“What are you apologising for, sweet thing? You haven’t done anything wrong, nothing. There is nothing to apologise for. Just breathe for me.”

But you were shaking your head, cries intensifying. It looked like you wanted to say more, but couldn’t bring yourself to. Breath continuing to hitch.

“You’re safe, my love,” Remus murmured yet again, trying to catch your eye so you wouldn’t disappear into your mind. “I’ve got you, you’re always safe with me. I’ll leave if you want me to, but–”

“No!” you cried instantly, shaking your head. “No, please, please don’t.” Remus had already begun shushing you, promised he wouldn’t, but you continued. “Please stay. Remus, would you hold me?”

Remus didn’t point out that he had been until you began to hyperventilate, didn’t show you anything except an endless sea of understanding. He nodded and whispered, “Of course, my love. You’re sure I can touch you? I’ll hold you.”

You kept nodding through tears, shuffling back to make space for him.

Remus carefully slid in next to you, opening his arms so that you could position yourself how you wanted, scared to make you feel uncomfortable again. You attached yourself tightly to his side, mimicking the inverse of how you laid earlier, this time your head resting on his chest as you held him closely. He placed one hand on the middle of your back, a spot he knew made you feel protected, while the other wrapped your hand in his.

“Shhh, I’ve got you dovey.” Remus kissed the top of your head, slightly swaying you. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You shook your head as you cried, but even then you managed to bite out a few words. “I’m sorry. I knew you were upset and I wanted to make it better, I–”

When your sentence broke off with a sob, Remus tightened his hold on you, eyebrows furrowing in heartache for his sweet dove. “Oh, my love, you have nothing to apologise for. Nothing. You’re perfect, so sweet. But you never have to make me feel better, especially not like that.”

You made a hollow sound at that, and Remus continued. “Love, I would never want you to do something you don’t want to do. And I would never take my bad day out on you, you know that.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” The tone of your voice told him he shouldn’t have insisted that you knew as much; you were drenched in guilt and shame.

“No, no, my lovely lovely girl. You don’t get to be sorry, alright? This is not your fault. I’m not angry with you. I’ve never been angry with you.”

Vaguely, Remus was aware that stating absolutes like that weren’t healthy for you in the long run, that he shouldn’t reinforce that anger is inherently a bad thing. In this very moment, though, he could not care less about the long run and only wanted to bring his partner back down to him. He kept kissing your head, thumb brushing over the back of your hand. 

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” he emphasised again in a whisper, so quiet with his lips brushing against your hair. “You’re perfect. Just breathe for me, dovey, breathe. I want you to feel alright.”

You remained like that for quite some time, with Remus doing his best to ground you as your breathing finally picked up on his and slowed down, but your heart kept up its rapid speed, like it wanted to run away to where no one could see it. He hummed quietly, the way you would hum for him when he couldn’t sleep before a full moon.

“Can I ask you something absolutely awful?” You whispered at last, voice still choked.

Remus’ lips twitched where they were pressed against your hairline. “I highly doubt anything you could ask me would be horrible, my love; please ask me anything. I want to help you.”

You shook your head violently against him, making him tighten his grip on your back to steady you and protect you from yourself as shuddering heaves escaped from your chest. “No, it is. It is awful.”

“I will love you anyway. I will answer anything.”

Another sob escaped you as you opened your mouth but failed to speak. Remus kept humming against you, cradling you as he waited in patience. “Can you please–” You squeezed your eyes shut. “I’m sorry. Can you please– can you get Sirius?”

Get Sirius.

Remus almost wanted to laugh through the tears shining in his eyes at the sight of your torment. You were painfully endearing, even now.

“Sweet, sweet girl,” he murmured, peppering kisses against your forehead. “That is far from awful; that is lovely. You’re lovely. Of course I’ll get Sirius.”

You hiccuped. “I don’t want you to feel like you’re not enough,” you whispered through your continuing sobs. “I– no bloke wants his girlfriend to ask for his best friend when she’s upset, but I just– I need my brother.”

“Of course you do.” Remus squeezed you tighter, getting ready to release you. “Of course you do, my love. Luckily I’m not some bloke, okay? I’m yours. Yours. I want to help you.” Careful not to startle you, he starts untangling himself from your grasp, kissing every piece of skin near him that he knew you would be comfortable with.

“It’s just– he’s changed so much. Since. So when I see him, I know it’s over.”

Remus’ heart positively shattered for you – all three of you.

He pulled back enough to see your face, gently cupping your cheek. “I’ll run and get him, alright? Then I can leave you alone with him, or sit in the corner, whatever you’d like. It will just be a minute, are you alright to stay here alone?”

You nodded, but tightened your grip on his collar. When he looked at you in question you slowly leaned forward to kiss him goodbye – giving him time to pull away should he want to. As if he would ever want to. Remus waited patiently for your soft lips to meet his, the perfect gel for his wound.

“Just a minute, sweetheart.”

No later than he was out of your arms was Remus out the door, hastily pulling a jumper on and unzipping his trousers – his situation having calmed down somewhere between the tears. He made sure to close the door gently behind him, and then he was speeding down the corridor, heading for the boys’ dormitory.

A snowy layer of guilt and self-hatred began to fall down in his mind – how could you pick up on it so late, how do you always do the wrong thing – but Remus swallowed his pride and squeezed his eyes shut as he hurried. He would make it right by doing what you asked, by getting you your brother. That was the one thing Remus had zero qualms about; he would happily fourth wheel your pack of codependent siblings for eternity if it meant your smiles would continue to be more frequent.

For each step he took between your dorms, Remus made a new silent prayer that his mates had not stayed late at quidditch practice.

His prayers were quickly answered in the form of the unmistaken boisterous laughter of his three mates sounding down the hallway. Part of Remus, the one that still felt achingly guilty from the whole ordeal, felt a pang of fear of Sirius’ reaction. That his best mate would agree with his most cruel thoughts and claim that Remus had caused the heartbreak that was your current predicament. Though Sirius had made no threats towards him about dating his little sister, choosing instead to love and trust Remus, there was still an unmistakable weariness whenever your heart was on the line, in whatever way.

Remus hoped he had not deemed himself unworthy of that trust today.

Even if he had, he knew he would still hurry to get Sirius a thousand times over, if that would help you.

Out of habit, Remus knocked on the door twice before quickly pushing it open, not waiting for a response; it was his dorm too, after all. His eyes immediately landed on Sirius leaned back against James’ chest on his bed, cheeks rosy from practise and laughter. Meanwhile, Peter was sprawled out like a starfish on the carpet, in the middle of some deranged story that had the others in stitches.

All heads flew up with a smile when Remus entered, but Sirius’ brows were the first to furrow.

“Sorry, can I–”

“Everything alright?” Sirius interrupted, not to be mean but because he could not help himself. He sat up, detangling himself from James, whose hand automatically went to stroke his back soothingly.

“Yes, but could you come for a minute? She needs you.” Remus didn’t want to say too much here and now, both to avoid wasting time and because he didn’t want to expose your vulnerable plea to the other boys. He knows you view James like an additional older brother and Peter like a best friend, but this feels like a blood-kin kind of situation. A raised-by-Walburga-Black kind of situation.

Sirius elegantly shot up from the bed, squeezing James’ hand in parting without looking back as he sidestepped Peter’s messy limbs. It was an excellent choreography of movements, owed to ballet classes you both had told horror stories of, as Sirius swiped up one of his jumpers on the way to the door and squeezed out past Remus. A man on a mission.

Remus gave a tight-lipped smile to the two remaining boys as he closed the door, speeding after Sirius. The other boy cast a brief look over his shoulder, brows furrowed in concern. “Where is she? What happened?”

“In her dorm. She caught on that I had a bad day and it triggered her.” Remus struggled to keep up with Sirius, but he refused to slow down just on account of himself.

He was half expecting Sirius to ask him what he had done, to join the symphony of voices in the back of his head telling him that he did this to her. Instead, Sirius’ shoulders merely deflated a little as he picked up his pace.

By the time the two of them had made it to your dormitory door, Remus was out of breath while Sirius seemed to be holding his. The part of Remus that was just Sirius’ best friend was concerned about how watching his little sister, whom he adored above all else, having an episode might trigger him in turn. The part of Remus that was in love with you, though – which was all of him – was just grateful to be able to do something for you, anything.

Sirius gently pushed down the doorhandle, announcing himself immediately as he slipped into the room. “Babygirl? It’s me.”

Over Sirius’ head, Remus instantly spotted you, sitting upright on the bed but curled in on yourself. Arms wrapped around your knees that were pulled to your chest, forehead on your knees and shoulders shaking with tears and uneven breaths.

Your head picked up at the sound of Sirius’ voice, glistening eyes and deep-seated frown on display. You made a small sobbing noise that sounded like your older brother’s name.

In an instant, Sirius was by your side.

“Hey, hey,” Sirius whispered, in a voice so uncharacteristically soft it sounded foreign in his mouth, yet perfectly at home when directed at you. “Hey bébé étoile, what’s going on, hm?”

He climbed onto the bed, carefully dragging your body into his lap, so that he could cradle your head against his chest. You put up no fight, disappearing into Sirius’ embrace the moment he invited you in. The choreography from earlier continued, it was like you were born to be in each other’s arms, knowledgeable and comforting.

Remus stood in the doorway, mesmerised by the sight but unsure where to go. He could hear Sirius’ soft shushing, but not quite make out what he was saying, a mix of English and the French he usually refuses to speak.

With his hand on the doorknob, Remus was about to leave you two alone when he heard his name being called. 

“Rem? Could you stay, please?” Your eyes peered around Sirius’ comforting hand on the back of your head, an insecurity creeping into your beautiful irises that Remus thought had no business living there.

“Of course, dove,” he whispered, hurriedly closing the door – careful not to make it slam this time – and coming up to sit at the edge of the bed. He made himself comfortable as you disappeared into Sirius’ neck, whose attention had remained on you.

It was strange to watch you two like this. Independence was so important to you, going to unfair extremes to prove yourself stoic and strong and untouchable. And though you are the softest soul Remus knows when you are alone, he knows how much it means for you to stand your own ground.

While he didn’t think this lessened your independence in any way, it still felt out of place to see you looking so young. Curled up against Sirius, your hand cupping his ear and tracing every single piece of silver jewellery that was placed there, each a loud fuck you to the house you both survived, evidence of your departure. Watching you ground yourself with the cool metal and matching your breathing to Sirius’, your eyes closed as he whispered against your hairline, occasionally kissing it with a featherlight touch. 

It was beautiful. Remus felt a simmering pride within him for you both, for finding safety and unity in one another still, for, after every rough spot, to still be on each other’s team. His smile turned watery.

“You’re safe, bébé étoile,” Sirius whispered as your breathing evened out. “Remus isn’t like that. He would never be like that.” He looked up at Remus over your head, with an expression of gratitude and love. He didn’t even know how you were triggered or what Remus had done, yet he still felt those words to be true. 

Remus could feel himself being stitched into the fabric that was your new family.

You heaved a deep breath and sat up a little, still between Sirius’ sprawled out legs, but no longer leaning on him. With still slightly shaking fingers, you wiped beneath your eyes – and began to laugh. A soft, twinkling laugh that Remus couldn’t hold himself back from joining in on, at least not when he saw Sirius do the same.

“Phew,” you said in a quiet, yet exaggerated tone. “Almost overreacted to that one. Glad I didn’t.”

Remus chuckled more at your irony, but shook his head. He had the audacity to bump his knee against yours on the small bed. “No such thing, my love.”

“I for one think you should overreact more. Have you tried hexing him when you think he’s upset with you? That one always works for me.” Sirius made a clicking noise and winked at you.

Nevermind the fact that if Sirius ever had instinctively raised his wand at James, Remus knew he would have broken it in self-disgust.

You just laughed a bit more, falling backwards on the bed, arched over Sirius’ thigh in a way that surely couldn’t be comfortable but that he didn’t have the heart to comment on just yet.

Sirius seemed to agree as he smoothed his hand up and down your shin. “You landing yet, ma puce?”

You groaned. “Don’t call me that.”

He instantly grinned, looking over at Remus. “She’s landed alright.” He clamped down on your knee and jostled it a little for good measure, making you sit up, leaning back on your hands.

Just before he thought it himself, you declared, “I’m exhausted.” 

The endeared smile that spread on Remus’ face must have been sickening. “I can imagine, dovey. Feeling your feelings like that is no easy feat.”

“Yeah, well, you’re next,” you teased, but the gratitude still shone through your smile.

“Am I now? How will you enforce that?”

“I’ll give you something to cry about.” You transferred your weight to one hand as the other reached out to grab Remus by the collar and – gently, despite what it may seem – pulled him down to pile on top of you and Sirius. The latter faux shirked, as if the barely-there weight on his legs would crush him while you and Remus giggled.

It would be a while before Sirius went back to the dorm, well after you told him he could, a simmering concerned ache swimming in his eyes even as you teased one another. And even when Sirius did, Remus had a hard time agreeing to come with, despite the fact that your dormmates would be returning any minute and neither of them fancied detention for overstaying their welcome in the girls' dorm.

It was solved in true Black siblings fashion; yet another night of you crashing over at the Marauders’ dormitory. Unlike in your first years at Hogwarts when you would sleep in Sirius' bed, you stayed in Remus' this time. Though, Sirius still made his case clear. “No snogging in front of me – panic attacks I can put up with, but that is where I draw the line.”

If Remus stole a conciliatory, apologetic, lovestruck kiss or two behind the curtains at night, well, Sirius was none the wiser.

[houseofccardsficrecs]

this is actually the sweetest fic ever?!?! i love it so much 😭😭