roseandxander

[roseandxander]

https://www.tumblr.com/goldenboygate/748927575652515840?source=share

How about a blurb of happy tipsy/drunk Lando and reader on the boat and he's extra clingy and saying sweet funny things? Bonus points if she's caring for his bloody nose and he's looking at her with the gloomy sparkly eyes (we have all seen the pictures 👀🫣)

Note: the more content I see from this day, the more I think this is going in the books 😅

Cw: mentions a cut, blood, alcohol consumption

"Fill mine, please!", Lando asked one of the guys as he filled his own cup with some orange drink right on theme for the day.

When you said you'd join the celebrations for King's Day, Lando and Martin were the most excited for it and promised you one hell of a party indeed.

"Show me how you dance with your pretty hips! Baby, are my moves as good as yours?", Lando said as he swayed his hips from side to side, his knees helping him bounce slightly as he waved the cup around. The sunglasses didn't cover his blushed cheeks and big smile, but you were sure they were hiding your favourite pair of eyes, now probably squinty and glassy as he sang loudly.

"Yes, Lan, they're good", you shook your head as you laughed, letting him pull you closer to him so he could dance with you.

"My chest is full of love for you, baby", Lando whispered on your ear before he nipped at the skin there.

"We're out, Lando, there's other people here", you gasped even though you were enjoying his touches a little too much. Drunk Lando often meant an even clingier boyfriend.

"I don't care, I'm full of love for you - I love you!", he stated kissing your lips and everywhere on your face he could.

You turned around for a couple of minutes, approaching the edge so you could get a little bit of air and look at how everyone else was celebrating the day until you heard a gasp followed by Martin calling your name.

"What?", you asked before seeing Lando and his bloody nose, "Oh my word", you whispered as you approached him.

"We clicked the glasses and then this happened", Martin explained as you took a good look at the injury.

Even though it seemed like a little nick on the skin from the glass, it was bleeding a good amount, "Here's the first aid kit", someone said as they handed it to you.

"Does it hurt a lot, love?", you asked Lando as you rummaged through the bag to figure out what you had and what you could do with it.

"It's okay", he mumbled.

"Hold this, Lando, I need to find something to disinfect- we're in a boat full of alcohol drinks but medical grade stuff would be better I guess", you mumbled the last part, trying to read the label of the bottle and smelling them.

Once you look up after finding the rubbing alcohol and some cotton buds and pads, you see the gauze wrapped around his head, "like this, right, lovie?", Lando smiled, a genuine tinge of hope in his voice at helping you help him.

"Not quite", you laughed. You felt bad for doing so while he was clearly hurt despite not hearing many complaints from him.

"Let me put some steri strips - stay still, Lan, I need to see this upclose", you stated after cleaning the cut, applying the strips in a cross since you could see the skin was pulling both ways.

"Did you do it like an X? I felt that", Lando spoke, "X marks the spot for the treasure, doesn't it? I'm your treasure!", he cheered, "Taylor Swift says that it marks the spot where we fell apart, but we never fall apart baby, we're forever".

"You are, Lan, my biggest treasure", you smiled, "can you stay still for a bit longer though, please?", you asked gently still.

Lando complied with your request, staying still as you did your best to make sure the dressing was helping or at least not making the situation worse, "Is this your way of telling me you want me to get a rhinoplasty? Funny, it has rhino in it", he giggled before he attempted to make an elephant noise.

"No, baby, I love your nose just the way it is", you smiled, kissing the tip of his nose when you were happy with the improvised wound dressing, "there, all done! You even get a magic kiss for it to heal faster!".

"You're so pretty, you're really my girlfriend? Ah! Would you look at that, Martin? She's my girlfriend - I'm one lucky dude", Lando beamed at his friend before he kissed your lips, letting you sit on the edge of the boat, "you can sit there, baby, it's got railing to protect you from falling in the water - it's looks mucky", he made a disgusted face.

You sat there, glad to be able to experience these moments with your boyfriend and seeing his so carefree and happy. His PR team would maybe have to do some cleaning up, but at the end of the day, he was a happy young man enjoying his time off and he had the right to enjoy it.

"She is my girlfriend - Look, Y/N! Someone is recording us, say hi, my love!", he yelled, getting you to wave at a girl filming on another boat, "isn't she pretty? And she fixed my nose too!".

(Thank you for sending this in ✨️)

[roseandxander]

Could you do a Max blurb where he comes back from China and he gives Finn and Julia panda teddy bears as a gift for them

"PAPA!", Finn and Julia yelled as Max walked through the door, leaving his bags and suitcases by the stairs before he crouched down to hug them.

"I missed you guys so much", Max said as he cradled their heads closer to him, taking in their scent.

"We missed you too, papa", Julia admitted before kissing his cheek, "it tickles", she giggled as the touched the light stubble.

"Were you two well behaved for mama while I was away?", Max mused, walking with them to the living room after kissing the top of Finn's head.

"We were, but Luna and Sassy weren't!", Finn chirped in, "we came back from school the other day and the new plant grandma got for mama? It was on the floor!", he told the story dramatically, "we had to clean it up because there was dirt everywhere!".

"What naughty cats we have, hm?", Max giggled before you came up to him and kissed his lips, "hmm, hey, my love", he smiled.

"Hey, handsome - did you have a good flight?", you wondered.

"I did - the kids were just telling me about the adventures of this week with the cats", he petted all three cats, "which also reminds me - you two can go and get the paper bag u left by the door, I gor you some presents!", he told the kids, seeing them run off immediately.

"Can we open it?", Julia asked as her hand was ready to rip the stapled bag.

"Sure! There's one for each of you", Max said as he sat down next to you, pulling you into his embrace as you both watched the kids unwrap the panda teddy bears.

"It's a Panda!", Finn said as he squeezed the soft toy against his chest, "thank you, papa!".

"Thank you papa! Oh, I'm going to get bow tie for my panda!", Julia suggested, heading up to her room and grabbing one of her hairclips.

"Why didn't I get a teddy bear?", you joked.

"I have something for you, but it's in the suitcase actually", he smiled, "I think you'll really like it - it's this handmade set of earrings with a very pretty stone in them", he said as your eyes widened.

"I didn't mea- Max, you know I don't care about expensive presents an-", you blurted.

"I know what you are and what we have, but I'm sure you'll love them and I couldn't leave them there", he kissed the top of your head.

(Thank you for sending this in ✨️)

[roseandxander]

Hi fawn 🏞️ what do you think bau!reaction would be to early spencer reid having a really hot girlfriend when they come to his house for some reason and a girl comes to answer the door with a robe and messy hair?

There’s an incessant knocking at Spencer’s front door but the man is sound asleep beside you.

His eyelashes look soft and pretty like the rest of him and you fight hard not to brush a finger against the crush of them.

You can also see some of the marks you’d left on him the night before- purple mottling bruises along his collarbones and chest that make you smile.

Taking pity on him, you kiss his brown one and slip into one of his old shirts and shove your feet into slippers before padding out to the front door.

On the other side of the door you can make out talking, “Wonder if he’s okay?” You hear a girl say and then, “It’s Spencer, he can hold his own.” Says a male one and then there’s another male voice that says, “If he doesn’t open this door in the next second I’m kicking it in Garcia.”

So you open it, using half of the door to block your body from view.

“Morning, can I help you?” You’re vaguely aware of the fact that there’s four FBI looking agents standing before you while you’re just wearing your boyfriend’s discarded shirt and you want to flush but what can you do- it’s hardly even eight o’clock.

“Yes you can,” says a bald man, Morgan you assume from Spencer’s recounts of his friends. “Where’s Spencer, sweetheart?”

You frown, “Asleep. Do you need him for work?”

A girl in a bright orange skirt shakes her head, “Oh you’re gorgeous! Hi I’m Penelope, that’s Derek, there’s JJ, Hotch.” The man named Hotch clears his throat, giving you a tiny smile.

“We do sorry. Can you get him?” He asks politely and you nod, eyeing them all a little. They’re all looking at you like you’ve grown three heads, a mixture of shock (from Penelope and JJ), pride (from Derek) and something akin to knowing on Hotch’s face.

You’re about to shut the door to get your boyfriend when you feel him right behind you. “Spence, your friends are here,”

Derek whistles and you catch sight of the marks visible on your boyfriend and you feel a little embarrassed. “Okay pretty boy, I see you!” JJ smacks Derek who groans and laughs a little.

He kisses the crown of your head, “Sorry, angel.” He whispers, still knuckling sleep from his eyes. “I’ll be ready in twenty minutes.” He says to his team who all nod.

“We’re in the SUV.” Hotch says, Penelope nods, giving you a bright smile.

“It was so nice to meet you! We have to go for drinks sometime!”

JJ laughs, “It was nice to meet you.” You nod, a little smile on your face.

Derek claps Spencer on his shoulder and gives you a nod before Spencer closes the door, you can just faintly make out, “Spencer’s got game!” As it shuts.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know they’d show up at my door.” Spencer says softly and you shrug.

“That’s your job Spence, it’s unpredictable. Can we squeeze coffee into those twenty minutes?” Spencer smiles, all tired and lovely.

“Yeah I can, let me shower first and I’ll be down for five minutes of morning coffee.”

[roseandxander]

Preventing Injury - Carlos Sainz Jr

Summary: Carlos' girlfriend has no spacial awareness and he often finds himself preventing injury

No part 2 requests please

Having a girlfriend who has the same coordination skills as a newborn giraffe definitely wasn't what Carlos imagined when he had thought about pursuing y/n as his girlfriend.

But it's without a doubt the reality.

General walking even in completely empty open space has resulted in a couple scraps and bruises.

Not that he holds it against her, in fact he quite likes being somewhat needed just to keep her safe from her own lack of ability to stay upright on her own.

"Please be careful and just come ask for help if you don't know how a machine works-or if you need a spotter just grab me." Carlos instructs making her smile a little and push onto her toes, kissing him lightly.

"I'll be careful I promise."

Y/n doesn't really both hitting the gym often. Being a WAG doesn't come with a workout regime. Though she does try to keep fit and she does actually enjoy being at the gym once she's there, it's just finding the motivation to get herself there that's the real issue. But when she does go to the gym, Carlos really prefers it to be with him just on the off chance she does injury herself.

She did manage to drop a dumbbell on her foot a few months ago and broke two toes. Definitely not a moment that Carlos wants to see repeated.

"Ok." Carlos nods watching her shift off putting her headphones in and beginning to choose her music for working out.

He watches her carefully for a minute hoping she doesn't choose the treadmill after the last time when she fell and took a good couple layers of skin off her shin in the process.

Eventually after she gets herself on a bike machine which he actually hopes is the safest choice of all the machines and workout choices aside from maybe yoga, but even the he thinks her lack of balance would severely effect her.

It's only when he's finally focused on his own work out completely that his trainer and himself hear a squeak followed by a distressed "no" and then a very loud clattering noise.

"I'm ok! I promise I'm ok!" Y/n exclaims but both the men have ran to her, finding her awkwardly on top of the bike machine trying to find the best way to get up. "My foot got stuck when I was getting off the other machine and I fell."

Carlos manages to pick her up setting her back on her feet with a very concerned look as he checks her for injuries.

"Mi amor." Carlos sighs finally smiling when he knows for certain she's got no injuries. "Do you always have to give me a heart attack? Taking years off my life."

"I'm sorry, I'm just going to sit and follow a workout video on the mats now I promise." Y/n smiles then kissing him lightly. "You go on, I promise really I won't even pick up the smallest weights."

"You can pick and use them up, amor. I just want someone to be there to make sure you don't hurt yourself." Carlos states earning a small salute which he can't help but chuckle at then he decides that he wants to just workout alongside her. "Why do you do some of my workouts with me and I'll do whatever workouts you want to do too?"

"Yeah?" Y/n grins bouncing on her toes making Carlos smile and nod, trying not to giveaway the fact that he feels much happier being able to be right there with her for the workouts.

-

"I think this dress might've been a bad choice." Y/n mumbles shifting on the leather seats that are sticking to her exposed thighs making Carlos look at her with mild amusement.

"I told you so, mi amor. It is humid today."

"Ok, well you also told me that I look good and you love the dress." Y/n pouts then feeling him reach over and squeeze her thigh in reassurance.

"We are almost there, it will be fine once you're not on leather seats." Carlos promises as they get to the race track slowly passing the barriers holding back yelling fans. "And you do look good in that dress and I do love it, but I still told you it would be uncomfortable on the leather."

Y/n hums looking around out the window before Carlos decides to take the opportunity to make a slightly cheeky comment.

"Don't worry, amor. There has been much worse things on these seats from both of us."

"Carlos Sainz!" Y/n gasps visibly flustered by his words.

"Y/n y/l/n. You cannot act innocent now." Carlos grins looking at her and raising an eyebrow as he pulls into the space reserved for him.

They get out the car with y/n grimacing peeling her skin from the sticky leather before he glances at her for a moment.

Y/n grabs her bag feeling Carlos behind her quickly smoothing the back of her dress down since it had lifted leaving nothing to the imagination to anyone who may have been close enough to be seeing the couple.

Walking through the paddock, Carlos spends most of his time guiding her by keeping his hand on her waist and keeping her in front of him as they walk so he can see both her and what they need to walk around and avoid.

They make it through the walk to the Ferrari unit where Carlos feels slightly more at ease that she's unlikely to injure herself.

That's what he thought.

Watching her nearly walk into a clear glass door, only narrowly being stopped when he rushes forward and yanks her back from it just enough for her to miss it.

"Ah."

"It's glass, baby. You can't walk through it." Carlos states since she definitely was not appreciative of his rescue.

"Oh..." Y/n mumbles shifting to look at it from a different angle and seeing the reflection. "Well it's not obvious."

"No." Carlos hums before sighing softly and tucking her hair behind her ear. "But your hero saves you again."

"Your head will get too big for your helmet." Y/n states earning a grin from the Spaniard.

"I am just making sure my girlfriend doesn't manage more injury. The last thing you need is a head injury from a glass door." Carlos chuckles while she huffs before she shifts, turning to look at him properly, giving him a kiss as she smiles at him.

-

When y/n is tired, she definitely has her worst moments when it comes to self-inflicted injuries.

The end of long day at the paddock, she is pretty exhausted and as they walk through the paddock to leave for the day, it's literally as she's follow Carlos and Lando out through the security gate, the two driver's in conversation that she manages to finally take her injury for the day.

"Ah, mi amor." Carlos gasps when they hear her body hit the ground.

She's sitting up and had fallen on her ass a bit like a toddler.

"Are you ok?" Carlos asks while she tries not to feel completely embarrassed over her fall.

"Yeah, I'm ok." She mumbles trying not to wince as he helps her up to her feet while she notices Lando looking at her in a grimace. "Don't worry, I think it hurts Carlos more than me."

"You are bleeding." Carlos states noticing the scraps on the back of her thigh which definitely hurt more than she wants to let on. "We will see you later, mate."

Y/n sighs hating that she's practically on a first name basis with some of the medical staff that actually travel around from race to race since they like to keep the same team on hand who know each of the driver's needs.

"Oh hi, sweetie. Another-ooh yeah, that's nasty. We'll clean you up quickly and get you on your way." The nurse, Lottie smiles brightly as Carlos gently gestures to the injury and she gets a look. "Don't you worry sweetheart. We always get you set up well."

And they do, they clean up the blood, earning some hisses from the sting of the alcohol wipes before they bandage it just to keep it clean for a while Carlos just keeps hold of y/n's hands and keeps her eyes on him.

"Alright, let's go. You have a good night, Lottie. Thank you again." Y/n smiles letting Carlos lead her out back to the car. "If I manage to fall over like that again, I think it's time to call it. You just have to dump me."

"No. Never." Carlos states knowing she's joking but he won't even joke about it. "I love you injuries and all."

"Makes one of us." Y/n hums only to squeak when he scoops her up.

"I'll just have to start carrying you everywhere, yes?"

Y/n grins a little not being able to hide her joy over the fact he will shamelessly give her princess treatment.

"I love you too and how much you care even though I'm a liability." Y/n giggles then kissing his cheek.

[roseandxander]

hi lovely I hope you’re feeling better!!!! I was wondering if I could request something with poly!marauders where she’s like simmering with anxiety and isn’t having a panic attack but is sort of close bc she’s just really overwhelmed and the boys notice and try to calm her down and are just sweet <3

Thank you for requesting sweetheart!

cw: signs of anxiety

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

You appear caught in a state of restlessness. You’re meant to be reading, but Remus hasn’t seen you turn a page in ages. Your eyes keep unfocusing, your knee bouncing underneath your blanket and your fingers toying absentmindedly with the corner of your page. 

Remus supposes your boyfriends haven’t done much to create a relaxing atmosphere in your home tonight. Earlier he’d let Sirius keep an eye on the stove while he minced garlic, and of course that had ended with you and James rushing to open every window near the kitchen to get the smoke alarm to turn off, and even once he’d traded Sirius’ help for James’ there’d been several near-misses with the kitchen knives and his reckless chopping. It also doesn’t help that James and Sirius are in one of their moods where listening to them talk is like watching a tennis match. Trying to keep up could give you whiplash, but luckily you don’t seem to be paying attention as they bicker about whether rugby or cricket is the rougher sport (Sirius is only trying to rile James; James clearly knows this, but he persists nonetheless). Still, it can’t make for nice background noise. 

Remus corners the page of his own book and reaches across the space between you, taking your hand. You look up with a smile, pleasantly surprised. 

“Alright, lovely?” he asks, fingers dancing up the length of your palm to your wrist. 

“I’m good,” you reply softly. “How’s your book?” 

“It’s off to a slow start,” Remus admits, “but I’m hoping it’ll pick up soon. How’s yours?” 

You look down at the book in your lap. He almost wonders if you’d forgotten it was there. “It’s not bad.” 

“Yeah?” He lets his fingers rest over the bump of your pulse, trying not to frown at its quick beat. “You haven’t seemed to be reading much.” 

By now your conversation has caught the attention of the other boys, James turning towards you and Sirius tilting his head to see around him. 

“Oh,” James says sympathetically, “is it not very good?” 

“No, it’s fine.” You look back down at your book, a bit sheepish. “I guess I’m just a little distracted.” 

Remus hums knowingly, stroking the back of your hand with his thumb. James’ brow furrows, but Sirius, true to form, asks outright, “Is something the matter?” 

You shake your head, seeming a bit perplexed yourself. “No,” you say, “I don’t know what my problem is.” 

“You seem a bit strung up,” Remus suggests gently. 

“Yeah, but” —you shrug, lips curving halfheartedly— “not for any good reason.” 

James makes a woeful pitying sound, wrapping his arms around your middle. “Sweetheart,” he laments, “do you think you might want a cuddle?” 

“Sure,” you agree, and your hand is removed from Remus’ as James pulls you into his lap, propping his chin on your shoulder with a pout, “but everything’s really fine, don’t worry.” 

Sirius leans his head on the couch cushion, looking at you with eyes sharp and contemplative. “What’s going through your head, pretty girl?” he asks. 

James covers your heart with a big hand, frowning at what he feels. You shrug. “I was just thinking about what I have to do tomorrow.” 

“You’ve been keeping busy lately,” Remus says. “Maybe you need to take some things off your plate.” 

A grimace is fixed upon your face before he’s finished talking. “It all has to get done, though,” you sigh. “No way around it.” 

Sirius and Remus exchange a look. “Maybe we can help,” Sirius says. 

You shake your head. “There’s nothing you can do,” you insist. “It’s not impossible, I’ve just been lazy and now it’s all piled up and I have to deal with it.” Your voice tenses as you lay it out, and your body with it. “It’s my problem. It’s not great, but I’ll get it done.” 

Sirius’ expression twitches into a frown at your increasingly agitated tone, and James gives you a firm squeeze, pressing a kiss into the side of your head. 

“Shh, angel, just slow down for a minute. You’re okay right now, aren’t you?” 

Some of the frustration slips from your expression. “I’m fine, I just—” 

“Then relax.” James’ voice is equal parts gentle and firm. “Take a deep breath.” 

You do. You close your eyes, and Remus can almost hear you counting as you inhale through your nose. James and Sirius, for probably the first time all evening, are silent. 

You stop breathing in. A small dent forms between your brows. 

“I can’t do it all the way,” you say, a slight vulnerability to your voice. 

Remus tries to make his low and sure to counter it. “That’s okay, it still counts. Just keep going, love. And maybe hear Sirius out.” 

Sirius very obviously fights the urge to gloat at the support, but he softens his preening into a lightly teasing look, narrowing his eyes at you playfully. “As I was saying, there have to be things we can make easier for you. What’s on your to-do list?” 

You take in another breath, and James makes a satisfied humming sound against your temple. “I mean, I really have to do laundry.” 

“Are you joking?” A grin splits Sirius’ face. “We can do that for you, baby, easy.” 

“And I have to finish my project,” you go on, as though determined to prove the impossibility of your tasks, “which will likely take all morning.” 

“I’ll be here tomorrow,” James reminds you. “Would it help if I made you breakfast so you don’t have to take the time?” 

You look surprised, head turning towards him. “Yeah,” you say. “That would be really helpful, actually.” 

“Stubborn thing.” Sirius pinches at your thigh, but Remus catches his hand before it can do any real damage. “Nothing we can do, huh?”

You duck your head sheepishly. Still, Remus can hear your smile when you say, “Sorry, you were right.” 

“It happens more often than you’d think, doll. Really astute of you to recognize it, though.”  

“For now,” Remus cuts in before Sirius can get to really gloating, “maybe it’s best to just try to relax, dove. Tomorrow’s problems will be manageable, there’s no sense in stressing yourself out tonight.” 

“Yeah,” you say, almost shyly. “Sorry, I wasn’t thinking properly.” 

“Don’t be sorry, baby,” James chides, tightening his hold on you. “It’s all good now, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” you admit. 

There’s a brief pause. 

“Sorry,” Sirius says, not sounding apologetic in the slightest, “I just want to hear it from your lips one more time. You said I was what?”

[roseandxander]

i would absolutely love a Hotch and stripper reader, him taking care of her after some kind of incident at her club or something? maybe a bit of angry hotch at the beginning, some angst? 💗💗💗

Your throat burns by the time his car pulls up. 

You take the butt of the cigarette from between your lips and ash it next to the first. Your hand is sore between the index finger and thumb from a bad stretch, aching as you press into your pocket for your stolen box of Marlboro golds. You’ll apologise for taking them some other time. 

You press the third between your lips and flick the lighter. You’re not good at lighting them, worse at the first inhale, your throat an agony that rivals the sting of your battered cheek. 

Shoes on the sidewalk, a scratch of loose gravel. Your eyes well with another line of tears that you work hard to hold in, taking another quick, cruel drag. They don’t make cigarettes long enough, in your opinion. They don’t last. 

He stops in front of you. Quiet, Agent Hotchner looks down at you where you’re sitting on the low wall, expression as steely as ever. You meet his eyes, worried your wobbly lip is giving you away, not sure calling him was the right thing to do after all. 

When he raises his hand to the cigarette you let him take it. His fingers wrap carefully around the butt of it, the side of his thumb brushing your lips. 

He flicks it to the ground and steps on it flat. 

You don’t say hello. It’s obvious you’ll cry, he can tell too, and he doesn’t make you. You wince as he raises his hand again, your eyes squinting closed, but he isn’t going to hurt you. His palm is warm where it cups your cheek, turning your face to the light emanating off of the club neons. 

“Do you know his name?” he asks. 

“No.” 

He raises your chin higher still. His frown turns to a glare, the brunt of which is directed elsewhere but intimidating all the same. His touching is gentle at least. 

“What happened?” 

“I told him no.” 

His jaw ticks. “Can I take you home?” 

You sniffle, turning your face out of his hand and down to your lap. He’s kissed you, he’s done more than that, but he knows you’d felt like you had no choice and so he’s giving it to you now. It’s exactly why you’d called him. It’s the man he is, and he should never have ended up looking after you. 

“Sorry I called you,” you say, hiding your face in one hand. Pain flickers behind your eyes as tears mount for the tenth time tonight. 

Hotch gives a sigh, sitting on the wall beside you. He wraps his arm behind your back and with a familiarity you need desperately. You press yourself into his side, sew your arm hesitantly over his stomach, the starch of a pressed shirt crisp on your clammy skin. 

“It’s cold out here,” he murmurs, bringing both hands to your arm, one to hold you tight, the other to rub your cool skin. 

“I think I want to quit.” 

He nods into the side of your head. “I think you should,” he says, “if that’s what you want… honey, you can do whatever you want.” 

“I don’t think I can. I’m trapped and it’s my fault.” 

“It’s not your fault.” He encourages your head under his, your face to his neck. When he talks, it’s a quiet, lulling promise. “You’re not trapped. I’ll do anything you need me to do. If you want an apartment, I’ll get it for you. If you want to shut this place down, I will. The last thing either of us want is for you to work here when you don’t want to.” 

“You don’t have to say work here like I’m not a glorified prostitute,” you say hotly, anger turned in rather than out. 

“You don’t really think that.”

Being a sex worker is complicated. You don’t know how you feel about it, and you can’t ever understand why Hotch would bother with you. You’d worried at first that your vulnerability is what attracted him, like a kid with a broken bird, but he’s proved a hundred times that your job is pretty much separate from why he likes you. He thinks you're pretty. He loves your voice. You make each other laugh, and somehow inexplicably he’s the first person you call when things go wrong. 

“Quit your job,” he says. “Even if it’s just to dance somewhere else.” 

“You can say strip.”

He nods. “You shouldn’t have to worry whether your ‘no’ will be met with a backhand. You know that breaks my heart?” 

You blink and pull away from him. He isn’t unemotional, but it’s a surprise nonetheless to hear him talk like this. “Aaron–” 

“Please,” he says. “I shouldn’t ask you to. But there are better places for you. You deserve more.” 

If it were anyone else you might get defensive. Only people who do your job could understand why you do it, it’s a hundred different things to you, but you do deserve more. You’re sick of leery men, sick of wolf whistles and bad tips and other people's hands. Hotch has never asked you to stop, but now he is, it’s to keep you safe. 

You can’t begrudge him. 

“I’m sorry,” you say. 

“No.” He rubs your arm. “I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that. And I’ll make it right.” 

“It’s not your fault.” 

“I’ll make it right,” he promises. “No matter what. No one gets to hurt you.” 

You could quit. You want to. Even if it’s just for a couple of weeks, just so you don’t have to pretend you know what you’re doing. You’ll think about it in the morning. “Could I stay with you for a bit?” you whisper. “Just tonight. Please.” 

Hotch taps your back for you to stand. He stands with you, brushing down your coat, his eyes impassive where they look over your face, your purpling bruise. 

“You can wait in the car,” he says quietly. “I’m going to ask a few questions inside before we leave.” 

[roseandxander]

I love your KBD universe, I know that Beth is having a hard time with being the weird kid and I just have to say as a lover of weird things and people I would love to see something where Bethie comes home from school happy to have met someone who LOVES that she’s a little weird!

dad!steve and his weird girls <3 mom!reader, 1k

When you get home from work with the big kids in tow, Steve’s gonna kiss you stupid. With baby Wren gurgling on his tummy and less-baby Dove sitting by his head where he lays on the couch, he’s never been this happy. He’ll be happier when the big girls are home, but for now, he’s snug as a bug, treated by his second youngest to a buffet of affection. 

“Love you,” Dove says, kissing his cheek for the tenth time in the last two minutes. He can’t stop laughing.

“I love you, too!” he says, shifting his hand to give Wren some more room. 

“Love you, dad,” Dove says.

“I know, baby, I know. Thank you for the kisses, you’re so nice.” 

Dove kisses him again. “You’re happy,” she says. 

“So happy. Can I get another kiss, you think?” 

He turns into her. She’s sitting too high to be cuddled; all Steve can do is take in her sweetness. He can’t believe how quickly her babyhood has passed into toddlerhood, and she’s been sort of a nightmare, but she’s also his little girl. She’s your daughter, her sisters’ sister. She was always going to be lovely, and Steve feels it like a loving punch as she noses at his ear. “Daddy,” she laughs, “you’re too warm.” 

“I’m blushing, babe, I’m getting all these nice kisses!” He laughs like an idiot and decides he must hug her, pulling his arm up and scooping her into his chest. 

She groans in annoyance before she realises what he’s doing, “Hug!” she says excitedly. 

“Hug!” he echoes, wrapping his arm around her. She’s starting to look less like a baby and more like a little tiny kid, which he hates and loves at the same time. “Aw, I love you, Dovey.” 

The door clatters open. Wren jumps at the sound, hiding her face in Steve’s neck, to which he gives a good back rubbing. “It’s okay, bubby, it’s just your mommy. Don’t be silly, huh? Just mommy. You’re gonna be happy when she turns the corner.” 

“Shoes,” you’re saying from the door, though Steve can’t see you, he can tell you’re smiling. “Shoes, Beth, then you can tell dad.” 

“Daddy, we’re home!” Avery shouts. 

“I can hear you, babe!” he shouts back, not unkindly. 

“Dad, I have something to tell you!” Beth shouts. 

Steve hoists himself up into a sitting position, two babies in his arms, knowing you’ll know he’s laid down all day from the mess of his hair alone but not trying to hide it. You can do whatever you want on your vacation days, you’d teased. Just make sure you feed the kids.

“Hi,” you say, appearing in the doorway, two balls of energy at your legs that bolt for Steve the second they see him. 

“Girls, I don’t have long enough arms,” he says, trying to cuddle them all, even though it’s impossible. 

He finds himself suddenly relieved of the second youngest. Dove might love her father, but she adores her mother, and she hasn’t seen you all day —she slinks down out of his hold and through the mess of her sisters to grab at you, to which you gratefully receive her, pulling her up to station on your hip. “Hi, gorgeous,” Steve hears you say. Avery pushes him back, climbing into his lap with a happy sigh. “Miss me today? I missed you,” you ask sweetly. 

“What did you want to tell me, Beth?” Steve asks curiously, grinning as Avery makes herself comfortable on his thigh, her arm wrapping behind his neck. He’s happy to see everybody else so happy, even if it’s hectic. 

Beth beams up at him with her brightest smile in weeks. She’s been having such a hard time at school, Steve wondered if he could start homeschooling, coming home upset nearly every other day. It isn’t fair. His relief that she’s had a good day is palpable. 

“Dad, there’s a new girl! Her name is Francesca and she’s got the same birthday as me and guess what!” 

“What?” he asks. 

“She said she likes being weird!” Beth’s eyes glow shiny with joy. “Cos Hilly called me weird, and she said she likes being weird. She said we can be best friends.” Beth hits his knee in her excitement. “She liked me, dad.” 

“Why wouldn’t she like you?” he asks, wondering how old he’ll have to be before he stops tearing up at Beth’s good heart. He blinks quickly to dispel any tears before they can gather. “Her name is Francesca? When did she move? Do you think she wants to come for dinner?” 

Your laugh is a snort. “Steve.” 

“What? Friends come for dinner. Best friends! Did you speak to her mom?” he asks you. 

“I didn’t see her.” 

“Don’t worry, Beth, I’ll speak to her in the morning. We’ll see if they want to come for dinner or go swimming or something.” 

Beth’s smile gets wider, “Really?” 

“Yeah, really!” He gives Avery a little shake. “Did you meet Francesca?” 

Avery nods. “She’s pale and she has big hair. Curly hair, too.” Her voice is a tad scratched, perhaps from the cold out. 

Steve lets his weight fall into the arm, cautious not to squish your baby, a grin on his face to rival Beth’s. She gets the memo and climbs up, claiming that last bit of space under the baby to hug his stomach. He tries to wrap them all up, gurgly Wren, exuberant Beth, and poor cold Avery. “You coming?” he asks you. 

There’s dinner to make. You ignore it, crossing the mess of the living room to flop down on the couch next to them all. Steve lifts his face in that way you always recognise, and is pleased as punch when you peck him quickly. 

You don’t realise how Steve thinks of you, he’d say. Don’t realise he wants another kiss, then another, that you’re on his mind when you aren’t there, and dominate it when you are. He loves his babies, but he loves you too. He wants another kiss. 

“Steve,” you scold lightly, surprised as he presses two kisses to the corner of your mouth. 

“Sorry. Beth, tell me more about Francesca. What did she say exactly?” 

Beth takes a deep breath. 

[roseandxander]

Spencer reid sends you a period basket every month no matter where he is!!! Without fail there’s a bouquet of flowers, your favourite chocolates, a poem or excerpt from whatever he’s reading, and some of your favourite skincare or body care and he just likes knowing that he’s going to get either a video or FaceTime call from you to tell him about it

Omg like Yolanda and Zack on TT!!!

Spencer knows that your period is a little irregular so he waits for the minute you start exhibiting pms symptoms.

He always checks to see what you have and what you need and takes stock mentally of all that he wants to get you too.

This month had been a little harder on you than others and so he goes a little crazy.

“My period came,” you sound a little pleased, glad it hasn’t been too late this month, but also a little peeved because the cramps are not letting up.

“I got your basket right here, angel.” You look up at him as he holds a bouquet in one hand and a basket in the next. “They’re fresh, the lady at the florist had just picked them.”

You lean up for a kiss, Spencer smiling when you take it and take a big inhale of the carnations. “Thank you Spence,” he hands over the basket next.

You go through it, taking the essentials, your pads and tampons and then your chocolates, out first. Then you see the folded sweater on the bottom. “Spence,” it’s a soft material, softer than your usual sweaters, something that you want to switch into now. You hardly hesitate to do it.

Then you see the face masks and serums and even some aromatherapy oils. “Thank you baby.”

Spencer accepts the way you vault yourself into him, holding the back of your head close to his chest as his other arm wraps around you.

“You’re the best boyfriend ever.” You whisper into his clothes and he chuckles.

“That’s just boyfriend duties, sweetheart. Plus one of the things is late. Should be here tomorrow though.”

You pull back, shocked and a little skeptical of how breezy his tone is. “Spencer Reid.” You try to be stern.

“Yes, my love?” He strokes your face from temple to jaw, tilting his head down a little as he stares at you.

“You’re no fair. What did you order?” You ask softly, a little lost in your adoration for him.

“A box set. The new series you wanted, I preordered it.” Tears spring fresh to your eyes, your bottom lip trembling as you feel the openness of his love for you- of how easy he finds it to dole out his love and affection and dote on you.

“Hey, no tears.” He wipes them away with his sleeve, gentle pressure on your cheeks. “I thought you’d be happy, or are these happy tears?”

You nod, “You’re just…” you can’t seem to settle on the right word. “,perfect.”

Spencer laughs rubbing your arms. “Thank you, but that’s not possible. Wanna watch movies with me? There’s the good popcorn, in the cupboards too.”

“Spencer stop. You’re gonna make me cry even more, I’m already so emotional.” He only hums, kissing your forehead as he reaches for the tv remote.

[roseandxander]

𝐚 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐠𝐧 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

things aren't the way you planned coming home with your newborn, but you have eddie there to lean on when things get hard (and an unlimited supply of 'munson-style' hugs). requested here. infatuated dad!eddie x mom!reader, 3k.

cw post partum recovery, reader is suffering from some symptoms of post partum depression

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

"You're sure you can manage?" Wayne asks, his voice buzzing down the line.

Eddie peers out of the kitchen into the living room quietly. You're sitting on the sofa in a shape that can't be comfortable considering your recent stitches, the baby on your thighs where you've brought them together, your hands delicately posed on either side of his head. 

"I think so," Eddie says, answering Wayne's questions with honesty. "She's feeling a little better today." 

"It's hard, Eds. You take care of her and call me if you need help, okay? I'm proud of you. Both of you." 

It catches Eddie off guard for a moment. He's done enough crying lately, clearing his throat to say, "Thanks, Wayne. Call me tomorrow." 

"You call me, I don't wanna wake anyone if you're sleeping." 

They say their goodbyes. Eddie leans against the kitchen doorway to spy on you and the baby. Babies cry more than he ever could've imagined despite the warnings, but it's quiet, too. There are moments of peacefulness like this one breaking apart the chaos. 

You're whispering something. Eddie stands very still, wishing the dishwasher would magically silence itself. He strains to hear you. 

"I love you," you say. "Sorry I'm tired, honey. I promise I'll be better. You're so beautiful." 

Eddie bites his cheeks, wondering if his family (his family!) aim to make him cry and little else tonight. He gives himself a look in the mirror magnet on the fridge framed by a We Love Michigan border, rainbows and cute elk surrounding something less pretty. His hair is frizzy but that's nothing new, greasy at the top and dry at the bottom. He scrapes it back into a scrappy bun and wipes the oil from his face with his sleeves. He's in dire need of a shower. 

Resigned, he steps out of the kitchen, new socks slippery on old linoleum before finding stability on the crush of carpet in need of a vacuuming in the living room. You look up and bless him with a smile.

You've had a bad case of the baby blues, though the midwife assured him that was normal, and not to worry unless it continued past the first few weeks. 

Well, Eddie will worry. Any depression you experience breaks his heart, no matter the cause, and no matter how temporary it may be. Just 'cos a cut might heal doesn't mean it didn't hurt when you got it. 

"How do you feel?" he asks cautiously. 

You make a face that he knows precedes a lie. "Don't worry about me." 

He sits on the arm to look down at the baby —his baby, his son— in your hold, your face moving immediately to rest on his thigh. 

"I'm okay, teddy," you say.

"How about you?" he asks the baby, taking his hand gently. 

The baby doesn't open his eyes nor answer the question, well and truly asleep. 

"Do you think Charlie was the right name?" you ask, stroking his small face lightly. 

"If we hate it, we can just call him Wayne." 

Eddie's out of this world lucky that you'd liked the name and loved him enough to name the baby after his uncle. Charlie Wayne Munson, born six pounds and two ounces, the smallest baby they saw all week in Hawkins General. 

"He looks more like a Wayne than a Charlie," you say, rubbing your cheek into Eddie's sweatpants. 

"He's so fucking beautiful," Eddie says, getting his hand behind your shoulders. He gives your back a loving rub, up and down the whole stiff length of it. "Would you relax? Or tell me what's wrong? Please?" 

"Nothing's wrong… Look how perfect he is, I'd be a freak to act like something was wrong," you say, the exhale of your words warming his leg. 

Eddie rubs his hand up with a tad more roughness until the cinch between your shoulders has flattened. 

"You're having a biological reaction," Eddie says, leaning down to press his lips to the top of your head. "Don't feel bad about feeling bad, sweetheart. This is a physical thing, that's all it is. You're not a freak for feeling wobbly." 

You relax even more, pad of your thumb swiping Charlie's smooth cheek. 

"Want me to make you feel better?" he asks.

"How?" 

"I'm not sure yet. I was thinking we'd make a list. Starting with a hug, quickly followed by something amazing to eat before Wayne wakes up." 

"Charlie," you correct with a small laugh.

"Is there a nickname for Charlie?" Eddie asks. "What are we gonna call him? Lee?"

"We'll think of something," you promise. 

Eddie isn't worried about it. He figures there's at least five years of nickname time to get one that sticks. For now, he has a list to make and things to do, and the first is making sure you're as well as you can be. He starts with the hug, pulling what you want for dinner from you one soft kiss to your temple at a time. Chicken pot pie? Ramen noodles with a fried egg on top? Sesame chicken? Triple cheeseburgers? 

You can't decide. Eddie chooses breakfast for dinner. It won't take long —he can fry the sausage, eggs, turkey bacon and toast in one pan. 

He keeps the door open to watch you, though nothing is actively wrong. You're deflated now rather than tense, petting and fawning over the baby as much as you can without waking him up.  

"Just as handsome as your dad," you say. 

It's a lovely sentiment but Charlie does not approve. He blinks awake, signified by your saccharine, "Hi, baby boy," followed by ten seconds of awe-filled cooing. Eddie's frying some bread in the pan but dinner can wait, he wants to see the baby with his eyes open again. 

By the time Eddie reaches the couch, he's crying. 

You move him carefully into a rock-a-bye hold and shush him. "It's alright," you say. 

"He sounds like you." 

"What?" you ask between shushes, hand tapping a slow and gentle rhythm into Charlie's swaddle. 

"He sounds like you when he cries," Eddie insists. 

Not your pained screams a few days ago nor your heart wrenching tears when you're feeling at your worst, but your hormonal sobbing. Like when you saw the commercial about the new 'shoplifters exposed' program on CBS that featured an old lady who stole a tangerine from the grocery store and got arrested despite her having alzheimers. She didn't mean to, Eddie, why would they make her cry like that? In fairness, it was a very upsetting commercial, but you cried for four hours, and for days afterward your eyes would well with tears and he'd know exactly what you were thinking of. 

"When you're on your period," he explains. "When you know you wouldn't usually cry." 

"You think so?" you ask. 

"I think the solution is the same, too." 

You nod your agreement. "He's hungry." 

You and Eddie feed the baby with varying levels of success. Charlie doesn't wanna latch even though it's a bottle teat, causing some confusion —is he not hungry? Is he cold? No, sweetheart, he's not cold, he's got two blankets and the thermostat's at 68 Fahrenheit. Maybe he needs a new diaper? You check. His diaper's clean. 

You're looking more and more defeated by the second. Eddie sits beside you to give your knee a reassuring squeeze. Babies are hard to look after, but he knows you'll both grow into it. You're exhausted from nine long months and a turbulent half day stint of pushing and crying and turning the bones in his hands into powder, your hormones are going crazy, and you're having a tough time. This won't be your forever feeling (though if it were to last, Eddie would stay at your side through that, too, that's not a question). 

"You know what else works when you're not feeling good?" Eddie asks, offering his arms. He isn't some muscled herculean shape, but when you hand Charlie over, his arms look strong. Capable. Holding Charlie feels just as perfect as holding you. "A Munson-style cuddle," he finishes, trying to speak to his wailing son in that same bubbly parentese you've started talking in. 

Eddie did a lot of talking to your bump while you were pregnant, but he was usually just trying to make you laugh. There were times where he'd lay with his nose against your hip and his arm under the bump, wondering about moments like this. What was the baby going to look like? What colour would his eyes be? What will it feel like to hold the baby in his arms? 

Charlie feels lighter than Eddie first prophesied. Small. He has eyes like yours rather than eyes like his and he couldn't love it more. 

Eddie takes the bottle when you offer it and sandwiches the baby to his chest. He doesn't want to condescend you, doesn't want to shoo you off, but Charlie's crying around the bottle and you look veritably miserably. 

"Do you wanna go and make sure the food isn't on the turn?" he asks. When he realised the baby wasn't going to go down easy again he put your plates on a baking sheet and put the oven on low to keep it warm. 

You hesitate. "Are you okay?" 

"I don't know. I think so, sweetheart. We're barely a room away, alright?" 

He's called you sweetheart more since the birth of your son than ever before, which is insane; Eddie's called you sweetheart likely twice a day since the day you met. That's a whole lot of sweethearts. 

With the baby's changing mood comes a change in the weather. Eddie pats his little back, a quiet thump thump thump, while rain lashes the closed windows. The baby finally decides he's hungry, and the mood turns from frenetic to ambient almost immediately. 

"You make sure you eat if you're hungry!" Eddie calls to you. 

"Are you sure?" 

"I think…" He drifts off, distracted by Charlie's long eyelashes, the way they skim under his eyes and the tiny noises he makes as he suckles. "Aw, baby," he murmurs, "good job. I knew you were hungry. You sounded just like your mom." He can't help grinning. Eddie is really talking to his kid right now, his real life baby. "You made her super emotional, but you're her whole world now. You're mine, too, obviously, but I'm cooler than this." He sighs. "No. I'm not. This is the coolest thing ever." 

"What do you think?" you ask softly. 

Eddie looks up. You're standing at the door, staring at them like they're made of sparkling diamond, every inch precious. 

"Right. I think that we're gonna have to start eating when we can. Wayne never had a baby, but he said I was bad enough as a teenager, and Steve said he's lucky if he gets to eat a hot meal some days." 

"Steve does have three," you say, frowning. "We really can't eat together anymore?" 

You ask like you're less bothered than you are. Like a gimmicky Oh, man. Eddie knows it hides a real worry, and right now he's trying to give you the world on a silver platter, so he dots a little kiss on Charlie's head and says warmly into his skin, "No, that's not true. You're going to be such a good kid, me and mom will be eating together all the time. Isn't that right?" 

Eddie looks at you with his head still tilted down. "I wanna eat together, okay? Everything's changing, but dinner doesn't have to. I just wanted you to eat 'cos you left half of your waffles at breakfast." 

"I can wait." 

"Then let's wait. You wanna come and hold him?" 

"No, he's settled. I don't wanna mess it up again." 

"You didn't," Eddie says, firm and sweet at once. "Sweetheart, come here. You didn't mess up, okay? I'm serious, come and sit with me." 

You hesitate in the way. You're still unsteady on your feet despite the few days you've had to recuperate. Though your hair is cleaner than his it certainly isn't clean, nor are the clothes you've pulled on. Eddie read up and asked around on what would be comfiest for you, debating nightgowns and silk pyjamas at length, but all you've wanted to wear is a hoodie you've had since you were a teenager and a pair of sweatpants with fraying cuffs. He loves it —you look like an adorable dork. 

Your stomach visibly churns. Eddie thinks you might chuck up, is already pulling the baby to his chest to place in the bassinet when you take a short, quiet gasp for air. 

"Sorry, I don't know why I feel so on and off. I know it's just hormones. I promise I feel happy– I feel happy–" You gesture an open palm toward him. "He's gorgeous, Eds, he's everything I wanted and so much more, I just– I just feel like crying and I don't know why," you confess, blinking to suppress tears, shifting your weight uncomfortably from foot to foot. 

Eddie detests seeing you this uneasy, and he swoops in to correct it. 

"Come here," he says again, no hands free to hold out to you. He hopes his voice is inviting enough. 

You shrink into yourself. "I'm being weird." 

"I like when you're weird. I kind of love it. I don't think we'd be in the mess if I didn't love it." 

"It's a mess?" you ask. 

"It's perfect." 

You finally smile, creeping around the bassinet and the needlessly baby proofed coffee table to sit on the edge of the couch with him. Charlie makes a sound in the back of his throat. 

"Hear that? He knows you're here," Eddie murmurs, making room for you hopefully. 

You sidle up to his thigh and lean on his arm, careful not to knock his elbow. You watch Charlie drink his bottle for as long as there's milk left, two ounces knocked back like it's nothing. 

Eddie eases the teat from Charlie's lips carefully. With care but a clumsy imprecise manoeuvre, he lays Charlie down in the bassinet. He has a lot of hair for such a small baby, enough to stroke back from his forehead, soft under Eddie's fingertips. 

"He's really, really beautiful," Eddie says quietly. 

"I know," you say, an anxious hand on your cheek. "I can't believe something as good as him could come from someone like me." 

Eddie stands between your legs, resting a loving hand at the slope of your shoulder. "Why would you ever think something like that?" he asks, his voice as soft as it's ever been, but with a smile in case you don't want to talk about it any more. 

"He's… I'm just not…" 

Eddie gives you time. You've needed it ever since you went into labour, time to piece things together.

"I really thought I was ready," you say, looking up at him with a pinch between your eyebrows.

He brings his hand up to cup your face. You don't lean into it. "Alright, I'm going to talk for a little while, 'n' I know you won't agree with everything I'm saying but I need you to know that this is how I really feel, yeah? Buckle up." Eddie bends down, unafraid of embarrassing himself because it's you. "I know you think these feelings are your fault… that this is some failing, like you're–" He drops his voice to a whisper, "Like you're being a bad mom already, but it's not the truth." 

You startle at being read so easily. "Eds," you mumble. 

"We knew this might be how you felt afterward, the midwife talked and talked about baby blues and you said–" 

"I said I couldn't understand how I'd ever feel sad once he was born," you say, looking at his neck rather than his face. 

"And that's fine, you know? You're not a bad person for thinking it would be perfect and then changing your mind." 

"But he is perfect," you say. 

Eddie rubs your cheek. "He's perfect, but this is hard. Being a new mom with your stitches and your aching tummy and all the gross fluids–" 

You laugh through a groan, pressing your eye into his hand.

He leaps to keep it going. "This isn't how you expected to feel, but that's okay. There's nothing to be ashamed of. Cry if you feel like crying and don't feel fucking guilty about it, this sucks. You had to do the world's most tumultuous campaign for the last nine months and suddenly you're standing at the start of a new one that takes up, like, a gazillion pages with half health and an equally useless companion." 

Your lips press into a thin line, but your eyes are soft and bright despite their obvious fatigue. You bracelet his wrist with your fingers and push his hand further into your cheek. 

"My dork," you murmur. 

"You understand it, don't you? Makes you an even bigger dork."

You nudge your nose into his palm. "I understand. Thank you, honey." 

Eddie's not done. "You said you don't know how something good like him could come from someone like you? I don't think bad was a possibility." 

Your second thank you is better. The first wasn't inauthentic, but this one sounds as though you genuinely believe him. Eddie bows down into a crouch to wrap his arms around you, the majority of his weight on your shoulders and avoiding your sore lower region, and the entirety of his love pressed to your cheek, a long, mindless kiss. 

"I love you," you say. 

Eddie tucks his head against yours, ignoring his protesting knees. "I love you, too." 

Your food turns to dry mulch by the time you remember it in the oven. You're too distracted by Eddie's hug, his offering for a shoulder massage, and the subsequent second hug that ensues, your back to his chest, dozing in the sanctuary of his arms. Munson-style cuddles are his expertise.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

thank you for reading!

[roseandxander]

take my breath away

pairing: spencer reid x reader

summary: you help spencer train for his fitness exam. he kind of just wants to kiss you.

a/n: some fluff (and something short) after i broke my own heart (and my brain) in my last hotch fic! i’m truly in my criminal minds era. enjoy

wc: 1.3k

warning(s): reader is a runner so im sorry to my unathletic friends. but this is all fluff

“Spence,” you said, unable to bite back your smile, “how are you this bad at running?” 

“I’m—” he held up a finger as he caught his breath and shook his head. “I’m not bad at running. My form… is perfect.” 

“We barely made it a mile in,” you said, and you chuckled as he keeled over, his hands on his knees. “It can’t be that perfect.” 

“It is,” he insisted, on the edge of wheezing. “I’m just unathletic.” 

“You never did sports as a kid?” 

“I graduated high school at twelve,” Spencer breathed. “I was too busy studying. Reading. Doing anything other than sports.” He looked at you and shook his head. “And I’m not crazy like you.” 

Your smile only grew. “You should put your hands over your head. It helps get more air in.” 

“That’s actually a rumor.” He shook his head again. “When you raise your arms, muscles that contribute… to the bucket handle movement of your ribs—” He heaved a sigh, his brows furrowing, and again, you held back a smile. You were sure this was one of his only weaknesses. “—they’re not able to function properly.” 

“Alright, genius,” you said, mockingly but with love. “Recover however you like. You clearly need it.” 

Spencer pouted as he straightened up, his whole face contorted in discomfort. When your boyfriend asked you to help him train for his upcoming fitness test, you didn’t think much of it—you got a full ride through college because of track, and you keep healthy with morning runs, so you were happy to help. 

You’d thought about straight up offering a myriad of times—mostly after bearing witness to his attempts at running in the field. One time, the two of you were paired up to do some interviews, and it ended in a chase. By the time Spencer caught up, nearly dying on the sidewalk, you already had the unsub subdued and cuffed. 

(It took him a while to live that down with Morgan.)

Spencer was gifted at other things, sure—not just everyone is a classified genius with an eidetic memory, and he’s the youngest recruit in history—and you loved him more than anything. But you couldn’t not make fun of him, just a little bit. 

His face was still red, his glasses fogging up a bit from the humidity, and his hair was a mess, so you moved closer in order to brush the stray strands out of his face. 

“Running isn’t my thing,” he said. “Well— fitness isn’t my thing. I’ve got everything else covered.” 

“Oh yeah?” You started smoothing back the strands of his hair, and you offered a crooked smile. “Then why are we out here trying to improve your mile time?” 

“Because it would be nice if Gideon doesn’t have to get all my fitness stuff waived again, and if I want that, I need the help.” His eyes didn’t leave yours, and once you finished, your hands lingered on his cheeks. You nudged his glasses back up to their spot. “And I think I’d run a marathon and die trying if it meant I got to spend more time with you.” 

Your eyebrows rose. “If you want to run a marathon, I could probably get you there. It would take a lot of time together, though.” 

“Please, no,” Spencer breathed. “Just the time together part.” 

You grinned, and you patted him on the cheek before you pulled away. “Running is good for the soul. Why do you think I’m so happy all the time?” 

“Well, this morning you said you were happy because of me,” he said. “Yesterday, it was because we had our first case-free weekend in two months. The other day—” 

“That coffee I had?” you interrupted. 

He nodded. “How’d you know?” 

“Because you made it for me,” you said, “and I love it when you do that.” 

Spencer shrugged. “You do it all the time for me. It’s only fair.” 

“But that’s proof,” you said. “Running does make you happy.” 

“Running does release endorphins, but anyone who likes it is crazy,” he repeated. 

“That doesn’t sound scientifically backed.” 

“The way I feel right now beats science,” Spencer huffed. “And you’re not happy all the time. You frowned 23 times while writing up your last report.” 

You raised your eyebrows. “You were watching me? And counting?” 

He shrugged. “You’re nice to watch.” 

“Very smooth, Dr. Reid,” you said cloyingly. “But flattery won’t get you out of this.” 

“I’m not trying to get out of anything!” he defended. You stared at him, and he held up his hands. “Okay— only halfway. But you are nice to watch. That’s why I’m still here.”

“If you’re watching me while we run, that might be why you’re doing so badly,” you said, amused. 

“No—I think it’s the only thing keeping me going.”

“You don’t really look like you’re still going,” you said wryly. “You should be good at this. You’ve got long legs.” 

Spencer shook his head as he screwed his eyes shut. He let out one last breathy sigh, and you hoped he’d finally recovered. “Also largely a rumor. It’s more about leg strength compared to bodyweight—long legs help with lengthy strides, but you need to generate enough torque to move faster than with shorter legs.” 

You smiled. “You’ve still got facts? Even while you’re dying?” 

“Mostly because Elle’s said it before too. She says I look like a baby giraffe learning how to walk when I run.” Spencer shook his head again. “I think the only thing my height is good for is getting things off of shelves.” 

For once, you tried to reign in your joking. “Is there anything I can do to help? I don’t want this whole thing to be miserable for you. Running should be fun.” 

“We can stop doing this?” he suggested. “I can let go of what’s left of my pride, get all my fitness stuff waived again, and go back to figuring out cases in an air conditioned conference room?” 

You smiled, and you moved closer. “How about this?” 

Spencer opened his mouth to say something, but you pulled him in for a kiss by the front of his shirt, effectively cutting him off. He hesitated for less than a split second, but his hands fell to your waist as he brought you in closer. 

When you let go and moved away, he still had them there, and he was smiling like an idiot. 

“Does that help?” you asked innocently, tilting your head. 

“Yeah,” Spencer said, nodding rapidly. “Uh— yeah. I actually think I could go for another mile now.” 

You couldn’t help but laugh as you ruffled his hair, messing up your earlier work. “I’d love to test that, pretty boy, but I don’t think you can make it another mile.” 

Spencer shook his head. “If you keep kissing me like that, I think I can make it through that marathon you mentioned.”  

“Sure I don’t take your breath away too badly?” you teased. 

“I have some facts for that, but I don’t think they apply.” His lips curved up, and the redness from exertion mixed with his steadily rising blush. “Because you, uh— you did take my breath away the first time I saw you.” 

“I should start calling you loverboy with material like that,” you mused. “Morgan’s annoyed that I took pretty boy from him.” 

Spencer grimaced. “Just thinking of Morgan seeing me like this makes me want to get back at it. I can’t deal with any more of his teasing.” 

“But my teasing’s okay?” 

He frowned. “Of course. It— it’s kind of why I fell for you.” 

“Ah,” you nodded. “That’s why you’re still at this. You don’t like things being handed to you.” 

His cheeks darkened again, and you laughed as you leaned in to peck him on the lips one more time. 

“Alright, loverboy,” you said. “Ready to get back at it?” 

“No,” he said affirmatively. “But I don’t really have a choice, do I?” 

“Not if you want to pass,” you said wryly, and you gestured back at the trail with your head. “But you know what they say—one step at a time.” 

Spencer grumbled, and he shook his arms out again. “Fine. As long as those steps are with you.” 

You smiled. “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.” 

[roseandxander]

i rlly wanna see how aaron would react to reader accidentally starting her period and leaking on his white sheets. i just know he would be so caring and conforming !!

stains

he soooo would cw; fem!reader, period talk, blood mentions, language, fluff <33

Even on the weekends, Aaron doesn't tend to stray from routine.

Apart from setting an alarm - he presses a kiss to the first patch of your skin he can find, rolls out of bed, and then opens the blinds so the morning light can naturally assist in waking you. Trailing into the en-suite bathroom, he hears you let out a gentle squeak, stretching from your laid position in bed.

He preps his toothbrush, blinking once, twice, in attempt to rid the heavy sleep from his eyes. Brushing his teeth is number one on his morning agenda; not only because it was the hygienic thing to do, he simply could not stand having horrid breath.

Despite the brushing sounds echoing in his head, he doesn't miss your low,

"Shit."

"Honey?" His attempt to speak was muffled, as his toothbrush was in his mouth. He tilted back from the sink, just enough to allow him to peer into the room, to see you.

You were sat upright, a handful of sheets in hand, meeting his eyes guilt-stricken. "I'm sorry. It wasn't due for another three days and you know I'm typically always on schedule and always prepared-"

"Hm?" Freeing his mouth from the toothpaste, quickly flicking the water on/off to rid the residue and wiping his mouth with a washcloth, he re-entered his room.

As he came closer, your flushed cheeks were vividly noticeable, the remorse in your eyes even more intense. You clarified, "My period."

"Oh," his expression softened, before alternating to deep concern. "Are you alright?"

"Am I alright? Aaron your bed-"

"What about it?"

"It's stained - the sheets. Fuck," you scrambled up, not wanting to ruin them further, wincing in pain as you did so. You quickly padded past him to the bathroom, the plush carpet soft under your bare feet. He followed behind.

"And? Sweetheart if you think I care about that," he chuckled, sweetly shaking his head. "Do you have...?"

"In my bag."

Feminine products - Aaron redirected himself, finding your overnight duffle tossed hastily near the foot of his dresser. As he rummaged through it, he mentally cursed himself for not already having a supply waiting under his sink, and mentally added such to his future shopping list.

He grabbed the other necessities - an extra pair of underwear, t-shirt, opting to grab your favorite pair of shorts from his drawer. One he hadn't worn in quite a while as you had claimed sole ownership.

You sheepishly accepted the items from him, refraining from lifting your gaze. "Thank you."

"Hey," With a finger he lifted your chin, causing you to meet his soft, brown eyes. "It's okay."

You shook your head in shame, prompting his hand to fall.

"It's your body. It's natural. It's- this is not an inconvenience to me, it is for you. Plus, this is exactly what they invented stain remover for."

Despite yourself you laughed, wrapping your arms around your middle. "I suppose."

The ends of Aaron's lips itched upwards, successful in his goal to crack a smile. Although, his amusement sobered back to concern, "You never answered my question from before. Are you alright?"

You grimaced. "Crampy."

"Advil then?" Aaron asked and you nodded. He placed his hand on your lower abdomen soothingly, the warmth of it calming your tensed muscle. That was the thing about his touch, it never failed to relieve any aches or discomfort, physical and emotional. "And a bath? I recall you saying that helps, with easing the pain."

"Please."

He quickly obtained the pain reliever, started the bath. "Don't worry about the sheets, I'll strip and get 'em in the wash. Hand me your clothes too." He ran his hand under the stream of water, regulating the temperature as you immediately began to protest, claiming, 'it was your mess, your doing,' but Aaron kindly shut you down, "Nope. Let me handle it, I insist."

"And if the stain doesn't come out?"

"I've been meaning to dispose of them anyway. They're getting old, they've fulfilled their job well." After flashing you a sympathetic smile Aaron stood, his age vaguely showing when his knees cracked as his legs straightened. He placed a kiss on your forehead, hoping to dissolve your current, growing pout. "Just relax."

You willingly met his eyes this time. You tousled his hair, still disheveled from sleep, paying extra attention to the short hairs behind his ears. Your nails scratched at his scalp, expressing your gratitude silently.

"And if it makes you feel any better, this isn't the first time I've had to soak blood from linens."

"It doesn't," you rolled your eyes at his injury-prone occupation, but he did however manage to pull yet another smile from you. A gentle laugh came from deep within his chest at your response. "But thank you."

[roseandxander]

Date Night - A.H

a/n: i have been so obsessed with the nanny recently so this is kind of based off that

masterlist

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

pairings: aaron hotchner x nanny!reader

summary: you get home from the world's worst date

warnings: none i think, IDK IM SO BAD AT THESE

wc: 0.9k

To put it quite frankly your date sucked. He was disrespectful to the waiter, made really unsettling noises while eating, talked incessantly about his ex, and worst of all, he didn't let you get a word in edge wise (a major issue because you really like to talk).

Saying you were disappointed would barely scratch the surface. The rarity of your dates, thanks to your demanding role as a live-in nanny for Viriginia's most occupied FBI agent, made your free time all too precious. Mr. Hotchner was home this weekend, which granted you some time off, well-deserved you might add, but you had wasted it on some sad excuse of a man who made you believe that chivalry really was dead.

You had a clear mission when you entered the house: to drown the evening's disappointment in a generous pour of red, slip into your comfiest pajamas, and indulge in trashy reality TV, which, by comparison, casted your night in a much more flattering light. You were beginning to accept that maybe, you were meant to be alone, only because men sucked.

You all but threw your jacket into the closet, kicking off the pumps that had spent the night punishing your heels, and bent to rub the throbbing pain, releasing a sigh steeped in disappointment.

"You're home early."

Your heart leapt to your throat, hand flying to your chest on reflex as you whirled around to face the sight of Mr. Hotchner lounging in the armchair, a whiskey glass cradled in his hand. The light from the lamp beside him served to accentuate the shadows beneath his eyes, no doubt caused by his job. So, what he was doing up was beyond you.

"Geez, Mr. Hotchner, are you trying to give me a heart attack here?"

A mock frown creased your face, and you sauntered over to his chair. You settled on the armrest beside him and smoothly relieved him of the glass, taking a small, savoring sip. Annoying him was one of your favorite pastimes, one that was all too rare with his usual absence.

"So, what's the occasion? Waiting up for me?"

He wasn't amused, clearly, his face unchanging. With a deliberate motion, he took the glass back, taking another casual drink, and despite his stern look he didn't move away from you. His eyes shot you a sharp glance, withholding any spoken response.

With a light tap on his shoulder, you hopped down from the arm of the chair.

"It's okay, you don't have to say it. I can read you like a book," you tossed him a wink, your dress flirting with the edge of modesty at the quick action. His eyes briefly betrayed him, moving towards the expanse of flesh now on display. "Ahem, Mr. Hotchner, my face is a little higher."

You gently nudged his chin upward with your finger, guiding his attention to your eyes. You loved his eyes, a cocoa brown color that reminded you of rich, velvety chocolate truffles, a comparison you were pretty sure had slipped out when he interviewed you.

"Careful," he cautioned in a low murmur, easing himself from the chair and setting his glass aside. "As your employer, it's reasonable for me to be concerned about your well-being, you are the woman who raises my child."

"Oh, absolutely, sir. Your concern is most reasonable and duly noted," you replied with an exaggerated formality, lightly tapping his cheek before neatly tucking your hands behind your back.

He traced his brow with his fingertips, as if to smooth away the beginnings of a headache, undoubtedly brought on by you. A sigh of exhaustion followed. "I trust I don't need to remind you of who signs your paycheck."

With a beaming smile, you sing out, hands moving to rest on your hips. "Totally clear on that, sir!" You turn and head up the stairs, your mumble just loud enough for him to catch, "A little raise wouldn't hurt though, just saying!"

He's close behind as he warns in a low voice, "Don't push your luck."

You stop so suddenly he almost stumbles into you and you feel his hands steady you on your hips, dangerously close to the curve of your ass as you glance back at him.

"Oh, I wouldn't dare, sir."

A slight shake of his head and those perceptive eyes convey all he doesn't say as his hands fall away, the space they leave behind feeling oddly empty. 

"So, the date didn't go well?" he asks as you reach the top of the stairs.

"No, I didn't say that. It was wonderful, perfect actually." You'd always been a terrible liar, and naive for thinking he'd fall for it. "He might just be the man of my dreams."

He gives you a look that tells you he sees right through your bullshit. "Let me guess, he probably ordered for you without asking, talked over you, and didn't even bother to walk you to your door."

"Uh, no, that's not--," you start, voice squeaking slightly. His unimpressed look makes you fold--something you found yourself doing way too often around him. "Okay, fine. But really, using those weird FBI skills on me? That's playing dirty, Mr. Hotchner."

"No 'weird FBI skills' required," he replies, the slightest smirk gracing his stupidly handsome face. "Your taste in men is just... consistently interesting."

"Interesting is better than non-existent, which I believe is the current state of your dating life, Mister."

He moves closer, the narrowing space nudging you against the wall. "Well, considering my days are filled with work, parenting, and apparently, babysitting you, dating isn't exactly a priority."

He was kind of hot when he was mad. His eyes narrowed at you. Okay, not kind of, definitely hot when mad.

"Oh, Mr. Hotchner, it sounds like you need a night off from all that babysitting," you purr, placing your hands on his shoulders as you grace him with a smile. "Why don't we discuss your options over dinner? My treat?"

A sigh of exasperation escapes him, a telltale sign that he's done with the conversation, which actually is how a lot of your discussions end. He steps back and opens the door to your room. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Mr. Hotchner, see you in the morning," you say, your hand pausing on his arm just a beat too long. "Sweet dreams--though I'm sure I'll be in them."

taglist: @hotchhner

[roseandxander]

Future Technical Analyst Reid

Summary: Your daughter wants to dress up as her favorite member of her dad’s team at work. However, she’s determined her costume needs to be as authentic as possible.

Tags: pure fluff. Established relationship. Child is never named; nicknamed little one, pumpkin, and future mini.

Fic based on this post.

Some days you wondered if the child you had carried for nine long months had gotten anything from you.

She was a mini replica of her father - from the way her small mind worked all the way down to how she wiggled her feet in her sleep. Her tiny eyebrows would furrow when she was deep in thought, and her penchant for reading and her unquenchable thirst for knowledge could only be matched by her father. She had even adopted his gentle tone when speaking, and somehow at nearly 5, had almost mastered the slight snark Spencer used when he was frustrated. The only difference being that her small voice still had trouble pronouncing some words, a childlike lisp escaping the faster she spoke, particularly present when she was upset.

Even the mop of brown curls atop her head were Spencer’s, and your daughter had refused to have it grow past her shoulders, telling you firmly that her hair “couldn’t be longer than daddy’s hair”. She was 100% a “daddy’s girl”. You swore her stubbornness came from him as well.

That particular trait is why you were calling Spencer, even though you knew he was at work. The team had only just returned from a case that morning, and unit chief Emily had promised a Saturday off if they finished their paperwork. You had been worried Spencer was going to miss Halloween and had been absolutely delighted when he’d called you eagerly that morning, stating they were already on the jet to come home.

“Is everything alright?” Spencer’s worried voice sounded through the phone, not even bothering with a normal greeting.

“Your daughter would like to wear high heels for her Halloween costume and is refusing my alternatives. She said her costume had to look authentic”.

Spencer had immediately relaxed at your slightly strained yet amused tone and he sheepishly chuckled, running a hand through his curls. He knew he shouldn’t have taught her about authenticity before he left, but she’d been so eager to learn why people weren’t allowed to touch the art in the museum, why it had to be protected, and his answer had led to a rabbit hole of information. Secretly, he was pleased that she had grasped the concept and was using one of her new words in the proper context.

“Let me talk to her, please” he replied easily, shaking his head with a fond smile.

You put the phone on speaker, alerting your daughter that daddy was on the phone. She had immediately perked up, her eyes lighting up at his voice. She uncrossed her arms from where they had been over her chest, standing from the floor to come over to the phone.

“Daddy! Mommy won’t let me wear the tall shoes and, and, and - if I don’t my, mas- masherfleecey- my art will be ruined! It won’t be au-then-tic!”

“Okay, okay, little one. Take a breath”, Spencer’s even tone spoke, waiting to hear his daughter loudly breathe in and out.

“There. Now sound out the word - mas-ter-pee-sah. Masterpiece.”

You rolled your eyes that even now he went into professor mode but watched with a smile as your daughter followed his instructions, her look one of complete concentration as she repeated the syllables. Her t- was still a th- but she happily clapped her chubby hands together when Spencer praised her.

“Now, I know you want to wear the high heels, but you have to do a lot of walking tonight in order to go trick or treating. Plus, your feet haven’t grown all the way yet, and those shoes could hurt you. We don’t want you to get hurt on accident because of something as silly as uncomfortable shoes, do we?”

Your daughter pondered his words, her tiny shoulders dropping.

“No, I guess not”.

She sounded so defeated that her daddy had used the same argument that you had and you waited to see how Spencer would take her defeat, knowing he despised making her sad.

“Hey, no, no. Don’t be sad, pumpkin. I actually bought shoes for you that I think will make your costume completely authentic - they’re very glittery and sparkly. They’re in daddy’s closet - maybe mommy can help you get them”.

“For real life daddy?!” She cried, jumping up and down excitedly. You huffed out a laugh, already getting up so your daughter could tug you over to the master bedroom. She squealed in excitement when you found the special shoes, shouting out a thank you as she ran to dress up. (All by herself, of course). Thanking your husband you promised you’d see him soon, and reminded him to make sure Penelope was seated when you arrived to greet her goddaughter.

Over an hour later, after your daughter had asked for three different hairstyles with different accessories, she declared her costume perfect. Sometimes it was hard to believe she was only 4, although she was about to turn 5. She excitedly held your hand as you walked into Quantico, the standard Halloween bucket exchanged for a brightly colored purse. A feathered headband stuck up from her unruly curls, along with bright pink nails that somehow perfectly matched the shoes Spencer had bought. You texted Spencer right before entering the elevator, and he let you know that you were set to come up.

Exiting on the sixth floor, you led your daughter to where the BAU sat, making eye contact with your husband. No one had seen the small child over the cubicle walls yet, so when she rounded the corner her small voice loudly exclaimed,

“Hello my fine furry friends!”

Penelope had gasped loudly as your daughter posed, and then squealed, running over to pick your daughter up and spin her around.

When she set her down, they both started excitedly talking to each other, and Penelope exclaimed how wonderful her shoes were and asked your daughter if she thought she could get a pair to match. The two of them were quite a pair, and you laughed when your daughter mimicked the way Penelope stood.

Spencer approached you as you watched the scene, pressing a kiss to your temple. Together, you watched as Penelope declared your daughter her “mini me” as no one else could ever have such impeccable fashion taste or be quite so smart. Then, she had taken your daughter to the bat cave, giving her one of her precious toys to “complete the whole look”.

Upon her return, your daughter invited everyone to go trick or treating with her. When Luke had piped up stating he wanted some candy, neither you or Spencer could stop laughing when your daughter turned to him, hand still in Penelope’s and said,

“Not you, newbie”.

[roseandxander]

Baby blurb of reader and Eddie where reader sleeps with her teddy when she has anxiety and it’s all soft and fluffy lol. Yes I have just turned 20 and still sleep with my teddy and I am not ashamed 😤💖

i love him 😭 so much 😭

A hand on your forehead. 

You blink awake. It takes you a second to realise what you're seeing. Eddie, your boyfriend, handsome and frowning across from you.

"Are you okay?" you whisper, voice thick with sleep.

"Me?" he asks. He turns his hand. His knuckles skip over your cheek, down to under your chin where he rubs a small line, back and forth. "You're sleeping with Mr. Bear?" 

"Oh…" That's the soft weight on your chest. 

Eddie kneels beside your bed. Where his right hand is soothing at your chin, the left strokes over Mr. Bear's worn tummy. 

You feel instantly embarrassed, the kind of shame that makes your face white hot. 

"Are you doing okay, sweet thing?" he asks. The sweet thing isn't strictly sincere. He says it with a smile, like he's hoping you'll laugh. 

You try your best. "I'm okay." 

"Yeah?" 

His touch is so soft. Feather-light. The kiss of a butterfly's wing to your chin. His eyes are distracted by somewhere on your cheek and his mouth is still worried. Pulled down at the corners. 

"Move over?" he asks eventually. 

You nod obligingly and shuffle aside. Eddie shakes out of his jacket and climbs into bed next to you, your shoulders kissing, your eyes on the ceiling. 

"You can tell me anything," he says. His voice is gruff like he's a little abashed to say it, but sincere. 

You sigh. "I know." 

Eddie hums before taking Mr. Bear into careful hands, waving one of Mr. Bear's small arms at you. "Do you tell him what's wrong?" he asks, holding your bear in front of his mouth. 

"Sometimes." 

Eddie brings Mr. Bear's mouth to his ear. "Oh," he says thoughtfully. "Gotcha." 

You roll your eyes as Eddie sets the stuffie back over your chest, positioning him to be comfortable. 

"What did he tell you?" you ask, curious.

Eddie glares at you theatrically. "Is nothing sacred?" 

"He's my bear." 

"And you won't award him any privacy? You cruel woman." 

You huff, equally theatrical, and let your head loll back to the ceiling. Eddie cups your neck, his hand hot to your skin. He tilts your head towards him again very slowly. 

You break character when he presses his nose to yours, laughing under your breath as he says, "Let me be your confidante, babe. I'm as good a listener as that dude and twice as cuddly." 

"Twice," you laugh. 

"I have better hair." 

You reach out to stroke his dark curls. He really does.

[roseandxander]

congrats on 24k babe!! it’s a huge milestone and you should be so full of urself rn. your blurbs and fics are so raw and realistic it’s amazing. and dialogues? gladly :)

maybe a soft morning with dad!eddie and his s/o getting baby ready for the day?

have an amazing day!! <33

thank you very much!!! i made this fem!reader, i hope that's okay!!

The baby is unusually subdued this morning. Eddie has her in his lap as you sort through her clothes. You hold up a pink dress with white knitted tights. "These ones?" you ask him. 

Eddie adjusts his hands very carefully, always so careful with her even eight months down the line. "Babe, you know what I'm gonna say." 

You bite back a smile. "Just 'cos you think I'm good-"

"Great," he interrupts. 

"-at dressing her doesn't mean I don't want your input." 

You shift where you're kneeling on the floor in front of the bottom drawer of your dresser, hands sifting through baby clothes. "Why don't you choose?" you ask him. 

He rubs the side of his face into the dark short sleeve of his t-shirt self-consciously. "I don't want her to look stupid." 

"She won't." You look over the small range of dresses and shirts. You smile at the black dress at the bottom of the drawer and hold it out with the pink one. "Which one?" 

"This feels like a trick question." 

"Which one do you like best?" you ask him gently. 

He's tentative. "The black one," he answers, squeezing the baby's hand in his. She makes a soft sound, neither happy or sad, just a sound. 

He peers down at her, leaning away so her head has room to drop back. Their eyes meet and she beams. 

"Do you want to dress her?" you ask. She's always well-behaved for him. You wish you could resent him for it.

 

"Yeah, I'll do it. Why don't you go shower, sweetheart?" 

You climb up off of your aching knees and put her fresh bodysuit, dress and tights on the mattress beside him. He lifts his chin expectantly and you take his face into your hands to fend the dark curls off his cheeks. "Love you," you say. 

"I love you," he says. When he smiles his single dimple appears. You press your thumb against it and lean down for a quick kiss. 

When you return he's managed to dress the baby and dress himself, the two of them stretched out on top of the now made bed, chest to chest. You'd hate how easy it is for him if he wasn't such a doting partner and father, if his face didn't light up entirely every time you walk into a room like it does now. 

"Do I get to choose your clothes, too?" he asks. 

You smile, surprised. "You want to?" 

"Yeah, I'd love to. Me and trouble have been discussing outfits." 

"Mm, you sounded like you were deep in conversation," you say wryly. 

Despite your sarcasm you're happy for him to dress you, and can't hold in your pleasure when he suits you up in tights and a simple thigh length dress, black as the baby's with a neckline just low enough to clearly display your necklace, a silver chain weighed down by the ring he'd given you on your fourth date. All because you'd said you liked it. He'd pulled it right off of his hand and let you have it then and there. 

When you're dressed he hands you the baby. You tuck her into your chest and smile at him, perplexed as he pulls open the nightstand and unveils his camera. 

"Gotta get a pic of my girls in their pretty dresses," he explains. 

You hide your face in her hair. He protests loudly, nagging until you lift your head and pose for the picture. The flash clicks. "There. Perfect," he says. 

"You haven't even seen the photo yet." 

"Don't need to." 

You huff a baby hair out of your face with a rueful roll of your eyes. He's ridiculously sweet.

[roseandxander]

hey! this is my first time requesting and i’m a little nervous so i’m choosing to do anon!

i was wondering if we could get boyfriend eddie sweeting talking/comforting his reader gf that has alopecia? i personally have it and i haven’t seen it anywhere. :)

hi!!!! i love u ty for ur request i went with the r having a small/medium sized patch of hair missing that can be pulled into a ponytail, i hope that's okay! ♡ fem!reader

It's small enough to hide but big enough to be obvious that you're hiding something. Eddie swears to you that you can't see it now you've tugged it up into a ponytail, but Eddie's a huge liar. He'd spare your feelings before ever admitting he can see it.

"Are you lying?" you ask. He definitely is.

"Seriously, baby. You can't tell... and even if you could-"

"Eddie!" You scramble to the mirror and turn, trying your best to spot the bare patch by yourself.

"I'm just saying! I'm just saying, you don't have to worry. You don't have to hide it."

"Of course I do. It's not exactly the fashion."

"Since when do we care about fashion?"

"I'm not walking around with my scalp showing."

Eddie follows you to the mirror. He holds your shoulder firmly in one hand and brings the other to your head to smooth down your hair. He's careful as he encourages a band of hair over to the side, his fingertips unbearably kind. He tightens up your hair tie and takes your small can of hairspray into his hands, shaking it.

"You can't see it," he says as he sprays your hair flat. "I promise. Please don't worry about it, angel."

You bite your tongue, furious with yourself as a freak wave of tears wells in your eyes. "I can't not worry about it, Eddie."

"Let me worry about it."

"You- you'll tell me if it looks obvious?"

He puts down the hairspray and turns you by your shoulders. His eyes match his expression, fondness furthered by the puppy dog's he's giving you. "I swear on my life." His smile turns wry. He chucks your chin. "You're fucking beautiful, you know that?"

"I'd be much prettier if I weren't balding," you say hotly.

Eddie loathes your self disgust. His smile drops into a frown, his hands rigid over your shoulders. Slowly, slowly, they relax. His fingers trail down the lengths of your arms until he's found and stolen your hands.

"You couldn't get any prettier. Physically impossible. Unfeasible. Nothing will change that, ever."

You look down at his hands, ring-clad, callus-wrought. The juxtaposition of them isn't lost on you. He's the softest touch you've ever met.

"Are you sure?" you ask weakly.

"Yes." His response is immediate. He shakes your hands until your lift your gaze to his angled head, forehead inclined seriously. "I'm sure. Positive, sweet thing. You're aces."

You relax.

"We don't have to go, you know. We could stay here, spark up, let me show you how much I mean it?" He wiggles his eyebrows at you suggestively.

You slap his chest. "Shut up." You take a deep breath. "Better take me before I lose my nerve."

He chuckles and pulls you out of the bathroom by the hand.

[roseandxander]

I really hope you're still taking request because I was wondering if you'll do a Eddie Munson x plus size reader... Just to something sweet, it's okay if ya don't wanna do that though.

Btw I really love your writing, it brightens my day with each read <3

thank u! i hope this is alright! I did like an insecure moment wearing a dress around Eddie for the first time ♡ plus size!fem!reader

merged with this request :3

"Holy shit," Eddie says. Begs, more like. There's this desperate quality to his voice that makes you want to cover your face with your hands.

"Don't, Teddy," you plead.

"Holy fucking shit."

He rolls the window all the way down and beams at you. "Fuck, I feel like I'm leering, right now. Am I leering?"

"Yes!" you say.

Eddie gets out of the car and promptly throws himself against the door. "Holy shit."

You turn away and start walking.

"Wait. Wait wait wait wait wait, baby. Where are you going?" he asks, catching hold of your wrist.

You let him turn you around. Despite feeling more embarrassed than you've ever felt, you let Eddie look you up and down. His eyes catch on your legs, your tummy, your chest. All the things you hadn't wanted him to really spend too much time looking at.

"Fuck, you're beautiful."

He's staring you straight in your face when he says it.

"You're sure?" you ask, pulling the fabric of your new dress away from your tummy where it clings.

"Am I sure? Will you torture me all day? You look insane. Is that new?"

You shrug and wrap your fingers around his wrist tentatively, always afraid to be affectionate. Eddie shows no such restraint. He tightens his hold on you and comes so close you can see the individual lashes edging his eyes. He grins, smirks, lopsided and nearing smarmy.

"It's a nice dress," he says earnestly. "It's really fucking nice. Where'd you get it?"

"Why?"

"So we can go back. Get another one."

You look down at his chest. "You don't have to... say all that."

"No, I do," he says warmly, drawing in until your as close as you can be. "My pretty girlfriend's wearing the cutest dress I've ever seen." He chucks you under the chin. "And it's different. But still you, sweetheart."

You drop your head into his shoulder unceremoniously.

"You don't like it?" he asks, stroking the side of your face.

His touching is slow and careful. It's starkly different to his brash drama, his overzealous compliments and his bordering amorous gaze, but Eddie's never worked in expectancies.

"I like it."

Eddie makes leaving your comfort zone a risk worth taking. You tell him as much. He kisses over the top of your head like the sentimental idiot he is and then murmurs a promise about rewarding you for your bravery.