appledressing - Tumblr blog

appledressing · 1 day ago

Text

1 + 1 = 3

Pairing: Aaron Pierre x Black Reader

Synopsis: A peek into a few moments in you & Aaron's journey to becoming first time parents

Warnings: none, fluff, the intensity of childbirth, some specifics, allusions to smut, much research but inaccuracies still present, many pet names, no use of Y/N, the ghettoest of sentence structures and many grammatical errors

Word Count: 12k🫠 (11.8 to be exact)

Note: I don't take requests, so don't ask me to write anything; be happy with what my brain decides to put out. Needed to write something soft & fluffy bc @theereina killed Terry Richmond

The clatter of the plastic hitting your bathroom counter barely registers over the sound of blood rushing in your ears, the cheerful chime of the alarm you forgot to turn off serving as a stark juxtaposition to the anxiety coursing through your veins.

Maybe I'm seeing things. I do need to book an eye exam…

Another sidelong glance, the words barely coming into focus before you’re clamping your eyes shut as a wave of nausea hits, providing an unnecessary and unwelcome confirmation to the display staring up at you from your bathroom sink.

Pregnant

16-18 weeks

It's your twelfth test in half as many days. You managed to convince yourself that the eleven before this were all false positives, that there had to be some other explanation to the months-long stomach bug you'd managed to catch. Never mind the fact that none of your anti-nausea remedies—homeopathic or otherwise—seemed to work, or that the nausea came in random spurts. Never mind the soreness in your breasts, the pain in your hips, your favorite sleeping position suddenly becoming uncomfortable, the fact that you could suddenly smell everything.

Or the fact that your period, usually calculated damn near down the hour, hadn't come in months.

Two and two suddenly came together, the realization hitting like a cold shock to your system. You silently thanked your hands for already holding onto the counter before you, saving you from becoming a heap on the floor for Aaron to find later when he came home.

Aaron.

He'd proposed a little less than six months ago, your usual anniversary trip providing the perfect cover for him to drop down on one knee as New Year's fireworks exploded overhead, providing colorful highlights to the tears streaking down both of your faces. The two of you elected to bask in the freshly engaged bubble for a while, holding off on planning the wedding and only sharing the joyous news with close friends, family, and those observant enough to spot the glittering dual-stoned ring perched on your left hand. Two months later, he came to you with the proposition.

“My love,” The smooth British baritone of his voice gently brought you out of the book you were engrossed in. “Yes, baby?” You glance up at him, shamelessly admiring his body—shirtless, muscular legs clad in cozy black sweatpants—as he slowly approaches your reading nook before taking a seat, pulling your blanked-covered feet into his lap and absentmindedly tapping his thumbs against your ankles; he's nervous. He takes a moment before speaking, the intentionality and thoughtfulness he brings to every aspect of his life shining through as he organizes his thoughts. “I—I was thinking, and um…” He trails off in an uncharacteristic stutter, causing your brows to knit together in a frown. You wrap both of your hands around one of his, peppering his fingers in kisses, “It’s just me, baby. You don't need to be nervous.” You give him a small smile, hoping to ease whatever anxiety that had managed to grip him. No such luck. He was still fidgety, his shoulders were still pulled high and tight, and he still couldn't hold eye contact with you. You let out a small huff as you reposition, planting yourself firmly in his lap as you straddle him. His giant hands immediately go to your hips, slipping beneath his your hoodie and grazing against the bare skin. Your hands start at his strong shoulders, fingertips pressing into the taut muscle, before sliding up to cradle the back of his head while the other moves to his forehead to smooth out the line between his brows; a telltale sign that while he was physically here with you, his mind was elsewhere, lost in the vast expanse of that mind of his. “Aaron, baby,” You start gently, rubbing the fingers of one hand over his earlobe, the other scratching at his scalp. “Talk to me, angel. What's got you so anxious?” He remains silent, grey-hazel eyes glued to your face as he sucks in a deep breath, using the tempo of your hands on him to regulate his breathing & ground himself in the present—in you. “I wanna start trying for a baby.” You freeze, but Aaron pushes on, “I know we haven't really discussed it outside of agreeing that we want children in the future, but ever since you said yes when I proposed, I can't get the image out of my head: a child, our child. Created from love, raised in love, a perfect combination of all the best parts of the both of us. I know it's random and I should've brought this up before but—” “Okay.” Aaron's wide eyes shoot up to meet yours, “Okay?” You nod, fighting back the tears prickling the corners of your eyes, “I've been thinking of it too. Ever since we went to visit my sister after she had my nephew. When I saw you holding him I—” You sigh, swallowing back tears at the memory of Aaron's giant frame cuddling the tiny newborn, swaying back and forth as he hummed a tune under his breath. “I wanna have a baby—your baby.” “Our baby.” Aaron corrects, all of his teeth on display as a megawatt smile takes over his face. “Our baby.” You agree, shrieking out a laugh as Aaron stands, scurrying off towards your shared bedroom.

Another cold shock washes through your system as you do the math: you'd gotten pregnant almost immediately. One try was all it took, and now you're—

“My love? You home? I saw your car in the driveway.”

You nearly jump out of your skin, heart rate spiking at the sound of Aaron's voice and the muffled thump of his footsteps as he moves through the house, no doubt looking for you. Panic grips you as you scramble to hide the test, settling for wrapping it in toilet paper and hiding it inside the box of your feminine products. That'll do, for now.

You take a moment, breathing deeply as steel yourself. Keeping secrets from Aaron has proved to be an impossible task throughout the course of your relationship. He's observant to a fault; one of the first things he did after meeting you was learning every single nervous tick or anxious twitch you've ever displayed. He quickly learned about the way you shake your hands when you're overwhelmed, the way your mouth curls when you're biting your tongue after hearing something questionable, how your poker face is almost ironclad—except to him. You knew you'd need to come up with a plan to tell him quickly before you just blurted it out. You wanted to make this as special for him as he's made everything for you.

Exiting the bathroom, you follow the sound of Aaron's footsteps heading toward your office. “Hey baby,” Mentally cursing yourself for the crack in your voice, you recover quickly, checking the time on your phone, “You're home early?”

“Hey my love.” He wraps his strong arms around you, and you breathe him in, thanking God that his smell was one of the few that didn't immediately make you sick. “Yeah, there was a problem with one of the rigs, it'll be a few days before the part comes in, so we get a little extended weekend!” He presses a tender kiss to the crown of your head before pulling back, flashing a bright smile down at you before brushing his lips against yours, one of his large palms dropping to your stomach.

You freeze as a mental spiral begins instantly. Does he know?? How would he?? Have I shown any signs?? Am I showing??? Ohmygodohmygodohmyg—

“Baby, are you alright? You're trembling.” Aaron's voice brings you back to earth, his hands cupping your cheeks as his concerned eyes search your face.

You attempt a smile, but it comes off more as a grimace, shaky and unstable as you find yourself unable to meet his gaze. Lord, this was gonna be difficult.

Aaron leans down, trying to make his eyes level with yours, “What's wrong baby girl? Talk to me, my love.”

“Uh, I'm okay,” Your fingers find your temple, feeling the roots of a migraine begin to take shape—another pregnancy symptom that you'd deluded yourself into ignoring. “You know I haven't been feeling good recently. Haven't really eaten today.”

You'd barely finished your sentence before you're swept off your feet, heading off towards the kitchen wrapped securely in the arms of your soon-to-be husband (and baby-daddy).

Two hours later—after Aaron had you clear at least one plate, watched you carefully to make sure you kept it down, coaxed no less than six orgasms out of you, and three of his into you—he ran the two of you a bath and snuggled you both into your pj's for the night, “My manager sent over a new script this morning, can I read it with you?”

You nod excitedly, waiting patiently for Aaron to settle into bed next to you, opening his arms & legs to welcome you in and you promptly curl up within them, positioning your ear right over his heart, the steady beat lulling you to sleep long before Aaron's warm baritone could.

You were immensely proud of yourself.

You'd managed to keep your pregnancy hidden from Aaron for four whole days. You weren't sure how you'd managed it, but you thanked your lucky stars because it allowed you to surmise a plan to be executed tonight when Aaron came home.

You'd put together a little gift box consisting of various acting and parent-themed things; a little plastic Oscar, a coffee mug, a newborn onesie, a film camera and empty photo book, primed and ready for all the memories Aaron would no doubt capture in the coming months and years, and finally, at the very bottom, your positive pregnancy test. Now all that's left to do is wait….

Of course, on the one day you actually had a plan, a wrench was thrown: Aaron would be kept on set late as they worked double time to get back on schedule after the rig repair. Ever the communicator, he made sure to call you as soon as he got the news, dejectedly delivering the update along with the instructions to be sure to eat and not wait up for him.

“Like hell I'm going to bed without you next to me, Aaron Pierre.” You declared stubbornly, causing the man on the other end of the call to chuckle, “Oh, and a package for you came earlier.”

“Oh? I didn't order anything, unless you forgot to change the name on one of your Amazon boxes.” You could practically hear one of his God-arched eyebrows raising, along with the half smirk that always came with it.

“I’ll have you know that I have not ordered anything in the past month. I don't appreciate these accusations, Stone.”

Aaron lets out a full laugh this time, the sound acting as a balm over your nerves. God, I can't wait to marry this man. “I'm sure you don't, but we'll see if I'm right or not when I get home.” There's noise on his end of the phone, “I have to go, my love. I'll call you when I leave, alright?”

A wave of sadness courses through you, if you could live in that man's skin, you would—and he'd let you. “Okay. I love you, Aaron.”

“And I love you. Take a nap so I get home quicker.”

Hours later, you awake to the sound of your phone ringing. Disoriented, you locate the device buried in the blanket that was draped over you, “Aaron? Baby?”

“Hey angel,” His deep voice rumbles on the other end, his accent even thicker now that he was exhausted from the day, “I'm about 10 minutes away.”

You bolt off of the couch, a shot of adrenaline hitting your system, “Okay. I'll warm your food up.”

You could hear the smile in his voice as he responded, “I appreciate you, my love. See you soon.”

Exactly 10 minutes later, you see the headlights of Aaron's car pull into the driveway. You fidget, adjusting and re-adjusting the box on the counter, trying to force yourself to act normal as you go over the story of the package one more time in your head; Someone rang the doorbell—shit, we have a doorbell camera, I can't go with that one. I gotta come up with something else. Fuck! The door’s opening—”Heyyyy Aaron baby!” You cringe internally and externally at your overenthusiastic greeting. This is why Aaron was the actor of the household.

Your internal monologue was interrupted when Aaron finally dragged around the corner. He looked every bit as tired as he sounded on the phone, shoulders dropped, eyes barely open, socked feet dragging along the ground with every step he took. His exhaustion was further confirmed when he hugged you, leaning into you and resting his cheek on top of your head.

“What did I tell you about driving when you're this tired, Aaron?” You scold him gently.

He hums, lips brushing along your hairline, “I know, my love. But the closest Uber was 45 minutes away. Just wanted to come home to you.”

Your heart melts, how can you ever be upset with him? You decide to drop it; he's home, safely in your arms, that's all that matters, “You hungry?”

“I can hold off for a bit, managed to nab a sandwich from catering as I left.”

“Here, open your package.” You nudge the box towards him.

He eyes it warily before turning to you, “Where'd this come from?”

A shrug, “It was on the porch when I opened the door earlier.”

“I didn't get an alert on my phone from the doorbell camera.”

Another shrug, “It's addressed to you. You gonna open it?” You fight—and fail—to contain your excitement by bouncing on your toes.

Aaron quirks an eyebrow, gears turning in that intuitive head of his, “You know what's in it?”

“Uh, no? Just open it so we can see what's inside. We can go to bed after.”

Aaron eyes you a moment longer before turning away & grabbing the box cutter, revealing the smaller one inside. He glances at you, but you only offer yet another shrug in response. He carries on lifting the smaller box out and removing the lid, “What's this, my love?”

A grin finally breaks out across your face, “A gift box.”

Aaron matches your grin with one of his own, “For?”

“You, keep going. You'll see why in a second.” You watch with bated breath as Aaron trudges on, pushing the pink and blue tinsel aside, revealing his first gift.

His eyebrows furrow as he turns the plastic award around in his hands, “‘World's Best Daddy’? Honey, what's this?”

“Keep going, there's more.” You grin.

“Ooh, new mug! Thank you, baby.”

“What's it say?”

“Uh… ‘My Daddy is an EGOT’ Babe, what is going on?”

You smile. As smart as he is, he wasn't getting it, “Keep going, Aaron. All of your answers are in this box.”

“What's this—a film camera & book? For our wedding? I thought we agreed we were gonna wait a bit before—”

“There's something else in the box, baby.”

Aaron looks down, rustling around in the stuffing before his hand finds it. You watch his tired eyes turn into saucers as he registered what he was seeing, then you watch his ears and nose turn red—a telltale sign that he was holding back tears, then he turns to you, the test slipping from his hands and clattering onto the counter in a similar reaction to yours, “Who’s is that?”

You cock your head to the side, confusion evident on your face, “Mine?”

“Baby,” His voice is shaky, “Please don't joke with me.”

Tears of your own spring to your eyes, “I'm not, angel.”

He creeps another step closer, “You're—we—right now?”

You nod, “Right now, baby.”

Two tears break free, rolling down his beautiful face as he reaches for you, hand skimming across your stomach, “We're havin’ a baby?”

You nod, “We're having a baby.”

He takes another step, fingertips grazing across the skin of your hips, pulling your body flush against his “I need to hear you say it, baby girl.”

You cup his cheeks, thumbs wiping his tears, though more immediately follow their path, “Aaron Stone Pierre, I'm pregnant.” You take a deep breath, “With our baby.”

A fresh wave of tears pours down his face as he scoops you up in his arms before dropping to his knees in the middle of your kitchen, the two of you clinging to each other as you cry tears of joy.

“I'm gonna be a dad.”

“You're gonna be a dad.”

Aaron's leg won't stop jiggling.

The two of you are seated in the doctor's office, waiting to be called back for your first ultrasound.

“Aaron, baby,” You say gently, though he jumps anyway. “It's okay.”

“I know. I just—” He breaks off, eyes tracking the movements of a heavily pregnant woman as she waddles by, slowly making her way to the desk to check in. The two of you overhear the tech confirming her details: she’s here for her 38-week check-up, “Fuck. Are we ready for this? Are we qualified? What if we fuck something up?”

You give him a reassuring smile, though you'd be lying if he wasn't giving voice to your thoughts too, “They'll give us pamphlets and walk us through the whole process, and I know you're already building a cart full of every pregnancy and parenting book you can find.”

Aaron only gives you the ghost of half a smile, reply interrupted as a nurse enters, calling your name. She makes small talk with you as she leads you to an examination room, quickly going through your medical history before taking your vitals and recording them in the database. “The doctor should be in shortly.”

You turn to Aaron as soon as the door closes, patting the space beside you on the examination table, “Sit with me.”

He obliges you instantly, offering his hands for you to take, “I’m sorry, my love. I know I’m supposed to be happy—and I am—but it’s just, I’m so nervous, baby.” One of his hands gently caresses your stomach. You were just beginning to show, “This is going to be a person. We’ll be responsible for teaching them right from wrong, preparing them to face a world that’s designed to see them fail, and how to handle all of that with grace and not become jaded in the process. How are we gonna do that?”

You place your hand over his, “God wouldn’t have given us this blessing if He didn’t think we were ready. I know it doesn’t seem like it because this is all so new, but I think we’ll be okay. You are an incredible man, Aaron Pierre. You’ll be an incredible husband, and an even better father. Okay?”

Aaron smiles at you, the first full one he’s given you all day, before his lips meet yours in a sweet kiss, “I love you so much,” He mumbles against your lips, “I couldn’t imagine doing this with anyone else. I’m honored to call myself your husband.”

“I love you too. You promoting yourself already, huh?” You laugh, and Aaron joins you.

“Just getting my practice in.”

A knock on the door brings the two of you back to the present moment as the doctor enters the room, introducing herself to the both of you as Dr. Zenobia Williamson—”But you can call me Dr. Zen”—before sitting down on the rolling stool. She’s a brown-skinned, middle-aged woman, with a gentle voice and welcoming aura. Mid-back length salt and pepper dreads are pulled into a ponytail and secured by a scarf with gold-rimmed glasses perched on her nose with a few freckles scattered across her face.

“So, you’re pregnant.” She starts, a warm smile on her face.

You glance at Aaron before turning back to the doctor, “Yeah, I am.”

“Any idea how far along you are?”

Your eyes slide to the ceiling as you recall, “Uh, the test I took said 16 to 18 weeks, that was a little under 2 weeks ago, so…” You trail off as Dr. Zen raises an eyebrow.

“So, you’re about 20 weeks pregnant, and this is your first appointment?”

You nod, feeling sheepish, “Yeah.”

Dr. Zen’s eyes shoot over to Aaron—he’d been carefully observing every corner of the room, watching every entrant like a hawk—before returning to you, “Any particular reason for waiting?”

You smile nervously, twirling your engagement ring around your finger, “Um, I’d kind of convinced myself that I’d just come down with an extended stomach bug. I took a bunch of tests, but then I convinced myself that they were all false positives.” You feel Aaron’s eyes on you at your revelation, you don’t dare turn to face him.

Dr. Zen huffs a laugh, typing on the computer before rising from the stool and retrieving a machine from the corner of the room, “The power of the mind, huh?”

You smile, “Yeah...”

Dr. Zen glances at Aaron again, “How you feelin’, Dad? First time hearing all this?”

Aaron sucks in a breath, scratching at his eyelid, “It is. I knew she wasn’t feeling well, having sporadic moments of sickness, headaches, low energy. Part of me wishes I'd've put the pieces together earlier, maybe I could’ve brought her in to be looked at weeks ago and figured all this out sooner.”

You pat his arm, “You took amazing care of me, just as you always do. Your cooking was the only thing that I consistently held down.”

“So were y’all trying or was this just a happy accident?”

Aaron answers this time, “We were trying.”

“If my math is right,” You start, “We only tried that one time. I guess we both thought it would take a lot longer.”

“All it takes is one.” Dr. Zen muses, pressing buttons and flipping switches on the machine.

“And I made sure I was thorough.” Aaron smirks, gently squeezing your hip.

Dr. Zen laughs, before instructing you to lay back and lift your shirt up, walking you through the process of the appointment: squirt the gel, wiggle the probe around, check the baby’s vitals, anatomy scan, get some images of the baby, hear the heartbeat, find out the gender if you so chose—you and Aaron opted to wait a bit—schedule your next appointment, give you some pamphlets, and send you home. “You ready?”

“There’s no going back now,” You say, holding tightly to Aaron’s hand as the ultrasound machine comes to life.

There’s nothing to see for a few moments as Dr. Zen moves the probe around, trying to find the baby, “Little thing likes to hide, huh?” Seconds later, however, your eyes burn with unshed tears as a small baby appears on the monitor. Head, hands and toes all visible, “There they are! Looks like they’re sleeping at the moment.” Dr. Zen announces.

“Oh my God.” Aaron says quietly, voice cracking as he struggles to keep it together.

“Aaron,” You cry, slapping your hand against his thigh, “There’s our baby! That’s our baby!”

Aaron gives you a watery smile as the first tears break free, streaking down his face, “That’s our baby.”

Dr. Zen presses a button, and a steady thumpthumpthump fills the room, “And that’s your baby’s heartbeat; strong and steady.”

The dam breaks, your vision blurring as you become a crying mess on the exam table, hand over your mouth in an attempt to muffle your sobs. Judging by the soft cries from your left-hand side, Aaron isn't faring much better, “We’re having a baby.” He cries, pressing kisses to your temple.

Dr. Zen smiles fondly as she passes you a box of tissues, “Congratulations you two.” She pauses before speaking again, “Listen,” She starts, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder, “I’m supposed to be objective, keep my advice strictly to the health of mom and baby. But you remind me of my daughter, and I overheard you two talking before I came in and I have to say: The fact that you’re so worried about whether or not you’re qualified to be parents, means you’re the exact type of people who should be parents. This beautiful baby is going to come into this world and grow up surrounded by so much love, from not only you, but from your tribe as well.” She looks between you and Aaron, ensuring both of you hear her wise words, ”And, from an experienced parent to new parents: none of us knew what we were doing—we figured it out as we went along. It never got easier, we just got better at handling it. Don’t be so hard on yourselves, hear?”

Both you and Aaron nod, nerves sufficiently soothed by Dr. Zen's wise words, “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good, now let's get this anatomy scan done, then we’ll get some pictures for you to take home.”

The anatomy scan went smoothly with Dr. Zen explaining every step as she went along. 45 minutes later, she was printing out your report—your baby was measuring on the smaller side, but all vitals were strong, and once Aaron mentioned that he, too, was a small baby, Dr. Zen was confident in sending you home, armed with a folder full of test results, measurements, recommendations for prenatals, and pictures of your baby, who posed perfectly the entire time.

The third trimester brought you many things, very few of which were welcomed.

Hot flashes, as if surviving a hot ass summer as a pregnant woman wasn’t enough, the heat followed you into fall too.

Mood swings.

Random Nausea II: Electric Boogaloo. At least you were armed with PreggyPops this time.

Cravings: chicken nuggets and hot chips that you demanded nightly, hot honey everything, and fries from a very specific diner—also a nightly occurrence.

Birthing classes, prenatal yoga and chiropractic visits—your sister had quite a traumatic experience delivering your nephew at a hospital, so you opted for a birthing center, hoping for a natural water birth. Dr. Zen promptly loaded you up with a plethora of references, and you were able to put together a birthing team made entirely of black women in a matter of weeks. The ladies on your birthing team were incredible, educating you on what to expect, tips, tricks and natural remedies to assist labor progression and lessen pain, even resources for Aaron to maintain his mental and emotional health while still showing up and advocating for you as a supportive partner. He also had a fuckload of questions—most of which he’d gotten from his extensive research and reading—all of which the ladies answered.

Your dual gender reveal and baby shower, since an overexcited Aaron robbed you of doing a cute grandparent announcement for your parents by informing them—via TEXT—that you were pregnant. You still haven’t heard the end of it from your mother—thus why the baby shower was held at your parents' house in an attempt to get back in her good graces—and you’ve barely regained the best plate privileges from Aaron’s mom, only rewinning her favor after reminding her that you’re carrying her first grandchild. You still tread lightly, though; she was the first one to get an ultrasound picture.

Movie Premiere was the theme, party favors including movie-themed cookies, popcorn buckets—to go with the machine you’d rented—production slates and gold plated baby bottles, ‘Shots 4 Baby Pierre’ shot glasses, award envelopes containing gift cards of varying value for the game winners, and mini bottles of champagne along with “Pop this bottle when Y/N Pops!” instructions written on a card tied around the neck. Copious amounts of hors d'oeuvres and movie-named drinks lined the menu, along with your dad—proudly sporting his ‘Grillin’ for My Grands’ apron—working his newly purchased grill.

Upon entry, guests placed guesses of your due date into award envelopes, placing them inside a camera-shaped box as entry into a secret door prize. Then, they select a pin to guess the gender: a shadow outline of a man in a suit for a boy, or the outline of an Audrey Hepburn-esque woman in an A-line dress for a girl, before stepping onto the red carpet to have their photo taken in front of the backdrop. Gifts were placed under the gazebo, surrounding two film chairs labeled Director and Producer. You’d asked your guests to wear non-white neutral colors, so shades of green, tan and brown filled the backyard as your family gathered, both sides mingling amongst each other over the delicious food and drinks on the warm mid-fall day.

You and Aaron made your grand entrance a few minutes after the last guests arrived; you in a simple white ribbed maxi dress, Aaron in a white polo, both pins perched on his chest—”I just want a healthy baby.”—white jeans, and his favorite white Air Forces. The two of you made your rounds, greeting and hugging family members and friends, posing for pictures, Aaron keeping a steadying hand on your back the entire time now that your normal gait is giving way to the infamous pregnancy wobble. You laughed your way through the shower; food was eaten, games were played—some of which got very competitive—songs were danced to, gifts were opened, but the real draw came just before dessert: your gender reveal.

Aaron had the genius idea early in the planning process: the two of you could recreate the scene in The Wizard of Oz where the tornado sweeps the house up into the air and lands in Oz, Dorothy stepping out of a black & white house into a technicolor Munchkinland. You would be finding out the gender along with your shower guests, so you wore a green dress while filming and the gender color was added in post-production. Aaron stands behind you as the video starts, his hands tightly intertwined with yours over your bump. You and Aaron’s brothers, armed with confetti poppers in their hands and boy pins on their shirts, stand on either side of the projector screens, watching the scene closely. Film-you steps out of the house, and the color slowly fades in…

Pink dress.

Baby Pierre is a girl.

The poppers go off with a bang, your families rejoice, guests who guessed girl talking trash to those who guessed boy. Your mothers were screaming, holding each other as they jumped excitedly around the backyard, your father’s high fiving each other: they both guessed girl.

You heard none of it.

You turned to Aaron as soon as you saw the pink, your lips immediately sealed over his in a passionate kiss with Aaron wasting no time teasing the tip of his tongue along the seam of your lips. Aaron Stone Pierre is about to be a girl dad.

Shouts of “That’s how your ass got pregnant.” filter into your ears, but it sounds miles away, the world around you fading as it always does when you kiss Aaron.

He breaks away first, face wet with tears as he leans his forehead against yours, your face engulfed between his massive palms. He’s practically vibrating with excitement, “We’re gonna have a lil’ princess!”

Your equally excited reply is cut off as you gasp, feeling a sudden movement in your bump. You grab Aaron’s hand, pressing it to the area, praying it happens again and after a tense few seconds, it does. Princess Pierre just moved. “She says hi!”

Aaron immediately drops to his knees, nuzzling his face into your bump as another wave of tears cascade down his handsome face, “Hi baby girl. Your mum and I are so excited to meet you.” Baby girl responds immediately, delivering more movement against her father’s palm.

“She recognizes your voice.” You smile down at him through your tears, rubbing your hands along the back of his head as you watch their father-daughter bond continue to grow.

Aaron’s eyes well with a fresh round of wetness, kissing your bump repeatedly before rising to his feet, dropping a kiss to your left breast over your heart on his way to sealing his lips over yours as your daughter continues to kick between you, “I love you so much, baby.” He cries against your lips, large hands rubbing your sides, “Thank you so much, my love. This is the greatest blessing. I’ll move heaven and earth for the two of you, I swear.” He pulls you as close as your third-trimester bump will allow, burying his face into your shoulder as the emotion overcomes him, with you following close behind.

You slowly roll onto your right side, repositioning your body pillow once again before starting to doze back off.

That is, until Princess Pierre decides to Riverdance on your ribcage.

You sigh, “Aaron Stone!” You holler, waiting patiently and listening to the bumps and thumps of your fiancé moving to answer your call.

His towering body appears in the doorway moments later, “Everything alright, my love?”

You glare at him, an attempt at being angry for the role he played in your current condition, but once again, you fail; he dotes on you so well. “Talk to your daughter. She won’t let me sleep.”

Aaron smiles, wordlessly moving to lay across the bed, head level with your growing bump. He lifts your shirt, exposing your bare skin to his lips as he sponges several kisses across your skin, paying special attention to the new stretch marks that have appeared in recent weeks. “Princess,” He starts in a singsong voice and baby girl responds immediately, damn near somersaulting in her cozy quarters at the sound of his voice. Aaron’s eyes narrow to slits as a beaming grin overtakes his face, all of his teeth on display. “Hi pretty girl.” Another round of kisses laid on your bump, his fingertips dancing along the top and sides as Princess followed with movements of her own.

A smile of your own grows as you watch them. Aaron always said your stomach was one of his favorite parts of you, resting his hand there whenever he could. That favoritism turned into obsession when you told him you were pregnant, and it dialed up yet another notch once he realized you were showing. He’d read to your baby nightly, starting off with scripts he had, then transitioning to baby books as your pregnancy progressed. He even bought a fetal heart monitor online, spending hours just listening to her heartbeat. Now that baby girl is moving more and responding to his voice, Aaron talks to her almost more than he talks to you, having full blown conversations with her like you weren’t even there, you feel like a third wheel and she’s not even here yet. Your heart warms at the realization that Princess Pierre is a Daddy’s Girl in the making, and you wonder if she knows just how tightly she has her daddy wrapped around her finger already.

Your due date inches closer, and your ultrasound appointments transitioned into birth watch appointments. Baby girl wouldn't be considered full term for a few more weeks, but Dr. Zen began checking you for cervical dilation, telling you about early signs of labor and Braxton Hicks contractions. She also noted that your hips were opening nicely, meaning the natural water birth you’d dreamed of was very much still on the table. The house was coming together, Aaron and your dad marathoning the nursery setup—you’d decided on a soft lavender and green nature theme—as you house-called your braider to get your Birthing Braids installed. Princess Pierre had several cribs and changing tables set up in strategic places around the house, diapers and backup supplies had overtaken several closets, her closet was stocked with frilly dresses and cute outfits, though you knew that she would be spending her first weeks in the simplest of onesies and swaddling blankets. She had a copious number of toys and stuffies, ready for when she was old enough to play with them. Aaron had purchased several ink splotch books after reading that they helped with neurological development in babies.

You’d witnessed and assisted with many a pregnancy by the women in your family, so you expected to be varying forms of uncomfortable during the final weeks of yours. What you hadn’t expected, however, was the horniness. It woke you up at night—when Princess Pierre wasn’t playing soccer with your bladder and running you to the bathroom—and disturbed your attempts at rest during the day. And it didn’t help that Aaron was suddenly allergic to shirts, walking around your house with his broad chest and bulging biceps out every day as he put together items for baby girl’s room, Adonis belt peeking out from the waistband of his low-slung shorts. The smell of him walking by had your mouth watering and shorts flooding, since you’d long given up on any unnecessary clothing as your bump grew. Frustration increased by the day. Your belly was too big for you to reach and take care of it yourself, and the showerhead only provided temporary relief. You were damn near tears and needed this suffering to end. “Well,” Dr. Zen started, after you’d taken advantage of Aaron stepping out of the exam room on a phone call to get your woes off your chest, “The best way to get out of a pregnancy is the same way you got in it: you fuck him.”

You approached him in his office, clad only in one of his shirts that once covered you to mid-thigh but now barely stretches over the cuff of your ass. “Baby.”

“Yes, my love.” He smiles as he turns to face you. Damn that handsome face, “Is our princess keeping you from your nap?” He reaches for your belly once you're close enough, hand going to trace along your side, but you stop him, toying with his fingers as you stare at him, contemplating how to make your next move.

Fuck it. Closed mouths don’t get fed.

Wordlessly, you move his hand south, sliding it between your thighs. You watch Aaron’s eyes darken as his fingers press against your slit, sloshing through your wetness. His plump bottom lip disappears behind a row of white teeth as his eyebrows furrow, focusing on his hand drowning in your ocean, “Damn.”

Your eyes roll back, and your head follows suit; he’d barely touched you and you’re already about to cum. “Aaron.” Your whine sounds pathetic, but you’re long past the point of caring, you just needed this fire in your belly put out, if only for a moment.

“Hmm? Talk to me, my love.” Aaron’s voice rumbles low in his chest, the pad of his long middle finger circling your clit, “You need me?”

“Please, baby.” You seek more pressure, hips rocking against his hand as you hold him against you.

“Tell me, my pretty girl.” Aaron stands, towering over you as he slips two thick digits into your core, swallowing the wanton moan he pulls from your throat with his lips on yours, “Tell me you need me.”

“I need you, Aaron. Take care of me please.”

Aaron’s lips claim yours in a hungry kiss, and you cling to his strong shoulders as his fingers continue to work in depths that only he can reach. “I’mma take care of you, mama.”

The final days of your pregnancy have arrived, and—with the start of what you’d identified as Braxton Hicks—the reality was beginning to set in: you and Aaron’s lives were about to change forever. You would be responsible for a whole entire person who—for a while, at least—wouldn’t be able to communicate their needs to you. You knew you were overprepared in the financial and material sense: you and Aaron have good jobs, your families have showered you and baby girl in gifts, your mom is moving into your spare bedroom in preparation to tag-team your postnatal care with the nighttime doula you’d hired, and Aaron’s parents are getting settled in a nearby long-term stay apartment, as his mom declared herself responsible for keeping you and Aaron fed while you adjusted to parenthood.

Mentally and emotionally, however, was a whole other story. Imposter syndrome has snuck back in alongside the revolving door of people and packages entering and exiting your home as you prepared for Princess Pierre to come earthside. You’d been in and out of a mental spiral for days and it was beginning to show during your checkups, your doula commenting on how your hip-opening progress has slowed, which could needlessly extend your labor.

As always, it was Aaron that pulled you out, despite being in the throes of his own mental spiral. He’d suggested a quick weekend staycation at an oceanfront hotel to soak up the last few moments before your party of two became a party of three. “Remember when we were at your first ultrasound, and you calmed me down before the doctor came in?” He started, rubbing methodic circles on the back of your hand as the two of you meditated on the balcony of your room.

“Yeah, even though I was terrified too. I still am.” Your excess hormones have your eyes burning with tears and the conversations barely started.

“I know. I’m scared too. She’ll be here soon, and everything will change. But like you said, God wouldn't have given us this blessing if He didn’t think we were ready.”

You turn unsure eyes to your life partner, “Do you think we’re ready?”

Aaron sighs, his ever-changing eyes looking out over the ocean, “I don’t think this is something you can ever be ready for. You can prepare until you’re blue in the face—and we have—but there will always be a curveball.”

Your hand rests on your bump, feeling your baby girl respond to the anxiety coursing through you, “So what do we do? When the curveball comes.”

Aaron’s eyes meet yours, fierce determination and reassurance swirling within them, “We have each other, we have our families, we have our nighttime doula, and enough diapers and wipes to last us until she’s five,” The two of you share a small chuckle before Aaron’s hand joins yours on your bump, feeling your princess move. His eyes never leave yours, “She’s telling us it’s gonna be okay. That she trusts us to take care of her. She knows we got her.”

Three tears escape, tracing hot tracks down your face before Aaron kisses them away, “We got her.”

A pain in your back rips you from a fitful sleep. The Sandman didn’t visit you very often anymore, let alone stay with you for a whole night, so you could only sigh and change positions, hoping he’d toss a little more dust your way to get a couple more hours of sleep. Just as you were beginning to doze off, though, another pain. Assuming it’s gas—and not wanting to hotbox Aaron, who was sleeping soundly next to you—you slowly rolled out of bed, headed for the bathroom. Taking your well-primed seat on the throne, you wait. Seconds turn into minutes, and minutes turn into almost half an hour, but nothing happens except for another pain. A voice pops into the back of your head; Girl you’re in labor! But you dismiss it, willfully ignoring the fact that baby girl was due nine days ago. You give up on the bathroom, opting to return to bed and hope to be blessed with a smidgen more sleep. You glance at the clock on Aaron’s side of the room as you waddle back: 3:28 a.m. The pains—contractions—wake you up at regular intervals throughout the night, your tossing and turning eventually waking Aaron out of his slumber enough for him to slide his hand across your belly, assuming the baby was keeping you up.

You watched the sun rise through the gaps in the blackout curtains, having long since given up on trying to sleep through the pain, which had gradually increased in intensity and duration. You were now acclimating to your fate: Princess Pierre was making her grand entrance, soon.

Aaron stirred beside you, his circadian rhythm waking him promptly at 6:15 am. He immediately reached for you right as another contraction hit, your iron grip on his forearm and the sound of your deep breathing hit him like an ice bath, stripping away any lingering tendrils of sleep and jolting him upright in the bed, upper body leaning over yours to try and get a glimpse at your face, “Baby?”

“Mmmm.” Is the only response he gets, your eyes squeezed shut as the contraction begins to die down. This one was stronger than the others.

“‘S a contraction?” Aaron’s gravelly morning voice mixes with the shrill double shot of panic hitting his system. His mind—still adjusting to being outside of the blanket of sleep—starts running through the plan; The go bag is by the door, our outfits are in the top drawer, get her ready first, then I can change, call the doula to come check her and see how far along she is, get her mom, call my paren—Fuck! I need to be timing these! Aaron scrambles for his phone, the arm not occupied as your stress ball blindly swats around on the bedside table before finding the device and powering it on, nearly blinding himself as the screen lights up. His hands are shaking, and his mind is running a mile a minute, she’s coming she’s coming she’s coming she’s comi—

“Aaron,” You moan, snapping him out of his spiral.

He damn near jumps on top of you, needing to see your face, “What is it my love?”

“I think” You take a deep breath, voice weak from the pain, “I think I need to go downstairs.”

Aaron’s brain short circuits, this isn’t part of the plan! “But your outfit—”

“I don’t think we have time, baby.” You begin the slow process of sitting up, rolling your body so your feet hit the ground before letting Aaron pull you to your feet, “These contractions are coming harder and faster than I thought they would.”

Aaron matches you step for step as the two of you shuffle out of your room and towards the stairs, stopping briefly to knock on the door to your mom's room. She pokes her head out a moment later, locking eyes with a panicked Aaron before her own eyes widen. She nods once and closes the door to get ready and send out the all call to the Princess Pierre group chat; It’s go time!

Aaron gets you downstairs, moving to settle you on the couch, but you shake your head, “Ball.” Is all you say as the beginnings of another contraction begin, causing you to let out a low drawn out moan before the training from the birthing classes takes over. You relax all your muscles, leaning your full body weight onto Aaron as you breathe deeply through your nose, and out through your mouth. The contraction passes after a few moments, “Okay.”

Aaron retrieves your birthing ball from the corner, helping position you on it before taking a seat on the couch to your right. “How long have you been having them?”

“Uh, I’m not sure what time it was, but they woke me up in the middle of the night. I thought it was gas, so I went to the bathroom and sat in there for a while, but nothing happened. It was 3:28 when I came back to bed and tried to go back to sleep, but that didn’t really work.”

Aaron nods, thumbs flying across the keyboard on his phone, no doubt relaying what you’d just told him to your doula. “So, you’ve been having contractions consistently for about three hours now.” He continues at your affirmative nod, “What about yesterday?”

You think, combing through your memories of the previous day, “I think I felt some dull pain in like the late afternoon to evening, but I figured it was gas or just pressure from her being so low.”

Aaron nods again, still typing, “She said she’ll be here in 20 minutes.” He sits his phone down, intertwining his fingers with yours as he presses quick kisses to your lips, “You need anything?”

“Apple juice, please.”

Aaron smiles, kissing the top of your head as he gets up, “Of course, baby girl.”

A contraction hits as soon as he clears the coffee table, your hands digging into the cushion in front of you as you breathe through it, slowly rocking your hips back and forth on the birthing ball. It passes seconds later, but tears linger in the corners of your eyes when you open them, looking between Aaron and your mom, who’d just come downstairs, “It hurts, it really hurts.”

The sound of your mom pattering around the kitchen and starting the kettle draw your attention as Aaron quickly positions himself on the couch in front of you and you promptly bury your head in his chest. “You can change your mind at any point and get an epidural. Once the doula gets here and checks you, just let her know.”

You immediately shake your head, your stubborn streak rearing its head, “No, no. I don’t wanna go to a hospital.”

Aaron’s hands rub along your hips, “Nobody here will think less of you if you opt for medical intervention. The doctors said you could be in labor for days. I just don’t wanna see you in pain, my love.”

You huff a chuckle against the underside of his jaw, grounding yourself in the feel of his third-day stubble on your lips. “I love you. But I don’t think I’m gonna be in labor that long, baby.”

“What makes you say that bean?” Your mom asks, setting a steaming mug of tea on the coffee table. You smile at the nickname your mom had assigned you when you were a baby, briefly thinking of how you’d have to assign baby girl one of your own once she got here.

“Just a feeling. I think she’ll be here by tonight, honestl—ooh.”

It goes on like that for some time. You attempt conversation, maybe even a bite of food and then a contraction hits, with Aaron mumbling the duration once it subsides. The doula shows up and immediately ushers you into your first-floor guest bedroom after Aaron gives her the report: you were currently tracking at 40-second contractions with 5 minutes in between.

“Yeah, it might be best if you head to the birthing center.” She says, removing her exam gloves and tossing them in the trash can.

You shoot up—well, shoot up as fast as a 41-week 2-day pregnant woman in active labor can—from the bed, “But—I thought—They said I could labor at home and then—”

“You are 4 centimeters dilated, and you’ve been in labor for 3 hours. Your water could break at any second. You’re progressing pretty quickly for a first-time mom. It’s up to you if you want to chance it by waiting here, but I strongly recommend you head out. That way you’re around people who can help you if—God forbid—anything happens.”

You nod, eyes burning with tears. Your intuition was right, but at what cost? I thought I had more time! “Can you get my husband, please?”

She nods, sending you a warm smile before she exits the room, Aaron rushing in and taking a seat next to you moments later, “She told me her recom—” He doesn’t get to finish his sentence before you burst into tears, clinging to him like a lifeline.

“I—I thought we could s—stay here longer—r.” You sob, an oncoming contraction adding to the intensity of your cries.

Aaron holds you close, rubbing soothing hands up and down your back and sides as he shushes you gently until your hiccups slow down, “It’s whatever you want, my love. We can stay here until you’re ready or we can head to the center now. It’s your call.” His voice is steady and strong, an anchor in your turmoil as the plan you’d clung to for months slowly slips from your fingers.

You nod, leaning into him as he sponges his lips along your temple. “I think I wanna stay here until they get stronger.”

Aaron nods, assisting you to stand, “Then that’s what we’ll do.”

It takes less than an hour for your contractions to jump in intensity again. Your mom had assisted you in slowly wobbling to the bathroom, barely positioning you over the toilet when a gush emerged, soaking your entire lower half in pink-tinted water. The contraction that hit immediately after made your knees give out as a broken cry slipped from your lips.

Aaron materialized in the doorway seconds later, completely ignoring the soaked floor as he fell to his knees in front of you, his hands gripping yours, “What happened, my love?”

“Water broke.” You gasp out. “We gotta go.”

Aaron scoops you up in his arms, carrying you back to the living room like you were light as a feather. He squats down for you to grab the go bag, and then heads to the garage, gently placing you in the back seat of the car before sliding in next to you. You stretch out, bracing one leg against the opposite door with your head in Aaron’s lap, watching with one eye open as he tosses the keys to your mom, “You drive, I’ll sit back here with her. I think I texted you the address of the center but if you don’t have it, just follow the doula. She’ll lead us there.”

Your labor seemed to stall for a while, allowing you to make the 45-minute drive to the birthing center, check in, get vitals taken and get hooked up to the various machines without much change in your condition. You were now 7 centimeters dilated with 60 second contractions coming every 3 minutes. Baby girl was in position, her heartbeat holding strong and steady. Aaron was hovering, refusing to be moved more than six inches away from you as you sat on yet another birthing ball as he watched the nurses' flit around the room to get your water bath ready. He was still timing your contractions on his phone, despite one of the techs telling him that you were on a machine that tracked them automatically. He only shrugged and started comparing the times on his phone to the times on the machine.

Your sister met you at the center and immediately jumped into Vibe Curator mode. She’d accompanied you on the tour months ago, at which point you relayed all of your demands: no harsh fluorescent lights—low, warm lighting only, Praise & Worship, Sade, and Jazz for music, your diffuser was to be set up and stocked with your favorite warm vanilla cashmere scent. She was also the official liaison between the L&D room and the rest of your party in the waiting room, as you didn’t want excess people in the delivery room: just you, Aaron, your doula and her assistant.

You watched as Aaron unpacked baby girl’s bag, laying out her receiving cloth, pacifier, hat, and a few onesie options before taking a lap around the room. He studied every corner, read the backs and sides of the glove boxes, looked in the bathroom, tested the water pressure and temperature, opened all the cabinets, examined the bed and pressed buttons on the remote, stared at the blinking lights and notifications on the contraction and baby monitor until he committed them all to memory. It’s only your giggle that draws his attention—and then his legs—over to you, dropping a kiss to your temple as he takes a seat on the futon. “What’s so funny, my love?”

“Is the room to your satisfaction, Mr. Pierre?” You smile.

“It is, Mrs. Pierre,” Aaron returns your smile, humming a laugh deep within his chest, “I just feel a bit stir crazy, is all. Who knows how long we’ll be waiting for her to come.”

You hum, resting your head on his thigh as the two of you watch the contraction monitor, tracing the line stretching across the page as another contraction begins, this one stronger than its predecessors, all of which were stronger than their predecessors. Your breathing matches the tempo of Aaron’s hand tracing up and down your back until it subsides, at which point you glance at the clock on the wall, “It’s only 12 o’clock,” You yawn, “We’ve only been at this for like 9 hours.”

“Do you think things are moving faster or slower than you expected?”

“I’m not sure, honestly. I don’t think I had any expectations; I just knew I was gonna come in here, be in pain for a while, push, and then we’d leave with her. I didn’t give any thought to how long each step would take.”

Aaron snorts softly. “Based on my research, first time labor can last around 12 to 18 hours, so I’d say you’re right on track time wise.”

“So she should be here within the next 3 hours?”

“3 to 9, yeah.”

“No, I need 3 hours. I wanna go home and lay in my bed.” You stretch, already looking forward to your first postpartum sleep.

Aaron laughs again, pulling his phone out of his hoodie pocket, “Speaking of, what would you like to eat after she gets here?”

You think for a moment, “A fat plate of sushi.” You declare, “And maybe some fries.” Your thoughts were definitely bigger than your stomach, but you didn’t care; you were bringing life into this world, and you were going to milk the perks for everything they had to give you.

Aaron nods, a small smile on his face as he sends your order and his off to your sister, “I should’ve guessed the sushi. You’ve only been thinking about it since you found out you were pregnant.”

“You don’t know how much you’ll miss something until you can’t have it anymore!” You whine.

“What else do you miss? You can do and eat most of the things you could do before you were pregnant.”

“I can’t sleep on my stomach. That’s my favorite way to sleep.” You point out.

Aaron hums before nodding in agreement, “Okay, Those two things.” He laughs.

A knock sounds at the door, the birthing assistant poking her head in moments later, “Hi, I’m just here to check you.”

You check at 9cm dilated and the assistant calls in your doula, who makes the executive decision to get you into the birthing pool, hoping the warm waters will aid in softening your cervix that last inch.

Aaron kneels behind you, waiting for a contraction to pass before speaking, “Do you want me in the pool with you or no?”

“Whatever you want, baby.” You turn your head to the doula, “I feel pressure.”

She nods, “That’s normal, you can push a little bit if you need to. The pressure of her head might help you finish dilating.”

You’re not exactly sure how much time passes, but your mind is gone, surrendered fully to your body’s instinct to get this baby out. The gaps between contractions have all but disappeared, the ending of one bleeding into the beginning of the next, and it’s a struggle to remember to breathe through them. Rocking back and forth on all fours, sucking in deep breaths and moaning on each exhale, unable to stay silent through the pain. You vaguely feel Aaron slip into the pool behind you—having stripped off his hoodie and sweats—his large palm on your back and his low voice speaking affirmations into your ear the only thing tethering you to this moment.

The doula checks you again after watching a particularly strong contraction on the monitor, her gloved hand resting on your upper back moments later, “It’s time, mama.” She says gently.

You feel Aaron’s hands as he maneuvers you, back against his chest, legs in the stirrups. The doula is giving Aaron instructions—something about counting to 10—but you barely register it, another contraction is starting, and you need to push.

And so it begins: contraction, push, count to 10, breathe, repeat. You’re gripping Aaron’s hand for dear life, probably crushing his fingers as tears stream down your face from the pain. You’re exhausted, the lack of sleep and food is catching up to you, but you trudge on. Another contraction, another push, more counting. The doula is saying something to her assistant—or to you—but you can’t hear her.

“...7…8…9…10. That’s it. Breathe, my love. I’m so proud of you. You’re doing so well.” Aaron’s voice in your ear being the only thing breaking through the fog.

They let you take one contraction off, hoping you’ll catch your breath. You whimper, turning your head into Aaron’s arm in an attempt to seek relief from the pain, “I know it hurts, baby. It’ll be over soon. She’s almost here.” His lips find your sweaty hairline.

More pushing, more counting, “I can see her head, baby! She’s got so much hair!” Aaron’s voice is thick with tears, he’s slacking on his counting game after catching the first glimpse of his daughter.

“One more push, mama!” Comes from several miles away. You barely hear it.

The room is silent as you push one more time, a cry pierces the quiet moments later. It’s not your own.

A small weight is on your chest, and you open your eyes, blinking back tears to clear your vision.

Hair.

Little pink hands, shaking from the force of her cries.

Aaron’s hand nearly covering her whole. His hand is also shaking.

Your baby girl is here.

“Oh my god!” A sob rips from your throat, thumb brushing over her tiny hand, it flexes, opening for you to slide your finger in. She grips it immediately. “Hi Rosie girl!”

Aaron cuddles the two of you close, squeezing you against his chest as he rocks back and forth pressing watery kisses to your hairline, your temple, your shoulder, anywhere he can reach, “She’s so perfect.”

Time passes, Aaron cut the cord, baby girl was cleaned, weighed and had her hearing tested—she passed—before getting wrapped in a preemie diaper and swaddling cloth. Meanwhile, you were lifted out of the birthing pool, showered, dressed in your coziest sleep set, before being led to the bed and your daughter placed in your arms.

“She hasn't shut her eyes once.” The assistant commented.

You look down at your daughter, her blue-grey eyes lined with thick, dark lashes observing the room around her. She her daddy son.

Speaking of her daddy…. “Where’s my husband?”

“We have an empty birthing room next door, so he went over there to take a quick shower. He should be back in a second.” She says before gently shutting the door behind her as she leaves.

The door reopens moments later, and Aaron enters, dressed in another pair of sweats and a t-shirt. He beelines over once he sees you, sliding into the bed and positioning himself behind you, lips leaving a lingering kiss to your neck as he looks down at his daughter. “Hi princess.”

Her eyes snap toward her father as her head twitches. You gasp, “Say “I know that voice! That's my daddy!””

Aaron looks bewildered, eyes shining with unshed tears, “She recognizes my voice?”

“Of course she does, baby. You were just talking to her yesterday. Her body doesn’t realize she’s not in me anymore. It’ll take a few weeks, I think.” You smile.

“C-can I hold her?” Aaron asks.

“Yeah. Take your shirt off so you can do skin to skin.” The baby becomes fussy once the cool air of the room meets her skin, “Oooh, it's so cold, mamas, I know I know.” You coo, “Your daddy is warm though, here.” You gently hand her off to a now shirtless Aaron, draping her swaddling cloth over her back as baby girl settles against his chest, eyes fluttering closed almost instantly.

Aaron breaks down immediately, tears streaming down his face as he looks down at his new daughter, his giant palm cupping around her back, nearly swallowing her tiny body whole, “Babe, she's so tiny. S–she fits in the palm of my hand!”

You smile, “Yeah.”

His hopeful hazel eyes meet yours, “Can I kiss her?”

Your hand finds the back of his head, rubbing soothing circles in the soft hair, “She's your daughter, Aaron. You can do whatever you want.”

A soft sob escapes him as he looks down at his first born, “I can’t believe you’re here.” His lips press to the crown of her head, “I love you so much.” Another kiss, “You’re so perfect.” His eyes squeeze shut, tears streaming down his face as he noses through her hair, “Thank you, God.” His other arm wraps around you, cradling you close to his chest as he cries, “Thank you so much, my love. She’s so perfect.”

Your lips find his through your tears, “I love you so much, Aaron.”

“I love you.” His lips press another lingering kiss to your lips.

Aaron sniffles, pulling away from you slightly as his attention returns to his daughter, “Daddy’s gotta count all your fingers and toes, make sure you’re all here.” He starts on her right, gently uncurling her hand—which barely covers the tip of his thumb—counting all five of her fingers before repeating the process on her left side. He then shifts her to the crook of his arm, cooing a soft “Oh,” as her eyes crack open to stare up at him, a frown on her small features. “I didn’t mean to disturb your sleep, princess.” Aaron makes quick work of counting her ten toes, smiling as he watches them curl around his finger as he scratches his blunt nail against the sole of her foot. “She’s watching me move,” Aaron comments.

“The nurse said she kept her eyes open the whole time they were examining her. She’s taking after you already.” You comment.

Aaron scoops her up in his arms, sponging gentle kisses along her cheeks, “She just wants to see everybody,” He coos to her, “She wants to see what’s going on.” He gently turns her to face the room before rising from the bed, “Come on, let’s see what’s going on.” He gingerly rises from the bed before taking her on a lap of the room similar to the one he took such a short time ago, explaining to her all of the machines, switches, glove boxes and supplies that stocked the room before returning to the bed, sliding in next to you. “She enjoyed her tour, and she says the room is to her satisfaction.” He reports proudly, returning her to her position nestled against his chest.

Aaron quickly handed her off to you when she became fussy, watching with wide eyes as you brought her to your breast and began to nurse. His nose was tucked into your neck, thumb rubbing along baby girl’s hairline as they stared at each other. “She looks just like you. I’m not sure how I feel about that. My genes didn’t even try to fight back.”

“You said you wanted another me running around, if I remember correctly.” Aaron responds.

“Anything I say during sex is not to be taken seriously.” You giggle, twitching slightly as Aaron’s other hand pokes at your side.

Aaron hums a laugh, “You love that she looks like me, though.” His lashes futter against your cheek as he watches you, his lips leaving teasing kisses along the skin of your neck before his tongue joins.

“Aaron Stone,” You warn, acutely aware of a smaller pair of grey-hazel eyes watching the two of you, “You really wanna show our daughter how she got here?”

Aaron’s hand splays out along your hip, blunt nails digging into the fabric of your sleep set as his lips travel to your ear, “No. ‘m showing her how her sibling is gonna get here.”

“Um,” You start, scandalized that he was thinking of another child when this one wasn’t even an hour old, “Sir. Where’s another baby coming from?”

Aaron gives you a deadpan look, “I’ll make sure you heal, and that she’s adjusted, and we’re adjusted. But I hope you didn’t think this was a one and done, my love.” He kisses your cheek, “Especially not when we make such cute kids.” His eyes return to the baby, smiling as she flashes the ghost of a dimple at him as she continues suckling, “Especially not when we’re so good at making them.”

You don’t respond as baby girl finishes eating, and you hand her off to her father to be burped. But as your eyes follow them as he dances around the room, giant hand gently patting her tiny back, soaking in all her new baby noises, the thought won’t leave your mind. He looks so good holding my kids. One more won’t hurt, right?

Your first night as a new mother is rather uneventful; your families come in to drop off your sushi platter, fawning and passing baby girl around—she side-eyes them the entire time—you rock her to sleep and put her in her bassinet before you and Aaron tuck in for a sleep. He very quickly decided that he would not be using the futon, so he slid into the bed next to you, curling his body around yours before the two of you fell asleep, with a nurse coming in every three hours to assist you in nursing.

Morning light has just begun peeking through the curtains when the sound of the door opening pulls you and Aaron from your slumber. The A.M nurse has just walked in, “Sorry to wake you guys up,” She whispers as she inches further into the room, followed closely by another nurse who's holding a camera, “We're giving all of our holiday babies little Santa hats to commemorate the occasion. Your baby girl was our only Christmas Eve birth.” She produces a little Santa hat, handing it to you before peeking over at baby girl, who’s still sleeping soundly,

“Oh,” You attempt to rub the remnants of sleep from your eyes as you sit up, “Wait, it's Christmas?”

The nurse nods, “It sure is.”

You look at Aaron, but he only shrugs, “Christmas was the least of our concerns yesterday.” He grumbles as he stretches.

The two of you spend the next few moments getting yourselves together, feeding baby girl before Aaron takes her, changing her and getting her into her Christmas outfit.

“You guys look great.” The nurse comments as she snaps the picture. The Polaroid printer strapped to her waist prints out two photos and she hands you the original, taking the duplicate for their display, “There you go. Congratulations and happy holidays!”

“Our first family picture.” Aaron smiles.

Melodie-Noelle Rose Pierre

December 24

5lbs, 6oz

18 inches

#oh wait wrong blog lol #to read #to read later #dad!au #mom!reader #pregnancy fic #girl dad!aaron pierre #aaron pierre fanfic #x black reader!

200 notes · View notes

appledressing · 2 days ago

Text

Oh I was so FOOLEDDDD!!!!

Suit Jacket

Aaron Hotchner x bau!reader

Summary: Aaron Hotchner seems to love his suit jacket on you.

Warning: Nothing besides a few curses (I think)

A/N: not my gif, ctto! This was also sitting on my drafts for almost a year and barely proofread, so I apologize for the errors.

— ✦ — ✦ ✦ — ✦ ✦ ✦

Sunday, March 11, 2:04 AM

"Thanks, unibrow." You grinned drunkenly, smiling at your boss, SSA Aaron Hotchner, as you collapsed in the cab's backseat. His suit jacket kept you cozy and covered like a cocoon while you comfortably giggled at the applied inside joke of his new nickname.

With Penelope's constant peer pressure, your inhibition has reached rock bottom eleven shots, five cocktails, and two whiskey glasses ago. You downed liquor like water, easing your stiff shoulders.

Aaron only stared at you with the same impassive face he had and shut the door before the cold caught you. He hunched in front of the driver's window, "This woman is a federal agent, and if something happens to her, I'll hunt you down. Please, drive her home safely." He straightened back up, casually tapping the vehicle's roof.

The cab took you away only after Aaron snapped a picture of the cab's plate number. He sighed as the vehicle slowly disappeared from his line of sight. He twisted on the balls of his feet, met by his other children, agents drunkenly calling his name.

Tuesday, March 27, 10:14 AM

You scurried out of the elevator, weaving through the sea of agents in the bullpen and then to the conference room where everybody was already settled in.

"So sorry! There was this son of a b—" You closed your eyes and breathed deeply, clenching your fists. Then, you exhaled profoundly with a calm smile at the end. "I got in a car accident. Go on, Pen. Sorry for interrupting." You took a seat between Aaron and JJ.

JJ turned to you, "Are you okay?" Her hand gently landed on one of yours, giving you a worried squeeze.

You gathered a smile and raised a thumb, "Thick skull and strong bones. Nothing can break me, not even this unsub... whoa—" Your eyes widened a bit.

How ironic for your case to be about an unsub who performed a craniotomy on the victims. You smiled awkwardly, the similar tight-lipped smile that Spencer would always plaster on his face.

The other agents coughed a chuckle at your reaction while Penelope continued the debrief with the same horrified look.

Upon listening to the case details, you slowly felt colder, subtly rubbing the sides of your shoulders. You were so caught up in your anger towards the guy that rear-ended you you could've sworn your body was overheating. You left your blazer somewhere and were sure it wasn't in your wrecked car.

"Alright, wheels up in 30," Aaron announced, sending everyone to get out of their seats and grab their go bags and snapping you off your trance in the process.

You rushed to collect your file copy and headed for the door but halted when Aaron called you. You pivoted on your heels, "Yes?"

He was taking off his jacket, handing it to you as soon as it peeled off his body.

"I don't think dry cleaning your suit is part of my job description, Sir." You kidded as you stared at his black jacket.

Aaron rolled his eyes. It was so rare that you had to blink twice to ensure you didn't have a concussion from your minor car accident. "You're cold." He wasn't asking, plainly stating your slight predicament.

Your eyebrows knitted, mouth slightly opened. And as if the universe was mocking you, a sudden draft slapped you in a shiver. You snatched his jacket and mumbled a small thank you.

As you walked out of the conference room, teasing eyes bore holes into your being. Each BAU team member's narrowed brows held you captive, and their loud thoughts rang in your ears. You ignored all of it, though, taming your anxiety with the warmth of Aaron's jacket.

Wednesday, April 13, 1:37 PM

"Garcia, look for old cases with one young boy as a survivor." Aaron started, listing each task that everyone was to complete.

You were so focused on the case that your next movement caught you off guard.

Your back snapped straight from the slap of Minnesota air. It was brief. An officer merely opened and closed the door, but your body was nowhere near as warm as it was a few seconds ago.

The warmth of cotton fabric soon hugged your shoulders, along with the momentary weight of Aaron's hands, before he fully let go of his suit jacket.

He continued talking as if what he had just done was normal or anything close to casualty, "Morgan and Reid, try speaking with the victim's family one more time."

Emily exchanged looks with JJ, conversing silently while you obliviously sipped your coffee.

Friday, May 2, 5:04PM

"Capital O-M-G!" Penelope squealed, drumming on your shoulders as soon as she came close.

"Garcia, breathe," JJ gently placed her hands on Penelope's shoulders, modeling a regular breathing pattern.

Emily gave you a look as she sipped her coffee, which you returned with a shrug. Penelope was ever so eccentric. You've gotten used to it over the years you've been with the team.

"Okay, okay, okay. I'm good. Just that— I was— Ugh! Look!" Penelope shoved her phone in your face.

You saw a blinding blur, forcing out a sarcastic, "Wow! I can definitely see."

Luckily, JJ took it to herself to pull Penelope's phone away from messing up your eyesight and looked at the image plastered on the screen. A smirk immediately covered her lips, "Oh."

"What is it? Let me see—" Emily walked behind JJ. Her jaw dropped not long after. "Anything you want to tell us?" She cooed as she gave you the widest grin she had ever flashed, at least for that morning.

Your eyebrows clashed, and your forehead creased, "Whatever are you on about?"

"You're telling us nothing's happening between you and a guy?" Emily's grin only widened. You wondered how wide it could get, terrifying you in the process.

JJ flipped the phone to your end. The brightness of the screen stung your eyes a bit. "Want to explain this?"

Photo: It looked like the picture was cropped because you saw Derek's arm around you, but he was nowhere to be found in the image. Aaron's jacket was around your shoulders while he was behind you, glaring at Derek's arm.

"What about it?" The confusion was solid in your voice. However, you had a bit of an idea of what the three of them were insinuating.

Penelope stepped closer to you, "Uhuh, sure," she started as she zoomed in on the picture. "You're telling me you can't see Hotch's jacket on your shoulders, let alone Hotch glaring at my chocolate thunder?"

"He let me borrow his jacket because I was cold. Doesn't he always do that with everyone?" You innocently asked, looking at each one of them.

"Still doesn't explain him glaring at Derek." Emily chimed in a teasing tone, wiggling her eyebrows.

Your eyes widened, "You think Hotch was mad at me because I took it? He offered it to me, and I was cold. You think he was just being polite or?"

Penelope rolled her eyes and aimed her fluffy pen at you, "You oblivious profiler! He's jealous!"

"Uh-no," You chuckled.

"You don't believe me? Look at this."

Photo: This photo was older than the first one and might've been your third or fourth year with the BAU team. It seemed like all of you had just ended a case. You were snuggled on the couch on the jet. Aaron was draping his jacket over you.

"Who took that picture?" You queried.

Penelope raised her hand, "I was going to check in on everyone, then the camera spotted it, and I took a screenshot because I couldn't help myself. I was going to tease you about it but forgot for a very, very, very, very long time until I saw that picture from our last team night out." She wiggled her eyebrows, a playful smile on her lips.

"Looks like our boss has a favorite," JJ sang softly, looking at you with a knowing smile.

Emily nudged you, noticing the blush on your face. "You've gotta admit that's very sweet of Hotch. I think he likes you wearing his jacket." She teased, poking your sides.

"He does that to everyone, though," You reasoned. If you recall, he had offered his jacket to many people before.

"Nope, no!" Penelope shook her head vigorously with a tight lip. "He offers it to some but gives it to you."

"We had a case where it was biting cold outside. Hotch offered to help me if I needed a jacket. I said no because of politeness and shit, but he didn't insist. He didn't even offer his jacket. He offered to give me time to return to my room and grab my jacket." Emily grimaced, obviously still holding a grudge regarding the incident.

"I've known Hotch for years. Giving out his jacket was only for emergencies. If it's the only choice he had. We've had cases where a victim was a little too exposed, and his solution was to wrap them with the newspaper he conveniently found." JJ exclaimed, sorting the manila folders on her chest.

You gave it some thought and considered every possibility, but you shook your head. "He's just being nice because he's my boss. Plus, I'm still a bit tense around the team." You straightened yourself, fixing your top.

Emily cackled, "Getting flat-out drunk with us is definitely you still a bit tense around us."

"You know what I mean," You defended, blushing.

The three exchanged looks and shrugged. If you wanted to turn a blind eye, then it was your choice. But they had a perfect theory and tried to test it out.

Aaron was heading to the elevator as you exited the bullpen. The three of them grinned.

"Going for girls night?" Aaron quipped, raising his eyebrows.

JJ frowned, "We were, but she's feeling sick. I think the cold's getting to her." She gave you a pitiful hug.

Your eyes blew wide, jerking your head behind you where the other two stood with maniac grins. You knew what JJ was doing. It didn't take a second for you to figure it out. And as if luck was on their side, the elevator dinged.

You followed their figures as they piled in in the lift. You glared at them, but Emily focused on the man beside you.

You gazed at Aaron and were met with his jacket stretched out to you. Your mouth fell open, unable to breathe.

"It's cold outside this time of night. You'll feel worse if you don't layer up." Aaron cleared his throat, "Take it."

You reached for his jacket so slowly that he took it in himself to wrap it around your shoulders. "Thank you," Your voice quivered, hesitantly stepping inside the elevator.

He followed, standing beside you. You could feel the three devils behind you, preparing yourself for their constant teasing.

Unbeknownst to any of you, Aaron was holding his breath in the hopes that none of you would notice his blushing ears.

Monday, May 16, 8:12PM

The entire day has been a drag. Besides the unsub being disgustingly great at hiding his tracks in the safety of your local area, your stomach had been giving you the worst time of your life.

Later in the evening, in Aaron's orders, everyone was sent home to get some rest and start fresh the next day.

You were thankful. You needed to rest from all the stomach-emptying vomit you did in the restroom. Your acid reflux was having a field day and didn't let you get a breath. You practically lived in the toilet. You even had to call Derek and ask him to put you on speaker so you could contribute to finding the unsub. Luckily, they didn't question it.

Emily retracted away as she exited your hug, "Are you sure you don't want me to give you a ride home? We practically live in this building. I don't think they'd mind you leaving your car here for a night."

A warm smile brightened your drained face, "Yes, I'm sure. Thanks for the offer." You bid her one last goodbye before heading to your own car.

Your head was down as the day's exhaustion finally caught up. Your senses were off. You walked as if time stopped. You wondered if you should've taken advantage of Emily's offer.

With your loud thoughts and vulnerable senses, a heart attack almost killed you when a sudden cage of warmth engulfed your body. For a moment, your body wanted to fight, but it didn't take long for you to remember the familiarity of this warmth.

"What took you so long?" His voice was gentle and comforting enough to put you to sleep immediately.

You looked up at Aaron, who refused to unwrap his arms around you, "I didn't know you were waiting. I thought you went home already. Isn't Jack waiting for you? It's movie night."

Aaron smiled, "I'm taking you to the hospital to get checked. Captain Jack's orders."

You couldn't help but smile as well. He held the door for the passenger seat before jumping to the driver's seat. As you watched him go around, you noticed his scent lingered on your shoulders.

Aaron placed his jacket on yours.

"You ought to be careful," A chuckle passed your lips, "The gals are onto you."

"Why?" Aaron looked at you with a confused expression. His face made you giggle. The genuineness of his expression made you wonder his reaction if you had said the same thing two years ago.

A grin glistened on your face, "They say Agent Hotchner has a crush on me." Your voice danced with playfulness.

Aaron copied your grin and shrugged, "I'm surprised they haven't figured it out after all these years." He turned his body to face you, "So? Do you like him back?"

If only the BAU team knew how their unit chief, the SSA Aaron Hotchner, was a lot friskier than they perceived him to be, Aaron wouldn't last a day from all the teasing.

Then you wondered how the BAU team would react if they found out you and Aaron have been dating for the past two years and successfully kept it a secret from everyone except Strauss and Rossi.

Or the number of questions you'd be bombarded with when they learn that you recently moved in together with Aaron and Jack. You knew well enough that the ladies would be interrogating you like a serial killer.

You shrugged, "I heard he's got a fiancée." You fished the necklace well hidden under your shirt. A golden ring band shaped like vines with an oval-cut blue moon diamond dangled on the chain.

"Yeah..." Aaron held your hand and placed a soft kiss on the back of it, "You wouldn't want to be in the way of that." He smiled widely, an ever-loving expression you indulged yourself with for the past two years and soon... for a lifetime.

#aaron hotchner x reader #established relationship #secret relationship #criminals minds fic #engagement fic #bau!reader #bau team #a: mrs-Weasley-reid

2K notes · View notes

appledressing · 4 days ago

Text

Please this is too funny

wingman

synopsis: asking the cod guys for their friend’s number and they’re definitely not jealous (pre-relationship)

ੈ✩‧₊˚ price, gaz, ghost, soap, alejandro, rudy, graves, makarov

cw: none

an: i think that price genuinely finds those shitty minion memes from like 2010 hilarious

dividers from @/saradika-graphics :)

#social media fic #cod headcanons #cod imagine

1K notes · View notes

appledressing · 4 days ago

Text

🥹😭🥺

opposite | s.r.

the one where spencer has a new girlfriend, and she couldn't be more different than you.

pairing: spencer reid x bau!reader category: angst, fluff during the flashback but mainly angst cw: spencer not using his 187 IQ, reader feeling like their not enough, self deprecating thoughts. wc: 3.3k a/n: thought a great way to start my spencer masterlist was with angst! no I'm kidding, I was listening to 'opposite' by sabrina carpenter and felt very inspired, will probably make a part two where they have a happier ending (pls don't yell at me for this) I imagine season 6 Spencer for this, but you can imagine him however you want. this post is long overdue, I hope you love it! (also its not proof read at all so i'm sorry in advanced)

masterlist spencer masterlist

Falling for your coworker was probably the worst thing you could have done, especially when that coworker is Dr. Spencer Reid.

You had a crush on the resident genius since you had joined the team a year after Spencer.

In your mind, there were two scenarios that would happen in the case that he did find out about your infatuation with him.

Either you told him you were in love with him, he rejects you and you have to live with the embarrassment seeing him everyday at work, or you tell him you're in love with him, you start dating and the relationship doesn't work out, living with a Dr. Reid shaped hole in your heart. So you lose either way.

About a year and a half ago you finally decided to tell Spencer how you felt about him. A result of one too many drinks at a bar you were both dragged to.

"You know you look really pretty under this lighting Spence," you say, clearly affected by the alcohol in your system.

A light sheen of sweat covered his forehead, a few stray hairs sticking to his face. He was flushed from the few glasses of alcohol he had consumed that night, but regardless, you thought he never looked prettier. Though, that might be the alcohol you consumed talking.

Spencer's cheeks redden a bit from the compliment, his brain working in overdrive to figure out how to respond to your compliment.

"Ah, um, thanks, you always look beautiful y/n," he says, a bit shy with his words.

You blush at his words, looking down towards the glass in your hand.

"It's a bit loud in here, do you want to go outside?" he asks, a bit of hesitation in his voice.

"Well I was just about to leave, will you walk me out?"

"Of course," he quickly responds.

"Okay, let me just grab my purse," you say, putting the glass down on the table behind you.

You grab all of your things, quickly letting the team know you're both leaving so they don't worry.

As you make your way around the bar to say goodbye, the girls give you suggestive glances, and you just shake your head and laugh at their antics.

After saying your goodbyes, you both make your way outside.

Standing right outside the door to the small bar, you shiver as the cold air nips at your skin.

You hear Spencer shuffling next to you, and suddenly he's handing you the cardigan he was wearing.

You're about to respond saying that he'll get cold, but he quickly shuts you up.

"No, no, take it. Between 700 and 1,500 people die from hypothermia in the United States annually. Though you might not think it's not that cold for you to get hypothermia here, it can occur in temperatures above 40°F if someone is chilled from rain, sweat, or cold water. I also just really don't want you to be cold," he finishes his sentence by putting the cardigan in your hands, not letting you say no.

"Thank you Spence, I just don't want you to possibly get hypothermia either," you say with a small laugh.

"Well that's a good concern to have, because men are 9-10 times more likely to get and die from hypothermia. This is because men are more likely to be exposed to the necessary conditions to contract hypothermia, so, I-sorry I'm rambling aren't?" he says, his cheeks turning to a deep shade of red once he realizes that the information continues to spill from his lips.

"No don't worry, I like listening, I always do," you say, a blush of your own covering your cheeks at the confession.

"Yeah, I've noticed, you're really the only one who pays attention to my rambles when were on the plane, or anywhere for that matter," he says, now noticing how the moonlight glows against your skin.

"I've always found it really interesting and kind of attractive that you just have all of this information stored in your head," you say looking up to the stars that littered the sky, completely oblivious to the effect your words had on the genius.

"Attractive? I didn't think you'd ever use that word to describe me," he's a bit stunned at your sentence, because no way the girl he's had a crush on since he laid eyes on her is telling him this.

"Well you don't get the nickname Pretty Boy from just anywhere do you," you say, a teasing smile falling across your lips.

There's a moment of comfortable silence between the two of you after that. Though that doesn't last long.

"Y'know I've had the biggest crush on you since I met you four years ago, I just never thought you felt the same," realizing what you just said, your eyes widened and you quickly turned towards Spencer, about to take back everything you just drunkenly confessed.

"y/n that's not something funny to joke about," he says, completely serious.

"I, no, I'm being serious. I've had the biggest crush in you since I joined the team. I'm pretty sure everyone but you knows, or well that used to be the case."

And just like that the biggest secret that's been resting on your shoulders for the past four years fell from your lips.

"Are you being serious right now?" he asks, as if he truly couldn't believe the words coming from your mouth.

"Spence, you can just reject me, you know. You don't have to play dumb."

Embarrassment wraps around your words, clearly upset that it seems that Spencer is trying to let you down easily.

"y/n, no. I-I like you too. I have for the longest time. If anything, I thought you were the one that wasn't going to feel the same if I'm honest," he says with an awkward smile covering his lips.

"You're serious?"

"Of course I am, I've had the most absurd crush on you since your first day you joined," his blushes a bit at the memory, "I'm surprised you never caught on."

You look down at your shoes, the alcohol seemingly left your body and now you're unsure about how to respond to him. You're about to speak when he interrupts you.

"I, um, I have to go soon, the last train is going to leave in about 27 minutes, but I was wondering if would you want to get coffee with me sometime?" he painfully stutters through his sentence, but you find it endearing, knowing its not due to the cool air outside.

"I would really love that Spence, yeah."

Leaning up to plant a shy kiss on his cheek, you say your goodbyes and make your way to you car to drive home.

Turning back for a second, you see Spencer with his hand on the spot that you gave him a kiss. Almost touching it to keep the warmth there to ensure that it truly happened.

The entire car ride home was bliss, you couldn't believe you told Spencer how you felt, and he actually shared those feelings.

Once you arrive home you realize you never gave Spencer his cardigan back. Wrapping it around yourself a bit tighter, you take your phone out of your pocket, feeling the buzz of a text notification.

From: Spence

Hi y/n! It's Spencer, I just got home. Please let me know when you're home so I know you made it back safe. I'll see you at work on Monday :)

Your face splits into a smile that nearly hurts your cheeks. Realizing you are home, you send him a quick message before getting ready for bed.

To: Spence

Hi Spence, I just got home, thanks for checking up on me. I'll see you at work on Monday, sweet dreams. ♥️

You shake your head at the memories. Looking up from the book in your hand, you spot the exact cardigan Spencer gave you that night across the arm of the couch, almost taunting you.

The year you were together was a dream you never thought would come true. You really thought your nightmare of Spencer deciding you weren't good enough and breaking up with you was never going to happen.

Though life isn't all fairy tales.

The job got to you, as people said it would. You both grew stressed and agitated. There never seemed to be enough time in the day, hell in a week, for you two to find time to spend together.

Even though you worked together, you rarely found time to actually separate your relationship from work.

The day you both realized that was the day you mutually came to the decision that it was best if you stayed friends. Or whatever word is used to describe still working with the person that you were the most vulnerable with and knew you inside and out, better than anyone else in the world.

The breakup happened six months ago. It wasn't messy or anything of the sorts, but it definitely created a drift in your relationship with the genius. Everyone in the office could tell, and you both knew that the relationship you shared before you started dating would never return.

Now, months after the breakup you were trying to become the person you used to be before Spencer. Though that seemed like an impossible task. You didn't realize how much of an effect he had on you until he wasn't there anymore.

It was the first Friday that the team wasn't completely swamped in work, so naturally Rossi invited you all to his mansion for one of his infamous pasta nights.

Declaring that we needed to spend time with people other than each other, he also extended the invitation to anyone the team felt like bringing along.

Wrapping your coat around you tighter, almost as a safety blanket, you knock on the door. You're sure not even a second goes by before you’re met with the face of Emily. Though she looks a bit distressed, like the evening has started out disastrous already.

"What's up with the face? Did Pen interrupt while Rossi was explaining how to perfectly cook pasta again?"

Letting out a small laugh at your own joke, you look up at Emily's face and realize something must be seriously wrong if she didn't even fake a smile at the lame joke.

"We need to talk," she says, grabbing your arm and dragging you into the house. You walk off into a hallway where both JJ and Penelope are waiting for you.

"Woah, what's wrong? Why are we having some kind of intervention?"

Looking at the both blondes, they keep their lips shut and look towards Emily, practically begging her to break the news to you.

Your voice is small, barely above a whisper when you say Emily's name, worried for what she's about to tell you. Taking a shaky breath, she finally speaks.

"Spencer brought his girlfriend."

As the words came from Emily's mouth you basically felt your entire world collapse around you.

He was dating someone? The same Spencer, who was nervous to even talk to a woman before you started dating, was dating someone else? Just after six months of being broken up he found someone else?

"Emily, please tell me you're joking or I might throw up on Rossi's floor right here," you say, completely serious, feeling your lunch already making its way out of your stomach.

The three of you hear footsteps coming your way and you start praying that it's not the person you want to see least right now.

Mystery person clears their throat and you're met with the face of a concerned looking Derek Morgan. Once he spots the tears in your eyes he opens his arms to give you a hug.

"Oh princess, I'm so sorry," he sighs, rubbing your back affectionately.

"I'll go knock some sense into him if you really want me to."

That gets a small laugh from you, but you quickly shake your head and step out of Derek's arms.

"No," you breath in a shaky breath before saying, "it's okay, seriously. He deserves to move on."

Knowing the words leaving your mouth are a complete lie, the tears return to your eyes and JJ is quick to take Derek's place and bring you into her embrace.

"Oh sweetheart, it's okay, we can stay here for as long as you want okay? Or we could even leave and pretend like you never came in the first place."

Attempting to take a deep breath, you give her a final squeeze and leave her arms.

"No, I'll be fine. I'm a big girl, I can handle my ex having a new girlfriend."

They four of them share a weary glance, knowing those words are the furthest thing from the truth.

Penelope is the first to speak as she grabs your hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. "Let's do this angel face."

With that the two of you walk hand in hand to the backyard, greeted with the faces of the rest of your team and their families.

Walking over to the tree where Rossi and Hotch are standing, seemingly deep in conversation, Penelope makes her presence known when she lets out a happy squeal seeing her margarita glass was magically refilled.

"Well, I'll leave you in the hands of the host my love, I see a margarita calling my name," she plants a quick kiss on your cheek before making her way to the table her drink was sitting on.

Knowing that was just Penelope's way of making things a bit more normal for you, you shake your head and laugh at her antics.

Finally turning towards the two men, you see the pity in their eyes and let out a disappointed sigh.

"Seriously, you guys too? If all of you keep looking at me like that he'll definitely know something is wrong and will realize I'm the crazy one for not being over him yet."

Once you finish your sentence Hotch moves to say something but quickly shuts his mouth. His eyes are fixed just right over your shoulder.

Shifting to see what -or better yet who- he was looking at, you turn and find the new couple sitting on the bench near the opposite side of the yard. Your eyes fix on the woman sitting next to Spencer and you’re met with a woman with striking features. As you looked at her closer, you began to realize she looked nothing like you. In fact, she was the complete opposite of you.

Is that what Spencer was looking for this whole time? Did he want you to be more like her? Was he holding out with you just to find someone better?

These thoughts continued to swirl through your mind for the rest of the night. The team was obviously trying to distract you and make you feel better about the whole situation, acting as if it wasn't happening. JJ even asked you to watch Henry for a bit even though neither her nor Will were busy.

Finally the moment you were dreading had arrived, dinner.

Rossi, one for tradition, had a massive dining room table that somehow fit the entire team plus the extra guests.

Opting to sit in between JJ and Emily, you hoped that you could stay quiet all of dinner and quickly leave once it was finished. Really you hoped you didn't have to see Spencer and his girlfriend any longer than you had to.

But your luck seemed to have run out because she took the seat directly across from you, causing Spencer to sit next to her, directly across from Emily.

Looking down at your food you try to ignore them as best as you could, that was until you heard her voice.

"Hi, you must be y/n. I'm Maya, Spencer's girlfriend."

Her voice reaches your ears like nails on a chalkboard and you try your hardest to not physically react to her high pitched voice. God, what was Spencer doing?

Though you quickly rid yourself of the distaste you already have for her and give her your best fake smile.

"Yes, I'm y/n. It's…nice to meet you."

It's almost like the entire table was holding their breath to see what your response would be. Morgan nearly chokes on his drink as you pause to find the words to describe your feelings for meeting her.

The silence continues until Spencer clears his throat. At the sound you look up at him. You realize that was the worst thing you could have done when he doesn't even look at you. Instead he's looking at Maya with the expression you thought was only reserved for you.

Emily is the first to speak after the interaction, some reason directing the conversation towards the couple. Did she just want to see you suffer tonight?

"So Reid, how long have you two been dating?"

Though the question is directed at Spencer, Maya is the one to answer. "Oh me and Spencie? We've been together just over a month!"

She basically screeches the words and you have to hold yourself back from rolling your eyes.

The table goes quiet again. No one has anything to say, quietly eating their food.

"Hey Uncle Spence, when are you and Auntie y/n/n going to be like that again? I remember you used to hold her hand and give her kisses all the time!"

Oh God. Poor Henry didn't know what he just caused. You nearly spit out your drink at his questions, coughing down the wine you basically inhaled.

JJ's eyes widen, going to apologize for Henry's words until Miss chalkboard decides to speak again, except this time it's her awful laugh that makes an appearance.

"Oh my goodness! That is such a funny joke, little Henry. Kids and their imaginations, am I right?"

Her eyes dance around the table waiting for anyone to respond to her. When no one does she continues with a delighted smile on her face.

"Don't worry y/n, there's no need to say anything about that. I know my Spencie, he would never go for someone like you."

As she finished her sentence the entire table grew silent. The profilers actively deciding if they could get away with the thing they put people in prison for.

Your chair is what breaks the silence this time, screeching against Rossi's wood floors.

"Well I really wish I was a good liar and could say it was nice meeting you but I'm not. I hope you and your Spencie have a wonderful relationship."

For the first time all night Spencer finally talks to you. Though it breaks your heart even further. And it's not the words that come from his mouth, but rather the way he says it. All he says is your name, though he speaks as if he's disgusted that you would say something like that.

Letting out a dry laugh you shake your head and click your tongue, hoping he doesn't see the tears in your eyes when you lock eyes with him.

"I'm so glad to know that our year together meant nothing to you Spencer," you say, turning and leaving the room.

You make your way through the hall to collect your things before leaving. You don't even bother with saying bye to everyone, hoping they would understand.

Closing the door to the coat closet you see JJ standing behind the door, looking at you with eyes full of worry.

"y/n/n, are you okay. Both of them were so out of line, and I'm so sorry about Henry I didn't-"

You effectively cut off her short lived rant by giving her a short hug, knowing if you were in her arms for any longer you would be a crying mess before you even stepped foot out of the house.

"It's fine Jayge, really, you didn't know I don't blame you. And I'm fine. I just really need to go."

With that, you finally make your way out of the house and into your car.

There's only one thought that consumes your mind the entire drive home.

He was just holding out to find the opposite.

likes, comments, and shares are always appreciated!! loving you always xx

tags: @clairoscharm @agent-nobody-knows

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid angst #bau!reader #a: reidsbabyhoney #break up fic #old lovers #bau team

339 notes · View notes

appledressing · 5 days ago

Note

Gasp

I love itttt

Hii! I saw this gif earlier today and I literally had a brain wave of an idea for fan fic!

Based off this gif below. S2!reid x reader. Reader has called off sick for a few days now and Spencer has been “looking after them” (ifyky) and one of bau members actually comes to help them with their “sickness” and sees Spencer leave like the gif below and he is like “hey.. wow” awkward! (Can be light smug or implied, up to you!!)

Looking After You - S.R

a/n: um i loved writing this one tehe, ur mind is amazing and i thank you for trusting me to make it come to life

masterlist

pairings: spencer reid x fem!reader

warnings: 18+ MDNI, smutsy, spencer giving head (i just know that man gives the best head i really can't think about it for long), reader is sick (kind of), morgan and garcia being nosy per usual

wc: 1k

His mouth was on you, head between your thighs as you pulled at his hair, whining his name between moans. He was a genius, yes of course in the literal sense, but you meant in bed. He was perfect and he ate you out like he was a man starving and this was his first meal in weeks.

You had been down with a cold for the past couple of days, finally seeing the end of the tunnel after some help from Spencer. You had been surprised when he showed up at your door with a plethora of home remedies and even more surprised when one of those remendies included his mouth being glued to your cunt.

Each breath you took, you could feel yourself getting closer—an electric tingle spreading from your toes to your fingers, the tight coiling of desire in your belly. That elusive peak was tantilizingly close, deliciously aching, but just out of reach.

Fate apparently had a twisted sense of humor and decided it would stay out of reach.

The knock on the door was like a cold splash of water causing you to jolt up, but Spencer's large palms clasped around your thighs as if to say, I'm not done with you yet.

The sharp intake of breath was involuntary, a reflex as you sunk back into the mattress. Whoever was at the door would get the message eventually. Right now, you were writhing against the sheets with hands forming fists in the curls of Spencer's hair, and that was all that mattered.

"Oh—yes, Spence, please." You weren't certain you were making sense.

He hummed against your clit, sending full body shockwaves through you as you finally released, like a taut rubber band finally being snapped. You were panting, mumbling something incoherent as your hands sought out Spencer's.

Another knock, more aggressive this time. You struggled to sit up, your mind still hazy, but Spencer's gentle touch coaxed you back down.

"I'll get it," he said, fingers tracing constellations from freckle to freckle on your ankle. "Do what you do best, sit and look pretty."

You laughed weakly, pressing your lips against his before you watched him disappear from the room.

Spencer moved to answer the door, his hand barely grazing over the handle before turning it, but as it swung open, the color drained from his cheeks, eyes widening at the people in front of him.

Garcia and Morgan.

He was suddenly aware of how he looked—hair strewn in every direction, glasses resting lopsidedly on his nose, mouth no doubt still covered in you. That thought prompted him to bring his sleeve up to his face, wiping the remnants away as he simultaneously ran a hand through his hair.

But it was too little too late, they had damning evidence against him now. His first instinct was to slam the door shut, but he hesitated, certain it would worsen the situation. So he remained still, opening and closing his mouth wordlessly, his eyes flickering to the soup and tissues they presented.

"Are we at the wrong apartment?" Penelope whispered, not-so-discreetly, to Morgan.

"Nope, this is definitely the right apartment." Morgan said, smirking as he clasped Spencer on the shoulder. "You've been taking care of her, huh, Reid?"

"Time out!" Penelope squealed, her hands jumping up, almost dropping the soup in the process. "You and—, and you guys are? You're lying. Oh my stars, wait, what were you two doing? Why do you look like you've been... oh, don't tell me!"

Spencer could feel the pink suffusing his face, fingers pinching his brow as he started to shut the door. He should know better than to check the peep hole before opening the door.

Morgan's hand stuck out, preventing the door from shutting any further.

"Hold your horses, pretty boy," Morgan teased, nudging Spencer aside without waiting for an invitation. His eyes darted around your living room as if he would find you. "At least let us do what we came here to do."

Penelope started to set her stuff on the coffee table, her face displaying her thrilled emotions like an open book.

"I can't wait for JJ to know about this, she's going to freak," Garcia says, clasping on to Morgan's arm.

Morgan laughed, patting her hand as he shook his head. "No one is going to tell anyone. Your secret is safe with us, pretty boy. We're a vault, aren't we, baby girl?"

"Yeah, okay, fine," Penelope started, lips pursing as she peered into the kitchen. "But just so we're clear, this is going to be like swallowing a live grenade of gossip.

Now it was Spencer's turn to laugh, head shaking as he pushed his glasses to the top of his nose.

"Thanks, guys. I'm sure she's going to appreciate this."

He nodded towards the items, disregarding their comments as he awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck, walking them both to the door and hoping to the gods you would stay put.

"Alright, we'll let you get back to... whatever this is," Morgan conceded, hands shooting up in defense as he stepped out the door. "But hey, you make her cry, and I'll be using those spaghetti limbs of yours to mop the floor."

"Morgan!" Penelope said, slapping him on the shoulder.

"Unnecessary, but understood," Spencer said, waving towards the exit. "Now, if you wouldn't mind..."

He could feel the migraine coming on.

"Oh my god."

They were both looking behind him, he followed their gaze, seeing you standing there just outside the bedroom door, wearing his boxers and one of his Star Trek shirts.

He slammed the door shut.

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna @readergf @sarcasm-and-stiles @edencherries @aurorsworld @princess76179 @malindacath @freyy253 @broadwaytraaaaash @r-3dlips

join my taglist here

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #criminal minds fic #bau!reader #secret relationship

2K notes · View notes

appledressing · 5 days ago

Note

Teeheee

early seasons spencer and bau reader undercover at a club and it’s just like. he is so flustered but also weirdly confident and do with this what you will

in which spencer reid and BAU fem!reader have to pose as a couple at a club. she's more than a little flirty. the conversation actually gets quite suggestive. he's cute when he gets flustered.

warnings/tags: discussions of sex, reader wears a tight dress and makeup and heels, discussions of blushing but r's skin color is not implied to be light, i just needed a reason to talk about sex flush LOL, if u don't visibly blush this will still read fine

a/n: I LOVE EARLY SEASONS SPENCER X FLIRTY READER OH MY GODDD thank you for this request angel from heaven I hope you all like this as much as I do teehee

The bass buzzes through the floor and vibrates your teeth. House music has never really been your thing. Neither have tight dresses and high heels while on the job—but you’re willing to objectify yourself just a little if it will lure yet another loser who likes to chop up young couples into the awaiting arms of the American correctional system.

Or to the wrong end of Emily's Glock. Whatever comes first.

You scan the club—it’s not your usual scene, and you can only imagine how Dr. Reid is faring. As far as you can tell this is essentially his nightmare. It’s sensory overload central even for you.

Your eyes catch on him at the bar, tucked away from the writhing crowd. He’s standing near the end, one arm resting on the surface while the other hand is jammed in his pocket. He seems completely unaware of the several women circling closer and closer. The whole earnest and dorky but still handsome thing seems to work well for him. Or, it would, if he had any interest in utilizing it. He’s dressed a little sharper than usual—no doubt styled by Morgan and Prentiss. Hell, the earnest dorkiness and the well fitted dark suit is working for you if nobody else.

Sometimes he just looks… edible.

And self-discipline doesn't always come naturally to you.

“Doctor,” you purr in greeting, grazing the forearm propped up on the bar with white-tipped nails as you insert yourself in front of him. His fingers twitch under your light touch.

Spencer doesn’t even try to hide the way his eyes sink down your frame, sticking to every highlighted curve like you’re dripping honey. Or maybe he just doesn’t realize that you can see that’s what he’s doing.

“Hi. You look nice.”

“Aw,” you smile, dulling the salacious edge to your voice, “you didn’t have to say that. Someone’s improvising.”

“I meant it. That dress looks nice on you,” he says, simply, and you hate his specific brand of charm because it’s not intentional. It’s not something he puts on. It comes out of nowhere and always knocks you on your ass when it hits—even in the smallest doses. His eyes narrow and he leans closer. You can feel the energy rippling around him like a force field as he examines you. “You’re wearing more makeup than you normally do.”

“Do you like it? Penelope ordered the wrong shade of blush and gave it to me. Supposedly it’s meant to make me look like I just had an orgasm. I don’t know if I believe it.”

Much to your disappointment, Spencer leans back, scanning the crowd for your target and speaking as if he’s only half-interested.

“That’s not what you would look like. Sex flush deepens the color of your entire face and chest, not just your cheeks.”

Your brows knit as you contend with unwelcome butterflies.

“Buy me a drink before you start telling me what I’ll look like after I orgasm.”

That catches his attention, and his suddenly wide eyes snap to you. If he had a drink, he’d be choking on it.

“I wasn’t—it was a general you, I’d never—that would be inappropriate. It was. It was inappropriate. Sorry. I’m sorry.”

You lean with your back to the bar, elbows propped on black granite, and swing your hair over your shoulder. Spencer’s eyes dart back down to your décolletage and then up to the ceiling like he regrets being born. You smile wickedly. Much better. This is the way God intended for you to interact with Spencer Reid.

“I’ll consider forgiving you. And I don’t blush. Not when I orgasm, not ever.”

Admittedly, you just want to milk the whole talking about you orgasming thing to see how pink you can make him. It’s not often you’re gifted with an opportunity to be so candid about your sexuality or flirt this unabashedly. But you are supposed to be posing as a couple. Maybe you’re just feeling extra in character.

Instead of stumbling over his words some more, Spencer smiles with a degree of bemusement like he’s caught you in a white lie.

His smile is so nice. His teeth are perfect, and his lips—

“Yes you do.”

Always so convinced he’s right, this one.

It’s annoying. And kind of hot.

“Uh, I promise you I do not.”

“Everyone blushes. It's a sympathetic nervous system activation response wherein blood rushes to your face. Your blood vessels dilate when you get flustered or anxious. Your face gets hot and your undertone changes.”

You raise your brows. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was challenging you.

“Yeah? Wanna bet?”

“Actually, no,” he mutters, losing any bravado and casting his eyes downward subserviently. “You have a habit of proving me wrong.”

“That’s right,” you gloat, smiling wide. Someone bumps into you, and you turn around, highly unprofessional insult locked and loaded—but it’s just a drunk girl who apologizes and stumbles off. The encounter does, however, remind you that you’re supposed to be finding a killer. “Do you think this is the best positioning? He might not be able to find us way over here.”

“You think we should move?”

You look back at him and nod, holding your hand out. He looks at it uncertainly. You waggle your fingers and infuse your words with sugar.

“Oh, come on. I don’t want to lose you. And we’re supposed to look like a couple, remember?”

Gingerly he accepts your hand. His is bigger than you’d have thought. Not nearly as freezing as your own perpetually are. It occurs to you as you grab his hand that his bone structure really is bigger than yours. He’s… tall. He is, at the end of the day, a real life adult man. His presence is palpable behind you and you enjoy the weight of his hand in yours as you tug him through the crowd, perhaps not taking the most direct route through the throng just so you can savor being able to touch him like this for a little longer.

Miraculously you spot an empty booth and slide into it. It’s a deep alcove, shadowy and secluded at the back. That’s where you settle, against black vinyl, and where you wave at Spencer to join you.

He lingers at the edge of the table, glancing around at the groups of dancing and drinking young adults.

“I don’t know. Can you even see the dance floor from back there?”

“Part of it. But I’m sure he’ll be looking in the booths for couples. He’ll come to us.”

Spencer faces you again and sighs ruefully, a begrudging smirk playing at his lips as he slides into the booth and joins you against the back wall. His side is warm against yours. He smells nice. Clean. Almost herbal, like patchouli or vetiver.

“What? You really hate sitting next to me that much?”

Spencer’s lips part wryly before he speaks, like he almost thought better of it but decided to anyway.

“I think you just wanted a reason to get me alone and secluded so you can finally accost me.”

Your knees bump. You lean into it.

“Accost you? That seems harsh,” you pout, leaning toward him clandestinely to undo his top button.

“I don’t see how. You are literally trying to take my clothing off as we speak.”

“I’m just increasing your sex appeal. It’ll be good, trust me. Maybe you’ll even end up taking one of those girls from the bar home. Or—back to the hotel, I should say.”

Spencer covers your fussy hands with his own sweetly, like he can sense the true jealousy simmering underneath the sarcasm, and places them in your lap. The touch lingers.

“Are you always like this?” He murmurs, voice lower than you can recall ever hearing it and twisted into the shape of a smile.

“Only with you, Dr. Reid. Speaking of, how about you? Do you flirt with many other FBI agents on official business?”

“Just the one. She’s kind of a full-time job.”

“Shut up. I’m basically your babysitter. If anything, I should be paid extra for dealing with you.”

“Attempting to seduce your charge seems like a bad business model. There are definitely some ethical issues there.”

His hands still rest on yours. You lace your fingers with his and speak sweetly, meeting his eyes best you can in the dark.

“I wasn’t aware I was seducing you. Do you feel seduced?”

He’s the first to look away after a few seconds pass—pulls your hands apart gently, politely arranging them back on your lap.

“I think you’re incorrigible and a terrible influence. In all honesty, you terrify me and more often than not I walk away from our interactions a little confused.”

You clap a hand to your heart, the bare skin revealed by your low cut dress warm under your fingers.

“Spencer… that kind of turned me on.”

He just looks at you for a moment, a hint of a smile on his pretty face, long enough to make you feel a bit nervous.

Then he’s leaning forward, and unconsciously so are you, almost forgetting to breath when you’re practically pressed against him in this booth and he’s whispering so low and sweet into your ear.

“He’s watching us. Right across the floor, next to the girl in the blue dress. White button up and a leather jacket.” His hand slides over yours, fingers skimming your collarbone in the process as he interlocks your grasp once more. “Keep your hand right here and lean closer. We need to maintain his interest.”

“I don’t think I can lean any closer,” you breathe, hoping it doesn’t register as nervous as it really is. You’re supposed to be the confident one who teases him. “But if you want me to sit on your lap, just ask. I won’t say no.”

He chuckles, too loud to be amorous. It’s clearly genuine. It sounds like the way his reddened cheeks always look. It almost does more for you than the bedroom voice.

“You… you are beyond help. I don’t think you could be appropriate if your life depended on it.”

Slowly you pull back so you can look into his eyes—much closer than you normally have an excuse to. They dart wildly over your face, partially obscured by the dark which cuts shadows deep into the dramatic hollows of his bone structure. He really is so pretty.

You glance toward the man, who’s pretending not to watch you. When you focus your attention back on Spencer, sliding your hand up the curve of his jaw, you find yourself making a dangerous wish. You find yourself wishing that you didn’t have an audience. That this wasn’t all for show. That neither of you had earpieces in.

His pulse hammers under your little finger, and his lips part slightly as he doesn’t have the wherewithal to not glance at yours. He’s so unaware of how obvious he’s being. It’s cute.

You run the tips of your fingers through the hair in front of his ear, the one sans bluetooth, pushing it back, before leaning in close once more to whisper.

“Good thing we’re not going for appropriate. Actually—your hands could stand to wander a little more, Dr. Reid. Let me know if you need me to tell you where to put them.”

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #bau!reader #a: nereidprinc3ss

2K notes · View notes

appledressing · 5 days ago

Text

I’m about to read the hell out of this fic

spencer reid and his gorgeous gentle teacher girlfriend

↳ teacher!reader masterlist

*two separate, continuous AUs

ִ ࣪𖤐 - angst 𐙚 - fluff

kindergarten teacher!reader

𐙚 kindergarten crush

↳ in which one of your students goes missing, the BAU sends the A-team to ask you some questions

𐙚 fishbowl

↳ in which you offer to bring Spencer lunch when he forgets his at home, leading you to become an object of curiosity at the BAU

𐙚 falling flat

↳ in which you call Spencer for help with a flat tire, and he comes to help with you car troubles - and then some

high school teacher!reader

TBD

#spencer reid fanfiction #masterlist #teacher!reader #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fic #to read later #to read

498 notes · View notes

appledressing · 5 days ago

Text

Oof!! 😅

Man!

😭

🫠

Three's a Sideshow

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: Spencer misses an important date and ends up paying the consequences Trope:Angst w.c: 4.2k a/n: this is one of the many many requests of @lavonee (her exact request was: maybe spencer misses an important date/anniversary because of jj and reader is finally fed up being second place to her) trying my best to address all of them. Not proofread. Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated! 💗 masterlist

The hazy dim light of each candle on the white linen covered table gave the restaurant an orange hue. Various aromas of meat, wine, and complimentary cheese wafted through the enclosed space. Sensual tones of the saxophone lightly played on the speakers perfectly weave through each muted conversations between loved ones—couples and families. The high-end restaurant basked in good food and great company.

Everything was perfect.

Every costumer joyous and warm from the delicious wine.

All except for one, alone by the corner booth, phone pressed to your ear and eyes scanning for the tall, lithe form of the date for the night.

Beep. Beep. Be—

You grimaced at the busy line tone that answered you, again. Hands gripping the draped linen, trying your best not to tap your newly manicured fingers on the table—trying to blend into the background, unsuccessfully.

You stuck out like a sore thumb. All dressed up with no partner or food on the table, just a glass of once chilled wine—condensation all around it like tears of abandonment and longing.

The same waitress who escorted you to the table—15 minutes ago, approached with a perfectly rehearsed smile.

“Ma’am, are we ready to order?”

You sighed. “Actually, my boyfriend isn’t here yet—”

She bit her lip, nodding, before quickly averting her eyes to the queued up line outside the premise.

Right. It was a Friday night and every adult in the vicinity wanted a night out to unwind and start their weekend on the right foot.

You tightly smiled, the embarrassment of tonight painting your cheeks a deep maroon, unnoticed through the flickering of the orange candlelight. “—you know what, I think I’d just have a slice of your chocolate cake to go. Yeah, I’m sorry about holding up the table.”

The waitress nodded, understanding washing on her face. “That’s alright. I’ll have your order packed and ready to go.”

“Thanks,” you murmured as you watched her leave.

Tonight was suppose to be special.

You dressed up in the same white with purple printed flower midi length dress, styled your hair effortlessly, and spritzed on your favorite perfume that smelled like a luscious garden after a rainy night.

Everything was just like how it was two weeks ago—including your boyfriend of three years, Spencer Reid, not showing up for the date.

You didn’t even know why you bothered. Why his promise of being here tonight made you feel giddy and trusting. Why his commitment on having do-over for the actual anniversary dinner that he missed two weeks ago made you think it was going to end differently and why you gave him another chance—

Another chance to let you down.

Another crack in your belief that you were important.

Another heartache to soothe.

Another let down.

When you first entered the relationship, you understood the gravity of his work. How his career will always come first and how unpredictable it all may be.

That part—accepting those facts, were easy. You were always one to be tolerant and understanding ever since childhood, labeled as the easy kid—the independent, the self-sufficient. Mixed in with your highly demanding career as a doctor, you got it—the patience and consideration of a saint.

A martyr, your good friend once bluntly said.

But what good was being a martyr when the person you’re killing yourself for didn’t notice?

It didn’t matter at first. Missed messages, missed calls, missed dates were just a work of rotten timing from both ends. Sometimes it was you having to run to the hospital for an emergency surgery and sometimes it was him having to catch a plane to a latest serial killer case.

The tandem of both independent and busy people in the relationship worked, love blossomed regardless.

What made it different was, there was three of you in the relationship.

The third party being an intense platonic, as he once defended, connection with Her.

You felt it for the first time during a get together with his found family. Your set of eyes trained to read in between the lines for the truth patients unwittingly hide from their doctor. It was a skill that you honed and never hated, up until that moment.

The stolen glances when the other wasn’t looking.

The emotion veiled between the eyes.

The unsaid words that seemed to spill from the silence.

Never mind that there were two presences in the vicinity that could have their life altered in any minute from the secrets long hidden in vaults. It was as if you and her husband were considered ornaments, pieces of a possible aftermath not worth saving.

You knew of their past—Spencer admitting to having a crush on her during his early days with the team, asking her out on a baseball game date, and her recent admission during a case.

Everything was water under the bridge, your boyfriend assured you. But the thing was, water had a way of overflowing from confinement, turning deadly, and ravaging what once was an idyllic garden that bloomed from your affection.

Now as you pay for the tab and collect your things, you felt the tides that destroyed the solace inside of you well up to your eyes—wanting the release you’re fighting to keep at bay.

A fight you’re bound to lose.

You whispered a thank you to the waitress, soft and quiet that you were unsure if she even heard it but that was the best you could do, the sobs closing your vocal chords and threatening to escape, making you a spectacle—leaving the restaurant alone, with a boxed cake on hand.

What a sad sight.

You fumbled with the phone again, hands shaking as you insert the key on the ignition.

Beep. Beep. Be—

Nothing.

What even was the point of all of this, you wondered. All this emotion, love, that was once sweet and heavenly now all felt rotten, puss oozing from its pores and flies exalting for a feast.

Slowly backing your black 4-door sedan out of the parking lot, you pondered if this was the end—did you have any more left to give? Or was this just a bump on the road for the your future selves to learn and heartily laugh about?

———

The rattling of your keys as you dropped it on the ceramic plate across the main door disrupted the silent, empty apartment.

A small smile graced your face as you remembered spontaneously booking a ceramic wheel class with Spencer in tow. His initial worries about getting under the nails dirty and the bacteria that could be collected from any stranger that used the items before the both of you swept away with your giggles and assurances to double up on vitamins.

There was a wide grin on his face then, accepting defeat from the sight of your enthusiasm and glee.

It was one of your greatest memory with Spencer and when the glazed pottery came from the mail—yours, a wonky blue green plate and his, an uneven moss green bowl, you had him promise to take you again.

A promise that never came to fruition.

You sighed, eyes tracking the rented space you never quite moved in to. The walls painted this dark green color, reflecting the somber mood you frequently found yourself in and the shelves filled to the brim with books you never dream of reading.

in hindsight, maybe your subconscious was telling you something. Why you never agreed to Spencer’s casual asking of you to live with him. Why you were adamant of keeping your own apartment regardless of the nights you spent outside of it.

This place became your pseudo-home, comfortable but never quite permanent.

The distant murmur of a car being parked on the street had you clambering up from your defeated, slouched position on the leather couch. In your gut, you knew who it was.

You spotted them exiting the SUV.

The two figures that make the relationship three—a sideshow for everyone to see.

Spencer and JJ.

They talked for a bit, probably saying pleasantries of goodbyes, before she leaned in for a hug. One that he reciprocated, patting her back as he went.

They looked like a couple and if you were in your right state of mind, you’d chalk the exchange up to nothing but you weren’t—you were wounded and unsure of your standing ever since you exited the restaurant.

Were you his first still?

Or were you just second place?

They were questions you never wanted no, needed, to be addressed but it seemed like tonight was the night of reckoning.

As you watched Spencer enter the apartment, the smile on his face from spotting you slowly become a furrow between his brows, you fidgeted—pulling the coat tighter to your body, the one you never hung on the back of the door—ready to bolt.

“Love, I’m so sorry I missed our reservation—”

He went in for a kiss on your glossy lips.

A simple act that you didn’t have the energy to accept, you turned your head to the side. His lips catching your cheek instead.

“It’s fine,” you sardonically replied. “It wasn’t like I was waiting for you for half an hour to show up. It’s fine, Spencer.”

His brow twitched.

“It sounds like it’s not fine. Why don’t you tell me what you really feel? We promised to openly communicate, didn’t we?”

You huffed, throwing your hands up in the air. “I said it’s fine, Spencer. Why don’t you give it a rest?”

“You look beautiful,” his calloused fingers gently caressing your hair. “I’m sorry I didn’t show. It’s just that JJ and the tea—”

Your last thread of reason snapped clean from hearing her name.

“It’s always going to be like this, isn’t it? Me coming after her?”

“Love.”

“Don’t touch me—don’t call me that,” you pushed his hands away, tucking the escaped tendrils behind your ears.

His own, raking the wavy brown hair you loved, in frustration. You could tell, with how his hands opened and closed, that he was itching to touch you, comfort you.

“Her? You mean, JJ? She’s a friend. Just a friend.”

“And if this friend wasn’t married with kids, would you still be here with me now?”

Silence.

There, you said it.

“What—yes, yes of course. Why would you ask that? Why would you doubt it? Doubt me?”

Your gut twisted inside of you. It was inconceivable for someone like Spencer to lie, wasn’t it? He was a good guy, one of the best. But all the hidden resentment in your heart—a pile you weren’t even aware of, no longer wanted to be silenced. It no longer wanted to be pushed to the side for optimism and denial.

“I don’t know, Spencer. Maybe it’s the way you look at her—” voice raising up an octave. You’ve lost control, verbally dumping out everything. “Do you think I don’t see it? You look at her with this, this nostalgia and—and this emotion that I can’t compare to—never seen it when you look at me! Or maybe, maybe it’s because you drop everything for her? Including me?”

“Are you talking about when Henry got sick?” his hands finding a home on his hips. “I thought you understood—you of all, should have.”

Your laughter turned into a sob. “I do—I did, until you dropped me of unceremoniously back here, in this apartment, just so you could rush out to her home. Like I was some kind of secret, you didn’t want to bring around her. Like I was some sort of disease, you didn’t want her catching. Didn’t you think I would be of great help? A licensed medical doctor?”

“I wasn’t thinking straight—I thought you, you shouldn’t be exposed to the type of flu Henry contracted. You could have gotten sick too and could have passed it on to your other patients.”

“It’s my job to take care of the sick, don’t you think I take measures for my own health? Spencer, please, for once just be honest with me.”

He tilted his head. “Honest about what?”

“If it’s her you really want and if I’m just a passable substitute to settle down with.”

You could see his eyes blazing with such—disgust? Anger? You didn’t know what emotion it was before it was snuffed out, leaving his expression blank and almost sad. It was a look you were familiar with, his profiler look.

“I don’t need you profiling me and my insecurities, Spencer. I just want the truth. The God-honest truth.”

“I love you. I can’t imagine a life without you—I won’t imagine it. Isn’t that enough?”

Your hands drop to your side.

“I don’t know. Is it?”

The distance created by the silence between you and Spencer was vast. You’ve never felt quite alone and isolated in the relationship until this moment. Was this it, then? The end to your once dreamed of happy ever after?

“I’m sorry I missed the dinner. Why don’t you let me make it up to you? We can book the same restaurant for next week and—”

“You can’t just make up for a make up anniversary dinner, that’s not how it works in real life, Spencer. And besides, I don’t want to see the same pitying looks the workers there give me when they realize my date is again, and again, a no-show.”

He sighed, slowly invading your space. The arms that once felt like home to you, circling your waist, now felt foreign. You never imagined you’d get here but then again, who did?

Your hands clasped his button down before loosening its grip. Taking in one more whiff of his cedar-wood and mint perfume, you pushed him away. Stepping backwards from his presence and all he had to offer.

“It’s late. We’re both tired—”

He nervously smiled. Intertwining his fingers with yours and started to walk backwards to the direction of the bedroom. “Yeah, we can talk about it in the morning once you feel better.”

You wiggled your hand free.

“Actually, I think I have to go.”

Spencer paused, panic coloring his face. “That’s—that’s not what I meant, love. Anything but that. Please, please I love you and I’m sorry.”

“Me too, Spence. Me too.”

You slowly gathered your things, sans the chocolate cake left opened and untouched on the coffee table.

“Happy anniversary, I need space to think this all through—to think us through.”

He stood still, blocking your way, trying to wrap his head around the direction this was going to. The inevitable downfall of him and you. It was a car crash no one could no longer escape from.

“Please, let me fix this. I can do it, just—tell me how. Do you want me to limit my time spent with JJ? I-I can try, just please, don’t leave me.”

It wasn’t a promise, you noted. With how many broken promises there were between the span of your relationship, you wondered if that was a conscious choice of wording from him. It sounded hopeful, gleaming with oath even. But they were just words at the end of the day, packaged pretty for you to swallow.

“I need time, Spencer. I’m not breaking up with you, I just need space,” you placed a kiss on his cheek, wet from tears. “Can you give me that, love?”

He choked a sob.

“Promise me you’ll be back. Promise me.”

You tightly smiled, making your way back to the door. The unanswered plea hanging in the air like a blade, waiting to slash down between you—waiting to sever the connection that was once shiny and new.

Shakily removing the spare key of the apartment from your chain, you chanced one last look at his hunched form—sobs emitting from his sweet lips and acid rain spilling down his cherub cheeks, regretting that this might be your last memory of Spencer Reid.

You didn’t know if you’d be back.

If the thought of being second place will ever go away.

But the sinking feeling in your gut tells you the truth—that this is it.

This is final.

This is the end.

Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated!

#spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid angst #misunderstanding fic #miscommunication fic #break up fic

1K notes · View notes